#and it's the conversation

[depressedtheatrekiddo]

SCREAMING THE NAME OF THE FOREIGNER'S GOD!!

I am back with Hozier gender so while I was vibing with myself I just got this idea <3

I don't know what to say anymore, so anyways I hope you like it ✨💫⭐

. ° — ° — 🕯️ — ° — ° .

Steve Harrington wasn't a person of faith, nobody listened to their prays and screams, nobody helped her when he needed it.

So she only believed in themselves, only trusted his own strength to get out of her problems and used their bitchy attitude to hide and protect himself.

But now that their body was all bloody, forgotten and laying down on the floor of that damned dimension or whatever word the kiddos said. Now that they couldn't get up, her mind buzzy and cloudy, he tried to keep himself up and regulate her own breathing.

He already knowed she was going to die before going back there, they made her mind up, he understood what was going to happen and they already was in peace with it.

But now she was scared as fuck. He heard somewhere lost on their memory “Hey Steve, did you OD over there?” and the only thing she could feel about his body was the tears that rolled down their bruised face, mixing with blood.

And then she also remembered Dustin, Max, Erica and the rest of their kids.

Who would protect them?

Anybody could take care of them, but who would protect them? That was Steve's job. He had to do it. And now they left them alone.

The crying made his breathing irregular, they felt like choking, she couldn't. Not now.

Could someone talk with death? Could someone as stupid with that much bullshit on their veins convince death to let them live?

So they remembered.

And maybe it was pathetic. Very desperate from his part.

But it was all she had. So he hold into it.

“Pick a god and pray to it, it's all you can do now” they heard Erica when she was the DM of a campaign the kids did on summer.

So he did. They searched on his memory and found someone with blurry name, she didn't remember, and it didn't matter. The thing was she could see it.

Please, please— Let me get out or make it stop—

Because at least, if she had to die he wanted to make it end, but they couldn't kill themselves. He swear that to Robin five hundred nights ago.

“You can rest in peace soldier, I got ya from now on” And that voice sounded like music, not Steve usual taste, not pop or jazz, it was a little rougher, like a whisper but very loud.

Fuck it, he didn't know what it was but it make their bones tingle.

And they closed their eyes.

There was dark and then light. Her wounds covered in a rare thing, like slime or some weird shit. Keeping out the slime thingy, he was comfortable, like in a cloud, covered in silk and laying on a fluffly mattress. Dark sheets covering their body.

They couldn't see shit thought, her eyes didn't react at first, and he got scared. If they got blind who was he supposed to help?

The bats didn't got their eyes. He think so.

She tried to touch his eyes. He stopped scared to find a hole. Their hand stopped on their cheeks, touched little cuts.

“Your eyes are okay, you just been awake for a long time, I thought you would sleep a little bit more now that your body needed it.” That was the same voice he heard before.

“Am I dead?” Steve voice was a little shaky as she talked.

“You're not, just almost” The voice answered and Steve felt the weight of someone that just sat next to them on the bed.

“Can I ask for your name?”

“It's been a while since someone like you prayed for me” The voice told instead of answering.

“I do not believe in nothing” Steve muttered.

“I know” The owner of the voice had a smile on it face, if it had a face.

“Then why—?”

“Because you're just so—” The voice stopped, Steve sweared they could feel a smile “I’m Eddie”

“That's not your name” Steve whispered.

He heard the voice, Eddie, laughing.

“No, it's not” It stopped talking. “But it's my name for you, you must know I cannot reveal my real name”

“I know” She smiled softly. “What are your pronouns Eddie?”

“Oh, it and he are cool for me. What about you soldier? I don't think I got your name either”

“I go by Steve and Stevie depending on the day, they/she/he pronouns”

“Noted down”

“You probably knew it before I told you”

“You're right”

“How does it feel to die?”

“I don't know”

“You do, you were dead”

“I'm a god Stevie, I cannot die”

“Being a god makes you dead”

“Why?”

“Because you can be forgotten, that's worse than being death”

There was silence. Neither of them talked.

“You weren't forgotten”

“I know”

“They are probably planning to search for you”

“I know”

“You matter, and they wouldn't forget you, even if you died”

Silence again.

“Can I open my eyes?”

“You can try it”

“I'm scared to open them”

“Why?”

“Because I might not see”

“I can't clear your vision if you don't” Eddie muttered. “But I'll be here”

“Can I know what you're the god of?” Steve muttered.

“I guess, I can tell you just one of my many specialities” It said.

“Tell me then”

“I'm a minor god it probably isn't—”

“You told me I matter, so tell me”

“Theater”

“Sounds good”

They remembered the few times he went to a theater when she was little, to see his aunt singing. He liked aunt Lyria, she was kind and had a good voice.

Steve wanted to go see an opera again when they could get out of there.

“It is, beautiful, precious” Steve felt his smile and decided they wanted to try to see it with her own eyes.

So he tried. Their vision was still a little cloudy, maybe she just needed their glasses.

“Hi”

“Hey” Eddie smiled, and this time Steve saw it.

Maybe Steve Harrington didn't have faith in no one but themselves, but she was grateful, and keeping alive a god with their prays wasn't that bad.

Maybe he didn't believe in godness, but he did believe in goodness.

And it save them.

Maybe he believed in Eddie, not as a god, but as in Eddie.

In a “this is my name for you” way.

Maybe their eyes weren't seeing before and they are now.

. ° — ° — 🕯️ — ° — ° .

Hihi!! ⭐

Hope you like it <3 Just one thing before you go, you know the line "pick a god and pray" is something I had noted down on my notebook for storytelling, but I remember getting it from Pinterest or something, so if you know from who is it or something so I can give credits(?)

That's it!! Thanks for reading!! 💗

[lesbianpoetess]

ao3 turns 15 today

reblog if youre older than ao3

(there's a lot of people asking about this, but the legal age to use social media is 13, except in few countries. so yes, there are people here under 15)

[cronchy-baguette]

I promise

[beebfreeb]

Messaging people for the first time is so hard. What am I supposed to say? Like, "You seem really odd and your blog intrigues me. Do you want to have philosophical conversations or perhaps talk about fictional characters?" What! Whatever. I will just follow you back and stare at your blog with my big beautiful brown eyes.

[siegecraft]

i know it's hard. but i so firmly believe the strongest antidote to loneliness is reaching out first. and continuing to reach out. again and again and again. excise any scrap of shame you hold about being the person who texts first or pitches the plan or asks to get lunch. everyone is tired and busy and struggling. and afraid of feeling unwanted and unimportant. don't let the people you love feel that way. reach out first. don't be a ghost in your own life.

[oldtvandcomics]

HEY GUYS!!

GUYS!!!

FRANCE HAS REACHED THE REQUIRED NUMBER OF SIGNATURES ON THE CITIZEN'S INITIATIVE AGAINST CONVERSION THERAPY IN THE EU!!

ONE COUNTRY DOWN, SIX TO GO!!

We also need still quite a few signatures in order to reach the one million required.

As to date, the six other countries with the most signatures are:

Spain - 38.72%

Finland - 30.31%

Ireland - 24.86%

Netherlands - 24.15%

Germany - 23.54%

Belgium - 23.09%

So yeah, still a long way to go, but we ARE slowly getting closer. Don't stop now! Don't let this stay within the community, either, if you have any friends or family who are open to queer rights, get them to sign, too!

[oneirocartographer]

if tumblr explodes you can address a letter to my url and place it in any hollow log. to be clear i will not receive it. but it is an action you can take

[whaledocboi]

ai generated images make me increasingly sad and tired the more i see them in more and more casual contexts. i dont know how to explain, but it just fills the world with a bunch of nothing. no matter how visually stunning the pictures might be, there's nothing behind it for me. no dedication, no emotions, no feelings, no hard work or creativity, nothing i can truly think about, admire or enjoy. i dont think thats how art is supposed to be

[runawaymarbles]

The midjourney stuff just reminds of when we were trying to find a new platform to host the ao3 donation form, and companies kept trying to tell me about all their "ai" features that would track donor engagement, and figure out the optimal pattern to email individual donors asking for follow up donations, and all the ways they suggest we manipulate people into staying on our websites. It was a great way to filter out who either wasn't listening to us when we described our ethics and donor base, or just didn't believe us.

Now granted ao3 is a unique case based on a) the amount of page views we get in any given time period and b) the fact that most donors absolutely do Not want to be identified as such anywhere, (the default "list of recent donors" module got nuked Immediately) but it surprised me some that the concept of "donors who value their privacy and would be furious at even the whiff of AI" is unique. Some of us really are just existing in different worlds.

[twinliches]

while i was trying to wade through the large amounts of people trying to leave the central subway station, everyone abruptly came to a halt in front of the subway turnstiles. two french girls had misunderstood the tap-out process, and one of them was now stuck behind the gate. as i was wracking my brain on how to explain the tap-in tap-out process of the milan metro to both of them with my rudimentary french while they both got increasingly upset at the closed gate between them, a young teenager suddenly pushed me to the side.

i was just about to give him my most scathing disgruntled glare when he took out his ticket and, after realizing they had no common language, started gesticulating wildly in front of the french girl left behind. he pointed at the ticket, then at her, and very seriously said: “on three, we go.” she nodded, and after he counted to three, holding up his fingers so there could be no confusion, they sprinted through the gate together, giggling profusely afterwards as if they had just pulled off the heist of the century,

it was just a small moment during the morning commute. but i realized then and there that the time i had spent trying to intellectualize the problem and wondering if my lack of language skills would be awkward the situation could have already been resolved. and that while i had been mad about being pushed aside, the teenager got it exactly right: no questions, no fear or shyness, just direct action to help where you can and rushing there to do so. i think about him every time now when i run to lift someone’s pram or ask a lost looking person if they need my help despite the fear of being rude. on three, we go.

[rachel-sez]

Standing in a checkout line, when an older man asks me about my Goncharov t-shirt. I say "It's a movie, " when the person behind me chimes in, "Oh, yes, Scorsese."

The original gentleman goes on to tell me about the author Goncharov, his favorite of his novels, and a famous character from one of the novels. The three of us discuss whether the main character in the movie is intentionally named after the author, referencing that character, or whether it just sounded good to the film maker. We discuss how steeped the movie is in symbology.

Two of us are having a very different conversation than the third.

[beepboopappreciation]

Is this anything

[feluka]

if you moralize to people in the global south about piracy youre going to hell btw. no atonement no take backsies. guaranteed hell forever permanently.

[wardensantoineandevka]

is that piece of media actually bad, or is it just not following the blueprint you projected onto it? is that work actually not good, or are you just demanding something from it that is absolutely antithetical to its themes, genre, tone, and narrative goal? is that story actually poorly written, or do you just dislike that it is not the specific things you wanted from it that it never set out to be, never was, and never is going to become? is it actually bad, or is it actually well-executed and you just dislike the story it chose to be because it isn't catering to your specific desires and expectations?