#as far as the first ask goes it's like...

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

big question. i'm cis (afab) and my gf is trans (amab) and i'm sorta having a hard time reconciling something. i've been a hard line feminist since i was about 8, by 12 i was a practical library on everything and anything womens lib. i'm spending a lot more time around trans people especially my gf now and i'm sorta struggling to reconcile the trans experience with my feminism. like- i'll see trans women being like "i hate my body :(" "my voice is awful" "i need [x thing to try to pass] ugh" and like my first thought is always "NO! THATS HOW THEY FUCKING GET YOU!!! THE PATRIARCHY WANTS YOU TO HATE YOURSELF SO YOU ENSLAVE YOURSELF TO CAPITALISM AND LIVE IN A CONSTANT STATE OF NEED FOR NEW PRODUCTS TO WARD OFF THE EVER PRESENT SELF HATRED BROUGHT ON YOU BY SOCIETY" and they go "well then how do i pass/transition?" and i honestly don't know and i also don't know how far it goes before its no longer dysphoria but instead the intentional subjugation of women by patriarchy for profit. i wanna help my fellow ladies but i honestly don't know how to like- apply the feminism i was taught as a child to trans women and i want to learn as soon as possible so that i can start doing it like yesterday

hi there,

I'll be honest: if it feels hard to apply the feminism you learned as a kid to your trans friends, that's probably because the feminism you were taught didn't have trans woman in mind.

luckily, the answer to this is something that I consider to be feminism 101: what a woman does with her body is, ultimately, her fucking business.

listen: I agree with you that the beauty industry(TM) is evil. it's misogynistic, it's exploitative, it thrives by making women feel bad enough about themselves to make them spend money on shit they don't need, etc. we all know this.

now, having said that: women who like makeup or wear heels or get laser hair removal or whatever other asinine thing are not my oppressor, nor are they my enemy. dare I say, we have bigger problems.

we also need to consider that many trans women are coming to these choices from a VERY different place than many cis women are. while I think my fellow cis women really benefit from reminders that they're allowed to stop shaving or wearing eyeliner or dieting or whatever, that's because most of us have had those actions forced on us from very young ages and may genuinely need a hand to feel secure breaking out of those behaviors.

the majority of trans women are not coming from a background where they were encouraged to partake in the same personal grooming habits and modes of presentation as cis women; many of them have, in fact, been ostracized, bullied, threatened, and otherwise hurt because of forays into forms of presentation that are considered feminine. no matter how good your intentions may be, approaching your advice indelicately can, unfortunately, make you come across as no different than any transphobe on the street trying to enforce cisnormative societal expectations. it also must be said that, for many trans women, the ability to "pass" is a matter of security - for having their status as women recognized at all, and to avoid harassment and abuse in public spaces. if you live in America, like I do, politicians in power currently have an extremely explicit anti-trans agenda that can make it harrowing to be visible as a trans person, and trans women in particular are frequently targeted for violence.

there are absolutely critiques to be made the way the many trans women are expected to perform hyperfemininity. the notion that someone is duty bound to drastically change their appearance in order to transition at all is itself extremely rooted in cisnormativity, and "passing" is often contingent on being young, thin, able-bodied, reasonably wealthy, and hewing as closely to Eurocentric standards of beauty as possible. that's not awesome! but that's also not the fault of any individual; no trans person asked to be born into a world where gender norms are so narrow and failing to pass can come with a very real risk of physical danger.

also, if I can circle back to this: again, women who participate in aspects of the beauty industry are not our enemies. there are always going to be some number of women who enjoy doing their makeup or like spending time fussing over their little outfits or want breast implants or whatever. some of those women are going to be trans. my official feminist stance on this is that I don't give a shit, because I believe in bodily autonomy even when it involves things I would not do personally and the choices that individual women make about how they want to style their little meat body don't even crack the top 100 things that I'm worried about right now. it's actually kind of vitally important, politically, that trans people be able to safely pursue their preferred gender expression; while it's not particularly revolutionary for a cis woman to go outside all dolled up, whether a trans woman can do that safely is a pretty basic litmus test for how safe a given space is for queer people. it's a ridiculously low bar, and many places will still fail to clear it.

so, yeah, I don't know, dude. be there to talk to your trans girlies if they want to start unpacking some of the pressure they feel to conform to a very rigid idea of womanhood, but whether or not they can walk down the street in your neighborhood safely is a WAY bigger issue than whether they decide to do voice training or not.

if you really want to cut to the root of the insecurity and vulnerability that the beauty industry thrives on exploiting, your time is much better spent working to ensure the trans women in your life feel safe and supported and have a community where they can find support regardless of how they look.

necessary disclaimer I'm a cis girl, any transfemme folks please share your voice here and feel free to clap my ass if I've said something out of line.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, no curse au, dead dove, violence described including murder, dark romance, use of y/n, descriptions of mental illness.

Synopsis: Sukuna’s talking to his therapist in jail about you. He’s incarcerated because of you, and his obsession is concerning.

An: Yeah idk i thought of this while I was driving to work one morning.

Session one.

His large frame laid lazily over the couch, clad in an orange jumpsuit. He had his feet propped up on one side, and his head was propped up on the other side in a far too casual manner. His naturally pink hair pushed up near the front, messily so.

He was still cuffed and shackled, but the therapist was still afraid of him. To the therapist’s credit, he had read the warrant that went into viscous detail of Sukuna’s crimes.

Normally, the therapist wouldn’t read the inmates warrants due to situations like these. He liked going into sessions with an open mind, but he had gotten warnings about Sukuna… how the man can fly into a blind rage like a switch on the wall.

He was brutal, unforgivable, inhumane.

Simple counseling wasn’t going to “fix” a broken human like Sukuna. The therapist knew this, but the state mandated that Sukuna undergo weekly counseling sessions per his sentence.

Sukuna could taste the therapist’s fear, and he let out an earnest laugh. “You don’t even want to try to fix me, do you?” He asked tauntingly with a lopsided grin. “I don’t blame you. Don’t feel bad~”

The therapist swallowed the lump in his throat, and he adjusted in his seat. “I can’t fix anyone… Counseling isn’t about fixing.. It’s about moving forward and learning how to live.”

“Bullshit.” Sukuna spits with shrug. “Counseling is about focusing on the past and letting shit hang you up for far too long. I guarantee you that you’re going to ask me about how I got here, is that right?”

The therapist is shaking like a leaf at this point. “Our past can help us navigate to a better future.” He murmured out weakly.

Sukuna roars in laughter, causing the therapist to nearly jump out of his seat. The pink-haired felon doubles over as he laughs hysterically. “You’re a funny guy. Fine. You really want to know how I got here? I’ll tell you.”

After a deep breath and wiping away a fake tear, Sukuna goes on, “You know, teachers always believe that pairing the troubled kids up with the good kids will inspire them to act right. That shit never works.”

“I think that’s when my ‘type’ developed. My bitch of a second-grade teacher assigned me to sit next to this frail meek girl after I got in trouble one too many times for terrorizing the other kids. She was a real stick in the mud.” Sukuna laughs fondly, a rare genuine smile on his face.

“Y/n?” The therapist asks, remembering your name from the warrants.

Sukuna’s red eyes snap over to the therapist with an almost predatory gaze. His hands visibly curl into fists. “Say her name again, and I’ll splatter your blood all over this room. The officers won’t be able to pry me from you, deeming you to be a lost cause.”

The therapist freezes as the breath hitches in his throat. His eyes dart toward his panic button, knowing he should probably press it now, but he’s frozen in fear.

“We’ll call her mouse.” Sukuna goes on as if he didn’t just threaten the poor guy’s life in brutal detail.

“Mouse was a real challenge. I for some reason made it my mission to get her to talk to me, but she always stayed silent — only answering me with simple head gestures.” He laughs again, lying his head back further as he’s replaying the memories in his mind. He can remember you vividly and how you looked back then. He yearns for that feeling again. The feeling of seeing you for the first time.

“I can’t exactly tell you when the challenge started to border obsession, but she slowly slithered her way into my brain. Even when I wasn’t in school, I thought about her. I wondered what she sounded like, wondered why she wouldn’t talk to me, wondered why she looked at me like that.”

The therapist furrows his eyebrows. Even though he doesn’t feel safe in this session, and he doesn’t trust Sukuna at all, he has a hunger for knowledge, and he loves solving things that have to do with the human psyche.

“Looked at you like what?” The therapist dared to ask.

Sukuna stayed silent for a moment, and he tapped his finger against the back of his hand. His face hardened as he found the words he was looking for. “She looked at me like she had no preconceived notion of me. Her eyes… were so big and round. Even though she didn’t talk to me, it was like she accepting of my presence.”

The shackles jingled as Sukuna rubbed his face in a stressed gesture. Remembering you was like a double edged sword. He loved thinking about you, but he hated being reminded that he was without you.

The therapist eased in his chair. There was actual emotions underneath all those tattoos, thick skin, and muscle. The media had portrayed Sukuna as a complete narcissistic sociopath, but this was proof that diagnosis was false.

“I bothered the shit out of her for years, continually getting myself paired up with her.” Sukuna grinned, shifting the conversation back in a direction that he was more comfortable with, “I remember those asshole kids always called me her shadow because I followed her everywhere. Jokes on them.”

The therapist shivered as be remembered a chilling detail from the warrants. Each time a victim was found, a message was written in the victim’s blood.

-ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ

His victim’s - their deaths were like an homage to you.

“Were the kids ever… assholes to mouse?”

Sukuna’s jaw visibly tightened. He loathed this therapist’s questions… thinking he knew everything just because you and Sukuna were misunderstood kids.

“They called her weird for not talking.” Sukuna recalled as he bit his inner cheek. His eyes glared to the wall in front of him. “Now look at who can’t talk.”

Sukuna’s first victim. He didn’t start out with murder. He started out with stapling your bullies mouth shut for taunting you. Everything was for you. Everything.

He held a kid down to the teacher’s in third grade, grabbing a stapler, and he pressed it down one by one into the kids lips, binding them together. The kid couldn’t scream or cry for help, or else he’d risk ripping the flesh on his lips.

The teachers found the kid and immediately knew the only kid sadistic enough to go through with such an act was none other than Sukuna.

“Did mouse witness you do that?” The therapist asked, genuinely intrigued by Sukuna’s narrative. For being a ruthless criminal, he was a wonderful historian.

“No. Why would I scare her like that?” Sukuna’s voice was tense as he eyed the therapist carefully, as if he was waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

The therapist clicks his tongue in surprise, and he looks like a deer in headlights. “Scare? No.. no, I thought you’d maybe just show off what you did for her.”

“I’m not the type to show off.” Sukuna answers flatly, and the therapist wonders if that’s the first time Sukuna’s lied during this session. He knows that Sukuna likes to show off. The warrants prove it.

“Anyways, I wore her down over the years. She didn’t speak to me until we were in sixth grade.” An eerie smile curls on Sukuna’s lip. “I can still remember her first word to me and how she said it…”

The therapist leaned in, curiosity getting best of him.

Sukuna smirks, knowing he has the therapist interested now. “Her first word to me was a plea. A word to show her undeniable want. Her first word to me was please.”

Bang! Bang Bang!

The therapist literally flinches out of his chair from the heavy knocks at the door.

“Ryomen! Your time is up!” The officer yelled on the other side of the door.

“Pity. I was beginning to have fun.” Sukuna remarked as he stood up from the couch. The shackles jingled as he walked toward the door, and the door buzzed, letting him out. “See you next week, doc.”

[felassan]

David Gaider on Kieran, under a cut for length:

"CHARACTERS - DAY TWO: Kieran (Technically this is an addendum to yesterday, but I make the rules here so nyah!) Heading into DAI, I had a bite-sized problem on my hands. I knew Morrigan would feature. I also knew we were importing previous choices. So now I had to contend with: the Old God Baby. Here's the thing about honouring previous game choices, from a design perspective: it's a sucker's game. What many fans picture, when you mention it, is divergent *plot* -- the story changes path based on those major choices. How exciting! But you will never be able to deliver divergent plot. You can deliver flavour differences (usually in the form of divergent dialogue), character swaps (character X appears instead of Y), and extra content (such as a side quest) -- but plot branching, particularly the critical path? It's a question of resources, and there's never enough to go around. "Here Lies the Abyss" in DAI was about as good as it gets, and even that was a far cry from how I originally pictured it (hello last-minute insert of Stroud when a DAO Warden import got cut). The Old God Baby was one of the main choices from DAO -- Morrigan has a baby? With the Archdemon's soul?! Most DAO players who flagged that choice surely expected *monumental* consequences. World-shaking consequences! And we talked about it. We did. There were, like, three different designs of the DAI ending where OGB Kieran could cause complete divergence: new path, cutscenes, the whole nine yards. But it wasn't going to happen. It was a decision from *two games ago* that only a small minority (hello telemetry) would even choose. To the rest, they probably neither knew about it nor cared... so how many resources could you invest? To do what? Set up an even bigger divergence for the NEXT game? The other writers acknowledged my anxiety with a grim nod every time it came up, but they had no solutions. Finally, I realized there WAS a solution, and that was changing how I thought about the choice: don't make it about Kieran. The players don't know him, never have. Make it about Morrigan. Thus began a feverish three days where I wrote probably the most complicated scene of my career: Morrigan's reckoning with Flemeth in DAI and the fallout after. Three different versions (OGB Kieran, non-OGB Kieran, and no Kieran), each with branching for other choices (like the Well of Sorrows). I did it all at once. There was no other way to wrap my head around the complexity of it. It was also a tough sell to the team, considering the amount of cinematics work, but they agreed we had to do *something*. And still it felt... underwhelming, insofar as divergence goes. But it was also good. I remember when I first spoke with Claudia, about how this was Morrigan's story. This was about how motherhood had changed her, how she'd grown up. Claudia got a bit teary-eyed. It was a journey she was familiar with, she said. Her first son, Odin, had been born in 2005 not long after DAO came out. And, man, she killed with that performance! Kate, too, but I'll get to her later. Claudia dug down, and that scene where Morrigan tells Flemeth she'll never be the mother Flemeth was to her? That came from someplace very raw. It was devastating to witness in the booth. There were tears all around. Not long after, Claudia called and asked if maybe - just maybe - Odin could play Kieran? He was a bit young (not yet 5, then), but it felt... right? We agreed. Claudia was in the booth, gently coaching him through his lines, and I think that was the first moment I felt I'd done the right thing."

[source thread]

User: "Do you find it an odd choice that Kieran hasn’t been mentioned at all in Veilguard?" David Gaider: "If there’s less reactivity in DATV, I’m unsurprised. Continuing choice from up to 3 games earlier is… unsupportable. Yet DA established the expectation they would so… damned if you do, damned if you don’t?" [source]

User: "EA is one of the biggest game companies ever. I don't think more complex diverging plots are impossible." David Gaider: "Well, if only more writing was all it took. Sadly, it's also cinematics. Art time for all those reappearing characters you probably want to look *just* right. And let's not forget we have to test all those permutations! So I don't disagree with you in spirit, but I don't think it's the answer here." [source]

User: "is there a possibility of future kieran appearances in a book or something similar outside of the games?" David Gaider: "I'd have no way of knowing that." [source]

User: "I’m actually shocked so little people chose the dark ritual. That was basically the main reason Flemeth sent Morrigan with the wardens, no?" David Gaider: "The impression you get of what "most" players do - in almost any game, not just DA - is very different if you're online a lot. Consider here that it's not just the % of DAO players who chose the Dark Ritual, it's the % of DAI players WHO PLAYED DAO and cared to import that choice 5 years later." [source]

User: "Is there anything you wish you had done differently, in hindsight?" David Gaider: "Probably just to not ever do importing choices between games in the first place." [source]

User: "Kieran only existed in my DAI state b/c Morrigan as a mother really appealed to me. I wasn't expecting to be devastated by those scenes 😭 I guess when we complain about lack of consequences from prev choices in DAV we must also ask how MUCH are we willing to pay for those branches to exist?" David Gaider: "That's indeed it. Content directed towards reactivity would have to come from somewhere else. So essentially a shorter game overall for the sake of those hardcore fans who'd import - who would, I imagine, REALLY enjoy that... but it's a tough cost/benefit analysis to make." [source]

User: "mr gaider im gonna keep it real with you if i had to choose between my hof and hawke i would've simply passed away" David Gaider: "Right? That was the ENTIRE idea! I was very excited, and for a while it seemed possible." [source]

User: "This has been a very interesting read but I have to ask why they decided to use Stroud instead of the HoF" David Gaider: "1) Complexity of providing means for a player to build a Warden (which they did in DATV for the Inquisitor). Also spoiled the surprise. 2) We’d have needed to give the Warden a voice. Add these to the cost and it was deemed not worth it." [source]

User: "Genuine question, not a critique - but what made the OGB decision one that couldn't be handwaved as canon no matter what was or wasn't chosen? Leliana and Flemeth being around no matter what come to mind. Was OGB simultaneously too major and too minor of a decision?" David Gaider: "Flemeth and Leliana being alive were easily explainable, and we knew we were doing it even back then. Circumventing the Dark Ritual… that would be too cheap. We did talk about it, but it just felt too dishonest. Too high a price for what we’d get in return." [source]

David Gaider: "If I’d known the Well of Sorrows would only see reactivity in the confrontation with Flemeth, I’d probably have made a much bigger deal of it." [source]

David Gaider: "We could maybe have gotten past the need to "reconstruct" the Warden, much like the Inquisitor was reconstructed in DATV (so I understand), but the need to give the Warden a voice was the final nail. Too potentially disappointing for the very people who'd be excited about it, aside from the cost." [source]

[girlsloveupdates]

GL airing in 2025 (so far)

Only You (original plot)

The series mixes action and adventure, with Tawan, a bodyguard in charge of protecting Ira. The romance between them grows amid threats and dangerous situations, creating a plot full of action and emotion. (summarised by @lesbicine)

Watch the official teaser here.

The Dragon House (novel adapted)

The Dragon House tells the story of Fei Long, heiress to the feared Dragon Fire Gang, who needs to form an alliance with Wang Li Ming, the successor of the Jade Lion Gang. Together, the two face rivalries and tensions, and the chemistry between them promises to heat up the plot. (summarised by @lesbicine)

Watch the official teaser here.

Buy My Boss (novel adapted)

Recent graduate Manfan is facing numerous problems: her family's bankrupt; she's been dumped; everything's gone downhill, dragged down to the abyss. Wanting nothing more than some release, she hires an enchanting escort named Araya who reassures her that good things are coming. Who would have thought that later, when she takes on an important job, would she meet her boss Issara, and would come to learn that Araya and Issara are one and the same?

Watch the official teaser here.

Us (novel adapted)

Dokrak decides to take a gap year to find herself after finishing high school. She has a part-time job at a coworking space coffee shop. It's here that she crosses paths with dentistry student Pam who’s a regular at the café to hit the books. As she gets to know Pam, Dokrak develops a crush. When her brother, however, meets Pam, he falls for her at first sight. Kawi turns to Dokrak, asking her to play matchmaker. Because she loves him and wants to see him happy, Dokrak begins coaching him. As time goes on, however, she finds herself unable to ignore her growing feelings for Pam. Before she knows it, she's fully in love and Pam is Kawi's girlfriend.

Watch the official teaser here.

Reverse With Me (novel adapted)

Amid the intricate waltz of time, Kliaokhluen's life was spared seven years ago by a mysterious medical student Karan who possesses the power to manipulate time. Saved from the brink of death, Kliaokhluen found her life purpose, yet the only remnant of her savior was a name. Haunted by an unfulfilled connection, Kliaokhluen embarks on a relentless quest for Karan. She pursues a medical degree to follow in the footsteps of her enigmatic savior until fate takes an unexpected turn when, amidst the frantic urgency of the emergency room, their paths converge once more. Karan emerges, not as a fellow student but as a cold and distant cardiothoracic surgeon. Kliaokhluen, now a seasoned sixth-year medical student, struggles to bridge the gap, yearning for acknowledgment and understanding. As the lines between past and present blur, secrets unfold, revealing a complex accident from years ago and the icy demeanor of the woman who holds the key to Kliaokhluen's unanswered questions. Will Karan remain indifferent, refusing to recognize her unique ability to control time, or will their intertwined destinies finally unravel?

Watch the official trailer here.

Shades (original plot)

The series takes place in a chaotic all-girls school. The students, who are expected to be well-behaved, are rebellious and break the rules.

Watch the official teaser here.

No Romeo (original plot)

The series follows two friends. As their feelings evolve, financial and family issues come into play, bringing complication and depth to their relationship.

I’m Your Moon (novel adapted)

In the Buddhist year 2456 (1913), social rank and tradition bars the love between two princesses. Her Serene Highness Princess Phiangrawi and Her Serene Highness Princess Sasinapha are like sun and moon; they may never exist side by side. Nevertheless, their unfulfilled love and heart's wishes weave them a path back to each other. By the Buddhist year 2564 (2021), a new era has dawned when they fall back into one another's orbits. Katsakorn and Athitthan happen to meet and love blossoms in their hearts once more. The path to love, however, is never easy. The two must join hands to fight for it. Even without the veil of tradition barring them, the treacherous tale from the past still has a hold on their present.

Let’s Kick This Love (original plot)

The plot follows two main characters in an action-packed, adventure-filled story, with Senam in the cast, playing an important role in the plot. (summarised by @lesbicine)

Stuck With Me (novel adapted)

The plot revolves around Maitree and ManMek. One of them has the ability to stop time for 10 minutes. The plot mixes romance and mystery, with a good dose of tension, as the professional issues of both generate emotional complexity and the control of time can bring dramatic twists and turns. (summarised by @lesbicine)

Clairebell (novel adapted)

Belle Lalita was arrested on drug possession charges, even though the drugs weren’t hers. However, with the overwhelming evidence against her, her lawyer argued that there was no chance of winning the case, even if they fought it. Reluctantly, the young woman accepted her fate and stepped into prison, sentenced to fifteen months. However, life inside prison for Belle was far from peaceful as she had expected. She became a target of a powerful group within the prison, a group so influential that even the warden turned a blind eye to their actions due to mutual benefits. Belle had no other choice. Her last hope for survival lay with Claire, known as "Nineteen Scars," a notorious inmate whom no one dared approach. Amidst the storm of her life, while being confined and stripped of her freedom, Belle gradually began to feel the kindness hidden within Claire. Similarly, Claire started to learn how to empathize with others through Belle. "Love" slowly blossomed behind the towering prison walls, despite the increasing obstacles from both the powers within the prison and the outside world that had not been completely severed.

Somewhere, Somehow (novel adapted)

A hilarious and heartbreaking love story about a talented female engineer and her beautiful, fierce, and brutal female vice president that will make you smile, laugh, and cry with it.

[factual-fantasy]

27 Asks! Thank you!!! :}} 🐗

@sillyandquest

I really want to show them off but I also really don't want people to steal/use them <:( I've had too much of that recently..

Also thank you!! :)))))

@ocinstit

I'm not sure what you're asking.. <:0 So far he's only seen her in her security guard uniform if that what you meant! No Vanny costume yet.

@platinumsun490

WWAAAAHGHG THANK YOU!!! :DDDDD

:DDD Thank you! I'm glad to hear you like how I do my asks! Also I hope you have a better time in the fandom than I did 😅

I have not played it or seen a play through yet <:00

(My cookie run ocs)

Thank you <:) The doctors believe they've found what it is and now its a matter of trying to treat it..

Also AAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDD What inspired me to make them was seeing other people making pirate cookie OCs and all the beautiful and creative designs everyone had. It made me want to make some of my own! :}}

As for how I designed them, I'm afraid its a process I cant really explain.. I just kind'a slapped things together and tweaked them until I was satisfied. Although I kept in mind that I wanted all of them to look different. So if I accidentally game 2 of them the same shaped shirt collars, I'd go back and change it on one of them :00 I think that con

Now, some information...

Well, the first thing that came to mind is Blue Beauty's lore change! :00 I changed it so she came from the same ocean that Star Coral cookie is from! So her redesign will be very space themed...👀👀

And lastly, thank you so much! I hope tomorrow goes well for you too! :))

@captain-skyler1987

LSKJFKSFSKDFSK

@avaveevo

She's pretty much the same as she is in canon, minus a few dialogue charges :0

@lycaran

DARK CACAOOOOOOO 😭😭💞💞💞💞

@ozzytheplushiemonster (XDD Its okay, I was late too)

I present to you!,

A barrel of redvines! :))

@smithanonsworld

I wanna pet it so bad <:'((((

@misscherrypie

AWWW I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH 😭😭💞💞💞

Man, for their own sakes the Autobots shouldn't study most of our history 💀

@palettepainter

The main thing I thought of for my Metagross is that his four brains are slightly out of sync. And when he talks there are four voices talking at once in slightly different tones. Sometimes when he gets really anxious or frustrated the voices will say different things entirely :( the poor guys..

As for my Queenie, yes! She has major mom vibes :))

Thank you very much <:)) you guys' comments have been very comforting during this time 😭💞💞

(Worm post)

XD Well I'm glad you liked the drawing! :))))

@thesweetdevilsamantha

:DDD Thank you!! :)))))

@londontragedies

WAAGG THANK TOOU SO MUCH!!! 😭😭💞💞💞💞

XD aww! What a cute draWHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WERE ACCUSED OF BLOWING UP A PIRATE SHIP?

@dreamweave01

Thank you so much!! :DDDD And tbh I don't think I can just claim an art style.. If you want to to replicate my art style once or twice purely for the sake of a learning exercise, then who am I to stop you? That's what I did to learn too :0

@r4iri0ts

I've been hanging in there as best I can.. I'm still unwell and these past few days have been really bad so I'm trying to take it easy. Hoping that this will all blow over soon😔

Thank you <:))) I'm hoping this is over soon!

Pirates have become my favorite thing to dress as for Halloween. But I gotta say, your costume is much funnier XDD

@cat7890

I am scared and also confused 💀

I'm hanging in there as best I can. Have had some bad health days recently and all the art theft, tracings and new redesign thefts have been the cherry on top. 😔

Also thank you! :D I used to be so nervous about jumping from fandom to fandom, basically asking my followers for permission to do so. I'm so glad I'm out of that headspace and know fully understand that this is MY hobby blog, and I can draw from what ever fandom I want! XDD

Yeah 🥲

[dakota1435]

Moonlight – Vampire!Sylus X Reader ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

word count: 3k

tags: new l&ds character!, mention of alcohol, mention of violence

previous chapters found here!: x

Chapter 7

You awake softly, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. You prop yourself up a bit, trying to come back to reality. The room turns with your vision, a dizzy spell stronger than you’ve ever felt. Quickly, you close your eyes. 

“Ugh…” You groaned quietly. 

 “How are you feeling?” Sylus voice was close to your ear, making you realize he was still next to you in bed. 

“Mhm… dizzy,” you said, noticing how dry your throat felt. Were you really this exhausted? The blood loss must’ve been too much these past two days. You feel Sylus shift around before he presses a cold glass of water against your arm. You smile at the gesture and take the glass before drinking the whole thing. 

“I…shouldn’t have taken from you so soon again,” Sylus said. It seemed like he was choosing his words carefully, slowly. “It’s hard to resist you, sweetie. You tempted me with your neck last night.” He brushed his cool fingers against your neck, tenderly. Your mind recalls every detail from last night, not to mention the ache your hips held. 

“It’s okay…” you spoke quietly. “I wanted you to,” you admitted. That much was obvious. Just recalling the overwhelming feeling of it all could turn you on again, if you weren’t so dizzy and exhausted. 

Over the next week ahead, Sylus is home more often. He doesn’t feed again, or touch you anything more than simple gestures. Although he didn’t show it, you were worried he thought he went too far during your last intimate moments together. But, maybe, he truly didn’t need to feed everyday. Or every other day. It was still difficult trying to figure him out. 

The same routine continued. You never realized how drastic it was no longer having a cellphone on you. But it gives you plenty of time to reflect and observe every detail around you. You started reading, given access to Sylus’ personal library. You asked the twins to get you a plain notebook, along with some writing pens. Since you were going to be here for the time being, it was better for your sanity to start documenting your new life. The twins might tell Sylus what you request, but that doesn’t mean he’ll find your personal journal tucked in a small, hidden space. At least, you hope so. 

…His stare is like ice, yet whenever he speaks it’s different. His words are smooth, honeyed, seductive. His touch sears into me, hot enough to make me melt. It’s hard to understand his true motives. Is this all so I can feel good? So I can forget the pain he inflicts upon his bite? Could there possibly be anything more than that? Between a human and a vampire…

You groan out loud as you hold your face in your hands. Even with writing your thoughts down, it still didn’t make any sense. What were you possibly hoping for, anyways? You close the notebook for now, tucking it back into its secret spot. A knock at your door snaps you out of your overwhelming thoughts.

“Miss? Boss wants to see you in the dining room,” said one of the twins. Luke, you assumed. He goes away without awaiting your response. You’ve learned it wasn’t unusual for Sylus to send someone to fetch you, rather than him coming himself. You sigh, combing your hands through your hair before leaving. The hallways were all familiar to you now, it didn’t feel like a maze anymore. You enter the dining room, noticing in the rare window the sun just went down. It was twilight now. Sylus stood, staring out that window. He doesn’t turn around at your arrival. 

“Come, sit.” He gestures to a large, leather chair next to him. Wordlessly, you go up to the chair and sit. You stare at Sylus, waiting for his next words. He seemed…tense. But it was hard to tell. He finally looks at you and speaks again. “The first time I brought you to an event, it ended up…unpleasant. It would be so easy if I could lock you up forever,” he chuckles darkly. You aren’t sure if he’s truly joking. “...But I need you to accompany me this time.” He looks at you, trying to gauge your response.

“Another…auction?” You asked. You were surprised he even thought about letting you outside after that incident. 

“No. This is much more important. I cannot risk leaving you here, unattended.” His tone was a bit stern. It left you puzzled.

“What? I’m…I’m not going to run, Sylus,” you stated, trying to make your point. He scoffed instead.

“I’m flattered,” he said flatly, “but that’s not what I meant. In a few days, there will be a gathering. A gathering of my kind.” He furrowed his brows a bit.

“Do you not want to go?” You asked cautiously. If he didn’t want you to pry, then that was fine, but clearly something was off. 

He sighs. “It’s significant that I arrive. I’m bringing you because I will not risk some idiot getting to you before I come back. Luke and Kieran will be away for a bit.” You muttered a small ‘oh’, understanding the picture now. To think he’s bringing his human into a den of vampires…is that truly the best idea? But then again, the thought of being alone and defenseless was bad enough. 

“Is it… truly okay I’m there with you?” You asked, feeling uncertain about your presence. Sylus pats your head once. 

“You think I would let anything happen to you? They won’t think twice about looking at you when they know you’re mine. Unfortunately for them, I don’t like sharing.” He walks over to a small desk, sorting through some papers. 

“Would I need to do anything specific?” You asked, trying to imagine what kind of event this could be. You wondered if other humans would be there, whether as a social thing or something worse. 

Sylus walks back over to you, his eyes locking onto yours. “Behave. But I’m sure that’s not a problem.” He smirked, his voice lighter. “It’s simply a formal event. I don’t expect too much. I’ll send some dresses over to you, in the meantime I have more work to catch up on.” With that, Sylus disappears to bury his head in more work. You really didn’t know how he managed it all. 

With ease, a few days pass by quickly. You didn’t hear from Sylus often, especially nothing more on the event. On the day of the event, you find a handful of boxes in your room just as he promised. You feel a tinge of excitement, eager to unbox your new dresses. You pull out a long, sleek satin dress. Its color was like a deep garnet with a lace pattern over the bust and lower waist. It was beautiful and you just had to try it on. You hurry to the bathroom and carefully slip it over yourself. This dress truly hugged your curves, but everything about it was perfect. A part of you worried it was showing off too much skin, but if Sylus didn’t think it was a problem then surely it was okay. 

“Do you like it?” Sylus’ deep voice was close to your ear. You continue to stare at the mirror, now looking at the both of you. Sylus’ eyes roamed over your body.

“Yes it’s…quite exquisite. Thank you,” you said kindly. You give him a soft smile. 

“It’s missing something though,” Sylus said, much to your surprise. Before you could ask, he places something cold around your neck. It was a victorian-style silver choker with a jewel that matched the color of your dress. Sylus clasps it together, before staring at your reflection. “There,” he said, sounding satisfied, “Now they’ll know who you belong to, kitten.” You flush a bit, but find yourself reassured. Sylus takes a step back, his eyes lingering on your back. “You seem tense, why?” Sylus’ question was straightforward. There was nothing you could hide from him. But out of the handful of things you could tell him, you picked one. 

“I’m nervous because I’m unsure what to expect,” you said truthfully. You could only think of so many outcomes of a vampire gathering. Sylus didn’t seem phased by your statement, though.

“Don’t worry, I plan to have you by my side the entire time.” Seems like that’s all you should know. You don’t inquire further, just accept whatever comes your way. You begin to prepare yourself, both mentally and physically. Adorned jewelry decorated on your body, along with the choker Sylus gave you. More like a collar in this situation, you realized. As you finish the final touches of your hair and makeup, you were ready to face it all. 

You both enter the same car you took on your last outing, sitting in the same seats. Once again, it felt absolutely refreshing to be outside again. The back courtyard could only do so much. Something about the air called to you, made you crave more. You unconsciously touch the jewel on your choker, it bringing you some form of comfort. After a long drive, the two of you finally arrive at your destination. It was a large mansion, much like Sylus’. Guests were walking in, some with partners and some without. They were all dressed fancy, exotic almost. 

“Come,” Sylus beckons. He extends his hand out to you, and you take it. He wasn’t kidding when he said he would have you by his side. You were practically glued to him. His arm around your waist was possessive, but protective. You tried to reassure yourself that you were safe in Sylus’ bubble. It was time to truly find out now. 

Upon entering the grand hallway you noticed others taking a step back from Sylus. Eyes trailing as you walk past. You weren’t stupid to not notice such a thing. Some whispered, others looked away entirely. You knew Sylus had immense power, but how much power could he possibly have? Still, you held your chin high. Your gaze never wavered. As you two enter a massive room, a couple people come to greet Sylus. 

“Sylus, sir, we’re grateful for your presence tonight. Who might—” The man addressing Sylus stops mid sentence upon looking at you. His expression is unreadable, and you weren’t sure if you were grateful for that. He suddenly snaps out of his concentration on you and bows. “My deepest apologies. Please, both of you, enjoy tonight to its fullest.” You were surprised to hear him apologize sincerely, not giving you another glance. You feel Sylus fingers touch your side a little deeper, unsure how to define it. 

“It’s quite alright. Thank you,” Sylus said, his words short. You both begin walking away from the man. You try and look up at Sylus, but he continues to stare straight ahead. You already had so many questions. A servant holding a tray of glasses pauses in front of you two, offering. Sylus grabs two glasses, each containing a deep, red liquid. You give him a puzzled look and he smirks in response. 

“What? It’s just wine,” he said, amused by your confusion. “We’re not only allowed to consume blood. We need it to survive though. If it makes you feel better, there are a handful of humans here too.” He takes a sip and licks his lips. The gesture makes you blush a bit. 

“Humans…like me?” You asked, hesitant to say the word ‘pet’. 

“Hmm…a few. But we do business with regular humans as well. You’d be surprised how involved we are in the world today,” he said. You stare back into your glass, trying to convince your brain you weren’t drinking blood. The scene laid out in front of you was beautiful, grand even. Guests were dressed up like royals, their beauty unique yet striking. Light music echoed around you, but you weren’t sure where it was coming from. Everyone chatted and laughed during the conversation, having the time of their lives. It put you at ease a little, to see this was quite a normal, fancy gathering. No blood baths, no rituals. You weren’t looked at like fresh meat, although you couldn’t help notice the awe in some people’s eyes as they tried to glance at you. 

“Sylus…how powerful are you?” You asked, sipping on the wine. It was good, you craved more. Sylus cocks an eyebrow, a bit surprised at your question. 

“And what brought this on?” He asked. 

“Well…I knew you were powerful. But since we’ve been in this place it’s like everyone regards you as a higher being…” You hope that came out right, not wanting to offend him. There was just so much you didn’t know about him. You hear him scoff, for better or for worse.

“I have fought my way to the top. It wasn’t easy…I have always been unlucky,” he admitted. You weren’t exactly expecting him to open up so easily. “I’ll take what’s mine. I made sure that everyone knows my name, that’s all.” A beat of silence made it clear he was done talking. So much for opening up, you thought. You wondered what he used to be like before this power but knew it was not a question to ask. Not now, anyways. “You will find out in due time,” Sylus added, a bit quieter. Before you could question what he meant, a different man approaches Sylus. He stares at you, surprise in his eyes .

“You found her?” The man said, almost to himself. But you still heard him, feeling confused at his question. Sylus clears his throat and the man diverts his attention. “Ah! Sorry, sir. I came to inform you that we found him. We are holding him in a room for now, awaiting your orders.” The man bows deeply, not looking Sylus in the eyes as he speaks. You look at Sylus, curious about the situation. 

Sylus sighs. “I didn’t think he would be found so soon. This changes things a bit.” He looks at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He looked…mad. 

“Who?” You blurted. Maybe you didn’t want to know. It sounded like dirty business he was dealing with. 

“We’ve been looking for…someone,” he said vaguely. “I didn’t expect him to be caught here. I have to take care of it now.” He clenches his jaw, clearly irritated. It suddenly clicked in your mind that he meant he might leave you. Alone. The man who approached Sylus was still waiting to guide him away. “You’re safe here, as long as you wear that choker. Stay here. Do not leave,” he commanded, his voice stern. “I will only be a minute. Be good.” He pats you on the head once, like a child. He begins following the man before you have a chance to respond. 

You watch Sylus as he turns down a hallway, now out of sight. You swallow, trying to ease your nerves. You drink the rest of your wine, trying not to meet eyes with anyone else in here. He said he would only be a minute…But from what you’ve learned when someone wrongs Sylus, he likes to take his time. Or so he claims. You were a little thankful he didn’t bring you for something like that, despite being completely alone. You fidget with the choker, your mind recalling the man’s words. Found her…had Sylus always looked for you? This newfound thought bounced off your head, anxiety starting to creep in. 

“Ugh…” You groan to yourself, staring at the empty glass. 

“Would you like more wine, miss?” A male voice asked behind you. You turn around, trying to make yourself seem small to this stranger. As you meet his face, your stomach sinks to the ground.

“....Caleb?” You whispered, almost afraid to say his name out loud. His eyes are wide, frantic, staring all over you. 

“Act natural,” he whispered, barely audible. Your heart was in your throat, you couldn’t believe it. Caleb, your childhood best friend. He was practically the only family you had…before you were taken. It’s been months now, since you last saw him. Why was he here? Why now? How did he know you were here? Questions flooded your mind, your throat tightening. You had no idea how to begin speaking. 

“Why?” You whispered back, trying to calm yourself. You weren’t sure who was looking. God, if Sylus knew, he would probably be angered. This wasn’t good, every second passing by was a second of Sylus returning. You felt nauseous. 

“Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you? That monster—I swear to God. I’m here to save you, I’m getting you out of here.” The weight of his words barely sank into you. You still didn’t understand how he knew you were here. At a vampire gathering, too!

“Caleb, you can’t– you can’t be here. Caleb this isn’t safe,” you tried telling him, but he wouldn’t listen. “How did you know I was here? Tell me.” His gaze softened as he looked at you. His eyes glance at the necklace and his expression becomes horrified. 

“I know who he is. I’m not letting him take you again. I don’t care if I die trying.” He grabs your wrist with force. It made you wince. You had to stop this, before Sylus came back.

Time was running out. 

“Caleb you need to leave!” You said urgently. Sweat formed on your brow. “I’m fine. He doesn’t hurt me! Please, leave, I’m okay!” You said, a little louder this time. He tugs you with him, causing you to stumble. A few people look over at you, whispering to each other. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as the panic becomes overwhelming. He tugs harder, trying to break you out of your stance. “Caleb please!” You beg through gritted teeth. Before he can say anything back, you feel a tall presence behind you. Your stomach churns, knowing Sylus has returned and is looking at Caleb. You don’t turn around as you watch Caleb drop your wrist, his face hardening with hatred.  “Well…you heard her,” he says, his voice deep and slow. He places both of his hands on each of your shoulders. “She said leave.”

[d-z20]

Breaking Point

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: Agatha goes up against the Scarlet Witch in a fight and refuses to back down until the end, no matter what it may cost her. Her injuries are severe and you tend to her them, providing comfort into the night

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, hurt (A physical & R emotional but not by each other), whole lotta comfort, protective reader

Words: 1.8k

A/N: Fic is based off this request. I should clarify that I actually don't watch MMA so I'm really sorry if there's inaccuracies, I gave myself a crash course for Heavy Hits so I'm hoping it's all okay.

AO3 | Master List

The atmosphere is tense

The lights in the arena shine brightly, casting a dramatic glow over the octagonal cage at the centre. The crowd roars as “The Scarlet Witch” is announced, Wanda Maximoff striding confidently into the ring. Her crimson gear matches the fierce energy in her eyes. Across the ring, Agatha Harkness, your girlfriend, is a vision of defiance.

It’s deafening, the crowd’s energy crackling like electricity in the air. You stand just outside the octagonal cage, gripping the metal fencing as though it might somehow hold you upright. The referee is giving final instructions, but your eyes are locked on Agatha. She stands tall, her lean frame wrapped in a sleek purple sports bra and matching compression shorts, her hands taped beneath her open-finger gloves. Her dark hair is pulled back tightly into a braid, leaving no distractions. She looks lethal—confident and determined.

But you know her better than anyone. Under her stoic expression, there’s always a flicker of doubt before a match, one she’d never admit to. As her partner in and out of the gym, you’ve seen her highs and her lows. And this fight? This one feels different. Facing Wanda Maximoff is like stepping into a storm. Wanda has a reputation: precision, aggression, and devastating power.

You’re here as part of Agatha’s cornermen. Not just her girlfriend but her trainer, sparring partner, and the person she trusts most to see her through battles like these. It’s your role that allows you to stand so close to the cage. Still, you hate being this near. You hate feeling so helpless.

“Let’s go, Agatha!” You shout as the bell rings, your voice almost lost in the roar of the crowd.

The fight begins cautiously. Wanda moves like a predator, light on her feet, her red-and-black shorts glinting under the arena lights. Her punches come fast, jabs testing Agatha’s defences. Agatha responds in kind, her kicks snapping out sharply, keeping Wanda just out of reach. For a moment, it looks even. They exchange blows, neither landing anything decisive. Your heart races every time Agatha ducks or blocks a strike—so far, so good.

But as the first round wears on, Wanda’s strategy becomes clear. She isn’t just fighting to win; she’s fighting to break Agatha down. Her strikes grow heavier, targeting Agatha’s ribs and legs. Agatha manages to return fire, her high kick glancing off Wanda’s temple, making the redhead stumble. You surge with hope, pounding the cage wall in support.

“Beautiful! Keep her on the ropes, Aggie!” you yell.

But Wanda recovers too quickly. She counters with a vicious combo—an uppercut followed by a low kick that makes Agatha’s stance falter. The bell rings to signal the end of the first round, and you rush to her corner.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, your hands gentle as you wipe sweat from her face with a cool towel.

“I’m fine,” she says, but her breathing is laboured, and you can see the faint beginnings of a bruise forming on her ribs. “She hits like she’s trying to kill me, though.”

“Stick to the plan. Keep moving. Don’t let her back you into the cage,” you say firmly, holding her gaze. “You’ve got this.”

The second round is brutal. Wanda turns up the aggression, landing a spinning kick that sends Agatha staggering. You clench your fists, shouting at the top of your lungs, willing her to keep going. Agatha fights back fiercely, landing an elbow that opens a small cut above Wanda’s eye. But it isn’t enough to slow her down. By the end of the round, Agatha is clearly hurting. Her breathing is ragged, and she’s clutching her side.

“Let me call it,” you plead as the medics check her during the break. “Agatha, you’ve done enough.”

“No,” she says sharply, her eyes meeting yours. “I’m finishing this.”

The third and final round begins, and you hold your breath. Agatha gives everything she has, landing a solid right hook that makes Wanda stumble. For a moment, you dare to hope. But Wanda is relentless. She unleashes another devastating combo—a liver shot, followed by a spinning backfist that sends Agatha crumpling to the mat. The referee steps in immediately, waving Wanda off and calling a technical knockout.

You don’t wait for permission; as soon as the match is over, you’re in the cage. The sight of her lying there, blood trickling from her lip and her face already swelling, breaks your heart. She’s clutching her ribs, her breaths shallow and ragged.

“Agatha, my love, I’m here,” you say, your voice trembling, dropping to your knees beside her. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Her eyelids flutter open, and she manages a weak smile. “I totally won that, didn’t I?”

“Always the joker,” you whisper, brushing her damp hair back. “You fought like hell, sweetheart.”

With the help of the medical team, you carefully lift her, her weight pressing against you. Her arm is draped over your shoulders, and you wrap your arm securely around her waist. Every step out of the cage is agonising, her quiet whimpers slicing through you.

Back in the locker room, you lay her down gently on the physio bed. The medics confirm a fractured rib and multiple bruises but assure you it isn’t life-threatening. As soon as they leave, you stand at her side, holding her trembling hands.

“Agatha, why do you do this to yourself?” you ask, your voice breaking as you clean her up. She hisses in pain when the antiseptic touches her skin, but she doesn’t complain.

“Because I love it,” she says softly. “And because I have you to patch me up.”

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, but your touch is gentle as you bandage her ribs and ice her swollen cheek.

—

The drive home is quiet, the weight of the night pressing heavily on both of you. Agatha leans against the car window, her face pale beneath the faint streetlights. Her breath hitches every time you hit a bump, and each sound twists like a knife in your chest. You’ve never felt so desperate to wrap her in safety, to shield her from the pain she insists on enduring for the sport she loves.

When you finally pull into the driveway, you turn off the engine and sit for a moment, just looking at her. Her eyes are closed, her brow slightly furrowed even in rest. You reach over, gently brushing your fingers over her cheek. She stirs at the touch, her lips curving into a faint smile.

“Caught staring?” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but teasing.

“As usual,” you reply softly. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll carry you inside,” you insist.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, but there’s no bite in her words, only affection.

“I don’t care,” you reply. “You’re not walking.”

Despite her protests, she lets you carry her up the driveway, the weight of her in your arms a grounding reminder that she’s still here, still whole despite the bruises and fractures. You settle her carefully onto the couch in the living room, arranging pillows around her and draping a blanket over her lap. She sighs as she sinks into the cushions, her body finally relaxing a fraction.

“Stay,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering open to find yours. “Don’t run off.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assure her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But you need food, Aggie. You haven’t eaten since before the fight.”

She grumbles something unintelligible, but the corner of her mouth quirks up as you disappear into the kitchen. You rummage through the fridge and cupboards, settling on her favourite comfort food—a simple grilled cheese sandwich with a cup of warm tomato soup. It’s nothing fancy, but you know it’s exactly what she’ll want.

When you return, her eyes light up at the sight of the tray. “You spoil me,” she says, her voice laced with affection.

“Rotten,” you tease, kneeling beside her as you set the tray down on the coffee table. “Now, eat. Slowly.”

She obeys, though her hands tremble slightly as she leans forward to pick up the sandwich. You watch her carefully, ready to step in if she needs help. Between bites, she keeps glancing at you, as if grounding herself in your presence.

Once she’s finished, you clear the tray and return with a glass of water and the prescribed pain medication. She tries to wave you off when you fuss over her, but you catch the way her eyes soften every time you adjust her blanket or tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Movie or book?” you ask once she’s settled again, her head leaning back against the cushions.

“Book,” she says after a moment of thought. “Something soft. Something... distracting.”

You nod, disappearing into the small shelf by the window. You pick a collection of short stories about witches you know she loves; its worn cover is a testament to how many times you’ve read it together. Returning to her side, you slide onto the couch, gently easing her to lie back against you. She winces slightly as she shifts, her body pressing into yours, but once she’s settled, her sigh is one of contentment.

“Comfy?” you murmur, wrapping your arm carefully around her waist, mindful of her ribs.

“Perfect,” she whispers, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

You begin to read, your voice soft and steady as you let the rhythm of the words wash over you both. Agatha’s breathing slows, her body melting into yours as you turn each page. Occasionally, she murmurs a comment about a line she likes, her voice laced with sleep.

By the time you reach the third story, her eyes are closed, her head tucked beneath your chin. You let the book fall to your lap, your hand shifting to stroke her hair gently. The tension from earlier in the night begins to ebb away, replaced by a warmth that feels like home.

—

Later, as the night deepens, you coax her into the bedroom. She protests faintly, her voice slurred with sleep, but you’re firm. “You’ll rest better in bed,” you say, kissing her forehead as you guide her to the mattress.

You tuck her into bed, piling pillows behind her to keep her comfortable. She looks so small, so fragile, and it breaks your heart all over again. You climb in beside her, pulling her carefully into your arms.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I hate making you worry.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” you say, stroking her hair. “Just... let me hold you, okay? I need to feel you’re here.”

She shifts, pressing her weight into you, her head resting on your chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers. “You’re stuck with me.”

You hold her tightly, the warmth of her body melting away the fear and tension that have gripped you all night. She’s here, safe in your arms, and you’ll never let her go.

To anon who requested it: I hope you enjoyed :)

[blueberri-blu]

Learning You...

Donnie ♡

[Bayverse] Slowly getting to know Donnie ♡

Leo ♡⁠˖ Mikey ♡⁠˖ Raph ♡⁠˖

Getting to now the turtles! A little Mini-Series!

Meeting Him:

Honestly? You probably met him through April or his brothers...

April decided to bring you over to the lair, after months of her dodging you wanting to meet her friends

So, as you walk into the lair, you meet Mikey first, ever excited for new friends

Then Leo comes to greet you like a "proper guest" (as leo puts it)

And lastly Raph just seems to stare at you a bit and give a grunt

Later, 1 of 2 things happens

Either Leo or April's drags Donnie out to greet you

Or your curious ass goes to see what's going on in the strange lab room

Once you see him, he greets you quickly and goes back to what he was doing in his lab

You follow him and start to ask questions about his many inventions

This won his heart (whether he knew it or not)

Befriending Him:

At first, it's hesitant questions, long awkward silences, and clammy hands

But after awhile he gets used to your presence

Your questions often help him, letting him see a new perspective

He appreciates any of your input, but not without a little bit of sass

That little turn around he does (in the gif), you can't tell me he isn't sassy

You two will get into little sass battles, one comeback after another

This helps you two get closer

You mostly spend time in his lab, with the occasional accompanying him for new materials or things he needs

You bring him food and water, setting alarms for him to remember to eat and drink

Spinning in your office chair, you give him insane scenarios for him to entertain you with the logistics of it all

"Hey Donnie, what if I wanted a fire proof phone?"

"well you'd need to find a thin enough material that doesn't melt under high heats, a material such as steal, however you'd need to figure out how to combat the heaviness..."

And that's when he start getting comfortable ranting to you

He'll go on hour long rants about many things, allowing you to interrupt him to ask questions about what things mean and such

Donnie loves when you ask him these questions, he feels like, even though you don't understand him completely, you still try hard to take interest in him

First Date!

You probably have to ask him out,

You guys develop a situation ship sort of thing

And although he wants more, he doesn't want to ruin what you have

You end up asking Donnie "What are we"

And that's when poor Donnie's brain is racing a mile a minute

He starts stammering and doesn't know how to proceed, but eventually sighs and tells you how he feels

He's ecstatic when you tell him you feel the same!

Donnie stresses so much on dates ideas

Eventually, he decides he wants to take you out of the lair for once

You share your favorite foods with each other, both sickeningly sweet feeding eachother

He takes you for a ride in the shellraiser

You eventually get to a large field of pretty grass, noticing it's very far from the city

You give him a questioning look, but he just responds with "I wanted to make sure you knew this was special to me" while giving you a shy smile

You have a little picnic with Donnie, far from the city

He wanted you two to have a special moment without the bustling of the city or his brothers

Although you're both nervous, soon you start talking about anything that comes to mind

Soon Donnie starts to feed you, like the sickeningly sweet romantic he is

You're both giggling and talking in hushed voices

You end up cuddling and whispering sweet nothing's in each other's ears

Dating!

With Donnie you are never missing anything

He tries his best to make your life easier

You're clumsy and your phone keeps falling? He makes a practically indestructible phone case in your favorite color (he secretly hopes it's purple)

Your toast never comes out quite how you like it? He makes a toaster that makes your toast exactly how you like it (and maybe even a coffee maker that makes it ready to drink)

Donnie sometimes struggles with giving you the time outside the lab you (let's be honest, him too) need.

Sometimes you struggle to get him out of his lab, but with a little convincing (and kicked puppy eyes) he'll usually cave for awhile.

Usually taking you to go see museums at night "It's better without the crowd!"

And on your anniversaries, he takes you back to your first date

He can get a bit insecure about whether he's doing it right, all he has to base off of are movies and TV shows

It'll take a bit for him to touch you, but once you put his hand on your back/thigh/waist

He'll take it as a go ahead (always looks at you for approval tho)

Whenever he hugs or kisses you, you can feel just how much he loves you

He looks at you and slowly closes the distance

Donnie will sometimes ask you questions about your previous relationships, how they ended, and why

He just wants to prevent the same mistakes from happening, he really loves you, and wants you two to last for eternity <3

I was able to finish it @novaleedartis !! Hope you enjoy it ^^

Please let me know how I can improve or if I have any spelling errors please! (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

[signedaiko]

Can I request MTMTE Megatron x platonic bot reader, where they reunite on earth and make peace with each other? Reader was kinda like his adopted kid before the war and looked up to him when he started the Decepticons. However, when he became the warlord and started harming other worlds, reader disagreed with him and became an Autobot. After the war, reader remained on earth because they grew to love it as their home, and now Megatron and reader talk about their past regrets and make peace. Reader is more glad that the Megatron they once knew came back, and even share things going on with their life (Like living their dreamed profession or having a conjux)

Megatron & Reader [MTMTE]

In which you long since cut contact with your mentor Megatron, and many millions of years later he finds you.

Reader is: Gender Neutral | Cybertronian | Autobot.

Since your days in the mines, you'd known Megatron

A well-spoken, albeit a bit antisocial, miner

Him and Terminus took you in, where they taught you about the Decepticon movement, something you began to help rally for

But humble beginnings are only beginnings, and as the story goes, Megatron lost his touch

Someone who had been treating you with kindness eventually turned his back to you, and the last time he'd seen you, your Decepticon badge had been replaced with the red of an Autobot logo

It had been many years since then. Megatron hadn't uttered your name to a single con in hopes you might be alive, and every once in a while he would see glimpses of you in battles

But that was many, many years ago

Now, you were a whisper in his mind, someone he was sure had likely passed on in the four million years of war, especially since he hadn't heard it in so long

Since his joining of the Lost Light crew, you'd come up in his memories far more frequently

He wanted to ask if anyone knew you or what happened to you, but he was afraid of what he might find out

Until he overheard a conversation Perceptor and Brainstorm were having, in which he heard your name come up

Perceptor, when asked, is quick with providing proof it's you and tells him all about your new life on Earth

He's able to get a direct comm link to you through Perceptor, who promises not to say anything to you and leave it at that

It takes him days upon days of deep thought and contemplation on whether you'll answer him, what he'll say, if you'll be able to move on from what he's done, if you're okay

The first call, it takes a while for you to reply, but when you do, you sound uncertain

"Megatron? Is that you?"

It starts slow; he tells you that he's an Autobot now and how he got your comm; he does most of the talking while you take everything in

But by call three or four, you're sharing how you'd ended up on Earth helping humans with Cybertronian attacks and cleanup, how you'd made friends with a group of humans, and how you were mentoring some of those humans now

You sounded happy and healthy

Truly, what more could he ask for?

Calls become a weekly basis where he checks on you and learns about Earth, and it saves him a lot of sparkache after all the agonizing thoughts he's had over the years about you having died to the cons

Now you're safe, and he'll be okay

Author's Note - What a cute prompt! I had so many ideas for this the moment I read it, so thank you for the request!

I did alter it because in MTMTE he never gets to Earth so I hope this makes do!

[kyouka-supremacy]

In vol 13, at the end of chapter 52, Akutagawa says to Atsushi "...Hmph. Nothing special about that. I suppose he's far crueler than my own mentor."

If you don't mind, I'd like to know what is your take on its meaning

THANK YOU, I love this ask. I think that little line is so so meaningful, because it gives us additional insight on what Akutagawa and Dazai's relationship is like and on Akutagawa’s feelings towards Dazai. There’s so much nuance to it, because it makes Akutagawa aware. So often in fancontent Akutagawa is completely oblivious to Dazai's abuse, utterly blinded to Dazai's cruelness. But he's not!!! He's not!!! And it's suchhhh an eye-opener line about his character. Because, you know what? Akutagawa actually understands Dazai deeply. Way more than one would guess upon first impression. And the reason of that is because Akutagawa and Dazai are ultimately similar: they're both the “doing evil” to Atsushi and Chuuya's “doing good”¹.

Akutagawa comes close to understanding Dazai: I think during the time they spent together in the pm he got intimately acquainted with a side of Dazai no one else knows, for better or worse. I even think that since Dazai thought so lowly of Akutagawa, he didn't spare the same effort for putting masks on for him as much as he did with everyone else; as consequence, Akutagawa ended up seeing sides of Dazai that Dazai rarely revealed to other people. And I'm not talking exclusively about bad sides, but also vulnerable sides, fecets that overall he doesn't usually let emerge.

This mutual understanding - and isn't that a surprising sentence by its own! The understanding is mutual, doesn't go only in one direction, Akutagawa actually understands Dazai plenty – comes from a similarity between the two that, I've said many times before, is likely source to Dazai's otherwise unexplained cruelness towards Akutagawa. In Akutagawa's dark, bottomless, empty eyes, Dazai sees his own, and he utterly hates how Akutagawa embodies everything that's despicable in himself, the same emptiness, the same void. In the end, they both want to find a reason to live, while also being highly suicidal.

When I say “understands”; it's not about understanding what goes through Dazai's mind (that would be, for comparison, what Dostoyevsky gets closer to do); for Akutagawa it's a more instinctive understanding induced by their closeness, their similarity, their sharing the same sentiment of struggle in finding an explanation for the act of existing. The “can you give me a reason to live” from The Heartless Cur that counts for the both of them.

They're the same, and that's how Akutagawa can get Dazai, deeply. That line reveals exactly that! “Dazai is plenty cruel himself”. Akutagawa knows Dazai isn't a good man; but that's a separate thing from wanting his approval. It's not only this line; this understanding Dazai of Akutagawa is, I believe, reiterated consistently (if subtly) in the manga. It's in “You know [what mafia is like] better than anyone else” from chapter 4 and it's in “It'd take more than that to kill the man” from chapter 35 and it's in the way he talks about Dazai in chapter 51. It's in “There's no way you're dead. You are somewhere here in Yokohama. I just know it.” from the Entrance Exam light novel. When in Dead apple he says that Dazai joined the enemy, he's wrong; but if you ask me, that shows how Akutagawa understands the potential of the darkness within Dazai's soul better than Atsushi (but at the same time fails to see the possible goodness in him, because Port Mafia Dazai is what Akutagawa has ever known). I feel like all these moments are symptomatic of Akutagawa understanding Dazai on a level that's way deeper than others.

TL;DR: That line is so important to understand the depth of Dazai and Akutgawa's relationship because it shows how much Akutagawa gets Dazai, making of Akutagawa a much more cognizant character when it comes to Dazai than what one may think!

More on Akutagawa and Dazai's relationship: (1) (2) (3)

¹ Chuuya is the good half of the skk duo. It's just that whereas Atsushi does good in a more general sense, Chuuya's acting is mostly lead by willingness to do what's good for the Port Mafia. Still, both Atsushi and Chuuya act on way more altruistic basis than Akutagawa and Dazai do, am I wrong?

[nightxcreature]

20

Summary: Reader relaxes while Dean is away.

Warnings: Panic attack, Death, Grief, Angst

Pairing: DeanxReader, SamxReader (platonic)

A/N: I’m so sorry. 😬 I love you.

Written quickly, edited poorly. You don’t have permission to copy my work, so don’t. 18+ only.

Yellow light cascaded across the room from the lamp beside me leaving a faint film across the pages of the book in my hands. I’d had the bunker to myself this weekend while Sam and Dean went on a quick hunt not too far from home, and I was taking full advantage of the silence. Miracle was curled up at my feet mouthing a squeaky bear and enjoying our lazy day. After the busy few weeks we’ve had, a little reprieve with man’s best friend in the library was much needed as the next several weeks would be even busier. Dean had planned a roadtrip to celebrate this hunt, our bags packed and ready to go by our bedroom door. Excitement and exhaustion were imminent and I knew this moment of peace would be required to make it through whatever plans my lover had made.

I smiled softly at the thought of Dean and the life we would have after this. He’d never been one for marriage or kids or the Apple-pie life, but the moment Chuck was gone I knew something had changed for him.

—————————————————————————

The door to our shared bedroom was open as I worked making the stomp of Deans heavy boots reach my ears before he reached the doorway.

“Hey,” He calls as he steps inside, placing a kiss to my temple and dropping a few papers onto the desk in front of me.

“What’s this?” I’d asked, smirking up at him as I lifted the packet to my eyes. The question hung in the air for a moment as I read over the papers before me, “An application for the fire department, and…” My head jerks back slightly in surprise as I read over the next page, “You wanna buy a house? Like white picket fence-barefoot and pregnant-with a dog-buy a house?”

“Uh, It doesn’t have to be, if you don’t want it to. I just-you know, I’ve always wanted to be a firefighter, and, I’ll need a job. Plus, we can’t always live here so I- uh, I just thought maybe you’d like to move in with me. Like…our own place.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, an adorable sheepish smile on his face, “We can talk about the barefoot and pregnant part later.”

My eyes widened a bit as I took in his response. Leaning back in the chair I placed my pen against my lips and grinned, “So, a house and my own personal Magic Mike?”

He’d rolled his eyes, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips as he nodded, “Yeah, but only if you want.”

I’d dropped the pen in my hand quickly and jumped up to kiss his lips. His hands immediately finding my waist and pulling me closer, our hips slamming against one another as he dug his fingers into my skin. My hands were covering his blush-stained cheeks, pulling his face into mine harshly. When we broke apart grinning, he’d chuckled softly. “So, is that a yes?” He’d asked, breathlessly.

“Absolutely.” I mumbled, placing my lips over his again and quickly finding myself underneath him.

——————————————————————————

My train of thought is abruptly broken by the steel door slamming open at the top of the stairs and Miracle whining at my feet. I duck my head to see which brother comes down first when Sam stops short of the last step. I close my book as I watch him there, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed low.

“Hey, Sammy. You okay?” I ask as I stand, worry building in my veins. He doesn’t speak as I reach him, doesn’t raise his head or acknowledge me in anyway until I place a hand on his arm, “Sam, look at me.”

Slowly he raises his head, tears falling down his red and swollen face, “I’m so sorry.” He whispers out, “I’m so, so sorry.” He collapsed into my arms, heavy sobs leaving his body. I wrap my arms tightly around him, pulling him to stand as best I can before wracking my brain for whatever could cause him to go into such a….

Suddenly the world goes deathly still, only the sound of my heartbeat and Sam’s broken sobs reach my ears. My chest is heaving and the world is spinning and I can’t seem to form a coherent thought when I raise my trembling hands to push him off of me. Pointing a single shaking finger in his direction.

“No.” I whisper quietly, “Sam, no.”

“I’m so sorry.” He mutters again, devastation covering his face, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” I snap, “Stop it!”

My feet are moving before I register that I’m halfway up the stairs, the steel door the only barrier between me and what lies ahead. I sling it open, half expecting to see Dean standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face and saying “Gotcha!”, but I’m met with nothing. I push my way through the bunker, Sam following quickly behind me, practically begging me to turn around, but I can’t stop my feet. I can’t stop the need to see him.

I fling open the garage door and am met with the sight of Baby parked in her usual spot. I stop short of the drivers door, already able to see the white cloth covering the backseat.

“Is that…” I choke out.

“Yeah.”

Neither of us speak for a moment, the silence deafening between us. I take several slow steps closer, my mind and heart at war as I reach up to open the back door. I place my hand on his head, taking a deep breath as I push the sheet down to see his face. A sob racks through me and I drop to my knees, cradling his head in my hands. His eyes are closed, his face a picture of peace that I’d never seen before. I would believe he’s sleeping if I didn’t know any better. The dark freckles that scattered his face are pale, his lips ashen, all signs of the life my love lived have long since left. I stroke my thumb across his cold cheek and place my lips to his forehead as I cry.

“You ass.” I whisper against his skin, “We had plans. What am I supposed to do now?”

The tears falling from my eyes find themselves on his own face, covering his cheeks as if, even in death, he’s crying with me; Mourning the life we could’ve had…The life we should’ve had.

“This isn’t supposed to happen now.” I mumble, shaking his limp shoulders, “Chucks dead! You’re supposed to be happy. We’re supposed to be happy, Dean! Wake up! Please, Wake up! This isn’t real. This isn’t real!”

My eyes suddenly snap open, the light from our bedside lamp igniting the green orbs in front of me. Dean’s face full of worry as his arms wrap protectively around me.

“Hey, hey. It isn’t real. Shh. It isn’t real, Baby.” He whispers, rocking me back and forth as I cry against his chest, “I’m right here. You’re safe, you’re fine.”

Hot tears coat my cheeks and I lift my head to see they’ve stained his shirt, “I’m-I’m sorry. I just-I can’t-I”

He reaches over and grabs one of my hands, placing it over his heart as he cups my face with his other, “Focus on my heart. I’m right here, you’re safe. This is real.”

I focus solely on his heart beating beneath my fingers, the panic subsiding but the tears coming quicker than ever, “I thought you were dead.” I whisper, “I dreamed it and it-it seemed so real.”

He wraps his big arms around my torso and pulls me into his lap as he leans against the headboard, “Not dead, yet. I couldn’t leave you like that, I promised you Magic Mike and a couple babies, didn’t I?” He teases, placing sweet kisses across my face as my breathing slows, “Can’t get rid of me until I hold up my end of the bargain.”

I smile and place my head in the crook of his neck as I tuck into his side, “I know. It just felt so real.”

He shakes his head slowly and pulls the blankets up our bodies to rid us of the bunkers chill, “I ain’t leaving ya anytime soon.” He whispers, kissing the top of my head and sliding down so we’re laying on the mattress again, my head on his chest and his hand in my hair, “Well, after I take care of that Vamp nest with Sammy tomorrow.”

——————————————————————————

Taglist: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @k-slla @enigmalynne @envysarchive

@daisydark @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @manicjk @aylacavebear

@suckitands33 @oceean @mxtansy @justwhisperingfantasies @mgchaser

[bettyfrommars]

When the Night Comes

Steve Harrington x Reader

I received an ask from @madaboutjoe for option #2 from our Stranger Prompts which is: You mistake him for the man who is supposed to be your blind date, and he goes along with it, with Steve. I put my own spin on it and made it extra weird.

18+ONLY for horror, mention of gore and adult themes, fear of the unknown, hurt/comfort I suppose, she/her pronouns used for reader. WC: 11.8k

Summary: After being single for a while, a personal ad in the classifieds catches your eye, and the guy who posted it invites you to meet for coffee. There's a tree blocking the road, causing you to detour, and once you get to Hawkins you find it's not at all what you expected. Mention of Robin, and appearances from Hopper, Joyce, and Eddie Munson.

Author's Note: This was inspired by the horror show From (which I highly recommend), but you do not have to be familiar with it to understand/enjoy this. In fact, it might be even better if you don't know anything about it. Also, the Benny's described in this fic is a cross between the original burger joint and the diner in the show.

--------

It was mostly by accident that Steve and Robin took over Benny’s. One day, they were hunkering down there to hide, scared as hell, trying not to make a sound, and the next thing they knew, they were painting the walls and adding items to the menu.  

When caught in a hellscape, it was important to have a place to go to bask in the illusion of safety, even if just for a meal.  

Things generally slowed down in the afternoon on Wednesdays, as it was post lunch rush and right before the seniors dropped in for that early bird special.  Robin was with Vickie tending to the farm animals across town, and the only customers at the time were Claudia Henderson chatting with a friend over coffee and pie.  Steve would bus the table once he made a list of supplies he’d need to go searching for the next day.  .  

At a booth nearest the front door, in his trusty red and black flannel that was missing two buttons and a pair of jeans, Steve wore a white apron around his waist. He took the blue bandana off his head to let his glossy mane flop free, running a hand through it a few times, sweeping it to one side.

2

“Is this it?” You mumbled from behind the steering wheel of your car, peering ahead through the windshield at the first signs of a town after a long stretch of forest.  The pavement was cracked and worn, giving you a passing thought about where their tax dollars were going if not to those improvements.  The Welcome to Hawkins sign was just as weathered and also pockmarked with bullet holes.  

A certain gloom settled around the town, like those places that exist in the lower valley between two mountains, nestled in a sea of fog.  The afternoon had been fairly bright and sunny until you approached the Hawkins border and had to take your sunglasses off in order to see.  

He said you’d be able to see it from the road, that burger place Steve said he’d meet you at.  You took a right down the first street and craned your neck to read a sign scrawled in black marker on a sandwich board out in front of the post office:

62 Days Without Incident

You didn’t have long to ponder it before you were pulling into the parking spot at the far end of Benny’s.  One of the windows had a menacing spider web crack in it that appeared to be mended with duct tape, and if not for the station wagon in the lot and the dim lighting inside, you’d think the building was abandoned.

Hawkins felt like someone's memory of a town, and the memory was fading.

“It’s just coffee,” you whispered, pacing on the other side of the building near your car.  “It’s just coffee with a complete stranger.”

A complete stranger you contacted through a personal ad in the paper, to be exact.  

You considered having a smoke first, but didn’t want the nicotine smell to cling to you.  Maybe he was also an occasional smoker, you’d have to wait and see.  You stepped into view of the front window, and then jerked yourself back to lean against the slate gray wall, cringing as if you’d just stubbed your toe.

You hadn’t been on a date in over a year, but there was something about the ad in the classifieds that made him sound so…normal.  Unlike the others. 

SWM 5’10, brown hair, hazel eyes, 30yr old business owner, hopeful romantic seeks SF for friendship and adventure with the potential for something more.  I like to cook and want to make you laugh. UB kind, curious, homebody looking for LTR.     

You’d left a message for him in the extension given by the paper, and then he’d messaged you back almost immediately, inviting you to an afternoon coffee date at a diner in Hawkins.  

You were 98% certain that he did not have the voice of a serial killer, whatever that meant.  

Fairly new to Indiana, you’d never ventured to Hawkins before, and there happened to be a downed tree blocking the exit you would usually take to the highway, forcing you to use the backroads instead.

A glance at your watch let you know you were fifteen minutes early, all things considered.   

The interior of the diner was cozy dark wood with cream tile at your feet.  Burnt orange nestled here and there as accents, including on the vinyl covers for the booth seats. A cigarette smoldered in a brown glass ashtray nearby, and to your right, two women spoke softly across the table to each other, but paused mid-conversation to nod suspiciously in your direction.

Maybe you’d have a chance to find a seat and order something to drink before he—-

3

Steve had to do a double take when he looked up at the sound of the bell ding.  There was a stain on his white Hanes tee the shape of Australia and faint purple moons carved under overly caffeinated, bloodshot eyes. 

 At first, he assumed you were just another patron, but then you met his casual stare with enthusiasm, and offered a nervous yet generous smile, beelining in his direction as if the two of you were familiar.  

You were new, and such a thing was a rare and unsettling thing to see in Hawkins.  

He’d asked Robin to put fliers up at the post office and the library announcing that they were looking for waitstaff help, but that was only a few hours ago.  Surely, someone wasn’t inquiring already.

It was hard for you not to run in the other direction when you saw how handsome he was.  What the hell was a guy that good looking doing paying to post a personal ad?  Better question—-what was a person like you doing answering one?  

He’d been frowning down at the notepad in front of him before he glanced up, warm maple hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. Brown diner mug near his elbow, confusion tightened around his eyes when you jutted an arm out to shake his hand.

You introduced yourself.  “And I thought I was the early one,” your cheeks felt hot, clutching your bag to your side.  

“Uh, hi,” was all he could manage at the time, returning the generous hand squeeze.  It took him a few seconds, but then he realized what the only possible explanation could be.  “You must be here because of the ad?”

You slid into the booth seat across from him.  Maybe he was trying to be funny, like it was some type of dry wit.

“Am I not what you were expecting?” 

“No, no, that’s not—” he stammered, jerking his arm to the side so fast that he hit the coffee mug, causing liquid to splash out onto the table. He clawed some napkins out of the dispenser to wipe up the spill, a stray curl of hair bobbing over his forehead as he did so. “I just mean, I wasn’t expecting you this early, that’s all.”  

You weren’t what he’d been expecting to walk through his door that afternoon in many ways.  

First of all, he was attracted to you, so taking you in as an employee might not be the brightest idea, but also, why had he never seen you around before? Even if he didn’t know everyone in Hawkins personally, they’d all for sure crossed his path at one point.

The town was funny like that.

A hard pit in his stomach told him that you weren’t from town at all, and he really hoped that was not the case, for your sake. 

A few beats of silence hung in the air, and the bell dinged again to herald the exit of Claudia and her friend, chattering as they went.  

“Is the food good here?” You settled back in your seat, eying the display case near the register while shrugging out of your coat.  “The pies look yummy.”

Like a trout thrown to the ground, Steve’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and he pushed the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows, finding his words.  “They’re pretty good, yeah, I think. The guy who makes them is a bit of a nut and takes his pastries pretty seriously.”

There were creased paper menus that looked hand-typed tucked in between the ketchup and the tiny, tableside jukebox.  You grabbed one and put it in front of you, eyes roaming over the words without really reading a thing.  

“I didn’t expect you to be so handsome,” your tongue was often faster than your brain, and you flicked a nervous glance up at him after realizing what you’d said.  “Sorry.”

Totally inappropriate for a professional conversation, but why did it make Steve feel all tingly? 

“Don’t be sorry,” he muttered.  To avoid eye contact, he picked up the nearby pencil and started drawing squiggles on the yellow notepad in front of him.  

“Do you have any experience waiting tables?” He cut right to the chase, not that any experience would make a difference. He wasn’t going to be able to pay you, anyway, that wasn’t how it worked around there.  

You were not at all thrown off by the question; you figured there’d be a good helping of small talk.

“For a year in high school, yeah,” you were flicking the corner of the menu with your thumb.  “It was a 24 hour waffle house. Met a lot of interesting people.”

“I bet.” He tried to sound casual, but the nervous eruption of a laugh bubbled out.

So, there it was: you were definitely not from there.  

The idea that you would soon go through the stages of shock and denial and depression that was common for everyone who resided in what they’d once known as Hawkins, made his stomach drop.  

He didn’t want to be the one to watch the light drain from your eyes.  

4

You straightened up from staring at the menu to search for whoever might be behind the kitchen hatch.  “Do we walk up there to give our order? Or will someone come to the table?”

“That’s, um, I can—let me,” Steve stuttered before taking a breath. “Uh, do you know what you want?”

“Just iced tea for now I think,” you were concentrating on the offerings, bottom lip sucked in between your teeth.  “I’m not very hungry. Some of those steak fries maybe? Would you eat some with me?”

There were plenty of mysteries about the town that no one had been able to solve yet, including the way vegetable crops and farm animals showed up in various spots out of the blue. People found garbage bags full of packaged, grocery store quality bread in their backyards as if dropped from the sky.  A few months ago while scavenging, Jonathan Byers stumbled upon a concrete door in the ground that led to a bunker stocked with endless dry goods. Steve didn’t ask questions much anymore, he was just grateful they had resources.

He figured whatever trapped them all there wanted to toy with them and fattened them up for the kill.  

There was something very casual and familiar about your disposition that made him even more curious about what universal tide washed you up onto his shore.

To most people, ending up in their corner of the world felt like a punishment, but one that they’d somewhat adapted to over time. One day, hopefully, you would find your peace with it too.  Maybe even share a piece of pie with him and tell him stories about what he’d missed out in the real world.  

For now, you’d have iced tea and fries and pretend none of the horrors were real.

Steve got up from the booth, tucking his chin as he spoke.   “I’m serious, I’ll make you anything you want.  I mean, within reason.”

Your head snapped up.  “Wait, you work here?”

He couldn’t help but frown at your genuine display of confusion.

“I kinda run the place, yeah. It’s not much but,” he shrugged. “My best friend and I, we—”

You blinked a few times.  “I feel so stupid, I didn’t realize—”

“You’re not stupid,” he interrupted, planting his hands square on his hips. “Gimme…ten minutes, okay? Just need to throw them in the fryer.”

Your head snapped a few quick nods in a row, unable to settle the feelings of embarrassment.

“Oh, wait,” he spun around, snapping his fingers once in the air.  “You like lemon in your tea?” 

“Sure.” The more you looked around, the more you sensed something was really…off about the place.  Not just the diner, but the entire town. 

Outside, the grass was either dead or overgrown and there’d been a wrecked car--possibly and old Chrysler LeBaron---sticking out of an empty public pool on the corner when you first drove in.  You remembered the way those two women at the other table glared at you, like maybe you were not at all welcome there at all, no matter what the tattered doormat out front said.  

Steve returned to set your iced tea in front of you.  There were a couple cubes of ice in the glass, a pretty lemon wedge perched on the lip, and a straw sticking out of it with the paper end still on to protect the sanitation of it.  The only odd thing was the pint glass that it came in: it said Shiloh Inn Lounge on it.  

“Sugar?” At first you thought he was calling you by a pet name and it gave you a heart palpitation,  but instead he set a few packets of actual sugar down that were all different brands. “If you like.”

His eyes were kind and weary and you sensed a weight hanging in the air like maybe he wanted to tell you something but didn’t know how.

He hovered there, refusing to sit back down, and you took that as a hint that he just wasn’t feeling a connection.  If that was the case, you didn’t want to waste any more of your time.  

“If you’re not interested, I understand,” you took the paper off of your red and white striped straw.  “That’s what things like this are for, right? To see if you want to get to know someone better.”

He frowned, cocking his head to one side, curling his lip. “Not interested?”

“You know…in me.” You squeezed a bit of the lemon in. A seed shot out and almost got you in the eye.

Steve softened, crossing one arm over his chest to hold onto the other, absently guarding himself.  “Okay, but why wouldn’t I be interested in you?”

You snorted a laugh.  “You can just say I’m not your type, it’s fine.  You don’t have to be weird about it.”

Outside, an avocado green Ford Pinto pulled up to the curb and parked.  

5

“Why did you come here?” He asked, massaging the elbow area where he clutched his arm.

You considered the weight of that question and all of the answers you could give.  Practically everyone you loved was either dead or no longer a part of your life.  You hated your job with the intensity of a thousand suns, but you’d acquired too much debt to up and quit.  There was no family money or support to act as a safety net; no savings account to pull from.  The last time you were in a committed relationship, you had your heart tramped, and to be honest, your wounds from that were still open and weeping.

All things on the table, you had no business floundering around in the dating world.  You were the walking wounded just looking for a distraction from the emptiness.  

Why did you come here?

“To meet you, obviously,” you scowled into your drink, trying to mask a hot wave of insecurity.  It felt like a hornet was stuck in your throat.  “But I can just go back the way I came, it’s no biggie.”

“See, that’s just it,” he wet his lips a few times.  “You can’t go back the way you came. No one can.”

His heart stuttered at the idea of having to break the news to you right then, or ever, but it would be dark soon, and he’d need to make sure you were safe. Leaving you out without protection, out there for The Others to find you was not an option.  

That made you bark a laugh.  “Oh yeah? What is this? Hotel California?”

The accuracy made him feel like someone just dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. “Something like that, yeah.”

The front bell dinged again and in walked a dark haired woman with one of the most likable faces you’d ever seen.  The shins of her jeans were dirty like she’d been working in the garden, and there was a tear in the shoulder seam of the hunter green button-down shirt that she’d left untucked.  It was about 2 sizes too big for her, sleeves rolled up so that her hands wouldn’t drown in the material.  

She looked right at you and a vacant smile quivered at the corners of her mouth, as if she was forcing it in place with all her mite. It felt like she had absolutely nothing to be smiling about, but wanted to put you at ease. 

“Hi I’m Joyce,” she held one open palm up in greeting, approaching with the caution of someone trying not to scare off a feral cat.  

“Word travels fast,” Steve muttered under his breath, introducing you.

“Hopper saw the car on his way by,” she progressed to wringing her hands in front of her.  “And I came over to see if it was true.  To see if…see if you needed any help…

…it will be dark in an hour or so.”

They were having a private conversation with their eyes right in front of you and a heady mix of disorientating fear prickled the back of your neck.  

“I think I missed something,” you fisted a handful of the material on your jacket, ready to head for the door.  “I think this was a bad idea.”

But the two of them were blocking your path at that point, and you sensed they had no intention of moving.

“Hey, listen,” Joyce made a steeple out of her hands as if she were about to pray.  “I know this is absolutely not what you want to hear, and believe me, I know it’s bonkers, but we can’t let you get back on that road tonight.”

Your mouth went dry and you turned to Steve thinking he might offer comfort, but his jaw was set, muscles ticking on one side as he ground his back teeth.  

“You can’t be serious.”  You let out a chuckle that was void of humor.

Joyce vibrated loving mother energy and as much as you wanted to get out of that diner, you also wanted to hear whatever it was she had to say.  Maybe even get a hug from her.

“I know this sucks,” she continued.  “It sucks and there’s a lot we need to explain to you, but pretty soon…the roads won’t be safe.”

Your breath caught in your chest, tightening there.

“There’s a spare bedroom at my place,” her expression made it seem like she was offering you a trip to Disneyland. “Clean sheets, I’ve got some soup on the stove. I can take you there now and we can have some coffee, you can meet my sons, and I’ll tell you everything, but you can’t drive back into the woods.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll pass,” despite the tough exterior, your voice wavered.  “Not to sound ungrateful for the hospitality, but this is crazy.”

You waited for them to burst into laughter and tell you they were kidding.  Ha. Ha. 

“It is fucking crazy, tell me about it,” Steve mumbled. “We just want to make sure you…” he trailed off, staring up as if trying to remember his lines. 

The entire thing was turning out to be some twilight zone shit, and it was no longer amusing. Sure, Steve was hot and you already liked him plenty, but clearly there was lead paint in the water or black mold in the walls because the two people in front of you were off their rockers. 

Your steady gaze landed on your blind date.  “Is that why you put the ad in the paper? So that you could get me here and abduct me?”

“Paper?” Confused, he frowned at Joyce and then at you.  “What paper? What ad?”

Ice and thorns shot through your blood.

“The personal ad, Steve. The one you put in the gazette, the one I answered.  You left a message saying to meet you here.”

When they talk about a “pregnant” pause, well that pause gripped the air like it was having quadruplets. 

“Personal ad?” Joyce peered at Steve, but he only shrugged and shook his head like he had no idea what was going on.  Because he didn’t. 

You raised your voice then, practically shouting.  “And why do you two keep looking at each other like that? What am I missing? You invited me here for coffee and now you’re telling me I can’t leave? This is bullshit, I’m sorry, I’m going.”

You prepared yourself to fight to get beyond them, but they parted easily and gave no resistance when you bolted from the booth, strapping your bag across your body with a grumbled curse.  

“I didn’t put a personal ad in any paper,” Steve said softly, but his words had enough impact to make you freeze in your tracks halfway to the door.  

6

Hawkins, as they knew it, didn’t even have a circulating newspaper anymore.  Nancy and a few others kept The Post going for as long as possible to keep morale afloat with a sense of normalcy, but after a while started to run out of supplies and purpose for such an endeavor, especially since they had no line to the outside world.  She did publish a pamphlet every so often that announced local events, and whenever one of The Others got a hold of a member of the community, she would be the one to break the news to those who weren’t privy to the information.  

…62 Days Without Incident….

“Who did I come here to meet then?” You kept your back to them, asking the question more to yourself.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’ll explain everything to you once we—” Joyce hugged herself as she spoke, watching you storm the rest of the way to the door and then jerk it open to the tune of a violent rattling of the bell.

“Please, wait!” Steve jogged to your side.

“I want you to have this,” he tugged down the front of his shirt to pull out a quarter size, oblong chunk of rock attached to some type of cream colored string.  He lifted it up over his head, fluffing the back of his hair in the process, and held it out to you.

There was some sort of design on the smoke gray stone, a symbol that itched a part of your brain as being familiar.

He had it dangling in front of your face and your stare narrowed beyond the swinging cord to find the colors in his hazel eyes swirling like some uncharted universe.  They made you want to go swimming in the stars.

“If you want to go, I can’t stop you,” he shifted close enough for you to smell the fruity scent of his hair product and coffee on his breath.  “But please wear this.”

You winced at the necklace without touching it.  “What is that?”

You might as well have been asking him to teach you conversational German in the span of ten minutes, even though he only knew a few letters from their alphabet.  

“As long as you have this with you inside wherever you are, They can’t get to you.  I’m telling you, I don’t even know how it works.  But, if you won’t stay here with me or go with Joyce, I need you to put this on and keep all of the windows up on your car.  All of the doors stay locked, got it?”

“Who is They?” You did not receive a verbal answer to your questions, only more clandestine looks.

It hit you like a flying brick just then that they were indeed not being malicious, nor were they trying to drug you to put you in a well and skin you alive.  Steve and Joyce truly believed everything they were telling you: 

Some unspecified Things come out at nightfall and kill people, but wearing a stone around your neck magically keeps them at bay. Got it. 

You didn’t know why they came across as so sheltered and endangered when anyone could hop on the highway and be back in civilization in ten minutes.  There were probably wild animals out there in the woods; coyotes and wolves and maybe even bears, and those were the things that showed up to terrorize the locals at nightfall, not some nocturnal horde of zombies.  

Your survival instinct won out over curiosity, and you mumbled “bye Steve” over your shoulder, dashing out into the parking lot.

Behind you, Joyce took hold of Steve’s arm to keep him from following in your wake.

“She’ll have to learn this one the hard way, unfortunately,” she whispered to him. “Like most of us did.”

They watched you throw yourself in behind the steering wheel, and then heard your door lock after it slammed shut.

“I’ll fix up the cot in the supply room just in case she—-” he didn’t finish, but Joyce knew what he meant. 

You’d be back once you realized there was nowhere else to go, and hopefully your pride wouldn’t keep you out too long after dark. He’d wait up and keep the light on.

Without one of the stones of protection, it wouldn’t matter if you were in a concrete bunker, The Others would still be able to get to you if they wanted to.  

Maybe if you got stranded in your car, you’d be smart enough to hide under a blanket and stay quiet until morning.  

What if you tried to run from them on foot or, worse yet, tried to physically defend yourself? 

As far as Steve knew, those things they called The Others couldn’t be stopped. 

7

You literally squealed out of town, tires leaving fishtail skid marks on the pavement. 

“What the fuck was that?” You mumbled, breathless, eyeballing the two in your rearview mirror as you got back on the highway and were swallowed up by fog.  

The misty forest continued for about a mile, and then it wasn’t long before you were approaching another town.  Had you somehow passed through a similar place without realizing on your way in? Seemed impossible, but you rationalized it as first date nerves getting the best of you.

And what a fucking bonkers “first date” that had been.  One for the books. 

Shame because Steve had one of those faces you’d never get tired of looking at.  

All the same, you were grateful to be out of Hawkins, but you needed gas.  You’d be able to get home with what you had in the tank, but didn’t want to have to take time to fill up on your way to work in the morning.  

On your right, you passed another weathered Welcome to Hawkins sign.

No, that was a mistake.  The natural light was fading rapidly but surely you’d misread it without your headlights on.

You slowed to honor the speed limit through to the center of whatever town it was.  There was an establishment called Melvald’s, a Radio Shack, and further down was a Family Video, but the streets were deserted.  It was barely dusk and not a single soul strolled the sidewalks or drove by in a vehicle.  

A church bell rang in the distance, and you spotted a woman hustling three young children up a flight of stairs. The youngest didn’t seem to be taking the steps fast enough, so she picked him up and carried him the rest of the way to a door that slammed shut as once they were all inside.  

They were acting as if the moonlight was poison and they couldn’t get any on their skin.

Pink and orange blossomed over the horizon while the sun sank behind the mountains, and the church bell persisted with its haunting tune.  A little further and there were cars parked outside of fenced houses, but not a single human or animal to be found. A pair of seats on a swing set swayed back and forth as if occupied by ghosts.

Coming to a halt at a stop sign, there was a very familiar sight:

62 Days Without Incident

The same sandwich board, the same cursive handwriting in black marker in front of the same red brick post office building.

“Nononono..no. This is not right…” you started mumbling to yourself, inching along the pavement.

It wasn't long before you spotted the empty swimming pool with the back end of a wrecked car sticking out of it.  If you turned down that first street, you knew you’d find Benny’s Burgers and Steve probably at the front window, waiting with flex cuffs to tie you up in his basement.

You’d missed a turn, that was all. That was the only explanation.

You went extra slow the next time through the forest, making sure to spot whatever exit or turn you’d missed before.

But then the trees opened up to a town and there was the Welcome to Hawkins sign.�� Melvald’s and Radio Shack.  Family Video. 62 Days Without Incident.  Wrecked car in an empty pool.

White knuckle grip on the wheel, frustrated tears welled hot at your lash line.  

“This can’t be right.”

You tried it again, going no more than 10 mph through the woods, and it didn’t help that the smog was billowing thick as cream.

Why hadn’t you passed any other cars on the road?

On your fourth time back around, after a good cry, you reasoned that maybe you’d taken the wrong way out of town somehow, but you’d have to ask someone in the morning and try again due to the staggering lack of visibility you were currently faced with. 

Plus, according to your gas gauge, you’d be coasting on nothing but fumes soon.

Wiping wet cheeks with the back of your hand, you flicked the blinker and coasted in under a metal awning alongside two gas pumps that were connected to a single mechanics garage and a mini mart.

“Please be open,” you said to the glass front door of the service station which, once again, looked like it had been abandoned for the evening, or possibly for the entire year. 

When you turned the engine off you realized that the church bell was no longer thumping to the beat of your headache, and the dead calm silence settled around like a veil, much like the ambiance of a horror film.

The type of horror film your character didn’t make it out of.

You shook your head and thought about slapping yourself in the face.  This was all just some wild mixup.  You’d get gas, get a room at the motel you’d spotted a few blocks back, and find your bearings first thing in the morning.  

Deep breaths in and out of your nose a few times while you sat trying to psych yourself up to get out and find someone to pay for the gas, pending the pumps weren’t dry.

Relief blossomed when you spotted a person approaching from the street.  With each steady step, they took their time to cross the distance, as if calculating if they should .

“Oh thank god, a person,” you said on an exhale.

8

He was balding, but his dishwater blonde hair was combed over to try and hide it, he wore an oddly formal brown suit jacket and slacks. Polka dot orange and chocolate necktie, his hands relaxed at his sides, he reminded you of a used car salesman thinking he spotted an easy mark.  

The smile was wide and plastered to his face, unwavering, as if his teeth were clamped shut and he was gritting through some private pain

“Hey,” you said, stepping out of the car, but keeping the open door in front of you as a barrier. “I was hoping to get some gas.  Do you happen to know if anyone works here?”

His pace did not falter, nor did his deranged grin. 

You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you clearly at first, so you waited for him to get a few feet closer.  Nearly three car lengths away at that point and you made the decision to stay put, ignoring the sharp gut instinct telling you to start the engine and go.  

“Sorry, do you work here?” You weren’t sure why that came out of your mouth considering his attire. “I only need a couple gallons.  I have cash if—-”

“You shouldn’t be here,” the smiling man said, maintaining a show of teeth.

He also said your name.  Somehow, he knew your name.

An alarm went off in your gut.  “Do I know you?”

You hadn’t yet had time to process the idea that you’d gone to the wrong place entirely for your date, and Steve wasn’t even the one you were supposed to meet.  

The smiling man got closer, only a car length away by then.  

With a start, you noticed that a woman in an old fashioned Nurse uniform—like the type one might wear for Halloween—was not far behind the man in the suit, headed toward you at the same pace with her hair done in two platinum blonde braids..

Her smile was not as wide but just as unsettling.  

“Hello?” You yelled in the direction of the service station, knowing you should go over and try to knock, but your feet felt like they had concrete shoes on.  

“Hello?” A high-pitched voice came from somewhere behind you, and it was clearly mocking, complete with a maniacal giggle at the end.  

You spun around to find that the smog was a curtain, and you were unable to see beyond it.  It was gathering around you legs too, as if preparing to drag you into the void.

Disoriented and panting, you watched a car come flying up over the curb, gunning the engine so hard that one of the hubcaps flew off.

The avocado green Ford Pinto caught air for a second before the bumper crashed into the smiling man, bending him in half like a rag doll.  It pinned him into the stone of the building with a loud, sickening crunch. 

You would’ve screamed but your breath caught on a sharp inhale, making you choke.  

Clearly broken by the impact, the smiling man’s expression never faultered, and he was still staring pointedly at you while bits from the wall crumbled around him.

Black blood dripped from his lips and eyes like tar.

“Fuckfuckfuckwhatthefuck,” you babbled while Joyce flapped her arms to try and get your attention from the window of the passenger seat.

“Hurry, get in!” She shouted, her voice cracking at the end.

Steve was driving, and he backed up enough so that the body of the smiling man slumped to the ground.

Throwing the vehicle into park, Steve bolted from his seat with what looked like a baseball bat covered in jumbo nails like a medieval mace. 

He swung to strike the woman in the nurse uniform with it, but missed, and she hissed at him. Her mouth grew 5 times its original size, crowded full with rows of sharp teeth.  Her eyes stretched into empty, cavernous holes with nothing behind them, her fingers were long claws and her…her….

It was then that you realized you were screaming.

9

“Steve watch out!” Joyce had a hold of your hand, dragging you along with all of her mite.

The thing that was once the woman in the nurse uniform let out a shrill cry just before the nail bat made contact with its skull.  Its head whacked into the side of the Pinto and bounced off, causing a spray of black blood.

It barely made a difference.  

It lunged jerkily and swiped at him; mouth gaping, eyes two spirling tunnels to hell, but before it could make contact, Joyce pulled a tiny firearm out of her sleeve and took aim, cracking the thing in the cheek with a bullet. 

“I hate these things,” she muttered under her breath while the tip smoked, and you weren’t sure if she meant guns or the Other thing that tried to take a bite out of Steve; possibly both.

The nurse stumbled back behind the pumps and fell out of view.

“GET. IN.” Joyce was stronger than she looked as she stuffed you into the back seat of the Pinto.  In haste, you scraped your knee on a piece of metal behind the passenger seat, but had no idea until you saw the blood running down your leg some time later.  

The smiling man shuffled to his feet like he was being tugged up by strings.

His guts were spilling out of him but yet, he was able to stand.  Stand and smile.  With inky ooze dripping from everywhere like melting wax.  

Joyce was in the process of shutting her door as Steve backed up.  You felt the jarring bump when the wheels went over the nurse.  

You caught Steve’s eye in the rearview mirror.  “Are you okay?” He demanded.  “Did any of them touch you?”

On the seat next to you was the nail bat; some of the nurses’ blonde hair was sticking to it.

“No, uh, no, I don’t think so. What are they? Did you just kill that woman? Take me back to my car.  Tell me what is going on!”

He was lightning fast on the gears once he’d backed up into the street, just in time for you to see the nurse sit upright; black tar leaking from the hole in the back of her head. 

“That’s not a woman,” he grunted, flooring the pedal. “It's not even human.”

“What does that mean?” Shaking, you listened to your own horrified voice as if from a distance.

Joyce swiveled in her seat to give you the best comforting twist of her lips that she could muster.  “I’ll do my best to explain, back at the diner.”

“Why aren’t they dead?” You whined, staring back at the nurse one last time before the gas station disappeared in the smog.

Through the window you saw that there were more of those Things that resembled people lining the sidewalk, standing shoulder to shoulder. They swarmed in from the shadows one by one to watch the vehicle pass with vested interest.  

Their eyes followed you like the pinto was a one-man parade. Or perhaps a meals-on-wheels.

“Where did they all come from?” You asked, almost certain you wouldn’t get an answer.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Steve sighed.

He was awfully calm considering what you’d just witnessed.

From the rearview mirror dangled a similar stone to the one Steve wore around his neck, suspended by cream string or twine.  

There was a crackling noise and then a new voice sounded like it was coming from a radio.

“Joyce, are you there?” A pause and more crackling. “Need you to talk to me Joyce. Harrington? Anyone?”

There was a CB radio attached to the dash.  Joyce unhooked the mouthpiece from its metal hinge and put it to her mouth, depressing the side button.

“I’m here, Hop,” Joyce was doing her best not to sound rattled, adjusting her collar.  Her glance flicked to the back seat.  “We’re safe.  We got her.”

The following silence hissed static before Hopper cleared his throat.  “Good, that’s good.  And Steve?”

“He’s here,” she assured.  “Not a scratch.”

Jim was all the way on the other side of town about to take his shoes off and have some of the potato vodka his buddy Scott distilled in his basement when he got word that Joyce and Steve were going after you.  He’d begged Joyce to wait for him, but knew she wouldn’t.  He’d sped to the scene as fast as he could.

“I’ll be at Benny’s in two,” he said.  “Be careful. Over and out.”

10

Gravel crunched under the tires as Steve pulled into the diner.  Three of the things with the same posture as the smiling man were slinking out of the woods.  Two from the left, and one from around the corner on the right.  

They had the same lock-jawed grins, but this time, one was a high school boy in a green letterman’s jacket, one was an elderly woman in a robe with a shower cap on her head, and the third was a boy no older than twelve.

Disarming at first, but then you recognized the dead eyes, assessing you like a shark.

“There’s more,” Joyce gestured behind at the handful that were meandering up from the street. They all had a certain gait to them; like those serial killers in movies to go at a snail pace, but somehow always catch up to the victim. 

Steve looked over his shoulder to get a look through the back window, and then his gaze landed on you again.

His scowl was more stern than he meant for it to be.  “If you run, I can’t promise I’ll be able to save you again,” he swallowed, softening.  “Joyce is going to head into the diner first, you follow her, and I’ll take up the rear, got it?”

You thought you gave a response, but maybe not.

“Nod if you understand,” he rumbled.

“I understand,” you said weakly, noticing that your cheeks were wet.

The things had the gait of zombies, but they were far from brain dead, and their skin suits weren’t composed of rotting flesh.  Aliens, maybe? Vampires? How the fuck was this even happening? 

“Ready?” Joyce had her fist around the door handle, ready to jump out and push her seat forward for your exit.

The old woman and the little boy with a mop of raven hair were only a few yards away, and you remembered how the nurse’s face had changed into a horrific maw of terror.

“Don’t look at them,” Joyce urged.  “You just grab onto the back of my shirt and keep your eyes forward.  They’re scary fuckers, but they are also really slow.”

You broke through the wall of fear that had you frozen in place, and tried not to think about how close the old woman was when you bolted from the back seat and tripped.  

Of course you would trip.

Your knee caught all of your weight making you gasp in pain, but a surge of adrenaline pushed you through it, snatching Joyce’s hand as you went.

“Good to see you again, Joyce,” the old woman purred.  “Who is your friend?”

“Fuck you!” Joyce said from the front door of the diner, yanking a janitor cluster of keys from the crossbody bag she wore.  

You kept your gaze glued to the back of her head, but peripheral vision showed that the duo were almost within arms reach.  Ice cold breath prickled down your spine.

Steve was behind you then, warm body crushed against yours, shielding you from the Others while Joyce undid the lock. All of you practically landed in a dogpile on the floor inside the diner.  

Joyce sank down on the ground right where she was on the tile, panting while the strange Others begin to huddle at the entrance, peering in at you with salacious intent.

“She’s pretty,” the little boy said. “We just want to introduce ourselves.”

“You can’t keep her from us forever,” said the guy in the letterman’s jacket. Now that you had a closer look, you could see that the gums around his pearly white teeth were the color of rot.  

Steve rolled his shoulders back, nostrils flaring while he maintained the stand-off with nothing but a single pane of glass between them.  .

You took hold of his arm, unnerved by how close he was and how easily the glass could be shattered.

“Steve, get away from—-”

“They can’t do shit,” he snapped, more to them than to you. He pointed to a stone that was ten times the size of the one around his neck and mounted on the wall.  “They can’t touch us now.”

How those rough cut rocks with some type of symbol carved into the surface kept anything out was another mystery.  Was it like the symbol of the cross for demons and vampires?

Were those things some breed of demon?

Blinded by a sudden white flash, you had to shield your face when a pair of headlights bounced into the lot. 

“It’s Hopper,” Joyce sounded relieved, getting to her feet.  

The three that had been crowding at the door to leer in at you shuffled off to go and check it out.

The next thing you heard was the discharge of a gun.  The jolt of it made you throw your arms around Steve, but then you quickly pushed off, clutching a hand over your heart.

Another gunshot, and then another.

One more for good luck.  

A large man in a tan uniform and a substantial mustache squeezed his thick shoulders through the diner door, holstering his gun.  He took his hat off once he was inside and swept a large hand through the new haircut Joyce had given him.  

Outside, you could see the high school kid face down on the ground, sprawled like a starfish.

“It won’t kill them,” Hopper said, as if he could read your thoughts.  “But it does slow them down a bit.”

He fished a toothpick from his front pocket and bit down on it.  “We try to keep bullet use to a minimum, but that sure felt good.”

“You didn’t have to come,” Joyce tucked herself under his open arm and hugged him.  “I told you Steve and I had it covered.”

“Yeah, well,” he closed his eyes and perched his chin on the top of her head.  “It’s not every day we get someone new in town.”

You must’ve looked like you were about to throw up or pass out because Steve started making comforting circles on your back with the flat of his hand.  

“You guys are only a few miles off the freeway,” the synapses in your brain were still fighting for a chance to make sense of it all.  “How do the authorities not know about this?”

You couldn’t peel your attention away from the sprawled body out on the pavement.  In the distance, groups of Others lumbered toward the building.

“I am the authorities,” the man introduced as Jim Hopper said with a glint of humor in his eye.  

“She’s with me,” Steve blurted. The comment came so far out of left field that everyone turned to stare at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.  

“I mean,” he stammered, nibbling his bottom lip. “She can stay here with me if she wants, on the pullout in the store room.  I’ll be fine in one of the booths.”

There were 7-8 of those things waiting outside the door at that point, including the ones that had been shot by Hopper, but those were all rising like marionettes by then.  A busty woman with long red hair joined the stalkers, as well as a balding middle-aged man, and what appeared to be an elderly Priest.  

Hopper put his hat down on a nearby table and sank into a chair as if it was just another day.  “Coffee if you’ve got it.”

“Um, yeah, sure, I’ll make a fresh pot,” Steve moved around the partition toward the kitchen, grazing your hand with the tips of his fingers to urge you to move with him.

He leaned over to whisper.  “We need to wait 15-20 minutes before they can go back out.  Those things will get bored and wander off somewhere else.  Back to hell or wherever they are from.”

“Sit here,” he tapped the end of the counter and a padded stool so that he could talk to you while he made the brew.  

11

He put several scoops of grounds into a filter at the top of the machine and made sure it was filled with water.  He’d removed his flannel at some point, and you caught yourself watching his back muscles twitch under the thin material of his white tee. The water he used was not from the sink, but in a plastic gallon jug with a duct taped handle.

You were still standing when he turned and wiped his hands down his denim-clad hips.

“That guy at the gas station,” you started.  “The one you…the one in the suit, he…”

Tasting bile, you tried to find your words and Steve did not try to rush you.

“That thing…he knew my name. How could he know that?”

On an exhale, Steve leaned forward to rest his forearms on the counter.  He wanted nothing more than to be able to put you at ease and say you had nothing to worry about, but alas.

“Yeah so it’s one of those mysteries I’ve been trying to figure out since I got here,” he opened his hand and ran his thumb over the calluses on the opposite palm.  “They know things they shouldn’t know and they survive things no living organism should survive.  The only way we know how to kill them is—-”

“Since you got here?” You blurted.  “Did you just show up like I did? How long have you been here?”

“Well, I guess you could say I showed up like you did, but not really,” he rolled his head, stretching the sides of his neck so that something popped.  “One day I was in a place I refer to as Normal Hawkins, and then I was in this very different version of the same town.  We all were.”

“Wait, so,” you frowned, simultaneously comforted by the familiar warm scent of brewing coffee. The machine spit and sputtered. “You mean this isn’t Hawkins?”

“No, it is,” he swiped a tongue over his top teeth. “It’s hard to explain.  Robin and I have been reading up on, you know, alternate universes and such.  Parallel worlds.  We think this might be one of those.”

“Robin?” Your eyebrow shot up.  

“My best friend. I mentioned her before.”

“Oh yes, right. Where is she tonight?”

“Safe at home, I hope,” he went over to get a couple mismatched mugs from a light blue drying rack. “We used to live together but she moved in with her girlfriend and—” he stealed himself, realizing he was about to ramble on about his personal life.   

“We’re out of cream today, but I have a lot of sugar,” he plucked a few packets from his magic apron pocket: one pink, one white, and one brown.  

He loved offering you sugar.

He took the other two steaming mugs over to Joyce and Hopper while you stirred in the white crystals with a tiny spoon.  It crossed your mind that maybe never left your apartment, and were actually asleep on the couch, dreaming all of this.  

Easing down to take a reluctant seat, you perched on the edge of the stool. The deep orange of the upholstery was worn and split down the middle, exposing the white stuffing.

You took a peek over your shoulder to find that half of those Things were gone; only the redhead, the priest, and the high school kid remained.  Where the bullet hole tore through his cheek was almost completely healed, but the weeping black blood remained like tear-soaked mascara.

His evil smile widened when he caught your eye, making you swiftly spin away.  You scooted down to the opposite end of the counter so that you wouldn’t be within view.

Steve observed your seat change and did what he should’ve done when they first got there, which was to walk over and pull the shades down to cover the glass on the door.  He was so used to ignoring them, he’d forgotten what it was like to comprehend their existence for the first time.

“I promise, you’re safe in here with us,” Steve leaned in to whisper. “I don’t know how the stones work, but they do.”

In a few days, it would be exactly two years since he’d been forced to cohabitate with those…ghouls.

A ghoul was the closest he’d come to describing them.  But they weren’t a typical braindead zombie on the ravenous hunt for fresh organs like he’d seen in the old George Romero movies; they were unfortunately intelligent and possessed some type of psychic ability or hive mind.

The only thing that could kill them was decapitation, which also synced up with common zombie lore. If bitten or attacked, the person afflicted did not turn into one of them, which was a small mercy.  Steve’s good friend Tommy had been one of the first to meet such a fate; they’d buried all of his mauled body parts out near Skull Rock.  

Twenty months later, there were several rows of marked graves to accompany him.

“Steve?” He liked the way you said his name.  

“Uh huh,” popping a hip out to rest it on the counter, he took a sip of his coffee from a Star Wars Ewok mug, addressing you over the rim.

“So, you never put a personal ad in the newspaper?” One hand was trembling, so you slotted it between your knees. 

He inhaled to speak, but you continued.  “The voice message I got sounded just like you, and it told me to meet you here.”

Your mug was beige with brown lettering that said: Accountant’s Never Die, They Just Lose Their Balance.

“It wasn’t me,” he said softly.  “Believe me, I would never want to drag anyone into this.”

He continued, frowning.  “I wonder if it was Other Steve that put the ad in the paper?

“Other Steve?”

He shrugged.  “I mean, if this is a case of parallel worlds, there is a chance that there is another version of me back in that other version of Hawkins.  The version that didn’t keep us trapped like rats in a cage.”

Even though it sounded ludacris, you considered it, because even that was quite a bit more comforting than the alternative.

He said your name, making you look up.

“So, you were supposed to go on a date with some other Steve guy?” It had been a while since he felt that particular brand of jealousy. “What a small world.”

“You could say that,” you swallowed, feeling judged. “I should’ve known that the only promising personal ad would lead to more horrors.”

He gave a low chuckle, feeling bad for the other parallel version of him who probably waited at Benny’s for a solid hour, thinking he got ditched.  

If only Other Him knew you were absolutely worth waiting for.  

“Steve?” 

“Mhmhm,” he scratched the stubble on his jaw.

“Are we dead?” It bubbled out of your chest as you stared into your coffee.  “Did I die out there on the highway or something?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, tucking his chin. “I’ve wondered that too, like, a lot, but I don’t think this is the end.  I think we’ll make it out of here one day.  I know we will.”

Something vibrated in the shared silence and you found yourself staring at his parted lips.

“I’m not ready to die.”

Your whisper was interrupted by a sudden, obnoxious noise coming from the back room.

It sounded like the rattling of a doorknob, like someone trying to get in.

12

“Stay here,” Steve instinctively grabbed the closest and biggest knife, held it aloft like Michael Myers, and went to investigate.

He put a hand over the stone under his shirt too, reminding himself that this building was protected.  Those things could try to open the door, but even then they’d be powerless to step over the threshold, much like a vampire without a proper invitation.

The ghouls that had been huddling like cattle at the front door were all gone as far as you could see, and you wondered if maybe they’d wandered around to try another way in.

“What’s going on?” Jim scooted his chair out and stood to see why Steve was holding the knife like that.

Without answering, Steve made his way around a metal supply rack, eyes narrowing on the brass knob of the back door.  

It was wiggling violently, causing Steve’s heart to explode in his throat.

The jostling stopped only long enough for there to be a loud thud and quake of the door frame while whatever was on the other side rammed itself against the wood. 

By then, Hopper had unholstered his gun and was on his way over.  

You and Joyce had the same idea at the same time and both started looking for a weapon.  Joyce found a pair of scissors, but all you could find was a fork.

“Let me in, motherfuckers!”  A voice shouted from the other side of the door.

Another thud, more frantic twisting of the knob.

“Wait,” Steve put his hand up to slow Hopper from going ahead of him.

The possible intruder went still.

“Munson?” Steve asked.  “Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me man. You need a secret code or something? I’ve got one of those freaks on my ass, please open the fuck up!”

Hopper’s shoulders sagged and he lowered his weapon.  Out of habit, Steve checked above the door to make sure the protection stone was still mounted there before he searched to see where you were.  The ghouls were capable of mimicking voices to trick people into dropping defenses for them, but if there was even a tiny chance it really was Eddie, he had to check it out.

He planned to drill a peephole in that door the first chance he got.

Steve twisted open the lock and stepped way back.  “It’s open.”

The guy who blew into the kitchen before slamming the door behind him to lean against it shivering was definitely not one of those things from earlier.

Panting, Eddie clicked the lock.  “Fuck me Harrington, that thing almost got me. There were two of them, fuck, maybe ten.  I stopped counting once I started running.”

“Eddie, what happened?” Joyce pushed by Hopper.  “Where are your shoes?”

It was just then that you realized Eddie’s feet were bare. He wore a pair of tattered jeans and a worn shirt with the faded phrase Hellfire Club on the front.  His long hair was wet and if he’d already taken a shower, the looks of his feet said he needed another one.

“Leave it to me to lock myself out of the trailer again,” his teeth were chattering, and without asking for one, Joyce handed him a multicolored, crocheted blanket from the broom closet to put around his shoulders.  “I was headed over to find Wayne at Claudia’s, but then I got cornered and well, the rest is history.”

“Why didn’t you use the front door?” Steve crossed his arms with the point of the knife sticking up.

“I don’t know, man,” Eddie pulled the blanket tight around himself like a cocoon and shut his eyes tight.  “Why doesn’t anyone do anything?  Sorry if I scared you or whatever.”

Joyce introduced you as Eddie shuffled out to the dining area, and all he said was, “hey,” in greeting before he slumped into one of the booths, adjusting so that his back was to the wall and his legs straight along the bench seat.

“You got any shoes I can borrow?” The visitor with the long, wet hair asked Steve. 

Steve put the knife back in the slot with the others.  “Borrow as in I get them back tomorrow or borrow as in they become yours and I’ll never see them again?”

“Just forget it,” Eddie grunted.  It wasn’t long before Steve threw a pair of flip flops at him and brought him a cup of coffee.

“Looks like it’s safe for us to split,” Jim announced a few minutes later, putting his hat back on. The parking lot was quiet, and even if there were any creepy ghouls nearby, they’d be able to get behind the wheel of their cars without making contact.  

“You need a ride back to your place, Eddie?” Joyce asked while she walked their coffee mugs over to the back sink. “I still have a spare key from that time you let me and Will stay there.”

“Yeah that’s cool,” Eddie said absently.  His attention had shifted and you realized he was staring at you.

“So, wait, you’re new here?” Eddie asked. 

“Just came into town a few hours ago,” Steve answered somberly.

You’d been sitting with your back to Eddie, but then turned on your stool to make eye contact across the room.

“Shit, that sucks,” Eddie blurted.  “I mean, you don’t suck, but just like, I’m not sure what type of bad luck makes people end up here.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you simply nodded a few times in agreement; it did, indeed, feel like bad luck, or something worse.

After a beat, Eddie cleared his throat.  “You, um, don’t happen to have any smokes on you by chance?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” you could almost hear a soft whine of relief come out of him.  “Well, not on me. There’s an untouched pack in the glovebox of my car but it’s…”

You trailed off realizing that your bag with all of your ID and personal shit were back in the car, too.  You’d left in such a hurry, the keys were probably still in the ignition. Fuck, the last thing you needed was for someone to steal your car and your bag.  Could those zombie things drive? You’d almost forgotten about that secret pack of Camel Lights that you’d stuffed in there for emergencies, but you never expected it to be for an actual emergency.  

“Yeah? Where’s your car?” He sat up, alert.  

“Back at the gas station,” Joyce rolled up one of her oversized cuffs.  “There was a run in with a few of those Things earlier and we had to leave in a hurry.”

“I should probably go back there and get my things,” you mused. 

“Not a good idea, not tonight,” Steve interrupted, swinging his arm out as if to block you from the rest of the group.  “In the morning I’ll take you.  Those things usually don’t bother with inanimate objects, unless they are attached to a living-breathing human.”

Eddie mumbled. “Better not catch one of them enjoying a fresh cigarette, or I’m gonna be pissed.”

You stood up, addressing Eddie. “If you want to go by there and take the pack, you are welcome to them. I quit a while ago, so—”

“Yeah, so did I,” Eddie blew a raspberry of a laugh. “But not willingly. They don’t exactly grow on trees here.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest again, rolling his shoulders back.  “I don’t think anyone should be making any unnecessary stops tonight.”

“I agree,” Hopper voiced.

“I’d say it’s necessary,” Eddie countered, knowing that Steve was right.  The safety of morning light would come soon enough.  

Steve shut off the overhead lights and released the blinds that covered the door to peer out.  Eddie shuffled over in Steve’s flip flops and the blanket around him like a little kid leaving for a sleepover.

The three made the decision to take Hopper’s Bronco, and Joyce told Steve to take care.  She kissed his cheek while Eddie gave him a fist bump that Steve seemed unsure how to respond to at first.

“See ya later, alligator,” Steve told them before turning the lock to seal the building again.

You stood side by side and watched until they were safely on the road.  In their wake, something bolted out of the woods and threw its head back to wail like a beast.  It had a bald head and pointed ears and crouched to all fours like an animal.

“Why is that one different than the others?” You asked, clutching onto Steve’s arm.  

“We think those are the older ones,” he cleared his throat.  “But there are only a few of them that I know of.”

“Why do you think they’re older?”  Your gaze was locked on the Thing as it lumbered back out of sight.  

Steve shifted on his feet before pulling the blinds back down.  “It’s just a hunch really, but they seem to be faster and smarter than the others.  Those are the ones that can mimic voices.”

You shrugged away and put your face in your hands.  “This can’t be real.  This has to be a fucking nightmare.”

“It is a nightmare alright,” Steve agreed with you.  “But the thing is, we’re not asleep.”

“How do you know that though? This is probably one of those deep REM dreams that we won’t even remember once we wake up.”

“If this is a dream,” he had his hands on his hips and the sides of his mouth wiggled with a repressed grin.  “How can I find you when we wake up? Do you have a phone number I can call or?”

You shifted your gaze to the floor so that you wouldn’t get lost in his eyes.  “When you wake up, put another personal ad in the paper for me to find.”

“Deal,” he offered a genuine smile that time.  The guy had perfect teeth; it almost made you self-conscious.

13

You had the impression that Steve lived somewhere on the premises, but that was not the case.  The “spare room” he’d mentioned was a cot in the pantry. Apparently he lived in the family home he’d grown up in, but crashed at the diner more often than not. He changed the sheets and threw a Sesame Street comforter on that had probably once been on a twin bed for a child while you were in the bathroom. He handed you a spare toothbrush and before you went in, you asked if the toilet worked.

“Why wouldn’t it?” Steve was honestly confused.

“Well,” you gestured around vaguely.  “If this is some type of post-apocalyptic wasteland where nothing new comes or goes, where is the electricity and water coming from?”

There was a main generator that powered the town, but he didn’t have a chance to get the words out.

Your throat constricted.  “We are dead, we have to be.”

“Because the toilets flush?” He chuckled.

You bristled with annoyance and turned away.  Not annoyance with Steve in particular but with your shit show of a life that refused to let you know peace.  

“Hey listen, I know—-” Steve reached out for you only to freeze his hand in mid-air.

There was music coming from the dining area.

The sound was shrill static at first but then the chorus bloomed, and it took you a second to recognize that the song was When the Night Comes by Joe Cocker.

“I just wanna be the one you run to

I just wanna be the one you come to

I just wanna be there for someone

When the night comes”

“Steve…what is happening?” With each word you were moving toward the sound, disregarding the protests of your gut.

“Let's put all the cares behind us

And go where they'll never find us”

With the only other light being the moon shining through the slats in the blinds, the neon red and yellow caught your attention.

At a table near the window was a replica of an old jukebox, no taller than a bowling ball.  There was a coin slot at the top and white buttons at the bottom to choose from the flipcards with song titles on them.  As you approached, you checked out the window above it to see the shadows made by rows of trees and wondered what could possibly be lurking there, observing you.

“It does that sometimes,” Steve was a few steps behind, combing fingers through his hair.

“Two spirits in the night

That can leave before the morning light

When there's nothing left to lose

And nothing left to fear”

You stood at the end of the booth and stared at the machine.  “Is it the same song every time?”

“Different ones,” his chest was inches from your back, his warm breath on your neck. “But this one is a favorite.”

“I know there'll be a time for you and I

Just take my hand and run away”

“Do you want to wear this?” He’d picked up the flannel and put it over your shoulders.  “I saw you shivering.”

“Think of all the pieces of the shattered dream

We're gonna make it out some day”

Without taking your eyes off of the jukebox, you let him wrap the wool shirt with a quilted lining over you and then, without hesitation, your hand slipped into his and he held it there, interlacing his fingers to step to your side.

A strange weight lifted off of you at the idea of not being able to go home.  

“Do you really think we’ll get out of here one day?” You asked in a whisper.

“I just wanna be there beside you

When the night comes”

Steve admired your profile.  “I hope so,” his voice was a murmur.  “But it doesn’t seem so bad here all of a sudden.”

The jukebox did not run on batteries and it was not plugged into a socket on the wall.

You tipped your chin up slowly to meet his gaze and, just then, out in the street, something inhuman scampered through the parking lot and into the woods.  

His thumb gently rubbed along yours and you could smell a touch of cologne on the flannel.

“Steve, I think we should have some pie.”

He was staring at your mouth while he nodded in agreement.

The music cut off before the song was finished, and the jukebox went dark.

-----

My friends, thank you so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed.

-----

[existential-crisis-of-the-mind]

Dive Bars and Hidden Scars (Jason Todd x Reader, Pt 1)

Jason Todd was nervous. As much as he’d hate to admit it, the infamous Red Hood’s mind was a buzz with thoughts. Though this time he wasn’t plagued by the antics of one of Gotham’s many villains, nor was he breaking his head strategising his next move. No, the source of his nerves was far more mundane than the his daredevil double life could offer.

He was nervous because of a date. That he set up. 

In his defense, he didn’t think he’d get this far. His mind was running a mile a minute when he somewhat bluntly asked (Name) out. 

(Name), the friendly barista who always greeted him with a warm smile despite the standoffish aura he carefully constructed to keep people at arms length.

You grew on him, your warm personality, bright smiles and witty remarks. Initially Jason would lie to himself, repeating that he just need the hit of a double shot of espresso to start the day, hence the cafe was a natural stop. But lately he caught his thoughts wandering to you, wondering if seeing him made blood rush to your cheeks the way it did for him when his sights set on you.

The smiles and brief morning chats was a good set up. That arrangement suited him just fine, hell it was more that what he should’ve gotten, given his precarious second life as Red Hood. It isn’t safe for him to get too close to people, especially not civilians.

So imagine his surprise when he blurted out the suggestion for the both of you to visit a hole-in-the-wall dive bar he recently discovered. And imagine his shock when you actually agreed to it, enthusiastically even.

Jason’s foot frantically tapped the wooden floor, he took another sip of his drink. Yeah he arrived early, but it was only to scope the place out first. He wouldn’t want to bring you some place too seedy.

He felt rusty, not like he's had much time to go on dates after being resurrected. Turns out the quest for revenge seldom leaves space for other interests or hobbies.

But he likes you, and he doesn't want to mess this up.

His eyes flit to the door as it creaks open. There you are, looking radiant even. That lipgloss really suits you.

Wait why was that his first thought? God he's is doomed isn't he?

Here goes nothing He thinks to himself as he waves to you from the booth he secured.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you liked this! Haven't written in a minute so would be keen to know if you'd like to read more.

Also made a bot of this on Character AI if you want to play your own story with this prompt link :)

[dilfmobius]

wip wednesday

Pulling this from an AU I've been adding to little by little. Loki goes to live with Thor after leaving a bad relationship, and Mobius owns a rental shop nearby. Takes place in a beach/costal community setting so of course it's a jet-ski rental but he rents other things too guys!! It's totally cliche and self indulgent 😌💕

“So, you and Mobius seem to be getting along really well,” Thor says once he’s plopped himself down on the back porch steps. Loki looks over his book to the back of Thor’s head, and scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks. Thor just shrugs, squinting off into the distance. “Nothing, just that you’ve been going over to his shop nearly every day this week, and you come out here to watch him surf when he’s not at the shop, so…” Loki rolls his eyes. “One: I have not been at his shop every day this week —” “I said nearly —” “And two: I come out here to read. It’s not my fault he spends most of the time in the water if he’s not at his shop.” Loki looks out at the water and sure enough Mobius is out there, riding the waves, wearing nothing but a rather short pair of swim shorts. Loki hears Thor clear his throat and he snaps his attention to his brother's smirking face. Loki stuffs his nose back into his book, hiding the blush on his face. “You two just seemed really chummy the other day,” Thor says, recounting their first outing to Mobius’ shop together. “He was going on about something in one of those jet-ski catalogs, and there you were as enthralled as I’ve never seen you.” “It’s nothing, Thor,” Loki says, “He’s just very chatty, and it feels rude to ignore him.” Thor's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he simply shakes his head and leans back on his arms. “Whatever you say, brother.” Loki glares daggers at the back of Thor’s head. What’s it to him? So Loki has been seeing Mobius a little more frequently. So what? It’s not like he can hang around the house all day. He'd much rather go bother Mobius, poke around his establishment, let the man talk his ear off about personal watercrafts.  So what if Mobius makes Loki feel a little less miserable, a little less anxious? Mobius doesn’t know him, only whatever Thor has offered up, and as far as Loki is concerned, that’s not a reliable source. And yet, Mobius still makes time for him. It’s not like Loki is good company on his best days, he knows this. And perhaps Mobius would be better off spending his time with someone who wasn’t fundamentally broken, someone so starved for affection that the very thoughts of it makes him nauseous.

[apenitentialprayer]

Maybe I should be asking an Orthodox person this, but I do not understand the hubbub with the Filioque. To me it is hair splitting, could you explain why it would not be hairsplitting? Or if there is an aspect I am missing as to why it was the final straw for a schism?

Okay, ah, I think there are two aspects that need to be addressed here. The first deals with the simple fact of its inclusion in the Creed, and I'm going to come off as a traitor here, so let me clarify my personal position; I believe the filioque best represents the reality of the Spirit's procession, but I think it was bad that the Western Church inserted it into the Nicene Creed.

As Henri de Lubac talks about in The Christian Faith, the Church allows for many theologies, spiritualities, customs, and liturgical traditions to coexist; "from one country to another and from one century to another there are many differences in emphasis." What connects all these elaborations and practices of the Christian faith is that they are all anchored in that faith, as revealed by God and distilled in the Creed. That faith is the unity of all Christians everywhere.

And what convinced me that the inclusion of the filioque was not a good move actually came from another Catholic thinker, Karl Rahner, who wrote "the inevitable pluralism met with in theology cannot and must not cause the unity of the creed of faith to disappear from the Church, even in its verbal expression." Except.... that's exactly what the Western Church did. It took the Creed as articulated by two separate ecumenical councils, and unilaterally added words to it. And while there are historical reasons for that inclusion, and while I think the theology behind its inclusion is true, I think modifying what was meant to be the unifying symbol of the Christian faith was not a good move. And I can see why the filioque inclusion seems like a rupture from the Orthodox tradition. Because... we have caused the unity of the creed of faith in its verbal expression to disappear.

And I think that's a bigger problem than the content of the filioque clause itself, to be honest. But, as far as the content goes, let's talk about that, too.

In the Orthodox perspective, the three Persons of the Trinity share a common nature, and there's a kind of symmetry where the traits of any given Person is either held in common by all three, or is reserved for one of Them. So, for example, the state of being uncreated and eternal are traits shared by all Persons in the Trinity, as is the fact that They are almighty and infinite. Those are traits derived from their divine nature. But in terms of traits distinctive to Their individual Personhoods, well: the Father is seen as the Source of the other two, while the Son is the only begotten Member of the Trinity, and the Spirit is the only spirated Member. An Orthodox Christian may argue that the filioque ruins this symmetry of Persons; if the Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son, the distribution of Personal traits is no longer equal (two Persons have a trait that one Person does not have). This can be seen as a kind of ontological inferiority on the Spirit's end.

From the perspective of the Roman Church and Her western descendants, the articulation of the Trinity doesn't really involve this "common to All or particular to One" logic. Instead, we tend to use a sacramental logic that assumes that how the Persons of the Trinity operate within Their creation also tells us something about how They relate to each other from all eternity. So, the Father sends the Son into the world (John 17:1-4); hence the Father begets the Son. But the Father sends the Holy Spirit to the disciples "in [Christ's] name" (John 14:16-17, 26). So, the Father sends the Spirit, but the Son is somehow involved. The Holy Spirit is believed to still have one origin, but this one origin is the joint act of Father and Son. Part of this may have to do with different starting assumptions. Eastern Christians tend to start their thinking on the Trinity as Three existing in Unity, while Western Christians tend to start their thinking on the Trinity with One existing in Multiplicity.

But this is a super complicated subject, so if someone wants to correct me about either of the perspectives I tried to lay out, please feel free to do so.

[lolidiary]

🎀 Dear Diary,

Ever since I started dressing in girly clothes big brothers been really weird.

I know it’s weird for guys to wear skirts n stuff but it’s cute! He keeps staring at me allll the time.

Today he got me a present since I started wearing a pink cat ear hoodie and paw socks almost every day ^^

It was a pretty pink tail with a little bow on it but when I looked for the clip it just had a big metal thingy.

“No silly, it doesn’t go on your skirt it goes under it.” He said.

I was confused about what he meant but then he lifted up my skirt and took it from my hand and pulled my panties to the side and pushed it in me!

It hurt so so bad! I started crying and I fell on my knees. It felt to weird it was cold and hard inside me and it wouldn’t come out.

But big brother started petting my head which felt nice so I cried but I didn’t make any more noise.

Then he told me to meow.

I told him that was stupid and only little kids pretend to be animals!

You’re never gonna believe what he did!

He hit me across the face! Really hard! I wish I could tell you that I called him stupid or something atleast but I got really scared so I just meowed for him. I was sooo embarrassed. I didn’t understand why he was making me pretend to be a kitty.

He called me a good kitty and let me lay on his bed for a while but only if I curled up like a cat. Then he locked the door. He said we could watch a show on his Telly.

I almost forgave him since he put on Pokémon. (XY&Z obviously! Squishy is my favorite!) I was super excited to watch the show but every few minutes he would pull the tail.

N that hurt! Then after the show was done we heard mom and dad finally leave for their dinner date (bleh).

I got up to put on the next episode but he used the tail to yank me back down. Then he pulled the metal thingy out and made me let him look at my bum. He kept saying how pink and squishy it looked.

Then I heard his pants unzip and he started hitting his thingy on my bum.

“You’re gonna like this part okay, kitty?”

Then he put that inside too! I wanted to cry since it hurt a lot! But he pushed it in so so far and then it touched a tingly spot inside me and I let out a weird noise. I felt so hot and fuzzy. At first I cried for him to stop. My brain got all weird when he kept hitting that spot and for some reason I started asking him to do it more? Even though I wanted him to stop! It felt good in a weird way so I asked him to do it more but I also wanted him to stop? How is that possible.

He kept going and telling me I was a good boy. He also said I was tighter than his hand? I don’t know what that means or why he’s even squeezing his hand on his thingy in the first place.

Then he let out his special stuff inside me! It was warm but gross. It felt so icky… then he pulled his thingy out.

That made me excited. I thought I was gonna go take a bubbly bath and clean all the icky stuff out but he pushed the tail thingy in again!

I was so sleepy I didn’t even do much. He said I have to keep it in until tomorrow morning.

“Because for tonight you’re my kitty.”