#JESUS THIS HANDWRITING IS TO DIE FOR

[mars-ipan]

i KNOW it was bait i know but i just saw a tiktok of this woman saying some shit like “gen z can’t use a paper map they can’t read cursive if they take over the world it’ll be easy to get it back” and i am so bitter bc 1- if a child cannot do something then their guardians have failed to teach them 2- most of the things she mentioned are not things we actually need in the year of our lord 2023 3- why do you consider gen z as an aggressor trying to take over the world and 4- I CAN FUCKING DO THOSE THINGS

[lilocapoca]

part 2 of this

pairing: rockstar!Eddie Munson x fem!popstar reader

content warning(s): use of “fuck”, “shit” and “dick”. sorry but bad writing

Word count: 1536

summary: after your interview, everybody was expecting you and Eddie to be the next big Hollywood couple, but he did not make a move… so you did and invited him to your concert.

notes: the images DO NOT describe reader’s appearance! Only used for aesthetic/clothes

Yes Eddie was a coward.

Every gossip magazine and tv show was talking about your interview. It was all that people could think about. The most rockstar of all rockstars and the cutes of all the cutest pop singers having a crush on each other was so fucking cute.

Your pretty ribbons. His heavy metal chains. Your impeccable gloves. His big rings. You had flawless skin while his own was marked with ink everywhere. Your high heels were so tiny compared to his big black combat boots. You looked like a pure fairy and he looked like a sexy zombie.

Yeah. It was really fucking cute.

But even after everyone approved this possible romance, Eddie could not find himself going to talk to you. You were so perfect, your nickname was "America's Angel". If this was a fairytale, you would be the princess and Eddie surely would't be the hero... at least he thought so.

But since you confessed your feelings on national tv, the guitarrist was suffering from a big problem: he couldn't fuck or date anyone else.

Eddie was used to bring girls backstage after his shows, sometimes even boys. He enjoyed a good fuck or just someone who could blow his dick. But now? Everytime he took someone backstage he just could not do it. He kept thinking about you. Shit, he never even really talked to you. Just some head nods and smiles at award shows, but no conversations ever. 

But at the moment he was holding a note that was sent to him he couldn't belive his eyes.

Well, the thing is, Corroded Coffin was a headliner band of this really big festival, taking on the biggest rock stage of it and... you were one of the headliners of the biggest pop stage of the same festival too. And you both were playing on the same day! which made you send flowers to the band's dressing room, to him.

The boys were really having fun with this. Eddie's face was red and he just could not take his eyes of the note that was attached to the bouquet. White daisies. Just like the name of the first track on the lattest Corroded album.

"Hi honey. I would like very much if you could watch my show tonigth... i'm gonna be looking for your pretty curls in the crowd. I'll be so sad if you can't make it... and you don't wanna make me sad, right?

– your wife"

And a red mark of lipstick at the end that literally screamed you. The pretty handwritting. The hearts on the "i"s.

Oh My God. Tonigth was the nigth a Munson is going to die.

...

The day was already fading away, the stars starting to shine and you were breathing in and out trying to calm yourself. The crowd was waiting for you. Everybody screaming. And Jesus, you swore you'd never seen an crowd this big. Your manager said that were about 40 thousand people there to see your concert. You could literally feel the vomit coming down your throat, something that happens when you are anxious. But you couldn't do this rigth now. You needed to go on the stage in 1:30 minutes, there was no time for anxiety.

But what if he doesn't come?

Oh my God he is not coming, you are sure of that.

Why would he come? He probably didn't meant that he had a crush on you. Well he could have a crush on you, but that don't mean that he actully likes you...

Stop!

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You took one last look at your dress. Such a pretty baby blue mini dress. Checked out your white velvet gloves, matching your long white heel boots. Touched your blue ribbon. Okay. Everything was okay.

The next thing you knew was that you were already walking on the stage with a big and enchanting smile, hearing the most high screams ever.

...

you put his name on the list. His name was in your goddamn list.

The VIP area of the pop stage was filled with the guesses that were on your list. But it wasn't really full, just some people that were probably your friends and some daugthers of famous old singers who worshiped you. The view of the stage was really unique, everything could be seen.

All eyes were on Eddie the moment he crossed the line of the VIP area. He could not care less. Eddie just crossed the room to the front to get a better view of the stage. He smiled at the sight of the gigant crowd waiting for you. The vip area was above the ground next to the stage and the Corroded Coffin front man was so freaking pleased to be there, cause at the moment you were up the stage, he could see your pretty figure: smiling in that beautiful outfit, mic in your hand, ready to rock.

And shit you give a hell of a show. That siren voice was like heaven in Munson's ears and that pretty dances were starting to drive him crazy. You were driving him crazy. He was sure you were born to do this. The people screaming your lyrics and reactin everytime you did something cute or even when you laughed of happines. Cause, c'mon, you're so cute. Sexy and cute. How could you be both? Was what Eddie thought during the whole set.

Ok, the rockstar was falling in love with the popstar.

But when Eddie looked at his watch he realized that he was running late to his own show.

Shit he needed to actully run. But he didn't want to do it. He wanted to stay... to talk to you.

"Hey" he shouted to one of your friends: Daisy Green, the country star that was your best friend. She looked at him with a tired face "can you tell her..."

"I tell her that you came and that you are asking her to see the end of your show and go to your dressing room" she took the words out of his mouth.

"Thanks!" He smiled at her and ran off in the opposite direction.

...

When you went to your backstage, you were hoping to see that wild curls somewhere. But Eddie wasn't there. the euphoria that took over your body at the end of the show was washing away.

Of course that he would't be there. He was busy, he probably was preparing for his set, he would not even want—

Your thoughts are interrupted by Daisy.

“He is waiting for you" she said rolling her eyes seeing your growing smile.

You see her next to her Mallory Grace, the biggest disco sensation , and one of your besties along with Daisy, givin' thumbs up.

...

Ok, you never ran as much as you did to get on the rock stage before Corroded show ended. Jumped all the staff and equipment. Legs were burning. That meant you cared? Not at all. Your goal was accomplished faster than expected when you heard the sound of one of the band's biggest hit from not so far away.  And when you hit the backstage, their manager was waiting for you, he guided you to the side of the stage, where you could see Eddie closer than ever.

The way he played that guitar was doin' things to you. Legs squeezing, heart beating fast and wet thoughts. His voice loud and deep, sweaty body and tongue stretched out. God he was hot.

...

When Eddie saw that pretty little thing still dressed in her show clothes at the left side, he couldn't hide the grinn on his face. So he gave a hell of a concert that would turn out to be the most iconic rock concert in the history of the festival... all cause of you.

So when it ended and Corroded team cheer them up for the amazing work. Eddie came towards you. Well he was trying to do so since he left the stage, but everybody was holding him back, but he shut them up, coming in your direction with the biggest smile ever.

Oh god. He was so pretty like that. Shirtless, wild hair, low waist leather pants and boots. Your heart was goin' to explode. But instead of exploding, you just grinned back at him, waiting for Munson to get close.

Eddie was hypnotized by your angel looks. So delicate and beautiful. It was his mind or he was sweating more than when he was playing?

Jesus, what he was going to say? Was he smelling good? Fuck, of course not. He needed a towel to dry himself a bit? But the guitarrist wanted to talk to you... but you are so gorgeous and untouchable, looking like a fairy. Shit.

Before you both realized, he was right in front of you.

"you came" he said mesmerized by the view.

"why would't i? Needed to be good for my husband" and Eddie was dead. How can you say something like that and expect him to be alright?

"Fuck, princess, you're killing me" and you couldn't help but giggle. The most pretty in his opinion.

Princess. You like that. Could get used to it.

[wanderingmind867]

It's worse than I thought. Captain Mar-Vell and Jason Todd died six years apart, and their deaths were written by the same man. That's such a short span of time! Oh, and it gets worse and weirder.

According to Wikipedia, Jim Starlin described writing the death of Captain Marvel as "cheaper than going to a shrink". Jesus Christ, Jim Starlin! Look, I get it. Jim Starlin's dad died of cancer. My mom died of brain cancer a few years ago. But when my mom died, I went to therapy! I didn't write a story of a fictional character dying of cancer! Jesus Christ!

Also, Jason Todd 's was kind of thanks to Eddie Murphy. I'm not kidding. Denny O'Neill saw a 1982 SNL sketch in which Eddie Murphy encouraged viewers to call the show if they wanted him to boil a lobster on air. And that inspired him to do the 900 number poll gimmick.

Oh! And Kicker #3! DC wanted to have a character die of AIDS, and Jim Starlin filled the suggestion box with proposals to kill off Jason, but DC staff rejected the idea after realizing all the papers had Starlin's handwriting. Let me repeat that, louder. JIM STARLIN TRIED TO RIG A SUGGESTION BOX SO HE COULD KILL JASON TODD WITH AIDS! Jesus Christ! What's wrong with you, Jim Starlin!

You know what? Captain Mar-Vell and Jason Todd should be allowed one free suckerpunch to Jim Starlin when he finally dies. When a man kills a character off as a form of therapy and tries to give another character AIDS (and both within one six year time span), there's probably something wrong with him.

[thetonethetollandthethunder]

Arc of A Scythe analysis, chapter 6-10

—

Chapter 6!

-Ooo! This is the chapter we see the new order scythes!!!

-99.9 percent on-time service…stuff like this makes me wish i was in scythe—

-I find it very funny that the middle seat is just as bad as disease and government, Neal always makes this small funny bits intentionally or not

-GODDARD ID RECOGNIZE THAT ROBE ANYWHERE

-Elegy of scythes <3

-This is fucking terrifying though, imagine you’re finally on your way home, you can’t wait to see your family, they’re all waiting for you, all you want is a nice flight home, and then it’s announced you’re gonna die. Thats fucking scary man

-This scene really shows how fucked up Goddard and is Elegy are, how cruel they can be

-Yes business man, gleaning is necessary, but not in this way, this way is just despicable

-Chomsky is too excited for this PUT THE FLAMETHROWER AWAY SIR

-Oh god Goddard is using the word Alpha, do you think he considers himself an alpha male? I do NOT wanna think about that

-“Yet even in dreams I often find myself gleaning…” god almost all scythes must be so fucking traumatized man-

-Jesus what a good chapter, a great way to start the new part!

—

Chapter 7!!

-Faraday is lowkey a good professor, no wonder you high school au freaks like using him for that /hj

-I for one, CAN imagine Faraday with a mace, he’d look fucking awesome

-Banned weapons are encouraged, that is SCARY!!!

-No wonder a lot of scythes (esp young ones in the new order are bloodthirsty, it’s this cycle of encouragement and being exempt from the rules of society, sure the older scythes preach about gleaning with honor but when you’re young, especially around citra and rowan’s age, you’d be hard-pressed to listen and be much more interested in the bloodsports of Goddard. That’s how he gets you!!!

-Also as someone who has started journaling my scythe journal would be UNREADABLE I have AWFUL handwriting

-Killing 5 people a week, and 260 a year is INSANE!! Again it’s no wonder a lot of scythes are so desensitized to this shit, and even revel in it, you kind of have to, just for your own sanity

-“Good scythes don’t get days off.” *COUGH COUGH* GODDARD *COUGH COUGH*

-“The idea that not all scythes were good was something neither Rowan or Citra had ever considered. It was widely accepted that scythes adhered to the highest moral and ethical standards. Even the ones who sought celebrity were seen to deserve it.” OHH YOU FUCKERS HAVE NO IDEA I LOVE WHEN I HAVE FORESIGHT THE CHARACTERS IN THEIR CURRENT PRESENT TIME DONT!!!!

-“If you do not cry yourself to sleep on a regular basis, you are not compassionate enough to be a scythe.” OUGH THAT LINEEEEE!!!!

-“She doubted rowan cried himself to sleep.” It all happens on the inside, citra!

-“I prefer to see each person I glean as an individual deserving of an end that is unique.” I love how the first book shows how compassionate and truly worthy of the title Scythe Faraday is. It’s that compassionate that makes him stay as one even after the title is gone. Because that’s what he truly is.

-“I find fire a horrific way to glean and would never use it.” ROWAN WOULD DISAGREE OHOHOHOOOOO—

-Its here where I think Rowan gets a lot of his moral code, or at least starts to think about it, to him Faraday is a model scythe, the scythe anyone should strive to be, and when he eventually sees scythes the complete opposite of him, his way of thinking as Scythe Lucifer becomes more clear.

-“I am an accomplice to the world’s oldest crime, and it will only get worse.” AAAA THAT LINE MAN

-“All they do is play games and watch cat holograms.” Oh Neal you really don’t know shit about how people actually use technology—

-I think me and Rowan would have similar handwriting (bad)

-“Rowan found it increasingly hard to parse his feelings about her.” ROWAN FELL FIRST AND HE FELL HARD MAN!!!!!!!!!

-Ben mention :(((((

-This entry of Curie’s journal really fucking hits you man!!! Especially the “I don’t know” at the end like UGH!!!!

-AMAZING CHAPTER AS ALWAYS!!! It’s really laying the groundwork for future character development!

—

Chapter 8!!!

-We get some foreshadowing to Citra’s gleaning method! The theater part if you can recall!

-Also the “No, I lost. Twice.” Is SO funny

-“It was the only time in all my years as a scythe that I had been thanked for what I do.” And you’ll be thanked SO much more soon Faraday!

-Them becoming more violent and thinking about gleaning is SO interesting esp since its so early, just shows how much it can affect you.

-Foreshadowing to where Rowan chooses which Scythe he chooses to glean when he becomes Scythe Lucifer

-GOD you can FEEL his guilt of having to choose between these 4 people!! How horrible and awful he feels to take their lives away as he learns more UGH

-AND he’s thinking about Bias’s unlike SOMEONE *cough cough* SCYTHE GODDARD *cough cough*

-“Does it ever get easier?” Rowan asked. “I certainly hope not,” the scythe said.

-Bradford Ziller is such a shit name lmao

-Rowan not wanting to admit he’s the one who chose him is soooo!!

-“They had bitten her. Good for them.” HAH that’s such a fun line

-Oop! There’s an error on my copy of the book! There’s a quotation mark at the end of “How was any of this fair?” When there shouldn’t be because it’s not dialogue! Interesting right?

-Even if he has a stupid name, you can really feel the terror and panic on Bradford, really good stuff

-The fact he wants to be aware and awake when he dies is sooo interesting man

-Rowan and Citra’s love is continuing to blossom!!

-“I fear for all of us if scythes begin to love what they do.” *STARES AT GODDARD*

-Amazing chapter as always!! Two more to go!!

—

Chapter 9!!

-Esme!! I always remember her being an underutilized character, let’s see if I was right though!

-Idk why but I hate mentions of food, esp greasy foods in books, makes me ick a lot idk I’m weird

-“Well, she could learn self-control tomorrow. Today she wanted pizza.” ICONIC LINE!! Such a mood!

-Luigi mario :)

-Elegy of scythes are back!!!

-Oh Esme there’s gonna be *so* many mass gleanings later on you have NO idea

-VOLTA

-Esme you’re life is gonna be FUCKED GIRL YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!

-A utopia where everything is perfect would be boring, most ppls lives in Scythe are boring, that’s what I think makes Scythe interesting compared to other dystopian books because its a utopia that turns into a dystopian whilst giving ideas of how that utopia itself was already a dystopia even if it wasn’t a tradition one

-Shorter chapter! Still good tho, not as interesting as others however

—

CHAPTER 10!!!!!

-TYGER!!

-Rowan you’re scaring people—

-Rowan’s disobedience is what makes him soooo interesting to me mam!!

-Lmao Rowan is worried about Tyger stealing Citra, already getting jealous!

-Apparently ppl ship Citra and Tyger which…I don’t see??? At all????

-We get some more Citra-Rowan interactions!! Very nice!!! Makes my Citran heart happy <3

-Emo-Nanites <3

-“We are not the same beings we once were. So then, if we are no longer human, what are we?” UGH ANOTHER GOOD LINE!!

-Another short chapter though not as short as the last one! Liked it more than the last though!

—

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, but here’s the next 5 chapters, those last two chapters didn’t have much but everything else was great as always!! Next time we’ll be doing chapters 11-15! Hope you’ll join me for it!!!

[blood-mocha-latte]

Fandom positivity ask! 1, 3, 12, and 28!

linh truly you are. the number one. forever and always and also for all time <3

~ hbowar positivity asks ~

1 - what is your fav part about being in the fandom?

people are NICE and people are TALENTED. holy shit. it's like being friends with someone that has the skills of picasso and the kindness of our lord and savior jesus christ. which is blasphemous but TRUE

3 - what are some fics that you go back and read again and again?

oh man i am a rereading BITCH i could be here all day. but for top three i would have to gooo

Knit Us Together by @almost-a-class-act - truly the mvp boss of luztoye fics. Thee Perfect Fic it's truly art simple as that. i licherally reread it like. yesterday and am now making my wife read it. sam watch out for that because she's handwriting all her thoughts for me to show you because. oh my GOD everyone go read it

The Last Voyage by @ep6bastogne - VASTLY underrated baberoe fic. the perfect blend of human sunshine babe and tired but Good gene. sad and funny and good and i will admit that i cried. @mutantmanifesto made some GORGEOUS art for this very fic on this very day, because it's That Good

Before the Fall of Rome by @educationalporpoises - quite literally could NOT have asked for a better fucking secret santa. zee slayed. zee knocked it so out of the park that no one is yet to find the ball. it's luztoye and ancient history and reunions and truly what else do you need? 10/10

12 - songs that you associate with certain mutuals?

ohoho, this is where it gets LONG. sorry about that friends. under the cut because i have a lot to say and the time to say it, which is a bad combination

@lamialamia - linh my beloved. my darling. don't kill me but you are never gonna give you up by rick astling. not only are you catchy wonderful and always brightening up my notes, but i both never want to give you up nor let you down

@almost-a-class-act - guiding light by mumford and sons because truly what would the luztoye people do without you. die i think. you are the guiding light. the OG. thee #1

@dcyllom - dance the night by dua lipa because MOLLY whatever can i say other than you are the number one cheerleader of the modern webgott divorced two times au. you light up this world truly. this song fills me with joy and so do you

@whollyjoly - read my mind by the killers. because em you. you read my Mind on many occasion it must be said. same brain at times. how's mash going

@ewipandora - cheap thrills by sia because everytime you reblog literally anything i quite literally go ooOOOOH. you have an awesome beat good words Fascinating person. ewi i am holding your hand

@educationalporpoises - the baby shark song. zee i just see your pfp and i just immediately think of this song. i've never even heard it in it's entirety the lovely lyrics just run through my head whenever i'm lucky enough to see you on the dash <3

i have so many more mutuals that i love and adore but i do not have a mind for songs!! hugs and kisses to all

28 - what's something that lives in your brain rent free and you want everyone to know about the show/the fandom/your works?

portuguese luz. portuguese luz. do i have to say anything else. that is what everyone should know. that is number one. some good fucking food <3

[barebcnes]

@paramounticebound asked: ‘ numbers do not lie. politics and poetry, promises, these are lies. numbers are as close as we get to the handwriting of god. ‘

How poetic. Yet, Leonard has long since learned that Khan tends to be exactly that - poetic, in one way or another. It makes sense; His whole existence is poetic if one were to look at it from a different perspective, and so are his chosen words from time to time.

It's funny, considering the other has just said that poetry is a lie, yet here he is, exchanging words with McCoy who almost feels a bit amused by the contradiction - and the intense sincerety Khan speaks with, as if he's ttrying to carve the word of god into slates made of pure marble.

Yet he's right with what he's said: Numbers are solid, the conclusion of many what-if's, while promises and poetry oftentimes consists of wishes, but not of fait accompli. However, it does not mean that every bit of poetry and every single spoken promise is made of lies; Perhaps, to Khan, it feels like such, considering his past and what he's gone through.

And to be honest? God, Leonard can relate. In more than just one way. While his past is disctintively different - thank fucking Jesus, Maria and Joseph - he's gone through his own fair share of promises that turned out to be false, and words of poetry that have been written onto his skin without ever having been truly meant.

It's disappointing, sad even, and that's why Leonard does not chuckle, nor allows a smirk to play along his lips from the short-lived amusement that had briefly existed within him. He merely hums a low, thoughtful tone from somewhere inside his chest; His nimble, warmed up fingers continue to press into Khan's neck, the spot where a strong jaw attaches to an equally as strong muscle, feeling for lymphatic glands during what is a routine check-up necessary for someone who's been frozen twice.

Khan, however, is here. That's almost a miracle in itself - awoken from another slumber made of the freezing cold, alive, breathing. 300 years old.

"---Seventy-two.", is what the doctor says then, after a few seconds of silence have passed between them. He inhales, then exhales, fingers applying a bit more pressure as he finds what he's searching for, deeming the shape and size of the glands perfectly normal.

"And you. Seventy-three."

Only then a pair of hazel eyes flicks up, away from a neck that should have no right to be this long, slender and durable at the same time; His gaze meets Khan's own, lingers, accompanied by a hint of a bittersweet, lopsided smile.

"It's a number. And it's a truth. You're all here, you're all alive. It might not change what has happened in the past, but... I tend to keep my promises."

The promise of not letting another soul die under his attention. No matter what's going to happen in the near future, these people are, well, exactly that: People. Leonard is a doctor. He swore to cause no harm - and he won't.

"...Okay?"

[charizardstolemynickname]

EPISODE 20 PEOPLE!!

I wrote down notes again so I didn't miss anything and it was 2 pages, in my smallest handwriting so- THIS WILL BE A LONG POST

I will split them up into their respective scenes

Collector + Belos opening scene:

I completely forgot about the door building for a minute not going to lie, love to see it again though

EATING PALISMAN?! HE EATS THEM!? Did we know this?? I remember the DESTROYING, NOT EATING

"I can't wait to get out of this prison", now Mx Collector cosmos shadow guy, what does that mean

Speaking of the Collector, the whole time he has been so, kidlike, I wonder why, I hope we find out

Amity's parents + the kids scene:

WOAH! What does that threat mean Mrs. Blight, what deal do you have with your husband, and why does "The kids to play a more active role in Blight Industries" MEAN and why is it a threat!?

We love Mr Blight here, shoutout to Amity's dad

CATs meeting scene:

"This is just a trick to get me to wear clothes" WELL ITS NOT WORKING!" Hooty I love you, so much

"You might be a titan but you are still a little guy" THAT'S WHAT I'M SAYING EDA, King is just a baby!!!

"What? Only a few people would get eaten, even then, just the small ones!" DARIUS, my icon, my inspiration, love you

EDA HAS TO JOIN A COVEN?!! NOOOO, SHE IS FAMOUS FOR BEING A WILD WITCH!

..An egg? Okay well the following explanation makes sense, for a minute I thought her literal palisman would be an egg, however I am too impatient to wait for it to hatch WHAT IS IT

"But as exciting as saving the world sounds, its not nearly as romantic as going on a rescue mission to save your girlfriend" BROO, Eda you are so right, Eda is the real number 1 fan of Lumity

WHY IS THIS IMPLYING ONE OF YOU 3 (Luz, Eda + King) IS GOING TO DIE?! I'm with King, STOP THIS TALK, IT IS NOT GOODBYE

My found family loving heart sobbed at that frame of them 3 hugging with the view

HELL YEAH! CATs! Poor Darius, he is suffering

Luz on her mission:

DARIUS INSISTED ON A SECURITY ESCORT!?! AWWW, I knew he cared!

WILLOW AND GUS?!?! YEAHHHHHH

HUNTER?!?!?! Darius really wanted the best security for Luz if he went with the like, Ex Golden Guard

He definitely begged Willow and Gus to come with, I can see it

...I'll be honest I am still not 100% sure what a Grimwalker is, I assume it has something to do with death and control and Belos, but I don't know

THE BLUSH!!! I love Lumity so much, my little children

"We can shout as loud as we want but money always shouts louder" I DIDN'T EXPECT SUCH A HARDHITTING LINE, Well said Emira!

"she'd probably say something dorky but also sweet" Amity the simp, confirmed (/lh)

"AND I'M NOT LETTING THE WORLD END BEFORE WE GO ON A REAL DATE" ....they are so gay, I adore them, it hurts

WHAT SORT OF PETNAME IS SWEET POTATO! Wtf Luz (/lh)

AHHHHHHHHHH (excited scribbles) THEY KISSED!!!!

"Oh Crikey!" LUZ!?!?

"I can't believe I just did that" "I can't believe I just said that! Oh Crikey!" I'm in hysterics over this, jesus christ

Eda + CATs on the ship:

Eda and Raine banter, the immediate "Jealous I'm going to be a better coven leader?" from Eda to lighten the mood is 10/10

EDA IS GETTING A REAL SIGIL!? NOT A ILLUSIONIST ONE?! NOOOOO

"Isn't it cool we get one last adventure together?" EDA THIS IS WHAT I'M SAYING, THIS SOUNDS LIKE GOODBYE

Back to Luz & co adventure to talk to Amity's parents:

The King and Collector connection is fascinating to me, clearly the Titans have some sort of connection to whatever the Collector is

Amity's dad needs therapy, love him WOAH KING IS GIVING HIM THERAPY?! damn.

"I'm going to spend more time with my kids, get to know them" AHHHH I am an Amity Dad fan, if he has 1 fan its me, if he has 0 fans, I'm dead

HOMOPHOBIC AMITY MUM?!?! Oh, no, not homophobic just against Luz, well, you win some you lose some

BELOS KNOWS?! AND HAS EYES ON EDA!? I swear if Raine actually is a double spy and IS being controlled by the plant coven lady or something I will go insane

"Was it the power of believing in myself?" "No! It was the power of science! But you almost had it sweetie" AHHHH LOVE HIM

AMITY'S MUM KNEW?! SHE KNEW WHAT THE DAY OF UNITY WAS?! Bro, you aren't going to be treated well, YOU ARE GOING TO DIE YOU DELUSIONAL PRICK

Woah, Luz what was that yellow power thing?!? WHAT WAS THAT!?

NOOO!!! HUNTER, this is definitely kidnapping, in every sense considering Hunter is a kid

Mr Blight being just a fan of his jetpack until he realises what it means, I love him, I adore him so fucking much

Question, what coven is Amity's Mum from, I thought it was abomination too but the ghost thing and the talking into gem thing made me realise she probably isn't, and I have forgot what she is in

"You're always welcome in our home" AWWW SUPPORTIVE DAD!!! I am a sucker for supportive parents

WOAH NO! Hunter, its lovely to see you, as always BUT WHAT HAPPENED!?

WAIT LUZ DIDN'T GET TO HEAR SUPPORTIVE DAD COMMENT! NOOOOOO

God damn it Luz, always 1 step ahead, poor Hunter is so lost

AND THAT CONCLUDES, Episode 20 reaction. Finished. I am pleasantly surprised at this episode, it had so much packed into it and I even missed things out as it would have been too long

I have so many questions and cannot wait to have (most of them hopefully?) answered next episode

[a-mason]

An old, yellowed letter worn around the edges lay on the small thing Mason was calling a bed in the secret basement of the Rook. The paper was neatly folded, but wrinkled as if crumpled, but saved, for whatever reason.

A messy “Mason” was scribbled on the front in what was clearly Wood’s handwriting, but not as confident as it was now, as if written a while ago.

It read as follows in faded ink,

“Dear Mason,

too formal.

Hope you’re having a good day Alex,

feels stale and we haven’t gone by first names in years?? the fuck are you doing get it together frank

Hi Mason,

oh fuck it

Hey you big bastard,

I think I’m in love with you

I want to kiss you but just a little bit not like anything super gay or anything hahaha you know

fuck i suck ass at this

I’ve got shit to say to you. Actually important shit, not just stupid jokes and stuff like usual. You’ve heard the rumors of what’s going on in Vietnam, the whole civil war deal, communism spreading everywhere and all that. Shit’s going down, and we might actually get shipped off or something according to the news.

Don’t know about yours, but my pop’s pissed. Says it’s bullshit to send young men off just to die in a war we don’t have any real reason to get into. But that’s besides the point.

Just in case we do go to Vietnam or whatever, and one of us gets injured or anything, I just wanted to tell you that. I

fuuuuuuck

We’re just really close, and I just like you. Not like a brother. Not that I wouldn’t want us to be close like brothers but like not fucking incesty, just close in a different kinda way, you get me?

why would he get it you’re just rambling?? jesus christ

Look, ever since training and our letters, I just can’t really get your dumb ass off my mind, and I guess I’m just trying to say that I think I’m fucking in love with you and I don’t know how it would work since both our dads would strangle us and the army would kick us out but you can just ignore this and pretend I never said anything or just stop talking to me because I would get it but I just really really really like you for some reason and your stupid jokes and that nasty gel shit you put in your hair everyday and the dumbass way you always held your gun weird or would punch me if I said something a little too funny about you and I just

scrap this. you sound like a goddamn mess

- Woods”

Below the main writing of the letter, there were added notes, clearly from much more present, with Woods’ current sloppy but better handwriting present. The only question was how he’d gotten the letter down here. The paper was stained with a bit of ink from some kind of liquid that must’ve hit the paper, leaving it a bit crinkly in certain spots.

The new addition read,

“Hey asshole,

Surprised I still had this thing, practically had to dig this shit outta the bottom of my bag I found buried in my locker at my old work. Thought I’d burned all the letters I’d written like this, guess not.

Younger me was a fucking mess, but it’s not like I’m much better. At least I have the ability to say I know that I love you, even if sometimes it still scares me.

I don’t think you know how much you really mean to me, you idiot. You were always there for me, hell, you protected me even after I fucking attacked you over just a misunderstanding, and didn’t even complain about it. You carried me through snow and cold just to keep me alive when I should’ve died because of my own stupid fucking mind torturing me into making bad decisions.

I’m glad I get to have you in this world, that I get the chance to learn from my mistakes, and grow even when I’m already grown as hell. I’ve already learned I have a long damn way to go, but I’m glad I get to spend the rest of it with you at my side. Even if it’s not all the retirement we’d been hoping for.

You’re fucking great. You’re selfless, brave, smartest fucker i know, not too bad looking, and not to mention the alleged 8 incher (No, I didn’t forget about that).

So yeah. Might’ve taken me 3 decades to finally get this sent to you. Hope you can forgive an old man?

With love, @ask-woods “

pen and ink were old friends of m████, folded letters a genuine safe space. he didn't realize the old envelope was there on his flattened mattress until much later in the night - well after everyone had supposedly gone to sleep and he was tired himself.

m████ smoothed a thumb over the wrinkles, tracing over the faded letters of his name. he turned it over in his hands, the thought of opening something so obviously aged hurt. though he knew it was from woods (it had to be from him - from the chicken scratch script and the crooked return address, it just screamed him) he couldn't help but brace himself for a scathing letter from his father.

he pushed up the lip of the envelope, gently fishing out the yellowed looseleaf, and sat himself up on the mattress.

scribbled out confessions, bitterness at himself, preserved on the page a younger woods wrestled with himself and lost; the risks and the shame too much for him then. m████ stung with the memories many coded love letters had he never sent himself.

the low drone and trill of old machinery and computers filled in the silence. he was loved. the confirmation seeped into him and etched itself in his bones. he was loved, from polaroids and tidy cursive to the battlefield and beyond the grave. and knowing that truly hurt. he'd strangle his younger self for his cowardice if he could. and smack the younger woods upside the head for his cruelty to himself. but time marched forwards, and he and woods were old.

the postscript bled tenderness and understanding. woods' appreciation was felt, a slow stake to the heart. m████ chuckled at the complements (and flushed red at the mention of his size. of course frank would remember something like that.) asking for forgiveness was unnecessary when one was already forgiven.

m████ pushed himself up onto his feet. surely there was a notepad around here somewhere. woods is a clever man - and the rush in his chest was far too strong for his response to be straightforward.

[isledolon]

carajo || Hiro || trial post 1.1

Life isn’t fair, but death might be the fairest thing of all. It comes for everyone, no matter how much you might try to outrun it; there’s a grim satisfaction in knowing even your worst enemy, even the richest man on earth, the most tyrannical, will stumble in their sprint away from it eventually. This sentiment doesn’t make it any easier to accept the inevitable, nor does it imply the taking of another person’s life is acceptable whatsoever - a life cannot be cut short, as that person was always meant to die then, but that doesn’t make the person responsible any less responsible. It’s fate, but it’s a fate a murderer chooses.

Hiro isn’t a stranger to the inequity of life. He wishes, sometimes, that kinder people than him never had to come to understand it, though.

He’d liked Shiloh. Shiloh had shown him nothing but respect and polite company, even in their short moments together, and the only reason he could come up with as to why someone would target him was that he was quieter, maybe a little reserved. Some people would see that as easy pickings. Hiro thinks that attitude is a cowardly excuse.

If you’re going to kill somebody, pick on someone your own size.

(Needless to say, he’s pissed, and doesn’t do much to hide this fact the longer the investigation and trial goes on. His face gets darker and darker as he stays quiet, content to let the others figure this out, but…)

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ of Nazareth,”

He finally snaps, bringing a hand up to clutch his head in frustration.

"Of course it wasn’t Shiloh’s note. Be fucking serious, guys. Can we think this through? Listen-”

He gestures with his hands as he talks, as if demonstrating going from point a, to point b, to point c.

“The note about the ligma shit was written by the same person who wrote the foolproof plan shit, obviously. If Shiloh wrote that, why would the killer burn it? If it doesn’t implicate them, it doesn’t make any fucking sense to bother getting rid of it. So it’s the killer’s handwriting. Great. I can prove it, actually. If you look at the one by the body, ‘ligmaberries’ is the only one not crossed off. So, duh. The killer decided to go with that shit, as fucking stupid as it is. That means the reason the strawberries are even relevant is because they were trying to do some stupid joke with them. And it has to have been the killer who was trying to use them, because the berries in the greenhouse were cut with the kitchen knife. If it were Shiloh getting them, wouldn’t he just use the knife he already fucking HAD?”

Sighing in deep annoyance, he continues:

“I think the curse activation either had to do with getting someone to…I don’t know, say ‘ligma’, as moronic as that sounds, or taking food from the culprit. I just…fuck, I dunno. Only the last one had to do with food, so if it were the food one, and they were trying to activate their curse, wouldn’t they all be like that? But I just can’t imagine having such a dumb curse. Ugh. As for what killed him….look, I get you guys think it wasn’t an animal, but the old dude is right. Tetanus is spread through broken skin. Doesn’t have to be a nail. If the killer’s curse summons a beast or some shit, and it bites you…would explain the tetanus, the crushed leg, and the apple someone gnawed on like a weirdo. The claw marks, though, they looked human, so….some. Uh, humanoid…thing?”

He’s kind of losing the thread, here, but pauses.

“Or, actually….the claw marks weren’t an animal, were they? Those were from him.”

He holds up one hand and waggles his nails - trying to indicate that Shiloh’s, if memory serves, were dirty.

[shammah8]

RHAPSODY OF REALITIES

📅 TUES. 16TH APRIL 2024

        POWER TO HEAL

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━   

And these signs shall follow them that believe... they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover (Mark 16:17- 18).

Pastor Chris Says

━━━━━━━━━━

Do you know that when it comes to healing the sick, we're the ones God asked to do it? He gave us power to heal. In our theme scripture, the Lord Jesus didn't say the believing ones shall pray to me to heal the sick; rather, He said, they shall lay hands on the sick, and the sick shall be healed.

Then in Luke 10:9, He was just as direct when He sent His disciples out to preach the Gospel. He said, "... heal the sick...and say unto them, the kingdom of God is come nigh unto you." Also, He told them, "And as ye go, preach, saying, the kingdom of heaven is at hand. Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have received, freely give" (Matthew 10:7-8).

Remarkably, He didn't say, "pray for the sick"; rather, He said, "heal the sick." Hallelujah! In Acts 3, Peter exemplified this authority to heal the sick when he encountered a man who had been crippled from birth at the Temple gate. He declared, "...Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk" (Acts 3:6). This wasn't a plea or a prayer, Peter simply acted on the Words of the Master, He used the Name of Jesus as a powerful instrument.

In Acts 3:16, he further emphasized the power of the Name of Jesus when he said that faith in His Name had made the formerly lame man strong: "And his name through faith in his name hath made this man strong, whom ye see and know: yea, the faith which is by him hath given him this perfect soundness in the presence of you all."

One of the most beautiful things about Christianity is the blessing of using the Name of Jesus. When you speak or proclaim healing for the sick in His Name, your words are effective, producing exactly what they talk about. Even now, go ahead and make declarations in His Name about your health and that of your loved ones. Proclaim healing for many today who are sick and in hospitals. Hallelujah!

          🙏 P R A Y E R

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Dear Father, thank you for granting me the power of attorney to use the Name of Jesus and bring healing and health to the sick. Even now, I proclaim healing for many today who are in hospitals and might have been given up to die; the handwriting of death concerning them is cancelled, and they're restored to sound health, in Jesus' Name. Amen.

      📖 FURTHER STUDY:

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Luke 9:2;  And he sent them to preach the kingdom of God, and to heal the sick. 

Acts 3:1-8;  Now Peter and John went up together into the temple at the hour of prayer, being the ninth hour.

[2] And a certain man lame from his mother's womb was carried, whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple which is called Beautiful, to ask alms of them that entered into the temple;

[3] who seeing Peter and John about to go into the temple asked an alms.

[4] And Peter, fastening his eyes upon him with John, said, Look on us.

[5] And he gave heed unto them, expecting to receive something of them.

[6] Then Peter said, Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk.

[7] And he took him by the right hand, and lifted him up: and immediately his feet and ankle bones received strength.

[8] And he leaping up stood, and walked, and entered with them into the temple, walking, and leaping, and praising God. 

Philippians 2:9-11;  Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name:

[10] that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth;

[11] and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory

[rainsmediaradio]

MFM Daily Devotional 15th January 2024 By Dr. D.K Olukoya – The Overcoming Blood Of Jesus (II)

MFM Daily Devotional - The Overcoming Blood Of Jesus (II)

The Topic of Mountain Top Life Daily Devotional for 15th January 2024 Is ”The Overcoming Blood Of Jesus (II)”  

BIBLE IN ONE YEAR: Genesis 43, Genesis 44, Genesis 45, Mark 15, Mark 16, Luke 1. FIRE SCRIPTURE: Colossians 2:14-15 (KJV) 14 Blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross; 15 And having spoiled principalities and powers, he made a shew of them openly, triumphing over them in it. MEMORY VERSE: “Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us: for it is written, Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree:” – Galatians 3:13 (KJV) MOTIVATIONAL QUOTES: The curse causeless shall not come! PRAISE AND WORSHIP: Take praise and worship songs as led by the Holy Spirit. PROPHETIC WORD FOR TODAY By the Passover Blood of Jesus, Every Curse Limiting Your Life Is Broken, in The Name of Jesus.

MFM DAILY DEVOTIONAL 15TH JANUARY 2024

The blood of Jesus Christ is powerful and can deliver to the uttermost. It is the basis of our faith. It is worrisome however, that a lot of us have not come to full terms with the benefits of Jesus’ blood. This is why many Christians are living a life of defeat on what Christ has conquered for us on the Cross. Jesus Christ has redeemed us from all covenants and curses. According to Galatians 3:13-14, Christ has been made a curse for us on the cross. Therefore, we should not be operating under any curse or covenants any longer. By His overcoming blood, He blotted out every handwriting that was against us, took it out of the way for us and nailed it to His cross. Christ has done a finished work on Calvary’s tree; it is up to us to appropriate His finished work in our lives. We can live a curse-free life if we so desire. We can choose the blessings of Abraham if we want, but it has to be appropriated by the blood. A lot of believers are operating under limiting curses and covenants and are doing nothing about these probably because they feel they will have to endure it through life until they get to heaven when they will begin to enjoy. Beloved, you can begin to enjoy heaven right here on earth, but it is a matter of choice and understanding. May God damage our ignorance, in the name of Jesus. Are you being held down by curses and ancestral covenants? Has anyone made an evil pronouncement that is now haunting your destiny? Are you labouring under closed heavens, no matter how you try? Do you put in much effort only to reap little? Are you operating under any iron-like curse? Is any negative prophecy coming to pass in your life? The blood of Jesus Christ is the solution. It is a very potent weapon of warfare. When you engage spiritual warfare using the blood of Jesus that was shed with agony, the powers that have vowed that you will not rest will be disgraced. Apply the blood of Jesus to break curses and covenants and then, you will testify that all power belongs to Jesus.

MFM DAILY PRAYER POINTS 15TH JANUARY 2024

MORNING - I plead and sprinkle the overcoming blood of Jesus on my life and my environment, in the name of Jesus. - Sing this song “Super blood of Jesus, come and deliver me, precious blood at Calvary, come and deliver me,” in the name of Jesus. - ⁠Curses in my foundation holding me down, I hold the blood of Jesus against you, die, in the name of Jesus. EVENING - Limiting covenants in my root, your time is up, break by the blood of Jesus, in the name of Jesus. - Wicked laws and handwritings putting my destiny movement on hold, the blood of Jesus is against you, be blotted out, in the name of Jesus. - Overcoming blood of Jesus, speak peace and blessings upon my life, in the name of Jesus. - ⁠Blessings of the God of Abraham, replace every curse in my life now, in the name of Jesus. Read the full article

[god-whispers]

jul 28

familiar friday - His blood for my sins (a repeat daily)

"for this is My blood of the new covenant, which is shed for many for the remission of sins." matt 26:28

was the death of Jesus necessary?  well, i guess it really wasn't if the Father God was content to have His "unique creation" forever separate from Him.  but He wasn't.  He had to bridge the great gulf that had continually expanded since He created us.  "and besides all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed, so that those who want to pass from here to you cannot, nor can those from there pass to us."  luke 16:26

the One who created us and all things is holy.  darkness cannot exist in His light.  it will always be extinguished.  we had to be born again as children of that light to cohabit with Him.

moses was bold enough to ask. "please, show me Your glory".  God's response?  "I will make all My goodness pass before you, and I will proclaim the name of the Lord before you."

His goodness is the reflection of His glory.  Jesus said, "no one is good but One, that is, God."  matt 19:17  from that goodness comes all that we know as good: "love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control."  sound familiar?  it is the fruit the Holy Spirit causes us to yield when we become one with Him.

so i ask again: was the death of Jesus necessary?  to the Father, yes!

and now, a story on this day, celebrated as His death, of why He chose to die.

------------ the room

in that place between wakefulness and dreams, i found myself in the room.  there were no distinguishing features save for one wall covered with small index card files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.

as i drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "people i have liked."  i opened it and began flipping cards.  i quickly shut it, shocked to realize that i recognized the names written on each one.

and then without being told, i knew exactly where i was.  this lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life.  here were written the actions of every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.

a sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as i began randomly opening files and exploring their content.  some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that i would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.  a file named "Friends" was next to one marked "friends i have betrayed."

the titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird.  "books i have read," "lies i have told," "comfort i have given," "jokes i have laughed at."  some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "things i've yelled at my brothers."  others i couldn't laugh at: "things i have done in my anger," "things i have muttered under my breath at my parents."  i never ceased to be surprised by the contents.  often there were many more cards than i expected.  sometimes fewer than i hoped.

i was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life i had lived.  could it be possible that i had the time in my short life to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards?  but each card confirmed this truth.  each was written in my own handwriting.  each signed with my own signature.

when i came to a file marked "lustful thoughts," i felt a chill run through my body. i pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card.  i shuddered at its detailed content.  i felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

an almost animal rage broke on me.  one thought dominated my mind: no one must ever see these cards! no one must ever see this room!  i have to destroy them!  in an insane frenzy, i yanked the file out.  its size didn't matter now.  i had to empty it and burn the cards.

but as i took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, i could not dislodge a single card.  i became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when i tried to tear it.

defeated and utterly helpless, i returned the file to its slot.  leaning my forehead against the wall, i let out a long, self-pitying sigh.  and then i saw it.  the title bore "people i have shared the gospel with."  the handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused.  i pulled on its handle and a small box not more than 3 inches long fell into my hands.  i could count the cards it contained on one hand.

and then the tears came.  i began to weep.  sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me.  i fell on my knees and cried.  i cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all.  the rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes.  no one must ever, ever know of this room.  i must lock it up and hide the key.

but then as i pushed away the tears, i saw Him.  no, please not Him.  not here.  oh, anyone but Jesus.  i watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards.  i couldn't bear to watch His response.  and in the moments i could bring myself to look at His face,  i saw a sorrow deeper than my own.  He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes.  why did He have to read every one?

finally He turned and looked at me from across the room.  He looked at me with pity in His eyes.  but this was a pity that didn't anger me.  i dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again.  He walked over and put His arm around me.  He could have said so many things.  but He didn't say a word.  He just cried with me.

then He got up and walked back to the wall of files.  starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

"no!" i shouted rushing to Him.  all i could find to say was "no, no," as i pulled the card from Him.  His name shouldn't be on these cards.  but there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive.  the name of Jesus covered mine.  it was written with His blood.

He gently took the card back.  He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards.  i don't think i'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed i heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.  He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "it is finished."

i stood up, and He led me out of the room.  there was no lock on its door.  there were still cards to be written.

- by joshua harris

---------

yes, there are cards remaining to be written.  i wonder what they will say?  

[lapdogchase]

after quite a while of tossing the idea around, i've finished making a physical version of tommy and ranboo's letters during exile!!

reblogs > likes yall know the drill

Transcript under the cut, because it’s very long. For the sake of accessibility i fixed all the typos, but the typos are there in the physical book.

my mcyt content is now on @genderqueeradrien!

(The cover is made of thick brown paper and has the word “Untitled” in the top left, in Ranboo’s handwriting. Otherwise, the cover is blank. Ranboo’s handwriting is messy cursive. Tommy’s handwriting is unpredictably capitalised, and slanted to the left.)

Page 1.

“EYYYYY TOMMY.
How are you doing? Hope you are well. You probably aren't well huh.... Welp 
hope you find a way back in here 
Here is a joke:
 What do you call a bad idea?
 Letting a green man have total control
 That was pretty funny huh 
Anyway, just write in the book to reply and leave it here
talk to you soon 
-Ranboo (WITH NO B AT THE END I SWEAR)

Page 2.

Hi Rabboo! 
It's me. Big T. Aka Tommy. Aka Tommy Gun The finest
 Just being okay you know.
 Looking for Blaze Power at the min ahaha
 Just wondering, do you want to keep up a snapchat stream with me I lost all mine I lost them years ago I need snapchat I love snap score and streaks and the dog filter
 Lmk 
Anyways speak to you soon sorry you have to be so quiet when messaging me im really all over the place ahahahah the ghost smells awfully fucking weird
 Bye bYe from Tommy!
 Smiles all around all around the park

Page 3.

Hey Tommy!
 I dont really know what happened to the last book, but we can just use this one. 
Hope you are doing a little better, Tubbo is doing well, he does seem like he regrets what he did, so maybe there could be hope in the future for you to return! i left the "house" you made exactly how it was.
 Here's another joke:
 If we make muffin a swear then badboyhalo can't speak at all, and that is pretty funny I think.
 Hope you don't die in lava. 
-Ranboo (STILL WITH NO B AT THE END)

Page 4.

Hi Ranboob!
 It's me. Big T. 
Im afraid of Lava not im Lava Phobic. Im doing good! Im feeling better. Hands are a little shakier then ahaha 
Thinking about reinstalling Snapchat. I miss ladies Very lonely. Very scared. Please visit soon
 Tommy (aka Big T)

Page 5.

You should reinstall snapchat that is a good idea. 
I didn't know you guys were here, I feel like someone is trying to take the mail as the last book was gone. I will figure out a better way of communication.
 Jesus Christ Dream is scary. Heres a joke:
 Bazinga 
that was funny. Stay sane
 -Ranboo

I guess i hid the other mailbox a bit too well as you had no idea where it was. So i hope that you found this one at least. 
Hope you are doing well! I do plan to visit soon so maybe you could think of something that we could do that could be fun. Things are going well here, I made a pit where people fight. I have not fought anyone in this pit but I hope to soon because it would be fun.
 Here is another joke:
 George is still not found. He is lost. And that is funny.
 Anyway, i hope you aren't going too insane. See you later,
 -Ranboo (WITH NO B)

Page 6.

Tommy
 HI ranboo.
 Not feeling talkative today. 
K.
 You missed up our streak we were on Snapchat Timers and now its gone :///////
 Man
 No <3 
Anways ahah im feeling down so fuckin down im alone and no one no fucking one comes to visit me a lot and i want to go
 Tommy

Page 7.

Yeah sorry about the snap streak being lost, I hid the chest in the christmas tree but i guess that was just too good of a spot.
 I dont understand why no one is visiting, but I hope that yesterday was fun.
 Here is a joke:
 Villagers are ugly as hell huh 
That was a good joke.
 Anyway, hope to have you back soon 
-Ranboo (I SWEAR THERE IS NO B AT THE END PLEASE)

Page 8.

Hi ranboo 
Feeling distant 
Everyone is pitying me. Not sure how much longer I can go.
 I can't sleep Ranboo. Every night. Loneliness haunts me. I can't cuddle my likes when I'm asleep. Even though the primes got me, I'm still so so alone i'm so alone help me ranboo please for the lover of god i think and i type like god but im not god im just a big im just a pussy
 Your Faithfully,
 Big T

Page 9.

HEY BUDDY!
 I really hope that you are doing better from what you wrote yesterday. I'll try to visit you as much as I can and just know that it isn't out of pity. It's because you're the only one that hasn't left yet.
 Hope to see you again soon. 
-Ranboo

[depressedbagpipe]

The Freak and the Jedi (Eddie Munson x female!Henderson!reader)

Chapter four: Dear Billy

Words: 3920 Warnings: foul language, the entire episode is a trigger warning in itself, canon-typical violence, a little misogyny i guess, robin running. also, i can't remember if i proofread this :/ A/N: so I kind of forgot about this chapter when I first thought about the plot of this fic, so I had to figure out what to do with the reader. i left out victor creel's story because, a) we all know it by now, and b) the chapter would otherwise be too long. Taglist: @authorlovers, @angiewhoohooo, @thatsamegirl, @lizzy-95, @elleeeee21, @tanyaherondale, @le-who-zer-her, @toobsessedsstuff

Series Masterlist Previous chapter <> Next chapter

Chapter four: Dear Billy

“It was here,” Max’s voice trembled. “Right here.”

We were now standing before an empty wall, our flashlights pointed to the tiles as Max recited her vision.

“A grandfather clock?” Nancy asked.

“It was so real. And then, when I got closer, suddenly I just… I woke up,” Max explained.

“It was like she was in a trance or something,” Dustin spoke.

“Exactly what Eddie said happened to Chrissy,” I finished for him.

Max turned around, facing us. “That’s not even the bad part,” she said before walking back to the office, her fingers slightly trembling as they scanned Ms. Kelley’s handwriting. “Fred and Chrissy, they both came to Miss Kelley for help,” Robin took Chrissy’s file while Nancy took Fred’s. “Uh, they both were having headaches, bad headaches that wouldn’t go away. And then… then the nightmares. Trouble sleeping. They’d wake up in a cold sweat. And then they started seeing things,” Robin’s arms tensed below me, as I was sitting on her lap on the only chair at the desk. “Bad things. From their past. And these visions, they just… they kept on getting worse and worse, until eventually… everything ended.

“Vecna’s curse,” Robin confirmed.

“Chrissy’s headache started a week ago,” we were all looking at her intently, most of us speechless. “Fred’s, six days ago,” Max wasn’t looking at us anymore. “I’ve been having them for five days.”

Just then, the glass seemed to break. Realization dawned on us like cold water. 

“I don’t know how long I have,” Max was crying now. “All I know is that, for Fred and Chrissy, they both died less than twenty-four hours after their first vision. And I just saw that goddamn clock, so…” her breath was shaky. “looks like I’m gonna die tomorrow.”

A distant clang distracted us, making all of us turn our heads towards the door of the office on high alert.  

“Stay here,” Steve said before walking to the door, grabbing the tall lamp by the door and holding it ready to attack whoever was coming our way. 

I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go,” I said as I stood from Robin’s lap, all of us walking out and following Steve with tentative steps. 

A figure quickly appeared in front of us, the sudden movement making all of us in fear before realizing it was Lucas.

“It’s me!” Lucas yelled too, extending his arms out to prevent Steve from splitting his head open.

“Lucas?” Nancy and I called, his unexpected presence throwing us off.

“Jesus, what’s wrong with you, Sinclair?” Steve screamed at him, his hair pointing in different directions.

“I’m sorry!” Lucas was breathing heavily.

“I could’ve taken you out with this lamp!” Steve kept going as he tried to calm down.

“Sorry, guys, sorry. I was… I was biking for eight miles. Give me a second. Shit,” he kept panting, holding a finger out. He was barely holding himself up but kept talking regardless. “We’ve got a code red.”

“What?” Steve asked.

“Dustin,” Lucas ignored Steve and walked directly to my brother. “I’ve been with Jason, Patrick, and Andy, and they’ve gone like totally off the rails. They’re trying to capture Eddie, and they think you know where he is,” Lucas gulped. “You’re in terrible danger.”

I froze on the spot, looking at them with an alarmed face.

Dustin only shrugged. “All right, yeah, that definitely sucks, but we’ve got bigger problems than Jason right now,” he answered as he looked back at Max, her face reflecting everyone’s fear.

“Okay, so…” Nancy looked at us with a wide smile. “We have a plan.” 

Nancy, Robin, and I quickly descended towards the basement, freshly printed files in our hands as we excitedly delivered the news to the guys.

“Thanks to Nancy’s newspaper minions, we are now rock-star psychology students at the University of Notre Dame,” Robin said as the guys looked at the files.

“I’m now Ruth,” said Nancy.

“I’m Ruby,” I said.

“And I’m Rose,” Robin concluded, with a rather disgusted face.

 Steve looked at Nancy with a funny look. “Ruth?”

“Nice GPA,” said Dustin with an impressed face. “Not that far from your actual one,” he winked at me.

I winked at him back. “Thanks.”

“So we called Pennhurst Asylum, told them we’d like to speak with Victor Creel for a thesis we’re co-writing on paranoid schizophrenics…”

“To which they said no,” added Robin.

“But we landed a three o’clock with the director.” Nancy finished.

“Now, all we have to do is charm him and convince him to let us talk to Victor,” I concluded.

“Then maybe we can rid Max of this curse,” said Nancy, looking at her from her place across the basement.

Max hadn’t even lifted her head when the three of us came in, quickly writing something down that she wouldn’t let us see until she was finished, so we just left her to her own until she was ready to speak.

“Yeah, about that,” Steve interrupted, lifting his eyebrows as he went over the newspapers Nancy and Robin had retrieved from the library. “We’ve been doing our Victor Creel homework, and, uh, we got some questions.”

“Lots of questions,” Lucas confirmed.

“So do we. Hopefully, Victor has the answers,” I responded, bringing my hands together and trying to make my point across.

“Wait… wait… wait a second. Uh, where’s mine?” Steve was holding our files in his hands, waving them in the air as he looked at the three of us expectantly.

Steve was already chasing after Nancy upstairs. Robin and I followed them while we laughed at his antics, complaining about being the babysitter yet again. 

Robin’s eyes opened wide as she took a look inside Nancy’s room. “Oh my god, you have a Tom Cruise poster!” she stopped dead in her tracks, looking at her with a knowing smile. “You have a Tom Cruise poster,” she repeated while Nancy went through her closet, ignoring Robin as she tried to keep Steve at bay.

“Can you please not touch anything?” Nancy yelled at Robin, who was looking through Nancy’s mixtapes by her bedside table.

“I can’t do anything here, Nance,” Steve tried. “Uh, maybe I can be helpful with this asylum director dude. I don’t know, I could like turn on like my… my charm,” I snorted at him.

“Like you charmed Mr. García?” I offered with a grin, enjoying Steve’s glare.

“Not the charm we need,” Nancy concluded.

“Ouch,” Steve added, facing Robin, who kept touching things.

Nancy looked apologetic. “No, I just… Look, I did a little digging last night, and it turns out this Dr. Hatch is a distinguished fellow of the American Psychiatric Association and a Harvard visiting scholar, okay? This is a lifelong student of the world, and if we’re gonna win him over, we’re gonna have to convince him we are too.” Nancy looked at us. “That, like him, we are true academic scholars.”

Robin was now holding Nancy’s music box in her hands, looking at Steve and me with a surprised look on her face. “Holy shit, there’s a little ballerina in here,” she whispered while I laughed, going next to her and also gushing over the little box.

“Academic scholars? They’re giving you academic scholar vibes? Yeah,” Steve protested.

Nancy sighed. “No, but…” she held a couple of dresses for us to see, the bright pink contrasting over our clothes as we both groan at the design. “They will.”

“Oh, please, tell me that you’re joking,”

“I gotta admit, it’s been a hot minute since I last wore a dress,” I said while I adjusted the collar of my neck, the bright color contrasting with my usual attire.

“Junior prom, right?” Nancy asked while she drove.

“Homecoming,” I answered. “We skipped junior prom,” I answered, smiling at the memory of the sleepover at Steve’s house, watching movies and eating pizza all night.

“Back to the Future was funnier when we were high,” Robin added, her voice tight at her attire. It didn’t take a genius to know she hated it. “Didn’t you have something more uncomfortable, Wheeler?” she complained from the passenger seat.

Nancy rolled her eyes at her.

“I really hope we get the answers we need,” I added, hoping to ease the tension. “Too many people have already suffered because of this,” I said, thinking back to Max, sitting on the chair with a concentrated look on her face, fear evident in her eyes.

“Ooh, let me guess, you want Eddie to walk free, don’t you?” Robin winked at me from her rearview mirror, momentarily forgetting her own discomfort.

I blushed in the backseat. “I did not say that, Ro,” I excused myself, not meeting her eyes.

“But you meant it,” she turned around in her seat to face me.

I scoffed. “Whatever,” even though I knew Robin would not let the conversation go.

“Admit it, you kinda like him,” she was pushing buttons.

I snapped at her. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is?” Robin kept going, her mischievous face never ceasing.

“I just… I don’t want Vecna destroying another life, okay?” I looked out the window at the speeding landscape, trying to avoid Robin’s interrogation.

She smiled at me. “Like Eddie's was?”

“Robin!” I yelled, trying to shut her up completely.

“What? I’m just saying, you were getting kinda cozy at the shed,” she threw her hands up as if feigning innocence.

Nancy intervened, her back tense with how much we were talking. “God, please, not Eddie Munson, I already told you, he’s a dealer!” she shot me a glare from the mirror, her hands gripping hardly the steering wheel.

“And he’s hot,” Robin winked at me again.

“Damnit, Robin!” I repeated, my words dying in my throat at the prospect of possibly outing her without her consent. 

“God, not for me, but for you? I mean, he’s totally your type,” Robin pulled at the neck of her blouse once again.

“I’m not having this conversation now, Ro,” I looked at Nancy, wishing to catch her eyes so she could help me put an end to it all.

“We totally are, unless you wanna hear me complain about these clothes,” she looked at me expectantly. She continued when I sighed in defeat. “So, you and Eddie?”

I shook my head. “There’s no ‘me and Eddie’ anymore,” I turned my head to the side once again, freezing as soon as I processed my words. 

“Wait, did you say ‘anymore?’” Nancy suddenly perched on her seat. Shit.

“…no?”

“You totally did,” Robin’s mouth hung open.

“Shut up.” Damnit.

“You did!” Robin yelled, gripping the backseat in excitement.

“Alright, I did!” I gave in, yelling back at her.

“Oh my fucking god!” Robin put her hands over her mouth, laughing in shock as she stared at me.

Even Nancy was constantly looking at me from the mirror, making me fear a possible crash.

“Shut up, Buckley,” I pointed my finger at her, trying to get her to calm down before she exploded.

“Spit it out, Henderson!” she copied my actions. 

“What are you not telling us?” Nancy asked, only calmer.

I sighed as I stared at them both, already regretting my mistake. “Eddie and I used to date.”

I was met with silence, both girls seemingly coordinated not to move a muscle at my confession.

“What?” they finally both said at the same time.

“What you’ve heard,” I answered.

“When?” Robin was ready for gossip.

“How?” Nancy asked, something that looked like disgust evident on her face.

“It was a couple of years ago, before Will, and El, and the Upside Down. Actually, I broke up with him the night we fought the Demogorgon at Jonathan’s house,” I added, looking at Nancy.

“Wait, is that why you were crying before we left the school?” Nancy asked, remorse lacing her words.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Why did you break up with him?” Robin’s voice was now softer, barely a whisper.

I shrugged. “It wasn’t safe for him. I didn’t want him in this mess, it wasn’t fair to him,” my voice broke a little.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Nancy asked, her eyes reflecting the pain.

“Does Dustin know?” asked Robin, always one step ahead.

“We didn’t tell anybody, so no, not even Dustin knows about us. We were both going through our stuff and we just kinda… fell in together, you know? We’re not that different. And we kept each other company. And I was happy,” a single tear fell down my cheek, but I quickly brushed it away.

“And now what?” Robin asked sympathetically after a couple of seconds of silence.

“It was Eddie’s idea not to tell anybody after we broke up. He was being targeted by half the school and said he didn’t want me to run the same fate,” I smiled at the memory, of how his hair was growing out and the big ketchup stain in the middle of his Hellfire Club shirt.

“Shit, I… I’m sorry,” Robin said, taking my hand in hers and stroking it softly in comfort.

“I’m really sorry, too. I should’ve not judged him as I did,” Nancy too joined in the apology. 

“We won’t tell anybody, we promise,” Robin added, extending her pinky to me. “Pinky promise?” she offered.

I chuckled at her, feeling my chest fill with warmth at my friends. “Pinky promise.”

In a twist of events, Robin Buckley saved our asses by convincing Pennhurst Mental Hospital’s warden Anthony Hatch to give us ten minutes with Victor Creel. He walked us around the facilities, my blood growing cold at the sight of so many people trapped inside their own heads, living in the shell of who they once were. Entering one of the biggest wings of the building, soft classical music received us as we walked among the many patients dressed in white robes.

“This is one of our more popular areas. The listening room,” he motioned us inside, walking behind him. “We found that music has a particularly calming effect on the broken mind,” he whispered as he led us across the room. “The right song, particularly one which holds some personal meaning, can prove a salient stimulus. But there are those who are… beyond a cure.”

I shared a look with Nancy and Robin, the uneasiness of his words sending shivers down my spine as he exited the room via a different door and walked downstairs towards the basement.  

“Uh, Doctor Hatch, do you think it might be possible for us to speak to Victor alone?” both the doctor and the guard outside the restricted area looked at us in bewilderment. 

“Alone?” he asked.

“I… I think that we would just love the challenge of speaking with Victor without the safety net of an expert such as yourself. Then we could really rub it in Professor Bradley’s face when we get back to class…” I internally winced.

Dr. Hatch was shaking his head in confusion. “Professor Bradley? I don’t believe I know a Professor Bradley.”

“Brantley. She… she meant to say, Brantley,” I laughed as I looked at Robin with wide eyes, scared that we had just blown our cover.

“Didn’t I say Brantley? What did I say?” we nervously laughed at her, keeping up the charade. “Sorry, silly me. Words, letters,” Robin crossed her arms as the three of us stared at him with big smiles. “Guess I’m just nervous. I mean, excited,” she corrected herself. “So excited to speak with Victor. Preferably, as she said, alone?” 

We kept smiling at him, my heart beating rapidly at his silence.

At last, he smiled. “Yes, why not?” but even his smile held something. “You’ve caught me in a rebellious mood,” we all chuckled at him. “And there’s something rather urgent I need to check on anyway, so… sure.”

With a nod he walked up the stairs, not giving us a second glance. 

“Thank you so much, Dr. Hatch,” Robin started, followed by Nancy and me even well after he was out of sight.

The guard then opened the door to a dark corridor that pretty much resembled a prison. How fitting.

“Do not startle him. Do not touch him. Do not pass him anything. Stand five feet away from the bars at all times. Is that clear?” the guard said as he walked us to Victor Creel’s cell, pulling out his nightstick and hitting the bars to wake him up. 

“Yes sir,” we all answered, fear gripping at our edges.

“Victor,” the guard mocked the man. “Today’s your lucky day! You got visitors. Real pretty ones,” I glared at him at his words, wishing he would just leave so that I wouldn’t have to punch him in the face. The sound of metal being scratched drew our attention to the man sitting at the desk at the far end of the cell. “Must be in one of his moods,” the guard said as he walked away. “Have fun.”

We waited until he left to walk to the bars.

“Victor? My name is Nancy. Nancy Wheeler. And these are…” Nancy looked at us to follow her lead.

I said my name in a small voice.

“Robin Buckley.” 

“Um, we have some questions,” Nancy tried.

“I don’t talk to reporters; Hatch knows that,” the man spoke, yet he still didn’t turn to us. He kept scratching the desk.

“We’re not reporters,” I answered. “We’re here because… we believe you. And because we need your help.”

“Whatever killed your family, we think it’s back,” Robin continued. 

Victor Creel then turned to us, the sight of his scratched eyes forever imprinting itself into my head. 

Being arrested for breaking in into a top-security cell at an asylum was not on my bucket list.

“You’re not listening, our friend is in danger!” Nancy walked behind Doctor Hatch, pleading to let us go as we desperately explained our situation.

“Do you really expect me to believe anything you have to say at this point?” he led us once again through the listening room, the patients ignoring us as we hurried to the exit.

“It’s the truth!” I yelled at him, trying to keep up in Nancy’s ballerina flats.

“You are free to tell your sob story to the police,” the doctor said.

“Move along,” the same guard that took us to Victor’s cell pushed Robin forward when she stopped for a few seconds.

“Don’t touch me!” she put her arm away.

Clair de Lune was slowly playing in the background, the ballad contrasting to the anxiety we all three were experiencing. 

As we reached the gardens outside, Robin stood next to us, whispering rapidly into our ears.

“Victor said the night of the attack, everything went on in the house, but he made specific mention of music, he said music was playing. And then, when we asked him about the angel, he started to hum,” Robin spoke.

“Dream a Little Dream of Me,” I answered, finally recognizing the song he hummed. “Ella Fitzgerald.”

Nancy gasped. “The voice of an angel.”

“Yeah,” Robin spoke. “Hatch said that music can reach parts of the brain that words can’t. So maybe, that's the key, a lifeline.”

“A lifeline back to reality,” Nancy continued.

“It’s worth a shot,” I concluded, looking back at the two guards that followed us a few steps behind us, looking bored out of their minds. “I think we can beat them,” Nancy nodded at my words.

“What?” Robin panicked.

“To the car,” Nancy continued as well.

“Okay, I’m warning you right now, I have terrible coordination,” Robin kept panicking.

“I know, I’ve seen you in gym class,” I grinned at her, sheer determination on my face.

“Like, it took me six months longer to walk than all the other babies,” she complained, but Nancy was faster.

“Just follow our lead,” and with that, she bolted towards the parking lot. 

I ran after her, tugging Robin’s wrist so she wouldn’t stay behind.

“No, my God!”

We ran across the grass, dodging the patients and sprinting towards the car as we tried to outrun the guards. I saw one of Robin’s shoes fly next to my head, yet we couldn’t stop to retrieve it for we were running out of time. The guards were hot on our tails when we reached the car, practically jumping inside and blocking the doors as we sat down, Nancy quickly starting the car ignoring the guard on her window and hitting the glass for her to stop. 

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” Robin exclaimed as we both looked back, with Nancy focused on driving away from the place.

“You really are a weird runner,” Nancy laughed in shock.

I chuckled, but the moment was interrupted when our walkie went off, an anguished-sounding Dustin yelling on the other side.

“Where the hell are you? This is a code red! I repeat, a code red!” I grabbed it and placed it on my ear.

“Dus, it’s me. We copy,” I answered.

“Holy shit, finally! Please, please tell me you guys have this figured out!” Dustin kept screaming into the radio.

I paled, knowing what was most likely going on. “Play her favorite song! Now!” I yelled into the radio, shaking a bit in place after Dustin’s response of approval, the line going dead.

We all stared at each other in silence, praying that we were right, and that Max could still be saved.

“Thanks for doing this, guys. It’ll be just a minute,” I said appreciatively as I closed the car door behind me.

“Be quick, we can’t be seen here,” Nancy pleaded, but there was softness in her eyes.

I nodded at her before turning around and walking towards the shed.

I knocked on the door a few times. “Eddie? It’s me. I’m coming in,” I said before opening the door, and finding Eddie on the other side, his hand stretched.

“Sorry, I was about to open the door for you,” he grinned, letting me step inside and closing the door behind me.

“Right, I should’ve called. Sorry, I don’t have much time, I…” Eddie interrupted me.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he looked me over, heat rising to my cheeks as I remembered I was still dressed in Nancy’s clothes.

“These aren’t mine, don’t worry. It’s a long story, too, I just… I just wanted to check you’re alright,” I said, my arms limp.

I didn’t know why I was so nervous, but after everything that had happened at Pennhurst, I didn’t want to go to sleep without knowing he was fine first.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m running low on supplies but I’ll live another day,” he joked.

I stared at him, my breath hitching in my throat. Out of impulse, I threw my hands around him, hiding my face in his chest as I closed my eyes, gripping his torso tightly.

“Woah, you okay there?” he reciprocated, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me even closer to him.

I nodded, but remained silent for a few minutes, simply enjoying his warmth and his company.

“Yeah, yeah, I just…” I pulled away from him, redness around my eyes. “I just really needed that,” I said. “You sure you’re okay?” I asked him, knowing my time was running out.

He nodded at me, his hands twirling the sleeves of his jacket. “I’m okay.”

With a nod and a sigh, I said goodbye, leaving a dumbfounded Eddie in the shed, as I felt my heart break a little more with each step toward Nancy’s car.

Next chapter

[anieswrld]

you were good to me -> e.m

eddie munson x gn! reader

wc: 852

warnings: stranger things 4 vol 2 spoliers, grieving, angst, eddie wrote notes to the people he loves in case he croaked, anddd he croaked.

You sit on the couch in Eddie’s trailer, fiddling with his bandana he always wears–wore in his back pocket. You were shaking,your leg bouncing up and down as you stared at the box of his things on the coffee table. You bite at your nails, letting out a sob.

“Eddie–I need you, please, come back.” You plead to the empty trailer, his skull bandana in your tight grip. You finally bring yourself to look through the box, trying to blink away the tears. His hellfire shirt that smells exactly like him, cigarettes and irish spring soap you lazily smile at the familiar scent.

You put it down next to you, picking up one of his many books, annotations lazily scribbled onto each page. You read some of them, throwing the book at the nearest wall, lip quivering, you hated him for leaving you behind.

You were angry with him, with the world, you want him back. You needed him back. You finally found his journal every page filled with his messy handwriting and stupid doodles. 

The day before you all went back in the upside down, he was scribbling into it, he wasn’t focused on anything but making sure he wrote in it. You flipped to the date he wrote them, he left notes for you and Dustin. You skipped his, finding your name in big letters, that almost made you smile.

‘Hi, I’m not really good at this shit so sorry in advance. There’s a big chance we all might die tomorrow and I took red's advice and wrote letters for the people closest to me. This is going to get dark so just sit tight. I don’t know if I want to make it out, the whole town wants me dead and hell, I didn't kill Chrissy but I did watch her die. Pretty much the same thing aye? Sorry, i know you don’t like when I talk like that but, I’m scared, fucking terrified. I can’t back out again, I can’t run away again. Not if you’re there too, I can’t let anything happen to you. 

If anything happens to me I want you to know that I love you more (if I’m dead that means I win right?)’

You stop reading to let out a dry chuckle, wiping your tears, you want to try to be more happy, you do, but after you had to be physically pulled off of Eddie’s body you can’t even begin to try. Life without him in it doesn’t seem like it has meaning. Life without him doesn’t have happiness. You wish he fucking ran. You keep replaying it over and over and your head hurts. You glance back to the note, starting to read again.

‘There’s a box of my shit that I want you and Dustin to go through, you get my hellfire shirt since you like it so much. But please give Dustin my rings, he’ll look so badass I’m telling you. You can keep the bandana if you’d like since I most likely died with it on. Give my pick necklace to my uncle please, the damn guitar pissed him off but his life will be so empty without a reminder of me annoying him. There’s some pictures of us in there too, I never showed you them so you’d be surprised when I showed you on our wedding day or some cheesy ass shit like that. They’re in the envelope along with some other shit you’d like.’

You open the yellow envelope finding the pictures of you together, making your body shake as you sobbed, with everything that’s been going on you can’t remember the last time he kissed or hugged you. You want him to hold you, you want him to kiss you. You need him. You find his extra pins and patches that he didn’t get to put on the vest.

You let out a shaky sigh, “Jesus christ, Eds.” you mumble, not sure what you mean.

‘I know how you get so, the last time we kissed was when I saw you at skull rock, god I missed you so much. You made me feel so goddamn safe. The last time we hugged though? In the upside down version of my trailer, you were so shaken up I held you until you were okay. I hope you find some comfort in this if I don’t make it out. Please listen to me, I don’t want you to mope about me. Oh! Please look after Dustin, there’s no way he’s okay if I kicked it. I love you, always. Maybe I’ll find you in another life, sweetheart.’

When you finish reading you’re full on breaking down, you can’t catch a breath. When this happens Eddie is usually there to hold you or make you feel better but since he’s not anymore, you stumble into his room climbing into his bed. You snuggle up to his pillow as you sob. 

“I miss you Ed’s. I wish–fuck I wish you ran. You left me behind, what am I supposed to d-do Eddie?” You cry, eventually falling asleep from how tired you were, you dream of him being yours again. 

[whatiwouldnotgivethots]

sciles sex pollen fic for @slice-of-magenta who also wanted bottom or power bottom scott. this definitely ran away from me, but i hope you like it!! thank you for being my very first prompter <3

word count: 3258 scott/stiles (sciles) sex pollen/fuck or die, dubious consent as per the nature of fuck or die, schmoopy boys, bottom scott

Scott knows better, he does.  He's known lab safety since he was 14 and first came knocking on Deaton's door looking to shadow him.  So, when he's cleaning the clinic's supply room and knocks a glass vial off the counter with his elbow, well. 

“Shit," he curses, coughing when a cloud of it plumes up in his face.  The powder the vial held is clear and shimmery, glittering in the faint, late evening sunlight.  It reminds him of Allison's eyeshadows and glitters she kept spread across her vanity. 

He bends down, gingerly begins picking up the largest shards of glass.  When he sees the label though, faint and in Deaton's neat handwriting, he drops it like it burned him.  Feels his stomach sink, heavy and leaden.  Anxiety twists in his chest as he frantically cleans up the broken glass and spilled powder, dumping it in the trash, and then dumping the trash in the dumpster, while trying to inhale as little of it as possible.  No more than he's already been exposed to.

While outside, he leans against the cool, exterior of the clinic and takes a few, deep breaths.  Already, he feels over-warm, and the cool fall breeze feels good.  He tries to calm himself, thinks through his options--Deaton's gone home, his mom's at work for another several hours.  The idea of asking Derek or Lydia or Allison or, anyone, really, to help him with this is almost humiliating.  There's only one person he'd want, only one person he'd really trust, to help him with how he's going to be in a matter of minutes.  Judging by how his stomach is cramping, his heart's racing in his chest, and heat's begun rolling over him in waves.  Scott presses a hand on his lower abdomen, bites his lip to hold back a noise at the pressure building. 

Pulling out his phone, he sends a quick text to Stiles that amounts, roughly, to Please drop everything and meet me at my place, did something stupid, not an emergency but very important, sos. 

He locks up the clinic, jumps on his bike, and makes it to his house in record time.  In fact, Scott's pretty sure he blacks out the entire ride, not really remembering the turns and twists of the familiar roads.  One minute pulling out of the parking lot and the next pulling into the drive way.  Once inside, he chucks his helmet on the couch and tears up the stairs to his bedroom.  He shuts the door behind him, and almost instantly, a wave of heat crashes over him.  Powerful and crushing, like the ocean at high tide.  Gasping, he collapses to his knees, yanks off his shirt, and scrubs a hand up his torso. 

His skin itches, prickling.  God, he's burning.  And as much as he tries to tamp down on it, the wolf inside him has its hackles raised.  His fangs itch to drop, claws aching to extend.  But it's different from the full moon because now he wants to be touched.  He wants a hand to smooth over his body and scratch the itch, make the ache go away.  Wants someone to put him on his knees and soothe him back into his humanity.

Scott curls in a ball on his bed, waits for the sound of Stiles climbing up the trellis to his window.  A sound Scott's known since they were ten.  He clutches the sheets in his fist, unthinkingly grinding up into the seam of his jeans to ease the pressure on his dick.  When he finally does hear the clatter, the wolf settles back on its haunches. 

The window flies open, and Stiles falls into his room limbs first. 

“Scott?  Jesus, dude, what the hell's wrong?" Stiles says, sounding anxious and worried.  And Scott hates himself for putting that tone in his voice.

Stiles pads over to him, sits on the edge of the bed, and runs a hand over Scott's hair.  “God, you're burning up," Stiles says, and Scott shudders, leaning into the touch.  Turns and rubs his face into Stiles's palm like a cat.  He'd be embarrassed, but his head's starting to go muzzy.  Thick, like his favourite blanket that he shares with his mom when they watch The Bachelor.  It's getting harder to think clearly beyond the throbbing deep in the cradle of his hips.

Stiles rubs his thumb along Scott's cheekbone, and Scott's pretty sure he can feel the whorls of Stiles's fingerprint leave sparks in its wake.  Quieter, Stiles says, “Come on, what's up?  Should I call your mom?"

Scott shakes his head.  “I was cleaning out the storage room at the clinic, and I knocked over this bottle."  Fuck, his voice sounds raw and hoarse.  “I remember Deaton saying someone gave it to him after they did a raid on a bunch of hunters a while ago.  It's like, a poison that--" He cuts himself off with a groan, need clawing at his throat, at his spine, all over his skin.  “Jesus, it's a fuck-or-die thing.  Shit."

Arm flung across his eyes, Scott splays out on his back.  Everything feels so much right now.  So hot and swollen and heavy.  He lays a hand on his dick where it's pressing obscenely against the fly of his jeans and moans, low and wounded.  His hips kick forward into the touch, craving more and more of it.  There's the tang of copper in the back of his throat.

“I think it's getting worse.  Stiles," he says, embarrasingly breathy and overwrought, “I need you to fuck me.  Need you to do it.  I—I'm sorry." 

Stiles pulls his arm off his face and holds Scott's hand between both of his.  When Scott looks at him, Stiles looks—almost stricken.  “Why are you sorry?" Stiles asks.  “You're the one about to die."

“‘S not right.  You've never, you've never had sex before.  And I—" There's a lot he wants to say, but it dies on his tongue. 

“Hey, hey," Stiles says, cupping his face again.  “Let me do this for you, alright?  We'll figure out everything else later."

Scott nods, faintly.  Stiles's scent is thick in his nose: that spice of his arousal Scott's more than familiar with; his clean, boyish sweat; all undercut with the sharp tang of panic.  Scott doesn't want that.  He only wants Stiles to smell the way he does when he's happy and turned on—like a spice cake.  Gingerbread, maybe.

Stiles chokes.  "So you can smell arousal?"

Oh, Scott said that out loud. 

He turns, catches Stiles's thumb in his mouth, and hums low in his throat.  Stiles’s mouth drops open in that dumb little gape he does, that, in moments when Scott's being honest with himself, he's loved since they were kids.  Sitting up on trembling arms, Scott reaches out and pulls Stiles in with an arm around his neck.  Their mouths meet, and it's like the first breath of air after diving into cold water.  It's like pouring gasoline onto a bonfire.  It's the burn of whiskey they drank when they turned 14, the freedom of flying down the California 1 on his bike, the sense of coming home to dinner on the table, and Stiles and his mom laughing about nothing. 

Stiles makes a soft little oh that Scott swallows down.  There’s this urge nipping at Scott’s heels to get close—to work his way under Stiles’s skin, to let not a single part of them be apart.  So as Scott licks his way behind Stiles's teeth, he crawls into his lap.  Slides his hands under Stiles’s shirts and kneads the skin.  Stiles's hands are burning on his waist.  It all feels so good and right, but the angle's kind of off.  Stiles wraps an arm around him to hold him steady, and with just a little tweak of limbs, Scott gets Stiles's thigh between his own, the strong muscle nudged right against his dick.

Scott’s always known that Stiles has gotten kinda built over the years.  Even though he sits on the bench most of the time, all the lacrosse practices and cross-country meets have paid off.  Scott buries his face in Stiles’s neck and humps into Stiles’s thigh.  The friction of cotton on his dick is amazing, and he’s leaking all over himself, the fabric going damp.  God, he can smell it mingling with Stiles’s scent.  Distantly, he hears himself letting out these breathy noises in the breathless in-betweens of their kisses while he grinds against Stiles's thigh.  Fast, faster, in tight circles.  Something raw and desperate sparks at the base of his spine, catches flame, and turns his body tight and brittle.

“I think," Scott chokes out, “I think I'm gonna come." 

Petting Scott's shoulders, Stiles says, “Whatever you need, Scotty.  Come on, give it to me."  Slides his hand down to the dip of Scott's spine and urges him to move faster.

With a whine, Scott comes hot in his jeans, face tucked in the crook of Stiles's neck.  Stiles's scent is so strong here, grounding and familiar.  The ache is marginally doused, his mind temporarily clear.  He breathes damply into Stiles's tee shirt, unwilling to stop clinging to Stiles for dear life, and Stiles, for his part, seems content to hold onto Scott. 

“How're you feeling?"

Scott traces the tip of his nose up the column of Stiles's throat, presses it into the hinge of his jaw.  “Alright, for now.  But it's not gonna last.  The antidote is someone else's come inside you."

Stiles scoffs, easing Scott onto his back.  “That’s so heteronormative,” Stiles mutters to himself.  Scott chuckles, but it’s breathless and kinda porny.  There's a moment of awkward fumbling where Stiles nervously tries to prop Scott up on pillows.  Scott's known him long enough to know his ticks. 

“Stiles," Scott says, “it's alright."  He reaches up to clasp a hand on the back of Stiles's neck, rubs his thumb in circles at the base of his skull.  Stiles settles.  He flashes Stiles a fond smile.  “It's just me.  I trust you."

Stiles breathes out shakily.  Then, after a moment's pause, Stiles smiles, all dimples and mischief.  Flushing over with prickling heat once more, Scott's cheeks go red, and he feels the poison's fire kindling back to life.  He's never been able to say no to that smile a day in his life. 

Stiles straddles his hips, kisses a hot line down Scott's throat, between his collarbones, along his sternum where his heartbeat is picking up again.  Eventually, he reaches the waistband of Scott's jeans, and after a fumbling moment, he pops the button and zip and yanks them off.  They’re followed by his boxers which Stiles just—just shoves his nose into.  Stiles clamps a hand around his dick, and even though Scott can’t see since Stiles still has his jeans on, he can hear the slick sound of Stiles stripping his dick.  Stiles gazes heavy-lidded at him while the visceral scent of come and arousal washes over him, his own come matted at the base of his cock.  He must look like a slut, as desperate as the poison’s making him feel.  He's throbbing again, hips juddering up for some kind of contact.

“Your fucking legs, dude.  Oh my god," Stiles says.  His calloused fingertips ghost along the overheated skin of Scott’s inner thighs, stroke the soft line where his thigh meets torso.  He's got both hands on Scott's thighs, easing them apart and making room for himself there.  “Your everything." 

Scott huffs a laugh, but it's clouded by the flash of desire he has to get all of Stiles's body on display.  His fingers tangle uselessly in the hem of Stiles's shirt.  Thankfully, Stiles takes the hint and quickly shucks off his clothes, and yes, Scott's heat-addled brain thinks, that's so much better.  Stiles's pale, freckled body pressing up against him, his clever hands back to teasing along the soft skin of Scott's inner thighs.  Nudging up against that spot behind his balls.

“Okay, so I know what comes next in theory, but I might need a little help putting it into practice," Stiles admits, face going pink.   So pink.  Scott wants to sink his teeth into his pecs where the flush is pooling in his chest.  Stiles has always full-body blushed, and now Scott's mind is stuck on the wanting he never usually lets himself acknowledge. 

Scott fumbles in the drawer of his nightstand.  Growling when he can't grasp the bottle of lube he knows is there since his limbs are weak and useless.  Stiles eases him back, replaces his hand and comes back triumphant. 

Scott's breath quickens, body going tense as the cramps return.  The heat blooms over him, mingles with the scent of Stiles's arousal, and ignites want in him so fiercely, it hurts.  He writhes when he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, half disgusted, half turned on by how slick he is.  He's so fucking wet, dripping everywhere.  The sound of his dick slipping through his fist is obscene as it echoes through his childhood bedroom. 

Stiles slicks up his fingers, rubs the lube over them, runs them along his hole.  It's a shock of cold to his system, and Scott jolts before settling back down.  Stiles chews on his lip, brow furrowed like when he's three hours deep in a research session.  His free hand is stroking Scott's hip; not quite holding him down, but putting pressure there.  Reassuring.

Stiles has pretty hands.  Broad palms and shapely fingers that are always moving restlessly, never ceasing just like the whirring of his mind.  Scott admires them when they're on the Jeep's steering wheel or twirling a pen while doing homework.  They're a reflection of him.  And right now, they're pushing timidly at Scott's hole.  They're slick and warm and a fucking tease.

Every part of Scott is aching for them to open him.

“You're thinking," Scott says.  “You're making the face you do when you're thinking.  Maybe don't think?"

Stiles gusts a laugh, then says, “Okay, so I just. . ."

Scott grabs his wrist and guides his forefinger inside. 

“Oh, my God.  Scott, shit.  You're so hot inside," Stiles says, mouth dropped open, and Scott can't even do anything but nod in agreement 'cause it's amazing, yet nowhere near enough.  Stiles isn't even properly fingering him, just resting inside him, but he's trembling beneath Stiles's anchoring weight.  “Have you done this before?"

Scott chuckles, head tossed back, and the laughter turns into a whine as Stiles crooks his finger forward, skirting the edge of his prostate.  “A, a few times.  Allison wanted to try," he manages.  He runs a thumb over the head of his cock, mouth dropping open in quick, whimpering pants.  “Stiles, come on.  I need more.  Please."

Nodding faintly, Stiles slides in a second and finger, and yeah.  Stiles doesn't have the finesse to be gentle about it, so when he finds that spot inside again, it's with a firm press that has Scott arching off the bed, abdomen tensing with effort.  Stiles's fingers are deep and curving, prying him open.  Scott's hips start fucking onto Stiles's hand of their own volition, which is insane, but the stretch of it eases the pressure coming down on him. 

With each passing moment, Scott can feel himself opening up, getting looser and slick.  Quicker than it ever took with Allison, which is probably a side effect of the drug, but Scott's beyond caring. 

“Now," Scott says.  “Now, I'm good.  Fuck me, please."  He tugs on Stiles, trying to pull him close without losing any contact.  Stiles huffs at him, slicking more lube down his dick. 

Stiles noses the damp hair curling above his ear, kissing Scott's temple as he presses his dick slowly, but perfectly inside.

“Yes, ah--" Scott whimpers.  He clutches the wings of Stiles's shoulder blades to hold him close, rut his flushed, heavy dick against his belly.  Wraps his legs around Stiles's and digs in.  “‘S perfect.  So good," he says, words slurred and sex-drunk. 

In his ear, Stiles is choking back his own moans, quivering with effort as he slowly rocks into Scott in even, measured thrusts.  It must be taking all his self-control to stay steady; Scott's sympathetic. 

With a great deal of effort, Scott flips them.  Stiles gazes up at him with eyes so wide and glassy, it's as if he's the one doped up on deadly sex dust and not Scott.  Stiles's hands fly to Scott's hips, clutching him.  His nails are delicious pin-pricks where they dig in.  Scott start fucking himself on Stiles's cock, bouncing as fast as he can manage.

“Scott, ah, Scott," Stiles says.  He slips a hand up Scott's flexing abs, pinches his nipples.  Scott's dick blurts out another dribble of pre-come, leaving shining, wet streaks on Stiles.  Leaning forward, Scott braces himself on his forearms and fucks himself down three times in quick succession before sitting fully on Stiles's fat dick.  Rolls his hips in hitching, dragging circles and revels in the stretch and heft of it inside him, like it's pressing all the air out of him.  Scott thinks he might just stop breathing. 

“Are you close?  I can't last--" Stiles sounds desperate, voice going high and tight like it hasn't since they were 15.  He's gripping Scott's waist hard enough to leave bruises, and Scott wishes so fucking badly that he could.  Scott bites his lip and nods.  Then, Stiles fists his cock, jams his thumb right up against the crown, and Scott's gone. 

He comes harder than the first time, vision going spotty.  He comes and comes and comes, like lightning racing through him, leaving nothing but smoke and ash in its wake.  He doesn't even notice Stiles, in a rare display of strength, tossing him on his back, latching his teeth in Scott's neck, and coming inside him a few, jerking thrusts later.  The force jostles him, knocking him a few inches up the bed, and Scott hears himself, distantly, letting out hitching little whimpers with each one.  The sensation of Stiles's come inside him is like nothing he's ever felt before--the heat of it bleeding over from the inside out.  Already, he feels it soothing the flames of the powder, balm to a wound.  His mother’s hand on a feverish forehead. 

Stiles collapses on top of him with a little oof, and as much as Scott wants to wrap his arms around him, his whole body feels heavy.  It's like the time he and Stiles smoked weed freshman year--like he's sinking through the mattress, through the floor, through the earth.  The only thing keeping him here is Stiles's lips against his jaw, and Stiles's hands petting his sweaty curls. 

“How're you feeling?" Stiles asks, breath tickling. 

Better?" Scott mumbles, trying and failing to get his lips to cooperate with his brain.  “Yeah, good."

“Sorry if I'm squashing you," Stiles says. 

Shaking his head, Scott says, “‘S good."  He sticks his nose in Stiles's hair.  “I like it."

Stiles snorts a laugh, “You're like, sex drunk dude.  It's cute." 

Summoning all his strength, Scott throws an arm across Stiles's waist.  “Thanks, I think?  I love you, like, a lot."

“Yeah, I love you too.  All things deadly sex pollen aside, I’m glad you were my first.”  The tips of Stiles’s ears are pink.

“I’ll make it better for you, next time,” Scott says.  “We can take our time.”

“Next time?” Stiles says, bright as the sun.  

“Yeah,” Scott replies.  Their eyes meet, and Scott smiles.  “I love you.  Of course, next time.”