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“Vampire help hotline, what can I do for you?” “I just… I miss garlic bread…”

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love this running gag. is he ok

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So I recently started watching Helluva Boss because Hazbin Hotel came out and I wanted to give that a watch but decided to watch Helluva Boss beforehand because it came out first. I saw some discourse around the series on Tiktok where people were hating on the show, someone said because of the fans but I don’t really care about the fan base I was just super interested in the show. I thought it was going to be a funny adult cartoon about demons fucking shit up. No, it is filled to the fucking brim with angst like I did not know in advance that this show would make me so sad😭 Like Stolas’ entire story line is so fucking sad, and then Fizzarolli like omg. But I love his relationship with Asmodeus, it’s so sweet. Idk if anyone that follows me watches this show or cares what I have to say about it but I needed to rant because my heart hurts and I need more, like there’s so many unfinished plot lines and waiting on a season three is going to be the death of me

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happy womens day to everyones favorite woman

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My brain isn’t braining, I have so many drafts and can’t even finish one story. Every time I think I’m finished I feel the need to add or edit and it’s killing me. I just want my brain to brain and I want to write something that I can post ughhhh

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TRUE BLOOD 2.02 | "Keep This Party Going"

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vampire appreciation week | favorite vampire

eric northman, true blood 2008-2014

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Damn that hurt😭

He stared at her from his desk as she sat on his bed, playing a game on her phone; the screen occasionally flashed different colors across her face as she went back and forth between texting her friends, most likely Gaz and Soap, and her game. At one point, she shifted, laying flat on her stomach, her elbows pressed into the bed as she played, then she pushed her arms across his pillow and propped her chin on the cushion.

The show of comfort from her had a spur of irritation licking its way from his gut to his throat and before he could tell his mouth to shut the hell up, “I fucking hate it when you’re in my room,” came out.

Her eyes immediately met his, expression startled, starting to twist into hurt as she absorbed and processed what he had said to her. A pathetic and hurt, “What?” was all that managed to come out of her mouth and Ghost knew better than to say more, but even damage control wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, and since he’d already opened the door, he may as well walk through it.

He let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand down his face. “You’re always in my room. My room. Why are you always here?” he was a smart man; he knew how to articulate himself. “My room is the one place I go to get away from everything and everyone and somehow you’re always here. You never leave me alone.” He didn’t really mean to be as scathing as he was, but all the overwhelmingness of her finally came to a head. “Everywhere I go, you’re always there, stuck to me like fucking glue, and it’s ‘Lieutenant this,’ and Lieutenant that.’ Why can’t you just quit being so fucking clingy?” Ghost pinched his brow and heaved out another sigh, rubbing his eyes before he pulled his hand away and looked at her.

And he knew, just with one look, that he had fucked up more than he could ever think of trying to repair.

Her lips wobbled as she kept trying to purse them to keep herself from crying, but it wasn’t doing much as the tears were already tipping over the edge of her eyes and down her cheeks.

Ghost had never seen her cry before.

He realized how much he fucking hated seeing it.

Her eyes left his and he watched as a deadness replaced them, though the distraught was still evident as she whispered, “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Riley.” And clambered to her feet, dazedly sliding off his bed and heading for his door.

His mouth was open before he knew it, “Private, I didn’t—"

“I won’t bother you again unless it’s for work, I promise,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was being a bother, sir.”

He hated being called “sir” by anyone.

“Private, wait, I—”

“I just thought we were friends,” she whispered more to herself than to him, and shut the door behind her.

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has this one been done yet

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“imagine caring so much about fiction” imagine being so lame that you scoff at the timeless human practice of falling in love with art and stories

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