#though mine was a 1 time thing and also in a medical setting

[hua-mo-jin-is-a-cutie]

this is the only social media website where I feel like I can talk about this without getting hated by teenagers with no media literacy, but I watched (pirated) Hazbin Hotel. And while I'm still very critical of Viv herself and the decisions she's made about her staff and her public statements and her past actions, some of which are very gross, for what it's worth, I think Hazbin is alright.

There are things I'd do differently sure, but it's like... aggressively average. The music is hit or miss, with mostly catchy tunes accompanied by lyrics that often made me cringe a little by how they already feel like outdated references to current slang. I also really don't enjoy when they have a big musical number come out of nowhere and have other characters acknowledge that they're singing. It really takes away from the musical numbers themselves. it's like musical writing 101 to NOT do that.

I know this is something people tend to criticize, but I'll be honest I like most of the character designs. They have fairly distinct silhouettes and it's kinda what drew me in enough to watch it in the first place. I'm particularly fond of Nifty. I do think some of them are a bit too complex, too busy to be super appealing, and must be hell to animate. I also think there's not really much cohesion in character designs of the world other than color, and even that's a stretch. I wish we'd at least been given some sort of reason in the show that some demons are furries and others aren't.

The animation is pretty nice, though the camera movement tends to make it a bit hard for my eyes to focus when there's a lot going on.

I've seen a lot of people complain about the pacing and while I agree that things are moving too fast, that we need time to get to know these characters and this world and earn these, what are supposed to be, hard hitting moments. I also acknowledge that I like fast pacing. I want it to slow down, but not astronomically, just a smidge.

I'd say the writing is also hit or miss. Sometimes it's got me fairly entertained, but other times it's making me uncomfortable and not on purpose. Again, slang that will quickly become or already is irrelevant is a major issue for me.

Contrary to what I've seen many people saying, I actually thought episode 4 was handled decently enough. Honestly the pacing is really the only thing holding it back for me. It doesn't feel like it's glorifying or romanticizing sexual abuse or domestic violence. It frames Valentino as the abuser he is when it's most important, even when he is a bumbling idiot in other scenes. Scenes of abuse between angel and Val are taken seriously enough. I wasn't a huge fan of the song Poison, but I also don't think it's romanticizing SA. I mean it literally ends with Angel sobbing on the floor so... I dunno how anyone came to that conclusion. There are times when the show jokes about sexual assault which I do think is distasteful and is one of my gripes with the writing overall, however when it comes to the topic of angel and val, it's handled well enough.

I'm interested in seeing where the plot goes with how episode 6 ended even with it's flaws. It's going in an interesting direction so far and I think the music of that episode was pretty good, calling back to the first episode's song with Adam in a clever way.

So overall I'd give Hazbin like a 6/10. It's fine, but it's got flaws. I'd like to see the kinks ironed out in season 2 and have Viv acknowledge some of her mistakes or at least take criticism well for once.

Anyway, stan Nifty, she's best girl.

[asxgard]

Abbot(t) x reader idea where instead of Dana, it’s the reader that Javadi confides in after her awkward Matteo ask-out and after the reader gives her props for going for it and explains that she’s had a secret crush on Abbott for forever, Myrna (who sees and hears all) either 1) pipes up and tells her she’s seen Abbott checking her out or 2) stays quiet and tells Jack about it later. Or both haha. I just feel like Myrna is like 4th in terms of who knows the most about the ED gossip (after Perla, Princess, and Dana) lol.

These Walls Have Eyes | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!nurse!reader

Requested

Summary: Rumors always start somewhere — and the one about you and a certain attending started somewhere between a whispered confession and Myrna overhearing you.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Myrna sees and hears all, I agree with you lol I hope you like it!

Word Count: 1.1k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: foul language, age gap (if you squint), Myrna being Myrna, references to Pittfest, pining, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, alcohol

not beta read

“He’s like a human Utah.” Javadi told you, eyes wide and breathless.

You ushered her down the hall, smirking, “I know a thing or two about a Utah.”

She looked over at you and your cheeks warmed at the thought of Dr. Abbot. You typically worked nights with him, and it took forever to stop flustering whenever you were in his company. You thought you had finally gotten it all under control, but like Javadi, your Utah had a habit of making you feel like you weren’t getting enough air when your eyes met.

“I wish I had some advice, but frankly, mine still makes me feel like that. Even after all this time.” You smiled at her and patted her arm.

“Does he work here?” She asked, before quickly adding, “Or she?”

“He’s the chief attending the night shift,” you told her. “I don’t think you’ve met him yet. Dr. Abbot.”

She stared at you, blinking, “You’ve never said anything?”

You waved it off awkwardly, “Never felt like the right time.”

“Oh.”

“But your Utah?” You glanced over your shoulder to peek at Mateo through the window. “You shouldn’t wait too long like I did.”

“Oh, no, no. I don’t think—”

Your laugh was light, “No rush, kid. I’m just saying you shouldn’t let it pass you by. Life’s too short.”

Javadi looked at you like she wanted to say something, but decided against it, before being pulled away by McKay. You let out a long sigh that made Dana steal a glance at you, raising a brow. You smiled at her to assure her you were fine, but your stomach felt tight.

“You know, that handsome doctor eyes you up any time you ain’t lookin’.”

You jumped, startled. You turned to see Myrna behind you, smiling devilishly.

“What even are you talking about?” You asked, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

She raised her eyebrows and wheeled closer to you, “I’m saying, sweetcheeks, that it’s not one sided.”

You had the urge to roll your eyes, mostly at the nickname, but also at any of it being truthful. Jack never gave any indication that he was emotionally available, let alone interested.

“Alright, Myrna, let’s get you—”

“I’m tellin’ you! Dr. Abbot totally—”

You were grateful that Perlah swooped in to help you, wheeling her away, sending a knowing smirk in your direction. You gave her a playful scowl — if anyone knew anything around the Pitt, it was Princess and Perlah. Though, you supposed you could add Myrna to the list now since she had clearly been able to be a fly on the wall enough to gain all that information.

Mind spinning with possibilities, you tried to busy your hands, throwing yourself back in the work.

—

Jack arrived to the Pitt right after he had heard it over the scanner, never one to wait. After a quick debrief, he set to work.

“Hello, Dr. Abbot.”

He didn’t need to look to know who it was, though he sent her a side glance while he prepped some suture trays. He looked around to find a nurse, hoping they would take Myrna upstairs quickly — though in all the chaos of moving patients upstairs, she clearly had slipped through.

“I overheard something today…” she trailed off, a smirk hinting at her lips. “About a certain nurse having a crush on a certain attending.”

That caught his attention, though he only spared her a look with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m quaking in anticipation.” He said dryly.

Her shoulders shrugged, “Thought you might be interested, you know, you do check her out every chance you get.”

He ignored the way heat invaded his chest, suddenly aware of the nurse in question. You. You who had been plaguing his mind since you started. You who always offered him a smile. You who matched his dry quips and cutting sarcasm with ease. You who offered easy banter over bad break room coffee. You who stood in his silences like it was something interesting.

Myrna grinned at him, “She was talking about you.”

His heart seized, but his training pushed it aside. No time to get soft when a mass casualty was about to burst through the doors.

—

The end of shift came slowly, but blurred together by the carnage and chaos. After working 15 hours, you felt heavy. Your bones ached and you felt painfully dehydrated. In the aftermath, however, your mind caught up with you and you remembered Myrna’s words. They echoed in the back of your head, playing on repeat.

Mateo offered for you to come to share a beer outside before heading home. Your eyes flickered between him and Javadi, and you grinned, accepting.

Javadi gave you a bashful look that quickly grew excited when she spotted someone behind you.

“Remember Utah? Might not be too late.” Javadi said, subtly gesturing behind you with her chin.

You turned and spotted Dr. Abbot. Your heart started racing and you swallowed thickly. When you looked back at Mateo and Javadi, they both were grinning at you like fools. Leave it to the rumor mill to spread your crush like wildfire.

Outside, Donnie passed you a beer and while it did not seem like your best decision, you opened it and took a sip. Laughing with your co-workers made your shoulders feel lighter, but everyone slowly began to depart until it was only you and Jack left.

You took Robby’s seat on the bench with him once he got up to leave. Your heart thrummed in the silence, beginning to overthink Myrna’s words. You could not get yourself to move, however, stuck to the bench, enjoying the company of the man beside you.

“I learned something interesting today.” Jack said into the quiet, fiddling with his beer like he was anxious.

You turned to look at him, appreciating the way the shadows highlighted your favorite features. His cheekbones and the stubble, half his face hidden in darkness, his hazel eyes appearing almost black.

Might not be too late, echoed in your mind.

“Not to come in on your day off?” You offered lightly.

He leaned forward just enough for the light from the streetlamp to illuminate him, and the smile you caught made the air get trapped somewhere in your lungs.

Exhaling a breath, he shook his head and looked over at you. “Something about a work crush.”

“Oh, yeah, she said something to me earlier.” Trying to hide the smile while anxiety invaded, you failed. “Something something an attending has been checking me out.”

“She must have eyes everywhere.”

“Yeah.” You agreed, unsure where to take the conversation. He didn’t deny it.

It was edging close to something dangerous, something where there was no turning back.

But maybe you didn’t want to risk it falling back to the status quo.

“Would you like to get dinner sometime?” You asked after a beat.

He answered immediately, “Yeah, I would.”

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69

All content taglist: @nixandtonic

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (10/15) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: As you heal, you're not alone. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,604 (this chapter, 24,863 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Apologies for the break we took for a few weeks here. 😳This chapter turned out a little longer than I expected, (please enter "that's what she said" joke of your choice here), so I hope that makes up a bit for the delay. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol @mirandastuckinthe80s

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Pressure on your chest brought you startling awake, flinging your left arm up as if to try and break free of a restraint. White hot pain burst from your shoulder down your bicep like a cord of fire trying to amputate your arm. You gave a strangled cry, managing to sit up and clutch at the various points of hurt as the agony gradually faded.

Out of the darkness, a now-familiar woman's voice said your rank and last name. "Are you all right? Do you need me to dispatch medical assistance?"

"No," you quickly said, automatically straightening your sleep-rumpled shirt. "I moved my arm wrong. Thanks, though."

"Of course," she returned, her tone kind.

"Are you, um, monitoring me?"

"Just for sounds of distress or pain. John was adamant that your privacy be respected as much as possible."

That made you smile slightly under the cover of the lack of light. "I hope they've given you something else to do other than to listen for me to say ouch."

"Not to worry, I keep busy."

You nodded even though she couldn't see it. Or maybe she could? Was she holed up in some ONI office, watching you with thermal signatures or some other sort of tech? "I appreciate it, Ms. Classified. Though I believe you gave me your name, didn't you? I'm sorry, I can't remember what it was."

"You were a little busy at the time," she demurred. "It's Cortana but I rather like 'Ms. Classified,' I have to say. It's like a nickname between friends, isn't it?"

"It is," you said. "And please feel free to use my first name. No need for friends to stand on formality."

"Thank you," she said and, after a slight pause, added your name as if it were an honor to do so.

Was she a Spartan, perhaps? Something about her careful manner reminded you of how John sometimes reacted to interpersonal things as if he hadn't ever dealt with them before and wanted desperately to be right in his response.

You wasn't sure if you should ask and while you were still wondering, she said goodbye with a sound like pixels vanishing, though there had been no hologram of her to see this time.

Your day was a lot more mundane after that. PT came by as Dr. Savannah had said they would, and you dutifully did the exercises with minimal grumbling and complaining. The ancient saying about medics being terrible patients was still said for a reason, after all, but you didn't want to be One Of Those if you could help it.

The therapist had brought you breakfast from the mess for after your session: the cold cereal MRE, typically called mush rarely edible, along with plain black coffee. She also told you that the next session would be tomorrow instead of later today, due to a scheduling conflict.

So that left you with a whole lot of day and very little to fill it.

You were scrolling through your padd, looking through old documents and messages, intending to clean up and organize things but, more often than not, ended up reminiscing on the past, on friends once part of your every day life now long gone, either transferred away or worse.

You discovered a folder full of sketches of various Mjolnir designs you'd done back before you'd decided for certain to begin training to be a Brokkr tech. Your interest in the Spartans and their armor had been a mere hobby, then.

You were far from a gifted artist but trying to capture the different iterations, the bulkier but classic shapes of the Mark V, the more streamlined Mark VI, had made for fun practice. You'd also tried out a few ideas of your own, such as "floating" pieces of armor to try and better protect the Spartans' joints without sacrificing mobility. The final image, though, had been a purely fanciful one: a fusion of Mjolnir and medieval, a literal Spartan in shining armor.

You couldn't help but chuckle. There was no number on the chest plate but it was clearly Master Chief to anybody who was familiar with his armor configuration. The patterning on his visor had a texture reminiscent of a knight's helm and the flare of his shield had a shape like the plume of a feather at the crest of his head. One arm was extended but incomplete: you hadn't decided whether to give him a BR or DMR or go for something like a broadsword or lance. Then you'd simply never come back to finish it and it had been forgotten in your drafts for all this time.

Tapping a fingertip contemplatively against your lip, you thought for a moment, then impulsively picked up your stylus and began to draw.

Gentle fingertips brushed against your hair and you woke to find John next to the bed.

"Sorry to bother you," he murmured, "but you looked uncomfortable."

The moment he said that, your neck began protesting the odd angle your head had slumped into.

"Well, that was a bad idea," you said plaintively, straightening up very slowly. Your entire body ached like you'd been moonlighting as a punching bag. Your padd slipped off your lap to the mattress, then bounced towards the edge, and John easily caught it on the fly.

You suddenly remembered what had been on it. The screen was dark but all it would take was a brush of a finger to activate it again and he'd see--

"What's this?" he said, orientating the padd right side up.

"That's... my poor attempt at artistry," you said, feeling heat blooming up your neck. You resisted the urge to snatch it from his hand and throw it to the floor yourself.

"It's not poor," he countered, studying it even more intently. "Not at all. I like it a lot, especially the detail here."

He tapped the image and the SPNKr rocket launcher you'd placed casually in the Spartan's hand, resting on the armored shoulder, expanded to better reveal the intricate filigree you'd spent a considerable amount of time adding to the large missile chamber.

"I mean, it's not practical, of course," you mumbled but his sincere appreciation lessened your embarrassment. "I wanted a medieval feel to a modern weapon."

"Do you have others?" he asked, handing the padd back to you.

You appreciated that he didn't just start flipping through the images. You swiped back to show him your other Mjolnir studies.

The very corner of his mouth twitched. "These are all mine, aren't they?"

"Hm, I suppose they are," you said in mock surprise. "It looks like I've had a favorite Spartan for a while now."

"Good," he said decisively, then glanced at you with a soft smile. "Could I send a copy of this to R&D?"

"Which one?" you asked, alarmed.

"The floating armor," he said, the smile growing a bit.

"Yeah, if you want," you said and forwarded the study to him. "I doubt I've thought of anything they haven't by now but I guess you never know."

"And could I have a copy of the other one, just for me?"

"Really?"

"Really," he confirmed.

You switched back to the medieval drawing, adding your signature with a flourish in the corner before forwarding that one as well.

The door chimed and he went to open it as if it were expected.

"Master Chief, sir!" the young private said, making a motion no doubt intended to be a salute that he couldn't complete because of the large and apparently heavy covered tray he was carrying.

"At ease," he said, taking the tray from him.

The private snapped a salute as crisp as if he were in the presence of Lord Hood himself, then kept standing in the open doorway, staring rather starstruck.

"Thank you, you're dismissed," John told him.

"If you or the Hero of the Pit need anything, let me know, sir," the marine said earnestly before backing away.

Once the door closed, you said, "That really is a terrible nickname."

"The Covenant call me 'Demon,'" John said, bringing the tray to the bed and setting it on the foot.

"'Demon' is badass," you countered. "Mine sounds like I fell in a hole and somehow managed to crawl back out."

"Crawling out of that hole wasn't a given," he said, "and you made sure nobody else was in there with you."

He lifted the cover on the tray, revealing two sizzling plates of food. The smell that hit you was divine.

Your voice dropped an entire octave. "Is that eggplant parmigiana?"

"I... think so? It's whatever was being served in the Spartan mess for lunch." His expression darkened. "You were supposed to get breakfast from there, too, but there was apparently some sort of mix-up. It's been dealt with."

You felt momentarily sorry for whoever had been on the receiving end of being dealt with. "I can't eat Spartan portions."

"You actually can because it so happens that I can calculate how many calories a Brokkr mechanic-slash-medic needs in order to heal properly." He held that with a serious expression for a moment, then winked. "And I also asked Dr. Savannah about it. She said, and I quote, 'Tell her it's fine to live a little.'"

"Oh, well, if it's doctor's orders..." you trailed off with a grin.

He left to get a small table and chair for himself since there was only the one lap tray and you took the opportunity to hit the head, thinking you'd be settled back in before he returned. As it turned out, you either greatly underestimated how far he had to go to find what he was looking for or, more likely, had greatly overestimated how quickly you could move.

Your left arm wanted to draw up to your torso from the way your damaged shoulder muscle was currently being foreshortened. Raising it even close to 45 degrees made it feel like it was being ripped off of your body. You took a couple of deep breaths, forcing it straight down to your side, and gritted your teeth though the pain as you returned to the main room.

John had already finished setting up the portable table and turned, his expression going almost comically aghast. "Should I call somebody? What can I do? I can carry you or--"

"No, it's fine," you told him. "I just have to work through it."

He hovered next to you as you made the few, torturous step back to the bed, his worry a palpable thing. Your bad knee buckled and he caught your arm -- fortunately, the right one -- to keep you from going down. His fingers hit a bruise hidden under your sleeve but you managed to not react.

The stricken look he gave you meant he'd seen the reaction anyway.

"There we go," you said, trying to sound breezy but the result was more winded than anything as you propped up against the headboard. "I'm ready for lunch. Are you? Lunch sounds great right about now."

He seemed at a loss as to what to do. You gingerly reached out and wrapped your fingers around his.

"I'm okay," you said softly. "I'm healing on schedule and it could've been much worse."

He nodded shortly, very, very carefully folding his other hand over yours. With a brief glance away, he nodded a final time as if agreeing to something you couldn't hear and then exhaled purposefully, affecting a lighter tone. "Well, let's see how that eggplant parmigiana is, then, hm?"

Even though physical therapy wasn't scheduled again until tomorrow, you went ahead and did the exercises anyway. Not only did it give you something to do after John left, but you were even more inspired to try to regain your strength as soon as possible.

Since you were alone, you felt free to swear your way more and more creatively through the entire session and only after the fact did you worry that maybe you had accidentally taught Cortana some new words and phrases.

Nah, you thought. Surely, she's not stuck sitting at some console all day and night, listening for me to need something, right?

You almost asked it out loud, just to see if she was listening, but decided against it. You didn't want to imagine she'd been instructed to keep her earpiece in to monitor you even when she took a meal or bathroom break. Or that maybe she never even actually got to go off-duty at all. It hadn't escaped your attention that John apparently didn't trust anybody else to provide your erstwhile overwatch.

You ate your dinner when it arrived, a very delicious chicken gumbo, then turned in early, since sleep was also an important factor in healing.

But your sleep was restless, the aches in your body keeping you from getting comfortable, and then when you did doze off, your mind kept taking you back to those moments when you were trapped. A couple of times, you found yourself jolting awake, John's name on your lips. You wondered if he was on base, asleep in the Spartan quarters. You'd assumed he would come back if he were here but you hadn't actually asked him to. It was his room, though, so wouldn't he...?

Try to get some sleep, that's the best thing right now. You'll feel stronger tomorrow, you silently instructed yourself, trying to find a comfortable position.

The next time you woke, your heart was thundering in your ears and you made a small panicked noise.

The lights abruptly came up to a quarter and you looked around wildly.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

John sat up from where he was stretched out over on the couch and you instinctively reached for him. He was there almost as if appearing by magic, letting you grip his hand as he leaned over you.

You were tangled in the covers and struggled to free yourself. He carefully extricated you with his free hand.

"Were you having a nightmare?" he asked and you nodded.

"I- I didn't know you were here," you said, stumbling over the words. "Why are you on the couch? You could share. I'd- I'd like you to."

He got that slightly stricken look again. "I'm heavy. I'll hurt you by moving around. I can't... I can't cause you more pain. I'm right here, though."

You understood what he meant but it still stung a bit like rejection. You normally would've let him go, would've tried to accept it gracefully, but the phantom weight on your chest changed the words on your tongue.

Your voice emerged small and compressed. "I need you, John."

The words clearly hit him like a plasma bolt to the chest and his fingers closed gently around yours.

"All right," he finally said. "I'll be careful."

It took a few minutes but eventually you were in his arms, turned on your right side with your injured left arm resting on his chest, your head tucked into the curve of his neck. All of the movement did hurt but you absolutely didn't care; all that was important was that he was here, you could hear his heart beneath your ear, could feel his warmth seeping into all of your pains and soothing them.

"Thank you," you murmured into the softness of his shirt.

"You don't have to thank me," he said, kissing the top of your head and lightly brushing his fingers across the hand you had on his sternum.

You were almost asleep when you thought, but weren't completely sure, that he also quietly said, "I need you, too."

[3pirouette]

Fic: Tender Payment for Our Sins (1/?)

Title: Tender Payment for Our Sins

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: TLOU season 1.

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Jackson is less idyllic than it seems, as is everything post-infection. He doesn't want to see you tossed out, and can’t take the way you flinch when the men come sniffing around, so he does the only thing he and Ellie can think of to keep you around. 

Dark fic in a less than idyllic Jackson. Themes concern medical assault, SA, infant and pregnancy loss, and medical experimentation as well as PTSD. The majority of these situations are not portrayed in the story, only recounted by the “reader” character. Chapters will have sufficient warnings. Still lots of fluff and sexiness to be had. Protective!Joel, Soft!Joel. Fem!Reader, little to no description otherwise. No use of Y/N. No/slight age difference. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. 

Tags: Joel (The Last of Us)/Reader, Joel (The Last of Us)/You, Ellie & Joel (The Last of Us), Joel & Tommy (The Last of Us)

Characters: Joel (The Last of Us), Ellie (The Last of Us), Tommy (The Last of Us), Maria (The Last of Us), Reader

Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Slow Burn, Fake Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Medical Trauma, pregnancy loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Family Dynamics, No age gap, No use of y/n, Eventual Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Past Sexual Abuse, Stalking, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Touch-Starved, Infant Loss, Joel is Trying His Best (The Last of Us)

Story A/N: Born out of the forced marriage/fake marriage trope and musings on what a post apocalypse world might actually look like. Also, I just really need this Joel in my life.

Though I’ve tried to make the Reader fairly vague, I’ve been told my reader characters border on OC’s. She has QUITE the extensive and dark backstory, but little to no physical description aside that she’s close in age to Joel. PLEASE, please, please check all the tags. 

I’m only familiar with the TV series, and this is fairly AU of that. Despite posting date, 151 k of this (however long it ends up being) was written before season 2 dropped, so don’t expect it to be remotely close to that.

I’ve been working on this for almost two years now, and decided to bite the bullet and post since a goal of mine was to post before TLOU2 started. The end is written (and will not change, no matter the feedback), significant holes in the middle are not. I will endeavor to post every week, and it will live up to the rating for many reasons.

I have no beta, and no one that’s been able to give me feedback on this particular fic due to the nature of it. This is my first second-person POV, my first present tense fic, my first xReader fic, and my first TLOU fic. I welcome constructive criticism, but please be kind about it.

Prologue I/II: At First Glance/Strays

Chapter Warnings: injury

Chapter Summary: Your arrival in Jackson, Joel’s view of your first few months. 

Chapter A/N: This story is technically set after season 1, though the timeline of Maria’s baby makes that a bit shaky, so… Maria’s just going to be pregnant for a loooong time. In the show it looks like Joel and Ellie get back to Jackson bordering on Spring/Summer, reader finds Jackson the following February. 

Prologues are purposefully written in past tense; the rest of the story is in present tense. 

Chapter 1: The Weight of Reality

Chapter Warnings: none

Chapter Summary: Joel meets you, and finds that it might actually be worth it to have a friend. 

Chapter A/N: Rest of the story is in present tense. Current time line is early June. 

Full Story on AO3

Most recent CHAPTER on AO3

~*~

Prologue I: At First Glance/Prologue II: Strays

Summary: Your arrival in Jackson, Joel’s view of your first few months. 

A/N: This story is technically set after season 1, though the timeline of Maria’s baby makes that a bit shaky, so… Maria’s just going to be pregnant for a loooong time. In the show it looks like Joel and Ellie get back to Jackson bordering on Spring/Summer, reader finds Jackson the following February. 

Prologues are purposefully written in past tense; the rest of the story is in present tense. 

~*~

Prologue I: At first Glance

At first glance, Jackson was idyllic. 

A safe haven. 

After a few months you came to know the shadows, the darkness that haunted it that everyone tried to hide. 

No one had come to Jackson pure, unscathed. No one who had gone through Outbreak Day or who had been born after that knew lightness, knew happiness the way the world had before that day, and it showed in every pair of eyes you saw. 

It had been a blessing when you ran into the two-man patrol, limping with a sprained ankle and what you were pretty sure was a broken wrist, out of bullets and two days with no food and only mouthfuls of snow for water. You’d fully expected to die there, in the snow, alone. 

From exhaustion or a bullet, it didn’t really matter to you how you died, as long as it wasn’t an infected.

But now you were here, wandering around what reminded you of a fake Wild West tourist trap crossed with a sitcom suburb as the snow is starting to melt in the throes of spring, hand wrapped up tight and a slight limp leftover that the doctor said would fade with time. 

Maria said you needed to find a way to be useful. To contribute. 

She told you that the first day, and every day since, sniffing around to see how fast your wrist was healing, how quickly she could get you on a work roster. She watched you try to sew and shoot and ride a horse. All the while, the same words repeating over and over while her eyes stayed cold. 

Be useful. Contribute. 

You didn’t like the way she said it, didn’t like the intonations she put on it. You were more than happy to pull your weight somehow: washing dishes or in the green house. You knew you didn’t have many useful skills for a place like this, but you’d find something given enough practice.

You absolutely needed practice. None of the skills they needed were things you would ever put on a resume. 

Still, the way she said it seemed more ominous each time. The way she smiled a fake smile at a group of men across the street from you just after the words fell from her lips one day, it made your spine crawl. 

You knew how some women were seen as useful now. 

You’d rather be back out in the snow with no bullets. 

At first glance, Jackson was idyllic. 

But the people were harsh. They were critical. They smiled out of one side of their mouth and gossiped out the other. They waved with one hand while hiding a dagger behind their back in their fist. They all had the same weary, dark edge that permeated the apocalypse and weren’t afraid to let it show if they thought no one was looking. 

Now, everywhere you looked, you saw the lurking shadows, and it made you wonder how much you wanted to stay.

~*~

Prologue II: Strays

Joel Miller would say, if asked, that he did not pick up strays. He didn’t collect people, didn’t take them under his wing, didn’t look out for them. 

The truth was, though, he hated seeing people struggle in this world if he could help. 

It was something he’d learned about himself the hard way from Austin to Boston and then even more so Boston to Jackson, something he would have rather kept a secret as he tried to carve out a little hole for himself and Ellie in the small town that seemed too good to be true. Everyone put themselves first in this world, and he couldn’t afford to do any less for him and Ellie. 

He kept to himself, mostly. Helped where he could. Took extra shifts when someone was needed. He knew how to make himself needed, how to make himself useful. 

Useful was always better than liked post-outbreak. 

Useful people were kept around. Useful people were left alone. Useful people got an extra share of coffee or got to keep the bottle of whisky they found. Useful people gained a little bit of power in being needed by others. 

But he watched you struggle as you tried to find your own way in the town, and it made him anxious more than anyone he'd ever seen before. 

He couldn’t get the image of you, slipping to the ground in the middle of the trees, cradling your hand to your chest and shaking, out of his head. He couldn’t get the little whimpering sound that you made when he picked you up and slipped you on his horse out of his ears. 

He couldn’t forget the way you’d whispered, “Please, no,” when he got on behind you, turning back for Jackson, or how you stayed stiff and shivering the whole way. 

He didn’t need you to say what had happened to you. He’d heard enough stories, seen enough in his lifetime, to be able to imagine what could make you plead like that. 

He remembered the relief in your eyes when he walked you into the small house that held the doctor, when you realized he’d been telling the truth and that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t going to be as bad as you were thinking. 

But he watched you struggle in Jackson, watched you try job after job in the rotation only to get bumped to the next one down the list for months. He watched you try to make friends at meals: the way some people passed you over as you smiled up at them reminded him of the clicks of high school lunchrooms past, leaving his food tasting sour in his mouth. 

He watched you flinch when the young men, the single young men, were the ones that did sit with you, did try to talk with you. You’d smile until they said something that didn’t sit right and then you’d shut down, the light of a new friend, a new connection falling from your eyes. 

He watched you flinch away when they reached for your hand or to touch your face, and it made his blood boil. 

He didn’t think you’d want to talk with him more than you wanted to talk to anyone else. 

But he was tired of watching it. 

He was tired of watching you struggle when you seemed like you were trying so hard to find a space for yourself in this town. 

Maybe he did take people under his wing. 

Maybe he did collect strays. 

He still wouldn’t admit to it. 

~*~

Chapter 1: The Weight of Reality

Summary: Joel meets you, and finds that it might actually be worth it to have a friend. 

A/N: Rest of the story is in present tense. Current time line is early June. 

~*~

“Anyone sittin here?”

You look up from your lunch, surprised at the soft, southern accent drifting over you. You remember it, remember the whispered words of comfort as you sat, trapped by his arms on his horse, cradling your wrist from every jolt on your way into Jackson the first time. You haven’t seen him since that day aside from glances here and there, passing nods and waves as you move through the streets, but you know who he is. You found out fast as soon as you were working and meeting people. 

Joel Miller has a reputation: Tommy’s brother, a hard worker, a good surrogate father… 

A good man. 

He may try to keep to himself, but everyone knows everyone here, and even you’ve heard whispers and gossip. 

You swallow quickly. “No,” you offer, holding your hand out to the two empty chairs around your table. You had started taking the smaller tables, your hope of making new friends dwindling with each passing day, with each failure at a new assigned job. “Help yourself.”

In truth, you expect him to grab a chair and drag it over to the table where his brother sits. You prepare for the sting of that rejection that never comes when he slides it out, setting his bowl down before sitting. 

He must see the surprise in your eyes, because he pauses. “You don’t mind if I join you, right?”

“No,” you shake your head, trying to will the surprise from your face as you look away from him to stir your stew. “Not at all.”

“Just thought,” he clears his throat, settling closer into the table, “thought we hadn’t been properly introduced.”

You laugh, a quick huff of air through your nose. “You mean because I was half alive the last time we were together?”

He almost smiles, setting his spoon into his own bowl. “Yeah, something like that.”

You skip the pleasantries: you know he knows your name, just like you know he knows you know his. “I didn’t get the chance to thank you, being terrified and nearly catatonic with pain and all by the time we got back here.” 

“Made getting you off the horse a little tougher, I’ll tell you that,” he deadpans, slipping a spoonful between his lips. 

You smile as he chews, surprised at how easy it is to talk to him. How relaxed he seems. It calms you, just like those soft whispers of You’re alright, just keep breathing and you’re gonna be okay did in your ear all those months ago. 

He just wants to talk. Share a meal. 

It’s the very thing you’ve been hoping for with someone, anyone in town since you got here. You just want to have someone to talk to. Someone to take up space so you don’t feel so lonely. Someone to share a meal with. 

So, you do. 

He asks you about how you’re settling in, and you sigh when you tell him that it’s not well. You try to keep it light: silly anecdotes as you tell him how you lost two sheep when you were working with the livestock, then burned the bread and managed to break the rice cooker in the kitchen, how you thought the green onions were weeds and managed to pull half the crop before someone told you otherwise when they assigned you to the greenhouse…

He doesn’t laugh, like you expect, or try to give you unsolicited advice like others have, he just nods along as he eats, genuinely interested. 

You’ve been subjected to so many judging eyes, so many raised voices nearly yelling as you failed task after task you didn’t really know how to do and hadn’t been adequately trained for, that this feels like heaven. He doesn't judge, just listens. He isn’t wary, like the women seem to be. He isn’t aggressive, like most of the other men. He doesn’t seem to have anything that he wants from you, at least not yet. 

You scrape at the bottom of your bowl, tearing your bread into little tiny pieces just to have a reason to stick around and listen to him talk about the construction he starts to detail that he and Tommy are planning for the spring to help sure up one of the houses when finally stops talking and you ask him if he only does patrols. 

He shakes his head. “Guard duty and patrols are what I’m best at, but Tommy and I head up construction in the spring when the weather breaks and everything needs to be fixed up.” He tilts his head, eyes boring into you. “Hey, you don’t happen to be an engineer by chance, do ya?”

You laugh for real this time: a big bark of a laugh that gets him smiling all the way up to his eyes. “No! No, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. Why?”

“We’re talking about trying to build a water wheel in the creek, maybe get a good old-fashioned mill going.” He shrugs, pushing his bowl away so he can fold his arms on the table. “So, what did you do that made that seem so funny?”

“I was a writer,” you look down at your hands, twiddling your fingers and missing the click of a keyboard under them. “An indoors girl, through and through, which may be why I have absolutely no useful skills here.”

He skips over your self-pity, and you’re not sure if you’re thankful for that or if you were actually hoping for him to send you some reassurance you’d have some useful skills. His mouth quicks up in a half smile, “What did you write?”

“Anything,” you shrug, surprised by the fact that he seems genuinely interested. “It wasn’t very lucrative, so I took whatever work I could get. Mostly magazine articles. I ghost wrote some web content. I was shopping around a book, but publishers didn’t seem all that interested.”

His eyebrows lift, soft surprise on his face. “You wrote a book?”

You try not to blush. You haven’t even thought about your book in years, never mind talk about it. “I did.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but the sounds of scraping chairs get his attention. You both look up the clock at the front of the room, and start cleaning your places at the table. 

Lunch is over. Afternoon jobs are starting for those that have them. 

This little interlude, as nice as it has been, has come to an end. 

“Suppose we should get going,” he offers instead of whatever he had been about to say, standing. “I’m on front gate this afternoon. You?”

You look up at him, his face soft and sweet and the kindest thing in this town you’ve encountered so far, even if people call him gruff and rude and sharp behind his back. “Mucking the stalls,” you reply, trying to fill it with as much enthusiasm as you can as you stand next to him. “Hopefully, I can’t screw up shoveling shit.”

His half smile as you both walk to the dish room window is more than enough to make you feel like you want to seek him out again. “Don’t, uh- don’t count on that. Harder than it looks.” Something about the way he says it isn’t a dig, not a slight or a comment on your abilities, but it’s a tease. Something light. 

Something a…a friend might say. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply softly, shoving your hands in your jeans, following him out the front door and splitting your separate ways without a goodbye. 

~*~

Joel sits, fidgeting, next to Ellie as the movie is projected on the wall of the dining hall. He hasn’t seen it in a long time, he’d even been looking forward to tonight, but his attention couldn’t be farther away. 

You’re not the only one missing from the room, but the town is small and he can count the number of people missing. Movie nights are a big deal around here, and he’s never seen a new person miss the chance to see a piece of their past before. 

He tries to talk himself out of it, tries to tell himself maybe you don’t like Tom Hanks. 

Who doesn’t like Tom Hanks?

But then, he hadn’t seen you at dinner, either, and that makes him anxious. 

He’d expected you to be jumpier than you were when he sat with you, expected the conversation to be stilted and difficult, but it flowed soft and natural and it made sense in his mind when he learned you’d spent your life before all this working with words. 

He isn’t good at words, at least not the ones that mean anything, but he could bullshit with the best of them before. Now, he prefers to keep his words to himself. 

But with you, it was easy. Ebbing and flowing of ideas, no pressure, just thoughts and sentences that didn’t need to be great declarations or meaningless pleasantries. 

It was a real and true conversation. 

One that he actually enjoyed.

It makes him all the more curious as to why you are always alone, as to why it seems you struggle so hard with others. 

Across the lunch table, he could see the smile lines that reached your eyes, the folds by your cheeks where your lips turned up as you talked, the little silver highlights in your hair that told him you were older than he originally thought. You had a life, a job, and you remembered the before like he did, through the eyes of an adult who lost the future they’d been banking on, a future you’d all been promised.  

He’d hoped to find you at dinner. To keep talking. To introduce you to Ellie. 

Then he’d hoped to find you here. To enjoy the easy comfort you’d afforded at lunch. 

You hadn’t wanted anything from him. 

That’s rare. 

Most of the women in Jackson are attached to a man, those that aren’t attached desperately want to be. Sadly, there is a measure of protection that is afforded to the women that are attached. Jackson isn’t exactly dangerous for a single woman, there are rules and laws and everyone has agreed to a certain way of life. Those that break those agreements are punished… when the council finds out. If they find out. 

And so the women who talk to him often want things from him. Time. Labels. Commitments. 

People couple up fast in Jackson, and he steadfastly avoids it. 

He isn’t looking for a wife or a girlfriend. He’s perfectly happy the way he is. 

But the conversation… the conversation with you was nice. Something different. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

His meandering thoughts make him even more anxious. Missing dinner he can rationalize: mucking out stalls isn’t exactly the most appetizing job. But now, it is dark out. There are dark corners and little side alleys everywhere that you could get lost in, that you could have gotten stopped in. He knows you’ve been here for months now, but it doesn’t stop the rush of protectiveness he feels. Some of the boys are aggressive, and even though he and Tommy have spoken to Maria about it on more than one occasion, there doesn’t seem to be much anyone wants to do about the pressure the boys put on the ladies to couple up, to commit and be just a little more subservient than seems necessary.

Maria had looked him straight in the eyes, not a single subservient bone in her body, protected by the power afforded to her by the council and her place in this society, and told him on no uncertain terms, “Don’t rock the boat, Joel. We got a good thing going here. You start pushing people out of their comfort zones and they push back hard.” 

The screen blurs, the parallel lines of the pause symbol shining bright as a break is announced, and snacks are put out for the kids. It pulls him out of his thoughts, springing him back in the present. 

Joel stands, unable to wait any longer. “You gonna stay here?”

Ellie looks up at him, head cocked. “Um, yeah.” She snips sarcastically, as if she has anywhere else to go. “Where do you plan on going?”

He isn’t sure what he wants to say. He doesn’t want her thinking things that she shouldn’t be thinking, or getting the wrong idea. 

“Gotta check on a friend.”

Ellie barks out a laugh. “Bullshit. You don’t have friends.”

He presses his lips together, shaking his head. “Just… stay here, ok?”

He doesn’t wait for her answer, just weaves his way through the crowded room and out the doors, pulling his jacket on. The Lodge is just down the street: a hotel that had been renovated right before the outbreak, it serves just as well as an apartment building of sorts for new residents or residents who don’t want or need a whole house. 

He looks in every alley he passes, down every street. 

It isn’t that he doesn’t trust you to be smart, to take care of yourself. 

It’s that he knows what some of those men say to their friends when they don’t think anyone else can hear. 

The alleys are all, thankfully, dark and quiet. 

~*~

The knock on your door makes you jump. You’re not expecting anyone, and the only person who has come to see you in the months since you arrived is Maria, stopping in every so often to change your assignment, to sigh heavily and tell you that you have to find a place where you fit here or else it’s gonna be harder to rationalize keeping you. 

They say it’s socialist, but there’s an edge to it that makes it a little less kumbaya than you’d like. It feels a little more “Lord of the Flies” to you some days. 

Maria should be at the movie tonight, something you’d hoped to see, so it leaves you wary. 

In the peephole is a face you don’t expect. 

You throw the door open, the towel slipping from around your wet hair so you have to fumble to catch it. “Joel?”

He looks uncomfortable, hands in his pockets and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You ball the towel in your hands if only to give you something to do while you wait for him to explain why he’s at your door. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you: wet, tangled hair, mismatched sweats that came from a community pile that are just a little too big through the shoulders and a little too short in the legs, bare feet on the threadbare carpet. You know you must look a sight. 

“What’s up?” You want to ask what’s wrong, what he’s doing here, but you try to keep it light, even though the words feel woefully out of place. The anxiety you felt at having to open the door melts. Something about him still puts you at ease, just like it did at lunch, despite the awkwardness of him showing up at your door. 

“Nothin’,” he lies, shaking his head and looking away. “Nothin’, I just…” He recenters himself, physically and mentally and you realize just how tall and broad he is when he takes up your doorway. “Didn’t see you at dinner, then didn’t see you at the movie and… wanted to know how the stables went?”

You almost laugh. He surprises himself with the end of the sentence, like he didn’t know where it was going before it came out of his mouth. 

There’s nothing to laugh about, though. “Great,” you mutter, suddenly embarrassed. “Fabulous.” You shake your head and lean on the edge of the open door. “Missed dinner ‘cause it took me so long to do, and you can’t leave ‘till you’re done. Then I just… I couldn’t go anywhere until I got that smell off me, ya know?” You shrug. “Just got out of the shower. I missed most of the movie, huh?”

“Yeah.” He scuffs his foot on the ground, and you can feel the palpable nervousness coming from him. He doesn't know what to say. 

Neither do you. 

You want to invite him in, you’ve been looking forward to maybe seeing him again, but you’re tired and sore and you want nothing more than to curl up in your bed and sleep. 

“Thanks,” you settle on, his head lifting to look at you, “thanks for checking on me.”

“Wasn’t—”  he starts to argue, but it drops when he sees your face, head cocked and eyebrows low, disbelieving. “I just… just wanted to make sure you were alright, being… new… and all.”

You’re not new, though. It’s been months of trying to find your place once your wrist healed and your limp faded. You’re starting to feel old; you’re starting to feel the weight of not having found a place that feels like it fits for you here. 

It’s like he knows that somehow, though, the way he says it. 

“I appreciate it,” you nearly whisper back. You want to tell him just how much you appreciate it, just how much it makes you feel real and seen to have someone care enough to check on you as opposed to telling you you’re not doing enough. 

You don’t. 

“I was gonna turn in early.”

“Gotta head back…”

Your words overlap, suddenly feeling like the awkwardness of a first date. But you aren’t waiting on a kiss goodnight. You expect nothing from this man that literally saved your life. He’s already given you far more than you expected today. 

With soft good nights, you close your door. 

The room feels lonely now, but you feel a little less alone. 

[tf2thoughtdump]

TF2 Thought of the Day

Headcanon? Yes.

Character(s)? All the mercs, team not specified but for simplicity’s sake, the red team

Long or Short? Long. This may take a while.

You're free to use any thoughts of mine in any form of media you make.

Thought

This one is real simple, it’s how I think the mercs would handle being given a baby. Enjoy!

Scout

Literally going crazy

Like, about to explode levels of crazy.

Gushing over every inch of this baby from her big eyes to her tiny nose and down to her chubby little hands and feet

Luckily, the little munchkin doesn’t seem to mind his intense energy so it works out

He does his best, but admittedly he is a bit… rusty

The first time he tried holding her, he wasn’t properly securing her head

The second him, he was just holding her upside down

He’s not the WORST merc to leave a baby with, but you have better options.

Soldier

Not really sure what to do with this….

Recruit.

He held her FAR from his body before opting to just tuck her under his arm like a loaf of bread

This didn’t last long though because he eventually found a way to keep her strapped to him with his belt

Uncomfortable, sure, but the baby could care less

She was more concerned with who gave her to this man in the first place

Soldier is your last resort

Pyro

Is most likely to set the baby’s diaper on fire when it gets full

He’s not BAD with a baby, it’s just…

There are so many better options!

They can hold the baby right, that’s not the problem, the problem is the outfit

The rubber, the material in general

Babies need skin-on-skin contact and Pyro.. doesn’t exactly fit the bill with that one

She’s definitely gonna make the baby uncomfortable but it’s nothing a good tickle won’t fix!

Demoman

Why?

Just….

Why?

Did you run out of options again?

Was Soldier too busy so you had to wake up Tavish?

What on Earth could be running through your mind to think leaving a baby with a drunk is a good thing?

He might rock it to sleep, but that’s about all you’re getting

Heavy

Your number 1 go to if you need a babysitter

He’s got three younger sisters! How hard can taking care of a baby be?

You’ll soon come to find out that with Heavy? Taking care of a baby is a piece of cake.

No complications, no fusses, no unchanged diapers

Just Heavy asleep on a couch too small for him, and a baby resting in his giant hands.

Engineer

Also another good one!

Doesn’t have much experience with REAL babies, just his mechanical babies, but he’s sure he can watch her for ya!

Don’t worry about a thing, buttercup, he’s got everything under control

Turns out, he kinda did?

In the time you were gone, he built her a rocking crib

Plus an automatic diaper changer

He’s just a little to busy with machines to be worrying about diapers

Relax though! If the baby cries, he’s putting down everything to figure out what’s wrong and how to solve the problem

Minus the guns in the equation

Medic

Well, uhm..

He’s not a bad baby-watcher!

He will keep that little rascal in his sights at all times! No doubt about it!

He could stare at that baby all day!

Best babywatcher in the world!

But…

This is Medic we’re talking about…

There’s no way this baby is coming back the same baby..

Sniper

Not.. sure what to do?

He’s a bit of a recluse, so he doesn’t hang around people that much

That also translates to him not really being able to understand what to do when given a baby and told to watch her

You know that TikTok audio?

“Your mom told me to watch you, but.. you don’t do anything.”

That’s him.

He takes “watch her” seriously

Now granted, Mick will let her play with his fingers occasionally but is really just staring at a baby in his lap for 2 hours straight and freaking out every time she cries or soils a diaper

Spy

Spy is a neglectful dad

We see that with Scout, so it’s no big surprise there

However, he’s not horrible with kids

He can take care of a baby just fine, change her diapers, feed her, burp her, lull her to sleep and the like

He just won’t be very enthusiastic about it!

If you want your baby to have a good time, pick Scout or Engineer

But if you want someone who actually has some idea what they’re doing, get Heavy or Spy for the job, okay?

[kings-highway]

TRICK OR TREAT >:]

Aaaaaaaaaa hello hello, welcome, yet another treat for the bag <3

What’s it this time? Well a little bit of behind the scenes worldbuilding from my early days of Paranormality!

Did you know: The original draft (of which several pages are written) centered around first years Daichi, Suga and Asahi being recruited by a literally haunted Kurokawa to investigate the paranormal and potentially find a way to relieve him of the figure that was always following him - it maintained a consistent distance, always just standing, watching, never doing anything more. Although he believes himself maybe just crazy, Kurokawa is genuinely suffering from these hallucinations and needs an answer. Unfortunately, when Daichi reports seeing this thing (before he knew of Kurokawa’s hallucinations) things get a little bit more complicated. The story would have spanned all three years, including eventually a match-up with the Alien-hunting pair of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, who strike up a friendship with our Karasuno crew though they only team up when their areas of interest overlap. There were also potential plans for a Yokai-hunting team over at STZ, in the way that some people try and “hunt” bigfoot. Of course, Kurokawa’s condition gets worse and worse, he gets more erratic, until eventually, at the end of their second year, as he’s set to graduate, he is suddenly hospitalized. (having been driven to hurt himself due to the hallucinations). He is, at this point, diagnosed with schizophrenia. (not in a demonizing mental illness way trust me on this let me cook a fucking second). Of course, with the proper treatment, medications, and being able to understand himself, his circumstances… improve. And the ghost hunting trio is left… a little adrift. Were they really just… chasing nothing? Well…

Except… hadn’t Daichi had seen Kurokawa’s figure before.

And even as Kurokawa’s symptoms improve and he regains functionality… that one, watchful vision is far too solid to be a schizophrenic hallucination, and seems to refuse to waver despite his increasing control over himself.

ANYWAY for various reasons not entirely unrelated to the fact that I was too afraid to write this version for various reasons, I ended up eventually reworking it into the concept that became Paranormality. HOWEVER as maybe a sneak peek, I can confirm that Kurokawa and Kurokawa’s ghost may just in fact make an appearance in the upcoming installments of the Paranormality series. A few other tidbits about this fact:

1. My roommate directly inspired this, because her first reaction upon laying eyes on Kurokawa was a genuine gasp and then “oh that man is HAUNTED.” And then, way later, there is a scene where Kurokawa and Tashiro go to talk with the third years after the stx match and I pointed out a figure in the background that looks like he has no head (go find it if you want) and my roommate, without missing a beat my roommate said: “THAT is what’s haunting him.” so.

2. The story was going to be tonally WAY darker and more intense, whereas I ended up/wanted to give Paranormality a sort of… Doctor-Who/Mary Poppins vibe of just whimsy and horror more in sync, instead of straight ghost stories.

3. The Schizophrenic Kurokawa headcanon is… canon to me. I… wish this character was more popular, but I LOVE him, and he’s entirely a headcanon in my brain. A lot of his behaviours were going to be inspired by a friend of mine who has schizophrenia and became the funniest person in the world because her auditory hallucinations started using MY voice and she kept bringing me things she thought I asked for and I was gonna give that dynamic to Kurokawa and Daichi. But anyway. The point is. Despite it being almost entirely fanon I love Kurokawa and he WILL show up somewhere eventually I PROMISE. And he will probably have schizophrenia

[the-eclipsed-sun]

Where's my happy ending?

What if Apollo just… snapped? What if he got fed up with his true relationships failing, his father's abuse, or having to oversee so many different things? What if he got tired of being a god, and.. what if he quit? He gave the sun chariot to Hestia, since she was the only one he could trust with such a duty. After telling only his sister, Artemis, of his plans, he vanished. He set off to get revenge against those who wronged him, and to find his happy ending.

TW: profanity, heavy angst probably.

Name: Apollo, I guess. Age: fuck if I know.. Gender: Male, usually. Sexuality: Anyone who's not gonna get killed within a month. Status: Taken by my lovely Hyacinthus! Occupation: Olympian God I don't even know anymore, I'm just vibing. Pastimes: Trying to kill that other bitch Eros, trying to be a better dad. Likes: singing, playing instruments, archery, flaying the skin of people who ruined my life, shooting people in the head with arrows, my husband. Dislikes: Zeus, Zephyrus, Eros, uh who else.. Kill Count: 1 Death Count: 2 Useless "I swear on the Styx" count: 1

Other: He's still a god, despite giving up his throne on Mount Olympus. He considered asking Zeus to make him mortal again, but he decided against it. Only his sister and Hestia know what happened to him, and he'd like to keep it that way. In this AU, a few years after ToA, the McCaffrey mansion got struck by lightning and burned down, killing Meg who was asleep inside. This broke Apollo for a few weeks, and he believes it was Zeus' doing, because how else could it have happened. He carries her rings with him, since they were the only things left of her after the incident. He's a bit rude and cranky, though prone to crying at random times. He'd rather not be known as Apollo, going out in disguise, however it's not hard to figure out it's him. He's quite good at getting beat up, usually being seen with cuts, bruises, and other injuries (despite being the god of healing.) He likes to visit camp every once and a while in disguise, just to see how everyone is doing.

(more to be added later!)

People he knows: @hyacinthus-wants-revenge - My husband! I love him more than life itself!! @the-great-emperor-commodus - My weird undead ex, he's great and letting me and my boyfriend stay with him, hurt him and you're dead. @the-son-of-the-sun - My super cool kid who also hates me, I'm trying my best to fix that though. @glowy-cool-girl - Another one of my super awesome kids!! Her squirrel and frog are so cute! @unlicensed-field-medic - Another kid of mine, the coolest lamp I know @god-of-smithing-and-cozy-vibes - One of my brothers! He's super awesome. @hermes-god-of-thieves - My little brother, he's a bit.....kooky. @grapes-and-pinecones - Another little brother, he's clinically insane <3 @eros-the-love-god - please for the love of fuck, someone help me disembowl his ass @god-king-of-cheating - My decent enough dad @onlymythologypersonincamp - some random ass kid idk /lh

(ask to be added!!)

RP guide! Actions will be in brackets [] Orange text - normal dialog Red text - when he's angry about something Blue text - when he's using his power to make a command, similar to Aphrodite's charmspeak. He doesn't do it often, and when he does, it's out of fear or frustration. Small text - when he's whispering or muttering something Italics - used for emphasis

//tags for finding things easily (mostly for me to keep track of things) #a solar eclipse - the beginning of a rp thread #to the shadows - end of a rp thread #smothered light - Apollo dying #blood on his hands - Apollo killing (unintentionally) #good riddance - Apollo killing (intentionally) #pathetic wet cat - Apollo being a stupid little man

//Character specific tags #commode man - Interactions with Commodus #my favorite flower - Interactions with Hyacinthus #the lightning flash! - Interactions with Zeus #a winged menace - Interactions with Eros #sky rat - Interactions with Zephyrus #wings n speed - Interactions with Hermes #wine bro - Interactions with Dionysus

//ooc below!

//this Apollo is based on a concept I thought of recently, simply because of a silly picture I saw of Apollo reviewing some romance story. I feel like he'd be bitter and jealous from seeing so many happy couples who get to live their lives together. I'm honestly surprised I haven't seen this idea before, since Apollo in ToA is such a good candidate for anger and resentment and whatnot.

//my name is Jaxie! my main is @jaxie-the-kat! i'm a minor, and go by she/they pronouns. no actual NSFW, but jokes and such are fine.

//Profile picture made with this picrew!

[ladyimaginarium]

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: Pile 1 with the pink "do not touch me" rabbit pin & Pile 2 with the hot pink "final girl" pin!

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: Use your intuition to pick a card and/or a pin that calls to you most, then scroll to the bottom and find your pile(s) to receive your message!

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: take what resonates, leave the rest of what doesn't & don't force anything if it doesn't fit your situation, keep in mind that energy and outcomes can always change & nothing is forever set in stone, you have free will in every choice you make !! keep in mind that this is a general collective reading so the messages here may not apply to everyone. as a general message: my readings are for entertainment purposes only and don't replace professional medical/legal/business help. feedback and a review after a reading is given, whether public or private, is obligatory. you can do that by reblogging, dming or emailing us privately on the matter. if you do not provide this, you will be added to my greylist and won't be given anymore readings, free or paid, until you give feedback which you can fill out in the form listed down below. keep in mind it's more than okay to pick more than one pile if you feel you have messages in other piles but for this reading I'd suggest just picking one! don't just leave this in the likes, reblog and support your tarot readers, my time and labour aren't for free. while it isn't necessary, if you'd like to tip, my paypal's below. I have personal paid readings available which you can fill out the form below so tips, bookings & feedback are highly appreciated considering i plan to do this for a living!

BOOK A READING | FEEDBACK FORM | TIP JAR

𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝: Dreaming Cat Tarot & The Barkana Tarot.

Pile 1: You have Six of Swords, Seven Of Cups, Ace Of Wands, Queen Of Pentacles, Seven Of Pentacles & The Magician !! I& feel as if it's possible at least some of y'all could be going on a trip this month !! I& usually don't get that for the Six of Swords but with the cats here on a boat going over the river I& feel as if this may be applicable to some of you. Maybe you'll be going with family member or somewhere with your kid(s), if you're a parent, because I& can't help but notice the kitten here. If you're traveling lemme know where y'all are going, I'm& curious !! You may be leaving behind a cycle or a connection that no longer serves you. With the Seven Of Cups I& feel as if you'll be getting many opportunities, especially creative opportunities to flesh out your passions. You could also be getting a lot of career or romantic options if that's what you're looking for & that's awesome !! You could also potentially be daydreaming & manifesting a lot whether you intend to or not, but make sure to choose carefully, especially if you have several options that may overwhelm you !! I& feel like for the majority of you, though, this is going to be creative opportunities.

With the Ace Of Wands, you may be receiving a creative spark which just connects to the Seven of Cups as I mentioned earlier & get new inspiration to start your creative projects with new passion & enthusiasm, but these could also be offers of love & sex, particularly on the more sensual side of things, if that resonates with you. If you're asexual & you're sex repulsed, though, don't worry, this is likely just a new initiative !! Hell, you could even be getting candy from a friend. Maybe for some of y'all it's around your birthday? If so, happy birthday my Aries Suns !! Whatever this opportunity is, take it !! Don't self sabotage yourself !! The Queen Of Pentacles showing up is extremely interesting as this showed up for a reading I& did for a dear friend of mine& for their birthday so if you're reading this, hi Els !! & for the rest of you, y'all could be out here sitting real pretty on your throne living lavish for a bit, y'all could be just enjoying what you've gathered for yourself & to that I& say SLAYYYYY !! You don't have to be a woman to have the Queen of Pentacles energy, everyone has feminine energy btw !! The Seven Of Pentacles just further confirms the Queen Of Pentacles energy as that card represents your harvest, rewards & results of your hard work !! So for some of y'all this month you could be getting a reward for something you did !! That's amazing, y'all !! Although we have all the elements in the suit of swords (representing air), cups (representing water) & wands (representing fire), there's a LOT of Earth energy in this spread with the pentacles !! The number 7 could be significant to you, too, as there's two Sevens in this spread.

Finally, we have The Magician !! Omg look at you, Pile 1 !! You're number 1 !! It's as I& said earlier in the Seven of Cups, you could very well be on your way to manifesting this or even have already manifested whatever you goal you wanted in your life !! Some of y'all could've even used specific manifestation techniques or used the law of attraction or even magick & witchcraft or just a simple prayer to whatever deity you pray to if that's applicable or even just your sheer willpower. I& can't help but notice the infinity symbol & I& feel called to say this but some of y'all could be neurodivergent, specifically autistic, especially because there's a lot of golden symbolism here in this card, but you don't have to be !!

All in all, I& don't think this gonna be a super eventful month for you, Pile 1, specifically because most of these are in the Minor Arcana & that represents your day to day everyday life rather than lifechanging or otherwise major events in your life. With that said, that's all I& have for your reading, Pile 1, thank you so much for being here & have a lovely day !! <3333

Pile 2: You have Queen Of Cups, Ace Of Wands, Ten Of Swords, The Hermit, The Chariot & Strength. I& feel that for the vast majority as if this already happened whether this was recent or for some of you maybe even years ago, particularly the first half of this reading so for some of you I'm& getting this could've been a relationship, romantic, platonic, familial or otherwise that you gave all your heart to, because the Queen Of Cups indicates a very warm & loving, generous person & The Ace Of Wands (which showed up in Pile 1, btw!) indicates an action & an offering, & in return you got The Ten Of Swords which indicates a tremendous loss, ruin, failure, bitterness, betrayal, victimization, collapse & exhaustion. Oh no y'all...

Someone could've walked away from you or you yourself could've walked away from a situation or a relationship (which is what I'm& getting for most of you) that no longer served you. Maybe this person betrayed you in some way or they just weren't giving the way you gave to them or maybe they were emotionally unavailable for whatever reason. I& very much intentionally do not channel toxic or otherwise abusive relationships into my& readings so I& don't think this was an abusive relationship, just someone that could've really broke your heart. For most of you, this was a romantic relationship but for some of you it could've been a platonic or familial relationship, because, contrary to popular belief, friends & family can break your heart, too !! That's really rough, I'm& so sorry. You didn't deserve any of that. Oh... I'm& getting a channeled lyric from Waco, Texas by Ethel Cain where she said "Held you in my arms / I swore that I'd be good to you / and then sat and watched as you walked away from me / Christ is cruel but you're so crueler" so that song or the artist Ethel Cain may be significant to you. Jfc y'all this one's REALLY heartbreaking. This could be a separation of a soulmate connection or a twin flame connection (& I& don't throw around twin flames lightly because that's a very rare type of soul connection!!) Ironically, I'm& also processing a relationship in April that went wrong years ago... so idk, maybe I& needed this message & I& think this is my& reading, too, ehehe.

Regardless of your situation I& need you to know that how someone treats you or lack thereof doesn't define your worth as an individual. I& want you to try & store that Queen of Cups energy into yourself. It doesn't have to be fancy bubblebaths (but if you wanna go ahead!!) & candles, but I& want you to have compassion for yourself. If you can & it's warm where you are, go to the beach & play a bit like the dog in the Ace Of Wands here !! The Hermit indicates a moment of solitude to process & think, spend time alone with yourself & do things you like to do. Btw, stop doomscrolling. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it right now or I'm& bonking you with a stick. (/lh). The Hermit is ruled by Virgo so that may be significant & the number 9 could be significant. Just understand that there's a light ahead of the tunnel like the cute puppy here has with the lantern in The Hermit card !! This puppy wants you to know how loved you are !! The Chariot indicates movement & going forward & Cancer, whether you're a Cancerian or have those placements and/or your person does may be significant as The Chariot is ruled by Cancer. I'm& getting that if you can & you have a vehicle, literally drive around !! Go to a place you like !! Go to a retreat if you have the means to do so !! Maybe even go on a roadtrip with your friends !! Alternatively, your friends could be taking you out to cheer you up. Finally, we have Strength !! Look at you, Pile 2, you're like a lion, untamed & fierce !! Some of you could even be lionkind if you're otherkin, maybe you have a lion fursona, maybe some of y'all like The Lion King or maybe you may wanna watch that movie if you wanna receive some subliminal messages or you may just like lions in general. For some of y'all I'm& getting you're asoiaf/game of thrones fans & y'all may like the Lannisters, I& have no idea why that's coming in so I& guess that could resonate with someone ehehe. I& need y'all to understand that you're stronger than you know !! Strength is arguably the fiercest card in the deck, people gotta watch out for you, Pile 2 !! Y'all got this so go SLAY !!

This seems much more eventful than Pile 1. With that said, that's all I have for you for this reading, Pile 2, thank you so much for being here & have a lovely day!

[wwhatevenisthis]

# # TRIGGER WARNING, PET DEATH

-

TLDR: My house rabbit Sam passed away today (7th Dec 2023). I am utterly heartbroken, and on top of it all I still have to pay for his £1500 vet bills and his cremation.

I have an important announcement to make. My 9 year old house rabbit, Sam, crossed the rainbow bridge today. He passed away at home, comfortably in his blankets.

I went to feed him his food and medication at 12pm today, and I noticed he was breathing fast. I tried to give him some of his syringe food and water, but it was running out of his mouth. I stopped giving it him and noticed he was trying to breathe through his mouth and he was struggling. I was home alone, but I rang the vets anyway even though I knew I had no lift to get there. They said that I could send them a video of what his breathing was like to see if I needed to bring him in. I sent them some videos, and then held him close and gave him many cuddles and kisses, holding him close and telling him how much of a good boy he was. An hour passed, and I couldn't stand waiting any longer. I rang the vets back and said I wanted to bring him in, and I would ring my mum so I could take him in as soon as possible. I placed him back in his pen, gave him some head pats, and he started trying to move his head and his front end to get comfy. I left the room at 1:48pm to get all my things ready for the vets. I came back at 1:52pm, and Sam had passed away, wrapped in his blankets, in his comfy pen. He had waited for me to leave the room before he crossed the rainbow bridge. I tried to see if I could save him; I even tried bunny CPR on him. But he was gone. I held him close and cried, telling him how brave he was and how much I loved him.

Almost everyone in our family said goodbye. My mum came home shortly after with the dog, and she and I cried together. My brother told Sam to go play with Monty (my previous house rabbit who passed in October 2022) over the rainbow bridge. We even let Elsa (my other house rabbit and Sam's companion) see Sam one last time; she sniffed him and nudged him, but then started to freak out and got really stressed, so we had to put her back in her own pen. (She is doing better now, but I think she knows what has happened and is just as upset).

We eventually took Sam to the vets around 3pm, so we could get them to cremate him. All the vets there were really kind and sympathetic, and chalked it up to that the little guy just couldn't keep fighting any longer, even though he had been so strong before. They all told me how much of a good job I did trying to help Sam, with me getting up every 2 hours for the last 2 and a half weeks to feed him and make sure he was okay. They gave me some of his fur, let me give him some final head scritches and kisses, and I said one last goodbye to my little trooper.

My heart is in pieces tonight. He brought so much joy into mine and my family's life, and everyone who had met him utterly adored him. I adopted him in January 2023, and even though I knew him for just under a year, he has helped me stay positive and given me so much happiness and many fond memories. He has left pawprints on my heart, and I will never forget him. I am currently with Elsa, giving her all my love as I know she will need it after losing her best friend.

I am still having to pay for Sam's £1500 vet bills even after his passing as well as his cremation, and I have very little savings left.

I have been selling my things on E🅱️ay here

https://www.ebay.co.uk/usr/whatevenisthis

to help cover the cost, and I have set up a G0FundMe here

https://gofund.me/f3133dda

for people who would like to donate to help me out. Any and all help would be vastly appreciated, no matter how small. If you don't want to use the G0FundMe link, please I am also taking donations through PaypaI here

https://www.paypal.me/SBettney

Thank you all, and please give your pets some cuddles tonight, for me and for Sam. 🐇💜

[naviculariis]

Okay so. Serious post time. I'm gonna put this entire thing under a cut, but I'm also gonna post some TWs here: medical malpractice, uncertain diagnoses, family trauma / drama, grief, anxiety rambles???

But I am gonna take like. A semi-hiatus, just so I can catch up on what I owe.

I haven't talked about this over here, or on Tumblr in general. Only one person who follows me here knows about this bc we're friends on another platform.

So.

Y'all have noticed, my days don't follow a set schedule. I've been unemployed since my campus suddenly closed with very little warning back in '22. Immediately after that closing, we took a small trip to MS to be with family for Christmas, and that trip was... Bad. And on the 1st of last year, I had an accident- i was taking down Christmas lights and fell and busted open my head. I had an untreated, late diagnosed concussion thar no one really... followed up on, and have had slight memory loss even now from it.

So I couldn't work until my head healed up from that.

But that's not the medical thing. That is my mother. In October 2021, my mother went in for a routine stint placement that resulted in loss of almost total blood flow to her left leg for 36 hours. They almost had to amputate, she almost died on the table twice, she was hospitalized for a year. ( we've tried the legal route, but because the doctor never admitted fault on paper, he cannot be held liable & suing hospitals is... Difficult. Even though she has permanent damage, can no longer feel anything below the knee, and has to wear a brace to walk. ) My mother already had a weak heart to begin with due to years of smoking + cardiac disease. This was the first nail, essentially. This damaged her heart... a lot.

Back to the concussion. 4 days after my concussion, she had a massive heart attack that nearly killed her. She flatlined twice on the table. It was after this that we got confirmation that she is in congestive heart failure. My grandfather died from it. It's

... It's hard. We don't know which stage she's in because her cardiologist won't tell us, but we think she's in stage 2, or maybe 3. We don't know. But because of this, I am the one who takes care of 95% of everything around the house & outside. I do lawncare, I do the planting, I do the garden. She can do a lot, still, but when her heart gets going- it's painful. So I've been her caretaker since 2021 when the initial accident happened.

My grandmother is nearly 90 and has... Many health problems but somehow is also doing better than most folks I know. She's a mystery. And my aunt had a double knee surgery but somethings wrong with her knees, and they think the surgeries rejected, so she can't get around well or drive longer than an hour away. My grandmother no longer drives & isn't renewing her license. My mother can drive, but we don't want her to unless ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY.

So I'm the only one who can drive them around.

I have my own medical issues [ anxiety, depression, type 1 diabetes, cracked tailbone that never got treatment & is giving me hell for that- ]

So. Basically. A lot of my time isn't my time. And when I do have free time, I do try to write and chat as much as I can. At night, after I get mom to bed, I call my partner warner and we get a few hours together and then we have to go to sleep bc we're in a ldr & their timezone is an hour ahead of mine.

... I'm rambling.

It's just. It's hard sometimes. And a lot of the time I sort of sit on my back porch and cry because I'm doing this- physically- alone. Literally everyone else is 4+ hours away across the state. Or 9 hours south on the Gulf Coast, or 7 hours south in Louisiana.

I do try to stay on top of things the best I can, I really really do, but things slip through my fingers. I'm gonna try my best to get all caught up over this coming week, I think. But if my responses are delayed for threads, for discord messages- chances are, I'm busy with one of my lil ol' ladies.

On top of all of this, I live in a town of less than 900, the nearest city is 45 minutes in any direction, and the nearest BIG city is 2+ hours in any direction. Finding a job that isn't in Healthcare is impossible. And I have nothing against those who are in healthcare- I applaud you. But all of my trauma can be tied back to hospital ERs and any time I step foot into a hospital, I immediately have anxiety & can only hear the night we learned about my dad. So I physically cannot force myself to go into that field.

Which is... a whole other thing, this is getting too long. But I've been searching for a job for the past year and a half, have had 5 interviews, each one ended with "thanks for interviewing! However,". It's hard.

So I just.

My plate is a lil bit full. But I love writing. I love the rpc. It'sa comfort and a joy and I love meeting new friends and making new connections and I want to do this as long as I can but sometimes things get a little slow. That's all.

... anyways yeah. Semi hiatus. Cool.

[modern-inheritance]

How do you come by most of your inspiration, if I may ask? Most of mine just… appears, or I see/hear something that triggers a chain reaction of thoughts and ideas. How does it work for you?

Heya! Thanks for the question!

So, for me, a lot of it is similar to yours. I also have a random little list, so let’s see here, uh…

1. Constantly muttering dialogue to myself. I say this frequently and it is not a joke, about 80% of my time alone I am muttering things the characters are saying to each other and if it fits and sounds right then I chunk it out in a document and build around it. Examples are the Nasuada and Arya conversation in Understanding, nearly every story in the 'For a Future Story' shorts, and quite a few more I can't remember at the moment.

2. I try to write what I know, which means if I find a sensation, typically tactile, that I latch on to then I can probably find a way to work it into a fic. Other times it's things that I've experienced physically. That creepy Durza story, Grip? I was remembering the time I tried to breathe through a precordial catch after I got another one after years of not having any. I felt like I was straight up dying, and I was stupid enough to try and breathe in again and spent a good minute laying there unable to move or breathe at all. Fun stuff! But also delightfully inspiring for torture and yes, before anyone asks, I indeed have had my head examined, and I am fine, if just a little bit...odd.

3. Chatterboxing with my coworker/friends. Some of them do indeed let me stream of consciousness talk about MIC and stuff. Some ideas come from there, though they mostly ignite the random 'omg what wait' posts rather than full blown stories.

4. Rereading the books on occasion helps! Reunion and this current MIC wild phase began there. Also, other media! The Escape series idea was originally started by a scene in the Halo web/miniseries 'Forward Unto Dawn' where Chief punches an ammo storage cage and rips it off its hinges.

5. I'm curious. If I have a question, no matter how strange or out of place or wild or disturbing, I go looking for an answer. Rabbit holes! I learn so much about the body, psych and physical reactions that I can't help but put them somewhere after I learn them. I am always trying to learn new things, and once I've learned of them, if they're something that applies, I go looking for first hand accounts and experiences to learn how other people go through them or feel them, because no one is all the symptoms, no one is all the same, ya know? AskReddit is, funny enough, a wonderful tool when it comes to that.

6. Yes, Arya lives rent free in my head. Sometimes Brom, Glen, Durza, and Islanzadi join her and they have conversations. Eragon and Saphira not so much, Murtagh is mostly absent due to his absence in the war, but they show up still. I've been recently informed this is called Brainrot, but it's only mildly contagious and not always detrimental, so I've held off seeking medical help.

7. Long time ideas. There are ideas and concepts and stories that I have been unable to fully write or get down for well on seven years now I think. Oh god, wait first iteration of MIC was in...2014/15, so...Oh god, I feel olllddd. BUT! These ideas never fully materialized at the time because I just don't have the right feel, the right things to connect them, or just not the right flow at the time. The Escape series was one of these! It took me YEARS to finally get a random spark at work that connected everything together and set off that hell of a ride to 12k+ words. That spark was, hilariously, boiled down to two words: Durza Parade.

8. You!! and people like you!! People who ask me questions about MIC make me think! And that's wonderful for ideas!! You guys make me think about the things I don't typically think about! I learn new things trying to answer! So thank you! For asking questions!

9. Congratulations, you made it to the end of list, so you get my biggest, baddest, TMI'est secret to how I go through bursts of inspo and writing: HORMONES. I have a form of birth control that allows me to choose when that happens and when it stops. If you ever see a lul in MIC and then a sharp spike in me doing the cat gif of scitterscramblezoomies on a bed, then you probably know I'm complaining about taxes on hygiene products but also hanging from the ceiling yelling things about torture and ptsd and recovery and everyone doing stupid slice of life and funny things and cuddling. And/or the hormones are back in the system and it spikes everything that way instead of with Shark Week. *Fingerguns* Which is what is currently going on. Had absolutely no effect going through Shark Week, currently losing my mind going back to regularly scheduled programing.

That's mostly it, I guess. Sorry I went overboard. Sorry for the TMI but honestly if anyone who has stuck with MIC the past year or two looks at the blog activity they could probably track that shit. Which I find fucking hilarious. I write about torture, I'm not shy anymore. Sorry.

Thanks for the ask, and thanks for the interest!! Hopefully you'll stick around for more stories and shorts and wildness to come!

[cleoselene]

I set two alarms and made my appointment later in the day, so I WILL be getting my spinal x-rays tomorrow

it doesn't honestly hurt that bad unless I'm bending or standing up. Walking isn't great. idk maybe by most people's standards it's not bad pain but like, I have no idea when the last day was where I wasn't in pain most of the time? Probably not since puberty and my lipedema manifested? Every time a nurse asks me to rank my pain 1-10 I go on a rant about how it's such a subjective scale and not useful for data collection because every time I'm with a medical professional I go into really irritating medical sociologist mode and it annoys 9/10 providers, lmao

like that shrink that I dropped, i was talking about the politics being anxiety and he was not conservative and he was like "yes they hate me too" because he is an immigrant but he was like "it's really hard for them to do much though, there are so many protections in the government to prevent things" and I was like losing my mind wanting to say YOU ARE A PSYCHIATRIST. I AM AN ECONOMIST AND A SOCIOLOGIST. THIS IS NOT YOUR FIELD OF EXPERTISE, IT IS MINE AND YOU ARE WROOOOOOOOONG EVERYTHING ABOUT DEMOCRACY IS IS AS FRAGILE AS SPUN GLASS

which is a battle tbh. there is real and deeply felt disdain between the social sciences because we all kind of think the others' methodology is fucking nuts and Bad and I always thought it was silly for the social sciences to feud when I was in grad school but in my real life when I'm dealing with like a psychologist or a psychiatrist I am like THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOUR ONLY EXPERIMENTAL SUBJECTS ARE YOUR FUCKING STUDENTS, YOU PSYCHOLOGY HACKS! YOU THINK ONE SIZE TREATMENT FITS ALL! WE ARE NOT ALL YOUR STUDENTS SIGNING UP TO GET EXTRA CREDIT!

anyway lol. I AM GOING TO MY XRAY APPOINTMENT TOMORROW. Should my alarms fail, roommates have been instructed to wake me if I'm not up by a certain time. I hope it's not a spinal fracture but I hope even more that it's not a fucking spinal lesion. I wouldn't be worried because the pain isn't so bad but the swelling is CONCERNING and SIGNIFICANT. I feel like a disc or muscle issue would hurt more than this. idk idk. WISH ME LUCK. ALSO WISH THE XRAY TECHNICIAN LUCK BECAUSE I JUDGE EVERY HEALTH CARE WORKER LIKE I'M DOING RESEARCH

[bihansthot]

I’ve had an awful cough on and off since over a year now and my doctor has tried multiple things to treat it and nothing is helping. The next step is to see a lung specialist, yay more doctor’s appointments, I also have to call the liver specialist back tomorrow since they never got back to me about setting up an appointment. I have so much going on medically right now and ironically none of it is my heart for a change. I do have to see my cardiologist in a month but as far as I can tell my PET scan went fine so hopefully it will be an easy appointment. I need to get bloodwork next week, I’m hoping my levels will be better this time. I’m also supposed to drive down to fucking South Carolina to visit my partner’s family and then down to Florida to see mine because my older brother is so worried about my nephews not spending enough time with me and in his defense I haven’t seen them since they were in diapers and they’re 8 and 10 now but it’s like someone in my family finally realized I have a limited time to life and is wigging out now. I’m also really bitter about it because literally a week after we get back is my 40th birthday, yeah that’s right I’m that old. I really wanted to have a wild and fun birthday maybe go to Las Vegas finally or go see my besties in Atlanta but no, financially we can’t afford two trips so I have to give up my celebration for family time just like I had to give up celebrating my 25th heart transplant anniversary for the same reason. I’m so tired of feeling like I don’t deserve to celebrate anything, I’m so sick for feeling like my milestones aren’t worth anything. 40 is huge for someone who’s doctors have told their Mother to hug their little girl one last time because she isn’t going to survive the night, the week, the operation, to 1, to 5, to 10 to 15 to 20 etc. but I fucking did. I am six weeks from 40, something no one thought I would do and I can’t celebrate how I want. I’m trying not to sound entitled or self centered but I deserve to celebrate my milestones too. I’m so stressed, I’m stressed about my health, about Ani’s health, about my weight, the trip, my birthday ugh I just need a break. I won’t get one though the trip will be stress filled and miserable as I’m the most awkward person around kids ever, I hate the beach, I hate Florida, I hate the way my mother acts. Fat me is never good enough for her and she never lets me forget it and no one ever defends me or sticks up for me. I just get to let her whittle down my self worth while I try not to upset her further. *sigh* I just want a good night’s sleep but that hasn’t happened in a while. Sorry if I seem quiet or distant lately especially on discord, I have a lot on my plate right now and I’m not quite sure how to handle it all.

[3pirouette]

Fic: Tender Payment For Our Sins (3/?)

Title: Tender Payment for Our Sins

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: TLOU season 1.

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Jackson is less idyllic than it seems, as is everything post-infection. He doesn't want to see you tossed out, and can’t take the way you flinch when the men come sniffing around, so he does the only thing he and Ellie can think of to keep you around. Dark fic in a less than idyllic Jackson.

Themes concern medical assault, SA, infant and pregnancy loss, and medical experimentation as well as PTSD. The majority of these situations are not portrayed in the story, only recounted by the “reader” character. Chapters will have sufficient warnings. Still lots of fluff and sexiness to be had. Protective!Joel, Soft!Joel. Fem!Reader, little to no description otherwise. No use of Y/N. No/slight age difference. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Tags: Joel (The Last of Us)/Reader, Joel (The Last of Us)/You, Ellie & Joel (The Last of Us), Joel & Tommy (The Last of Us) Characters: Joel (The Last of Us), Ellie (The Last of Us), Tommy (The Last of Us), Maria (The Last of Us), Reader

Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Slow Burn, Fake Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Medical Trauma, pregnancy loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Family Dynamics, No age gap, No use of y/n, Eventual Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Past Sexual Abuse, Stalking, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Touch-Starved, Infant Loss, Joel is Trying His Best (The Last of Us)

Story A/N: Born out of the forced marriage/fake marriage trope and musings on what a post apocalypse world might actually look like. Also, I just really need this Joel in my life. Though I’ve tried to make the Reader fairly vague, I’ve been told my reader characters border on OC’s. She has QUITE the extensive and dark backstory, but little to no physical description aside that she’s close in age to Joel. PLEASE, please, please check all the tags. I’m only familiar with the TV series, and this is fairly AU of that. Despite posting date, 151 k of this (however long it ends up being) was written before season 2 dropped, so don’t expect it to be remotely close to that. I’ve been working on this for almost two years now, and decided to bite the bullet and post since a goal of mine was to post before TLOU2 started. The end is written (and will not change, no matter the feedback), significant holes in the middle are not. I will endeavor to post every week, and it will live up to the rating for many reasons. I have no beta, and no one that’s been able to give me feedback on this particular fic due to the nature of it. This is my first second-person POV, my first present tense fic, my first xReader fic, and my first TLOU fic. I welcome constructive criticism, but please be kind about it.

Chapter 3: A Promise

Chapter Summary: You, Joel, The Tipsy Bison, and an anxious moment changes everything…

Chapter A/N: S2E2 was traumatizing last week. This Joel continues to live for all your Joel needs. Soft Joel, Protective Joel, Angry Joel… we have all the Joels here.

Trigger Warnings: Panic attacks, aggressive men, minor assault. 

Full Story on AO3

Most recent CHAPTER on AO3

~*~

It turns out, you have absolutely nothing to wear to a bar. You settle on the only clothes you have that are clean, that don’t smell like shit, and you try to tuck and style the threadbare flannel into the jeans until it feels almost like something nice. 

It is just starting to shift into summer, the sun setting later and later, but there is still a bite to the air. 

You’re pretty sure you smell only like soap by the time you leave, having scrubbed your boots until they were spotless. You leave your hair down, not because it’s styled in any particular way, but because you’re sick of pulling it back and having it up all day while you work outside. 

You’d rushed. Every shovel full of straw and manure moved quicker than you ever had before. It was sloppy and imprecise and everything you hated. You almost missed a whole stall, too, but even with going back you finished on time today. 

It gave you enough time to shower, to clean off and close your eyes under the rushing water and pretend you weren’t doing all this just to see him. 

You absolutely weren’t. 

Who knew when the next time you’d have a chance to do something like this would be again, especially if you are on your way out?

You try to push the thought away, but the phrase starts to play on repeat in your head as you walk down the street: Dead man walking. 

If you are fast, you aren’t precise. If you’re precise, you aren’t fast. Apparently, it isn’t a trade-off they are willing to take in their workforce here in Jackson. 

It sits sour with you, feels like a lie, but there’s nothing you can do about it.  

It takes everything you have to push the thought away, forcing a pleasant expression on your face as you move into the Bison. 

~*~

“Who you looking for, big brother?” Tommy turns on his stool, looking around the bar as he brings his glass to his lips. “You’ve had your eye on the door all night.”

Joel looks down into his glass, spinning it and watching the whisky leave little trails along the edges. “Just…”

Tommy waits, Joel’s silence heavy even as the rest of the bar is loud around them. He sighs when Joel looks up again at the sound of the door, watching as his brother tracks you through the bar with his eyes. He sets his tumbler down, elbowing him to get his attention. “I told you,” Tommy let his voice drop low, “this is not a fight you want to get yourself into.”

“What if I do?” Joel asks, tone tight and clipped. He spreads his hands on the chipped bar, shaking his head. “She’s nice, you know. Kind and thoughtful and interesting to talk to.”

“And we’ve got plenty of other women like that,” Tommy pleads. 

Joel swivels his whole body, setting his shoulders to his brother. “What is it?” He holds him down with his eyes, waiting until Tommy squares up and turns to him. “Just between you and me, no bullshit, what the fuck is going on?”

Tommy stalls, fidgeting his hands along his knee. 

Just by his eyes, Joel knows Tommy doesn’t want to answer. He knows he knows something. Joel leans forward, voice low and dark. “You’re really gonna sit here and try to get me to believe this bullshit about—"

“It’s not bullshit,” Tommy mutters, quickly knocking back the rest of his whisky. He leans forward, voice low and on edge. “It’s not bullshit that they want to get rid of her, but it’s not about jobs.”

“Course it’s fuckin not,” Joel mumbles, his eyes finding you at the end of the bar, watching as you smile at the bartender when he gives you your drink, watching as you try to hide your cough after taking a sip of the moonshine. 

“We’re tight, man.” Tommy shakes his head, dropping his voice even lower as he leans over his brother’s shoulder. “Supply runs are coming back with less and less. Population is going up, not down.” He runs a hand over his face, tired and frustrated. “The little comforts we have are gonna start running out. Things like power plants and turbines aren’t going to be fixable for much longer. Shit’s gonna get hard.”

Joel leans back, lips tight. “Still not a reason to—"

“Want ‘em to toss you out?” He asks, raising his hand for the bartender to fill his glass. “Ellie?” He waits until his glass is full again and the bartender leaves before he speaks again. “Want them to start rationing like in the QZ’s?” A dark shadow crosses Joel’s face, and Tommy just nods. “Maria’s working on how to get it better, but right now?” He shakes his head. 

Joel watches you slip to the edge of the room, setting your drink on the rail, foot tapping gently to the music coming from the jukebox in the corner. “It’s so bad they’re gonna start turning people away?”

Tommy nods, spinning his once again empty glass in his fingers. “People are really set in their ways around here.” His deep breath releases the stress in his shoulders: Joel knows now, and sharing the secret has taken some of the weight off his shoulders. “It’s easy to get them riled up about little things, about chores not done right or taking too long, to keep them from thinking too hard about what might be really happening.” 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel swings around, leaning his elbows on the bar. “That’s a hell of a thing, Tommy.”

“You’re telling me.” He leans over, eyes darting back and forth between you and Joel, watching as his eyes narrow as Robbie steps over to you, starting a conversation he can’t hear. “I’m telling you, there’s very little that can keep her here now. They’re gonna make an example out of her no matter what.”

Joel’s shoulders start to tighten as he watches you, watches as Robbie gets closer, watches as you try to put more space between the two of you until he has you backed up against a wall. “She doesn’t deserve it,” Joel mumbles out, and even he isn’t sure if he’s talking about how the council is treating you or how Robbie is encroaching on you. 

“Probably doesn’t,” Tommy replies, following Joel’s gaze once more. “Doesn’t change anything.”

~*~

He won’t stay back. 

Robbie’s one of them. 

He’s one of the men that gets close and stays close and his voice drips in a tone you’ve heard so many times before and it turns your stomach. He treats you like a commodity to be won, something to triumph over and possess. It reminds you of nights you want to forget, of men whose faces you try to forget no matter how many times they pop up in your dreams. 

For every step forward he takes, you take one back. It’s a slow dance while you try to keep a smile plastered on your face, nodding at the things he’s saying that aren’t really registering for you, until he has you backed into a corner. 

A dark corner. 

A corner people don’t much look at. 

It makes your heart beat faster, and even though you try to keep your breathing even, your face pleasant, he notices it. 

He smiles, thinking he’s winning you over, thinking he’s impressing you and wooing you and charming you and that your rushed breaths are excitement instead of fear. You try not to think about the fact that he might see your fear, that he might get off on it. He rests his hand on the wall by your head, leaning forward as he continues a monologue about his accomplishments throughout the week. 

You want to push both hands on his shoulders and escape, running as far and as fast as you can. 

If he gets any closer, you will, your own fate be damned. 

You won’t let it happen again. 

You won’t. 

But you freeze when his hand comes up, fingers brushing over your cheek while he smiles and smiles, eyes shining like they’ve won. You can feel your hands shaking, the moonshine dripping out of the glass and over your fingers. 

Your name floats into your ears, shouted from nearly across the bar by the only voice you were interested in hearing tonight. You had just spotted Joel when Robbie sauntered over, a few seconds later and you wouldn’t have been alone. 

It’s enough to get Robbie to drop his hand from your cheek, even if he doesn’t move his hand from the wall, keeping you trapped. 

“Thought I saw you over here,” Joel booms, stepping up and calling attention to your dark little corner. His smile, feigning obliviousness, is enough to get Robbie to drop his hand. 

He’s been caught. 

“We’re a little busy,” Robbie tries, his voice stilted and angry, but still cordial now that Joel’s brought attention to you. There are eyes on the three of you now, and he’s done it on purpose. 

“You know, that’s a shame,” Joel turns, looking at you, and you see just a tiny shift in his eyes, the glint of anger turning into worry for just a second, just long enough for you to know he’s here for you. “I was hoping to talk to you about that water wheel.”

He tilts his head, eyes holding yours. 

It takes a second for his words to filter through the haze you’re in, takes another for you to feel like you can form words again. “Yeah, yeah. I was- I was hoping to run into you tonight.”

Robbie squares off to Joel, setting his hands on his hips. “Surely work talk can wait until tomorrow?”

Joel’s eyes bounce between you and Robbie for barely a second before he takes the man up on his challenge. It doesn’t escape you that Robbie addresses Joel for your time and not you. 

It makes your stomach drop even more. 

“I’m afraid it can’t,” He raises his eyebrows quickly, lips pursed tight as he looks the other man over before turning to you. 

Joel addresses you. He looks to you. He gives you agency. 

Just breathe.

You hear his voice in your head from the first moments of meeting him. How often have you repeated that mantra to yourself here in Jackson? How often have you reminded yourself to just breathe, you’re okay?

“You want to have that chat now?” Joel looks at you. He pointedly asks you right in front of Robbie. 

He asks you loud enough that half the bar can hear. 

“Yes,” you nod, stepping closer to him. “Now is a great time.”

Robbie won’t let you go that easy, though. He reaches out, wrapping his hand around your wrist like a vice. You drop your glass and it shatters at your feet, calling even more attention to you as you turn and freeze, panic settling into your bones. 

The entire bar is watching the three of you now. 

You barely have enough time to think about what’s just happened before Joel’s hand is prying Robbie from you, putting himself between the two of you. 

“You touch her again,” Joel whispers darkly, holding Robbie’s hand in both of his, “I break your hand.” He looks the surprised man in the eyes, strong and serious, righteous and avenging. “Understood?”

Robbie starts to argue, but Joel shifts the pressure in his grip and Robbie’s knee buckles just a little. Just enough for everyone to see. 

“Let’s try that again,” Joel whispers out dangerously. “Understood?”

Robbie nods, and Joel drops his hand. 

He turns to you, face still a mask of anger, and tips his head towards the other side of the bar. His arm moves to go around you, but he doesn’t touch you, just hovers his hand above your back as he leads you through the now quiet bar to the back door, your breaths coming in panting gasps.

He opens the door for you, pausing once you’ve gone through to watch as everyone’s eyes dart back to their own drinks, their own tables, before he slips out the back to the alley with you.

It happened so fast, but you could feel everything in slow motion, too. Every movement, every breath, pumps your heart faster in your chest now. Even in the cool night air, you feel constricted and sweaty, unable to get a deep breath into your lungs. You turn, planting both hands against the brick, trying to focus on the feel of them under your fingers to distract yourself from the panting, shuddering breaths. 

He says your name softly, a question and an answer all in one. 

He knows. 

He knows what it’s like to feel like this. 

You can tell he knows from how warm his voice is, how concerned he is. He knew exactly what was happening to you from across the room. 

“Fine,” you huff out in a single breath, not knowing what else to say. 

“You’re not fine.” He’s talking like he’d talk to a spooked horse, slow and calm and deep. You think it should annoy you, but it’s working. “Just breathe, start with that.”

You do. The cool brick under your hands helps. Focusing on the way your right hand is slowly turning sticky in the air from your spilled drink helps. 

His voice helps. 

You shift and turn, letting your back lean into the brick, letting it ground you as you settle your head in your hands, your hair slipping down to create just a little bit of a barrier between you and the world. 

His voice is low and soft, close but still giving you room. “Did he hurt you?”

Four words. Four simple words. 

They send you spinning again. 

Your heart pounds all over again and your vision blurs and your breath hitches all because of those four words. 

Because no one’s ever asked you that before. 

Because no one’s ever cared enough to ask before. 

“Fuck.” The curse slips from his lips, full of anger, breaking through to your consciousness enough to get you to look up. “I’m gonna—"

You stop him, a hand on his as he turns to go back in the bar. He freezes, looking down at your hand before you drop it. “No,” you force out, trying to control your shaking breaths by sheer force of will alone. “He didn’t… Fine. I’m fine.” You stutter, shaking your head. You can feel the panic sitting in your chest, gripping your lungs tight. “I don’t- I can’t—"

“Hey. Hey.” His voice is soft as he bends to catch your eyes, his face close enough that it feels intimate but not close enough to make you feel boxed in. He’s just as close, closer even than Robbie was, but it’s nothing like before. It’s nothing like Robbie. “I’m not letting anybody touch you that you don’t want touching you.” 

Something in the way he says it, something in the depth and timbre of his voice makes you believe him. It’s not a placation, it’s a promise. 

No one is touching you while Joel Miller is around. 

The constriction on your lungs ease, your vision clears just a little. 

“No one is gonna hurt you,” he whispers, a secret the two of you share in the darkness behind the bar, a pact he’s making even if he doesn’t know it yet. 

There are so many things you want to say, so many rebuttals warring in your brain. 

Nothing comes out except a nod. 

“Just breathe, alright?” He runs a hand through his hair, looking awkward and shifting his weight, unsure how he can help, unsure of what to do. “Just… just…”

You don’t think about it. If you think about it, you won’t do it, so you don’t think. You just reach out, your hand fumbling for his for only a second before his warm fingers entwine with your own. His hand dwarfs yours, and he holds you gently, like you might break, but the sensation makes the world stop spinning, slows your heart, makes the breaths just a little easier to take. 

When everything starts to finally settle, when your heart is only beating and not pounding and your head feels less heavy and less foggy, you look up. His eyes are soft: a warm chocolate brown that’s gazing over you, concerned and anxious in the dark. “Thank you,” you whisper, pulling your hand from his and running your hands over your face and through your hair. “Thank you.”

He nods, uncomfortable, when you look back up. “You, uh…” he rubs his hands together, moving to the other side of the alley, “You want to talk about it?”

You look away, shaking your head. 

You need this. You need him. You need a kindred spirit who seems to understand. It makes it easier, makes it bearable. But you know you can’t have these things. 

You need to leave. 

You need to push off the brick and stumble your way back to the little hotel room and start packing whatever you can get your hands on. If you weren’t out of here before, you’re a goner now. 

Standing here with him won’t change that, it won’t do anything but give you a taste of something you won’t be able to have. 

You let your breath sync with his in the quiet, you take advantage of his strength for just a little longer before you stumble over a handful of words you aren’t sure even make a sentence, moving out of the alley with more confidence in your stride than you feel. 

You’re terrified. 

Terrified of what just almost happened.

Terrified of how good it felt to have Joel step in, to have him be there and make promises you know he absolutely can keep.

Terrified of when they eventually toss you out there with the infected. 

Fear, it turns out, propels you forward faster than confidence. 

His protests turn into nothing behind you as you move away from the bar, your own breath loud in your ears as you move as quickly as you can to the room that’s still yours for now. Shut into it, back against the door, you start to formulate a plan. You can wash your clothes now in the sink. They’ll be mostly dry by morning, and if they let you leave with them, with the two sets of work clothes and the set of sweats they gave you, you’ll have plenty to choose from. 

You can go south. It’ll be warm during the rest of the summer, but the winter will be more pleasant. 

You don’t think they’ll let you take food, but you have a little store of the muffins and granola bars you were able to grab at lunches, and that should get you at least a week, if not longer if you only eat once a day. 

You don’t have a gun, or a knife, but maybe Maria will at least give you back the empty gun you came with. 

An empty gun out there was better than alone in here. 

Better than anything in here except for Joel. 

You’ll have to leave him here, too. 

~*~

He watches you go, and he feels guilty. 

All he can think about is how your hand felt in his.

You were having a fucking panic attack, and all he could think about was how he felt standing so close to you, how he wanted to take you into his arms and hold you tight and keep you safe, how stepping between you and Robbie had felt like something tangible, like something important for him to do. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and leaves out the other end of the alley, knowing he’s done with the bar for tonight. 

Guilt and whiskey are far too good friends of his to be together tonight. 

[primewritessmut]

15, 19, 24, 26, and 30

15. favorite weather for writing

Jesus. I don't know! I've literally never thought about it. There are benefits to all the weather, I think, when it comes to nurturing writing but I think I like wet fall weather the best. When the leaves have all fallen and are turning to mush on the ground and hot drinks start becoming a necessity again. But that is all tied up in my cabin in the woods, bog witch dream future so... I mostly write when I can write.

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

Dude. YOU KNOW.

When I was writing bloody theater, the one-shot inspired by spirit box, I needed to research Victorian era medical practices so I more or less knew what the operating theater looked like and what kinds of tools Loki would be likely to use during the vivisection. Which led to me reading an entire book about Joseph Lister who is /sort of/ the father of modern medicine in the sense that he pioneered ways to minimize infection during surgery.

It was such a wild book and so interesting. I was literally sending you screenshots of some of the shit these Victorian doctors did. Like literally nothing has made me feel more kind toward current healthcare than that book.

24. how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

I usually stop writing and spend more time doing other hobbies. This past week I've been feeling sort of "meh" about Midori Sour and so haven't been writing at all BUT (!) I've read a ton of books, finished several crochet projects, and went to a few open shoots.

This very adult way of dealing with it is relatively new though. I used to just lay upon my fainting couch with my hand upon my brow and LAMENT for an hour before getting back to the word mines.

26. are you able to write with other people around?

Yes. I kind of have to be able to or I would never write at all.

Back in the day I was very much a "complete and total silence" writer but needs must when the devil drives which means I've had to adjust because I will never experience silence again.

(All that being said, I still think I'm most productive, and write better, when I can sit uninterrupted in a quiet space for an hour or more.)

30. share a fic you’re especially proud of

Goddamn it.

I don't feel pride for fics because hitting post is the exact same thing as shoving them into a shallow grave and shoveling dirt over the body. They are dead to me. Gone. I've moved on now.

I don't knooooow.

I guess I'm proud of bloody theater because it was (1) a labor of love that landed exactly as I'd hoped and (2) it's something I never thought I'd have the balls to put in fic form (let alone ROMANTIC fic form). I'm also super proud of A Particular Set of Skills because it's very balls to the wall in a different way and has format that scared me a little. That one was not so much a labor of love as a Dear John letter to Spideypool. He Speaks Daggers is also probably up there. I think it's one of my mostly tightly plotted fics and it's emotional and romantic in a way that's very special to me.

Ask me again in three months and the answer will have changed to my most recent fics from that point in time, I'm sure.

x

[rubylarkspur22]

Questions and answers below the cut.

1: (🌸) To the Rengoku family, Mitsuri, Obanai, and Kaburamaru; How would you react to the Nezuko, Inosuke, and Zenitsu landing in prison.

Kyojurou: Were they simply caught with their swords out in public, or was it something worse?

Mitsuri: Oh, dear! What happened?! Do they need help?!

Shinjurou: Okay. First of all, what did they do? Second of all, where are they? Because I feel like Kamado is gonna bite a chunk out of someone if she's locked up for too long, given her track record.

Senjurou: ... Oh, no.

Obanai: I'd probably get them out. If only so no one loses limbs. It's for the civilian prisoners' safety, above all else, because Kamado alone is likely to kill someone if they tick her off.

Kaburamaru: *hissing in agreement with Obanai*

2: (🌸) To Tanjirou, Genya, Aoi, Muichirou, and Kanao, same question as #1.

Tanjirou: HM?! *distressed demon brother noises*

Aoi: Oh, dear. Can someone please calm Tanjirou down, before he breaks something?! And to answer your question, I'm gonna be wrangling Nezuko's brother so he doesn't burn down the mansion while panicking! This is why we don't ask questions or propose hypotheticals that suggest Nezuko's in danger!

Kanao: I suppose the best course of action would be to get them out. And also assuring Tanjirou that Nezuko's okay...

Genya: How angry was Nezuko? Because that's gonna affect my urgency, after seeing what she did to Upper Four in the Swordsmith Village.

Muichirou: I trust Nezuko can get herself, and her friends, out. If not, then Rengoku needs to train her better.

3: (🔄) Hantengu, how do you feel about the Kamado siblings?

Oh, that demon boy is terrifying. Terrifying! Why a Slayer would let a demon live is both bizarre and terrifying! But, I suppose it's only right to trust Hashira Tsugikuni's judgement.

4: (🔄) Kanae, what is your relationship with Urokodaki, Makomo, and Sabito, and vice versa?

Kanae: Well, after I broke free from Ubuyashiki, I had to seek sanctuary to survive. It took time, but I managed to find Urokodaki. It took some convincing to assure him I wasn't looking for him for Kagaya, but he eventually let me stay. I've been working to help, and earn my place, using my parents' pharmaceutical expertise to help patients. Makomo and I became close rather quickly, but Sabito needed to have some time to trust me. But they're both very sweet!

Urokodaki: Kanae was certainly a shock, but she's also been quite helpful. Both for information, and medical assistance. She's a hard worker, and a kind soul, now that she's free.

Sabito: She's alright, now that we know she's not an agent of Ubuyashiki. Though, she sometimes forgets to mind personal space, and can be excessive in her affection at times. I don't know what causes it.

Makomo: She's lovely. We make flower crowns together, and she's like a big sister!

5: (🎀) To Shizu and Kotoha, are you both aware that you have a squad of feral protective children now? If so, how do you feel about it?

Kotoha: I'm quite aware, yes. I think Kaigaku still has the scar from when Ume bit him after I got beat up for protecting Gyutaro. And Inosuke can also be quite protective, whenever he's nearby. I'm just happy to finally have a family I know I can trust, after everything that's happened.

Shizu: I... didn't know, honestly. I've just been focused on trying to make things up to Sanemi, I think I've not been paying much attention otherwise, outside of work. But hearing that reminds me of Sanemi and Genya. My sweet boys, always trying to stand up to their fa... to him. I hope I can return the favour.

6: (🎀) To the Kamado siblings, what are your Blood Demon Arts, and your thoughts one your fellow Upper Moons as well as Muzan?

Well, my Blood Demon Art is Exploding Blood. I can ignite my blood at will, and I've learned to completely control it and create different fires with different effects over the last several decades.

Mine is a set of spine tendrils. And sometimes, when Nezuko and I synchronize properly, I can launch a fire attack of my own.

As for our feelings about the others, and Lord Muzan?

Upper One is really mysterious, and a little scary. And... Something about him is familiar, but thinking about it too much gives me a headache.

He reminds me of... of someone who's long gone, even before we were demons. Hate Douma?

Hate Douma.

Akaza's nice, in a way. I wish he'd let me challenge him, though.

Maybe one day!

Also not fond of Hantengu. Can't believe he's Upper Four, with how much of a coward he is.

Yeah. All I can pick up is fear from him.

Gyokko and I talk about our art sometimes. Actual art, not his art made from corpses.

He smells like blood and rotting fish, and I don't like it. My nose stings just thinking about it. Lord Muzan has been good to us. He treats us well, and lets us share a rank.

*covers Tanjirou's ears* Between you and me, Lord Muzan and I have a mutual "Go f*** yourself" mentality towards each other. But it never leaves the mind reading. He knows acting out against me gets him in trouble with my brother, and I know he'll hurt either me or Tan... my brother if I act out. So we both behave ourselves for his sake.

7: (💕) To Tanjurou, how did you adopt Kanao and Zenitsu?

Oh, Kie and I weren't the ones to adopt Kanao and Zenitsu. They're close to our kids, and have helped us many times. It's appreciated, and I hope to pay them back somehow.

8: (💕) To Inosuke and Kanao, what is your relationship and how do you feel about each other?

Well, Inosuke is a great medic and trainer. And he's also a really good friend. Plus, it's fun to watch him mess with Aoi from time to time, and she doesn't seem to mind it either.

Kanao's a good Slayer. And she's been reminding me that, even though I had to resign from actually slaying demons, I'm still doing my part. And I've seen the affect she's had on Tanjirou since her first stay. Whatever happened before she left for the Mugen Train left a big impression on him. She's doing some good things, and I hope she keeps doing it.