#and sometimes its a year or more for people

[perfctvelvet]

Dominant Billie Eilish? 🙏 pretty please

The Games We Play; Billie Eilish/Fem!Reader

Content: 2nd POV. Established relationship, semi-toxic relationship, brief mentions of gaslight, implied infidelity, D/s elements, name calling ('slut'), degradation, teasing, strap-on sex, mentions of ass play, use of sex toys (vibrator).

"I've had enough of the games now, Y/n. You're starting to annoy me."

It was ironic to watch Billie sit at the table and sulk to herself as if she didn't get herself into this situation. These games that she claims to hate oh so much where the ones that she started and wanted to finish once she wasn't getting her way. You have just been with her for way too long not to be able to see her through and through. Billie hated the bitter taste of her own medicine, but she should've thought about that before she brushed you off when you asked about who that was on that instagram post.

You made her watch you flirt with a past fling all night. You could barely remember the lady's name when you two first bumped into her, but quickly she became valuable to you. All you had asked for was honesty about a post that was posted to tens of millions of people, but instead you were shut out. Billie brought this on herself, and it felt good to see her sitting there feeling sorry for you.

"Ooh, tell me more about your trip to Greece! I've been waiting to go, but sometimes it's hard when others won't cooperate with their schedules."

Billie was within earshot of the entire conversation and you didn't spare her one bit. You left her emotionally beaten and bruised every time you laid a hand on the body of someone you came close to being with years ago. Your attraction had faded greatly as you only had eyes for your girlfriend now, but Billie doesn't know that and at this moment anyone would think that the relationship was on its last legs. But just like you know Billie, she knows you too well for her own good. You were trying to make her feel the same way you did over an instagram post. Well, you had one the battle as your attempts to make Billie jealous was working, but Billie was well intentioned on winning the war.

Now as she confronts you about the only thing you can do is play dumb. You weren't going to give her the upper hand by outright admitting what you were doing. The way she dismissed you about posting photos of another girl damn near straddling her kept you up for days. Those 3 to 4 hours of sleep left you irritable and willing to do anything to get your point across. So in your eyes, you're not doing anything worse your girlfriend hasn't done.

"What are you talking about?" You asked her, cocking your head to the side and feigning innocence. 

Normally your pout was endearing but right now Billie wanted to fuck it off your face. Still surrounded by strangers who could possibly hear your conversation, Billie gives a deep sigh and she hangs her head down. It was a sign of utter defeat to you.

"Y/n," she sighs before leaning in and whispering, "You really want to do this right now?"

Those simple words were a warning shot. Billie didn't have to say much else. She didn't have to explain that she knows you after being together for two years. She didn't have to explain that they've done this song and dance before and that it's getting stale. Both are committed and faithful to this relationship, but sometimes things get hazy and the relationship is tested. Billie knows she's in the wrong, but getting those words to come out of her mouth is like pulling teeth. You two should be passed this stage, especially as you get older together, but clearly both of you are wrong. When one of you acts up, the other feels like they have no choice but to retaliate and somehow you're always the one always having to retaliate.

You don't want to hear it from her. You don't want to sit in the car on the way home and hear her give you some holier-than-thou speech as if she's the mature one in the relationship. It was easier to talk to you like that when you were side by side and she didn't have to look you in the eyes and act like she didn't do what she did. Did it feel good to flirt with someone you're no longer interested in? No, that part didn't feel good, but being able to glance over and see Billie sulking while surrounded by happy, partying people, it was better than any high or shot of alcohol here tonight.

"What am I doing? I'm at a party that you're ruining the vibe because you want to sit there and feel sorry for yourself. Get up, go talk to your friends." You didn't have much else to say to her and she kept her mouth shut too. Billie had nothing to say. Have you succeeded?

Billie was never afraid to drag out an argument, even in a setting like this. There was the great texting fiasco of Summer 2023 that ended with you staying at your friend's place for the weekend. So she was uncharacteristically quiet now. And in a surprising move, she just smiled at you. Your faces were so close together you thought she was going to kiss, but instead she leaned back. She grabbed her glass filled with whatever she had and brought it to her lips. Never did she pull her eyes away from you and you felt your grip on the situation loosening. You don't know what it means for you, for tonight and for the future, but you stepped away from her. You turned your back to her and joined a group of mutual friends. The former fling you were flirting with was nowhere to be found, but it didn't matter anymore. 

You felt Billie's eyes burning a hole right through you for the rest of the night. Despite the room being so loud, there was a ringing in your ears that dulled the sound of everything around you. You don't know how you were able to make it through the rest of the night acting like you usual self. The end of the night and car ride home were unbearable and equally silent. Billie's steady breathing was the only sound to fill your ears; so calm yet just as loud as the club's bass in your ears. The little battle you had earlier? It meant nothing now. Whatever victory you felt was replaced by the dread of worrying what was to come next. You expected a screaming match to take place as soon as the two of you crossed past that threshold into Billie's house. Instead Billie decided to do something she hasn't tried before. She was going to fuck the problem away.

Billie was pissed. The way she grabbed you, you don't think you've seen her so mad before. The two of you are no strangers to things getting a little rough, but there was so much more raw and animalistic about the way she touched you, the way she kissed you. Billie was gunning to win the war and she was going to disarm you in the best way she knew how. You don't understand how pissed she was seeing your flirt with an old fling like that, and what annoyed her the most is that you looked to actually be having a good time. She saw how you looked at this woman who has no name to her. You looked at her as if she meant something. Billie thought the photo she uploaded was to be expected from her and her friends. She thought you knew that sometimes one of them gets a little handsy but there was never any ill-intention behind it. Hell, you've seen it happen in front of your very eyes before and you didn't react. To her the difference between the post and what you did was that you intended to make the situation worse. You looked so into this woman, looking at her the same way you've looked at Billie before. Those eyes are only for her.

Billie wasn't nice or sweet tonight. She didn't tease you or suck on your tits for almost an hour like she usually loves to do. You were pushed onto the bed, face down ass up. You weren't able to see anything with your face in the covers. You had to guess what was happening based on the sounds around you. Billie was stealthy and quick, not giving you a second to adjust to what was going on. You felt something cool and wet hitting between your cheeks. You cursed yourself for not wearing underwear tonight, giving Billie easy access to both of your holes to do whatever she wanted with you. You felt something poke at your entrance and soon you were filled with 8 inches of thickness. The air was plucked right out of you as Billie pushed her strap all the way inside. She watched in awe how your arousal bursted through the seams. She pulled out and your juices had already completely covered her strap.

Billie pushes back into you after a few seconds. She started at a slow pace before gradually picking up speed, fucking you harder and faster. The residual anger from your little stunt tonight was fuleing her. When a girl acts up, sometimes she needs to be put in her place.

"You wanna tell me who that was tonight? Who was that girl, Y/n!"

You feel her grab a handful of your hair and she pulls your face out the bed. Her grip was tight enough to feel a prickly sensation on the edge of your scalp. You pulled your head back further to alleviate the pain. The question she asked you had completely slipped your mind as she filled your poor pussy with every inch of her strap. Billie didn't take so kindly to being ignored, so she asked you again. You could barely speak, but you tried your best.

"W-What girl?" You stutter through each thrust.

"Still playing dumb, huh?"

There was a tinge of playfulness in Billie's voice that could've you if you weren't getting fucked so hard. You were still trying to play the game she was built to beat you at. However, that girl doesn't matter to you and certainly she's irrelevant now. Your skin was flushed and sweaty. The sound of Billie's thighs meeting your ass reverberates in the room. How could you be thinking about some other woman when you're getting fucked within an inch of your life.

"If you wanted to be fucked like this baby all you had to do was laugh. You don't have to fight for my attention when you have it 24/7 sweetheart," Billie teased you with such a clear voice that amazed you she was able to concentrate on making you feel so small and fucking you skillfully. "You knew exactly what you were doing tonight, but you won't want to try that again after I'm done fucking this little pussy of yours."

Her words began to sound fuzzy as the tip of her strap kept agitating your sweet spot. You could barely keep yourself up, your arms giving away. The only thing keeping you up right now was Billie's tight grip on your hair. You were about to cum; dangerously close. All the tell-tale signs of your orgasm began firing off and that just happen to be the moment when Billie decided to pull out of you. You could whine and cry all you want, but Billie still pushed you off her strap. Your orgasm, the one you so desperately wanted, shuttered away as you sobbed into the sheets. You were surely a sight to take in. The strap rests against your ass, smearing your juices into your skin.

"Did you really think I was going to let you cum so fast? You really think you deserve that princess?"

Leave it to Billie to not give in so easily -- you should've seen this coming. You push yourself up on your palms until you're pushed back down onto the bed. Billie didn't have to use much force either which made her laugh at you. You were so weak and you hadn't even cum yet. 

"Pick a number, baby."

You thought you were hearing her wrong. Did she just ask you to pick a fucking number?

"Pick a number. 1-3."

It was stupid to indulge in whatever game she was playing, but you lifted your head and opened your mouth to utter, "2." You don't know why you even answered.

"Hmm," Billie hums. It's hard to read such a small reaction.

The sound of the drawer opening happens again. You don't have to see to know she's grabbing from the bottom "special" drawer, where she got the strap-on from. There were a few other toys in there and you suspect that's where the game comes in at.

"It's too bad you didn't pick 1, but I guess you spared your little ass tonight."

You were just spread out so perfectly for the buttplug she hasn't used on you yet. Billie would've been able to see her reflection in the shiny metal as it slipped into your tightest hole. Stretching your ass out while fucking you would've ruined you, you haven't tried that out yet. She imagines that you would've been begging her for forgiveness and permission to cum. Even seeing it in her active imagination makes her heart skip a beat. But, fate has decided for her and she's going to make the most of it.

The wand you unintentionally picked had only been used about two or three times. It's vibrations were so strong, something you felt like you had to get use to. Only on it's lowest setting were you able to handle it. Something powered only by batteries yet it was so powerful you were seeing stars the first time you used it.

"Get up."

Billie gave you the command but then she was moving your body herself. She laid on the bed and signaled for you to get on top of her. You go to straddle her before she stops you.

"Uh-uh. Turn the other way."

She made you turn away from and in the direction of a mirror. For the first time since going out tonight, you got a glimpse of yourself. Your hair looked a mess and your makeup had smudged a lot. Spit was drying in the corner of your mouth. You should've been ashamed about how you look and how Billie was slutting you out, but it made your pussy drip on Billie's skin. One, two, three she felt the drops of your arousal on her bare skin. She groaned, showing a moment of weakness for a second. Right then she knew she had to get you on her strap. She lowered you down with one hand. Somehow her strap felt so much bigger when you were sinking down on it this way. The way the girth stretched out just felt different when you were any other position. Billie doesn't fuck you in reverse cowgirl often so you were willing to underestimate her ability to fuck you as hard as you need like this, but quickly you were proven wrong.

Your skin slapped together harder and your tits bounce with every thrust up into your swollen twat. You thought it was a lot to handle until you felt the vibrations from the wand against your pussy. The slew of moans that fell from your lips were louder than before.

"Good girl! Keep moaning for me baby, show me just how much you love being fucked like this. Only I can fuck you like this."

Words like this were meant to only affect you, to drive home the point that you were a slut for Billie and Billie only, but somehow she fueled her own desire. She was fucking up into you with reckless abandon. You were so close to losing your mind from being fucked like that from below while the vibrator was placed firmly against your swollen clit. You had no choice but to endure it as your eyes rolled in the back of your head. 

"Whose pussy's this? Who does this pussy belong to, girl," the way she addressed you and the stinging grip on your hip made you spiral. Billie has flirted with degrading you more and more in bed, but tonight she spoke as if this came natural to her. She questioned as if something would happen if you didn't answer her. The worst thing she, or anyone else, could do to you at this moment is deny you of another sweet release. It's a miracle you're not squirting all over her strap that bullying its way into you. The head of her strap hits your cervix so deliciously. She questions you as if you're capable of speaking right now when the vibrator is sending you into orbit. You've officially been rendered stupid and unable to form words.

It takes a solid minute and everything inside of you to be able to muster up the energy to be able to answer you.

"Yours! Oh god it's yours!" You force out with a desperate cry. Your body is beginning to hunch over in weakness as she continues to pound you. You've never felt so pathetic in your life, unable to stand your ground, but never did failure feel so good. The stretch and the buzz was addicting and you were ready to let go of everything that's been pent up inside of your body.

The way you answer satisfies Billie, finally. The sobs of your pure devotion made relief wash over her. She's happy.

She doesn't stop her pounding until you're cumming and crying out loudly for her. Your toes curl as you come the hardest you have in a long, long time. Billie's grip on you was still harsh, painful even, causing the pain to mix with your everlasting pleasure. This is what might be the longest orgasm of your life and it comes after another stalemate in your relationship.

It was almost impossible to be able to come back to reality. You didn't even notice the vibrator had been turned off and discarded onto the bed until Billie stopped pumping into you completely. Satisfaction stirred deep in your hips as you sat there with her strap situated inside of you. Billie was holding you up with both hands now as if you would fall apart into a million pieces if she let go. And let go she never did.

Your heavy limbs find relief when you're laid against the bed. It feels like you're floating on a cloud compared to how it felt before. You were in a state of disbelief, asking yourself, 'did that shit really happen?' 

You weren't going to regain your composure after that, and you weren't going to even try. Billie is already up and moving around, disappearing for a few minutes before she comes back with a wet towel waiting to clean you up. She pushes your legs apart and gently rubs the warm towel against your sensitive skin.

"I think you left a present over there."

She nods her head in the direction of the wet spot on the bed. Did you squirt? You don't even have a fucking clue if you did or not but you hide your face in your hands anyway.

"Oh god," you groan.

"We can always sleep in the other room."

"I don't think I can move, Bil."

You had a million and one questions, but you were utterly worn out and Billie's face was flushed pink from all the work she put in. You two have more to answer for in the morning, and a need to explain why you both acted up so much. Seeing you so vulnerable made the words 'I'm sorry, I was wrong' want to bubble up in Billie's throat. Instead she kisses the two sweet thighs she loves so much. The nonverbal apology will always come before remorseful words out of Billie's lips. Holding you until you fall asleep will stand in just for the night.

[ihopesocomic]

My Pride is weird bc the gore for shock value is really the only thing "adult" about it. As far as plot and characters and themes it fits right in with YA xenofiction - yes, even "mature themes" like abuse and oppression are often covered in children's media like Wings of Fire and AtLA, that's not exclusive to adults. I feel like MP was actually intended for the same type of audience, but they added the unserious bobblehead disclaimers at the last minute bc they realized angry parents might come after them if their kids watched a Lion King-style YouTube video that turned out to be super violent and bloody.

Its really hard to tell who the audience for MP was outside of "people who were already fans of Tribble's warrior cat/cotw content". Can't be for children, cuz there's warnings (well "warnings" in the form of cute widdle bobbleheads with little fun quips from the characters)

Like is this for teens? I mean I know teens like a lot of crappy stuff (not me tho, I've always had impeccable taste /sarcasm)

Is this for adults? Cuz the messaging and writing is almost unfathomably immature. The messaging was so bad, people still don't understand what's so "problematic" about it. They think RJ and I are just mad because ableism and homophobia is in it. Like why do we have to keep explaining things to people. If people used their brains, or consumed literally anything else, they'd arrive to the conclusion themselves. After all a ton of the opinions we expressed in our video were already expressed by lots of other people beforehand and they didn't need us to tell them what to think lol

Even the violence was immature, which I can say because I love me some creative violence in my movies/shows. There's science behind violence, so you'd think a show that prides itself as being a "more mature Lion King" and believing itself to have a more realistic portrayal of lions, it would have realistic violence, but nope.

The violence in this show is sometimes hilariously censored, like for some reason Barkmane's body was completely blurred out when they had no qualms about showing Starmane and Quickmane's body, their injuries were not even indicative to anything based in reality

Karabi's throat was slashed open and her voice actor was just groaning (not the voice actor's fault, this is the fault of the director) and I dunno, I feel like I've seen enough slasher films to know a convincing dying noise when I hear one, but I don't expect people working for me to know what that sounds like so as a director it would be my responsibility to... you know... direct.

And Sharptongue's death, like I still don't know what was supposed to even be wrong with her. She just started having a coughing fit and died off-screen.

AND YET MP somehow manages to be really fucked up in its mediocrity?? Because it just shrugs off child death like the characters do.

It's not like resources aren't out there, people have been posting videos of lions killing each other on youtube for years lol

"Adult shows" that are easily outshined by kids shows in maturity are fascinating to me, and they're more commonplace and I don't know why. At least two other "adult shows" have so little respect for the intelligence of their audience that they put in a shit ton of information that adults get mad when they have to think about things. And/or they are so embarrassingly safe it's almost like they're made specifically to cater to kids.

I mean the fuckin Lion King straight-to-video sequel had an effective abusive family dynamic, so what's the excuse here exactly. (I mean I know the answer, it's because Tribble pulled heavily from Warrior Cats and didn't improve upon it.) - Cat

[aspecpplarebeautiful]

hey :) i've identified as arospec/ace for a while now, and i feel comfortable in that identity. but i do have some questions about a feeling i've been experiencing.

for about a year now, i've really been craving a physical relationship. not necessarily a sexual one (though i've never been opposed to one, being pretty firmly sex-neutral) but i just want to touch someone else and be touched, all over. i don't care if it's a platonic or romantic relationship (i don't distinguish much between them, tbh)---i just want to be physically close and intimate with someone.

my question is, is this a common experience among aspec people? when i try to explain it to my allo friends, they naturally think of intimate touch terms of a sexual or romantic context. because of this, i'm wondering if any other aspecs can relate to this feeling/know of ways to make it better.

thanks :D

It's possible you could experiencing sensual desire. The sensual spectrum is its own spectrum just like the romantic and sexual spectrum and you can experience sensual attraction and desire in a similar way. And it's just a desire to be sensual or tactile with another person, and often includes a desire to do things like touch, cuddle, even sometimes things like smelling the other person.

And I could see why this might confuse allo people a bit because allo people tend to wrap all this stuff together instead of parsing out the individual feelings. So often if they're experiencing sensual desire or attraction it often can be interpreted as connected to other romantic or sexual feelings.

The other option I could see is if you're touch starved. But if you're craving a relationship specifically and not just touch in general, sensual desire makes more sense.

I'm not sure how common it is, but I'll throw it out to followers. If anyone experiences anything similar and wants to talk about it or give their own thoughts, please do!

[terminuslucis]

Story time! A little bit about my tiny Silver's family history.

It's a little sad.

From the start, it was clear that little Silver resembled his father the most. Nobody was quite sure where his pale coloring came from, but that was fine. Genetics didn't always make sense.

His parents noticed early on that their son had some sort of magic. Odd things happened around him, and sometimes he laughed at an empty corner of the room. Nobody else in their family had magic, as far as they knew. Then again, there was nobody to ask. Neither of them had parents left. The only family was his father's little sister.

Maybe his gift was why his hair and eyes were so different. Whatever the case, they would figure it out as he got older.

That never happened. Before the child turned three years old, his parents were in an accident. At the time, he was in the care of his aunt.

From her perspective, Silver waved at the door and wandered off to play in his room. A few hours later, she learned that her brother and his wife died. From his perspective, his parents came home and, some time later, his aunt started crying.

As his only living relative, his aunt was determined to look after Silver. It wasn't easy. She changed jobs often, chasing promotions and better schedules, so they moved a lot. Silver lost count of how many schools he went to. He didn't mind moving. There was always someone to play with, and his family was together.

Over time, his aunt realized that Silver was a little odder than she originally thought. It wasn't limited to the dishes moving on their own or his knack for knowing too much. His antics weren't just the rich imagination of a lonely boy. He saw things that she couldn't. He asked about things that shouldn't exist. He talked to her brother.

She tried to let it slide. She hated hearing only one half of a conversation with the only family she had, but Silver still had his parents, in a way...

In a way that she couldn't...

The boy grew up. The older he got, the more he resembled his parents, and the more his aunt hurt. She kept quiet about that. Of course he would look like his parents. It wasn't his fault that she missed them.

Meanwhile, little Silver saw his parents as clear as day. He knew they were dead, and his aunt was sad about that, but death didn't mean much to him. How could death be sad to someone who could look it in the eyes and hold its hand? But, when he mentioned them, sometimes his aunt looked like she wanted to cry.

Slowly, he stopped talking about the things his aunt couldn't see. He also stopped asking about things he heard without her saying them. He didn't want to make her sad. Over time, the gap between how they saw the world widened. His parents' ghosts could do very little to help.

Shortly after Silver started high school, his aunt caught a lucky break. They moved again, but that would be the last time. Silver made friends at his new school and their little family was finally stable.

And so, Silver mentioned his parents for the first time in years.

"Dad wants to say something."

His voice was almost a whisper as he braced for her reaction.

"What is it?" she asked.

"They have to leave soon. He wants to thank you for looking after me." He didn't know why his father said it like that when his parents had always been around, but he was asked to relay those exact words.

His aunt nodded, biting her lip before running to her room. She didn't say a word, but he heard everything regardless.

There was bittersweet relief, knowing her brother was with her for all that time, frustration and doubt as she questioned why Silver stopped talking about them in the first place, anger at herself because she knew it was her fault, and the sorrow of knowing that her family would be gone for good.

Silver had left many people over the last several years. To him, it felt as if his parents were simply the ones moving away this time. Why was it so different for his aunt? Why did his parents' smiles look so sad?

The day his parents' souls left, his aunt cried for the first time in years. Once again, Silver stopped talking about things she couldn't see, but only because they were no longer in the house. It seemed that last "goodbye" had changed things.

No, that was wrong. His parents said "goodbye" because things had already changed. They left because they knew everything would be okay.

[l0stfoster]

Hey its paul anon again (thanks for the name 🫡) sorry ive been bombarding you with questions but I absolutely love this au and i love everyone to bits

So, can you go into more detail about darry and paul . Like, as much info abt them as you can throw at me those two are my boys . Like how did they officially get together , how did Paul go abt moving in and whats that situation like .

Also, when Paul is like kicked out and cut off from the family, does he end up just,, losing everything? I mean like, did his parents even let him get his belongings or did all he have was the clothes on his body and trauma. I would imagine his parents had control over his bank account too so they like shut that down too so he’s out here broke as fuck JHSJSHSJ sorry im just yapping

Anon never apologizes for asking I'm so open to answering them bc I love this au and I adore that so many people like it too. Parry fans are eating good bc the writers love Cursed!Parry just as much. I'll answer your questions ab them before I yap. To be totally honest, those two did not ever really make it official. Doing that requires two things they lack; emotional openness and no internalized homophobia. They both told themselves for the longest time that it wasn't a relationship... even after they started saying "I love you" in Latin and Fae respectively (Paul knows Latin bc spells, Darry knows Fae for obvious reasons), or when each other realized managed to figure out WHAT the other was saying,, or when they started sharing a bed and waking up intertwined,,, or when they started using far too affectionate pet names,,, or when things became far too intimate for it to be casual. They never actually make it official, one day they just slip into calling each other their boyfriends. The most official it ever got was when they flat out went "Oh yeah, we're dating" to the gang. The gang was making bets on that, by the way. Pony said weeks, Soda said a month, Steve said two, Two-Bit said a year. Ace got it right down to the date and time, nobody knows how she did it. They have no anniversary because they have no fucking idea when they really "got together". Paul never truly moved in either, he kinda just went from crashing there whenever his car wasn't an option, to taking up the couch almost every night, to sleeping in Darry's room, and eventually, it was just an unspoken thing that he was officially a member of the household. They have to kick him out for the day whenever the social worker comes to check on things, cause Darry can NOT take the risk of some kind of bad outcome to his mere existence. OK MORE GENERAL PARRY - Being with Paul reminds Darry that he's only 20 and still allowed to be something other than "the adult" sometimes. That brings a whole KIND of happiness that he can't describe. Dude's tail is fucked up due to physical trauma but that bitch wags so fast with Paul. - Darry on the other hand just generally grounds Paul. He's so used to the way of life that was on the west side that everything going on there is overwhelming sometimes. - They're very bad with vocal I love you's in English but they will say that shit ALL the time in different languages or through their actions. - Uh after Paul got jumped and had his letterman jacket stolen, Darry gave him an old denim jacket of his own bc Paul hated having his arms out in the open. - Pony audibly gags every time they're lovey-dovey. He's not homophobic unless you're Paul and Darry. - They'd shotgun cigarettes when they were younger (and the only reason they don't anymore is the account of Darry wanting to keep the fact that he smokes every rare occurrence on the down low) - Darry's purring has healing properties like a cat's purr (all of the brothers' have it actually) so this mf will just drag Paul down to cuddle and purr. - They are.. so down bad for each other. Darry does anything and Paul swoons, and they've def had an interaction that goes something like this: Paul, knowing Darry cant lie: "How do you feel about me right now?" Darry, immediately: "I'd marry you if I could." Paul & Darry:

As for being kicked out, Paul's parents quite literally just. Booted him, barely a warning. One minute he's arguing back for the first time since their keeping up appearances at the police event, and the next he's being dragged by the arm and shoved out of the house with threats of being killed if he dares to show his face back there. Just like that, all of it's pretty much gone; save for the clothes on his back and whatever he'd been carrying-- which was really only his car keys and his wallet. He was sleeping in his car for a bit until Two and Pony vaguely got on his ass because Darry's calls were going to voicemail and he was stupid enough to let it slip that he wasn't living at home anymore. Pony, being Pony, snitched. Can't have shit with that little gremlin around- so after finding his dumbass after having had the equivalent of an aneurism over suddenly being ghosted by Paul, Darry extended the offer for Paul to stay with them. He doesn't mind it being a permanent solution, but Paul is.. less fond for a few reasons; so he tries not to impose much while he looks for work. (He does eventually get something sorted out, so yippie! Helps with the bills what a guy) FORGOT TO ADD. He sneaks home at one point to try and get some of his shit because he knows where the spare key is, but gets cold feet at the door because he genuinely doesn't know if his dad will keep up with that threat.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Tommy Vega from 911 Lone Star is an absolute gem 🥰🥰 I love the fact that the show embraces that Gina Torres is a Black Cuban-American woman, she’s breathes so much life and depth into Tommy its so beautiful to watch!

Tommy was introduced in the second season as a new paramedic captain after Liv Tyler’s character’s departure from the show. You immediately know who Tommy is: she’s getting back into working because of the pandemic after being a single mom for several years, she’s anxious about her performance but she steps in as a total badass, and she’s a married woman with a beautiful, loving relationship with her husband.

Shes strong-willed, sometimes to a stubborn point where it’s like oh my god what are you doing but also good for you on standing your ground!!! After the death of her husband she’s full of grief, but does take some steps back into the dating world. One of which was sleeping with her husband’s brother (she’s so messy at times I love her, but also like that’s a legit thing people do so it makes me mad when people bash her for it).

She’s also so kind and sweet and funny every episode where she’s the focal point is the best in my opinion 🫶🏼

Also she is just like the most beautiful woman alive 🥰🥰

Gina Torres!! She's another one of the people that deserves far more flowers than she's gotten for her acting career. I remember her discussing how as a Black Latina, there were so many roles she couldn't get because "she didn't look Latina". So to hear the show is actually letting her explore and express her roots makes me happy! And at this point, always take with a grain of salt that any bad choice a woman of color makes on screen is going to be amplified a thousand times onto her character by fans.

[goldennymphh]

In The Dark (Multi-Part Series)

Chapter 1 - țara minunilor

Alcina Dimitrescu x Fem! Wife! Original Character

Warnings before you read this series ; Postpartum Depression, Miscommunication, Established Relationship, Manipulation, Character Death, Insanity, Delusions, Implied Sexual Content, Cult, death of a child, Cannibalism, Angst, no happy ending, Depictions of Violence

Ao3 Version

Staring up at the large castle, she pressed her lips into a thin line of worry. Her forehead wrinkles a bit. She glanced over at her wife who just seemed excited to be here. She sighed softly before shifting their son in her arms. This didn’t feel right, but at least they wouldn’t have to pay rent or anything too tedious. She must be respectful too, this was her wife’s lineage after all. This was a part of her wife’s family. She gently felt a hand on her back, her eyes moving over to her loving wife.

“It’s beautiful love..” Her voice came out soft so as to not spook their easily crying son. Alcina seemed delighted at her wife’s words, she gently moved to hug her wife’s waist. Pressing her chin against the woman’s shoulder. “I know it looks a bit rough but.. it can be somewhere he can grow without worry. It can be somewhere for us to live together for years to come without being casted away for our marriage..”

The shorter female nodded her head as she looked at her wife. She pressed a small kiss to her wife’s lips as a breeze blew by. This breeze spooked the little one as he started to do that pre-cry where his little lip would start to shiver and soft whimpers would leave him. She sighed a bit at this, not wishing for their son to start wailing right there. She didn’t like to admit it but he tired her out sometimes. Sometimes it was hard to feel a connection to him.

Alcina seemed to notice their son's shiver. She gently nodded her head and moved to grab a key from her bag. “Come. Let’s head inside, it’s getting late and I don't want Callum getting sick.” 

The other woman nodded her head as she moved to follow after her wife up to the steps. Her wife unlocked the door then moved to step inside, holding the door open for the shorter female. She slightly shuffled on her feet as she stepped inside to the corridor. It was nice, dusty but nice. Yet she could still feel that small shiver running up her back. The feeling of someone watching her was at an all time high.. It was an old castle, of course it’d give her the creeps. Also adding to the fact that it was towards the end of the day. So she couldn’t see much, especially with the curtains covering the windows.

Her wife slightly pressed a hand on her lower back, leaning down to mumble in her ear. “I’ll go find some candles. They’re bound to have one somewhere around here.”

The shorter female nodded her head, watching her wife turn to go walk down the hall. Alcina had always been the more brave type. Whilst she never was, hell she often felt scared of her own shadow. A small gurgle came from the baby, her eyes looked down at him. A soft smile on her lips. She took in a breath, shifting on her body weight. “I know.. This is quite odd, but I'm sure we’ll settle in once our stuff arrives. Along with all your toys.”

She slightly moved to take a step over to a bookshelf, her free hand slightly running over the dust. A soft sigh left her. They’d have to get this clean.. She wouldn’t want Callum falling ill. Her eyes slightly trailed over the books, squinting a bit through the darkness to find a book that was child appropriate. Half of these she hadn’t even heard off. Rich people..

She shook her head before noticing a familiar book. It wasn’t exactly baby appropriate in her eyes, but it’d have to do. She moved to grab the book, sliding it out of its spot. A soft breath left her as she moved to walk over to the steps, sitting down with Callum to wait for Alcina. She didn't exactly feel comfortable walking off into the castle without her wife by her side. It probably wouldn’t be safe either. Lord knows how many broken pieces of wood or steps there were. Her soft voice filled the air as she started to read to Callum softly. Hoping the story would calm his small whimpers which would eventually lead to cries. 

She continued to read until a voice spoke up. By the time Alcina got back, she had her nose in the book with Callum in her arms. It was hard to see until a light came up by the book. Her eyes looked up to see Alcina's eyes which had a slight shine of gold in them, illuminated by the fire. Alcina smiled warmly at the sight of her wife reading to their son.

“Maria.. dear, sorry it took so long. It got darker in the main hall, so it took me a bit longer.”

Maria’s eyes looked up at her wife and just offered a soft smile with a nod. She moved to close the book before standing with a slight breath. Her eyes drifted over to the chamberstick in her wife's hand, candle burning to add some light to the dark area. 

“It’s alright.. I am quite glad you're back. I was worried you had gotten lost. That I would have to go myself to find you.”

“Ah well, it is a good thing you did not. This castle is not exactly in the best shape for a woman with a baby to traverse alone in the dark.” Alcina mumbled softly, she pressed a soft kiss to her wifes temple. Adoration always seemed to be present in her eyes ever since their first meeting. 

Walking into the main hall, it was quite the mess. Dust covering a lot of the surface, furniture covered up by white sheets. She slightly moved to hand Callum to Alcina and grabbed the chamberstick as well. She then walked over to the staircase, peering up it. Her slightly tanned hand sliding over the woodwork that was most likely very expensive to have made. Her lips pressed into a soft line. A breath leaving her. The candle provided some light to see it. A question then came from her lips.

“ ‘Cina.. can we afford this all? It is obviously going to need quite the work to fix up.. And that costs..”

Her wife chuckled a bit at Maria’s question, head tilting to the side with a smile spreading on her unpainted lips for once. She moved to walk over softly. Her arms securely holding Callum as she looked down at her wife, dipping down a bit to press a soft kiss to her lips. Her words came out softly. “Do not worry of that.. I shall handle it.”

Maria raised an eyebrow at her wifes words. What could she possibly mean with that cryptic ass phrasing? At this point, every question she had asked Alcina pertaining to how she acquired the castle or even the means to move had been deflected. She was not the type to push but it was really beginning to become questionable.

Instead they just decided to take a small look around the lower floor. Maria had left their son with Alcina for the moment as she headed towards two double doors, pushing one open. Her eyes glanced around what she could only assume to be the dining room. A white sheet covered the table lazily, the chairs were covered as well. She walked around the table and over to the windows, she tilted her head as she looked out at the outer courtyard. Perhaps she could meet with some of the mothers in the village. She still wanted Callum to have friends after all. 

Alcina herself was walking around the main hall, the six month old sitting in her arms. Looking at her with wondering eyes. She slightly glanced down at him with a slight breath. “We’re going to have to see if we can find you a cradle or something.. Your other mother is dead set on you having your own bed, she doesn’t believe in bed sharing. Can not really blame her though.” Alcina’s eyes then noticed another candle. She moved to grab the matches out of her pocket, lighting the candle before grabbing the chamberstick. She moved to then head upstairs carefully, not wishing to fall with the baby and chamber stick in hand. Callum was always fairly calm with her, much more so than with Maria. It wasn’t hard to see how much her wife often struggled to wish to be near the baby. It was a push-pull situation, especially with the heightened emotions ever since the birth. Maria would never admit it, but Alcina pays attention enough to see it all. To see when the shorter female would need moments to herself or would be on the verge of a breakdown, so it took Alcina slipping in to handle Callum for her wife.

By the time Maria went to find her wife, Alcina was back sitting in the main hall on a couch she had uncovered. Callum was peacefully asleep in her arms as she was flipping through a book. A soft breath left her lips as Maria set her own chamberstick on a nearby shelf. She then moved to sit next to her wife. “This place is too big..” Alcina let a laugh slip through her lips as she looked at Maria with a raised eyebrow.

“If i'm correct there is still an entire basement and another part to the castle.” At these words, Maria looked over at her wife almost like she was insane. What in the hell would they do with all this space? She would have just been fine with a small house, maybe a wrap around porch. She did not grow up exactly well off so she wasn’t used to such space. She sighed before laying her head on Alcina’s shoulder. A small frown pulling at her lips. Soft brown eyes glancing around the room then over to the lit fireplace. “Did you light the fireplace?” Maria mumbled softly. Her words made her wife look over, a slight shake of her head before looking back at the book. 

Maria’s eyes drifted back to the fireplace in confusion. The fire flickering against her skin as she sat up a bit. Great, welcome to wonderland where fires light themselves.

[folk-enjoyer]

Song of The Day/history of cotton eyed joe

do you want the history of a folk song? dm me or submit an ask and I'll do a full rundown

"Cotton Eyed Joe" Terry Callier, 1963

As a disclaimer, "Cotton Eyed Joe" is my least favorite American folk song and I'm going to talk about why, and I'm going to talk about why Terry Callier's version is subversive and good.

The Earliest date we have for the song's origins is from 1882 when it was Published in "Diddie, Dumps, and Tot, or, Plantation child-life" by Louise Clark-Pyrnelle. This book is a nostalgic recollection of her childhood as a plantation owner's daughter. She reminisces fondly about slavery, missing the old plantation days. Honestly, some of the quotes within this book are beyond parody, in one sentence she says "... My little book does not pretend to be any defense of slavery" and in the next sentence when referring to the morality of slavery she writes, "there are many pros and cons to that subject", later at the end of the chapter she laments about the forever lost emotional connection between the Masters children and the enslaved people. hate this woman and her little book.

It is also important to note that this book goes out of its way to caricature black people, throughout the book she exaggerates accents and dialects to dehumanize them. This is a recurring theme in early publications of this song. Another early publication of the song comes from Dorothy Scarborough in "On the Trail of negro folk-songs" 1925 who got it from her sister who also learned it on a plantation, in Texas. She writes "This is an authentic slavery-time song" This book, if you can believe it, is remarkably racist and dismissive of black music, even as a more "progressive" songbook of black folk songs.

In 1922, the song's history was documented a bit more extensively by Thomas W. Talley in his book "Negro folk rhymes". He writes that it has "deep roots in black traditional lore". Thomas W. Talley was also just a cool guy in general, this book is one of the first compilations of African American folk songs, and it has been a pioneering book in its field. Even today, this book is still one of the best sources for the history of African American folk songs.

So, this is a black song. This was a black song whose first wave of popularization was through the caricature of black people to be amusing for white folks. Let's move on to its second wave of popularization.

The song was first recorded in 1927 by "Dykes Magic City Trio" (all white band) then about a week later by Fiddlin' John Carson (white performer) then in 1928 by Pope's Arkansas Mountanaineers (all white band) then in 1929 by Carter Brothers and Son (all white band) and then it wasn't really recorded for a while because of the great depression and the war but the times it was recorded, it was by white people. We know this because it was mostly recorded by John Lomax and despite documenting southern folk songs, he almost went out of his way to avoid recording black people singing them. Then, in 1941, it was recorded by Burl Ives (painfully white).also covered by a few white country singers like Adolph hofner bob willis but I think you get the point. It wasn't until later that year that it would be recorded by a black person, performed by josh white in 1944-45, who covered it as a lullaby.

However, it wouldn't be until the 90s, during its 3rd wave of popularization that it became its most grotesque. "cotton eye joe" was recorded and released by Swedish Eurodance band Rednex in 1995 as a, to paraphrase reviews, 'Way to make fun of backwater southerners'. This song became incredibly popular throughout Europe and in the USA as well, charting as a number-one song in several countries, sometimes for weeks. Not only is this song incredibly classist, it is, whether by omission or deliberately, fundamentally racist, adding to the whitewashing of black folk and minstrelsy of black people. The attitude and humor derived from the Swedish version are the same as the version in 1882 when it was a "classic slave song".

So, why is Terry Callier's version important, why talk about it? Terry Callier's version is the first version of the song that I have heard and it is not a comedy. It isn't meant to be funny. It slows the melody down and draws attention to itself. It's almost a ballad, showcasing Joe as a tragic but mysterious hero, maybe a love song. His voice is angelic as well. Terry Callier once again, subverts expectations and creates something beautiful out of a song that has been so whitewashed and appropriated that no one remembers its tragic origins.

Thomas W. Talley

some other versions by black folks Josh white 1944-46 Nina simone 1959 The Ebony Hillbillies 2004 Leon bibb 1962 Ella Jenkins 1960 Josh White Jr 1964 Queen Ida 1985

[robiinurheart33]

Part 1

The next time Soap wakes up, he isn’t screaming anymore.

He sort of felt that after passing out from the pain of Ghost’s touch along with the stitches that he was gonna wake up in a shitton of pain but surpringly he felt…comfortable. Soap opens his bleary eyes to take stock of the situation. He’s obviously in one of the rooms in the safe house, the room completely void of light. Not even the moonlight is able to pierce through the blackout curtains. No doubt Ghost probably would’ve also dead locked the windows. He feels the cooling touch of a bedsheet under his fingers, the whirring of a fan blowing on his face. He can hear shuffling downstairs, Ghost probably settling down for a few days at the house before they’re cleared to go out.

Johnny sits up with a soft groan, hand patting his side where his stitches lie. His mind feels blissfully silent, like for once a higher being is allowing him to rest, if only for a short while. He feels 10 again when his socked feet slide across the ground as he stands, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and opening the door to the bedroom. Johnny isn’t completely sure of where his bedroom is located, but he manages to find the living room easily and by extension; Ghost. He looks ethereal and deadly in the moonlight, sitting on the couch and cleaning his guns.

“About time you woke up.” Christ, he sounds exhausted. Has he rested even once when he patched Soap up?

“How long was I out?”

A pause. “Long enough.” Ghost sounded more gravely than usual. Soap tries not to dwell on it, what it implies. He knows that even if he tries to get Ghost to rest, it would end up fruitless. He knows other ways to trick him into resting.

Johnny spots his phone on the table and checks the time. 2:37am. Shit, it’s been quite a while since he passed out. They left for the op at 4am, and arrived at the safe house at around 7:30am. He’d been sleeping all this time. He sighs and perches himself onto the couch arm. Far enough that he isn’t invading Ghost’s personal space, but still remaining within his reach. He stares at the generic wallpaper his phone is blinking back at him. His real phone is back in his bedside table at base. The wallpaper is of his family about 8 years ago, all of them grinning at a eyefish filter Johnny’s sister took. Johnny looks ridiculous, his mowhawk not yet making its debut, and an old phase of a beard is evident on his face, bushy and proud. This was taken when they were all on vacation together, a rare occasion when he was able to save enough offs and before all the kids, complications and death. There were the MacTavishes, once upon a time. His mother, two older sisters and a little, blue eyed John. Remember John, His sister hissed, wagging a finger in his face. You’re a Mactavish. When we get down we get the fuck back up again. He’s always admired his sister. he misses them both so, so, much.

“Do you sometimes ever wonder if this life is really worth it?” Johnny suddenly blurts out. He feels his face immediately start burning. God, that’s embarrassing. “Being in the military, I-I mean.”

He knows that Ghost, out of all people would be the worst person to talk to about feelings. He’s an important person that has more responsibilities to lie his focus on, much less his feelings. Shit, can he take back the words? No, that would be even worse. Can Ghost just ignore him? No, wait, that might be even worse if they just stay in this stupid awkward silence Soap subjected them to-

“All the time.”

Johnny whips his head around so fast he’s sure he has whiplash.

“A-all the time?”

To be honest, Johnny never really thought Ghost has a life outside of the military. He never talks about family, friends or maybe even a girlfriend. He doesn’t like to think of the implications or anything about his past. It just felt invasive and inappropriate to do so, even if they were close. Price had told him one late night, smoke curling lazily behind his ear, with low murmurs and blood shot eyes that Simon has no one left to mourn him. Johnny didn’t ask for the details. He didn’t have any right to.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate. Johnny doesn’t blame him.

He turns back to staring at the wooden walls deprived of any decoration, not even a small potted plant. He takes a deep inhale and sighs, breathing in the stale air. Fuck it. Whether he wants to hear it or not; Johnny can’t take the pain of awkward silence.

“My mom back home, she…” He wet his lips, thinking for a moment. “She writes to me, sometimes. Tells me every single detail of her day, that old hag.” Johnny chuckles, tracing the gnarly stitch work Ghost had done on him over his shirt. “But that’s just because she doesnt have anything else going on in her life. Which, I mean, it does sound depressing, but she’s in her own little bubble y’know? She goes to her yoga class, book club, she bakes, and she’s just fine with that life.” He looks over at Ghost, who’s now looking right at him, gun hanging loosely from his hands.

Soap thinks it would probably be a nice way to go. If Ghost shot him in the head right now.

“She’s…. Happy. I think. I hope so.”

“Hm.”

Soap scratches at the base of his neck, looking out the window. The grass seemed to stretch on forever, into the horizon. The moon is just a sliver today, peeking over from its shadow, casting a light blue tint over everything. He thinks if he stood on the road and looked straight ahead, it would look something like those pictures they make you stare at when they check for eyesight at the doctor’s, but without the hot air balloon.

A soft click alerts Soap back to reality, watching Ghost place down his gun.

“Let me get dinner.”

He blinks.

“You haven’t eaten?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Soap hears a few pots cutleries clink against one another.

“…was waiting for you.”

And fuck, if that just makes his intensities melt and swirl together. Ghost was waiting for him? He was waiting for Soap to wake up to eat dinner together? Jesus Christ. He manages to crack a smile, and a little too tender “aww, Ghostie.” Gets breathed.

He comes back around to face Soap, handing him his MRE with a plastic fork sticking out of it, stream curling from the packet. He can smell the curry chicken and he almost sobs.

“You got me my favourite?”

“Don’t sound so emotional, Sargent. It just happened to be in my bag.”

Ghost plops down onto the couch and pulls off his mask to scarf down his bag, barely stopping for a breath.

Soap chuckles. “Goddamn animal..” He ignores the way his ears feel hot and his chest feels itchy, just holding the packet in his hands.

He fidgets around with it, letting the heat seep into the palms of his hands, wondering how long it would last, if it would stay there forever, cupped in his skin, his bones. Wonders if he could press it to his chest and the heat would spread throughout his body, into his head. If he ate the food would it warm him from the inside out, would it taste as delicious as how Ghost’s considerations made him feel?

“Jesus Christ just eat the fuckin’ food Johnny, before it gets cold.” Ghost grumbles, speech a bit muffled due to the food in his mouth.

He giggles before picking up the fork, scooping up some of the rice and shoving it in his mouth. He lets out an appreciative hum, scooping up more rice and chicken, stuffing more and more into his mouth.

Eventually, Johnny slides from the armrest to the actual couch cushions, tossing the empty packet onto the table with a content sigh. Ghost had resorted to staring out the window now, arms resting on his knees with his hands clasped together as if deep in thought. The Scot lays his head back on the cushions, closing his eyes for a bit. He doesnt want to disrupt the silent peace they have going on right now.

“Soap.”

“Hmm?”

“Let me check your stitches.”

He opens one eye to look at Ghost.

“Mkay.”

Before he could shift his body towards him though, Ghost already slipped to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of soap’s legs.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s easier this way. I don’t want you to turn any more than you have to. This’ll be quick.” he says, like Soap isn’t currently fighting for the air to go into his lungs at the way he just with no hesitation start to go for the hem of his shirt.

“Jesus, okay! Fine, i can do it myself.” He grumbles, slapping Ghost’s hand away before quickly pulling his shirt off.

Now, it isn’t the first time Ghost has touched him, nor will it be the last. For fuck’s sakes, he was screaming in anguish just less than 25 hours ago, and Ghost was touching him in the exact same spot. But this time, it was different. It wasn’t physical contact for the sake of keeping all his organs intact, it was more out of concern for his safety. It is also a helluva lot more intimate the last few times they’d touched. (Not like he was keeping count) The moonlight hits him from the back of his head, making his brown eyes shine in the dark. He always looked like he was on the verge of tears, Soap noted a long time ago. They were constantly glassy, waterline reddish-pink an eyelashes longer than a damn horse. His pupils always looked intense and scary, black in the sunlight, caramel in the moonlight. Soap’s sweating now, more so that he’s actively pinning Soap under that stare, watching for any painful expression.

As he reached forward, big bastard he is, knocks his knees apart so that he’s more in between his legs than in front of them. Johnny breathes. His ears are definitely red now.

The first touch felt more like a jolt than anything, cold fingertips pressing into his side.

“Fuck, Ghost, you don’t have any blood in ya?” Johnny cracks a nervous smile, trying to lighten the mood. Ghost doesnt reply, eyes now trained on his midriff.

His left hand cups his waist, their contrasting temperatures slowly making its way to even themselves out. Soap can’t help but shiver, Ghost suddenly whipping his hand away like he’d burned him. He blinks, looking up at Johnny.

“Sorry.”

“S’ okay, sir. Just didn’t know you have the touch of an ice princess.”

He slaps his ribs, pretty eyes narrowing as he focuses on his stitches again. His left hand comes back to cup his waist, thumb right above the stitches. His right thumb is below the wound, hand resting on his belly, pinkie on his military-issued shorts.

In all honesty, Johnny’s completely losing it. The touch is like liquid nectar spread across his middle, settling under his ribs and squeezing his lungs. He feels indulgent, gluttony taking in the form of Ghost’s touch. It’s so much more than he’s expected it to be, and he feels a bit light headed. The thumb tracing so, so carefully along the uneven stitches almost feels like it could be mistaken for care, for love. Johnny’s light headed, and his limbs feel heavy like it turned into lead. It felt feather light, and all too special. Like if Soap wasn’t completely honed in on whatever the hell is happening right now, the moment would slip away and he would regret it for the rest of his life. So he savours. He memorises the touch pads of ghost’s fingertips against his skin, the light framing his body, his eyes fixated on the stitches. Fuck, fuck. What Soap would give to feel like this all the time.

In spite of his internal turmoil, Ghost looks up at him, eyelashes fluttering.

“You good?”

Johnny swallows, Ghost’s eyes following the motion.

“Yeah- yeah I’m good.”

please touch me more. please hug me. please cup my face and touch me as gently as you do for my wounds. please take care of me. please care.

Soap’s flushing hot now, he doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know. Ghost’s eyes hone in on him, pupils trained onto his body for what, soap doesnt even know. He tries to look as normal as possible with your CO’s hands on him so warm, so gently, like he belongs there.

Whatever Ghost is looking for, he finds as he sighs softly, letting his hands drop and now resting on his hips.

God fucking damn it Ghost is driving him crazy

“You got any siblings?” His hands absentmindedly squeeze him, and Soap mentally checks out. He’s done. He’s actually dying. This is heaven. Or hell. Either way, he doesn’t ever want to leave.

“Two sisters.” He manages to squeeze out as much as he can without his body moving. He’s tuned in with every nerve, so, so scared that if he moves Ghost will take away his hands.

“Youngest?”

“Mhm.”

“Can tell.”

“Haud yer wheest.” He grumbles, looking at anywhere but Ghost. Why hasn’t he moved yet?

“Tell me about them.”

Johnny scrambles for any kind of information on his sisters to tell him.

“Well- uh. Marjorie is my oldest. Uh- oldest sister. She hates her name. Has a bubbling little husband little ways from our home. Lovely guy, has no backbone. Honestly could not tell you how he managed to bag my sister. He even says it’s a miracle, heh.” The more he talks, the more he relaxes. “Middle sister, Gwyneth, she.. uh. She has a little rascal running around at home. Little runt, that kid. Fuckin’ love her.”

“Sounds like your mom has a knack for naming her kids.”

“Yeah right, imagine a Marjorie, Gwyneth and then just John.” He shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Lame name.”

“It’s a okay name.”

“Ghost, i can literally name you 10 guys I’ve met with the same name as me. Our captain is named John.”

“Yeah you’re right there. John is a shit name.”

“Shut up!” Johnny giggles, raising his hand as if he was gonna hit Ghost.

“It’s better than Simon.”

A pause. “What’s wrong wit Simon? Right bonnie name, there.”

Even with the darkness, Johnny can feel Ghost’s eyebrow raising.

“Am’ serious! Simon…. Yeah, it’s a good name. Solid.”

He huffs, as if not believing it, one of his thumbs tracing patterns absentmindedly on the soft part of his midriff .

“Who wouldn’t love a Simon in their life, hm?” Soap hums, tapping the cheekbone of Simon’s mask with a finger.

“Simon.” He whispers again, just for good measure, and Ghost looks up at him, eyes shining so, so brightly. He looks almost wistful, hopeful if he looks too much into it. The hands at his hips squeeze.

Fuck.

“Simon.”

I love you.

I love you so much I can’t bear it sometimes.

Johnny says nothing else.

“We should probably go sleep now. We have to get up in less than 5 hours.” He whispers.

Ghost hums an agreement, but neither of them move for a long time.

“Okay.” Ghost mumbles, breaking the spell first. He climbs up to his feet and looks down at johnny one last time, hooking an index finger to his chin. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” Johnny can feel the rumble deep in his chest. He doesn’t reply, only nods as he watches Ghost disappear down the hallway.

Once he’s out of sight, Soap buries his face in his hands and groans softly. God, his whole body is alight. How’s he ever gonna sleep now? How’s he going to move on with his life knowing how ghost’s hands felt on his waist, his hips, his chin? His face feels hot, and he scratches at his chest, wringing his shirt he picked up in his hands nervously.

He lays his head back, staring at the water stains on the ceiling.

He’s fucked.

[pleasantspark]

Depression is a curse man.

The way its depicted in Hazbin Hotel as some, "UwU quirky dad making ducks to feel something" pisses me off. My depression is never taken serious by anyone so to have it mocked and ridiculed like that just doesn't make me any more proud.

I can barely fucking get up in the morning, eat, sleep. Do anything else but mope. I tell everyone my feelings and I feel like I am a burden to them. I am constantly being fed my depression. People give me praise but I don't know if it's true.

I cannot take this shit anymore man, I just want to end the sadness end the suffering. When I am not so close to the edge I feel happy, but it comes back again what's the point in being happy if everyone's gonna tell me to suck it up?

The fucking mental health clinics or even therapy does nothing but fill your head with hope. Hope that eventually you'd get better. These are just feelings rehab. They are not there to help you get cured.

Hazbin could have this level of shit where they can help someone but ultimately they relapse because that's how being a 20 year old unemployed bitch is.

I hate being alive sometimes. I feel like existence is just pointless. But yeah, depression is a joke guys, its not like it evovlves to wanting to throw yourself off a moving truck GUYS.

FFS, I'm done. I'm going back to writing.. OH WAIT I CANT

BECAUSE I AM TOO USELESS TO EVEN DO THAT!

[joelsrose]

Roses & Rust

Eek!! Guys this is my first ever Joel slow burn fanfic I hope you guys enjoy !! I have the next few chapters ready to post so please let me know if you want me to post them!!! Super slow burn slay .. enjoy babies xx this is not super accurate to the time jump and age in the game and show - reader is late 20s and Joel is late 40’s early 50’s!!

Summary: In a world ravaged by infection and chaos, survival is all that remains. Once a doctor with a life filled with love and promise, you've spent the last eight years fighting your way through a broken landscape, haunted by the loss of everything you once held dear. When a chance encounter with Joel Miller and Tess brings you into the Boston QZ, your journey takes a turn you never expected. As you both navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, an unexpected romance begins to bloom, fragile and uncertain, against the backdrop of survival.

Chapter 1: Thorns of Survival

Survival. That was all your life had been for the last eight years. Every step, every breath, every decision—focused solely on staying alive. You grunted as you trudged through the overgrown streets, boots caked in mud, legs heavy with exhaustion. The worn-out, hand-drawn map in your hand was a relic from a raider you’d killed days ago—maybe weeks. Time had become meaningless, lost in the blur of surviving. All you could focus on was your destination: the Boston QZ.

The city loomed ahead, a jagged silhouette against the dull, gray sky. Its once-proud buildings, now hollowed-out husks, stood like tombstones marking the death of the world you once knew. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the chill creeping in as the wind picked up. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of your pack digging into your shoulders, but you pushed forward, driven by the faint glimmer of hope that the QZ might offer something—anything—resembling stability.

But that was all it was now—just survival. There was a time, eight years ago, when your life had been so much more than that. You were barely 23, freshly graduated from med school, and engaged to the love of your life. Back then, your future had been bright, full of promise. You’d worked so hard, every hour spent studying, every sacrifice made, all to build a life you could be proud of. The career, the home, the family—you had it all mapped out.

And then the outbreak happened.

You hadn’t been prepared for how quickly it would all crumble. One day, you were planning a wedding, discussing where you’d go on your honeymoon. The next, the world had descended into chaos. The infection spread like wildfire, burning through cities, turning people into monsters. The man you’d planned to spend your life with—your future—was ripped away from you in a brutal instant. The infection didn’t even give you time to say goodbye. You could still hear his voice, sometimes, echoing in the back of your mind, telling you everything would be alright. But it wasn’t. It never would be again.

The ache of his loss never left you. It just dulled, becoming part of you, settling in the empty spaces where your future used to be. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the memory of his face, the way he used to make you laugh, the plans you had both dreamed of. You didn’t let yourself think about it too often—not anymore. It hurt too much. There was no room for that kind of pain in this world. It would swallow you whole if you let it.

Your hand instinctively tightened around the strap of your backpack, feeling the reassuring weight of the medical supplies inside—your last real bargaining chip. An assortment of drugs, benzos, antibiotics. Enough to trade for ration cards, enough to buy you time. You’d managed to hold onto them through every close call, every brush with the infected and the living threats alike. That was your edge, your way in.

As you approached the towering walls of the QZ, the scene before you was bleak. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their faces hard, their eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of weariness that came from years of seeing too much. People milled about, dirty, tired, hungry. You didn’t stand out. You were just one more lost soul looking for a way to survive.

A guard stepped forward, stopping you with a rifle slung across his chest. The scanner in his hand beeped to life as he raised it to your forehead. You stood still, barely breathing, until the small device let out a soft beep—green.

“Move along,” he muttered, not even sparing you a glance as he waved you through.

You stepped past the gate, feeling the weight of the city settle around you. Welcome to Boston.

•••

Your living space was barely more than a box. The apartment, if you could even call it that, was wedged in one of the many crumbling buildings in Area 4, packed with people like you—survivors, or at least, those trying to be. The building was a decaying relic of a forgotten world, its walls cracked and peeling, the floors groaning underfoot with every step, as if the weight of too many broken lives was pressing down on it.

Inside, the room was a suffocating, grim little square. A single cot was shoved against the wall, the mattress so thin it felt like you were lying on the floor itself. In one corner, a rusted sink dripped relentlessly, a slow, rhythmic reminder that time was passing—whether you wanted it to or not. Above it hung a small mirror, cracked down the center. You caught your reflection as you passed by, your braid fraying, dark circles hanging like shadows under your eyes. You barely recognized yourself anymore. That bright-eyed girl from eight years ago—freshly graduated, engaged, so full of hope—felt like a ghost haunting someone else’s life.

A small window, smudged and grimy, let in just enough gray light to remind you there was a world outside. But the view wasn’t much—just crumbling concrete and the ever-present silhouettes of soldiers patrolling below.

The few belongings you had were scattered on a makeshift shelf: an old, dog-eared Murakami novel, a half-melted candle, a crumpled photo of a past life. Everything here felt temporary, fleeting.

Under the poor excuse for a bed, you’d stashed your most valuable possession—your bag of medications and supplies. Hidden away, out of sight. In a place like this, trust was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

The Boston QZ felt like a prison. Every inch of it was crawling under the weight of control. Soldiers were everywhere—stoic, unflinching, rifles always at the ready, their eyes sweeping over the crowds with cold detachment.

You never went anywhere without feeling their gaze on you. They were always watching, waiting for someone to slip up. And when they did, the consequences were brutal. You’d seen it in your first few days—one wrong beep from a scanner, one foot out of line, and that was it. No second chances. No mercy. The executions were swift, cold, and left a weight in the air that lingered long after the bodies were gone.

Curfew was like a countdown to death. 6:00 PM to 6:00 AM. No exceptions. You’d watched as people scrambled to get indoors, their eyes darting nervously at the darkening sky, fear written in every step. No one wanted to test the military’s patience. You certainly didn’t.

For the first few weeks, you did what everyone else did—kept your head down, worked random jobs, and stayed in the shadows. The QZ was a labyrinth of desperation, everyone clawing for a foothold. The ration lines seemed to stretch forever, and the food was barely enough to keep people alive, let alone thriving.

But you quickly realized that wasn’t going to cut it. Not if you wanted more than just survival.

You spent your time observing, slipping through the cracks of the city, watching. Areas 1, 3, and 4 were heavily controlled, military checkpoints at every turn. But Area 5—that was different. It was a world unto itself, tucked away from the watchful eyes of FEDRA. The black market thrived here, an underground pulse of illicit trades and dangerous deals. People did what they had to. And you knew you’d have to do the same.

That was when you saw them.

You didn’t know their names yet, but you noticed how they moved through the market with a calm, quiet authority—like they owned it. The woman was tall, sharp-eyed, her voice low but commanding as she negotiated trades with surgical precision. She knew how to read people, how to get what she wanted without ever raising her voice.

The man was quieter, in his late 40s maybe, with a patchy beard of graying hair and hands that looked like they’d seen more than their fair share of rough work. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone parted crowds, people stepping aside without a word, their eyes flicking nervously in his direction as if they knew better than to cross him.

You watched them for days, curiosity gnawing at you. Who were they? How had they carved out a space for themselves in this cutthroat world? They were always together, moving in sync, but their relationship was unclear. Partners? Lovers? Friends? You didn’t know—and for some reason, it bothered you that you couldn’t tell.

But one thing was certain: they weren’t just surviving. They were thriving. And if you wanted to last here, you needed to figure out how.

•••

The sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the streets as the QZ slowly shifted from its harsh, daylight routine into something even darker. You stood by your window, watching the light fade, waiting for the right moment. The curfew would soon push everyone inside, and the soldiers would become more scarce. You’d been observing their patrols for days, mapping out the routes they took, the blind spots they didn’t bother covering. After all, Area 5 was its own beast, and even FEDRA seemed to know it wasn’t worth patrolling too heavily.

This wasn’t just a gamble—it was the result of days of careful planning. You had finally managed to set up your first trade, something you never would have attempted when you first arrived in the QZ. The world of smuggling and black-market dealings had been foreign to you then, a stark contrast to your life as a doctor. But now, with ration cards running low and survival becoming more desperate by the day, you had no choice but to adapt.

When the streets were finally cloaked in darkness, you grabbed the bag of benzos from under your bed. Your heart hammered in your chest as you slid the strap over your shoulder, casting a glance at the small mirror by the sink.

The alleyways were quieter now, the usual shuffle of desperate people retreating behind closed doors. The only sound was the distant hum of generators and the occasional clatter of boots on concrete. You took the path you’d memorized, the one that snaked through the backstreets where FEDRA never seemed to bother. Every step felt heavier than the last, your nerves gnawing at you. But you kept going.

The alley where the trade would go down was just ahead. Dark and narrow, it was tucked between two abandoned buildings, far from the reach of the patrols. You’d seen it used before—traders slipping in and out, never lingering too long. It seemed perfect for what you needed, but still, the unease in your stomach hadn’t left.

You arrived first, of course. You leaned against the damp brick wall, the weight of the bag heavy against your side as you waited. Your breath was shallow, hands slightly trembling as you clutched the strap tighter. You tried to shake it off. You’d seen others make trades here—dangerous deals, sure, but ones that had paid off.

But as the minutes ticked by, the unease twisted deeper.

He was late.

The alley was darker than you expected, shadows swallowing everything except the faint glow of the streetlight far at the entrance. When he finally appeared, slithering out of the shadows, his grin was wide and crooked, eyes gleaming with something you didn’t like.

“Well, if I knew my trader was such a fine young thing, I would've dressed up for the occasion,” he drawled, his voice dripping with false charm.

Your stomach twisted, regret settling in like a heavy stone. This was a mistake.

You steeled yourself, jaw tight, and handed him the bag. “I’ve got your stuff.”

His smirk deepened as he took it from you, the way his eyes lingered making your skin crawl. “Relax, darlin’. Doesn’t have to be all business,” he murmured, stepping closer, his fingers brushing your arm.

Your blood ran cold. His hand lingered too long, his body closing the space between you, and you felt panic surge. You’d faced the infected, raiders, betrayal—but men like him were something worse. They looked at you like you were nothing but an opportunity. Your heart raced, but your feet stayed frozen, rooted to the ground by fear.

And then, a voice cut through the dark.

“Let her go.”

The voice was low, steady, with a hint of an accent—something southern, but rough around the edges. It sent a chill down your spine.

The thug stiffened, his smirk fading as he glanced over your shoulder. You turned slowly, and there he was—the man you’d been watching for weeks. Tall, broad-shouldered, his eyes cold and sharp as steel. The weight of his presence was enough to make the trader in front of you hesitate.

“This isn’t your business, man,” the thug sneered, though there was a crack of fear in his voice.

The man took a step forward, his hand resting casually on the gun at his hip. “It is now.”

The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible. The thug wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was outmatched. With a frustrated growl, he tossed the bag of benzos at your feet and slunk back into the shadows.

You stood there, heart pounding, too shocked to even say thank you. The man stepped forward, his eyes flicking down at the bag before meeting yours. His gaze was piercing, and you felt like he could see right through you—like he knew exactly who you were and everything you’d been through.

“Next time,” he said quietly, his voice steady, “watch who you deal with.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, as easily as he had arrived.

You stood there, shaken to your core, but with one thing clear in your mind: your world had just collided with his.

[sharkneto]

How long do you think it should take between chapter uploads on Ao3?

As long as the author needs

[joshuamj]

Hero.

[bread-wizards]

I actually think Dorian and Orym should fight more.

Remember when their slowly building tension over and entire episode (full of passive aggressive remarks and blame throwing) led to threats? And how after, Orym thanked Dorian for handing over the crown sadly because he knew Dorian would be mad at him? And Dorian couldn't even look at him because he was legitimately hurt, thinking Orym was disappointed in him for doing what he thought was right? That was peak.

The fact they went from that to their current closeness and trust is the best part of their entire dynamic. Their relationship was hard fought and still will be. They will fight for it because they respect and care for one another deeply, and their disagreements don't change that, only improve it.

[shopcat]

i think in the hamster wheel of my mind a big part of where people go wrong with eddie and his shitty garage band as an extension is that they for some bizarre reason think he's gene simmons metal when he's jack black metal. heavy metal. he's tenacious d metal. he's school of rock. he's stoner lord of the rings metal he nearly wore blue jeans and plaid. jack black literally in real life once said eddie was the best character bc he's heavy metal like him. LOOK AT THIS

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you