#my therapist would be so proud of me for actually posting this

[party-hearses]

i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 1

i'll bury us both, fed to the night as ghosts

series masterlist | next chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, ex!Tommy Miller x f!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

Summary: After your two year relationship with Tommy Miller ends, Joel takes you in — and it’s home like you’ve never quite known before. 

Series Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, language, infidelity, eventual smut, age difference, soft!joel, AU - no cordyceps outbreak, Sarah doesn’t exist (sorry), Tommy stans don’t come for me

Wordcount: 5.8 k

A/N: I’ll be honest — I have no idea what I’m doing. I haven’t written a fic in damn near 20 years, so I’m just kind of throwing this out into the void to see what happens. I'm playing fast and loose with years and ages; it's 2023 and there's no outbreak. Also, not a personal fan of the ‘brothers’ trope, but…here we are. 

…I can’t wait until your next business trip…

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes as hard as you can. Who even uses email to have an affair, anymore? 

…miss your hands…

The words are hot against your eyelids, seared into your line of vision, despite the dull ache from your own hands. It had been a week, and the wound still feels gaping — all consuming, bitter pain licking at your insides what feels like every minute of the day. 

     “Dammit, peach. I’ve barely seen you in a week and a half, and this is the bullshit you start?” 

     “Oh, so it’s my fault that you’re having an affair?”

     “I didn’t say that!” 

     Tommy’s eyes wild, hands on his hips, southern drawl like syrup over each syllable. 

     “You’re always workin’. In meetings. Pourin’ yourself into spreadsheets and budgets. What  am I s’posed to do?”

     His hands in the air, desperate, shoulders hunched.

     “Still sounds a lot like you’re blaming me.”  

You can feel the tears well up, and you swallow hard to stop them. Do not cry at work. Do NOT cry at work. You breathe deep, the burning in your lungs waning, but not extinguishing. The usual busy noises of your office are absent today, save the soft purr of the air conditioning and the receptionist’s furious clicking at her keyboard. Even the phones are silent; no frantic calls from upstairs to divert your attention from the constant replay of that night. 

Finally feeling steady enough to remove your hands from your eyes, you lock your fingers together and lay your cheek on top of them. Everything feels heavy — your workload, your personal life, your head. Your gaze slowly flickers to the office window, the sunlight streaming through, the heat scorching. It seems to call out to your blood, making you feel restless, agitated, but also so fucking tired.  

Sleep had eluded you since Tommy had left, and you’d barely been able to steal moments here and there, between dinner for one on the couch and the canned laughs of late-night talk shows. How different your life had been even two weeks ago.  

“Did you bring lunch?” 

Abruptly brought back to earth, your eyes snap up to the face of your colleague, Ava. 

“Um, yeah. Just some veggie sticks and hummus. I, uh, haven’t been feeling terribly hungry.” You smile weakly, the attempt at a joke feeling like a weight around your neck. 

Ava nods in understanding, her eyes sympathetic. She had been the second person you’d called the next morning, after your older sister. Kit, five years your senior, had answered, already sounding distracted by her two young children. 

     “Well, girl, I can’t say I didn’t tell you so. Getting involved with a man seventeen years older than you…” 

While Kit had been hard and borderline disinterested, Ava had served as a warm landing for your sobbing, rushing to the empty apartment on a Saturday morning to soothe you. 

“It’s Friday. We can duck out early, grab a drink? You could use one, and Jackson isn’t back from his meeting upstairs.” Ava checks her watch, confirming. “It’s not like anyone will even miss us.” 

Ava is dependable, fun, beautiful. Her cool California attitude compliments her chic New York style, but she had called Austin home since college. She could wrap anyone around her finger with ease, and her insistence on being your friend made your heart clench. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” You nod solemnly, tears now pricking at your eyes from the tenderness you feel towards her. 

She meets the tenderness with a wide grin. “Knew you would, doll.” 

As you turn to gather your bag, a sudden lightning bolt of fear strikes you. 

“Av, what if he’s there? What if we see him?” 

She swallows down a laugh. “Tommy Miller? Downtown?” She leans closer to you, raising her eyebrows. “He wouldn’t be caught dead at Taquero Mucho. Not willingly, at least.” 

Ava is right, as always. The lush pink floral interior and neon signage on the walls of the restaurant do not, and would not, mesh with Tommy Miller’s bearish sensibilities. You instantly feel more at ease, letting Ava order pink, fruity drinks for the both of you. 

One cocktail turns into two turns into three, and the warm buzz in your veins settles your mind for the time being. Ava sits across from you, happily munching on tortilla chips and chattering away. 

“I couldn’t believe Belinda said that! Like, retire already, grandma.” She grins, rolling her eyes. 

You chuckle, only half hearing the story she’s been telling. Noticing, she gently shifts in her seat, drawing closer to you. 

“Doll, I’m sorry to have been chatting your ear off. You know how I get. Let’s hear- ah, wait!” She notices your empty glass, and as if she had snapped her fingers, the server materializes. 

“Two more, please.” She nods toward the server, who rushes away to put the order in, lest they keep Ava waiting. “Okay. So… what are you going to do? We need to get you out of that apartment. And since you refuse to stay with me…” 

Your gaze drops to your hands in your lap. If you thought crying at work was bad, crying at lunch was worse. You clear your throat, eyes catching your chipped fingernail polish.  

“I don’t know, Av. He- it’s his apartment. It’s not like I don’t make enough to get something on my own, but… I don’t know. It all feels so empty.” 

Ava nods as the server places two more pink cocktails on the table. Mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ to him, she reaches for it before responding.  

“Where’s he staying? And for how long?” 

“His brother’s. Said he’ll give me as much time as I need…but I don’t want to be there anymore. I don’t feel like I can be. Maybe I should get out of Austin?” 

Ava raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. You can’t let him run you out of town! That’s outrageous. He’s not even worth that.” She rolls her eyes again. 

You reach for your drink, sipping it slowly, willing it to quiet the bitter fire in your blood. 

     “Peach, come on. I- I didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything. You’re gonna throw two years away over a one time thing? A-a mistake?” 

     “It should have never happened, Tommy! Fucking a client? And I know it wasn’t just once! What the fuck were you thinking?” 

     Tommy’s eyes soften, but he doesn’t speak. His hand goes to the back of his neck, kneading. 

     “Guess I wasn’t thinkin’.” 

Tommy had shattered you. Betrayed you. Split you open and cut your insides out. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say that he wasn’t a good man. Complicated? Yes. Hard to read? Yes. Prone to making colossal fucking mistakes? Absolutely. But you knew, deep down, that he wasn’t bad. 

You shake your head at Ava slowly, sadly. “I don’t know what I did wrong, Av. Two years. I don’t know what happened.” 

Your eyes well up, and this time you can’t stop the tears. You sniffle, wiping them away quickly, as Ava puts her hand on your forearm. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, doll. He’s the one who fucked up. He’s the one who ruined everything.” 

“H-he said I work too much. I’m ‘not there’ enough. And…and…the worst p-part is, I don’t think he’s wrong!” It takes everything in you not to wail. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, trying to focus on the in-out in-out of your breathing. 

Ava signals for the check, another of her magic abilities. You can feel the server’s eyes on you as he brings it, quietly clicking his tongue against his teeth. Another sad drunk girl. Tsk, tsk. It’s barely 3 o’clock. Ava hums softly, scribbling her signature on the receipt. 

“There’s not a justification in the world for what he chose to do. You worked hard for your career, busted your ass to be where you’re at. It’s no excuse for him to have a full-blown affair with a client.” She closes the receipt inside the booklet and stands. “Now let’s get you home, so you can cry it out in peace.”

Unlocking the door of the apartment fills you with dread. The key feels unwieldy in your hand, and you consider for a split second whether it will feel daunting or freeing to give it back to Tommy. You let yourself in, the apartment hauntingly empty — just as you had left it, just as it had been for the past seven nights. 

You’ve only spoken to Tommy sparingly over the course of the week. A few short texts here and there, mostly about the logistics of the arrangement you are both now navigating. He had left for Joel’s late the night it happened, a duffel bag slung low over his shoulder, slamming the door on his way out. 

     “This it, peach?”  

…miss your hands…

 Dropping your bag next to the front door, the tears don’t stop once they start.

Ava had offered to come up, but you knew you couldn’t let her. She didn’t deserve to have to wallow with you, no matter how much she wanted to be there for you. 

 It had been a good distraction, lunch with her, but you still didn’t know what your plan was. Where you’d be going, where you’d be living. 

Hugging yourself, you shuffle into the guest bathroom to wash your face. After Tommy had left, you’d moved everything you needed out of the main bedroom and bathroom, suddenly feeling like a trespasser there. 

     Had he brought her here? Did she sleep in this bed? Did they talk about the future together? What does Joel think?

The last question to run through your mind catches you by surprise, a small gasp escaping your lips. What does Joel think? 

If Tommy was stoic and gruff, Joel was downright intimidating. You’ve only seen him smile a few times, and you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard him laugh. He wasn’t, however, unkind, taking to calling you by the same nickname Tommy had, albeit a bit awkwardly at first. Like he couldn’t form his mouth around the languid, round letters - p e a c h. Angular as he was, he had always made you feel welcome, in his own, quiet way, teasing Tommy about you being out of his league. The familial resemblance was strong between the brothers, with their dark waves and warm eyes. But something about Joel made your soul clench, as if he had curved his fingers around your ribs and impressed himself upon your heart. He was comfortable, in a cloudy way — never revealing himself, but not pressuring you to, either. Amicable silence, as it were. 

Thinking about Joel calling you out of Tommy’s league makes you scoff, now. 

“The rich client with the kitchen remodel isn’t too out of his league, is she?” You mumble to yourself, cold water pooling between your palms. 

     “I don’t want it to end this way, peach.”  

     “I didn’t want it to end at all, Tommy.” 

 You bring the water to your face, scrubbing away the salt of dried tears and sting of betrayal.

The sun had dipped below the horizon when you wake up later on the couch. Fumbling for your phone with one hand, you rub your eyes with the other. As you check the time, your phone alerts you to two new text messages, delivered two hours ago.

Tommy Miller: Will you be home tonight? Tommy Miller: I need to stop by to get a few things. 

Your hands tremble as you read and reread the messages. You rub your eyes again, unsure if you’re understanding the text in front of you clearly. It doesn’t change. Panic rises in your throat, searing and sour. 

A vicious cross between fury and complete despair surges through you, and you drop your phone into your lap. Tears pinch at the backs of your eyes. Forget figuring out where to live, you hadn’t even considered how you’d next face Tommy.  

     I don’t want to see you, Tommy. Do you want to talk? I’ll be out, feel free to drop by. Please come home. 

You weigh your options, constructing and dismantling multiple messages. Retrieving the phone, you pray he can’t see that abhorrent blue bubble that indicates you’re typing. That shows him you’re there. 

As if he’d read your mind, your phone vibrates, his name and picture flashing on the screen. The picture gives you pause — a day you had spent on Lake Austin, the wind whipping through his hair, a broad smile on both of your faces. You feel like you’re going to be sick. 

Focusing on your breathing, clenching your teeth, you accept the call.  

 “Hey, Tommy.” Your voice is small. So small. You feel your cheeks burn at how stupid you feel. You should be screaming at him — biting back the venom he instilled in you — but all you can manage is barely a whisper.  

He sounds relieved. “Hey, peach. Didn’t know if I’d catch ya.” 

You hum discontentedly. How can he be so cool about this?  

“Uhhh, well, I, uh, need to stop by the apartment tonight to grab some things. Would that be okay?” 

You don’t know what to say. Would it be okay?  

“It’s your apartment.” 

The response surprises you, that same venom bubbling over without your permission.

Tommy sighs. 

“I don’t want it to be like this, darlin’. Can we talk? Please?” 

“Can you make it here without sleeping with a client?” 

Tommy laughs hollowly. “Guess I deserve that. Sassy today, huh?” 

You picture him then, on Joel’s couch, fidgeting with the hem of his button down with his free hand. Pressed against the cushions, eyes to the ceiling. Gently annoyed with you for ignoring his texts. Football would be switched on in the background, and your heart thrums when you think of Joel being there, watching him. What does Joel think?   

You clear your throat, refocusing your attention. 

“Let’s get this over with, Tommy.”  

Sassy, indeed.

It was easier to be hard over the phone, joined by nothing more than wires somewhere in space. But as Tommy stands in front of you now, elbows on the kitchen island, hands stretching towards you, all you feel is the velvety pull of attraction. The soft lull of two years spent shrouded in each other. 

His voice is low, but soft — practically a purr. 

“Baby. How do we move past this?” 

You don’t meet his gaze, wrapping your arms around yourself. Looking at anything but him, anything but those warm eyes. You know that if you do, it will be over. 

“Tommy…I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if it’s that easy. You had an affair. You didn’t forget to take the trash out, or-or-or make a shitty comment about my friends. You slept with someone! You had a relationship with her.” Your voice is measured, eyes dragging from the floor to the ceiling. Avoiding. 

“What can I do, peach? Please, just tell me. I’ll do anything.” 

 “It doesn’t change what happened.” You cross your arms over your chest, defiant now. “It won’t change what happened.” 

Exasperated, Tommy slams his hand on the counter, drawing his body to its full height. He’s broad — so broad — his shoulders squared. 

“I get it, okay? I fucked up. You’ve made it clear. Joel has made it clear. I fuckin’ get it!” He clenches his fists, bringing them up to his face. “I fuckin’ get it.” 

You drop your eyes instantly as your pulse quickens. “What do you mean, Joel made it clear?” 

Tommy sighs, deeply, not removing his hands from his face. “Joel will barely fuckin’ talk to me. Can’t get more’n two words out of him. Said he doesn’t blame you for bein’ done with me. Said I know better. And you know what? Yeah, he’s right. I do. Can’t even argue with’m.” 

You hum cooly in agreement, your pulse thrumming in your ears. There is a sudden acute awareness of the change taking place in your perception of Tommy following his words; he’s been wrenched open and put on display for you, and the need to step back from the jarring offering is nearly suffocating.  

“Okay. Okay.” Hands falling to his waist, revealing his eyes. Bloodshot, tired. Surrendering, but sharp. His voice, softer now, velvet dipped in whiskey. “I’m sorry, peach. I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. I wish I could take it all back. I…I know I really fucked up.” 

You hold his desperate gaze for a moment before lowering your eyes to the floor again. 

“Tommy… ” His name splintering across your lips. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” That small voice again, cracking. Shattering. Sparkling pieces scattered across the kitchen floor around your feet. Meeting his offering with outstretched, empty palms. Nothing left to give. 

He drops his head, tucking his chin to his chest, and exhales a shaky breath. “Okay, peach. I hear ya.”

You can see his eyes bright with unshed tears. This is the softness that you know, that you’ve craved. The hushed tenderness that you’d shared beneath bed sheets, woven between fingertips brushed against silk skin, delicate whispers in the dark of a once shared bedroom.  

As good as strangers, now. 

The silence settles between you, mourning both what once was and could have been.

When the door closes with Tommy on the other side of it, it feels final. An unfamiliar liquid sense of relief floods your veins, and you breathe deeply. For the first time in a week, you feel like you can suck in enough air to actually fill your lungs. You hadn’t recognized the somber, weepy creature you’d become, and you were sure no one else had, either. Ava had treated you like you were made of glass, afraid you would shatter at any moment. And as much as you had needed that, your stomach twisted into knots at feeling so helpless. Ending things with Tommy — officially — felt like giving yourself permission to dig out the shards and stitch the wound.  

You take in the room around you - a blanket strewn across the arm of the couch, wine glasses littering the coffee table, bottles lined up on the floor in front of it. You shake your head, in something that feels a little like disbelief. The reality of leaving this apartment - your home - had begun to truly set in, but the question of where you would land hung heavy in the air. 

Of course Kit would take you in, if she wasn’t multiple states and thousands of miles away. Ava was an option, having offered her couch to you almost the moment she found out, but you had leaned so heavily on her already that taking more would have made you feel too guilty. A hotel would be too expensive for an open-ended move out date, though the prospect of not having to make your own bed or wash your own sheets was tempting.  

Dropping yourself onto the couch with a heavy sigh, you begin to aimlessly scroll through the contact list in your phone. You know, deep down, that it’s for show, though you don’t know for who. You know, too, that you’ll end up at Ava’s, despite your unwillingness to do so. 

 You lean back, pulling your legs up and stretching them across the cushions. Reaching across the empty wine glasses for the television remote, you click it on before throwing your arm over your eyes. You don’t care what’s on, you just need the sounds. Of people. Of laughing. Of life. Resigning yourself to calling Ava in the morning, you slip into a restless, dreamless sleep.

The Saturday morning sun finds you still curled up on the couch, your legs pulled close to your core. Without opening your eyes, you drop your hand to the floor, feeling for your phone. Finding it nestled partially beneath the frame of the couch, you bring it up to your face, cracking your eyes as little as possible to check the time. There’s a missed call, and when it catches your attention, your eyes fly open completely. 

 Joel Miller - 1 Missed Call & Voicemail

“What the fuuuuck… ” you mumble, swiping to your calls app and bringing the phone to your ear. 

“Uh, hey peach. It’s Joel. Gimme a call back when you get this.” 

You can’t quite place his tone of voice, and your hands tremble as your brain rolls through all the reasons he might be calling you. Did something happen? Is he angry that Tommy is still at his place? Is he angry that you ended it with Tommy? Is he going to try to convince you to take him back? You play the voicemail again, to see if you can catch any stormy inflections in his deep voice - though you glean nothing more than a hazy awareness of the hunger coursing through your blood when he speaks.  

Finally sitting up and crossing your legs beneath you, you stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity. It’s not that Joel scares you, but you don’t know of any time that he’s called you for any reason. Worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth, you finally press the little image of a phone next to his name and wait for the call to connect.

“Yeah?” Joel’s tone is curt, and you can tell he’s at work based on the construction noises you hear in the background. It sets your teeth on edge. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself. Steeling your nerves.  

“Heyjoelit’s-” you manage to squeak, before you recognize the quiet way his breath hitches. 

“Peach.” and he’s soft. So soft. Softer than you’ve ever known him to be. And it’s your name on his tongue; honeyed and heavenly. You could drown in it. 

“Hi,” you whisper. “I’m just…returning your call.” 

He doesn’t answer immediately, but you hear the opening and closing of a door, the groan of an office chair, and then silence. You would think he’d hung up if you couldn’t hear his deep, even breathing. 

“Peach,” he finally says again, and your skin flares. He clears his throat. “I—there’s— you doin’ okay?” His words are rushed, clumsy, as if he’s trying to get them all out at once. The thought that Joel Miller has anything to say to you, much less too much to say to you, clouds your mind. “Could kill Tommy. Fuckin’ bastard.” 

You laugh once, idly. “I’m holdin’ it together, Joel.” 

“Attagirl.”  

Your skin prickles, and you draw in a surprised gasp. 

He continues, unaware of the change in your breathing. “Look, I, uh, know you’re busy, so I’ll get t’the point. I’ve got an extra room. For you. If ya want it, I mean. I know you’re tryin’ to get out of Tommy’s place, and I’m not lookin’ to rush you or anythin’, just..wanted to offer it up. Rent free, ‘n all that.” You imagine him running his hands through his hair as he stumbles through his speech, clenching his teeth. “Least I could do, with my brother bein’ the dickhead he is.” 

Oh. It’s pity — he feels sorry for you. You bite your tongue, sink your fingernails into your palm, force yourself to focus through the haze in your eyes. Stupid. Stupid girl. 

“Joel, I—” 

“I know ya probably have friends you can stay with. I’m not tryin’ t’be weir — peach, is this weird?” He’s lost in his own thoughts, but stops abruptly when the question escapes. He sounds just as surprised by it as you are.  

 It hangs in the air between you for a moment, and you relish just slightly in the idea that he’s floundering.  

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.” you reply, gently. “I’m okay to figure something out on my own. I’m a big girl.” 

“Oh, peach, no. No.” His response is quick, and firm; without any hesitancy, or a second thought. “Don’t for a minute think I don’t know how capable y’are. I know you can, I just don’t want you to have to.” 

 His words sizzle across your flesh, urgent and pleading. They leave you feeling dazed, unsure of the reality of the conversation. Your eyes flick to the furnishings of the apartment, desperate for something to ground you. Trepidation clutches at your throat, rendering you speechless. 

Joel shifts in his chair, and you hear him let out a long breath. “I- I know we don’t know each other. I feel like I’m scarin’ you, darlin’.” 

You shake your head, grasping for what to say. Chest tightening at the thought of his worry, the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them. “What would Tommy say?” 

It feels like a condemnation; speaking it aloud, between the two of you. As if it would make Joel suddenly realize how wrong it was, to ask this of you. To offer this to you. 

“Tommy doesn’t get to say anythin’.” His whisper-soft tone now a growl, clawing at your insides. It covers you from head to toe, and you feel, for the first time in a very long time, shielded from the hurt. A hurt that exceeded the past week, or Tommy entirely. A hurt that was buried so far inside yourself that the aching reminder it even existed left you reeling. Tears prick at the back of your eyes, and you silently scold yourself for crying again. 

The silence on the phone is comfortable, as if Joel knows that you’re digesting everything he’s saying. True to his word, he’s not rushing you — just sharing the space with you, allowing you to take it all in. 

A loud knocking sounds from his end, and it snaps you out of your trance. 

“Shit, sorry peach. I gotta go.” He sounds further away, muffled; the intimacy of the conversation shattered, as if you had imagined it altogether. 

Then, abruptly, his warm, inviting timbre restored: “Please think about it. Bye, darlin’.”

 “I mean, are you thinking about it?” Ava questions, her eyes on the shirt she’s folding. She’s cross legged on the floor, while you stack books in the cardboard box at your feet. 

It hadn’t occurred to you how little you had to call your own, until you had to put it all in boxes.  

You don’t respond to Ava’s question immediately, instead chewing on your bottom lip gently. Turning it over and over in your mind, formulating the most diplomatic response. 

“How bad would it be if I was?” You avoid her eyes, which you know have turned to daggers at your back. 

It’s her turn to mull the question over, bobbing her head side to side as she considers. 

“Tommy’d be pissed.” It’s pointed, but not malicious. Honest. “But…we don’t care what Tommy thinks anymore, do we?” 

 You drop your head, smiling mildly behind the curtain of your hair. No, we in fact, do not. 

“Plus, he’s very…handsome.” Ava chooses her words carefully, but you know to read between the lines: Joel is fuckin’ hot. “The whole ‘older man’ thing really works for you, babe.” 

“Kit would be more upset than Tommy, I guarantee it.” You laugh softly, unable to help yourself. You get cheated on by someone more than fifteen years older than you, and immediately move in with someone even older? You imagine your sister tutting at you, ever the mother-figure. 

“No doubt.” Ava rolls her eyes affectionately as you turn to her. You plant your hands on your hips and survey the bedroom around you. “Seriously, though, how would the…logistics of living with Joel work? Would you, like, have dinner together? Hang out? Be friends?”

You laugh, despite the anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t know, Av. I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’m kind of hung up on the whole ‘moving in with my ex-boyfriend’s brother’ part of it all.” 

Now it’s her turn to plant her hands at her hips. “Are we still harboring some feelings about Tommy Miller, doll?” Her eyebrow quirks. 

“Av! Come on. We spent two years together! I’m not just gonna get over it like that.” You snap your fingers before bending down to close the now-full box below you. 

“You know what they say…the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Ava waggles her eyebrows, and you laugh, full-bellied, at her levity. “You’re a fox, girl. Believe it or not.” 

You roll your eyes, shoving the box out of the door of the bedroom, into the hallway. 

“And he’ll be helping you move all this, right? To his house?” 

“Nope!” you chirp brightly, “that would be you, babe!”

Kit, as you had anticipated, is not thrilled about the idea of you moving in with Joel. You call her from your office phone on Monday morning, gripping the receiver so hard your knuckles are white. 

“Are you kidding? How are you even entertaining the idea?” Her voice is unflinching, and you tap the fingers of your free hand against your desktop, mildly annoyed. 

“I’m 28, Kit.” You remind her, as you always do. “I’m the one who would deal with the fallout. Not you. Besides, it’s not like I have a ton of options.” 

She scoffs, and you can imagine her rolling her eyes. “So you’ve told him yes, then?”  

“No! That’s why I’m…taking a survey. Feeling it out.” You mumble, “You’re obviously not on board.” 

Kit sighs, drawn out and heavy. “I know you don’t care what I think. I know you’re an adult. I just…worry about you. I’m so far away, and if anything happened…” 

You cut her off. “I appreciate that. A lot. But at some point, I have to take care of myself.” 

“I don’t think moving in with a 50 year old man qualifies as taking care of yourself.” She’s trying to be delicate, you can tell, but her remark is biting. 

Twirling the phone cord around your fingers, you purse your lips. 

“Why don’t you come stay with us for a bit? Maybe an extended vacation?” You can picture the sticky countertops, loud toys, an uncomfortable pullout couch. And Kit’s husband, awkward and gangly, never shutting up about ‘the economy’. Kit sounds somewhat hopeful, though, and it makes your heart quiver. 

“Kit…I can’t leave my job. The one stable thing I have going for me.” 

 “They have finance jobs here.” 

 “I’m not letting Tommy run me out of Austin.” You echo Ava’s words, an indignant feeling rising in your chest. “I’ve got a whole career here. This is…a minor setback. If I do move in with Joel, it won’t be for forever.”    

She laughs softly, but you clock the reluctance. 

“I promise. I’m okay. I am okay. I will be okay.” 

Kit pauses. “You’ll tell me if you’re not?” 

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.” 

“Well,” she clicks her tongue against her teeth, “best of luck, peach. It sounds like you have your mind made up.”

You shove the last box into the back of your Subaru, and dust your hands off on your leggings. 

     “Are you absolutely sure you’re okay with this, Joel?” 

     “Yes. Stop askin’ me.”   

      “If I’m too much, at all, I don’t have to stay.” 

     “Peach.” It’s a warning. “It’s Tommy that I need out of my space.” 

Calling Joel back to accept his offer had been harder than every other aspect of moving out of Tommy’s apartment. Once you and Ava had packed all of your belongings, you stood back to observe — and it was like you had never lived there in the first place. The only thing that truly felt different about the space was that you knew you didn’t live there anymore. You feel a pang in your chest thinking about how Tommy would feel without you there — you didn’t know if him missing you or not missing you would be worse. 

“Anything left?” Silas, Ava’s boyfriend-du-jour asks, from your elbow. 

You shake your head, pulling down the hatch to close the back of the car. “Just the key. Which you don’t have to stick around for.” You give him a watery smile, feeling the weight of the day through every muscle in your body. 

He nods. “Cool, cool. I’ll grab Ava. We can meet you over there?” 

You hum in agreement before turning back to the building. Going up the steps to the second floor feels mechanical, a recreation of the thousands of times you’ve done it before, and your legs carry you automatically. The last time, now. Pulling in a large breath, you exhale through your nose, centering yourself while you click the door open.  

Sunlight streams through the windows, bathing everything in the late afternoon light. You glaze your eyes over the room, not searching for anything forgotten, but committing it to memory one final time. You recognize that it feels less like a chapter closing and more like a freefall into something entirely unknown — into the mouth of something that lurks beneath the surface, teeth gnashing, ready to consume. 

Leaving the key on the kitchen island feels like an offering to that dark entity, but you’re ready — willing — to tumble headfirst into it. So you do, with no grandeur, and no looking back, just a deep breath out and the millstone around your neck lifted. 

Joel’s truck isn’t in the driveway when you arrive at his house. Ava is posted up against her car, Silas still in the driver’s seat, arm out the window at her waist. You wave as you pull up, masking the fear radiating through your extremities. 

You throw the Subaru into park, and Ava jogs over to meet you. Her eyes are wide, but kind, as you close the door behind you. 

“Okay?” She asks, her hand gentle on your arm. 

You nod, swallowing hard. “Feels kinda surreal, Av. But I’m good.” 

Brushing her off, you make your way to the front door. There’s an envelope clipped to the mailbox, ‘peach’ scribbled on the front of it, and your hands shake as you grasp it. 

‘I wanted to give you some space while you got settled. Your key is in the envelope. Make yourself at home — I’ll check on you in the morning. —Joel’ 

Your heart flutters as you pull out a house key, with a keychain in the shape of a peach threaded through the top of it. Your breath catches in your chest as you run the metal through your fingers, tightening them around it. If Tommy’s key had been an anchor, Joel’s feels like a lifesaver. 

Blinking back tears, hands still shaking, you slide the key into the lock and twist. 

Eat your heart out, Tommy Miller.

#my therapist would be so proud of me for actually posting this #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller tlou #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal fanfic #tommy x reader #joel miller x f!reader

[whore-for-chris-evans]

I lack the wisdom required to write this fic, but I hope someone skilled enough takes the initiative to.

Have any of you ever thought about Steve Rogers waking up from the ice and not going back to fighting?

He wakes up, Fury tells him he needs him, and Steve makes a choice for himself and says no, at least for now. Fury respects that choice, Steve gets a therapist (a good one, not Dr. Christina Passive-Aggressive Raynor) and uses his second chance in life to do the things he actually wanted to. Art. History. Maybe he goes to college again.

On top of all this, he figures out the internet (come on, he's a smart man. He's not gonna be clueless forever) and you know golden boy Steve would jump at the chance of using social media for a good cause.

And I also think Steve would be great at debates. The fucker (affectionate) has a way with words. He's also a nerd. He's well informed and has quick thinking skills. He gets into online fights a lot. Tweets and retweets a hell lot.

Gets Tumblr. (Steve would love tumblr don't lie to me) Reblogs things like it's his last day on earth. (But somehow makes sure to utilise the tag feature perfectly so everything is organised).

Some dudebro makes a misogynistic comment and he's there to verbally drop kick Dudebro into the next week.

Somebody makes an offhand comment regarding something historical and Steve gets his trusty motorcycle and drives his star spangled fine ass to the library and the next day there's a video circulating the internet of him citing sources (down the page number, paragraph number and line number) to prove why the offhand comment was grossly incorrect.

Someone angrily reposts his tweet saying "THAT IS NOT THE AMERICA OF MY DREAMS TALKING" and Steve proceeds to respond with "I'm a person. I can't be a country. What I can try to be is a good human being." and then absolutely demolishes the other person. (Yes to Steve reclaiming himself as Steve Rogers and not Captain America)

He also posts art. Like, everyday. But it gets slightly overshadowed by everything else he does and says.

He has a separate Instagram. For more personal stuff. Pictures of himself? Rarely. Pictures of birds and animals and trees and sunrises and sunsets? Absolutely. Pictures of the cat and the dog he rescued and now is a proud dad to? Everyday. (He's definitely a both person.) Maybe someday he'll step out of his comfort zone and start going live. Everyone loves him. Everyone rational, that is.

He stays away from tiktok.

2014. Fury shows up at his apartment and gets shot. Something stirs in Steve's brain as the masked assassin catches his shield. Those eyes seem familiar. Despite his reservations, he jumps back into the fray. The whole CATWS thing happens.

He finds Bucky. Brings him home. Fights tooth and nail for the charges against him to be dropped. He's got 70 years of military back-pay, he's got no problem getting the best lawyers (Matt Murdock is definitely among them) for the love of his life.

Anyways Bucky is set free. Moves in with Steve. People start gushing over him too. He stays out of Steve's internet life at first, but then the old Bucky comes back little by little. Maybe he'll join the livestreams. Maybe he'll make an Instagram of his own to post more of Steve.

People, being people, start shipping them. The two of them have a good laugh over it.

One day, out of nowhere, Steve shows up on one of his livestreams wearing a wedding ring. Comments go crazy. Bucky joins him on the couch, throws an arm around his shoulder, flashing his own matching band, smirking lazily.

The rest is mayhem. But they don't care. For Steve, life is perfect.

[I'd love to see Steve Rogers vs internet troll he'd eat that up]

I hope the good Steve Rogers authors see this. This has potential I think.

#steve rogers #steve and bucky #bucky barnes #stucky #steve rogers and bucky barnes #captain america #marvel #avengers #chris evans #sebastian stan

[metfell]

<- posts about c!beeduo still in 2024

🕊 RIP old pinned 9/24/2020-5/7/2023 you had a good run o7 🕊

CARRD | PRONOUNS.CC | KO-FI | TWITTER | FR LAIR 68141

BOUNDARIES AND ASK FAQ BELOW THE CUT:

BOUNDARIES:

I block liberally. please don't ask me or my friends why I have you blocked, it's probably nothing personal.

I am not going to tell you how I figured out I was a system, and I am equally not qualified to tell you if YOU are a system.

I am not a therapist I am just some guy(s).

Do not jokingly insult me if we are not friends. Do not call me bitch, whore, slut, etc. I do not know you. Even if we're mutuals, please ask me first.

Dreamwastaken fans do not fucking interact. honestly in general cc!dreamteam fans do not interact.

You can ask me to tag for anything, though I may say no. I will sometimes ask you why you want something tagged, and that's so I can better accommodate that tag in the future. if you do not want to divulge that information, that's fine with me I get it, it's a personal thing.

Spam asks will be IP blocked. This means you will never be able to send me an anonymous ask again. Think before you send me an ask.

Please keep comments about my art in the tags, not the body of the post.

Spam liking/reblogging is perfectly fine, I don't mind at all. Just queue or reblog my art if you're going to spam-like it.

Ask me for permission before using my art in edits or stimboards.

Icon usage does not require asking me, but please add credit somewhere easily visible like your description or pinned post.

I don't use tone indicators unless I believe my message could genuinely be misinterpreted. Examples would be sarcasm or teasing.

If you do use tone indicators with me, please put the whole word. Examples: "/copypasta" "/joking" "/lighthearted".

FAQ:

Q: What art supplies do you use? How long have you been drawing? Do you do commissions?

A: I use 8x11 Strathmore Sketch books, and a very very large collection of Copic, Arrtx, and Ohuhu markers. For paintings, I use Strathmore Bristol paper in either size 11x14 or 18x24, and a mixture of various liquitex acrylic paints. A: I have been drawing since around 2010! A: In general, no. However, I actually will take commissions if you message me through Flight Rising and trade me treasure, gems, or rare apparel items! My Flight Rising followers get only the best <3

Q: Can we be friends?

A: Despite how extroverted I may seem, I'm actually incredibly nervous about speaking to new people. Send asks off anon, add tags to my art, and just hang out, and I'll probably consider us friends! If not, it's nothing personal, I'm just cagey.

Q: What is with the Ranboo's secret tumblr bit?? ..... Are you?????

A: No, it's just a running joke from 2021 lmao. Ranboolive has his own actual tumblr now but people just love pretending like I'm still his secret account

hey guys I made a new pinned are you proud of me anyways like the post if you read all of this

#pinned #tags for mobile navigation: #beeduo posting #metfell art #text #fern text #boss text #stelle text #bell text #ran text #flashing gif

[wingedcat13]

Synovus: Siren Call (1)

[Surprise! Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me! I took a break from writing these for a bit, but I did want to get through the idea I had about something from Minerva's perspective. This one is in third person, set after Villains Never Retire. No idea what I'm talking about? Check out the first of the Synovus works here! There'll be a bit of a delay, but this one will join the rest of the Synoverse up on Ao3 here. How many parts will this be? I've learned my lesson, I'm not estimating.]

Minerva had stopped expecting her life to be ‘normal’ before she’d graduated High School.

When at 16 you were already having to downplay your physical strength to avoid taking doors off of their hinges, and realizing that you could never, ever join the swim team even if you could absolutely destroy any of the times they posted, there were a few other things your mind put together in the background.

Like the fact that you would never be safe again.

Hiding things about herself wasn’t exactly conducive to the kind of relationship she wanted, so romance was dead. That was fine at the time, actually, most of the people she’d been interested in had turned out to be more interested in… well, a variety of things ranging from other people to free emotional support. The point was, she’d been more upset by the idea that any of her personal goals for a career were now permanently marred by the terror that she’d have to do some kind of blood test that would brand her as a ‘cape.’

And that it would have to be hidden was never even a question. Sure, there were heroes around who people were proud of when she was younger. But every so often, those heroes would go out to fight, and be seen again as scorched remains in a crater left by a man called Sunhallow. Other villains, too. People said he was targeting anyone who might be a threat to him if they didn’t work for him.

Kids in her classes had mostly made fun of the costume.

Even after Sunhallow’s disappearance and rumored death, when she was in her senior year, people were wary. Things like Sunhallow didn’t just die. They always came back. There was always a second shoe to drop.

And no one knew about her then, not yet, so she thought maybe... maybe she could live a little?

Going off to college had felt like the last chance she had at any degree of ‘normalcy’ and even that was tempered by the gnawing sense of something missing, something wrong. She’d put it down to anxiety about her classes and pushed through it, sure it would eventually pass.

Minerva hadn’t been a teenager for about two decades now. But that sense of… something missing had never really gone away.

She'd experimented with drinking and with a few variations on marijuana, and a variety of at-home remedies like aromatherapy and meditations. She'd tried a therapist, twice, even though she felt like she couldn't tell them everything about herself, and she knew that kind of defeated a lot of the point of therapy. And that gnawing feeling continued, until it seemed stranger to imagine a world without it.

There were times it was so muted, so quiet that she could forget about it - when she was in a fight, or diving, or when Alexandria had been little. Sometimes Albion could drive it away, and make her feel sane.

But she’d never felt quite as… at peace, as she did when she was in costume. That was the only time, the only place, that the sense of something missing really faded away.

Plenty of people had told her that every cape had something deeply wrong with them, to be the kind of person to do what they did. Minerva had never corrected them.

—-

“You’re awake early.”

Minerva glanced over one shoulder, unsurprised to see Synovus draped against half of her doorframe. She’d left the door open, and Synovus was very carefully on the edge where she could shut the door in their face, if she’d wanted. Trying not to be an intrusion, even as they unrepentantly stuck their metaphorical nose into her business.

“Judging by your face, you haven’t slept.” Minerva said critically.

Synovus made a noise of mock dismay, and Minerva risked giving them a closer look. Yes, the bags under their eyes were more pronounced than usual, and their hair was a barely-contained mess, but none of that worried her. The haphazard state of their clothing was, frankly, par for the course around the island these days.

“Evil never sleeps, m-Minerva.” The slip up was slight, covered for quickly and smoothly. Once, she wouldn’t have caught it. Now, she knew Synovus better.

‘My Dear Minerva,’ they’d almost said.

Minerva ignored it.

“I’m taking that trip to the mainland I talked about.” She explained, turning her back on the most confusing human being she’d ever known in favor of checking her case’s contents for the third time.

Synovus hummed, and Minerva stiffened on reflex. She relaxed almost as quickly, but still mentally scolded herself. Synovus hummed when they were uncertain of themselves, not to try and trap her into an argument. They’d said several times that she was both welcome to stay and to leave at her discretion.

This was normal. This was fine.

“If you should… need anything, while you’re out there-“ Synovus was picking their words carefully, skirting around potential condescension or worry to come off as affable, almost disinterested. It didn’t really work.

“I will be fine.” Minerva says firmly, turning to glare if need be.

Instead, she meets Synovus’s gaze. Their eyes are clear for the moment, no shadows flickering, no lights swirling. Instead, the only thing she sees in them is… confidence.

“I know.” Synovus says, and even the faint lilt of humor isn’t enough to hide the certainty in that statement. They clear their throat, “I have no misgivings about your strength and ability to use it, Lady Minerva. But, should you wish to be better than ‘fine’ while out and about in the world…”

They trail off, and Minerva wonders, idly, if it’s possible to push them so far into discomfort that they start using ‘thee’ instead of ‘you.’ She’d rather think about that than the sheer faith Synovus had in her, and what that might mean aside from further proof Synovus was -

There were too many ways to finish that sentence. Her mind rejected all of them with a studious determination before Synovus realized she wasn’t going to finish their sentence either.

“… you will call?” They asked softly.

A few months ago, Minerva might’ve sneered at the implication she would ever ask Synovus for anything. But then she’d been captured, ‘outmaneuvered’ by a pair of up-and-coming villains with a hostage trick, and then each and every one of her backup plans came crashing down when her daughter had been thrown into a trap right beside her.

And then there had been rain in the desert, and the sound of a Villain’s taunt ringing through the spire’s PA system, and eventually - Synovus themself, there to take both of them home. Even if they’d had several reasons to do it that had nothing to do with her, or Alexandria.

“One day, Minerva.” Synovus had murmured then, “I'm going to prove to you that my affection for you is not a trap”

“I’ll call when I’m on my way back to the island.” Minerva said coolly now, closing a mental door on the reverie. “If only so you don’t wake your entire staff in a panic.”

Synovus winced. A week prior, the sensors that alerted any Cape’s approach to the island had mis-triggered, mistaking a particularly dense patch of seagulls for someone with flight making an unauthorized approach. Watching the way everyone leapt to alarm stations and fell immediately into place had been impressive. Watching a sleep deprived Synovus throw their helmet at the birds (and miss) once they’d realized what had happened had been hilarious.

"Who's panicking?" The bleary voice comes from behind Synovus, and they shift aside to let Alexandria through.

Minerva's wayward teenage daughter looked like she was still contemplating waking up - like her body had just gotten ahead of schedule, and the rest of her hadn't caught up yet. Synovus ruffled her hair affectionately as she passed.

"No one yet, though the night's still young." Synovus replied, while Alexandria stepped forward to hug Minerva.

Minerva was still trying to learn not to hug too tightly, every time something happened. Logically, she knew there was nowhere in the world safer than Synovus's island. And she knew her daughter could defend herself.

But Minerva had been afraid of losing her long before she'd ever been born, and that fear didn't die easy.

"It's seven in the morning." Minerva scolded over Alexandria's shoulder.

Synovus frowned, and made a show of finding their phone to squint at the time it displayed. Their frown deepened, as though they had caught the bit of technology lying to them.

Alexandria had shifted from a full hug to standing to one side, still leaning on Minerva. "I'll call Rosie." She threatened. The yawn that cut her off kept her from living up to her chosen moniker.

Synovus shrugged, slipping the phone back into a pocket. "I won't sleep any faster if they're yelling at me." They point out. "Anyway, your mother-" It was always 'your mother' in front of Alexandria, "-agreed to call ahead on her way back. So we don't get another birdstrike scenario."

"It'd be more like the time with the dolphins." Alexandria remarked. Minerva raised a brow, looking from her daughter back to Synovus, who turned both hands palm up and looked mildly chagrined.

"Nevermind, I'm sure I don't want to know." Minerva says, waving it off both to avoid the headache, and because she's still itching to get going.

Alexandria knows the tone well enough - she gives Minerva another squeeze, then slips away to join Synovus by the doorway. She yawns again, and calls back over her shoulder, "Tell Gran and Gramps I said hi."

When she's gone again, Synovus and Minerva consider each other - one hesitant, the other wary. After a moment, Synovus extends a hand, offering, "Safe travels."

Minerva checks their palm for a sign of something they might be trying to slip her before shaking it. "Thanks." She said flatly.

And if she finds herself rubbing her fingers on the walk down to the beach, well, it's a subconscious tic. Unrelated.

---

There’s a common phrase that’s worked it’s way into becoming a whole saying.

“You never forget your first.”

For most people, that’s a marker of a degree of intimacy - a first crush, a first kiss, a first sexual experience. But it holds true for other things as well - like a first horrific allergic reaction. And arguments can be made that that’s all love really is, anyway.

Among the caped community, there’s a different list of firsts. The first person you told about your abilities. The first time you found out you had abilities. The first other hero you’d ever met. A popular ice breaker at parties is ‘the first person you ever saved.’

Less popular are the counterpoints: the first person you couldn’t save. The first villain you encountered. The first time you had to choose in the heat of a moment, and you chose wrong.

For Minerva, a terrifying amount of her caped ‘firsts’ have the same name - Albion.

He’d been the first person to find out about her abilities, and the first powered person she’d ever met face to face. A misunderstanding wherein he thought she’d been swept out to sea by a riptide and she assumed the figure dropping from the sky was out to get her had resulted in a very confused half-fight, wherein they’d saved each other from their own nonsense.

She’d thought once that that was how it would always be - saving each other. Things had turned out more in favor of the slap-fighting and misunderstandings.

—-

Minerva is working up the courage to get out of her car when her phone buzzes.

Alex: So how’s it going?

Despite herself, Minerva smiles, just a little. She can’t put her finger on why, and doesn’t try to.

Min: I’ve only just gotten here. Haven’t even knocked on the door yet.

Alex: Okay, then how was the drive?

Min: It was fine.

Minerva grimaces. That feels insufficient. She wracks her memory for something else to add, but the drive was hardly anything, nothing stands out. Before she can come up with something else, there’s a response:

Alex: Y’know, I should’ve offered to fly you over.

Minerva raises an eyebrow.

Min: And why’s that?

Alex: I still want to let you talk to them alone and everything, but they could’ve just seen me drop you off, and been like “who’s that really cool goth girl?”

Alex: And you could say something like “I have much to tell you” and bam, ice broken.

Min: Is Synovus giving you advice on dramatic entrances?

Alex: You never told me that one time they stole a whole cruise ship for the ambiance.

Min: Is that what they’re calling it?

Minerva’s mouth twitches again. Yes, Synovus had commandeered a cruise ship, and spent the whole fight spouting off about how it was good to have ‘variety’ in one’s combat scenarios. They’d also convinced part of the ship’s entertainment crew to set up a big ‘reveal’ of who had taken over the ship, as though anyone else would’ve bothered to think of musical cues.

She’d been tempted to sink the ship.

While Alexandria goes briefly radio-silent - presumably to grill Synovus for more details on the cruise ship story - Minerva looks up towards the house she’s never seen before.

It’s a relatively unassuming one-story. It’s ten minutes on foot from here to where the coast starts, and she could have her feet in the water by the fifteen minute mark. The sound of the waves is different here than it is on the island - there aren’t any cliffs or underwater tunnels, only the long smooth curve of a beach made more of rocks than sand. It’s soothing.

A twitch of a curtain in one window reminds her she’s looking at the house, not the ocean. Mentally, she scolds herself for wasting time.

She allows herself one last white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and one last deep breath.

Then Minerva gets out of her car, and goes to talk to the parents she hasn’t seen in seven years.

—-

When Minerva became a hero, it went something like this:

She’d always been a strong swimmer. Her family lived near the water line, always, so it wasn’t unusual for her to come into contact with the ocean at least once a day, when the weather was fair, and rain or snow when it wasn’t.

Her parents had always seemed overly cautious about calling her out of the water before it got too cold, or before she could get too tired, but that’s any child’s perspective. She wouldn’t get sick from a bit of splashing around, even if there were frost films on the windows and flurries in the air. And as she got older, they trusted her to know her limits more and more, and her confidence had only grown.

Which was why, when they’d seen the small crowd gathering at the road not far from where they lived at the time and heard the murmurs that someone had been swept out to sea, Minerva had been absolutely certain that she could save them.

She’d gone home, put on her wetsuit, and been out of her window in minutes. It wasn’t hard to find a cove out of sight of the news crews and nervous watchers. And even as the light was dimming, she didn’t feel afraid.

Because once Minerva was in the water, nothing could touch her.

It wasn’t as though she didn’t feel the currents, the motions of the waves - she did. They just didn’t have sway over her unless she allowed it. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t tell the light was darkening, or the temperature falling - she could. They were just minor shifts, like the movement of a sunbeam across her arms while she read in the windowsill.

So Minerva had swept out on the same current that had ripped a man from the shallows, and looked for the signs of a person’s floundering.

This, admittedly, had been the weakest part of her plan, because she had no idea how to find someone in the vast expanse of potential that was the ocean. All she really had going for her was that she was fast, could manually follow the currents, and didn’t get cold. And, she eventually realized, she might’ve been looking for a corpse instead of a person, and how would she find that?

Those doubts had just had time to start to settle when she found him.

Minerva never did learn his name, but he was a few years older than her, there visiting his family, which was why he hadn’t known the signs he needed to look out for. He knew what a riptide was, and that he was supposed to try and swim parallel to shore to escape it, but everything happened so fast and it was so cold, that all he could really do was tread water. At least, that’s the story she got out of him as she towed him back to shore.

The only time her courage had faltered had been when he’d asked for her name, after she’d brought him to the secluded cove, and directed him towards the crowd.

“You saved my life.” He’d explained, still dazed and weak. “Who do I - how do I thank you?”

And there had been a sudden feeling of ice water down her spine, as she’d remembered the stories of what happened to people who were saviors.

“Tell them a Naiad saved you.” She’d called, moving back into the waves. “It’s true enough!”

There’d been speculation that he misheard her, and that her name was ‘Maya’ for a while. But in the end, the story faded - and Minerva never forgot.

—-

There’s no good, simple way to repair a cut tie with someone you love.

Whether things frayed until they snapped, withered and disintegrated, or were cut cleanly, that thread can never be respun. You have to start over, and try and weave with the tangled threads of what’s left.

Sometimes the threads are still the same color - soft pastels of passing friendships that blend well enough when they’re given the opportunity. Sometimes you find that while you weren’t looking (and sometimes when you were) the threads have been dyed, and the red that meant love once has been shot through with the purples of bruises and resentment, its original hues shifted to rage. That was what Minerva expected to find, when she came home. That’s what most of her own tapestry looked like these days, after all.

Instead, she found the golden honey color of home.

—-

It took a few hours for them to all wind up at the kitchen table. They’d covered for some of the awkwardness by showing her the house - her father’s most recent crochet project, pictures of last year’s garden, how her mother had finally decided to organize the spice cabinet after six years of deliberation and relabeling.

(She’d frowned and swapped two canisters while Minerva’s father wasn’t looking, and Minerva nearly cried at the familiarity of it.)

Then had come the insistence of refreshments, of warm drinks against the coolness of the weather. The porch was a bit damp, and the living room a bit dark, but the table was mostly clear so long as she didn’t mind shuffling aside a few skeins of yarn, would that do?

And so they’d settled in, as the rain drummed softly into the roof and dripped from the overhang that shielded the window. And her father had taken a breath, met her eyes, and said,

“We love you. And you don’t owe us a damn thing.”

Minerva had blinked. That wasn’t what she was expecting.

Her mother nodded firmly, adding, “Not an explanation, not an apology - if you want to talk about any of it, Min, you know - I want you to know - that we’ll listen, anytime, anywhere. But if all you want is to come over for dinner, then that’s all we’ll do.”

Minerva stared at her cup, trying to think of where to begin. What would be polite - no, they didn’t stand on manners with family. What would be right- well, by whose standards? What did she want?

Finally, she croaked, “I think I - I want you to ask.”

And so they did.

And so Minerva told them.

She told them about how she’d become slowly convinced that her continued nearness to them was putting them in danger. She told them about how Albion was always reminding her of the need to be cautious, the importance of not ever being caught. She told them about how sometimes he’d bring up the Sunhallow purges, and try to make a plan for what they’d do if it ever happened again.

She told them about how he’d begged her to make the move, citing crime rates and health statistics and population graphs, anything to get her to concede they would be better - safer - away from the city, further inland. If not for her, then for their child. And how she’d eventually caved, because if he was so worried, and this would bring him more peace of mind, then she could bear it. It would keep the people she loved safe.

She told them about how she’d tried to look into finding a place near water - a lake, a pond, a river. Every time, Albion had assured her that he was keeping that in mind, but that he’d handle it, really. She didn’t need to stress, especially when she was keeping up with so much otherwise. He admired her for being able to manage so much, the house and the hero gig, and could he just do this one thing for her?

She told them about how the house had been twenty minutes away from the nearest large water source. About how she’d begged him for something - anything. A koi pond. A pool. A goddamned well.

“Think about how that would look to the neighbors, ‘Thena.” He’d said worriedly. “I know you - you get underwater and you don’t come out for hours. They’ll think you’re drowning yourself.”

So they’d bought the largest tub she could find, and she’d spent as much time as she could submerged in it, staring at its porcelain sides and the bathroom lighting and feeling like a fish in a bowl. She’d told herself it was a selfish thought.

She told them about how he would sometimes grab her too roughly, or slam things around her. Sometimes it was a joke, played off as training her instincts. Sometimes it wasn’t.

“I just - you’re the only person in the whole world I can let my guard down around.” He’d muttered to her, mid-apology after a shove had left her sternum aching and purple. “I love you so much, I don’t stop to think.”

Somehow, she’d wound up being the one comforting him.

And she chokes out how having accepted those reasons made it easier to believe them herself, when Alex had the occasional bruise. When she reached out to slap her hand away from something, or pulled a bit too roughly. It felt like validation for everything Albion had said - look, it was easy to fall into. It didn’t mean anything.

It happened all the time.

And there was no one, by then, to tell her otherwise, because friendships were liabilities and risks that they couldn’t take, because it wasn’t right to endanger others with a secret they would never share. There were no work friends. No PTA rivalries. No soccer parent associations.

There was only the house, and the freedom that came from going out in costume. And even then, there could be no interviews, and every statement had to be carefully measured so that no one - not a villain, or a civilian, or even another hero - could learn something they shouldn’t.

Laying it out like this, Minerva realizes that it’s no wonder she only ever felt like herself in a fight. It was the only time she didn’t have to hold back any part of who she was.

She’s expecting her parents to condemn her for not realizing when she’d turned from - (her mind skitters away from the term ‘abused’) bystander to accomplice in Albion’s behavior. She’s expecting hurt that she didn’t trust them to make their own decisions about risks. She’s expecting them to say they taught her better than this.

Instead, they listen. Even when there are times one or both tightens their grip on their mugs, or wrestles to avoid showing some emotion (because it is no mystery where she got her temper; none of them are strangers to righteous rage) they do not interject outside of the quiet, prompting questions. And when she finally stumbles to a halt, before she’s even gotten to Synovus and the kidnapping, her mother comes to kneel beside her and wrap her arms around her, while her father stands at her other shoulder and does the same.

“You’re free now?” Her mother asks, running her fingers through Minerva’s hair. “You and Alex both?”

Minerva nods. She clears her throat, enough to force two words out, “Albion’s dead.”

She realizes that there’s an implication there, that she wielded the spear that killed him. The idea doesn’t hurt as much as it would’ve once - but neither of her parents so much as blink.

“Good.” Her mother says firmly. “Then that’s all you need to focus on right now, Min. No matter how long it takes you to untangle the knots he’s tied you in - you’re free.”

—-

Truth be told, Minerva doesn’t know when her parents figured out she had powers. For all she knows, they had known since she was born.

But one night, when she and Albion had been staying with her parents for a week, and they’d gone out to fight, they came back to see one of her parents on the porch, the other in the windowsill.

“You’re both alright?” Her father had asked.

No surprise. No exclamations. No how-could-yous. Concern. Acknowledgement. A reminder of when breakfast would be ready.

And that was that.

—-

The guest room in their new house isn’t the same as a childhood bedroom, but to Minerva, it feels similar. She’s under their roof again, with all the reflexive memories and half-forgotten ones tugged along with them.

She had expected to feel… well, different. Not good, probably kind of bad. And she didn’t feel lighter yet, the way people said confessions were supposed to make you feel. Instead, Minerva felt… raw. Sticky. Like the truth she’d tried to ‘set free’ had just come back to cling to her.

She was too emotionally exhausted to try and parse that. Better to get some sleep, if she could.

Minerva unzipped her suitcase, flipping it open on the bed. Her suitcase, that she’d checked so many times over. The suitcase with all of her clothing and things in perfect organization, untouched.

And a postcard sitting loose on top of them.

It had to have been custom-made. There was no stamp, for one thing, no actual postal markings. Just the same shape and size, with the same stylized ‘Wish you were here’ emblazoned across a picture… a picture of Synovus. On the beach. In full costume. With the necessary additions of a woven wide-brim hat and loose Hawaiian floral shirt left unbuttoned, on top of the helmet and body armor. They were holding a glass of juice with a little umbrella and a silly straw.

Alone in this bedroom that wasn’t hers, but might’ve been, Minerva burst out laughing.

#Synoverse #Siren Call #Naiad #Synovus #tw abuse mention #Did I sit on this for an absurdly long time? #Yes #Did I know immediately that I wanted that fucking postcard to be in this piece? #Also yes

[thickenmyblood]

I don't know how to thank you. This feels like the end of an era. I can't believe it's been 4yrs since you started posting hiuh and I was instantly hooked. It literally got me through the pandemic. I learned so much from the story and felt I had Neo as a therapist(the best in the world). You must be flooded with asks now but I am really curious how the story formed in your head. It's hard to believe how consistent the story is as you posted chapter by chapter. Did you outline the whole story when you started? did you stick to all the original ideas? if you changed your mind what were they? It really is a master piece - much much better than many published books I read and I hope you will publish someday, if that's what you want.

I'd also offer you my first born to have an epilogue. hopefully lamen with their child(ren) playing on the beach and Nicaise being the doting big brother. they all grew so much and deserve all the happiness. oh and Kastor and Jo and Galen for big family gathering. I'm so proud of all of them.

thank you thank you thank you for all your patience and genius and mostly, generosity.

hello!!!! i'm so happy that my story resonated with you and got you through some tough times. it did the same for me!

It's hard to believe how consistent the story is as you posted chapter by chapter.

thank you!! it will never be as good as it was in my head or as good as I know I could have made it if I had spent more time on it, but for me the most important thing is that it is completed and at least 70% of what I wanted it to be. a win is a win!!!

Did you outline the whole story when you started? did you stick to all the original ideas? if you changed your mind what were they?

i got the idea for a modern au break up fic in 2020 while I was writing and posting wtsioa. i started the story as a 20k one shot and then realized 5k into it or less that it was not going to fit into that word count. the reason was very simple: i did not want a break up fic centered around "miscommunication" in a naive, fluffy way. i did not want to write a fic where the main issue was that one loved the other too much or that they thought the other was cheating when it wasn't true, etc. i wanted to write a break up that felt honest to me, and this meant giving them both issues that felt real, that i saw in myself and in the people around me irl. which meant that it would take them both considerably more than 5k to get over them (if they ever did).

i outlined the fic very roughly. my first drafts . . . they are not it, girl. like, anyone that has read wtsioa knows that. I'm a much better editor than I am a writer, so for hiuh i outlined the main beats (nicaise calls damen after months, damen goes to therapy, nicaise is out of control and some incidents happen, laurent is dating maxime, they get back together). then, i wrote the entire thing in . . . a year? maybe less? then, i made a mistake and got cocky: i edited the first three chapters and started posting on ao3. that's why the fic took so long to post. i had to edit each chapter a lot after the first three were released.

i edited out too many things to count. things you wouldn't believe if I told you now because they make no sense when looking at the finished version. idalia was a pretty big character, and so was jokaste. in the og outline, I debated between claude/heavy drugs for nicaise. i almost named dog NIKANDROS!!!! damen actually punched aktis at the party when he talks shit about laurent . . . which led to him also punching nik. laurent slapping nicaise once. aimeric and damen baking together. then, there were things I wanted to write but couldn't because they didn't feel very real to me, despite being the best self indulgent daydream scenarios ever: damen hunting claude down (yeah, ruth wanted this to happen), dog getting sick, aimeric's EVERYTHING lol, nik and nicaise talking, etc.

thank you for sending this ask and reading the story through all the ups and downs and... lack of updates on my end!!! it has been the best experience ever, knowing that someone out there is reading and cares about what I made. thank you!!!!!!!!

#anon #hiuh #about the epilogue: i feel you #someone asked me what lamen telling nicaise would look like #but I WANNA KNOW WHAT THE PEOPLE WANT OKAY #bc i already know what happens inside my head #some people were pissed about the cut off ending but i think it just gives the story such a hopeful note

[mousydentist]

my favorite fics that i wrote and why

So, first I'll explain. I'm gonna being reccing my own fics which I'm not super sure how to do cause I mostly just yeet shit on ao3 and let the fates decide, and I'm never sure what's like, too much? Like I see other people rec their own fics and I'm like (O O) how do i do that. Like idk why I have this resistance to like, telling people that I like my own fics? So today I said fuck that, everyone's gonna know now.

And I've just been doing not so hot recently for a number of reason and I figured like, I've been obsessing over so much, why don't I get to be excited about the good things? So anyway, these are my favorite fics that I've written, not just the ones that have done the best or whatever, just my personal favorites, so without further ado...

(quick fyi, all of these are locked so you need to be logged into ao3 to view)

First up is sorry that i can't believe anybody really starts to fall in love with me , don't ask why the name is so long I just like the song lmao. This one's special to me cause it was my first KPTS fic. Is it the best? No. Does it have a super deep meaning? Nope. But it's cute and it's mine so I love it. Next!

the imperfect art of making it. Very self indulgent. I wrote this for the endorphins fic fest which gave me the motivation to write, but really I just loving transing my characters, and soft KimChay deserves lots of love.

Next up, do you look up to the sky? My first whumptober fic and the first one I wrote bc as soon as I looked at the prompts I was like "oh Kim's getting locked in the fucking basement for sure" and then he did! Success. Also KimChay are a pstd4ptsd couple, I won't be taking questions at this time.

This is getting longer than I thought it was gonna be but fuck it, I told myself I was doing this to remind myself why I like writing and that I do actually enjoy it so the longer the better tbh bc it means I really do love it. It's not a bad thing if all of my fics have a special place in my heart, right?

Ok last of the non dead dove ones is i should have kissed you. I don't exactly have a reason, I just think it's a good fic.

The next ones are dead dove cause I have two modes which are cute fluff and illegal <3

chay and kinn and chay. This thing is my baby. I love him with my whole heart. I wrote him in discord messages on my walk to and from classes. This is one fic that I would not be ashamed to say I've read several times over. This is the fic that I think of when people say "write the fics you want to read." This was also a spite fic which makes all of that even funnier lmao

Willow Dancin' On Air. This one's not dead dove but it is KimVegas so eh. But this is another fic I wrote purely for myself. I just wanted some fluffy lil somethin somethin and now every time I listen to this song I think of this fic

Ok last one, Why minors shouldn’t gamble. This one also started on discord and was written in my notes app at like. 9 am while I was still in bed lmao. Because that's where inspiration peaks. And it's hot idk. omegaverse will never not be be a special interest of mine, hopefully one day we can find out what happens when Kim joins the party, I'm genuinely curious.

OK! So. That was something. Tbh I feel a lot better lmao. My therapist would be so proud of me if I ever told her I write fanfiction pff. Normalize reading your own fics over and over. I'm saying that directly to myself cause I see all these like motivational things about writing and then I don't believe them, what's that about?? Doing this reminded me that I actually like the things I create, highly recommend. Now I'm gonna get myself a glass of water cause for the next maybe 12 hours I'm changing my life!! I'm doing self care!!! Woo hoo!!!!! Now to post this before I remember that other people can see it :) Ok bye ✌️

#ao3 #fanfic #my fic #kimchay #kinnporche the series #still havent learned how to tag on tumblr #good enough

[velvette3]

Draft #2

WARNINGS: long post, rant post, mentions of sh and suicide, and a lot of other things, personal rant(s), LIKE REALLY LONG POST, please do not read unless you think you are comfortable with repetition, and idk what else. I am a warning in itself.

(4/2/24) (mentions of sh and suicide)

It’s 1:38 in the morning. I don’t really know anymore. I’m just so worried I won’t amount to anything. My stepsister has always been better than me at everything. I still remember my middle school and high school years when I heard my mother and step-father talking shit about their kids, about my step-brothers. But I hardly ever heard them utter a bad word about my step-sister. I became something I didn’t want to be in my high school years, in hopes I could live up to my sister, hoping maybe it would make sure I wasn’t the next kid they talked shit about.

I already knew at the time that they didn’t really take me seriously back then. Not when it came to my morals anyways.

At times when one or the other was driving, I would have to text the other. And that was when visiting my father was mandatory. So every once in awhile, the message would pop up “you pick up the brat yet?”

I know they never meant it in that way. At least I hoped not. But honestly being someone I wasn’t, and being someone I’m not still, to this day, it sucks. I hate having to pretend to my parents, even to this day, despite my independence. I’m just so worried about acceptance, that I find it hard to face them. I fear telling my parents (on both sides) anything.

Mainly, because when they first found out about the self harm in middle school, it was a difficult situation. They said they wanted to help me. And then they took me to a therapist for a total of three-five times before they said ‘this isn’t working fast enough’ and pulled me out of it. I was always scared of being yelled at when I made mistakes. That lead to me fearing ever telling my parents anything, including my own emotions.

For a long time, once I finally lived with my mother again, I never saw her cry. I only ever saw her angry, or happy. But I never saw her sad. That made me think that being sad wasn’t normal, or that, I shouldn’t be sad about anything because she wasn’t. The reason she hid any of her sadness was because she didn’t want her own child worrying about her.

But her hiding her own emotions from me made me feel like I had to suppress mine as well. So I never trusted my parents with my emotions, either.

But I guess it didn’t help that they always said I was either ‘overreacting’ or just being a ‘drama queen’. Go this day idk if they were right, or if they were just, avoiding it.

I don’t know which one I’d want it to be. Because if they were wrong, and that my emotions were actually valid, what would that mean for me? For them? Would it make it seem like they had neglected my own emotional and mental well-being? If they were wrong, if they thought because of my overreacting and drama queen the fancies that my emotions weren’t valid, then what is the limit to validate emotions? What would it have taken for them to stop accusing me of overreacting or being a drama queen?

They never made me feel valid. They still don’t. The only good throng I’ve done so far with my life, is get good grades. It’s been so long since I heard one of my parents (step or not) say they were proud of me, so when they got the letter in the mail about my good grades in online schooling, when that happened and they said they were proud, I almost cried.

It’s strange.

For a long time back in middle school-high school, I desperately wanted to die. I didn’t want to live in a world where everyone would judge me for my smallest of mistakes and ignore my feats.

I knew that, being the youngest, I was my parents last chance to have a child they were proud of. Everyone else but my stepsister had failed to be a kid that my parents were proud of (or at least didn’t talk shit about). I knew that if I didn’t want to be talked shit about, I’d either have to leave, or change.

I was so done, with the world. I hated myself for my failures, I hated the way I had been raised. But I also hated myself, because I had no reason to. Im not living on the streets, I have a family, I have food, I had shelter. I shouldn’t have been sad. “It couldve been worse”, as the mentality goes. I didn’t deserve to be sad, and it made me feel worse. I felt like all I was doing was trying to gain attention, even though that’s not what I wanted. I thought I was being selfish because of my own emotions, and it still gets fucked in my head sometimes.

Back in my freshman year of high school, a girl (which for the sake of her identity and name I will not be naming), had hung herself in her closet. Rumor was because she was having problems at home.

Way back in middle school, even. A girl in my 8th grade year tried to kill herself. She planned it all out. She wanted to hang herself in the bathroom, and if she couldn’t do that, she had some sort of sharp object to try and slit her throat. She couldn’t hang herself, and she cut her throat, barely enough to bleed. It was not deep or long enough to kill her, only to sting. When her parents saw the injury on her neck, she got in trouble for it, and was threatened to sent to a mental hospital, with padded walls.*

I knew both those girls, in a sense. And I knew that the one from high school had it worse than I did. I felt shitty. I felt like I had no reason to be sad.

Like I had no validation, because I wasn’t supposed to show that much emotion in front of others, because what I learned from my mother without her knowing, was to surppress the sadness. I want to amount to something, I want to be something my family can be proud of. I don’t want to be the next disgrace, I don’t want to be the person without control of her emotions. I don’t want to become a failure because I lost, or because I couldn’t do what I needed to do.

4/5/2024

Time is going by so quick, it’s killing me. Just today with my grandmother. I went to stay with my father for the weekend, so I’m going back to her house Sunday night to spend the eclipse with her. But as she left the house which I’m staying with my father and his girlfriend, I feared ‘what if this is the last time I see her?’

She is less than 20 years younger than my GREAT grandmother who died only a few months ago.

I love this grandmother with all my heart (I’ll call her grandma J from now on), and I’d hate to see her die, at all. I’m literally going to see her on Sunday, only two days from now, why am I worrying so much? Why did I wonder if it would be the last time I see her?

I’m so scared. I’d be lost without her, she has been my rock for a long time. Even though she is heavily Christian, and I don’t feel as connected, I always feel better after spending some time with her, (whether we speak of God or not). I grew up, spending every other weekend with her instead of my father, because he wasn’t able to take care of me where he lived for a long time. I lived with Angela (another grandmother of mine who I HATE) for the first seven years of my life. Spending every other weekend with my Mother, and the weekends I didn’t spend with my mom, I spent with Grandma J. Things have changed heavily since then, I barely remember that time in my life.

But my grandma J. She means everything to me. I always leave her house happier than when I left it. No one else does that for me.

I’m so, so fucking TERRIFIED, of who I’ll be, where I’ll be mentally, when she’s gone.

I’m so so scared…

(4/8/2024)

It’s 12:41, so technically eclipse day. Had a serious talk w my grandmother. I told her I was Ace, (not the pan-romantic part, but yk) and she was pretty okay w it. Especially when I told her I wasn’t gonna have children of my own creation (I might adopt, cause I wanna make a home to those kids who don’t have one yk?) and I just got really emotional. It doesn’t matter how many times I fucking say it, I am so scared to lose her. I cried, thinking this may be the last time I see her. You never know. She almost got hit on her way to see me on Thursday last week! I know she might be gone soon and I am not ready for it. It may be a last time for everything, and I’m so so so fucking scared words can’t even describe it. Not through type/text. If I were recording myself, you’d hear my ugly crying, and my voice in general breaking so no. But the point is, I dunno what’s gonna happen. My future, and hers, scares me to death. When she’s gone… I may as well be too.

So if I disappear for a long time, you will know why.

If I go batshit crazy (whether it’s lashing out, or self-isolation, or pretending to be fine [ya know, the stages of grief]) you know why.

This woman is one of my few rocks. My grandmother, and my eldest blood brother, who I shall call ‘E’ for the sake of keeping their identities secret.

I, don’t know what’ll happen to me once either of them are gone. Same with my parents, but I trust my brother and grandmother more than I do them, so it will be harder to lose them, as much as it may seem crazy to say.

I’m scared. I know I keep saying it, but every day I spend, is another closer to my grandmother’s inevitable death. I hate the thought, yet it keeps coming back since my GREAT grandmother died a few months ago. It’s not fun.

I hate feeling this terrified.

I feel paralyzed, like a record skipping, the never ending thought(s).

It’s horrible.

(4/12/24) 12:43 am

I don’t think I’m good enough.

I keep failing myself and others, over and over again. I want to help people, but it’s so fucking frustrating when they won’t accept it. I get it, sometimes it’s hard to accept help. But (per specific example) when I’m asked for help for the smallest of things like understanding some work, and you apologize a million times, it hurts. I hate seeing people I care about apologizing. I don’t know how to help them because they refuse to let me do so. I just, feel like I’m failing them. I can’t help them and it makes me feel like shit.

I wanna help people. At this point, the people I care about, and my drive to help them always, is the only reason I’m alive. The past few years since I last therapied someone, have been shitty. I hadn’t been able to help others and it just went by so fast, and almost without any emotion. It was awful, I felt lost. I lost my will to write, read, and draw. I lost everything about myself. When I picked up drawing again I cried because I thought I lost what little talent I had because it was shit at first. I don’t even know who I am. Am I even who I used to be, or am I a carbon copy of my successful step-sister?

I forced myself to change in high-school so my parents would be proud of me, so that I would be successful.

So I wouldn’t struggle in my future, so I could get a scholarship to college so I wouldn’t be drowning in debt like my mother was most of my life.

I just wanted a steady life. And one without the shit talk my parents would do behind their kids’s backs.

Fuck I’m so tired of it.

I feel so useless damnit. I feel worthless. I don’t want to be here anymore, I just want peace. Because these thoughts, these voice keep coming back no matter what. Telling me I’m not good enough, that I don’t try hard enough and that I’m too lazy, that I make up excuses. But when I try to say I did try, they always say I didn’t push myself enough. I dunno, do I not try hard enough? I dunno. I’m just so sick of this endless battle and I want it to be done. One day I want those people to realize it was an act. I want my parents to realize that they fucked me up. That they put too much expectation on me without their own realization. I want them to know that the therapy they took from me only made it worse. Then being upset over one singular missing assignment (that we’re hardly ever my fault) only made it worse. That threatening to put me in an asylum at the age of 13 only made it worse. That talking shit about my step-siblings right in front of me only made my fear worse. That hiding their emotions from me only made it worse. Cause god fucking damnit I’m scared of you now! I’m scared to come to you for anything! I have to contact my brother, or my grandmother! And one day I might not even have them! You say I can trust you with anything but then you turn around and call me a drama queen, that I’m being too sensitive, that I’m overreacting, making up excuses, being a liar, just being lazy, not trying as hard as you know I can, stop making things a competition.

God damnit, what am I even doing? I’m nothing, nothing but a failure. I should be trying harder but here I am, still being lazy. And I’m just blaming everyone for it when it’s all my fault.

(4/13/24)

^i didn’t move on to someone else four days later. Just because me and my bf were friends didn’t mean we were together. And I never, EVER cheated on her. Sure, I found someone new and he’s my bf now, but at the same time me and her, we both realized we were never romantic with each other. And I broke up with her? She was the one who approached me and said that she felt like her feelings for me weren’t being returned (which was true, I realized. We called each other girlfriends but I felt like she was nothing more to a friend to me) and I thought she was okay with it. Mind you when she came up to me I thought she was going to ask me to an event, but instead she called it off. I thought it would be better suited that way anyways, and we both agreed on that but I did NOT break up with her! And apparently, when she talked to me, she was scared to tell me that I offended her every once in awhile by some things I said (which she never said what do I still don’t know and it’s fucking killing me), ^because she thought I was gonna blow up at her. Apparently I fucking scared them and I don’t even know I didn’t realize they felt that way and just about a month ago I get this message on top of it like.

I probably should’ve realized I was a piece of shit. I was just like that bitch from high school we all collectively hated. God I’m so fucking sorry…

I thought we were still friends. This is a message I got from them through my old asf Wattpad account that is cringe. That I stopped checking until I saw that post today. They never intended for me to read that message so soon. They even said so themselves but fuck.

I’m sorry, to you both. I know you’ll never see this. But I’m so so so sorry, I didn’t realize.

I’m trying I am TRYING to never do this again but I still do this shit to people, don’t I? I just Fuckin manipulate and hurt them. I can’t just, spout off my trauma or whatever the fuck and shit like that! I know that now and I feel so fucking bad damnit… I didn’t realize I promise I am so sorry.

Why didn’t you say anything? I should’ve noticed, you shouldn’t have HAD to say anything after the fact I should’ve just known. Why can’t I see these things? I never see red flags, I never see my OWN red flags and manipulate tendencies until someone points them out. Why can’t I read social cues and shit?

God I’m trying, but I’m not at all, am I?

I just hate that I didn’t realize! I didn’t break up with her she broke up with me! We both agreed it was better, but I guess she was a lot more hurt by it than she let on and I thought we resolved things but. God fucking damnit.

I can’t ever do this to anyone I REFUSE! I can’t do this, I can’t put this pressure on people ever again, I don’t want to push them away. I never want this to happen again I don’t want to hurt people like this again.

I lost my two closest friends. And I didn’t even fucking realize it.

Fuck I don’t know what I’m going to do. I already apologized like a million times for scaring them with my slight anger issues, but I never actually hurt hurt them physically I didn’t realize I lashed out at them and I didn’t realize I was forcing them to listen to my problems. I thought they were okay with helping me but they didn’t say anything all because they were scared and I just.

I’m fucking freaking out, but I need to calm down. I need to calm down, and just breathe, and everything will be fine. Fuck it’s now 1:14 am I shouldn’t be thinking right now it’s dangerous.

But fucking damnit, I knew I shouldn’t have just dumped all my shit onto them but FUCK.

I need a fucking therapist for that, not my FUCKING FRIENDS.

God what is wrong with me, making my friends my therapists?

Fuck. I lost my friends, I almost have no one left Irl except for this one small friend group, which has drama and way too many sex jokes for me to even want to be IN it anymore. But they’re all I got and we stick together until the end. Most days I don’t mind it, but sometimes I hate being one of the only girls in said friend group.

Fuck I don’t know what to do, I can’t tell my bf about this or else he’ll flip, and I can’t make him my therapist, that’s wrong I was told so! My bf has had it so much worse than I have I shouldn’t be freaking out about this as much, this is nothing compared to what him and so many others have gone through.

But damnit. I DONT have a therapist, not anymore, and I can’t ducking afford one or even talk my parents into helping me get one because as said before they think the process is too damn slow. I can’t fucking tell anyone without feeling bad and knowing I’m a shitty person, because until now I didn’t realize telling people my problems was a bad thing, that asking them to help me out as if they were my fucking therapist (WHICH THEY ARENT AM I STUPID? To just dump all that shit on them without them even saying if it was okay or not?) was a bad thing.

So I’m alone, but that’s fine. I can’t tell anyone anyways so that’s how it’s gotta be and I can live with that. I have for awhile. But I don’t want to be alone. But I’d rather struggle alone than hurt anyone else because I don’t want to lose anyone else, or hurt them, or push them away or scare them like I did with these two.

I don’t want to be w/o my friends. I don’t I really don’t.

I’m never doing that again I promise you I’ll never do it again. I’m so fucking sorry I never realized and I know I’m a piece of dirt shit for not realizing sooner, and for scaring you guys to the point you couldn’t communicate with me w/o fear on your end. I should’ve known and I am so so sorry.

Fuck I even talked to my brother and we have the same timezone I shouldn’t have bothered him. Thankfully he let me go quickly. Fuck I hope I didn’t scare him off either…

(4/14/24) 10:44 pm

I’m so tired. Tired of feeling useless and like a failure. If I fail the people I care about then I am NOTHING. I don’t care about myself, I don’t I just want to make people proud of me. I don’t want them thinking I’m a waste, I don’t want them seeing me the same way I do. Please oh fuck… I don’t want to be a disappointment. I really don’t. I don’t want to hurt people, I want to help them. I feel like an utter piece of shit. I can’t ever talk to my friends about my problems again im not doing that to anyone every again. That’s why this will never be posted, I can’t hurt anyone else with my stupid rants and tendencies. I feel like im manipulating and hurting people by being open with them and I don’t want pity I do not want that, I just want them to know I’m not perfect. And even that is scary because if I am not PERFECT in every single aspect then I failed.

I keep apologizing, sounding like a broken record of an ex trying to get their relationship back but I really am sorry. I talked to my step-father about what happened yesterday concerning my friends. He said that I was one of the nicest person he’s ever met, saying how he knows I try to go outta my way to avoid hurting people but what if he was lying? Cause what if I did say something mean?

I call people idiots and jerks a lot, but I never mean it! I normally mean it in a joking matter but that’s not really nice is it? I’m reeling trying to figure this out and I just want to know what I did wrong so I never do it again. I know not to spout my problems off like I did, I know to watch what I say but how am I supposed to watch EVERYTHING I say?

Fuck I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll do anything, anything to make sure I never hurt anyone like that again. Scaring people, hurting them, it’s so fucking scary to me. I don’t want to do that, that’s the person I aim to NOT be. I wanna help, I wanna heal! Not hurt and scare. I sound like a fucking broken record and it’s pathetic.

I can’t ever post this, it will only make things worse and it’ll only make me feel worse. Because if I post this draft, I’ll be forcing everyone who sees this to be my therapist and I swore to never do that again.

Fuck man. I want help. I’m actually asking for help for once, straight up saying it. But I can’t, the one time I want it, the only time I feel I need it, I can’t ask for it because it’s wrong to do so.

(4/18/2024)

I know that none of my “friends” will be texting me in my birthday this year. I’m not expecting them to text me this year, because I’ve lost all my friends. I don’t think anyone will care this time around. At first I was excited! But getting older isn’t fun at all. People start leaving, start to say things they held back, start to tell you things you didn’t notice before. You grow apart and soon you become alone.

I realize that I should be happy my family is texting me, cause sometimes people’s families don’t even text them. But it’s kinda a requirement, that’s your fam, they should know these things. And most of the time, they wish you happy birthday as an after thought. Friends don’t do that (unless they need to be reminded) but still.

I’m gonna miss those two.

(4/19/2024) 11:31 pm

It’s almost my birthday! Hah. What a cruel joke honestly.

I miss those two so much, every time I see the one who messaged me I instantly go quiet, turn my head away until I’ve walked past them. Fuck, I moved around so much during my elementary school years, those two were the longest friends I’ve ever made.

Everyone already has their best friends.

I’ll always be the outsider.

I really am alone aren’t I? That one friend that never gets invited, that hangs back.

The last one they pick to partner up w in classes kinda shit (which, is also true atm).

I’m alone and it sucks. I miss them so much. I don’t care what that one said, I want them back I just want my friends back.

I want my gossip gals back.

My face to face, same time-zone, Irl friends who I can trust my life with.

I’m losing people left and right. I can’t take it. I’m fucking crying less than 30 minutes before my birthday and it’s pathetic.

People are without families, without homes, and I’m crying over this?

Fuckin stupid…

#Vel’s drafts #vel rants/info dumps #sorry polycule #*im the girl from middle school #I was threatened to be put in a mental hospital #threatened that they would strip search me #I was scared out of wits #I still am to this day #I dunno anymore #(4/13/24) fuck I didn’t realize I was that bad #fuck fuck fuck

[naranjapetrificada]

Ooooh thank you for playing with me! I enjoyed your answers!

You write both Ed and Stede beautifully, but I totally get what you mean about getting into Ed's hornet's nest!

Funny, I don't really listen to music as I write because I get too distracted, but I love linking songs to scenes. Weird.

Awww... I'm freakishly proud that my words could make you cry. You'll never know how much your comments and support mean to me.

I made myself cry when I finished AWoTT because I hate the last few chapters. They did a real disservice to the story because I rushed and tried to write something readers would like instead of what I'd done for most of it. On top of that, I ruined the Buttons/Jeanne d'arc ending because I worried that it would seem like I was ripping off the show. They were both supposed to turn into birds. I can't face trying to fix it. (If you haven't read the end, don't waste your time, and if you did and were disappointed we are on the same page.)

Eeek! Sorry for the ramble... xoxoxo

Before I get to the actual reply to this ask: if y'all haven't been treated to A World of Tempestuous Things, one of the top-five best fics in the fandom, I'm gonna need you to drop everything and read it the way I did whenever I got a notification that a new chapter had been posted.

Re: the ask itself:

I'm sorry you're dissatisfied with how it turned out but if it's any consolation it felt like a fitting end to me! The first time I tried to read the final chapter I literally couldn't for all the tears in my eyes because I knew it was ending. I no longer have a neutral relationship with any of the songs you used for the section titles, especially "Don't Dream It's Over" because god if that didn't just get at the root of everything I felt about the fact that your fic existed. I miss your versions of Ed and Stede terribly and it's gonna be a tall order for anyone but David Jenkins to make them half so indelible to me. I felt like I was watching actual people I loved sail away forever.

I started reading it around when it was halfway through I think? It shouldn't have immediately worked for me when I first started. I was burning out a bit on reunion fics and I thought of myself as someone who didn't love when fics had too many OCs and those OCs got a lot of time in the story, not to mention my strict no-WIP rule, but whatever made me read it must have been fate or something. That and the reflectiveness of the characters and the times the prose knocked me off my feet and the usually gutting historical interstitials (I still think about/am haunted by the Chopin one at least once a week) and the lines I took screenshots of to send to my therapist. It's so much greater than the sum of its parts, and fiction like that can change things about a person's preconceived notions and personal tastes forever.

If I tried to list the things about it that are going to stay with me well, it would literally be easier for everyone if I just c/p the entire fic into this reply. It felt like such a journey that readers got to go on with both the characters and with the story on a like, metatextual level? It completely changed my relationship with high-quality WIPs. Now that I'm writing my first longfics I'm thinking about character and framing devices and POV voice in entirely new ways because I was fortunate enough to get the chance to read it. It's criminal that it's not in the top 5 most read fics in the fandom and I will not stop recommending it until that happens.

Even if you're not happy with the ending I think your readers are. This reader certainly is. And if you did want to go back and change it someday I have zero doubts that I'll be happy with that too. The fandom is richer for having your work in it.

#asks #asked and answered #ask game follow-up #fanfic writing #ofmd fic #fic recs #a world of tempestuous things #ofmd must reads #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #edward teach #stede bonnet #gentlebeard #blackbonnet

[platonically-loving-alastor]

Hazbin Top 5

I was going to make a top 10 character list, but realized after the first 5 I didn't know where to place anyone- But in case you're curious, some contenders for the remaining 6-10, in no specific order, were Angel Dust, Charlie, Emily, Niffty, and Sir Pentious. Now here's my top 5 with reasonings and appreciation for them all!

5. Lucifer

Obviously bro is relatable, not only for his awkwardness and hyperfixations, but he also happens to be the same height as I am at about 5'2" (according to the sources I've seen). Being the same height as Lucifer is my biggest flex lmao- I still have no idea why his hatred of Alastor seemed so instant. Like yeah, Alastor was trying to annoy him by being a better dad to Charlie, but the whole 'fuck you' moment happened before any of that started. Did he just sense the bad vibes off of him or what? Anyway, his awkwardness and desperation to connect with his daughter make for probably my favorite lines of the episode, such as the "Hey bitch!" and the whole "You like girls? So do I!" situation followed by him being so distracted he called Vaggie by the wrong name. Perfect comedy

4. Lute

I love her an insane amount for someone who shows up so relatively little with so few lines, but here we are. I've already made an entire post about her, here it is if you want it, so I'll keep this short (Spoiler alert: I failed). I actually don't think I mentioned just how attractive this woman is, so let's get that out there right now. I know I'm not the only one who thinks this, about half the people I've seen react to Episode 6 have seen Lute without her mask, took a pause of recognition, and we all knew what they were thinking before the pressed play. Istg my taste in women (and sometimes even men, thanks Vox) is just "Can they murder me without a second thought? Yes? That's hot". My favorite line of hers is when she's hyping up the army with Adam and says "Rip Vaggie's cunt mouth out her ass!" and even Adam has to be like "damn girl chill what the hell-" She's so feral I love her so much

3. Rosie

Everyone needs a Rosie in their lives. I don't just mean a regular therapist, I mean a person in your life, friend or family member, who will talk you out of your downward spiral and gently call you out on why those paranoid thoughts are actually pretty unrealistic (the other side of the same coin would be Husk, he's just more blunt about it). I'm also still completely convinced she has some interesting and sad backstory based on how she was talking to Charlie and I need to know about it so bad. "It can be difficult to admit to things you're not proud of, especially if those things hurt the ones you love" Ma'am what did you do? I find it hard to believe it's just about the cannibalism. I don't know if in this instance, she's the one who hurt someone or someone else hurt her and she was the one who failed to forgive them, but either way I need answers.

2. Vox

Y'all know I love this man in more ways than one, he one the hottest Hazbin character poll for a reason. But I swear everything about this man makes me love him as a character more. First, I always love a technology based character, his electricity powers and literal screen head are the coolest thing in the world to me. He's voiced by Christian Borle, which was a fantastic choice, along with the glitched effect his voice gets when he's mad, I love to see it. Apparently it's also canon he can fly (with rocket shoes)?? He just keeps getting the best character design choices possible, this can't possibly be fair- The fact his first introduction was being done with Val, telling him to call tf down, and treating him like a child ("Now that's why they pay you the big bucks!") was a pretty good first impression for me lol, made even funnier when it was followed by him losing all sense of rationalism when Alastor entered his line of sight.

1. Alastor

The character my blog is named after, this should not be a surprise. Shockingly enough, despite my obsession for him and acknowledgement of his charming nature and generally attractive design, I' do not simp for him in the slightest'm not personally attracted to him in the slightest. I simp for a TV and yet apparently deer man with permanent smile is where I draw the line idk- The most I want from him is to be as good of a friend to him as Rosie is (well that and to touch his ears but that's a given). But this is another character I love literally everything about. Who would've thought the concepts of 'radio host', 'serial killer', and 'literal deer' would work so well together to create this dapper yet terrifying fucking cryptid. Not only can he be either incredibly scary or a silly guy, he can and has done both at once. Example: Episode 3 when he's just casually eating a deer carcass in his room (in which he summoned a whole ass bayou). I was genuinely so glad when the 'this face was made for radio' thing happened in episode 1, confirming that they were still gonna lean into his creepy-as-fuck distortion and general vibe he had in the pilot. He's horrifying and evil and I love that about him. Meanwhile he also says shit like "Now he's pissy, that's the tea" (definitely taught to him by Rosie) and kicks his legs on the bed like a schoolgirl as if he hasn't committed countless atrocities. My favorite character, everyone-

Wow I wrote more than I meant to for this, sorry about the essay-

#hazbin hotel #alastor #vox #rosie hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel

[herefortarlos]

Tell me something you are proud of yourself for this week 💛

Awww, Andie 🥰 I love this, thank you so much for asking!!

I was really proud of myself because in this week's therapy session, I learned that I am actually good at regulating and expressing my emotions! I thought it would have been the opposite because I am always so loud and open with them 😅 but my therapist helped me realize, "no, that's a good thing!" Every time I tag yours and other people's posts with "ahhh", that is my legitimate excitement and the best way I can express it over the Internet 🤣 So yeah, that made me super happy to realize that about myself 😊

#thank you Andie ❤️ you are so damn sweet and kind!! #desi answers #paperstorm

[tangerinesgf]

Milestones

Tangerine x gn!reader

Tags/warnings: slight mention of sh (nothing explicit but its there), fluff, Tangerine is the best bf.

Sooo there's a few reasons I'm posting this.

1. I'm actually 4 months sh-free as of today and my therapist said I should celebrate or smth

2. For a lot of people including me it's really hard to talk about, bc of how it's looked down upon. I guess even though this isn't much at all, I hope that people who also deal with this ecan see that it's not their fault and that it's okay, because I know how hard it is. Everyday is a new day to start over, and I believe in you<3

Please don't read if any of this might trigger you, it's as light hearted as I think it possibly can be, but still, take care of yourselves <3

You hadn’t expected him to know, hell you didn’t remember until 2 days ago, but of course he and his amazing memory did. 

As of today you were 4 months sober, clean or whatever people called it. And even though Tangerine hadn’t been able to understand why you would do this, he had been nothing but supportive on your way to recovery. 

Anytime you felt an urge Tangerine had only been a shout away. Being by your side the second you needed him to distract you from your own mind. 

Personally you didn't really know how to feel about these milestones. You know you're supposed to be happy about it, proud even, but you still wished it had never happened in the first place.

Tangerine however was nothing but proud everytime another month passed and he made sure you knew it. Gifts, chocolates, anything you could possibly wish for.

And even though you still weren't sure you deserved all this, more specifically him, you were glad Tangerine was by your side.

However this past week Tangerine had been on a job and he was only supposed to return in another week, so you didn't expect anything.

The last thing you expected was him showing up at your appartment at 10pm. It had been raining and he obviously hadn't brought an umbrella with him so he was soaking wet. As were the flowers in his hand.

The surprise on your face quickly turned into adoration and you felt tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

"You didn't think I'd miss it, did ya?" There was a cheeky smile on his face as he offered you the basically drowned flowers.

You almost threw them aside launching yourself into his arms, not caring that he was completely soaking your pyjamas with his wet coat.

Tangerine wrapped his arms around your waist and your buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"I'm so proud of you, love."

It was barely a whisper into your ear, but at that moment it had meant everything to you.

A/N: if you are dealing with this and want to talk about it, don't hesitate to reach out. Talking about it is the first step to recovery. Love ya'll<3

Taglist: @venusthepirate @bratdoll666 @assmaster37 @wrendermeuseless @waiting4ff @kpopgirlbtssvt @earth-elemental18 @sisterslytherinog @dontknownameauthor (lemme know if you wanna be added or removed)

#tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #bullet train #bullet train fanfic #tangerine fanfiction

[sp-ud]

breaking news. vent art.... is actually a really good coping mechanism.

like I used to hesitate cuz I always knew when I felt better I'd look back on what I drew and feel embarrassed and cringe (even just hours later) and I do still kinda feel that way but like

it really does help in the moment

and also because like. I already know the only person who might see this shit is my therapist, I feel much less pressure to be a perfectionist with my art.

and "blah blah u should always feel that way because you're drawing for you and not others <3" shut up I want to show people art I'm actually proud of

but with vent art its like. oh yeah. I don't have to be proud of it cuz that's not the point.

and I almost think that's why I used to shy away from vent art, partially because i also always felt like (for some reason) I should post it? so when I tried I'd always be fighting with the mindset "but what would other people think when they see this? what would they think about me?" and it would make the process once again less about actually venting and more about making things other people would like.

but its like, no. actually other people don't have to see this. these really can just be drawings for myself to get my emotions out.

also more power to the people who do post their vent art, good for u, genuinely. but like, feeling like posting it was somehow a requirement really held me back from trying it before.

which is also why I'm kinda posting this, if anyone else may have the weird mental block when trying to make vent art because they for some reason also feel like sharing it is a requirement, it's really not. no one can judge you for your vent art if you don't put it anywhere people can judge you for it

#spud rambles

[sentientsky]

thank you so much, @fearandhatred for tagging me! <3

For as many as you want of your published works, pick your favourite line/paragraph and post it up here. Let yourself feel proud of your creations (not always proud of my work, but gritting my teeth and adding these 'cause my therapist would want me to, lol)

Until the Bitter End [40,760 words] Context: Crowley comes face-to-face with God

Dreadful memories of falling from a great height flashed through his mind. The taste of sulphur coated the back of his teeth, noxious and terrible. “You let me fall. You pushed me—for asking questions ,” he had hissed, all venom, all jagged teeth. So many eons of abandonment, of sheer loss…Well, it does something to a not-person, to a beating, not-human heart. You learn to go cold, to slow your breathing and keep yourself boarded up and hidden. Your body learns to react to affection like a rejected organ transplant. You carry on through life scared and spitting and backing against the wall like a cornered animal. You believe you don’t deserve tenderness. You believe it will ruin you. Because to love, to let yourself be loved, is to turn all vulnerable and underbellied—to show your hand in a game of cards with everything on the table. And yet…a very young, hands-shaking part of you yearns for it—begs, desperate and hungry and aching, for love. Like a starved dog with all its ribs showing. Like Sisyphus pushing that damn rock, knowing full well which way the hill slopes.

Confession Box Revelations [2,406 words]

Though Crowley himself couldn’t sense love, he knew what he felt for Aziraphale was far larger than anything a human was capable of experiencing. It was cosmic; it was ever-expanding, touching every corner of the universe and saturating every last quark in all of reality. The first time he’d become aware of it, it had hit him like a freight train and left him reeling. Even now, he heard a whistle in the back of his mind. It had never left.

Innocence Died Screaming [2,341 words] Context: Crowley encounters the Starmaker

Crowley doesn’t really think about it. In some inherent, axiomatic desperation for what-could-have-been, what-should-have-been, he strides forward (as much as anyone can stride in the vacuum of space) and pulls his younger self into an embrace. The angel’s hands grip the back of his blazer, fingers trembling, the scroll long since forgotten.  “I know, I know. And I’m sorry.” I wish I could save you . And he means it. His chest aches with it. “It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. I’m so sorry for what She did—what She will do—to you. To me,” he draws in a shaky breath. “To us .”  And so they stand, shimmering, in that impossible place—the place where centuries compress themselves into the vibrations between atoms and fracture like glass, where millennia tilt sideways, fall into slipstream and dissolve into empty air. The world rips into being, collapses, and begins again a hundred thousand times in the hollow of his chest. He lets the tears—angry and hot and eons-old—fall with abandon, and a quiet, ragged part of him begins to slowly knit itself back together.

no pressure tags: @actual-changeling (ik leanne tagged u already, but i'm doing it too bc i enjoy yelling in your notifs hehe). @foolishlovers

#not a huge fan of my older fics now hdaskdjajdsl #idk they just feel clunky and disorganized and i think i could've done the characterization and prose better lmao #sorry the quotes are kind of long too #can u tell that i have childhood trauma???? be so so fr right now!!!! #good omens #good omens fics #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #my writing #long post #tag game #the starmaker #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #angel!crowley

[pixie-skull]

215th edit and this a personal one. I tend to avoid making edits of those I know from real life as a respect of privacy, but this needed to be made/vent. So I am about 6 months in of using testosterone and today I made time to let my mother share her concerns and questions, as I understand it does take time for change. Especially as I am only now physically transition, not just socially, transition, and I am my late 20's. Only, of my immediate family (sorry excluding my half-siblings) my mother only one who seems still stuck in a sense of worry of my choices. My father pleasantly surprising me in how well he is doing, like other day when aiding me with auto insurance (I had two car accidents in June) he referred me as his son, and I was so happy (I strongly believe he has NPD).

Now I get my oldest sister (represented by character Sarah*) still getting use to things, but understandably I did for a few years did go by they/them pronouns, but I am so proud of her, my next sibling, my brother, and younger sister are all doing amazing.

However, any advice besides be patient and offer a space to answer my mother's questions? She tells me she is worried that taking testosterone is not understood of the long term affects, which I understand to an extent, but she brings up religion as a reason to be weary. I am a Spiritual person, so to hear her compare people born with disabilities yet they learn to love and not change their bodies, like the Lord would want, bothers me. On one hand, sure, sure I am grateful for what health and my body is, but this seems accidentally Catholic guilt. Speaking of which, rest assured, my family is open minded or/and supportive of LGBTQ+ Community. I mean dang no issues me being bi/queer.

Back to topic, I am unsure what to say and offer more to my mother to understand. I mean my therapist let me give my parents a number to call of my health insurance to offer trans Q&A meetings for families. I mean I even explained I am the happiest I am in understanding myself as a trans man, but no change. Just more push back and worse "you can be whoever you want... you are non-binary to me, not a man". I mean even when I did think I was non-binary, she would still call me she/her and deadname me more, so I feel that a shortcut (or whatever) for her. Rest assured she been good with my name change and not judge in recent past changed all my documentation to that name and even list myself as a man, but actually addressing me as he/him, nope.

Again any advice would be happily encouraged. I also had to make a vent post edit, because realize through a conversion on a former relationship of most 2020 and snips 2021, my ex partner, they, they will were more emotionally harmful to me, and taking time to debate being friends still, being hurting me. As well been busy with work and university.

*= What movie is Sarah from? I want to see if I can finding it streaming to watch full thing. NOT clips XD yet thanks Youtube.

P.s. Thank you @airasora for your insight that I look like Cinderella's Prince Charming, Kit, or Christopher, and overall being a great friend lately. As well thank you @little-bloodied-angel for your friendship.

#my edit #edit #crossover #101 dalmatians #iron giant #the iron giant #sleeping beauty #quest for camelot #anastasia #tarzan #sinbad #Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas #cinderella #cinderella 3 #atlantis #atlantis the lost empire #evanscence #emo #goth #punk #alternative style #personal #vent #trans #trans man #ftm #transgender

[findmeabowlofundertale]

@benanazauce YOUR TAGS ON PART 8.1 ARE SO NICE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I’m making this its own post bc of a thing at the end but I figured I’d reply to all the nice things you said!!

She needs that hug so bad but she might melt on you. (Dw though she doesn’t soak into your clothes though)

AND YEAH COLORED MAGIC YAY!! Purple magic never gets talked about, so I thought it’d be cool to do something with it~ I really had to bend my brain to make some of those connections though sjsksjhs

Ehehehe~ THANK YOU

Yeeeeaaah that is because I have been in therapy for so many years. Channeling my inner therapist to analyze my own frustrations with myself and what I see a lot of other people struggle with. I also sent my therapist a link to this fic sksndjsjs so Alisa if you’re reading this hi

BUT ANYWAY THANK YOU I’M GLAD YOU THOUGHT IT WAS GOOD!! Tbh I was pretty proud of it myself

THANK YOU, I DID HAVE A NICE MEAL!

SNSJDNSJKSHDH I KNOW THAT LINE CRACKED ME UP TO WRITE! Mostly bc my friend says stuff like that CONSTANTLY, it’s so funny. It’s a good thing I didn’t work her “I want man like a pancake… a pan like a mancake” into this chapter. Though on second thought I should have, that would have been really funny. (Even though to this day none of us (her included) are actually sure what it meant when she said it…)

AAAAA THANK YOU YOU’RE SO KIND

But this is actually the main reason I made this post!! (I have to resist the urge to make this kind of post with screenshots of all the nice tags whenever anybody reblogs my stuff. Every single time. I just want everyone to know I see them, always, and roll around on the floor happily.) ANYWAY!

That line is actually more important than it seems, I’m glad it stuck out to you!!! It references a few different things, one of which hasn’t happened yet. But the biggest immediate references are actually…

And

She associates the crystals on the ceiling of Waterfall, the “stars,” with the feeling of home, and of comfort, of love. They make her feel safe. In part because of what she believes about what happens to a monster after they die, which she explains to Alphys, and so she believes she can sense her parents’ magic in them; in part because her parents loved the stars (and named her after them); and in part because the ceiling stars are constant. She actually does know them well enough to navigate home if she gets turned around in the winding caves there. If she were ever to get lost… she would use the stars to show the way.

Her subconsciously beginning to associate Gaster’s blue magic and glowing eyes with the same feelings of safety and comfort, of belonging, of home, is a marker of their deepening relationship. Whether the black rock represents the darkness of the teleport, with his eyes/magic being the unmoving (read: “steadfast,” “trustworthy”) guide home, or it simply represents how his glowing eyelights look floating in dark sockets, well. It could go either way, couldn’t it?

THANK YOU SM AS ALWAYS! Honestly maybe I really will start making reaction posts to people’s tags a thing I do… Is it weird? Was this weird???

#There’s actually quite a few lines in the last couple parts that are technically foreshadowing!! #or reference something #seeker talks #long post #⁂posting #⁂ #asteri #seeker oc #I HOPE THIS WASN’T WEIRD TO DO

[puritanyaoi]

Hello! I found your post about being an ex-anti giving advice to new ex-antis, and I was just wondering if you would be willing to share your story with me. ^-^ I've been wanting to understand what actually goes into anti beliefs. I understand if it's too personal though. Have a good day either way!

oh!! im sorry, you sent this ask ages ago and i never saw it appear in my inbox. i'm still going to answer but i am really sorry that i never got around to it until now.

essentially, i grew up on tumblr in an intersection of progressive spaces and cartoon fandom spaces. at some point these two things meshed together and i became interested in looking at fandom through a lens of media criticism. i was a young teenager at the time. at some point i entered the gravity falls fandom and read many, many posts about the dangers of proshipping due to the existence of certain ships within the fandom, and being a young, impressionable teenager, i fell for it hook line and sinker. it was the Right way to think, it was the Virtuous way to think. otherwise, could i really call myself progressive while defending something that appeared harm marginalized groups?

(at the time i had undiagnosed ocd which definitely impacted my opinions and fear of thought crimes)

for a time i used anti rhetoric to police myself and others. but... honestly, much of the rhetoric didnt ring true to me even at the time. and as much as i hate to admit it, i wanted to use it as a method of control, which i am not proud of. i cut off real life friends because of it and i still mourn those losses. i ended up angry and isolated except for other bitter, neurotic antis

later on as an adult, i started listening to people in proship spaces (especially people who had been victims of callouts that had ruined their lives and jobs in the animation industry), at first out of curiosity, but then things started clicking into place for me. why IS it that the people being called out for shipping and "bad" kinks are always queer people who have done nothing else to garner that level of hatred? why IS it that engaging in and creating transgressive art is seen as a valid coping mechanism by therapists? it made more sense than any arguments i'd listened to that were written by antis.

so to sum it up, i just... changed my opinion due to finding evidence that contradicted my beliefs and weighing my options. being proship won out in the end. and i had a lot of help from my partner as well, because they're also proship. they helped me work through a hell of a lot of moral ocd and to unpack the reasons why i had fallen for anti rhetoric in the past. honestly they've been a life saver in this matter

thanks for the ask and again, sorry for the insanely late response. i dont use social media often anymore and this slipped into my inbox unnoticed.. ^^;

#asks #proship #ex anti #long post