#I literally cannot help myself now I have to take care of her so she never EVER does that again

[anachronistic-falsehood]

my big sister is coming to visit tomorrow. fucked up sibling relationship gang how are we feeling

[hellogoodbyeitsme]

I know we all talk about older siblings thinking "that's a baby" about their younger siblings no matter how old they get but might I suggest an adjacent concept, as a younger sibling.

After seeing my older sister secretly ugly crying by herself at like 15 over [family traumatic event] because she feels like she has to Be The Strong One, I cannot get the harrowing memory out of my brain, and so she is always (in some way) that crying 15 year old to me, and if anyone hurts her and makes her feel that way again I will simply have to gut them like a fish.

Like I'll be an annoying little evil sibling 90% of the time, that's no problem, but I cannot. CANNOT. witness that sort of thing ever again. And the only way to avoid it is to make sure she knows that sometimes age doesn't matter and she can be the baby and rely on me.

[erinlindsayy]

professor || carol danvers

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ . ┊ You're Carol's designated note taker, and usually the one teaching her a few things. What happens when you give her the wrong set of notes?

➺  warnings: dirty talk, spanking, edging, violent use of straps, carol danvers tops (but I fully believe she's a switch now), umm... general unholiness, bratting, etc.

✧   a/n: surprise... I'm back... more content coming soon... I promise I've got a val/carol/r fic coming soon, but this popped into my head and I couldn't resist... JOCK COLLEGE CAROL, OK? JOCK RUGBY COLLEGE CAROL.

↬ like this work? let me know! comments help encourage writers to write more and let them know that you liked what they wrote :)

★ requests are open–I write for a number of fandoms! just ask :)

☆ comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated ☆

“Can any of you attempt to discern meaning from this week’s assigned reading? Why might I have selected this particular work for you all?” asks Professor Valkyrie, starting class for the day. Your hand immediately raises, and she nods in your direction. 

“Well, was not Beckett’s entire point to find meaning in the absence of conventional meaning?” 

Professor Valkyrie, nods. 

‘Interesting thought,” she says. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well,” you begin. “Beckett created a landscape for us that is so alien and foreign, and unlike what we know. The play does not include any symbolic elements, and it does not really go anywhere. You might try to make meaning out of the carrot that Didi and Gogo share, or the leaves appearing on the tree, but they literally mean nothing. At the end of the play--we, as well as Vladimir and Estragon, are all still waiting for Godot. So, in a sense, there is no meaning, but perhaps there is meaning in the fact that there is no intended meaning.” 

“Good,” replies Professor Valkyrie. “As always, a carefully articulated and thoroughly crafted response. Excellent work as usual.” 

You smile politely, and fall back into your seat as Professor Valkyrie continues to lecture about Samuel Beckett and the wonderful nature and reality of Waiting for Godot. 

Meanwhile, you’ve jotted at the top of your notes, in big bold letters ‘I hate this play!’ 

After all, the ability to just to understand and converse about a work of literature does not mean that one has to enjoy it. 

After class, you’re stopped, as usual, by the one and only  Carol Danvers. Resident jock, captain of the division one team, aspiring pilot, rumored sex god extrodinare, Carol Danvers. She’s quite the legend around campus, but not exactly for her work ethic as it pertains to academic pursuits, which are... lacking, to put it politely. 

“Do you have my notes for me,” she asks, holding her hand out. “I need to at least act like I’m going to study tonight, right?” 

You roll your eyes. “Carol, why do you ask for my notes if you never use them? You do realize that mere possession of the notes will not translate into you understanding the material, yes? You have to actually read them in order for the information to enter your head.” 

Your reply is snarky, short and snappy, but you’re fed up with Carol at this point. She asks you for notes in all the classes you share together (which, granted, is not many,) but never seems to read them or take any of her classes very seriously. Carol narrows her eyes at the response. 

“I’ll just sleep on them? Os--” 

You cut her off, finishing her sentence. 

“--mosis does not apply, Carol. You know that. You cannot absorb the material through the pores of your skin. Read the notes, and actually try for once, or stop bothering me. I could be taking notes for myself, rather than focusing on summarizing all of the lectures so that you can stuff them into your bag, never to see the light of day again. Don’t ask me for notes again unless you’re ready to be serious.” 

With that, you hastily pull out a few papers from your bag, not bothering to double check if they were the correct ones or not. You shove the papers into Carol’s and turn away sharply, not bothering to look back. Granted, you were headed in the completely wrong direction, but you weren’t about to give Carol the satisfaction of seeing your face again. 

Of course, Carol knows that you hardly need notes for your own purposes. Summarizing the lectures for her provides you with the information you need to keep your own mind sharp, with years of literary study and reading filling in the blanks to broader context for you. But still, you love to hassle her. Carol does feel guilty occasionally, knowing how much work you put into the notes you take for her. They’re always organized, and you write important little tidbits down in the margins. She always glances at them, but can never bring herself to actually study the notes. 

Tonight is different. Carol is inspired, reenergized by your scathing talk. She sits down at her desk, and finally pulls out the notes you gave her. She reads the first line, and laughs to herself. 

These definitely weren’t the notes she meant to give me, she thinks to herself. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re startled out of your evening study session by a loud ding from your phone. Normally, you wouldn’t check your phone in the middle of studying, but you’re intrigued. 

Your jaw drops slightly when you notice that the text is from Carol. 

8:57 hey. I’ve got a question about the notes

You’re shocked. Carol actually... read the notes? 

9:00 Shoot for it. How can I help? 

9:01 Well. The notes weren’t really on Waiting for Godot

9:04 Oh. Did I give you a repeat copy of last weeks’?

9:05 Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that they’re standard academic notes

You roll your eyes at her comment, typing out a harsh response before deleting it and sending a far more cordial reply. 

9:06 Oh? 

9:07 Well, for starters, I don’t think that Waiting for Godot has anything to do with sex. 

Attached to her text is a picture of your recent exploration of the things that turned you on, or as you aptly named it “An empirical study of the things that make me wet.” 

You’d never meant for anyone to see it, ever. It was purely a list of the things that you desperately wanted to try, things you enjoyed watching and reading, various things that interested you. 

You’d written the list mostly as a joke, as a way to get the ideas out of your head. You wondered how it even found your way into your backpack, and you’re ready to curl up into a ball and cry when Carol texts you again. 

9:13 I could help you, you know

9:14 I have a few things that I could teach you

9:15 What do you say we make a deal? 

You swallow thickly, intrigued. 

9:17 What sort of deal? 

9:19 You teach me literature. 

9:21 I’ll fulfill your deepest fantasies. (And take you out on a date ;) )

You blink slowly, unable to process the words appearing on your screen. A date? Lessons in sex? It all seems to be far too much to handle, and you’re not sure if Carol is serious. The prospect is alluring, however, and you can’t help but admit that you’ve had the tiniest (largest) of crushes on Carol ever since you saw her in that signature leather jacket of hers, kicking her legs up against the desk in front of her, even if your feelings were against your better judgment. You knew she was aware of this fact, and the way you were always angry around him for some odd reason. 

9:24 If this is a joke, it isn’t funny, Carol. 

9:30 I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. Be ready. We’re getting pasta.  

__________________________________________________________________________

“So. You want to be a pilot, but now you’re here playing rugby and studying literature?”

Carol shrugs. 

“My best friend Maria and I were supposed to enlist together, but some shit happened and he needed me to stick around. I’ve always been good at rugby even though my dad hated that I played sports, and so I stuck around here. Got a full scholarship for rugby, and put the dream of flying aside. The academy will always be there. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s what Maria needed. I couldn’t just leave her when she needed me most.” 

You smile softly at Carol, shocked by her sudden display of emotion. She’s clearly conflicted, and her eyes drift up to the sky, staring wistfully at the dimming horizon. 

“I think that’s very brave of you, Carol. You’re a really good friend,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop hers in a sudden burst of confidence. The evening had been oddly pleasant, and conversation flowed between the two of you. Granted, Carol was still somewhat of an egotistical jerk, but she was obviously emotionally conflicted, and she had sacrificed her biggest dream to help her closest friend when she needed it most.  

Carol looks down at your hand, tensing up for a second before flipping her palm to meet yours and giving your hand a quick squeeze. 

“I’m alright, ok? I don’t want you worrying about me.” 

You nod. Carol smiles, and moves to stand up. 

“What do you say we get out of here, and head back to my place? Maybe watch a movie?” 

You smile, nodding at Carol. “I’d like that a lot,” you whisper. “I’d like that.” 

Carol holds her hand out to you, helping you up out of your chair. You move to pull your hand out of hers, assuming she meant to just assist you up, but she holds on firmly as the two of you walk back to her vintage red Mustang. 

The drive back to her apartment is filled with throwbacks from the 90s, widows open and hair wild. You’re both singing the words of the songs obnoxiously, relishing in the sweet freedom of the open night. 

When you finally reach her apartment, your eyes are bright and your hair is messy. You look over at Carol, messy hair strewn about. You begin to laugh uncontrollably, with Carol joining shortly after upon seeing your own windblown look. 

When the laughter finally succeeds, you look over at Carol to find her gazing at you intently. You laugh apprehensively, but Carol’s gaze does not falter.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful,” she asks. 

You nod your head slowly. “Not really, no.” 

“But you had a boyfriend?” 

You nod. “It wasn’t really the best of situations. I’ve since come to many realizations about myself since then.” 

Carol smiles. “Well, then I guess I’ll just have to tell you as many times as I possibly can to make up for the lack of times you’ve been told that.” 

“Carol, I don’t even know how to respond to that,” you sputter out. 

“So don’t.” 

Carol leans in over the middle of the car, hesitantly pressing her lips against yours in a tender kiss. You’re surprised at first, but you lean into the kiss, melting against her mouth. Your hands tangle in her already messy hair, and you smile against her lips. The kiss intensifies as your hands begin to roam down Carol’s back, fingers itching to explore. She pulls her hands off of you, smiling softly. 

“Let’s head inside, Princess. We can have a lot more fun in my bedroom than we ever will out here.” 

You nod your head, eagerly anticipating the next steps. 

When you reach her apartment, he leads you past the kitchen, flipping on various light switches as she heads through the living room, finally reaching her bedroom. It’s surprisingly neat, with framed photos of her and a woman that you guessed was her friend Maria. There’s a small pin shaped like a sort of star resting atop her desk, with a framed photo of an adorable orange kitten. Her bed is neatly made, and the room is incredibly put together. 

“You like it, huh?” 

You jump, startled by Carol’s voice. 

“Yeah. Um, it’s very nice,” you reply. “Super neat.” 

Carol laughs. 

“Yeah, for all my disorganization at school, I do like to keep my apartment pretty tidy.” 

Carol walks over to her desk and picks up your list. 

“I think this belongs to you, my darling. We don’t have to do anything with it, or even speak of it again should you so wish that to be the case.” 

You bite your lip, considering your options. 

“Were you really serious, Carol?” 

Your heart is beating fast, and your palms are beginning to grow clammy. 

She laughs. 

“Of course I was serious, Princess. Why would I offer if I wasn’t?” 

You look down, mumbling your answer out. 

“I didn’t really think someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me, honestly.” 

Carol laughs, walking over to you. She gently tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. 

“Hey. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you drive me up a wall when you’re yelling at me to fucking finally read your notes, as you so kindly put it in your own words. Of course I would be interested in a girl like you. You’re incredible.” 

She kisses you softly, slipping hers hands underneath your sweater. Breaking away for a second, she whispers to stop her if anything is too much. Green for go, she says. Red for stop. 

Her hands roam up your body, making their way up to your neck. She gently squeezes at the column of your throat, whispering in your ear. 

“I noticed you had this on your list, Princess. I did read your notes this time, and I did study up. I know all the things that could make you tick. And yet, I still want to hear you tell me what you want. You want me to choke you? Squeeze your throat till you’re begging me to stop?” 

“Yes, please,” you moan out. 

“Then use your words, Princess. Mmm... and what else should we do today? What other things from your little list do you want to try? I know you don’t want to start off simple... You even said so yourself. Tell me with your words, Princess. Tell me what you want.” 

You gasp, head tipping back as Carol’s hands resume their exploration of your body. 

“Cat got your tongue, Princess? Normally you’re so vocal during class... Why change now?” 

You moan again, unable to speak properly as Carol’s fingers find your nipples, gently pinching. He pinches harder when you are unable to answer her question. 

Moving hers hand to cup your jaw, he harshly tilts your face to look at him. 

“Answer me, Princess. I’m growing impatient and I don’t have all day. Normally you’re so quick to answer. What a shame.” 

“Put me in my place, please,” you gasp out, voice breaking. “I want you to edge me and spank me and punish me and tell me what a naughty little girl I’ve been, touching myself to the thought of you. I want to eat you out while I’m forced to touch myself, unable to cum without your permission. I want you to choke me as you pound me into the mattress with your cock, reminding me of my place. I want to be your good little girl, moaning only your name as you show me who I belong to.” 

Carol smirks. 

“I’ll be honest—I always knew you had a thing for me. You weren’t exactly discreet. The secret is, I had a thing for you too. I wasn’t expecting you to write about me in your notes, though. And I definitely wasn’t expecting you to write something like that ever. Our little teacher’s pet, our good little girl, the smartest girl in class—and such filthy thoughts! Didn’t take me long to figure out who the mysterious blonde figure was. You wrote some pretty explicit stuff in there, Princess. You’re such a filthy little whore... So many dirty thoughts! Imagine if those notes had fallen into the wrong hands...” 

Carol’s hands dip to the edge of your sweater, swiftly pulling it off of your body. She cocks an eyebrow at you upon seeing the lacy navy blue bodysuit underneath that you’d specifically selected for tonight. 

“Did you wear this just for me?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl. I like the way you think. Now, take off those pants for me. While you’re at it, get rid of that lacey little thing. It’s pretty, but you’re prettier.” 

You obey her quickly, shedding every stitch of clothing from your body. You’re trembling with excitement and anticipation, and you’re nervous as Carol’s eyes rake up and down your body. 

“Stunning,” she says, never taking her eyes off of your body. “You’re absolutely perfect. I can’t wait to teach you how to be a good little slut for me... you’re such a good learner. Wonder if that translates in the bedroom?” 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Why don’t you shut up and find out already?” 

Carol laughs condescendingly. 

“You sure you want to mouth off like that, Princess?” 

You nod. “You seem to be all talk right now, and no action.” 

Carol growls. “We can change that. I don’t tolerate brats around here. Brats get punished. If you’re a good girl, you get rewarded. Which is it going to be tonight, Princess. I need an answer.” 

You roll your eyes without even thinking. “Just fuck me already, Carol.” 

Carol tangles her hand in your hair, pulling your head back. “I told you that brats get punished. It looks like you've selected the brat role tonight. Get on your fucking hands and knees. I’m not going to ask you a second time.” 

You quickly obey, scrambling onto your hands and knees. You wiggle your ass slightly, but Carol firmly holds it in place. 

“Stop. Now, since this is your first time, I’m going to take it easy on you. We are only going to do ten, but mark my words, if you pull this sort of bratting on me again, I can and will increase that number. Now, I want you to count.”

The first strike comes faster than you were expecting, but it does not hurt as much as you thought it would. 

“One,” you gasp out.

Carol strikes again, harder this time. 

“Two,” you gasp out again.

He continues, hitting a bit harder each time, and your ass is red by the finish. 

“Good girl,” she whispers in the shell of your ear. “You took your first punishment so well for me—it is almost like you were made to do this...” 

She ghosts her fingers lightly over your neck, drifting down to your collarbone before moving her hands to gently massage the soft tissue of your breasts. 

With a gentle slap to your aching ass, she gives you a new set of instructions. 

“Now. For our next lesson, you’re going to suck me off. The better you do, the less edges I’ll give you tonight. I hope you’ve been studying, Princess. Either that, or you just better wish that this comes naturally for you.” 

Carol swiftly pulls her pants and boxers down and throws her shirt to the side, revealing her toned abs and muscled back. You can see her muscles ripple as she stretches her arms above her head to take her shirt off. Your jaw goes slightly slack at the sight of her perfect nude figure.

“Close your mouth, Princess. You’ll catch flies.” 

You blush. “Sorry, Carol. You’re just so beautiful.” 

Carol winks. “I can tell, Princess. Your eyes haven’t left my torso.” 

You giggle, but quickly stop when Carol moves directly in front of you. 

“Test time, Princess. Hope you’ve studied. But, if you haven’t, I’ll allow for retakes. Think of this one as a pretext, if you will. How much do I need to teach you when it comes to this particular subject?” 

You moan at her words, mouth salivating. You’re desperate to touch her, to run your tongue over her strap. Carol leans down to press a quick kiss upon your lips, immediately guiding your face to her strap after. You’re unsure of what to do at first, the feeling foreign upon your tongue. Eventually, you begin to find your rhythm, head bobbing as you introduce a hand to match your rhythm. You continue your tiny kitten licks, timing them with the thrust of your fingers. Carol is silent for the most part, but every so often she breaks her stoic silence with a loud moan or gasp when you hit a particularly sensitive spot against her body. You grind against the pillow that Carol has placed between your legs, annoyed with the lack of friction you got, but thankful to have anything at all. Your tongue continues its way along Carol’s strap, body quivering with pleasure. 

It isn’t long before she’s moaning continuously.

After all, you have always been a very quick learner. 

Carol pulls away, and you whimper at the loss of contact. She messily kisses you, groaning at the taste of herself on your tongue. 

“For your first time, that was surprisingly good.”

You beam in satisfaction.

“However, I’m still going to edge you at least five times.”

You whimper. 

“But Carol—“

“No buts, pretty girl. It’s for your own pleasure, alright? It’s good to practice delayed gratification. Now, get over there on the back of the bed for me. Spread those legs as wide as you can. I want that dripping cunt of yours on display.”

You move off of your pillow, following her instructions. Carol walks over to you, hovering over you on the bed as she cages your body with her arms. 

“I want to hear every moan you make,” she growls. “Don’t hold back on me, Princess.” 

You nod. 

“Yes, Carol.” 

Carol smiles and strokes a single finger through your dripping folds. You shudder. The feeling of her soft fingertips against your throbbing core is heavenly, and you’re unable to hide from the breathless moan that escapes your mouth. 

Carol continues to slide her fingers through the folds of your cunt, relishing in the puffy texture as she explores. Her fingers trace small circles here and there, dipping into your soaking hole when she feels like doing so, pinching your clit, edging you into oblivion. 

You ask her to cum numerous times, but she always pulls away. Finally, she pulls away for the last time. 

“You can cum this time, Princess. But I want to cum on my cock for me like a good little slut, alright? I want you to scream my name for me. Let the whole world know you’re mine now.” 

You nod, moaning at her filthy words. She carefully lines up with you and thrusts in quickly, giving you a chance to adjust to the size and foreign feeling of the cock inside of you. 

When you nod at her, she begins to thrust her hips at an ungodly pace, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. She moves one hand to your clit, rubbing tight little circles over the throbbing organ, and her other hand moves to your throat, lightly pressing down. She’s pushing you into the mattress, firmly grinning the column of your neck as her hips thrust faster and faster. 

“You like it when I choke you? When your brain starts to go a little bit foggy and you can’t tell if it’s from the sex or lack of air? You like it when I tell you what a good little slut you are, taking my cock like such a good little Princess, showing how well you learn and how well you take instruction?”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out in between moans. “Please, fuck me harder.” 

Although it seemed humanly impossible, Carol managed to fuck you harder. The relentless snap of her hips grew faster, thrusts hitting further and further inside of you each time. The hand rubbing your clit runs faster, harder, and just before you’re about to rip over the edge, Carol whispers in your ear. 

“Cum  for me, Princess. Cum like the good little girl you are.” 

You scream out in ecstasy as you tip over the edge, collapsing against the mattress. Carol pulls out, falling into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you as she presses kisses to your neck and collarbone, drifting up to your forehead. 

“You did so well, Princess. You’re such a good learner. Looks like you’re just as good in here as you are in a classroom.” 

You smile. 

“I try my best. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do.”

Carol smiles. 

“A good attitude to have. Now, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

A few snacks, some water, and one blissful shower later, you’re dressed in Carol’s old sweatpants and sweatshirt as you climb into bed beside him. She’d invited you to stay the night, and you hadn’t been able to resist. Carol flips the lights off, pressing a delicate, featherlight kiss to your forehead. 

As you lay in bed however, you remember an important fact. 

“I still have to teach you all of literature,” you mumble. 

Carol laughs softly. 

“And I have many things to teach you still, darling. But for now, sleep.”

You smile, closing your eyes as you feel Carol’s grip on you grow stronger. 

Literature could wait until tomorrow.

[elderflower2000]

Neteyam x reader.

I suppose I’ll just have to do myself. This is literally my first time writing fan fiction which I have been an avid reader of myself for years!! Due to the lack of Neteyam fics I’ve decided to take the reins into my own hands!!!

Please go easy on me!!

- - - - - - - -

This is set before the humans come back to Pandora and the Sully family are still living in the forest.

- - - -

Isn’t life strange? How can a simple touch change an entire friendship? Perhaps it was only myself who felt the shift in feelings towards Neteyam but it happened and I have been left with the consequences of a heart aching for a love that may not even be reciprocated.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Neteyam asks, The eldest Sully brother has caught me by the river washing soiled loin clothes. His eyes were filled with a mix of annoyance and anger from my sudden change in disposition towards him.

“I am not ignoring you, I am simply busy.” My tone curt, I truly cannot understand how love and longing has made me sour. I spoke to my sister on how she felt when encountering love, she told me wistful tales of secret moments shared under the stars, endless laughter and the constant preening of hair to look her best. I know I love him but his presence causes me to tense up, like my throat is being held and manipulated to speak in nothing but short, blunt sentences.

“You know what I mean!” He says kneeling down next to me desperately trying to catch my eye line but being sorely disappointed when I stand up from the edge of the small pond twisting the loin cloth to expel any excess water. “You haven’t looked at me in three days, have I done something to upset you? Please tell me so I can make it right.” He practically begged but I ignored Neteyam once more leaving him staring at his reflection in the water.

Neteyam was so angry, why wouldn’t you talk to him?! Ever since you two had be mere toddlers you had both spent your days with one another chasing beetles or watching hunters flying on their Ikran. Your days had been filled with endless laughter, jokes and smiles but now that had all been ripped away from Neteyam for no reason and he wanted answers.

“What is wrong?” Neytiri asks her eldest son who was crouched by the fire. His glare was thoughtful but he also stole the occasional glance at you who sat across from the flames talking with Kiri. Why were you smiling at her but not him? Neteyam wracked his brain for any moment in recent days that might have offended you.

“I am fine, Mother.” Neteyam snapped but Neytiri followed his gaze across to you. She couldn’t help but sigh “You two have been friends for as long as you both could walk. A friendship like that is not easy to break my son.” Neytiri offered her words of comfort to her son but Neteyam sighed running a hand through his hair his gaze returning back to you.

“Why will you not just tell him how you feel? Just from the way he looks at you it is obvious that he feels the same.” Kiri said to you but you just roll your eyes. “It is not that simple Kiri, we have been friends for so long and I am afraid that I could jeopardise years of happy memories because of my feelings.” You express to Kiri who looks like she wants to strangle you.

The night proceeds with you and Neteyam sharing stolen glances from across the fire. It seemed that the hostility was getting to the eldest son as he stood from his crouch and strode over towards you. His steps were long and powerful as navi heads turned from the powerful sight. Neteyam grabbed your hand pulling you up from your place on the floor “What are you doing?” You hiss but he did not stop dragging you away from the large crowd and out into the open air.

“Neteya..” he cuts you off.

“Why are you ignoring me? Do you know how frustrating this is?! To have someone you care about so deeply ignore you for no reason!” His frustration was clear from his tone and face.

“I am not ignoring you!” You snap like a venomous snake.

“Yes you are! You do not greet me with smiles anymore, you do not ask to braid my hair, you do not run to me to tell me about your day. It all stopped and I want to know why!” He takes a step closer, his anger flared inside him, chest heaving as he waited for your response.

“I’m not-“ You start to say but Neteyam stops you by sighing, his hand caressing your cheek, his forehead pressed up against yours.

“Please just tell me what I have done wrong, I will do anything to make amends but just please do not ignore me, my heart cannot take it.” He speaks in soft hushed tones, this moment was just meant for the two of you and perhaps now you could confess.

“Two days ago, in the clearing just beyond the mountains your finger tips brushed my cheek, it was such a simple gesture Neteyam but it changed something within me. It shifted my world, my feelings towards you changed within that moment and I’m afraid that my feelings will ruin our friendship.” You explain and his eyes soften immediately but he remains close to you.

“You have feelings for me?” He asks softly, your bright yellow eyes meet his as you nod slowly. “You do not know how long I have waited for you to say that. I…I thought that I had lost you.” He says the relief on his face stuns you. “My love, I have adored you since we were children, my heart beats only to see your smiling face.”

You cannot believe what you are hearing. Neteyam has always felt the same way, for how many years? It seems that you haven’t been in love alone at all and from that moment you swear to yourself that you shall never let Neteyam forget how much you love him.

[homuraakumaakemi]

What would I do if I came to school and found a secret admirer note in Madoka’s handwriting? Of course I’d recognize her handwriting, but the answer? Nothing.

Of course I’ve fantasized about her being interested in me and sharing my feelings, being together, her supporting me and I her, et cetera. But I must be realistic. I do not want to hurt her any more than I have, and she’d know that, so she wouldn’t pretend to love me.

So why the love note? Easy. Someone would have asked her to write it for them. Maybe they dictated it. Maybe they were so scared of my inevitable negative reaction to such a thing, they couldn’t even think of the words. I know how that feels. Madoka is kind, and some of her actions can be unorthodox. She’d just be happy someone worked up the courage, at least until I remind her people have played with my emotions before. I do not want love notes. I do not want to be popular. It would only end in pain for the people I care about.

Of course part of me wants the simple answer to be true, that Madoka would hide a love note to me to signify her interest in me… but that’s a dream. I’ve said… done… too much to hurt her. Besides, as I am now, and as she is now, even if she did do that for that reason, are they really HER feelings?

Yes, she was lonely as the Law of Cycles. I knew this because I’d be lonely in her position. Worshipped on a pedestal. Prayed to as some magic solution to people’s problems. If there’s awareness in the afterlife, people would see her as some absolute authority and power, the ONLY one of her kind. The only one so kind and so selfless. Why would she be miserable? She has TRANSCENDED human desires. She got what she wanted.

What she wanted was to help people, and in that regard, yes, she was happy, and inevitably, she will want to continue to help people. To make sure there are no Witches while allowing them their wishes. But is it worth it? Is magic and paradise worth humanity not being in charge of their fate? Worth those, Incubator or human, who, as the Tokime Tribe know, would take advantage of Magical Girls’ wishes and trust in them? Of course, I’m not planning that far ahead. I’m no good at that. But these are questions Madoka will need to grapple with when it is time for her and I to be sworn enemies. When she prevails, what will she do? Because her agency is important. I cannot truly make decisions for her, simply make my stance clear: It is okay for her to be selfish and want things beyond simply helping people.

Besides, I am in no state to make such decisions for her even if anyone had the right. I am in no position for a romantic relationship. I am beside myself with my own issues.

Literally.

[lambiewrites]

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Camping w/ Saw Characters

Characters included: John Kramer, Amanda Young, Mark Hoffman, Lawrence Gordon, Adam Stanheight. Plus, me and Y/N (because I said so)

Warnings: none, except mentions of smoking, getting hurt?? Idk

Notes: Reader is gender neutral and everything is platonic. Even our relationships with each character (unless otherwise stated in other fics I may write)

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John Kramer: I personally feel like John really enjoys the outdoors and seeing as though we see him chilling on a park bench, sketching his traps 24/7, I feel like he’d really enjoy it. Loves the peacefulness except when everyone (Amanda and Mark) are fighting. Definitely fishing at 7am. Struggling because he may or may not have to sleep on the ground. We definitely bought peepaw as many blankets and sleeping bags as possible. He gets cold so easily, bless his heart. Wants to enjoy the hiking trails but, can’t because he’s either in his wheelchair at this point or it’s just a struggle for him in general. (Mad at me because I complained about my knee the entire time even though I’m perfectly fine.) definitely giving Y/N a lesson on the outdoors.

Lawerence Gordon: Didn’t really want to come but he was sorta forced to. Definitely the group’s medic. Lecturing everyone on where they should and shouldn’t step. Pissed because Adam keeps smoking even in the non smoking areas like the woods where there’s been really bad wildfires. Adam does not care though. Dr.Gordon helped pitch everyone’s tent and tried to tell me and Y/N how we could easily pitch our tents but we didn’t listen. He actively carries the first aid kit literally everywhere. This man also had to pull me out of the fishing creek because I slipped on some rocks and nearly fell in. (He and Adam are sharing a tent shhhh ❤️)

Amanda Young: A little less than thrilled to be here. It’s cold and wet. Plus she had better things to do. Constantly at John’s side making sure he’s not too cold and that he’s enjoying himself. Pitched her own tent and probably is sleeping in it by herself unless Y/N wants to share it. Stays up all night worrying about peepaw and maybe other campers (or bears) Definitely one to tell the darkest, scariest, goriest story at the campfire. Is she fighting with Mark the entire time? Oh yeah probably. Is she yelling at me the entire time? Yes. Is Y/N telling her about their nature knowledge (if that’s your hyperfixations) Yes. Amanda definitely wants to go home but she’s sticking it out for peepaw.

Mark Hoffman: (My favorite camping headcannon to write lmao) Complaining about pitching the tents because no one else can apparently. Honestly would rather die than be out here but, he’s making the most of it. Yes, we do have his ass grilling, why wouldn’t we? It’s his job now. Did we make him make the fire? We did actually. Watched me fall off the rocks and into the creek and did not care. Thought it was funny, wished I had drown. Y/N is the only one who he isn’t mad at (congratulations!). Yet. Secretly enjoys the camping but won’t say anything about it. Probably sleeping in a tent by himself. (Maybe Y/N is sharing it with him?) I have decided that this man physically cannot stand me and that’s okay.

Adam Stanheight: This man has been chain smoking since we got here. Obviously taking as many pictures as he physically can. OF EVERYTHING!!! Tried to help Lawerence set up the tent but got bored. Almost started a forest fire but felt instantly bad. Definitely got a lecture from it. Sits at the fire and makes s’mores. Watched me burn myself trying to roast marshmallows and laughed at me (I deserved it, trust me). Loves the outdoors actually and he’s thrilled to be there. Like a little squirrel running around with his camera ❤️😭✌🏻 Y/N is forcing him to take cute little selfies of them with trees and mountains. We’re hanging up the Polaroids all over the place. We’re gonna look so aesthetic, trust me xoxo

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Notes: This was quickly made and probably shitty but, just bare with me lol this is my first one and I love it. I think it’s funny. A lot of this was pulled from my actual camping trip at the beginning of the month. I hope y’all enjoyed and feel free to request stuff! I love you guys!

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[heavyhitterheaux]

Can't Take You Seriously

First Lady of Private Garden Blurb

AN: I saw a tweet about this and just had to do it lol

Synopsis: You are trying to have a serious conversation with your husband, but can't figure out why he's so distracted

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

First Lady of Private Garden Masterlist 1

First Lady of Private Garden Masterlist 2

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“Baby! Are you even listening to me?!” You exclaimed as you looked at your husband who seemed like he was focused on everything else but you.

“Of course I am!” Jack replied to you as you were standing in front of him.

“Then what did I just say?!”

“Umm, I forgot to do something that you asked.”

“And I asked you to do it last week! If I knew that this was going to take this long, I would have done it myself. You’ve been home for three weeks now from tour. I let you relax a little bit and take a moment for yourself, but did you suddenly forget that you’re a husband and a father too?”

“I’m not trying to argue with you, babe. Of course I didn’t forget!”

“Then why are we having this conversation for the third time this week? I’m about to drop you off on Maggie’s doorstep but now that she’s gotten rid of you, she probably doesn’t want you back.” You complained while crossing your arms and Jack still had that weird look on his face and didn’t even bother responding to your previous statement. 

“Jackman! What has you so distracted? Because you are literally hardly paying attention to anything that I’m saying. I could use a little more help here and I don’t know how many times that I have to say it. You decided to get me pregnant, did you not?”

All you felt was Jack move your wig that you were wearing slightly to the left, taking you aback and you were now the one looking confused.

“I literally cannot take you seriously while you’re yelling at me and your wig is crooked. Now it’s not, so we can continue.” Jack muttered while smoothing out the top and you were just looking at him in disbelief.

“Look, as much money as I spend on buying them for you, I need to make sure we’re getting my money’s worth and you’re wearing them right. Now, as you were saying?”

All you did was roll your eyes and Jack noticed that you now had a pout on your face.

“If you rolled your eyes at me any harder just now, they would have gotten stuck. So, now you’re quiet and don’t have anything to say?”

“You get on my last nerve.” You replied as you were trying your hardest not to laugh.

“I can’t have my wife out here looking like I don’t love her and take care of her! Can you imagine the headlines? And then he who shall not be named will take that as an opportunity to slide right in and take my place.”

“Not with him wearing those inspector gadget looking outfits.”

“I-... we’re going to leave that one alone.”

“But seriously, baby can you please go do what I asked?” You said as Jack pulled you into a hug and kissed your forehead.

“Yes, babe. I’m going right now and I’m sorry that I’ve just been in a mood lately. Being a husband and a parent doesn’t stop and I promise that I’m good now. Was just overwhelmed for a minute.”

“And you didn’t tell me this because? What did I tell you about that?”

“I know and I have no excuse. Thank you for always being here for me when I need you.”

“Always and forever.”

“And I’m always going to be here for you especially when your wig needs to be fixed.”

You pulled away from Jack to look up at him and gave him a blank stare.

“What?”

“I should have returned you with the receipt when I had the chance.” You muttered and Jack rolled his eyes.

“If the receipt you’re talking about is our marriage license, keep in mind that you were the one who got drunk and proceeded to almost set it on fire and would have if I didn’t throw you over my shoulder and Dani grabbed it from you.”

“Hmm, she was useful for some things I guess, but I don’t recall.”

“I guess not since the next morning you didn’t remember a single thing that happened, but it’s okay. I love my wife and her crooked wigs and all.” Jack leaned down to kiss the tip of your nose and you were trying to get away from him. 

“Jackman?”

“Uh oh. Government name was used.”

“Use your hand for a week.”

“That’s how you’re going to treat me after these hands fixed your wig for you? They can make you cum too if you let me.”

“JACKMAN THOMAS, CUT IT OUT!”

First Lady Blurbs Taglist

@cmalass

@a-moment-captured

@alinaharlow

@neon-lights-and-glitter

@harlowcomehome

@hoodharlow

@nattinatalia

[kurokawaia]

❛ Your Mine ❜ - Chapter 4

yandere!Lan Wangji X Fem!Wen!Reader

| YANDERE + DARK CONTENT | this meaning, if you don't like this content, then just scroll away

WC; 1.9k + | !MDNI! | TW/CW : x fem reader, yandere x fem reader, yandere themes, another kidnapping lmao, lan wangji steals you agn

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝒞𝐻𝒜𝒫𝒯𝐸𝑅 𝒮𝒰𝑀𝑀𝒜𝑅𝒴 :: The war has now passed and Lan Wangji is taking care of you and helping you search for your siblings. When you two found them, you requested to stay with them in Yiling, to leave Wangji. But this caused Lan Wangji's already yandere personality to rise to another level. He wants to bring her back to Gusu and marry her, but she doesn't want to, she wants to stay with Jiang Cheng, her siblings and doesn't want to follow the 3000 rules.

part 3 | part 4 | part 5

You awoke, opening your eyes slowly with the raising light through the paper windows. It was full of chaos and your mind was confused at what was happening before you. Then, you were reminded of what had happened last night: the memory of being intimate with Lan Wangji. Fresh—it still was, the way his lips moved against your own, along with his possessive statements. And then you shifted a little, and there, by your bed, was Lan Wangji, looking at you with his eyes wide open. Is his face serene, or does tension come off him in waves, that type of feeling that makes you almost feel afraid and anxious for his next action?. "Lan Wangji," you murmured uncertainly with a voice so soft, yet seeming so constant you might have sighed, "I have been thinking. I want to go look for my siblings." "No," he said with a force of finality that seemed nearly on par with steel. "That is too dangerous." You sat up, meeting his eyes. But there was still evidence in you that you held fear. "I just need to know if they'll be okay. Wen Qing and Wen Ning are family to me. I can't just sit here when they're literally in danger." The face of Lan Wangji was without expression, yet a certain intensity in the air was picked up that you could deeply feel, continuing down your spine in a tremor. "Your safety is most valued," he said, low and controlled. "I cannot let you take a risk like that." "I'll have to get someone to come look after them," he bargained, anger starting to flow from him as well. "I can't be left to go with. I know it's dangerous, but I HAVE to do this." His eyes seemed to darken, the intensity he had displayed the previous night flashed back on, though he stayed speaking in a low tone. "And I can't let you go alone. You mean too much to me." You blinked at him, annoyed, worried, and feeling something else that was in no way justifiable. "Lan Wangji, I am thankful for everything that you've done for me, but I'm not a child. I can take care of myself."

"You aren;'t nobody," he whispered, his voice low yet fully firm with a touch of possessiveness. "You, I cannot afford to lose." His words sent chills down your spine, yet you reasoned with yourself. "I didn't say that you let me go by myself," you said halfway, meeting him in the middle. "I just really need to do this, so badly. Please let me go, but come with me." "If I go with you," he finally gave in; his voice brooked no argument, "then I can make sure you're safe.". You gave a very slow nod, at least relieved that the fact would be looked into. "Thanks," you breathed, full of the most sincere of voices possible. "I swear I'll be careful."

The path that took place in order to find siblings—Wen Qing and Wen Ning—had all been very tense, and at every moment, Lan Wangji had never left your side. It almost frightened you, how he never left your side, you never had a moment of privacy. BUt, finally, after days of searching, you found them in Yiling—all hidden from the Sunshot Campaign. You hugged Wen Qing and Wen Ning, relief is inseparable from floods of tears, both of happiness and sorrow, at seeing them again. Lan Wangji had stopped a few feet from you, the gaze from his eyes never breaking from yours. Immobile, his face had been impassive and emotionless, but something in him, in the way he kept his body so ridged had seemed to speak volumes. He was watching you reunite, but something in his gaze felt dark. After a moment, you turned to Lan Wangji with a heavy heart over the decision you knew you were going to have to make. "Lan Wangji," you started, your voice trembling slightly. "I want… to stay with them." Something dangerous crossed over his features and his eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked, lowering his voice to a meagre level. You drew a deep breath, trying to collect your nerves. "They need me here, Wangji. They are alone and they are in danger. I can never leave them again. I want to be in Yiling and stay with them. The silence that followed could have been said to be deafening. His eyes took on a shade of darkness and his expression contracted. "You want to leave me," he thought, unfeeling, only the tension in the tone is clear. You shook your head, now filling with tears. "It's not about leaving you. It's about my family. They need me, Lan Wangji. I cannot leave them again." His jaw tightened, and he advanced another half step, his presence oppressive for the first time. "You are supposed to be with me," he said, his voice cold and possessive. "You cannot stay here. It's too dangerous." You flinched at the almost bellowed ferocity of his tone, but you stood your ground. "They are my family, Lan Wangji. I have to make it up to them. I need to help them." 

The look in his eyes grew darker, his calm composure replaced with something far more unsettling, something that scared you to your core, it rattled your peace. "No," he replied sharply. "I will not allow it. You are coming back with me." Your heart pounded with heated sound in your chest, your eyes meeting his, and a shiver ran down your back at the cold look in his eye. "Lan Wangji, please understand. I can't, after all that, just leave them. They need me." "And I need you," he shot back, his voice rising with a rare, almost frightening intensity. "You are mine, Wen {Birthname}. You cannot stay here." "You are mine," he said again, but this time his words stunned you. The ownership of his tone. It had you at a loss. 

"Lan Wangji," you whispered, and the sound of your own voice was shaking. "This is not proper. You cannot just… have me this way." He came even closer, his hand reaching out to clutch your arm—not painfully but in a way you could not pull away. "You are not leaving me," he hissed with a menacing voice. "I will not let you." Your heart raced, and although fear and confusion swirled inside you, nowhere upon his face could you meet his eyes and see the depth of his obsessions, the intensity of his need to keep you beside him at all costs. "Lan Wangji—" you tried to reason with him, but he cut you off. "If you stay here," he warned, his voice dangerously calm, "you will be in constant danger. I cannot protect you here. You should be with me, where I can protect you." You shook your head as tears spilled down your cheeks. "But they're my family… I can't just leave them." His fist tightened slightly, his eyes burning with possession not to be disputed. "You are coming with me," he said, the words clearly implacable, with no room for argument in his voice. "I shall not lose you."

Before you even fully registered what was happening, a strong hand shook around your arm as Lan Wangji pulled you away from your siblings. YOur eyes widened at his unexpected action, you had never expected Lan Wangji, second son to the head of the Lan's to get physical with you. His grip was firm and you could already feel a bruise forming. "Lan Wangji, no!" you cried out again and tried to pull back, yet his grip did not yield. 

Because he was resolute, he wasn't going to let go of you, he wasn't even planning to do so. "You're coming with me," he repeated, low and even, a possessive edge in his tone with made you realise that he wouldn't be letting go. Your heart thudded loud in your chest, and you were panting against him, "What can I do but not leave them?" you exclaimed, your voice strangled with sadness. "They are my family—Wangji—I belong here, with them! But the words seemed to fall on deaf ears for he only paid no heed, dragging you away. "You belong with me and will come back to Gusu with me, where it is safe," his eyes gleamed with possessiveness. Now, terror surged in you full force with the realisation of what he had meant. He had not only taken you back to Gusu, but to his world, back to a life within which you were going to be shut inside between the tight rules and scrutinies of the Lan clan, a life in which you would have to follow the three thousand rules of the code of conduct that extended absolutely everywhere within the Cloud Recesses. "No!" you screamed as you dug your heels into the ground. "I won't go back! I don't want to live with those rules! I want to stay here, with my family! With Jiang Cheng!" With the mention of Jiang Cheng's name, Lan Wangji's eyes began to darken, grip on your arm tightening. A shiver went through your body since that silent, calm expression he always wore was cracking, and what truly lay beneath was one of possession. "You are mine," he said in a low, hazardous soft voice. "You belong to me—not Jiang Cheng, not anybody.". You could feel it in his gaze, the one of a heartache man, that desire just to have you by his side. "Wangji, please," you would plead, tears running down your face. "I don't want this. I don't want to be tied down with those rules. I don't want to live a life here where I can't be with my family, where I can't be free." "You'll be safe there, in Gusu," he said, the hand that gripped harder to yours tightening. "I will protect you, and we are going to be together. That's all that matters."

"No." You shook your head. "But what about what I want?" You croaked, your voice shaky with emotion. "What about my freedom? My family? The face of Lan Wangji relaxed, and you could see something like guilt or regret gleam in his eyes, though it was soon cloaked once more by that same bone-chilling determination that had driven him to this. "Your safety is more important than anything else," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Though you do not understand this now, one day you will and you will thank me for it.". With that, he pulled you closer—the grip on your arm unremitting. "We are going back to Gusu," he said; the tone of his voice allowed no room for dispute. "And once we are there, we will marry. You will be safe, and we will be together." There was a surety in his voice that sent a chill down your spine. You knew there was no escape from this, you couldn't talk him out of it. That urge of Lan Wangji toward you had reached to such a point that he didn't care for anything, not your wishes, not freedom, not family. The only thing that mattered was you were his, and nothing would stop him from doing what it takes to keep you by his side. Your heart felt a thousand times heavier with the portent of what was to come as he carried you away from your siblings. You managed to twist your head back just in time to see the forlorn expressions etched on the faces of Wen Qing and Wen Ning, their helplessness in this situation clear before your eyes. 

You wanted to scream, to fight, to do anything in order to prevent this, but Lan Wangji's hand was tight, powerfully strong, and it left you with none of your own. 

You were helpless.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | mo dao zu shi m.list

[jupitervega]

fleein the south part II

hi, i'm ri & i'm an autistic nonbinary trans guy-lite-ish person. 4 years ago i moved out to denver from mississippi (where i was born & raised) & immediately had a massive improvement in my quality of life. i was able to access medical & psychiatric care, my career stabilized, people were addressin me with correct terms for the most part, & i was startin to feel like life had finally begun

unfortunately when the lease ran out on our house end of summer last year my roommates decided not to renew, & then the people who were gonna be my new roommates backed out last minute. in a panic i looked for other options but with time runnin short & top surgery approachin i decided to recover at a friend's house & move back to mississippi once my surgeon cleared me to travel cross country so i could regroup somewhere i figured would be less expensive & at least somewhat familiar

that, friends, was a very costly & painful mistake! every single problem that made me wanna move away in the first place has only exacerbated!

i'm comin up on 8 months post top surgery, i have a beard, & i'm still gettin called ma'am/she/her. trump flags & signs still adorn many yards/porches here. hatred & bigotry run rampant in local politics. the other day i didn't even enter one of the convenience stores in the town where i live when i stopped by because they had posted a very thinly veiled racist sign on the door

when i arrived back here i was not even a full month outta surgery & i had a minor complication, so i went to the emergency room cause what else was i sposed to do? applied for charity as i had around $100 to my name at that point, which i THINK? got approved? also applied for mississippi medicaid the same day, which got denied almost outright as i have no children. so i've been uninsured since november & rationin the 3 month supply of my psych/migraine meds i received before leavin colorado for goin on 7 months. never mind bein able to access hrt!

job prospects here are Not Great! i've had to collect unemployment for a while as i cannot for the life of me find a full time job with a livin wage. otherwise i literally cannot make ends meet as the jobs i've held so far down here are payin average 50% or less of what i was makin in denver. even with the part time gigs i've had i have yet to crack 30hr/wk on any kind of regular basis

housin is an absolute shitshow. my lease is up 1 july (got a month extension) & i've been searchin everywhere for an affordable place of my own or at least a good roommate. the more affordable studio/1bd apartments go for around $700 & up, but most have income requirements of 2.5-3x the monthly rent which, considerin previous point abt wages, is near impossible. roommate listins are available but the majority are questionable at best & seekin a live-in bangmaid at worst

with all these considerations i spent the past few weeks feelin worse & worse lookin for somewhere close to the job i currently have. the leases are like 6mo-1y so i was picturin another year down here & how i was gonna survive, let alone thrive. my thoughts got darker & darker. i'd wake up in the mornin & be sad/disappointed i'd survived the night

this is no way to live

i snapped a few days ago. said to myself "if i'm destined to struggle wherever i go, i'd rather do it somewhere i actually Wanted to be in the first place" & started applyin for housin in denver. waitin to hear back from my first option & have secured a backup with a friend with a spare room for 6mo in case that falls through

right now i need help gettin the hell out! i've got first month's rent already put back, i can continue to collect unemployment until i land a good job in denver, & i'm already reachin out to find somewhere to work. i just don't have anywhere to go for another month or two to save the money i'll need to travel almost 1200mi (~1900km) back to colorado. i'll need at least $500 to make gas/food happen durin the time it will take me to get there, & i need it by the first of july (38 days from day of postin)

please help me escape!!!

ca: $jupitervega

vmo: jupitervega

ppal

please please please donate whatever you're able! pls boost!

thank u so much for readin, pls have an item from my emergency happy photo folder for yr enjoyment

[kirain]

your gale takes actually got me to look deeper into forgotten realms lore (esp where it pertains to the afterlife) and long story short i’m at least a little bit fixated on it now and also will go to bat for that wizard basically at any point. also wild magic. i’ve been reading so much about wild magic, it’s so so interesting. esp wild magic sourced from the far realm and the implications that could have for a wild magic mage in esp the bg3 setting

Thank you, I'm so glad to hear that! I'm still learning about the lore myself (there's so much), and we should all be thanking Larian for introducing so many new people to D&D!

Wild magic is insane, and I had a great time using it with my sorcerer. The magic system in general is truly fascinating, as is its history in context of the game. It's just too bad it's linked to a god. I think I've said this before, but an irksome detail about Mystra is that she technically isn't a "bad" god, but she should definitely keep her fingers to herself. Every iteration has done objectively horrible things to mortals, but because she's written by a man who clearly favours her (in my humble opinion) nothing she does is presented as wrong. 😒

These asks actually reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend of mine. He basically said, "Elminster is on Mystra's side and he cares about Gale, so obviously Mystra is right." But here's the thing:

Not only is Eliminster a really annoying self-insert made by Ed Greenwood, the creator of the Forgotten Realms (and I mean that literally, he's admitted he's a self-insert), but Eliminster has also had ... "relations" with his surrogate daughter. He's betrayed his friends for Mystra. He's killed arguably innocent people. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't look to him for moral guidance. He also slept with the previous iterations of Mystra and blindly follows her commands, so he might just be a teensy bit biased. In fact, if you look at various forums, you'll see a lot of players complaining about the character's irritating Gary Stu status, and that Dungeon Masters hate putting him in their campaigns.

Elminster will never question Mystra, because in his mind she's a perfect being who deserves everything, including people's lives; ignoring the fact that pretty much every god in D&D is canonically flawed. He's the type of person who would tell a grieving parent that God took their recently deceased child for "reasons we cannot comprehend".

He says he took no pleasure in burdening Gale with her ultimatum, but let's be real—he wasn't that hurt by it. In fact, the Elminster we meet in game isn't even real. It's a snow clone. He couldn't be bothered to visit Gale, who he apparently respects and cares about, in person. The only time he shows any genuine emotion towards Gale is in the ascended epilogue, when he writes him a disappointed letter. And I wouldn't be surprised if that disappointment is more about him challenging Mystra than actually achieving godhood.

Though it should be said that Elminster is also a victim of Mystra. The iteration before Midnight (current Mystra) groomed and abused him for a millenia, yet for some reason we, the audience, are supposed to pretend there's nothing wrong with that. If anything, we're supposed to view it as "sexy". As if Gale and Elminster are "lucky" to have caught her attention.

Reading up on the lore surrounding these two is truly horrifying. Elminster is old enough now that his actions are informed and unforgivable. He helps Mystra groom boys to exploit and never questions her. He's not merely complacent, he's active in her ploys. Despite his numerous heroic feats, I personally can't overlook it, especially when he could have been Gale's biggest defender.

[yokiidokii]

How would the gang react to a reader who constantly says sorry ? like for every stupid thing at the end of a sentence due to being Bullied majority of their life . So now I their adulthood it’s just kinda automatic “oop I’m sorry” even when it’s not necessary

My smile is immeasurable- I do this so often you have no idea. I have absolutely been worried about not knowing if I was gonna do the request just right. This is not one of those times. I did have a surprising amount of trouble with it though? Despite it being something I myself do constantly lmao, ah well I hope I did it justice!

Also hi! I was in college so this is so very late and I’m so sorry about that <3 My prof mentally threw me around like a rag doll and I came out with my brain fried.

Warnings: I don't think any? Maybe some general allusions to anxiety just because of the prompt itself? Andre mentions weed but uh- nothing else! Relatively safe<3

Reagan

I feel like she understands, I could see her thinking of it more in a like, a logical sense? Not like she doesn’t understand the more emotional side of it- she’s got her own issues. But in the like “Oh, usually when people do this it means they are scared of what people think and don’t like conflict. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She gets it, and I want to be absolutely clear- I cannot see her being one of those people saying “It’s fine.” Because like, for her it doesn’t feel like it ever really is? But she will be the person to help you feel like, it’s okay that you said it but know that you do not have to. You didn’t do anything wrong.

If you want to tell her the reason why you do this, apologizing and explaining she will feel for you. I mean we’ve seen her school experience, we had one friend and a buncha kids who were way older than you and treated her like shit. Also her father, very much her father.

She won't ever press you or act like you aren't trying harder to get better but she'll make sure in her own way that you know it's all gonna be okay one day.

One day you won't have to think about the past and everything will be okay <3

-

Andre

Andre may or may not have told you about his experiences with his family and how they really affected him.

You have probably also- at least once maybe seen him without drugs and how that can make him.

Long story short he is in no position to judge even if he for some reason wanted to.

Would offer you some weed

He means well and will not pressure you if you say no, though he will totally ask “Are you suuuureee?” because he cannot stress enough the wonders of medical marijuana

Whether or not you take it is up to you, but he will absolutely let you chill either in his office if you're at work or at his house- would come to your house to make sure your comfy if you need it<3

He is a loving man with lots of his own experience in this kind of regard and he will help you no matter what!

He is more than the drug guy though please literally let him be known for more than that he deserves it so any tips he's used to help himself out he will give to you.

A very caring man with his own issues and lots of advice and love to give if you'll have it~

-

Brett

Oh honey, this man? This man understands.

Brett will apologize after you do because both of you think that is is somehow both of your faults.

Though he will undoubtedly let you know in every way he possibly can that it is not your fault in any way and that he loves you.

He would absolutely mention therapy- it helps him! It might help you?

He would absolutely be holding your hand anyway and if you do apologize while it happens, he’ll squeeze it in his own and shoot you a quick “No need to be!” before continuing the conversation. He doesn’t wanna spend the whole time acknowledging it just in case putting too much attention on it in the open would embarrass you or make you feel worse.

But he will be there for you, and he will be listing off things that he’s learned to help him when he can’t stop doing it either.

-

Myc

I can see Myc start by just being a little bit sarcastic. Like he isn’t entirely sure why you do it just yet, but he doesn’t want you to be saying it and thinking that you did something wrong.

He gives those like “Oh yeah? You’re sorry?” and you know that if he had actual eyes, he would be giving you a look of ‘You really wanna do this rn?’.

And he will probably continue to do so even after he knows why.

He isn’t going to treat you differently per se, at least- he acts like he isn’t going to…

But you feel the tentacle that was already wormed around your waist squeeze just a little tighter before you end your sentence to remind you that you didn’t do anything, and you don’t need to apologize. 

I mean he gets it, he got bullied. He ended with a different outcome for himself, but he still understands. It sucks, and even if you don’t want to think about it or you don’t want to constantly feel like life is repeating itself over and over again but sometimes it’s just going to feel that way even if it isn’t.

Though Myc will be there to help you understand and work through all the woes of getting to inside your own head.

-

Gigi

She would raise her brow at it at first.

Hit you with that “Honey you didn’t do anything wrong.” and make sure you know that it’s all okay.

Is teaching you how she ignores her haters constantly, if you say anything about it not being on the same level and you start apologizing again, she is going to lovingly slap you in the face with her words (She would not lay a hand on you ever-)

Comparing yourself gets a “tsk tsk” from her and a long list of all the parts about you she thinks are beyond stellar.

Gigi would be very honest -like the most honest maybe- about whether or not you actually have anything to be sorry about. 

If you do, she’ll accept your apology but try to figure out a way to do it in a way that won’t encourage you to do it when you don’t actually have to.

And when you don’t, she places a hand on her hip and gives you a look, eyebrow raised just lightly in a ‘really?’ sorry of fashion.

She’s not questioning it; she knows it happened. But she’s asking if you really wanna do it, you know that she will no doubt spend her time talking your ear off about not doing this again.

She does it with the upmost amount of love I promise- but like,,

Do you dare question her? I wouldn't

-

Glenn

Okay. I don’t want to say Glenn doesn’t get it at first, but out of all of the people in the gang it feels right to say he might take the longest to adjust and learn how to handle it.

But just because he might not get it at first doesn’t mean he’s rude!!

It’s more of a “What? Why are you saying you're sorry? You didn’t do anything?” Kinda confused-

He’s a confused ol man, forgive him.

Though, he would understand the bullying thing like 100%

He’s no stranger to rude comments or being talked to as if he has no feelings, typical bully behavior even if he wouldn’t talk about it or call them bullies, just,,, assholes?

That and the feelings that come from thinking about those comments is something he understands, and something that he can try and a headspace he will gladly try to help you out of.

[no-stupid-questions-official]

hi. i figured i would get less antagonistic answers Here vs on Reddit (where i was told to ask about this). i work at the Mart of Walls (iykyk) and we had a coach transfer from another department who is dead-set on firing people. i work on the front end, and run both registers and self-checkout depending on the day. when i work in SCO, i am supposed to be following the rule "greet, help, thank" which i have been doing quite well.

however, the new coach has decided that i'm not doing good enough at this, despite saying "hello" and "have a good day" to EVERY customer AT THE BARE MINIMUM. she tells me that my body language is unwelcoming, even though i am autistic and cannot help it, which i explained to her, but she doesn't care. she also accused me of being on my personal (non-work) phone, which i had used to check my schedule and text my dad about a ride to the doctor's office. team leads, coaches, and other associates use phones ALL THE TIME, but it's ONLY an issue if i do it. so she's basically accusing me of "just standing there looking at my phone" when i'm talking to people more than just about ANY associate who works in SCO. my team leads have said i'm one of the best workers they've ever had and say so proudly. the coach is quite literally the only one who has an issue with what i'm doing.

i felt like this was out of nowhere, and then i heard a rumor going around that the new coach wants a fresh, clean slate and wants to start mass-firing people. TWO of my team leads confirmed this, and i'm positive the other two would confirm it too if i got the chance to ask them. the coach is threatening their jobs too so they are also scared. so this is not ungrounded. i have solid testimony that this is, in fact, what is happening. everyone is scared.

i've worked here for a year and have overcome so many physical and mental obstacles to get to this point. my coworkers wrote a card for me and gave me cupcakes on my 1-year anniversary and they said ive improved more than anyone theyve ever seen. it sounds fake but i truly felt like i belong with these people and they don't bully me (minus ONE of the team leads) and we truly consider each other friends. i'm successful at my job, i'm very very good at it. i can't lose it now. on top of that, i'm going back to school to get into a medical field, and i own a house (yes. a house. my payments are like 700/month WITH bills bc of where i live) and i have a cat to take care of. i have so many expenses to deal with until i can finish my education, and i CANNOT lose my job now.

i reported this claim to the ethics department with a LENGTHY letter, PLEADING them to take a look at this because my job, and EVERY single one of my front-end coworker's jobs are being threatened. but my question is, finally, is there ANYTHING i can do about this? like, how to avoid getting fired, how to protect myself in the future if i AM fired, how to get the company to pay attention, how to put a stop to this in general?

any advice is appreciated i'm freaking out so bad lol

-

[moonstruckme]

Okay sorry I don’t want to burden anyone I know irl so rant below ! Cw for anxiety maybe? Please feel no need to read, everything is fine in my part of the world :)

I’m graduating on Saturday and that’s already more scary than exciting unfortunately, but a couple of days ago I got turned down for the only position I wanted in the city I live in now, so I’ll officially be moving away at the end of the summer. The thing is, I have no idea where !! I’ve always wanted to move out of my home state so it was never the plan to stay here, but there was a weird sense of comfort in the idea that I could potentially just stay where I am right now, continue to hang out with my friends who are doing grad school, kinda sorta pretend to just still be in college for another year or so. Which maybe wasn’t the best idea, but the familiarity was like a security blanket. Now, I cannot stop thinking about how I have no idea what I’m going to do.

I really hoped I’d have a job lined up by now, but as it stands it seems like I’m going to be working 3 jobs until my lease ends in August and after that I have no clue where I’m going. Jobs in my industry are worryingly scant and while I’m trying to make my peace with working in like a coffee shop or a bookstore or something (which I think I would be perfectly content with, at least for a while) the amount of decisions that leaves me with is stressing me out so bad. I have to figure out where I want to live, get a job there, go and find an apartment with some roommates, make all new friends, etc, etc. I’m terrified.

I have literally one friend who isn’t going on to some kind of higher education and she’s already gotten her dream job after applying to two (2) places, and I’m genuinely happy for her but it makes me feel like such a failure that I’ve applied to dozens and not even gotten an interview. I want so badly to just do something I care about but I feel like soon I’m going to have to settle for whatever pays rent. I keep telling myself that that’s fine, because plenty of people live that way and I’m sure that so long as I keep writing and have some good people in my life I’ll be happy, but it’s so so scary to know that in a couple of months I’ll be leaving all my friends and family behind but have no idea where I’ll be going.

I’m really not trying to whine, I know that I’ve been extremely lucky to go to college and enjoy barely paying for anything the last few years (I have a scholarship that pays for most of my rent and my parents help me with grocery money). There are genuinely awful things happening all over the world right now, and I live in a country that affords me a good amount of safety and have parents who I know would step in to help me if I were literally starving. I’m just sort of coming to terms with this being the first time in my life that I’m completely on my own. I’m confident that I can find something to keep myself alive, but I’ve been very lucky to have great friends and a very contented life so far, and I’m both grateful for that and terrified it’s going to end soon.

I can sort of feel myself on the edge of a wee breakdown and that really cannot happen right now because my family and my long-distance bestie get here tomorrow for graduation so I’m going to have to be very smiley and confident for at least the next few days ! And anyone I shared this with would be taking on the burden of feeling some kind of guilt, which of course I don’t want to put on anyone. So yeah. Sorry to do this here, but I really felt like I had to externalize this somehow and you guys are my unfortunate victims!

[steviewashere]

Words to Keep Us Moving (Chapter 1 of 6)

Rating: Mature CW: Implied/Referenced Non-Canon Character Death, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Animal Death—CANNOT EMPHASIZE THAT ONE ENOUGH, A DOG LITERALLY DIES HEED CAREFULLY Tags: Canon Divergence, Post-Season 4, Apocalypse AU, Vecna Apocalypse, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Character Study, 5+1 Things, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Journal Entires, Amputee Steve Harrington, Disabled Steve Harrington, Worried Eddie Munson, Protective Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Stubborn Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Getting Together, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Other Tags to be Added

This is a 5+1 fic, but only the first chapter so far. Five journal entries during the apocalypse/moments during the apocalypse, and one entry after the apocalypse. Please heed all content warnings, I am begging you.

Also on AO3 (because this is wicked long for a first chapter)

📝———————📝 The First Journal Entry: April 16th, 1986

I don’t know what I’m doing with this. I’m not much for writing. Fuck, I couldn’t even write an essay for my senior paper. Nancy had to coach me through eighty percent of it. But I’ll go insane if I don’t speak. And I’m being careful with my voice for now. Those demogorgon things are blind, but aware. They can sense the heat of our bodies, the sounds of our movement, the smell of our fear and our blood.

Many people I’ve had to rescue have ultimately faded into nothing. They scream and they cry and they shake. They get too close, they stray too far. They reek of sweat. Even though I tried to get them away, to get them back towards the safe houses, they weren’t savable. I tried, though. Believe me, please, I tried.

Hawkins may not be salvageable. I don’t think this town is meant for saving. We try anyway. There’s the safe houses, like I mentioned. One bordering the exit sign, that’s where they put the women and children. They being the feds, by the way. Didn’t make that clear, should do that by now. Anyway. There’s the safe house across from old Forest Hills; the victims from the sinkhole crevice tearing through the trailer park go there. And then the final safe house is Hawkins High.

Some of our group is between Hopper’s cabin and my house. Everybody is safe there. Eddie’s no longer in hiding, but he still sleeps down the hall from me. Max is out of the hospital, her old bed now taken up by an elderly woman; the woman will probably die—a demogorgon got her with its claws—and Max is with El. The Wheelers are with their parents in the exit sign safe house, same with Henderson and his mom, the Sinclairs are there, too, and Mrs. Hargrove. Jon and Will are here with Hopper, El, Max, and Joyce. I wish we could take Max back to her mother, but she’s under constant supervision—El believes her newfound blindness is connected to Vecna. Wayne is no longer at the high school, he’s been forcefully relocated to old Forest Hills, but he’s welcome around here any time. Robin’s with her parents at the high school; that’s where Vickie is, so that’s where she’ll be.

I haven’t seen my parents since before the earthquake. They were out of town on a business trip. Mom went with Dad because she still doesn’t trust him alone. They called me the day Dustin brought me along to find Eddie. Told me they were on their way home, were driving back from the airport. I can hear back the message on the answering machine, as long as I keep the generator up and running.

Mom told me she loves me in it.

I can’t help but think that they should’ve been back by now. I’ve checked with the soldiers on the edge, see if they saw a black Lincoln come through. Told me no. Told me they found remains of a car; a black car. I stopped checking after that. Couldn’t stomach the meaning behind that.

Our town is in ruin. I’m not alone, I have to remind myself. I’ll go out on monster hunting duty tonight, first time on my own. We’ll see how that goes.

I have to go, I can hear Eddie rousing. Time to check his wounds. Make sure he has his dose of antibiotics. See if he needs Tylenol; opioid free now…yay!

———— Steve closes the soft leather cover of his journal. He found it among the rubble of the bookstore in town. He’d been advised by Hopper to start writing because apparently his low morale “affects the monster hunting” and if he didn’t get it under control, he’d be reassigned to radio duty. Where Eddie is now.

Speaking of, Steve stands from his cramped desk and walks the short distance to the first guest bedroom on his floor. Knocks gently on the wood and enters without any other preamble.

Sitting in the spare desk is Eddie, hair ruffled and clothes messily strewn across his body. He spares Steve a glance over his shoulder. The bandage on his cheek is beginning to peel and Steve knows it’ll be a bitch to change; he always feels bad when he has to rip it off, it tugs at the raw skin and the little bit of facial hair Eddie’s still able to grow. Remembers, though, the joke Eddie had made about his situation: “Look, I’m freaking Two-Face from the comics! Think he grows half a beard, too?” He had to bite his tongue. Almost reprimanded the poor guy.

He blinks and Eddie’s still staring at him.

“How’s it goin’, Stevie?” Eddie murmurs. His voice has taken on an even deeper rasp than before. The demobats had taken a liking to his chest and the base of his throat, but Steve had been able to keep those wounds from being life ending. “You were pretty quiet in there.”

“Well, you know we have to be somewhat quiet,” Steve mock-whispers, “thought I’d use the…solitude to focus on getting in a journal entry.”

Eddie hums. “Glad you’re getting started on that. Don’t wanna be removed from surveying duty, yeah? You’d be stuck in here with dear old me. And let me tell you, sitting around and checking the stations is booorrring.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, well, this is where you remain until you’re healed.” He steps further into the bedroom, clicking the door closed softly behind him. Settles on the guest bed on the right of the desk. Roams his eyes around the walls. “I’m doing alright, though. A little nervous if I’m being honest. About going out there alone. What if I don’t hear—“

“They’re letting you go out there alone?” Eddie squawks. “They should be sending out one of those adults, not you! You’re just a kid, Steve.”

Taken aback, not one to usually be concerned about, Steve crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs.

“It’s not like I have anything else waiting back for me, right?” Steve bites. “It’s my duty and I plan on going through and taking care of said duty. And if something happens, I’ll radio back. You’ll hear me. Someone’ll come running. I’ll be fine.”

Eddie eyes him for a moment. His big, brown eyes impossibly wider. A little wet. His face is pinched, frowning. There’s a moment where he opens his mouth to protest something Steve said, hesitating strongly, but he literally bites his tongue. Croaks, “And if you don’t radio?”

“I’ll radio,” Steve insists.

“Will you? Because the last time you were on duty and that happened—“ He waves a hand at Steve’s missing left wrist. “—You didn’t say anything until you got back. You’re fucking lucky Claudia was over here with Dustin. Else you wouldn’t have any sort of nurse or doctor available to sew you back—“

“I’ll be fine,” he harshly interrupts. He sighs, drops his arms, and swallows hard. Then, he blinks and looks back, leans into Eddie’s space. Brings a tentative hand to trace the edge of his facial bandage. “Have your hands been shaking?”

“Don’t switch the conversation—“

“Have your hands been shaking?” Steve repeats firmer.

Eddie sighs through his nose. Sharp. Annoyed. “Yes, Steve, but I can do this on my own. You don’t need to—“

“Just let me change it before I go, okay? Give me a little peace of mind before I head out.” He pets his hand down to the underside of Eddie’s jaw, to the side of his neck. His pulse welcomingly slow.

Their eyes lock. Eddie’s concerned, too much for Steve’s liking.

Though, finally, “Okay,” Eddie murmurs, “but you have to promise that you’ll be careful, you’ll be safe.”

“Eddie, I already—“

“Promise, Steve. You have to keep your head on your shoulders. You have to report to us if you’re in danger. You have to come back.”

“I will,” Steve promises, whispers immediately, “I will from here on out.”

And with that, Eddie opens one of the desk drawers, pulls out a package of gauze and bandage, and offers it out for Steve to take. He leaves the room briefly to wash his hands, returning with damp fingers. It was a quick, yet intimate procedure. Peeling away the wrappers. Laying down the gauze—right after a cleaning. Taping it all down, sticking it to Eddie’s sensitive, raw skin.

When he pulls back, finished, Steve’s stomach jumps with a new level of unease.

It was done. He could go.

He has to go.

“Jacket,” Eddie murmurs, his hands holding out for Steve’s. He takes them, of course he does. Voice still low, he continues, “Don’t make the mistake I did. Stay safe.”

Steve squeezes Eddie’s hands, nods, and stands from the bed.

He looks back at Eddie before leaving the bedroom, but not without a steel ball weighing low in his stomach. There is a wildfire in Eddie’s eyes. And the beginnings of burns along Steve’s ribcage. He knows, whatever is going to happen, that his promise wasn’t just words.

It was a testament.

A confession.

He descends the staircase, grabs his jacket by the front door, zips it all the way up to the base of his neck, and leaves with his baseball bat and car keys.

———— The two way radio is heavy on his front left pocket. Sagging down the waistband of his jeans. There’s an empty chunk of his jacket sleeve that dangles down and rustles against it, he stops all movement to tie it up.

He was assigned to the scrapyard. Hopper’s orders.

Oddly enough, it was the only location in Hawkins to have very rare activity. Despite the history he shares with the place. But he knows what to do. There’s a jerry can of gasoline and a bottle of vodka in his trunk, a packet of matches in his jacket, and the weight of his splintering baseball bat in his grip. He’s silent as he walks through the bits and pieces of junk. Carefully dragging his feet over the loose soil, cautious about accidentally kicking a chunk of metal.

It’s so quiet, he can hear the wheeze of his breath. As he takes another step, standing parallel to 1984, there’s a sound that echoes through the breeze. A singular pained whimper. At first, he believes it to be a figment of his imagination. Nobody else should be out here. There’s cracks in the ground and fiery red sky oozing through the trees. A shimmer of early evening light and a plume of wind-wild smoke.

He hears it again, though.

This time, however, it’s followed by the rumble of a low growl. Unlike the chittering of a demo-creature. This sound belongs to something like a domesticated animal.

A dog, he recognizes, A dog.

Before he follows the sound, he turns back to where he discreetly parked his car: behind the concave of that rusted bus. Wriggles with the trunk until it just barely creeks above his head. Snatches up the vodka and the gasoline, tucks his baseball bat into his left armpit, and he shuffles back towards the source of the noise, the dog.

It follows out to some various, tumbleweed-esque bushes. He hides behind the nearest junk car, eyes narrowed above the hood. It’s a brown, thin-skinned, almost just bones puppy. Probably around six months or so. A mutt—some sort of lab mix. The eyes are wide, teary, dark brown, and frightened.

The dog cowers against a bush. And right in front of it is a small pack of demodogs. Three of them. Wide mouthed and snarling. There’s large globs of saliva leaking from its lower jaw, or what would be a lower jaw to a human. They’re not very big, roughly around the same size of this puppy, but they are muscular, leathery, and hungry.

He’s not sure what exactly his game plan is. But he knows he has to do something before this dog is consumed for all it is—all it isn’t.

Around him, he spots an empty, glass bottle. As quietly as he can, eyes pointed at the hard soil under his feet, he lays out his equipment. Sits down with his legs straight out in front of him. Ears alert for the dog—whimpers raising in volume, growling trailing off into an absolute nothingness. He sets the bottle upright onto the ground, squeezed together by his knees. Bites down on the twist cap of the vodka, rips it off with his teeth, and shakily pours the contents into the glass. Though, he realizes he doesn’t have a rag to put in the bottle’s opening.

Being careful once more, Steve fidgets with the tied wrist of his jacket. And begins, quietly on top of the whimpers, to tear away at the fabric. Until, finally, he’s got a scrap to stuff limply into the bottle. He wets the sleeve with a bit of the vodka. Then, he lights a singular match.

He places the wood end of the match between his lips, stands from behind the car with the bottle in his one hand, lights the jacket sleeve. And with as much force as he can, he chucks the glass at the demodogs.

It’s fast to occur. The dry bushes go up in bright orange flames. Red sky becoming one with the glow. From the barely interrupted silence, screeches and chittering and snarling erupt. The fire dances in the dog’s eyes. Demodogs melting, dropping to the side, falling silent and smoking.

Steve spots it, then. The wound on the dog’s gaunt side. Fresh blood, crusted brown stains around the edge of this bite, entire chunks of skin and muscle gone.

He realizes, when the silence surrounds him again sans the crackle of going out flames, that it was all no use. There was no point. It couldn’t be saved. He drops his arms to his sides. And watches the flames die out right in front of his eyes. The dry grass now brittle and black. The dog just as brittle, near death.

A glance around shows no other demo-creature. Hastily, he crosses to the bushels, yet slowly, he approaches the fading, cowering puppy. Crouches to be on the same level.

Clicking his tongue and snapping his fingers, he calls out. “C’mere, baby,” he coos, “c’mere, puppy.” However, it’s too weak to move. Too weak to run. So it just stares at him. Wide brown eyes and puzzled absent eyebrows. Fast, rattling breaths through its nose—ones that come from an organ deep exhaustion.

Startlingly, it reminds him of Eddie. He nearly throws up at the realization. Instead, however, he finishes his approach and settles close to the dog’s head. Gently, he lifts it into his criss-cross lap. The dog barely weighs anything between his legs. Its eyes drooping, exhausted. Its fur is greasy, and the skin dry under his good hand. But he doesn’t mind. All he does is comfort it, pet the curve of its skull, thumbs at the base of its ears, traces the wet edges of its nose. The only sound it makes is a gentle, giving-in wheeze of breath.

And as Steve runs his hand one more time over its skull, the dog passes on.

A quiet, ordinary thing. Its eyes going far. Chest caving with its last breath. Not another sound. Not another movement. An ordinary death with an ugly, unusual circumstance.

His lap pools with warm blood. It’ll congeal, stain, never rid. But he doesn’t care, for once. Instead, he lifts the dog over his shoulder, stands on trembling legs, and finds an unoccupied, untainted spot of grass. He lays the dog down into the overgrown weeds. And digs, uncoordinated and sloppy, into the oddly warm, consistently dry dirt. The soil gives way in clumps. Chunks of it getting stuck underneath his fingernails. Palm collecting the dirt into each of the fine lines of his palm.

It’s not a great hole. Only about a foot deep—too shallow. But he rolls the dog into the well he created. Closes its eyes with his one hand. And covers the body back up. Resting, now, on his dirtied knees in the aftermath of destruction. The smell of burnt flesh and dead grass filling his nostrils. Looking around at the scenery: scraps of rusted metal, yellow weeds, demo-corpses, and an ashen circle where rotting meat lays.

He’s not sure how long he sits there. How long he lays his palm over the textured mound of dirt in front of him. How long he grieves a dog he had no connection to. But when he gets up, dusk is settling in. And he figures, with no other activity and nothing else to look out for, he’ll head back.

He grabs the two way from his pocket. Switches to Eddie’s channel. Presses down on the talk button. Speaks low and nasally, “This is Steve. Report to Chief that there were three demodogs. None of them were fully grown; all small, hungry, bloodthirsty. I lit them up. Over.”

“Hear you, Steve. Report on supplies? Over.”

“Half of a bottle of vodka. Gasoline can full. I have a full pack of matches, except for one. But I think it would be a good idea if we collected empty glass bottles and rags. Over.”

The radio reads silent for a lull of two minutes.

Eddie speaks again, softly,“Come home. Over and out.”

———— His front door was already unlocked by the time Steve came through.

It should’ve startled him, really, it should’ve. Though, with the flash of that dog behind his eyelids and the odd fatigue that overcame his limbs, he barely even cared. But the lights throughout the first floor were dim. And the noise of the radio in Eddie’s room floated down the stairs like an early autumn breeze. It was almost sweet, when he eventually came across Eddie in the kitchen, but his stomach was nearing sour.

“I made dinner,” Eddie murmurs as a greeting. He’s standing at the stove, back towards Steve. “The rations that Wayne dropped off earlier had some stale bread and a jar of minced garlic. Thought I’d just make some shitty garlic bread with whatever spaghetti stuff I found in your pantry.” He looks up from the stovetop, then. His hair is sitting atop his head in a barely neat bun, but it’s enough. And he has Steve’s mom’s apron tied around him—covering a plain black t-shirt and a pair of red basketball shorts Steve had loaned him at the start of his stay. Eddie’s eyes widen when he takes Steve in, though.

There are no more words. Eddie’s mouth is open, dried up. And Steve doesn’t know if he can speak—not without tears, at least.

Finally, ever observant, Eddie gestures loosely to Steve’s clothes. “You’re sleeve…you’re pants…”

Steve has to swallow harshly. His right hand is clenched tight to his thigh, and if he still had the other one, he’s sure it would shake noticeably. But he stays rigid to the entryway. Thinking long of the dog. Of its last expression.

Of Eddie’s expression now.

He figures it odd, to be so hung up on this mutt’s face. The haunting that places itself in the small spaces between his ribs. Every single time he’s involved himself with these day-to-day nightmares, he hardly ever considered mortality. Unless it leant itself in the face of everybody else, in which he constantly and greatly considered life or death. In which he knew that it would be him under the knife; never one of the kids, never Nancy or Robin, not Eddie now, not even Jonathan. There were also several moments where he blearily considered morality—the hard set lines of its face and the ugly snarl to its lips. He always thought of himself last in these things, almost like he was repenting—if he put himself in the shoes of his younger self, starchy clothes, and a thick youth’s bible in his hands. Bad things mean bad results, he always considered.

But the dog had no common understanding of morality, let alone mortality. It probably dragged its heels when being pulled along its leash, being led somewhere it never wanted to go. It probably had a family who adored it to the moon and back. It probably was told it was good every minute of its sheltered life, fed dog bones, held close in the darkest point of evenings, and scratched soundly and contentedly between its ears.

And on top of that, he can’t stop ruminating over the striking resemblance the puppy held to Eddie’s own tired, desperate, dying face. His big button eyes and the blood across his body. The open wounds and the dried tears on his cheeks. There are two questions in his hands: Had the dog considered running away, or did it know that the demodogs was its fate? If so, did it die selflessly, or did it die to escape something greater?

He wonders if Eddie answered those questions before facing the demobats.

Eddie’s in his kitchen though, wooden spoon at his side, trembling to take a step forward.

At last, Steve croaks, “I buried a dog today.” He unfurls his fist and reaches out his shaking, dirty hand.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes.

“It—The demodogs were hunting it, Eds. I…I had to save it. I had to save the dog. I don’t know why, but I just…I had to. I set them on fire,” he explains, loose lipped and tumbling, “even when the fire died, the dog was still scared. I came close to it. And it wouldn’t run. I wanted it to run away. I wanted it to get to safety, but I noticed while the demodogs literally—“ Steve inhales, a hiccup, a gasp. “—A huge gaping bite on its left side. I could see its ribs. I could see where the blood began to dry up. So I put it in my lap. I pet it. It died.”

The spoon is settled softly on the granite counter behind Eddie. He approaches Steve slowly. Arms out, fingers spread wide. Steps into Steve’s orbit, but lays his palms on his shoulders, the trembling aching joints. Eddie’s thumbs begin working away at the tension. Before he can say anything, Steve speaks again.

“I buried it as far down as I could dig. And I just sat there, unsure of what to do.” His eyes burn and his throat stings. He shakes in his rigidness. So Eddie leads them to the dining area, settles Steve into a chair, leaves momentarily, and approaches again, now with a warm, wet rag in his hands.

Steve’s dirtied palm sits skyward in his lap. Eddie picks it up deftly, running the soft, worn side of the rag over his palm. The water probably won’t do all it needs to, the tap was apple juice colored, pipes having burst or flooded with sewer in the earthquake. They should use a ration of bottled water, but that would be a waste, Steve considers. So he lets Eddie work. Silently, gently.

He does it methodically. Working harder in the fine lines of Steve’s palm. Digging the cloth into the underside of each fingernail. Going by with another pass, crumbling the stubborn clumps. His breath deepens, sighing through his work. “I’m sorry you had to do that, Steve,” Eddie breathes. “Somebody should’ve been there—“

“The dog made me think of you,” Steve chokes out. He swallows back a pained whimper. Eddie halts all his movements and looks up startled. His wide eyes not scared, but too similar. “How you looked when…I just couldn’t leave it there to die.” And at that, Steve finally lets the tears spill over. He doesn’t make a sound, biting down on his tongue to make himself as silent as possible. But he shakes from shoulders to knees. Sipping air through his nose.

Steadfastly, Eddie maneuvers them so that Steve is burrowed deep into his chest, right ear over Eddie’s heart, nose smushed underneath his clavicle. Eddie strokes a hand down his back, wraps another around Steve’s forearm, above his absent wrist. Shushes him with whispers; the syrupy soft ones, the ones meant to soothe, but otherwise a babble of nothing. Of “You’re okay,” and “I’m okay,” and “You did okay.”

It works, eventually. Steve wrung out. Eddie shaken to his core.

They pull back from each other. The rag is run softly over the tear tracks on Steve’s face, cutting through a sheen of light dirt he didn’t know was there. Eddie murmurs, close to Steve’s tendered eyes and chewed lips, “Eat some dinner, okay? I’m going to put a call over the radio. And when I come back down, I’ll clean up and we’ll lay in your bed, alright?” Steve minutely nods and lets Eddie get him some food, mourning the touch he gave almost immediately.

And when Eddie’s upstairs, he hears, drifted from the opening of the guest room, “No more putting Steve on duty alone. That’s final. Over and out.”

The chattering static of the radio cuts out after that. Steve realizes he meant what he said. They’ll go to bed. Bodies close. Warmer, ever warmer.

But that dog will still be dead and buried.

📝———————📝 Taglist is open for this fic!! (Comment to be added <3)

[enchxanting]

our love is god [ethan landry] pt. 3

read part 2 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: angst, alcohol abuse, partying, slight physical altercation (v v minor)

a/n: bro this chapter is so long i literally can't help myself when it comes to angst. i promised ethan content last chapter and i will continue to deliver! also ik the formatting is weird on mobile but I cannot be bothered to fix it my b!!

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To say that the car ride is tense would be a gross understatement. It would be more apt to call it torture.

Chad hates listening to the radio when he drives, so we sit in silence. Tara lays claim to the passenger’s seat, so Anika, Mindy, and I cram into the back. It’s claustrophobic without a real middle seat, Mindy perched in the divide.

My breathing becomes shallower, but I can’t tell if it’s caused by the recycled air or the tension between Tara and me. This car ride is never going to end.

Until, miraculously, it does. Chad parks across the street from an unassuming two-story house. We pile out, and I can finally breathe again, reveling in the cool night air.

After I’ve calmed down, I chase after Tara. “Hey, Tar, wait. Can we talk?”

Her brow furrows slightly. “What, Y/N?”

“I don’t want there to be any, um, weird vibe between us tonight. I know earlier was tough, and Sam can be overbearing but she cares about you, and I…” I trail off. I can tell this isn’t working.

Tara avoids my gaze. “It’s fine, Y/N, seriously. Let’s just have fun, okay?”

I want to try again, but she turns on her heels and walks away, catching up to Chad. Nowhere else to go, I trail behind them, following their lead through a side door into the building.

There are people everywhere, way more than I was expecting for a community college party. They’re scattered throughout the first floor, arranged haphazardly in a mess of armchairs, mismatched sofas, and various surfaces that are now being used for beer pong. I look for a familiar face in the crowd, but I’ve already lost my friends.

Now alone, I decide it’s a better time than any to drink my feelings away. I reach into a nearby cooler, not caring what comes up. It’s terrible beer, but I don’t super care right now. All I want is to forget about the way Tara looked at me during her fight with Sam.

I find an empty corner and watch the crowd. Even though this is a small town, I don’t recognize many people. I see a few kids who could be in my class, people I might have forged an absence for, but no one I’ve had a real conversation with. I keep scanning the crowd until I realize who I’m really looking for: Ethan. Ethan-who-I-haven’t-actually-met-yet-Ethan. My face goes red, and I know I must look like an idiot standing in the corner and blushing to myself.

I’m distracted from my daydreams by Tara and Chad, who move into the unofficial dance floor. She’s feeling herself, clearly slightly tipsy already (I don’t know how, considering we’ve been here for all of 10 minutes). I drink some more of my beer as I watch them dance together. As she loses herself in the music, I notice how intently Chad is watching her, a shy smile creeping onto his face. I laugh quietly. How did I miss that?

Tara doesn’t seem to notice his obvious infatuation. She dances towards the cooler I pulled my beer from, finding one of her own. I watch in mixed horror and amazement as she downs half the can. I guess she wasn’t kidding about getting shitfaced, then.

I’m suddenly overcome by melancholy– not atypical when I’m kinda drunk. Tonight, though, after the mess with Tara and the long car ride, it feels shittier than usual. There are too many people here, my feet hurt from standing, and the music is too loud. I need to get the hell out of here. But Chad’s my ride, and he’s not leaving Tara anytime soon. With no other option, I head upstairs.

It takes me five tries to find a room that’s unlocked, but I eventually stumble my way into a small guest room, locking the door behind me. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths.

“Uh– sorry. I can leave?”

My eyes snap open as quickly as they shut. You’ve got to be kidding me.

Reclining on the bed is none other than Ethan fucking Landry. I can’t decide whether to thank God or curse him.

“Oh, shit, no, it’s fine, sorry– you’re good,” I say. “I just, um, just needed a quiet place to hide for a little and this room was unlocked but if you’re here already it’s chill–”

“No, no, you’re good. I was doing the same thing.” He nervously runs a hand through his curls, and it’s so endearing that my heart skips a beat. “You can, um… you could stay? I don’t mind.” He scoots over, making room for me.

I know what I’d usually do here– make a polite excuse and hide in a bathroom– but between my desperation for reprieve and the liquid courage from earlier, I feel like trying something else.

So, I join him, kicking off my shoes and sitting against the backboard. “Thanks,” I say. “I really, really need a break.”

He chuckles a little. “Don’t mention it, really. I’m Ethan.”

“Oh, I know.” Holy shit. Why the fuck did I say that?

His eyes widen a little. “Wait, really? How?”

I search for an acceptable answer. “Um, my friend Mindy said that she had American History with you. Not a lot of new kids around here besides me, especially not right after spring break, so… I looked you up?”

He smirks slightly. “Huh, stalker much?” I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “It’s okay, I, um, ‘looked you up’ too. After lunch today. Just… curious, I guess.”

We both laugh a little at this. It’s exciting to know that he’s interested in me, too. I’ve never had any guys reciprocate that kind of thing.

“So, what did you hope to find?” he asks. “What do you want to know?”

I pause. “Everything, I guess. Why’d you come here, in the middle of the year?”

“Dad got transferred. He’s a cop, a detective, but they wanted to replace him in his department. They couldn’t fire him without a bunch of legal shit involved, so they transferred him here.”

“Good fucking luck,” I laugh. “This town doesn’t have the cleanest crime record.”

“Eh, I’m used to it,” he says. “We’ve moved around all my life… Dallas, Baton Rouge, Vegas, Sacramento… Woodsboro.”

“Jesus. Who’s we?”

“My sister and I. Quinn. She’s actually the reason I’m here– she’s taking some classes during her gap year. Trying to apply to bigger colleges. I would usually never come to this sort of thing, which is why I’m, uh, hiding upstairs.

“Me either,” I say. “My friends dragged me here. Tara picked out this outfit and everything. I feel so weird.”

His eyes drift over me. “I mean… I think you look really good?”

I meet his gaze. The tension between us is suddenly real– it’s almost suffocating. All I can think about is how much I want to kiss him, and I’ve almost made up my mind to do it when I hear a commotion from down the hall.

I pull away, concerned. There’s a second of something dark on his face before it’s replaced with his typical bashful demeanor. “What do you think that was?” he asks.

As much as I want to stay here with him, something tells me I need to see what’s wrong. “I don’t know, we should go look.”

I open the door to a disturbing sight. Some guy has a visibly intoxicated Tara by the arm. Chad, Anika, and Mindy are following him as he tries to take her into one of the rooms. My heart sinks and my palms go sweaty. I feel sick– I can’t let this happen. As he walks through the hall, I get in his way. “Hey, man, let her go. She’s done for the night.”

Tara drunkenly puts her arm on my shoulder. “No, no, Y/N, it’s okay. I’m good.”

The guy sneers at me. “Yeah, dude, we’re good.”

There is no way in hell I am letting this happen. “No, ‘dude,’ we’re not good. Let her go. Trust me. You don’t want this.” I motion to my friends behind us, who all look ready to get messy.

The guy falters, muttering something sounding suspiciously similar to “whatever, bitch,” and lets Tara go. I watch him walk away before turning back to Tara. “Oh my god, Tar, are you okay? I can’t believe that.”

I expect a hug, a thank-you, or maybe just a smile. The stinging of her hand against my cheek is shocking, to say the least.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” she says. “I can’t believe you did that, you fucking embarrassed me!”

I rub my cheek. “Are you kidding, Tara? That guy was a dick, he was going to take advantage of you!”

“So fucking what?” She’s yelling now. “If I want to hook up with an asshole, that’s my decision. Or, or, if I want to argue with my sister over some dumb party, I’ll do it, and I don’t need anyone’s opinion. Don’t pretend like you know shit about me or my life, because you don’t. You think you can show up here after what happened last year and act like you know any of us that lived it, but you don’t, Y/N. You fucking don’t! So leave me alone, and stay out of my fucking business.”

I’m frozen. I don’t know if I’m feeling more hurt, angry, embarrassed, or just plain sad. For her to say those things, to, in some way, confirm my biggest fears about Woodsboro… I don’t know. I don’t know what to say or do.

But Tara doesn’t wait for me to figure it out. She stumbles away, pushing past Chad, Mindy, and Anika. The twins rush after her, presumably worried about her ability to stand straight. Anika lingers for a second, giving me a pitying look and mouthing “I’m so sorry” before running off.

Though I understand their actions (Tara is drunker than I am, more unpredictable, and more likely to get hurt) their absence still stings. My eyes well with hot tears. Everything is out of control.

I turn around to compose myself and notice Ethan standing in the doorway. “Are you okay, Y/N?” he says.

Sweet, shy, Ethan. His big brown eyes are looking straight at mine for the first time that night– it makes me shiver.

All I want is to get out of this house. Leave. With him.

So I ask him, “Do you want to get out of here?”

[khaire-traveler]

For quite a while now I’ve been struggling to communicate with deities. I am fairly new so I’m not sure what’s the norm. Is it normal to be able to see them or hear them? I don’t have access to divination such as tarot so it makes me like I’m lacking communication skills compared to others. Is it like a specific feeling that just settles in your mind, knowing they’re there? Or am I just doing something wrong?

Hey, Nonny!

I know there's a lot of pressure within the pagan community to be able to communicate flawlessly with deities, and honestly, it's complete bullshit. Not one worshipper is perfect at communicating with deities, and no worshippers can speak for deities.

That being said, you are perfectly fine doing what you're doing as is. While some people can feel the energies of deities when they're around, others cannot, and that's entirely normal. You're not doing anything wrong; if anything, it takes practice sometimes. You may also be what's known within the community as "headblind" meaning you're not able to sense much or anything at all when it comes to spirits, deities, and the like. I personally know many headblind worshippers, and they're all able to love and worship their deities just the same. You don't need to be the actual Pythia - ancient priestess of Apollo who delivered prophecies directly from him - to worship deities.

Since you said you were new, I'm guessing you may also not know of other forms of divination you can try to use to communicate with deities. Oftentimes (and I am guilty of this myself), people have a habit of summarizing all divination usable for deity community to just tarot, but there are endless ways to divine! In fact, my good friend, Mae, is currently doing something where she shares various forms of divination to answer people's questions as a means of celebrating 1,000 followers. I recommend you check out what she's doing, as it can show you just how flexible and unlimited divination can really be. @madmonksandmaenads - this is her tag!

Regarding forms of divination you can try, aside from tarot, there are self-made runes (Greek or Norse), playing cards (like poker cards), Pokemon cards, pendulums, osteomancy (throwing bones), shufflomancy (using music and playlists to answer questions), smoke reading, candle wax reading, tea leaves and coffee residue, bird watching, shower steam (looking at the steam on the walls of your shower or mirror), and literally SO many other ways! The community tends to make it seem like tarot is your only option, but I promise you that you will always have access to at least one form of divination around you. The world itself was crafted and molded by the gods, so naturally, you can find their voices in everything.

I hope this helps you, Nonny. Please know that your worship and practice don't need to look like everyone else's in order to be valid. What you choose to do is what works best for you, and that's ultimately all that matters. You don't need to hear the voices of the gods themselves or see them within your mind's eye 24/7. The stories you often hear about on Tumblr and other platforms tend to be exaggerated; people only really share the most interesting parts of their worship - things that will get views and attention. Try not to feel too bad that your worship is a lot more down-to-earth than others; mine is as well. It's ok that you can't do the things others are claiming to be able to (and remember that sometimes people lie about these abilities). Nothing is wrong with you, Nonny, not a single thing.

I wish you luck on your new journey. Take care, and feel free to ask any questions that you have. 🧡