#n ill make it its own tag n everything

[seabugsbaby]

that moment when ur just being a silly little goose full of whimsy but ur mean teammates get mad at you for it 😔😔

( @7-ferrets-in-a-coat this is ur fault!!!!! 🫵🫵🫵 ur art is too good n ur storytelling is too compelling!!! jkjk 🫶🫶)

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.

[reel-fear]

👁️👁️

You must tell 👀

*rubs my little hands together* sorry for taking a bit on answering this! My brain has not been braining lately but your ask couldn't have come at a better time bc Grant has been on the mind as of late and I am hyped at the excuse to infodump abt him- [this is gonna be long I am so sorry-]

now for quick disclaimers for anyone reading this that isnt the asker or me- we're not discussing canon Grant Cohen, we're talking my Grant, this black haired dude, that guy. Another fun disclaimer, I was HEAVILY, inspired by Grant's role/character in abomination for my Grant. Taking time to awknowledge every part of his character or story that was inspired by it would make this 10x longer so if similarities are spotted know its very likely I did that on purpose bc I just really love abomination KJHFSDGKJDHGSD-

Alright with that outta the way I'ma talk a lot abt what happens to Grant in the canon of Showtime to explain what I meant and also maybe a bit of me rambling about aus that explore Grants relationship with Sammy n Joey under a more romantic lens. Should be obvious but spoilers for It's Showtime down below~

So Grant in Showtime after he dies ends up joining the ink demon cult, becoming a lost one and earning the title of The Priest.

When the cult was all together him and Sammy worked together to run it. Sammy used his connection to the ink demon to recieve messages and learn more on how to survive in this new situation and Grant made sure the lost ones acted accordingly. [A role not so far off from the one he was forced to take when the studio started facing troubles before his death] Grant also took the job of dealing with sacrificing souls and sending them back to the dark puddles, which sometimes was members of the following chosen at random and sometimes whatever poor soul found themselves captured by them.

However when Malice rose from the puddles and made a deal with the Projectionist to seize a considerable amount of the studio as theirs, the cult was split up, Sammy and Jack forced to flee to the music department and Grant with the rest of the following being down in the area of Chapter 4. This put Grant in a very bad spot, the lost ones were very shaken by this event and since then Grant worries their faith in him has wavered.

An important thing with the ink demon cult was that it is meant to be a more realistic take on how a cult works. The Ink Demon runs the cult, he is the most powerful figure in it and yet the hardest to contact, so Grant and Sammy are little more than middlemen tasked with keeping things running or else they face the ink demon's wrath. Sammy is sadly very aware that the ink demon is not as benevolent as he or the lost ones would like the believe. Grant likes to think being the Priest will at the very least protect him if things go wrong, but he is sadly mistaken.

Grant is in a very dangerous spot, he knows the lost ones beneath him are getting angsty and worried about just how truthfully safe the cult is or if they should believe in the power of the ink demon. But he also knows if things fall apart the lost ones will come to tear him apart long before they go for the ink demon. Despite him merely being a puppet for their lord. A role Grant is not ready to acknowledge, not because he isn't smart enough to see he is just a pawn, but because he chooses not to think about it, less his paranoia eat him alive yet again... A very important thing to keep in mind with Grants character.

Grant did in fact play this role in life as well however, when things started going wrong in the studio, Joey was very quick to turn away from what was going on and continue asserting everything would be fine. Which while a lie he himself believed was a lie nonetheless. However Grant quickly became his right hand man as people like Thomas and Wally started noticing cracks forming all through out the studio. Staff going missing, the ink changing in the way it behaved and an eerie feeling the machine created in both of them.

Grant despite deep down being smart enough to know things were going poorly, parroted Joey's words, hanging off of them himself and doing whatever he could to shut down any attempts to bring to light the things going wrong. Of course, him and Joey both ended up paying the price for their lies, but so did everyone else around them. But unlike Sammy, Grant barely even seemed shaken to see that, like a conspiracy theorist seeing evidence their theory isn't true only makes them double down harder, Grant only seemed to double down on the idea that if he followed every order he was given. Surely things would turn out better this time.

So that's canon to the story of Showtime, but I do want to take a second to get some AU non canon ideas out of my brain centering around Grant and his relationship to both Joey n Sammy. In canon Grant's only romantic interest is Thomas, his literal husband and there is a lot of interesting conflict there, but I fucking love shipping so of course I have a million aus merely indulging in ships I think would also be interesting to explore in their own contexts. In this case, I'm gonna ramble a bit about Sammy x Grant and Grant x Joey and the interesting things I think there are to explore in their relationships in Showtime.

So you might've noticed that while not literally [as saying the ink demon is Joey in Showtime, while somewhat true, is not the entire truth of the situation and simplifies it quite a bit] Grant did end up following Joey to the grave... And then kept following him beyond it. Something that is objectively~ very queer of him.

There's just something so compelling about the idea of Grant yearning for Joey so much, being so close yet so far as his right hand man but not being brave enough to become his lover eventually drove Grant's love for Joey to become an outright obsession. The idea that Grant's feelings for Joey became so intense from how hard he pushed them down it blinded him from seeing the truth of the situation outside of the way Joey painted it. Then dying and his obsession turning into an outright worship of him.

The idea of Grant settling for just being Joey's favorite lackey, his most loyal pet and knowing that's his role but not caring bc at least it makes him stay by Joey's side. Ohh it's an interesting one to say the least. I even did a few sketches of them u can see-

They are doomed by the narrative to me and have been on my mind a lot lately can ya tell? KJDHSFGKJHDFSGKJHDFGSD

However when it comes to Sammy and Grant, I think there is a lot of interesting potential between them too. After all they share being the Ink Demon's henchmen in all of this and to see them both come to terms with that and try to find comfort in each other is such a fun idea to me.

An au where they both decide to ditch the cult and the ink demon and on their own try to figure out what happened to Joey and how to fix things is very compelling to me. I could see their relationship starting out as doing all these things for each other under the excuse they just need comfort until it starts to turn to actual feelings for each other. Both of them coming to terms with the fact Joey was not in fact a perfect person and maybe didn't even know how bad things were getting deep down himself but also finally letting themselves hold him accountable for the lies he told... It's a very fun healing narrative and very in line with a lot of the themes It's Showtime deals with.

Either way, I just really love what I've done with Grant's character in It's Showtime, he's for sure one of the most fascinating to me and the themes his story explores are ones that are important to the story as a whole and by extension me. Umm this turned out very long but I hope u enjoyed the read! Tysm for the excuse to infodump abt him, I was itching for one as u can see KDJHGKJDHFGKJDHFGSD.

[claitea]

ok sorry i just really loved the thought of n arguing with this little thing i wanted to draw it

Do you ever think about how almost all of N’s Pokémon throughout the first games were one offs he released after he battled you, how he cared about them all deeply enough that he thought it would be selfish to have them battle more than necessary. And do you ever think about how this is the case with all his Pokémon EXCEPT his Klinklang in the final battle at the league, where the second to last battle he had a Klink and this Klinklang is very likely that same Pokémon? Do you think this was a visual representation of his mindset wavering from a fixed point? How that Klink refused to leave him right away and he couldn’t bring himself to force them to leave because his mind is in so many different directions? He can keep them around just a little longer until he becomes champion, it won’t be long, he can bend things some so long as he doesn’t fully stray from his path…right?

Or is that just me am I the only one willing to be insane about Klinklang of all Pokémon

[starkeymeow]

WATCHER OR PLAYER?

watcher or player?

what are you?

on an app like nerve, you choose. watchers pay to see the chaos unfold. players take the dares, chasing money, fame, or just the rush of it all. the rules are simple. complete the dare, get paid. fail, and you lose everything.

the deeper you go, the higher the stakes. the watchers decide what comes next, pushing, prodding, testing how far you’re willing to go. and above all, you never back down.

now rafe cameron was loud, reckless, daunting, daring—of course he’d be on an app like nerve.

but he didn’t start out willing.

he was the type to throw the first punch, the type to speed down the cut with no headlights, the type to make a bad decision and double down on it. but nerve? that was a different kind of trouble. something calculated, something that dug its claws into you and never let go. he never wanted to play.

until you.

y/n . . . you were a name climbing the ranks. a flash of adrenaline in human form. no one knew where you came from, only that one night, you appeared on the leaderboard, and you never left.

maybe it was the way you played to the watchers, or maybe it was the way you never hesitated, not once. every dare was met with the same unwavering look, the same easy smirk. like you were untouchable. and you knew they were watching.

rafe never saw you coming that night.

the dare was simple. a test run. something to pull him in, just one move, one kiss, nothing more. but the second his name and yours flashed across the screen together, the watchers took notice. two players, both unpredictable, both reckless in their own ways.

the game saw an opportunity.

and now?

it wouldn’t let either of you go.

series coming soon. based on “nerve”.

authors note ; i wanted this to give off “if this was a film, the first movie would be rafe and some other girl maybe, but the second movie is rafes origin story (prequel) with the real person who taught him how to play and rank up (reader) that fans/readers would actually say is his true love obvi” and its like id imagine “they were supposed to be endgame” “BRING Y/N BACK” comments if this was real LOL

i still need to finish “forget me not” tho so ill get back to that!! do let me know if u want to be part of this tag list tho <3

main masterlist | *NEW* taglist request

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar

[youreverydayfangirl]

BAD BLOOD

pairing: max verstappen x singer reader

summary: the one where a private phone call gets leaked, no one gets the full picture and people are quick to judge

warning: online hate, mentions of cheating

a/n: after two months its finally here for you guys

face claim: sabrina carpenter (just had to because shes gorgeous)

f1 masterlist

main masterilst

series masterlist

yourusername has posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 1, 485, 921 others

yourusername SUPRISE!!! I struggled to keep this secret but now i can announce it. the bad blood mv is out now with some very familiar faces

tagged: oliviarodrigo

alexandrasaintmleux AHHHH MY BEAUTIFUL BEST FRIEND

-> yourusername SAYSS YOUUUU

francisca.cgomes I STILL CANT BELIEVE I WAS IN A MUSIC VIDEO

-> yourusername ANYTHING FOR YOU QUEEN

oliviarodrigo is this what we call a slay?

-> yourusername you know it sweet thing

chappellroan IM OBSESSED WITH YOU

liked by creator

milliebobbibrown ICONIC MV

liked by creator

leahsavajeffries I WAS IN THIS

-> yourusername YEAH YOU WERE

user1 MOST ICONIC MV OF ALL TIME

user2 LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, HER

user3 anyone find it weird that exbsf wasn't in it

-> user4 I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING LIKE WHAT

-> user5 go touch grass people grow and change and no ones seen them together for like months now

y/ngossip

liked by exbsf and 31, 859 others

y/ngossip SPOTTED! yourusername and landonorris in what looks like a very heated public exchange, could this be the end?

user1 tagging them is so messy 😭

-> user2 RIGHT

user3 NOT MY PARENTS

user4 whatever happened IK its y/ns fault

user5 not exbsf liking this 👀

-> user6 RIGHT

user7 idk what anyone says exbsf liking this speaks SIDES

-> user8 right cause she wouldn't like it if y/n hadn't done anything wrong

-> user9 this is such a bold accusation to make

user10 exbsf TELL US YOUR SECRETS

user11 THEY WERE TOGETHER FOR FIVE YEARS OMG 😭

--------------------------------------

THE PHONE CALL

a few months prior - during a conversation

Ex Bsf: Can you just support me for once instead of making it about you

Y/n: Support you? You cheated on Jacob how can I support you Ex Bsf

Ex Bsf: By being my friend instead of being all high and mighty

Y/n: I'm sorry Ex bsf but its true and I don't know if I can support you with this

Ex Bsf: What would you say if it was you who cheated on Lando

Y/n: Hypothetically, I say I cheated on Lando and be upfront with him

Ex Bsf: So have you cheated on Lando

Y/n: Of course not, I love him so much and he means to much to me, I don't ever wanna lose him

Ex Bsf: If you did ever, your gonna own up to it right

Y/n: Yeah of course I have to, but this isn't about me

Ex Bsf: Well you kinda did make it about you

Y/n: No I didn't, You asked me about it Ex Bsf

--------------------------------------

yourusername has posted

Liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 11, 274, 964 others

yourusername and that marks the end of the wonderland tour! i can't believe everything that has happened over these past couple of months and i am so grateful for all the support i received from you guys over the past couple of months. stay tuned guys and ill see you at the grammys 👀

alexandrasaintmleux obsessed with you omggg

francisca.cgomes grammys this year are going to pop off

user1 SHES STUNNING STOP

user2 NEW MUSICC???

user3 girl we saw the article....

-> user4 what article????

-> user3 she cheated on lando

-> user5 WHAT

-> user6 source???

-> user7 theirs legit a voice recording of her and exbsf

-------------------------

Y/N L/N AND LANDO NORRIS SPLIT

Yes. You heard us right.

Fan favourite f1 couple, superstar WAG Y/n L/n and Lando Norris have reportedly split after L/n cheated on him. A leaked phone call between L/n and a third party has been leaked.

AUDIO RECORDING HERE

Transcript

Y/n: I cheated on Lando

Ex Bsf: You cheated on Lando

Y/n: Of course, I love him so much and he means to much to me, I don't ever wanna lose him

Ex Bsf: Your gonna own up to it right

Y/n: Yeah of course I have to

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE

----------------------------

yourusername has posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 1, 293, 950 others

yourusername 3 GRAMMYS!!!!!!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! TYSM GUYS FOR ALL OF THE SUPPORT AND FOR TAKING WONDERLAND AND TURNING IT INTO SOMETHING ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL, WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS HOW AMAZED AND GRATEFUL I AM..........

alexandrasaintmleux WELL DESERVED

liked by creator

francisca.cgomes YAYAYAYAY OMMGGGGGG

liked by creator

user1 i used to have so much respect for you

user2 i can't believe u cheated so dissapointing

user3 your setting such a bad example for you younger fans...

user4 CANCEL Y/N

-> user5 yep #cancely/n #y/nisoverparty

-> user6 #y/nisoverparty

-> user7 #y/nisoverparty

-> user8 #y/nisoverparty

-> user9 #y/nisoverparty

-> user10 #y/nisoverparty

user11 🐍🐍🐍

user12 #y/nisoverparty

user13 🐍🐍🐍

user14 Ex/bsf deserves better

-> user15 her and lando should get together tbh

--------------------------------

Hi guys, i'm really sorry i am going to start posting more often but things have just been really busy as im starting grade 12 work which is insanely dissicult and family drama has been going on and i've been working on writing a book which is pretty exciting

anyways i will try to post more often - maybe once everyweekend or second weekend

------------------------

taglist:

@lyannesworld

@pippyth3hippy

@scorpiomindfuck

@syddddddddddddd

@paigem00

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@lilsiz

@chelle1306

@sired4urmama

@stinkyjax

@kiyomisan

@hotgirlslikemax

@itsjustkhaos

@sid-is-gr8

@mastermindbaby

@akkklys

@reidsworld

@tall-tanned-tattoo

@mrsmaybank24

@m1892

@taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs

@midnights-lily

@skynel09

[ladamedusoif]

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story. 

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders. 

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being. 

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness. 

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now. 

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes. 

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did. 

Jackson stands before you. 

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey. 

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can. 

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes. 

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street. 

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.” 

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before. 

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation. 

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground. 

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him. 

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones. 

Raiders. 

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name. 

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off. 

Joel takes aim. 

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening. 

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not. 

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle. 

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground. 

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick. 

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg. 

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle. 

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being. 

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you. 

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol. 

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking. 

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe. 

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours. 

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance. 

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?” 

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood. 

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch. 

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…” 

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you. 

Fuck it. 

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now. 

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night. 

[jazzyblusnowflake]

OMG hi…I really like your art and was wondering if you wanna be mutuals??????????? Also tell me about your MD ships :3c

honey we are dating- .....okay yknow what- HI PRETTY & TALENTED LADY- yess i will absolutely love toooo 🙈💕💕💕💕💕

also lets see uhhh okay this is an excuse for me to just... expload-

keep in mind not every ship is meant for all of you so dont badger me about stuff that ISNT CANON or YOU DONT SHIP. contrary to whatever you believe, when somone posts about THEIR ships, nobody wants to hear about you NOT shipping it on THAT EXACT post.

hang in there, this gon be a long one >:p

First off we are starting strong with Nuzi- Biscuitbites obviously thats a given- these two just have too much to be said about why and how they make eachother the best version of eachother, whether they ever became canon or not- they fit like puzzle pieces- they lessen eachothers negative traits by being their for eachother.

next is Vuzi- Violentviolet, they are my favorite kind of enemies to lovers 😔 but its also tragic smh. kinda pissed off at how V always does something good in Uzis favor only when she is LITERALLY PASSED OUT- either in the camp ep on the bus or in Alices lab. like damn ofFUCKINGcourse Uzi wouldnt know she cares about her 😭😭😭

envuzi- Violentbitingbiscuits, i love these goobers with all my heart- they deserve the best 😔💕💕💕💕

envy - [does this poor ship just NOT have an exclusive FINDABLE tag name??? im calling them GoldenMemories...], i like to think that if they were in the manor still, and nothing bad had ever happened, these two would be comforting eachother in the healthiest way possible. V needs someone like N and N is just adorable like that uwu

Next we have JxTessa/Jessa- [calling them Fancyblades cuz why not-] J deserves some closure for the shit shes gone through smhhh 😔, its a tragic yuri of J loving and wanting something she probably already accepted she couldnt have, and even then she gotta deal with Ns ass being the favorite one regardless of how hard she tries to be perfect... sighhh i wanna imagine them in a future where Tessa was spared as the only human and J could save her 😭😭😭😭 Tessa might have loved doing mechanical stuff or wore black to hide grease/oil stains on her clothes from her parents and wore gloves to hide her oily stained hands- i want her to have a scene of wiring drones back to life and saving them and saying something like "hey there, you made it! dont worry, ill take care of you, youre my friend now :3" or something //dies//, also before anyone says it- even if Tessa was a teen in the flashbacks- romance is not exclusive to ADULTS, teens can love eachother without having sexual stuff involved. no she was not their MOTHER figure, she was their FRIEND who liked to fix robots for herself to not be alone in a house where her own parents literally chain her up as punishment. i dont even know why im arguing about this, people headcanon or make aus about characters NOT being dead all the time and if Tessa was alive for as long as J thought she was, Tessa would have been a perfectly fine adult either way. so counting this, yes shes canonically considered an adult when Cyn tries to imitate an adult humans body 🙄 makes as much sense as everything else i guess-

next ones i got is NorixYeva/Neva- Solverlilies- i just think theyre neat 😭😭😭 and once again, like everything else in this franchise- they are tragic yuris 😔 damn liam im finding a pattern over here 🤨 anyway, i like to think they either got closer in the lab experimentations or were already close when they were working as WDs in the campsite area for the humans. obviously canonically they were probably straight or just not into eachother romantically- [Nori either u have the worst taste men or Khan just fucking lost it after you died-] but also on the other handddd.... they have 2 hands and they are robots, i want them to kiss like two barbie dolls and im gonna make them do just that-

DollxLizzy/Dizzy- Bloodypink, wost fucking ship names ever, i cant find shit on them with these tags and it makes me angry >:/ at this point 2/3s of my ships are just tragic yuris smh, Doll did not deserve any of the things handed to her, even if she went about doing some things the wrong way i wish Lizzy didnt just abandon her- but then again, Doll did kinda abuse Lizzys trust and Lizzy got scared of being close to a serial murderer so.... morality calls this a draw? 😭 im crying... i wish someone was there to help Doll... sigh... i like to think Lizzy would have waited for Doll to just come back at some point... oh well, thats why AUs exist :"3 //sobs in the corner//

DollxUzi/Dollzi- Bloodybats, this ship is so underrated to me... they could have been... so much more. but why weren't they? did Yeva abandon ever getting close to Uzi when she was a kid after Nori died? did Uzi and Doll just never play around together as kids when their mothers were so close? were they ever close and something went wrong as they grew older? at worst they could have been like sisters together, and at best maybe more than friends. i just dont know what happened here, like Yeva could have tried to keep an eye on Uzi, maybe Uzi could have found Dolls powers so cool before having them too- i dont know theres literally tons of possibilities- but if Doll deserved to be saved or cared for by anyone, at least one of them should have been Uzi... sigh.

ThadxV- Killingblonde, yall this is... the cutest shit... ever???? like from here on out we kinda go into the more or less crackship territory but these two are adorable- Dumbass yet wholesome jock boy that just wants to keep his queen happy 😔👌👌👌 He and Uzi would have so much to talk about on "crushing on literal murder bots that stabbed and almost ate us" its literally love at first stab smhhh 😫💕

ThadxSam- Smokyjock ???? for some fucking reason??? i dont know what my brain did here man- i just like the trope of someone getting under Thads skin- like pair up the healthy sports loving gym boy with the lazy but wholesome dumbass that does drugs or is always just sleep deprived and Thad is always trying to just... take care of his ass and make him take care of himself but he just WONT SMHHH-

okay some more or less crack ships down here:

ThadxN: it speaks for itself. its too adorable and youll go blind from the light of wholesomeness-

ThadxNxUzi: Uzi will die here from the overwhelming wholesomeness... oh bonus if its just a 4s polycule of ThadxNxUzixV i mean i know im pushing my luck but.... random crackships go brr- V and Uzi will complain but love their dumbass golden puppy partners-

ThadxUzi: i think they could have been close and Thad caring about her as a childhood friend turned crush sounds just too cute for me 😔

LizzyxUzi: another random ass rivals to lovers or some shit idk what this is, Lizzy would pay Uzi to kiss the fuck out of her i dont make the rules-

ThadxLizzy: in some cases where they are NOT headcanoned as siblings or cousins, i think they have a good energy of wholesome jock bf and girly queen cheerleader lol, Thad is just a good bf eitherway-

DollxUzixLizzy: the gals would not leave a single second of silence for the small gremlin i swear to God- [Uzi is gay as FUCK for her gfs, absolute girloser unit with her gorgeous but crazy gfs]

okay for the end i have some characters that arent ships but i wish they could have become closer as friends or work out their issues...

J and N- too much abuse and toxicity here, i wish they could talk together more and see they have a lot of things in common- maybe a full line of dialogue from J without threatning N in every sense of the manner would be nice for a change =_=

Doll and V- again, a bit morally ambiguous to ship a character with the murderer of your family, esp when said murderer hasnt expressed regret lmao, but i wish they could at least be friends... Dolls disdain for the murder drones pushed her to end up the way she did. maybe if she didnt do it alone she would have been alive by now. so i like to think what would have happened if she and V could have made up- not necessarily Doll forgiving her- but at least having the space to grow and understand why they did they things that happened.

Cyn and literally ANYONE- i want the solver to be SEPARATE from Cyn- i wish Cyn would have still existed somewhere down there and was savable- i wish this poor child AI had a happy ending to her by connecting with the others as ACTUAL siblings... goddamnit 😔

aaaand thats it for this fine ass day 🫡 yall are welcome to ask about any of these- boy the tags are gonna be.... a lot.

[snowiwyvern]

a shitty guide to tumblr for people who have never been on this godforsaken website

yeah so ive been thinking about making one of these posts, because tumblr is pretty unlike a lot of popular social media today and because i lost the ones that used to be making rounds. this is mostly for my own use so i dont have to reexplain tumblr every time i try to introduce people to this website, and i can just send this post to them instead

this is more to help you get started with no context of how tumblr operates, its not really a strict guide for you to follow fyi. you could ignore this completely if you want, this is generally for people who are confused, lost, and need somewhere to start. this post also mostly expects you to know what the buttons do, or at least be able to figure out what they mean

quick table of contents for this post: 1. setting up your blog 2. how to use tags 3. tumblr algorithm 4. tumblr etiquette [as of this post] 5. common lingo [also as of this post]

1. setting up your blog

okay, so. tumblr has a hugeeeee bot problem. these bots typically have default pfps, nonsensical or overly average urls, no personalization to their blog with everything as the default, no reblogs/posts or very few of them. i, and many others, tend to block these. however, if youve just gotten tumblr and havent customized your blog yet, you might be confused for a bot. so the first thing you should do is something to show that youre a real person, like changing your banner, pfp, or blog title. people also tend to hide their following and likes, but thats up to you if you want them hidden

if youd like to add more information about yourself, such as having an introduction to your blog that doesnt fit in your bio, put it in an intro post and pin it to your blog to make it your pinned post [if you arent sure how to do that, press the three dots on the top right of the post and then press pin post]. ofc your pinned post could be some other post you really really like, such as a pinned reblog of a funny post, a post you made that you thought was a banger and encapsulates your blog, whatever. but keep in mind it will usually be what introduces people to your blog.

for me, my blog introduction has a short introduction to me, what i post, my main tags [ill get into that later], and masterposts. masterposts are posts that you use to link to other posts, typically for posts that are all connected in some way. some examples would be for an art challenge, an au, or a story that spans across posts. it just helps compile and keep track of things.

and ive seen that one repost of that tiktok post. you dont have to prep like its professional or smth [unless you want to ofc]. youre fine, tumblr is informal as hell. just be kind and respectful of others and you should be fine. also, random thing i didnt know where to put elsewhere. go into your settings. you can put stuff like a theme for your blog, add timestamps to posts (which i highly reccommend, keeps you from reblogging warnings that are out of date n such), and whatever else you can find in there.

in addition, you can make side blogs! side blogs are attached to your main blog, and are used for a variety of things. some examples include: gimmick blogs [a blog whos whole purpose is to do one specific thing], ask blogs [a blog where you rp as a character and answer asks as if you were them], au/story/comic blogs [just to keep all of it in one place, if you dont want to use tags], fandom blogs [to split up your blogs by the fandom they post about], and more!

2. how to use tags

people here on tumblr can be veryyyy particular on tags. if you misuse them badly enough, you will likely find out the hard way. so, to prevent that from happening, here a quick crash course in tumblr tags!

dont spam unrelated tags if you make a post about blorbo and tag bingus, despite him not being in the post, that is using an unrelated tag and people will probably get annoyed or mad at you. you tag what is in the post. im looking at you instagram users. you tag the character[s] featured in the post, the fandom/story theyre from, and as [fandom] fanart, [fandom] fanfiction, or whatever it is. [pssstt fyi instead of fandom in brackets you put the fandom the character is from!]

dont main tag vagueposts a vague post is when you talk about someone, without naming them. this is typically done to shit talk the person its about. if you reallyyyy need to talk shit about someone that badly, dont tag it with the main tags you both interact through. ngl i think its just petty and shitty to make vagueposts in the first place, but you do you.

dont main tag critique/hate of people, ships, or characters lets say, for example, you really hate a ship in your fandom, and it bothers you to the point you feel the need to make this dislike known. you do NOT tag it with the name of that ship. people go into that tag to see people talking about how much they like that ship. that is a quick way to get a lot of hate. if you really need to, use that tag with crit slapped onto the end of it. generally, dont walk into someones house, shit talk it, and be surprised when they punch you in the face.

dont censor tags youre not going to get murdered by staff if you say suicide in your tags. if you put tags using censored terms like sewerslide or suc1d3, that only makes it so people who have those terms blocked will get those posts on their dashes. tag that shit and dont censor it, for the sake of the people around you.

now that thats out of the way, heres the other cool thing about tumblr tags! as i mentioned in the third to last paragraph of the previous section, you might want to put your main tags in your pinned post. tumblr allows you to search blogs by tag, so if someone wants to search for all of your posts that are tagged #blorbo, they can!

as an example i have 5 main tags listed in my pinned post that i use, the tag with all my art, the tag with all my writing, my tag for random textposts i make, my tag of reblogs, and my mutuals tag so i can look back and be like yayyyyy i love my moots :3. and while i dont have one, people tend to have an ask tag, where they can put all the asks they answer

3. tumblr algorithm

hate to break it to you pookie, but tumblr doesnt really have an algorithm like other social media. i lied. im sorry. im stealing your spleen. the for you page is... there. but no one uses it most of the time. tumblr operates more like websites used to, and you have to go hunt your posts down in the wild.

here on tumblr, we have the dashboard! it shows the posts from the people you follow in reverse chronological order. this means that, as a tumblr newbie, your dash will be empty. so, go into the tags and follow people who post and reblog things you like. however, that is step one in the circle of life here. you can stop there, of course, but you must keep something in mind.

if you like a post and want to share it with your followers, reblog it. a like will not get it onto their dash. a like is more like telling the original poster you thought the post was neat or that you saw it; this would be more like vent posts, posts about their private life, stuff like that. if its a post youd like to share with your followers, you reblog it; this is usually someone spitting facts you want to show your followers you agree with, a post you thought was funny, cool art, and whatever else you might want to have on your blog.

fyi, when i reblog i typically leave a like. it lets me know that i have interacted with this post before, and helps me so if im looking through a mutuals or someones blog and theres an awesome post left unliked, i know i didnt reblog it. however, thats just how i like to do it

4. tumblr etiquette

tumblr is a very old website, and that comes with a lot of unspoken rules the community has learned over time. heres a quick list of some rules you might need to keep in mind!

dont repost/steal posts a common thing i see on instagram and twitter is people reposting art, animation, or copying posts they thought were clever to farm likes. here on tumblr, we have reblogs! if you want that art on your blog, just reblog it. for example, if you run a gimmick blog that focuses on posting about one character, dont repost someone elses art [especially without credit]. just go reblog the original post, and let them know how much their contribution to the fandom is appreciated in the tags.

dont derail/hijack a post if you see a post thats completely unrelated to blorbo and about a different character completely and go, wow this is so blorbo coded! talk about it in the tags, or go make your own post. we build posts together here, we dont tear them down.

blocking you dont like seeing someone on your dash or when youre looking through tags? dont go and yell at them or something, or make a vaguepost. block their ass. how dare you interpret blorbo in that way. explode. get out of my sight. block tags you dont like. block keywords you dont like. block people you dont like. curate your online experience.

youve dicovered youre blocked oh no! someway, somehow, youve discovered youre blocked! oh the woe. dont make a vaguepost about it. dont go and make a hate mob because of it. it was likely nothing personal. maybe they just didnt like the way you typed. who literally cares. move on.

mutuals whenever you make a mutual, you often get bonded through blood together. i may be be posting about dogs and youre posting about taylor swift now, but through whatever led us to become mutuals, we are forever intertwined through our experience. the dash needs some diversity anyways. however, if this mutual has, for example, spontaneously started reblogging and posting about heinous shit you hate? block. begone. curate your online experience

someone posts something you dont like so you dont like what someones posting? what should you do? nothing. just leave them alone. dont send an ask, dont leave hate in their replies/reblogs. just block them if you need to, and move on

replying to reblogs you want to reply to someone in your reblogs, but you dont want to make a whole reblog or separate post? @ them in the replies of that post and chat with them there, or go to their dms and talk there

5. common lingo

heres some common terms youre likely to run into on tumblr! ofc this can vary from fandom to fandom, but from my experience these tend to span across fandoms.

op - original poster. the origin. the person who made the first post youre reblogging

moot/mutual - a person who you follow and they follow you back

<- prev - used in tags, to denote tags taken from the previous reblog. this can stack, to denote prev prev prev, but just screenshot the tags and add them in a reblog at that point

<- ops tags - used similarly to prev, but specifically for ops tags

blorbo - a term to describe the character that has taken over your mind like a parasite

scrimblo (and its variations) - a term similar to blorbo, but with more of a scraggly tinge to it

tumblrina - a gender neutral term for tumblr users. its not used all that commonly anymore, but i felt it was worth mentioning

yuri - term for a ship between girls

yaoi - term for a ship between boys

headcanon/hc - an interpretation of a character that is not canon. usually is a trait that falls in line with their canon portrayal, but not always

id/alt text - an image description. it describes an image in text, so that if the image is not loading or someone is blind, they can still know what it is/what it says. heres a helpful image for how to write one

asks - when you open your askbox, something you have to do through your settings, it allows people to send you messages that when you answer it posts as a whole tumblr post on your blog. you can also customize your askbox, only by changing the text from 'ask me anything!' to whatever you want. also, it might just be a me thing, but i like to tag who sent the anon in by their url or anonymous if theyre on anon

anon/anonymous - what we use to refer to people who are sending you an ask while on anonymous. some people have them off, because many people dont have the balls to send... unsavory asks on main. this is also why when people are getting hate, anon is turned off

queue - something ive actually neglected to mention! when you add things to your queue, it will post a certain amount of posts over time at the rate you set it to, during the time range you set it to

communities - tumblr communities are a more recent thing that was added to tumblr! you can go join them if youd like. quick warning though, communities that are open tend to get the occasional porn bot posting links in it. report it to a community moderator. this also means that communities that you have to be accepted into likely arent going to reject you. its probably just there to help prevent bots from getting in

porn bots - bots that post links to porn. they spam tags, communities, and spam follow people. report the porn as spam or sexual content, block, and move on

of course, there are way more terms used on this website than this, especially fandom specific ones. i couldnt possibly include them all, but this should be enough so you can understand what people are saying most of the time

in conclusion...

thanks for reading! i hope you enjoyed this post, or found it helpful. make sure to be kind to people around you, stay respectful--even of things you might think are a little odd, cringe culture is dead--, and most of all, have fun!

happy blogging :3

[pssstttt hey tumblr users, if theres anything major you think i missed, let me know in the replies or a reblog and ill add it.]

[khywren]

「 Garden of Eden : Chapter 2 」

summary: Tav shifts to adjust herself on the polished wood, the stone wall cool on her back even through the fabric of her tunic, a stark contrast to the heat she can feel thrumming through her entire body.

Astarion's gaze is fierce and unbroken as he rakes his eyes across the curves of her body - the hunger for her is evident in more ways than one, and she can feel it almost crackle between them like electricity.

Gods, what has he done to her to render her so senseless?

pairing: Astarion/f!Reader | Astarion/f!Tav rating: 18+ MDNI status: 6/10 tags/warnings: blood drinking, explicit sexual content, porn with plot, drunk sex, smut, toxic coping mechanisms, depictions of violence/abuse, hurt/comfort, mild angst, frenemies to lovers, word count: 2.7k spoiler warning: full story will contain spoilers for all 3 acts of the game.

a/n: chapters will be posted individually. crossposted from AO3. links to other chapters: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ◆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next morning when Tav wakes, she finds that her entire body feels heavy. It requires a great effort just to sit up, and even then she still feels so exhausted.

There is a dull ache on the side of her neck, and when she reaches up to investigate, her fingers brush delicately over the puncture marks in her neck from -

Oh.

The events of the prior evening suddenly come flooding back to her, and she scrambles to remember everything that had happened. The pain, the pleasure, all of it. Astarion had bitten her at her behest, yes, but things had gotten out of hand, and he'd almost - although unintentionally - drained every drop of her blood. She glances around at the familiar walls of her own tent and realizes that Astarion must have brought her back after she lost consciousness.

He could have left her, but he hadn't. It’s a surprisingly touching gesture.

There's a bottled potion left to her bedroll - this, too, must be Astarion's doing. Tav uncorks the bottle and drinks the bitter liquid, ignoring its revolting flavor as she finds the strength returning to her limbs.

When she finally crawls out of bed and dresses for the day, she makes sure to cover her neck so no one will ask any prying questions. She's already lost enough of her dignity.

Gale is the first to greet her.

“A late riser, I see,” he says, almost a little too judgmentally. He presses a plate of lukewarm food and a mug of what looks to be an herbal tea into her hands. “Not quite as nourishing as the comforts back home, but such is the nature of life in the wilds. I hope you'll find it palatable nonetheless.”

Tav thanks him and sits in front of the dwindling fire to eat her breakfast. Shadowheart sits across from her, her expression that of profound concern as she gives Tav a once-over.

“You look pale. Are you ill?”

“Ahh...” Tav hesitates and stalls for time by shoveling a few bites of food into her mouth. Her eyes glance about the camp for Astarion, and she finds him at last, watching her from outside his tent, peering curiously at her from behind the pages of whatever book he's been reading.

He looks troubled. Is he worried that she will expose his secret?

“Just a long night,” Tav finally says half-truthfully, trying to seem nonchalant. “Still having a hard time adjusting to sleeping on the ground and all. But I'm fine, I promise.”

Astarion goes back to reading his book.

--------

The next several days pass without much incident. After dealing with a goblin ambush, the party is welcomed into the druid grove and learns about the druid Halsin, who's said to have gone missing while on a nearby expedition.

The party has agreed to find him in the hopes that he might be able to help mediate the situation between the tieflings and the other druids who are seeking refuge there as well.

After another afternoon of travel, Tav and her companions stumble into the ruins of the blighted village, which is practically crawling with goblins and other ilk. By nightfall, nothing but corpses remain, and the group gathers to rest in one of the more structurally sound buildings on the edge of the village.

Presently, Tav lays awake in her bedroll, restless and unable to sleep. Only a few feet away, Gale, Shadowheart, Wyll, and Lae'zel are all fast asleep, the sound of their snoring drifting through the small room.

Astarion, aloof as ever, is nowhere to be found. They've barely said a word to one another after that first night, and it's been bothering her tremendously. He'd told everyone about his... condition shortly after their evening in the woods, and they'd all been surprisingly accepting, considering they'd just been told they'd been traveling with a vampire.

Tav doesn't know what secrets the rest of them must be hiding to be so cavalier about it all, but at least it didn't cause too much of a commotion. She has a mind to go and find Astarion when he suddenly appears at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the second floor, slipping outside through the back entrance.

Not one to miss the opportunity, Tav rises and shoves on her boots before following him into the cool, crisp evening air.

“Astarion,” she calls out to him, jogging over to join him on the dirt path. He waits for her, brow lifted curiously.

“Don't worry,” he says dramatically, “I'm not doing anything nefarious. You can go back to sleep.”

He's being more frigid than usual, and Tav considers walking away, but this can't continue on for any longer. The friction between them has become almost unbearable.

“I didn't suggest you were,” she says. “Can I walk with you? There's something I'd like to discuss.”

Astarion nods curtly and starts off down the path. Tav follows him, and in the minutes that pass an awkward silence hangs over them as she considers how to broach the subject at hand.

“So,” Astarion says casually. “You want to talk.” He continues his leisurely pace, his posture slouched and indifferent.

“Yes,” Tav replies. “I know things between us have been strained lately, since... well, you know.” She sounds sheepish, hesitant. Before she continues, she clears her throat to diffuse the tension.

“I just wanted to clear the air. We still need each other while we have these parasites to deal with, after all.”

Astarion quirks a brow at her and cocks his head to the side.

“Wonderful. I see you haven't completely lost your wits,” Astarion says sourly. It's clear that something is bothering him. “But that makes it such a shame that you can't be honest with me about how you really feel.”

Tav halts in her tracks, taken aback by the sudden accusation.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Don't be coy, dear,” Astarion replies coolly. “It's obvious, isn’t it? You're afraid of me.”

“I - I'm not afraid,” Tav says vehemently. She turns to look at him, but his expression remains impassive. He's serious.

She scoffs incredulously. “I'm here, aren't I? I would be much safer in my bedroll if I truly thought that you would harm me.”

Again, she almost adds, but thinks better of it. 

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That's all well and good,” he says with a dismissive flick of his wrist, “but that doesn't explain the way you've been avoiding me in camp. Stupidity and bravery are two sides of the same coin, after all.”

Tav's eyes widen at the incrimination, and she averts her gaze. She has no answer for him.

“Oh yes,” Astarion jeers, “I've noticed how closely you sit next to Wyll and Gale around the fire. If one didn't know any better, one might assume you were nurturing your affection for them. But we both know that isn't the case, now, is it?”

Of course it isn't. The first night after Astarion had fed on her, Tav had been unable to calm her nerves as the sun set and bathed their camp in darkness. After Gale had lit the fire, she had cozied up to him on his log, pretending that she was merely cold. When Gale had retired for the evening, Tav had slept fitfully in her own tent, her mind plagued by anxieties she couldn't seem to shake.

Despite the fact that nothing had happened - nor had Astarion said or done anything untoward her since - it gave Tav a pathetic sense of comfort to continue her nightly ritual. When Wyll had joined their party after they reached the druid grove, Tav had unabashedly sat with him as well.

She can picture what Astarion would have to say about it all, the voice in her head taunting her mercilessly. “Your stalwart protector. How very droll.”

But of course Astarion had noticed. It had probably been obvious to him what she was doing, even if she had been acting subconsciously. The guilt rises in Tav's throat like bile, and she feels suddenly ill.

“I... I'm sorry,” she apologizes weakly. “I didn't realize. I was... anxious, I think, more than anything.” Tav bites her lip but still refuses to look at him, instead keeping her eyes on the path ahead of them as they wander through the village.

“No need to apologize,” Astarion remarks with a shrug. “I am aware of what I am and all the implications that come with it. I'm sure they all had their reservations about me when they learned the truth.”

Tav steels her nerves for long enough to sneak a quick glance at him, and something in her chest tightens at the way his eyes darken and his lips curl back in a wry smile that betrays the thoughts behind his carefully crafted mask.

She hadn't meant to upset him, never considered that it would bother him so much. She doesn't even know why it bothers her so much either, aside from the fact that she doesn't want to cause anyone undue harm if she can help it.

“If it's any consolation,” she says earnestly, “I meant it when I said it wasn't your fault. When you were feeding on me, it was easy to let my mind slip away, and it felt...”

Astarion is watching her with rapt attention now, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Tell me,” he implores her to continue. “What was it like?” 

Truth be told, he's wanted to know what it felt like, to be feasted upon in such a manner. In the 200 years since his turning, he's long since forgotten the sensation, nor had he much time to consider it while choking down the congealed blood of so many putrid rats, courtesy of Cazador.

Presently, Tav's cheeks grow hot under his scrutiny as she considers the question.

“It was like nothing else I've ever felt,” she admits. “The closer I was to death, the more I felt alive. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.”

Astarion hums thoughtfully, his voice husky. “Really? You enjoyed it that much? And here I thought you were merely being generous by letting me have my fill of you.” 

He smiles slyly at her, clearly delighted by her admission and the way she shifts awkwardly beneath his gaze.

“Darling, you're more depraved than I gave you credit for.”

Tav cannot recall the last time she felt so flustered; between Astarion's not-so-subtle teasing and the truth she has been hiding even from herself, she fears she might disintegrate on the spot.

It would be the most merciful thing that could happen to her, really.

“Don't say it like that!” she bemoans, hiding her face in her hands. “You make it sound like I got off on it or something - which I most certainly did not,” she adds emphatically.

The amusement on Astarion's face suggests that he absolutely does not believe her.

“Look,” Tav says in a desperate attempt to save face, “all I'm saying is that I enjoyed it, and I'm sorry for being so weird about it. And if you wanted to, I thought that maybe... we could start over and try again. You can feed on me tonight, if you would like.”

Tav's offer is an unexpected surprise, but not an unpleasant one. He isn’t sure if she’s doing it because she wants to, or if she thinks it will remedy their situation, but he isn’t about to question her motivations.

“Darling,” Astarion practically purrs, “I thought you would never ask.”

--------

Astarion leads Tav into the remains of what appears to have once been someone's home, bits of destroyed furniture and other debris strewn about the floor in various heaps of disarray. A few silvery shafts of moonlight that filter in through several holes in the roof are the only source of light, bathing the place in an ethereal glow.

There is a desk in the far corner of the room, littered with papers and vials of ink; with a broad swipe of his arm, Astarion casts it all aside carelessly, and the vials shatter into a thousand tiny shards of glass that glitter like gems in the dappled moonlight.

Whether he is impatient or simply eager to have her again, Tav cannot say for certain.

However, when he lifts her effortlessly by the legs and pushes her back onto the desk before settling himself between her open thighs, Tav decides it doesn't matter. Just the thought of him piercing her throat again has her on edge, and the close proximity of his body against her own is almost too much for her to bear. His familiar citrusy scent envelopes her, and to her surprise it actually makes her feel strangely safe.

Tav shifts to adjust herself on the polished wood, the stone wall cool on her back even through the fabric of her tunic, a stark contrast to the heat she can feel thrumming through her entire body. Astarion's gaze is fierce and unbroken as he rakes his eyes across the curves of her body - the hunger for her is evident in more ways than one, and she can feel it almost crackle between them like electricity.

Gods, what has he done to her to render her so senseless?

He's gorgeous, yes, there isn't a single doubt about it, but there's something about the way he teases and openly flirts with her that she's grown to enjoy regardless of his sincerity. She begrudgingly admits that she's missed it these past few days.

But in this moment, none of that matters.

Tav meets his eyes and finds herself dizzy with anticipation, and her mouth falls open slightly. For a moment she thinks he might kiss her, his lips torturously close, but before she can close the distance Astarion nestles his face in the crook of her neck where her blood runs hot just beneath her flushed skin.

He unlaces the front of Tav's tunic with deft, expert fingers, just enough to allow him better access to her throat. He braces his hand on her thigh, steadying himself as he indulges in her warmth.

Tav almost whimpers with need, absentmindedly wrapping her calves around Astarion's legs and fisting her fingers in his tunic to pull him closer. A low, pleased noise rumbles in the back of his throat and he slides a hand under her tunic, digging his fingers into the bare skin at the small of her back and crushing her against him. 

“My, my... you're awfully eager this time, aren't you?” he muses playfully, the tips of his fangs grazing over her skin. The sensation is enough to make Tav's head spin.

Tav merely nods in ascent, connecting with his mind via their tadpoles when she finds the words too difficult to speak.

“Yes... Yes, please bite me, Astarion. I want this.”

“Normally I would caution you to exercise patience,” he murmurs into her neck, “but I am finding it exceptionally difficult to resist you.”

At last, he grants her wish and bites down on her neck, her blood as sweet as he remembers it. He drinks greedily, his tongue lapping at the punctures to encourage her blood to keep flowing.

Tav mewls pleasurably beneath him, her grip on him firm, a gesture that only encourages Astarion to continue to drink deeply from her veins. He will never tire of her blood, he thinks, not when it does such wonderful things to his body. 

When he feels Tav going slack beneath him, Astarion pulls his mouth away from her, gathering the blood left on his lips with a quick pass of his tongue so as not to waste a single drop. Even in her disheveled state, Tav looks absolutely splendid, her shirt open just enough for him to admire the swell of her breasts, and the delicious curve of her hips.

Tav pants lightly, her eyes half-lidded and dark with what Astarion can only attribute to some sense of satisfactory arousal, and he can't stop himself from wondering what the rest of her might taste like.

But there will be time to explore those possibilities later. As she is now, he knows she won't have the strength to fully enjoy anything further than this.

“Satisfied, my dear?” he asks her, offering a hand and helping her back onto her feet. She smooths her clothing back into place and laces her tunic back up with unsteady hands, a soft smile on her face.

“Oh, yes,” she says breathlessly, turning to face him. “But not as much as you, I should suspect.”

Astarion can't help but laugh. “Certainly not, love. Certainly not.”

[willows-peak]

*･ﾟ✧ Choso Being Sensitive

tags: virgin! choso, fem! reader, very short ramble, crying (choso), nicknames (baby), squirting

MDNI

a/n: choso who cries when he cums inside you,,,,yeah,,, not very long but ill def write more of this in the future bc choso lives in my head 24/7

word count: 0.5k

⋆｡˚ ♡ Choso was incredibly inexperienced, something he never bothered to worry about before he got together with you.

It's not like he was clueless, of course, he knew the basics of sex and that a lot of the acts were learnt in the moment with your partner, and none of that knowledge ever mattered. Until right now.

Right now, where he was thrusting into you with a sloppy and shaking pace, groans and cries of your name almost being punched out of his gut with how good every thrust inside you felt. He was so ashamed, so embarrassed about how his body seemed to go against what he wanted. Trembling, making noises without his permission, unable to keep at the fast and hard pace he wanted to fuck you from how overwhelming your pussy felt.

"Oh- my god- baby, please, baby, i- oh god-" Every time he tried to speak, either whispering dirty talk into your ear or tell you how wonderful you were doing, all devolved into those filthy mashed together chants of your name and prayers to a God he hoped never met him. He didn't need anything more pure than what he had with you.

Your hands on his face was the only thing that could clear his mind, even for a moment so he could get a good look at you.

And Lord did you look delicious. With your hair splayed across the pillows, your perfect and bruise covered tits bouncing to the rhythm of his body against yours, and with your gorgeous eyes rolled back. With a sight like that, there was no hope he could last much longer.

His thumb lowered down to your clit, hurriedly stroking the underside of it while he felt your pussy be stretched taut from his cock. "C-close, close, please-" He scrambled out, lowering his head as his body lit with new found sensitivity. His abs felt like they were on fire from the constant movement, but there was no way he could stop. Even if he tried. He whimpered, feeling his eyes start burning as he got closer to his orgasm. Everything was so much, feeling your thighs shake against his waist and watching your hands cling onto anything that you could.

He could feel how close you were, your wetness flowing down to his balls like the tears forming and cascading down his cheeks. You were so good, so good, so so good, he couldn't, he needed to cum inside you, he needed you, more than he could ever hope to say aloud.

"Gon-na cum- fuck, oh god, yes, yes, just like that, fucking cum for me, please baby please yes yes yes yes-" He rambled out as he felt you rapidly throb around his cock, squirting against his thigh and the mattress beneath you two. He came almost immediately afterwards, a hand covering his mouth as he came hard and deep inside you. "Y-es, yes, yes yes, ohh goddd" he mumbled out, his voice acting on its own accord while he rested his heavy body down against you.

[sturniolo04]

Best Friends Brother M.S.

Fwb!Matt x Fwb!Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

you have been best friends with the triplets since you guys were in diapers really so for at least 21 years. you have been extremely close with Chris in particular just because he relates to me more than you thought he would.   

you always hang out with him literally. If you see him you see me vice versa and its nice having him around but growing up with them youve developed a huge crush on Matt and it shouldnt be that bad right.

 Then why cant you tell Chris about it? Maybe because its his own triplet brother you have a crush on and there is no to tell him that is the case you couldnt do that to them.

So, creating distance between you and matt was your only option in your eyes.

"are we going to target still"

Nick asks coming into the living room where chris and you were on your phones

"i dont know did you ask matt"

he replies to his older brother not taking his focus off of the screen in front of him

"ask me what"

Matt states walking out of his room into the living room area making direct eye contact with the pair sitting on the couch on their phones

"are we going to target still is what i was asking"

"i dont see why not are you guys down" 

"sure do you want to go to target  Cassie"

he asks the girl sitting next to him as Matt shifts his eye contact to you slightly

"i-i dont know  i can just stay here you know"

"what no if you stay ill stay then"

"oh my gosh no you should go ill be fine"

'Come on cass it will be fun"

he engages trying to persuade you to tag along. It wasnt that you didnt want to tag along you just didnt want that distant you were putting between you and matt creating any weirdness amongst them all knowing they would eventually notice especially in a setting like that.

"come on it would mean so much to chris" 

he states seeing how he brother is absolutely miserable without you by his side.

"fine"

you give in getting up to grab your shoes in matts room. Why did matt have your shoes a very not so long story that you were not willing to get into. Let's just say the distant you thought you were keeping with matt didnt last long.

~Flashback to 2 days ago~

Matt's pov: tonight was not a typical night  Nick was hanging out with Madi at her house  and Chris was hanging out with friends for the evening leaving me and the girl that honestly drives me insane in the house by ourselves.

I have always had somewhat of a close relationship Cassie and has gotten closer as i realized i wanted to be more with her but never did anything about it because she is literally my brothers best friend and chris would loose his shit if he  knew i liked her in this way.

Lately, though Cassie and i havent been as close almost as if she is avoiding me.

Deciding i was tired of hanging out in my room for most of the evening  i went into the kitchen to find just the person on my mind all evening.

"hi"

"oh hey"

"what are you doing"

i ask grabbing a root beer from the refrigerator

"um honestly just thinking"

the girl states as matt makes eye contact with the girl sitting on the counter as if she is almost stuck in a daydream.

"oh really about what.. penny for your thoughts"

i ask her hoping she would share something and actually have a conversation with me

"um just how im so stupid and crazy and everything in between"

she sighs out

"what how are stupid and crazy thats literally impossible"

"i mean i literally"

she stops mid-sentence as she looks at me 

"i cant tell you this"

she trails off hopping down from the counter

"see stupid"

she states again attempting to walk past me probably to head back down to chris' room which is where she had been hiding out to keep her so called distance from me.

"cassie wait what"

i reply quickly confused and frustrated with the space she keeps creating between us grabbing her hand bring her back to face me

"just tell me why are you avoiding me i thought we were friends Cass"

"matt come on you know we cant just be friends and thats the problem"

"okay and what wrong with being more than friends because i maybe want to be more than friends"

"chris is my best friend matt i cant do that to him you know that"

"so you dont ever want to be more than friends"

"thats not what said"

"then what do you want cass"

i ask her running my hands comfortingly on her arms as she makes eye contact  with me

"you"

she quietly states staring into my eyes as i lean in to connect our lips and bring her body closer to mine.

~End of flashback~

Chris' Pov: we have been in target for a good 45 minutes and Nick and I have lost track of Matt and Cassie.

Honestly both of them have been acting extremely weird lately. Its probably nothing and if it was something Cassie and Matt would have told me. Right?

"where the fuck would they have snuck off to its target for fucksake"

"is that them"

i question staring down an aisle that appeared to look like them but it couldnt be them because well Cassie and Matt are dating are they?

"Matt! Cassie!"

he exclaims as the pair turns around

"unbelievable"

he sighs out leaving the aisle probably to head back to the car.

"chris i can explain"

you trail off following after him leaving Nick and Matt inside target.

"chris wait!"

you exclaim as you catch up to him

"cassie my brother really!"

"im so sorry i was going to tell you.."

"when"

"i was when you got home from hanging out.."

you ramble as he cuts you off

"wait you kept this from me for two days cassie"

"i- yes chris i didnt mean to keep it a secret but i just knew you wouldn't like that i kissed your brother"

you sigh out trying not to let your tears fall

"yeah Cassie i wouldn't have liked it your supposed to be my best friend why would you keep that shit from me"

"Chris im so so sorry"

you state with tears in your eyes as he comes up to you and grabs your arms looking down at you

"cassie really"

he lightly chuckles out

"what im so sorry seriously i cant loose you as my best friend chris"

you continues to ramble

"cassie im not upset that you like him honestly i knew a while ago"

"what wait really"

"yeah its not a problem seriously"

"thank god"

you sigh out as he laughs a little bringing you into a hug

"so matt for real"

he questions rhetorically pulling away from you

"oh shut up"

you state rolling your eyes and shoving your shoulder into his

taglist

@mintsturniolo @emely9274 @stayingstromboli @spicymuffins03

@dirtylittleheart333 @wh0resstuff @ksturnz @emely9274 @ccxsturns

[08melancholie]

Green Neckerchief; Red Blood. — Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Notes, Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt, Emotional Hurt, Death, Character Death, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, yeah this is just very sad, Micah Bell Being an Asshole, Soft Micah Bell, he cries btw, The Author Regrets Nothing, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell, and reader (again. sorry. not really sorry but oh well), Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Dark, Sad, Sad Ending, Unhappy Ending

summary: You don't realise just how much you miss something, before you suddenly lose it with no way to get it back. Everything goes quiet and you feel a sense of longing for the noise she used to make; don't you, Micah?

a/n: this is how i deal with depressive episodes; i write about people missing me—and by people i mean fictional characters that don't even know i exist.. its cheaper than therapy ever was

words: 3,160 | AO3 LINK

'Housing O'Driscolls must have become an everyday for Dutch; first that Kieran kid, now her?', Micah thinks to himself as he looks at you from across camp, whether you'd be helping one of the girls with laundry; going on a job with some of the men; talking to Dutch—one of the only people who actually went out of their way to speak to you; or just sat around, he would have a problem with it. With you.

You were an ex-O'Driscoll, which in itself was giving you a horrible reputation in Dutch's gang, but it could somehow only get worse.

And that worse was the fact that you weren't just another O'Driscoll in his gang; but his own blood, a relative.

You were Colm's daughter, unfortunately.

You never understood quite how, but life always had to sabotage you, make every accomplishment extra hard to reach, and make sure you got minimal credit.

And you could never complain. Never.

Dutch, after a full week of thinking and contemplating what to do with you, seeing as you very easily ratted on Colm with truthful information that was very useful to him, decided he wouldn't have you killed nor just sent off wherever, and you were put on watch by another member for a while, to see how you did.

Dutch found you a fine addition to his gang, and urged everyone to treat you as such, even if it was hard to do for many. One of those who found it hard was Micah Bell.

He had a huge, undeniable hatred for Colm and all that followed him—which, in his eyes, included you. Sort-of rightfully, but still; you tried your damn hardest to make them all see differently, that you weren't like Colm O'Driscoll and his devoted followers, but it was all futile. People often form an opinion of you and stick to it, hardly ever changing.

Micah wasn't always horrible to you, though. He had his moments, sure—but he sometimes actually wasn't too bad. Maybe he was starting to see a little differently. At a very slow pace, but still.

Usually, you had no problem defending yourself against him or anyone else who spoke ill of you to others or straight in your face, like Dutch had urged you to many times, but today just hasn't been a good day.

You never had a fear of dying, nor did you really... enjoy living, so to say. This life felt forced and was unkind to you at almost any moment it had a chance to be, but it was getting almost ridiculous by now.

You were on the edge of breaking down at any moment, trying to take a moment for yourself and sitting down at one of the tables, just for Micah to seat himself opposite of you.

"There you are, O'Driscoll girl."

You were dreading the conversation he was about to initiate, as if there wasn't enough on your plate already.

Don't cry, yell, or be upset... stay calm.

"Micah..." You look up from the brim of your hat reluctantly, but instead of the usual annoyed or cocky look you always gave him, for the first time, there's something else etched into your facial expression; a deep sadness he's not ever noticed, a melancholy look to your eyes.

His look of annoyance and disgust slowly faded into mild surprise as he looked at your expression, not having ever seen it before. "What's got your panties in a twist, O'Driscoll?" He asks, leaning over the table slightly.

You sigh and rub your sore eyes with your thumb and index fingers. "Do we have to do this today?" You mumble weakly, your mood entirely different and visibly more down than ever. "I really just... don't have the energy for your antics right now."

Micah raised an eyebrow at your response, tilting his head slightly. "What? You tired of me already, girl? You think you have a choice here, little O'Driscoll scum? Because you don't—you're in this gang, but you're not part of it. "He then paused in his speech, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Tch, 'ya look like you're about to start crying."

"..Okay, Micah." You quietly reply back and just go back to what you were doing beforehand; sharpening your knife under the table.

He watched you with narrowed eyes, noticing the way you seemed to be taking your frustration out on the poor blade in your hands, sharpening away your emotions. He let out a scoff and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, that is real nice of 'ya . Ignore me—veeery mature."

You slide the knife in your hand over the steel block in the other one, mumbling back before going silent again, no means of either protesting, denying or defending yourself today; not like it ever helped or stopped what the others did. "Sure."

And Micah just... goes silent. What the hell was up with you today? You usually always had a snarky response or quip back for him, and look at you now; just sitting there silently as you press your blade on that damn block of steel. He, for some reason, doesn't want to leave it there. Oh, no; he can't let you have this one. "You gon' ruin the edge of that knife soon." He comments after a moment of silence. "Should learn to take your frustration out another way, maybe something a little less destructive."

You stay silent for a brief moment before replying. "Believe me, this is the less destructive option." You mutter without thinking and pause, before you just continue sharpening the knife once again. That totally didn't sound weird. You start to silently hope he ignores the comment, but of course; life throws you another broken ladder to climb.

There it was—Micah gave a soft scoff at your reply, but the look on his face said he was at least happy you were finally talking like you usually did. "Oh? And what is the more destructive option, huh?" He asks curiously, catching on the weird wording in your response to him.

You exhale a little sharply before mumbling your reply; of course he had to say something, of course he noticed it. "I misspoke, is all." You excuse yourself, a little poorly.

Micah looked at you, his eyes flicking between you and the knife in your hand every now and then. "No, I don't think you did, girl. You meant exactly what you said, and now I ain't gonna let it go; I'm curious." Of course, he has to pry all the more.

You keep your eyes down on the steel block, dragging your blade a little quicker and harsher on it, until you can't take it anymore. "You're annoying, Micah," You stand while holstering your knife, putting the steel block into your saddlebag.

But Micah isn't having any of that.

He stands up with you, just as quickly. "Now, where do you think yer going?" He's swift to circle the table to your side and block out your exiting point. "I want to know."

You try to push past him when he puts his hand on you; grabbing you by the upper arm. You inhale sharply and try to rip your arm away, to no avail. "Micah, let go." You order, and he just tuts at you, like at a bad dog. "I'm serious, piss off already. I don't want to deal with you today, I've got enough to worry about already."

And Micah, like his usual self, doesn't let up. "Why you actin' like this recently? You ain't wanna go anywhere, you're all miserable—and now, you don't even wanna talk to me. Hells gotten into you, O'Driscoll?" He asks, only letting go of your arm when you go to smack it away.

"Nothing, I'm just.. feeling different, I don't know." You reply, you've been confused about your feelings yourself, just as much. "And since when do I gladly talk to you, anyhow?"

Micah takes a step back, but stays close enough so you can't weasel your way out of the conversation. "Not necessarily talk, but 'ya do like to argue with me. Where's all that energy gone, hm?" He asks, placing his hands on his gun belt.

You start to contemplate speaking up, you know you won't stop if you don't say something now—even if its to Micah of all people. And yet, your mouth stays shut, like it has for the past entire depressing month. "I'm tired, too tired for your usual bullshit." You reply defensively, like usually.

"We're all tired, sweetheart. We just don't whine and complain like you do." His words set you off, like never before. The gut feeling of saying something—the actual truth and the meaning behind 'tired'—gets worse, but so does the thought of him just using it as gossip and fuel for more arguments. And so, you don't say anything about it.

You push past him, and he doesn't stop you this time. He actually gives a small mock-laugh, assuming victory in the argument that ensued. Oh, he's won, alright.

Not fifteen minutes after walking into your tent, you walk right back out, making a b-line for your horse. Micah's not far back, back to his usual activity of standing around and doing absolutely nothing. And, funnily enough, he's the last person you see before you ride off.

Guilt. It's been an hour too long, and you're still to return. There it was, that foreign feeling Micah didn't remember feeling at any point in his life. He didn't know remorse; guilt; regret. None of it. And suddenly, it was all he was feeling. And against his better judgement, he got up out of his bedroll, left his tent and got on Baylock. And with the horse, he knew where to go to find you. That, in itself, should have been a sign—he hated you, but knew just where you were when upset? Yeah, explain us that one, Micah.

Apologies. Micah doesn't know how to form a sincere word of regret, and he knows a quick 'sorry' wouldn't fix this, not in a million years. Hell, he might just piss you off more if he comes up with a shitty apology. On his way down the path to the spot you were most-likely at, Micah starts to form a coherent, sincere and actually worthy apology. 'Sorry for everything' turns into 'sorry for targeting you with my torment, for all the weeks of it you endured. You didn't deserve that', and Micah tries to add as much as he can to it, to make it sound good. By the time he's at—huh?

Dread. Why is your horse hitched up just by the path, when there's still at least half a mile to your usual spot? Wait, no.. it isn't even hitched. The saddle bag is messily closed, ravaged through. But you're not there, not even around the area, not close-by or nothing. Just where are you, girl? And like the cruel God intended, Micah will always recognise your voice—no matter if it's your contagious laugh, your or your pained yelp, followed by sucking air in through your teeth. His blood runs cold and his hands already draw his revolvers, and he follows the noise. He expects to find you at the hands of a wild animal, or worse, a man. Not at the hands of your own self, and your hunting knife deep in your forearm.

Fear. Red. The color stains the knife next to you, the blade and the handle. The grass is red, so are your hands and wrists. All is painted in the color of your gore, even the nature gets to share you, with the lake getting a few drips itself, too. And you let them all share, like the thoughtful girl you always were. Micah panics; despite the usual instructions saying not to, he starts to panic. "What the hell did you do to yourself?" He sinks to his knees next to you, and suddenly he gets to share, too. His hand clasps around your opened arm, low curses leave his lips. "Baylock!" Micah whistles for the horse. "Come here, boy!" It's a crime scene, blood on your hands, and on his own—rhetorically and metaphorically, oddly enough. You had dry tear streaks going down your cheeks, and you were barely able to hold him back, your hands grabbing at his coat sleeves as you could only gasp and heave, death at your doorstep. And with every ounce of your leftover energy, you focus on clinging to this man. "Left saddlebag, number.. seven."

Denial. You're cold to the touch. Your skin is a paler color than it usually is, even with the moonlight painting your skin a beautiful shade, it is not your usual one, and that scares Micah. "Why the hell would you do this, 'ya moron?" He spits, and for the first time in so, so long in his life, there's water in his eyes. There's tears on his cheeks, going down to his jaw. He's angry. Oh, he's enraged. Never at the right person, however. Micah always struggled with that one emotion; rage, anger. And right now, he's mad at you. Oh, but you're just a kid. You're young and dumb, and he can't put all the blame on you. "Don't go yet, please." It's as if you can't hear him anymore, when your grip on him significantly loosens.

Acceptance. You go limp on him, your little irises stop moving, but your blood still pumps out of your arm. Oh, it's so unfair. He promised you a ride on Baylock once, to make up for another argument where he got too worked up and called you a bitch right to your face—along with a colourful array of other insults that stuck with you, until you started actually crying in front of him. He promised you that ride, but this wasn't what he meant. He saw you in behind him, holding onto his shoulders while Baylock took you wherever your little heart desired. Hell, it could have been Europe; he would have done it, if he weren't such a fool. He never imagined it'd be you, leaning on him while lifeless as blood seeped down over him, Baylock's saddle and Baylock himself, his black and write pattern getting stained; stained by you. He presses your face into his chest and makes Baylock walk forward, back to camp.

Left saddlebag, number seven.

Your words replayed in his head, over and over until he couldn't take it anymore. He had taken your horse with, and stopped both to check your bags. Notes. Oh, you were ready for this, you poor thing. You came to this prepared, knowing the outcome and knowing what to do, scarily enough.

He gets the horses to continue riding as he unwraps the note with the number seven on it, and he almost breaks down right then and there. It's not a very long note, but the impact it'll have on Micah will haunt him to his very grave; your writing in it making him grip the reins harder.

Micah, don't blame yourself. ever. i don't want you to blame yourself, and i'm telling you to never blade yourself—and yet i still feel you will always put yourself at fault for how things transpired. well, don't. it's not your fault, and if you need somebody to pass the blame onto, pass it onto my ever-beloved father. not onto yourself, Micah Bell. banter with you was always fun, and i'll miss it more than you'll ever be able to comprehend. i know you never wanted it to go this far, and i forgive you. i always will.

i may be an o'driscoll by name and blood, sadly, but i would have loved being a van der linde by your side, and will hope to do so in another universe one day. you and me, dear friend—we'd make it.

but you will have to make it on your own in this universe, without me to bother and argue with over the smallest of things. and i know that you can do it, Micah Bell.

He read every word slowly, and he read it in your voice—while he still had an idea of what it sounded like. He rubbed your back with his hand comfortingly, as if you were still with him and could feel it. Whether it was comforting you or him, that will stay a mystery. For now, he's getting you back home to your real family; to the Van Der Linde's, where you rightfully belonged all along.

He didn't deserve the privilege to talk so sweetly about you on that dreadful day—your well-deserved funeral, where they lowered you to rest, finally. And to preach about how wonderful you were and what a life you lead, that was the worst thing they could have done to him. And yet they still made him despite every protest. Maybe that was his punishment from God, for that day and for what he did to lead up to it.

The world didn't deserve to hear you through him—or anyone else for that matter. Not any of the people in camp, but especially him.

They deserved to experience you. The raw, unfiltered, unhinged you.

"She liked to go fishing, but always released the fish if they weren't fully grown."

He remembers how you used to throw them back, one time when Dutch had you both blow steam off after a heated argument. He came fishing with you two to ensure you wouldn't try to kill each other, and mostly stayed on his side to do his thing. Micah asked you why you threw so many back, and you, the sweet thing you were, always said you felt bad for separating the small fish that wouldn't even feed Jack from it's home and family.

"She liked going hunting, but could never bring herself to actually shoot the animals, worried she'd miss and make them suffer, bleed out on the ground slowly."

Just like how your end came, squirming and bleeding from your body, in an excruciating amount of pain and sorrow as life left your eyes; movement left your body; soul left the earth.

"And in the end, she bled red like the rest of us did."

And Micah didn't need an example for that last one, when it was all over his hands. When he was the one to call your time of death. When he was the one to hold you in your last moments. It was all him.

He watched the dirt get sprinkled over your pale face, holding back tears. Who would have thought that one day, Micah would cry over an O'Driscoll?

Well, that's wrong—you were a Van Der Linde in his eyes.

Amen and rest well, little angel. I'll miss you.

Kudos on AO3 appreciated, as always !!! Okaaay, wow. This is definitely something alright, probably my most depressing fic to date. If this isn't your cup of tea, since it is much darker and more detailed than my usual angst fics, thats fine! I have more lighter angst coming as well :) stay tuned for that and a few more <3

[dolliedyhard]

Hello and Welcome! I’m Lucy, better known as the creator of Dollie Dyhard ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶ I’m a MEGA creepypasta fan like… SUPER-ULTRA-MEGA. As you can guess my blog will be all about Creepypasta! Hooray🎉☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆ From fanart to OC’s to creepy stories to comics, I’ll make it ALL! In fact I have my own creepypasta oc! Her name is Dollie Lilium, alias Dollie Dyhard (hence my username). She’s the blonde girlie in the pic above and my pfp :3

Stuff about meh!

♥︎black girl🇺🇸🇿🇦 — bday is June 5th♥︎

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Nina, Jane and Slenderman are also my favorite creepypasta’s too♡

I have a humongous stamp & blinkie collection…ITS NOT AN ADDICTION.

My OC’s!

You can find all information about Dollie here in this post: General Post for Dollie

Creepypasta AU’s:

The link for my creepypasta AU’s are here. That’s also important to read if you wanna know more about Dollie and stuff. It’s only 2k words so it won’t take long to read.

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this is a list of things I’m good with u doing!

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Making “your own version” of any of my OC’s

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MUSIC TASTE

Every creepypasta fan comes with an obsession with punk-rock and alternative music, it’s a fact! Aaaaand that fact applies to me too ofc _(┐「ε:)_ Favorite bands & musicians? Here’s a list! (In no particular order :v)

Pierce the Veil, Panic! At the Disco, My Chemical Romance, Get Scared, Set it Off, Ghost Town, Flyleaf, Three Days Grace, Avril Lavigne, Evanescence, Black Veil Brides, Linkin Park, Type O Negative, HIM, & Sliverstein.

More about the music I like here!

OUTRO!

Thank you SOO MUCH for reading! ((o(^∇^)o)) a lot of people don’t read intros >_> so I’m glad you did :) (Comment with a 💖 emoji if u made it dis far ^_^) I hope you stick along for the ride because it’ll definitely get wild! XD

If you want to see more art from me check out my gallery on DeviantArt!

Anyways, that’s pretty much everything I got 2 say :D Stay Frosty❄️ BAIIIIIIIIII

[mysticstarlightduck]

Seven Sentences Sunday! Writing Share Tag! <3

Thanks for the tag, @rickie-the-storyteller!!!! I know this is a 7 Sentence Tag but I am too lazy so I'm gonna treat it as a Writing Share tag lmao

I'll go with a snippet from Arrows of Nightfall for this one (:

Snow crunched underneath Asrius' worn out, heavy fur-lined boots, as he trudged through the frozen trail. The ground was covered in thick blankets of white, frost crawling up the treetrunks and tinging everything around him with cold. The trees were barren, their ashen branches creaking in the howling wind, their fallen leaves long since turned to wet mulch under the thick snow.

The familiar smell of burning wood from scattered campires was the only welcome he had as he neared the war camp once more. It would've been comforting, if it wasn't followed by the faint smell of roasted venison and the cheers of the older soldiers sharing their vast, filling portions in the main tent. None of that feast would ever make its way to him, or to his cousin.

That, the Commander had made damn well sure of.

All that Asrius had to keep him and Eirian from starving in these frozen wastes were small, dwindling stashes of dry meat and stale old bread, and whatever small critter - usually a hare or a phesant, though now, at this point in the winter, where the forests had turned into a deserted death trap, he wasn't above hunting for rats - he could manage to kill and smuggle into camp without being spotted by his so-called comrades. If he was lucky.

Today, he wasn't lucky.

His hunting escapade today had left him with nothing more than weary, frost-bitten bones and empty hands, his entire body protesting the unwanted effort after the grueling scouting missions the Commander had not-so-generously burdened him with. Nothing. He'd gotten nothing. And he knew what awaited him in their small, shared tent in the far edge of camp - Eirian, his cousin, barely eleven winters of age, and their tiny stash of supplies hidden under an old pack. Today it wouldn't be enough for half a meal for even one of them, let alone them both.

He'd have to take a risk. To steal from the more favored soldiers, the ones gathering around the main table. The ones who loved to beat him up, and whose cruel laughter seemed to be the backdrop of his life nowadays. He'd have to try. Maybe he could swipe a pastry or two from the feast the others shared, sneak it away under his cloak. He hoped they were drunken enough that such an act would go unnoticed.

Asrius tugged at his cloak so it wrapped more tightly around his shoulders, as if the rough hewn cloth could offer something akin to warmth in this weather, with the wind slashing at his skin like icy daggers. Each step he took closer to the main tent felt like a battle against his own instincts screaming at him to just stop. But he couldn't afford to stop. If he did, he and Eirian would be soon to become like those corpses that seemed to litter the edge of the roads, gaunt husks reaped by illness and hunger, drained of life.

He refused to let that be their fate.

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[noturlondonboy]

We Lived Our Time // part one.

We Live in Time/Bishova crossover

Masterlist

SPOILER WARNING: the summary and tags for this fanficiton contain spoilers for We Live in Time. As does the actual fic, because yeah. Do not continue reading from this point if you haven’t seen the movie yet and don’t want spoilers.

Chapter summary: Kate and Yelena have their last conversation before it comes time to say goodbye.

Chapter warnings and tags: angst, terminal illness, death, sick Kate, coughing, choking, difficulty breathing, bad lungs, lung disease, established bishova, married bishova, baby Derek, grief

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: sad Bishova warning sorry gang

• • • • • • • •

The last few moments of Kate Bishop’s life were painful, but if she had the chance, she’s (mostly) sure she wouldn't change it.

“I’ve never actually gotten to say goodbye before.”

She tilts her head to the other side in a slow movement, where her wife is sitting next to her bed. They had officially put Kate on hospice a few weeks ago; being stuck in the hospital only made her feel like shit, more than usual, and the feeling was only amplified when her life expectancy shortened from six months to one.

Yelena’s expression is a careful mask, one that Kate has learned how to read through perfectly. Their hands tighten around each other from where they lay on the bed by Kate’s hip, finger tangled and palms flush. Kate’s breathing is deep and slow. Her chest rattles with each measured inhale, wheezes with each controlled exhale.

God, everything hurt.

Kate doesn’t quite know how to reply. She’s been feeling like that a lot lately- when she’s not up in the middle of the night with her face stuffed into her oxygen mask, or struggling to feed Derek his carefully chopped baby food with weak, trembling hands, there’s a tick in her jaw. So many words, so many thoughts and ideas and wants, and so little time for any of it.

This was probably the worst time for Kate’s usually constant flow of verbiage to suddenly dry up. She would be angry if she had the strength for it.

No words, English or Russian or otherwise, can ever make up for any of this.

“I love you,” is what Kate eventually comes up with. Her words are soft now, slower, like the languid draw of syrup in a straw. Her lungs feel like that these days. Thick and dripping with a rancid sludge that no amount of raw, painful coughing will ever dislodge.

Yelena’s lips tighten into a thin line, and she blinks harshly a few times in quick succession, but the frosted glass-like quality that had settled over her eyes the moment Kate received her diagnosis last year doesn’t dissolve.

The silence would be deafening if they weren’t both already so used to it.

Yelena is twisting the silver band on her finger- the only ring she can ever get herself to wear anymore- and her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, threatening to stain pearly white with bright red. Kate weakly removes her hand from the blonde’s and brings it up to her cheek, which she finds no resistance in doing. Yelena always noticed the moment Kate’s psychicallity changed. For as lethal as she was, she was twice as attentive. Her fingers loosen and allow her wife to lift her arm from the bed before Kate seems to even realize what she herself is doing.

“Stop that,” Kate murmurs, her thumb pressing gently on Yelena’s lip until it's released from its confines. The brunette brushes over it with the pad of her thumb, wishing that her own failing body could soothe the pain in her wife’s eyes.

”I’ve never gotten to say goodbye before,” Yelena repeats again after a moment. Her face and voice are haunted, and Kate wants to scream from the knowledge that her beloved might never smile the way she used to again. Even if she did, Kate won’t be around to see it.

”I guess you’ll get to say goodbye this time around, then, huh?” Kate rasps, a cough slowly budding in her chest. She can always feel it as it grows, a ball that starts between her ribs and pushes and pushes and pushes its way through her organs and her bones and her blood until it can’t be contained any longer. This one is oozing through her at a low, creeping pace, taking its time to growl and prowl before it snatches her away.

Yelena finds her hand again, her collapsed palm over Kate’s knuckles as she holds both against her cheek and presses her lips to the pale skin of the brunette’s wrist. Kate’s pulse is thready and terrifyingly weak against the Cupid’s bow of her mouth. “I don’t- I don’t want to say goodbye, Kate Bishop. I don’t.”

”You don’t have to. I already know.” Kate wets her lips for what feels like the first, millionth, and last time, but as always, they stay cracked and dry. “Just be here with me. Stay here with me.”

Yelena notices her efforts and procures a water bottle from the bedside table, but Kate gives a wobbly shake of her head at the offered sip. As thirsty as she is, as she always is, she knows that swallowing anything would only worsen the cough that’s slowly getting bigger underneath her sternum.

There’s a dreadful sense of foreboding, of knowing, buried deep in her stomach, that this ragged choke of breath will be her last.

She had already said goodbye to the rest of her family. Clint and Laura and the kids had spent the week before in the city, with Natasha and Bucky popping in several times at random points. Wanda and Pietro and the twins had given her a massive, albeit very careful, Maximoff group hug. Agatha and Rio had delivered a freshly baked casserole under the cover of darkness- their best form of an apology for not being able to save Kate from the confines of her mortality.

When she had first gotten sick, Greer, Franny, and Charli had spent several days with her, cramming in as many activities as they possibly could before Kate became too ill to properly function on her own. She had hugged and kissed her best friends, nodding along to the promises of visitation, and had seen them a few times since, but those last few days had been her true parting with them, and she knew they felt it too.

Her parents weren’t difficult at all- all it took was a drive to the cemetery, where Kate laid herself over the cool surface of the Bishop joint headstone and murmured a vague promise to see them soon.

Derek was a different story, and Kate knew saying goodbye to her son had possibly been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. It was only made worse by the fact that he didn’t understand the situation, and the knowledge that he could never truly know or remember the mother that had birthed him. It hurt more than the stabbing itch in her lungs ever possibly could.

And Yelena. Her Yelena. Her wife.

Her sweet, strong, good Yelena, who’s beautiful eyes were distant as she once again chewed on her lip, both of her hands holding onto one of Kate’s.

The cough is growing more prominent in her chest, and Kate feels a flare of panic, her fingers tightening around Yelena’s wrist. “Baby,” she rasps, eyes darting over the face she loved most. “Baby. Yelena. I love you so much.”

Yelena’s brow furrows, and she picks up on the note in Kate’s voice immediately. “Katie?” she whispers gutterly, every fiber of her body trembling. She shifts closer so that she’s sitting on the bed with her, their hips pressed together. Kate swears she can’t feel her legs.

She was supposed to have a few more days at best, another 24 hours at worst, but now? Now? She was leaving now?

Yelena was not ready to be a widow in more ways than one. She was not ready for any of this at all, and she wished she could rip the universe in half to fix it.

“Baby,” Kate says again, her voice tight, nearly a wail. She doesn't want it to be like this. She doesn’t want to be afraid.

Yelena, always two steps ahead, leans down to rest herself on Kate’s chest, her strong arms snaking around her body to hold onto her tightly. Never mind the fact that her squeezing restricts Kate’s lungs- Kate already can’t breathe for shit, and they both know it.

Yelena seems to have realized what Kate already knows to be true.

The cough erupts from Kate’s lips in a sharp, choked sputter of air, her eyes squeezing tightly shut. Yelena presses close and holds her and holds her and holds her, nearly crushing her to the bed because Kate is already dizzy and in pain and dying anyway, and the only way Yelena could possibly do anything to make it worse would be to leave Kate to do it on her own.

It hurts the way a dull blade hurts, aching and still sharp, stabbing through her body and making her blood fizzle and bubble up. She coughs and she coughs and she coughs, until the air stops coming and her heart stops screaming for it. Yelena is sobbing as she holds onto her, her face pressed into Kate’s neck as the pulse fluttering against her cheek starts to give out. Vaguely, she can hear Derek crying in his room across the hall, awoken by the sound of his parents in anguish. Oh god, why didn’t they have him staying with Laura and Clint? Or Agatha and Rio and Nicholas?

“Kate Bishop, I love you,” Yelena cries, every nerve ending in her body on fire as she holds the most important person in her life in her arms and watches the life drain from her face. “I love you. I love you.”

Kate clings to Yelena until her arms stop working, but the pain has faded by then, and even as her body continues to shake and struggle, she lets herself look. Just look. At Yelena, her wife. At their room, in their house. At the life they had built together, however short it had been.

Before her vision darkens for the last time, Kate swears she sees the glassiness lift from Yelena’s eyes, and the golden hazel she sees there is the color she hopes will greet her in death.

What Kate Bishop had not been expecting was to open her eyes again- especially not in the middle of an English countryside chicken coop.

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