#have you considered remembering genesis

[rainbowcarousels]

I was in the middle of writing but in trying to look up if there had ever been an official answer on something, I saw the Jenova kids referred to as 'Sephiroth, Angeal and another one' and I need to go pay down to recover.

[carcarrot]

well the poll hasnt ended yet but im sorry once again to those of you that wanted me to be more responsible. im seeing those bitches again as close as i possibly can

[sonic-adventure-3]

msrble blast

[minotaurs-my-beloved]

Not the mermaid anon but I was thinking of a nun encountering an angel, who is not as virtuous as the scriptues say, and the angel convincing the nun that she is going to hell unless she has sex with him.

Jesus Wept.

(or the terrible pun of a title i originally used, The Second Cumming)

What a fun idea anon, it also gives me a reason to be dramatic, sacrilegious, make a terrible pun, and dump a little bit of bible lore thats been ingrained in me

TW: Sacrilege and noncon or dubcon (the demon is pretty coercive and lies about being an angel)

He'll whisper sweet lies into your ear to try and get you on board, "You are chosen to be Mary. Through you will the second coming of Christ occur as the scriptures foretold all the way back in Genesis. To crush the head of the serpent, don't you remember?"

You call him out on the fact that Jesus already did that in his first coming and he laughs it off, saying, "Oh Ye of little faith, you all have interpreted this wrong. He has yet to fully crush the head, that is why demons and sin still exist. Hence him needing to return a second time, to fully end it."

When you ask why God would make you commit an egregious sin such as sex and not perform a miracle like he did with the virgin Mary, he angrily strikes you down. "God would not want that? You would dare question God's plan? As a mere mortal who cannot even wrap your head around his sheer existence, you defy him? Such hubris, do you want to suffer eternal damnation?"

You quickly try to redeem yourself, the threat of hell absolutely terrifying you and simply say that you do not understand. He just tells you that you do not need to, it is not your place. You try to rationalize all of this, knowing your God would never wish to harm you, this must be the way. I mean, he's an angel, is it really even considered fornication?

So, you agree.

He quickly strips you, his eyes don't look like they used to, now predatory, losing some of the light they used to hold. You just stand there, unsure of what you're meant to do. You're a virgin of course, you had never even kissed someone, and never thought about sex lest you fall into lust. He realizes this and starts telling you what he wants. Ordering for you to get on your hands and knees before him.

He goes behind you and you feel something sliding up and down your pussy, you whimper in fear, not knowing how this will feel, but you push all that to the side because you want to serve your God. He is surprisingly gentle in the beginning, slowly pushing his cock into your cunt, asking if you're okay. But the second he's fully inside, all of that disappears as he drives his cock in deep over and over. He grabs you by the hair, making you look up, "Look at the crucifix, you're worshiping your savior as I speak. Recite the holy prayer for me, c'mon."

He sounds completely different, from a booming, holy voice he now sounds raspy and strange. You try to look back at him, but his grip on your hair tightens, forcing you to look ahead. You begin saying the prayer as he commanded you, but it's so hard to think when he's fucking you like this. With each stutter he slaps your ass and you whine, trying your best to remember the entire thing. It gets exponentially harder to do so when something starts pushing against the rim of your asshole.

Before you have time to ask what he's doing, he rams his cock fully inside your tight hole, making you scream. He's now fucking you with two cocks. Why does he have two cocks? (for the second cumming, ikik im so funny) You have completely given up the prayer at this point, and he seems to have too, instead focusing on fucking you.

"I'm going to cum. I'm going to fill and ruin your holes and you're going to fucking take it. Thank your God. Thank him for my cum."

[hyperpotamianarch]

Pleasant music playing. The logo of Camp Nephillim appears on a sky-blue background. The logo is a tilted Star of David in which all the points are stylized as wings, with the words "Camp Nephilim" above and the Hebrew equivalent - "מחנה הנפילים" - below. Underneath the logo is a tagline - a quote from the Tanach.

The logo & background slowly fade. The music also fades, though a bit later than the logo.

[Setting: Int., an office of some sort. The back wall is covered with book shelves, with many of the books being in Hebrew - the Talmud, multi volume edition of the Tanach and such books. There's a table in the middle of the room. Behind it sits Tuvia Rosenbloom, an adult Jewish man with curly dark hair, a short beard and sharp green eyes. He wears a blue Camp Nephilim t-shirt, with a Tzitzit under it and a yarmulke on his head. He sports a friendly smile.]

Tuvia (with a noticable British accent): Shalom! Hello, and welcome to Camp Nephillim. I am Tuvia Rosenbloom, the camp councelor, and I'm here to explain to you about what this camp is and why you're here. Your journey here was likely shaking, so in the meanwhile take your time to relax and drink a cup of water while you're watching this orientation video. Please remember to say the blessing before!

[He lifts a cup of water, says the blessing and drinks before continuing]

Tuvia (cont.): So, first thing first: you should know that many thing that you may have thought were merely myth are, in fact, quite real. This includes angels and demons - though they aren't exactly the same as you might've imagined them. No, the whole "Biblically Accurate Angels" meme wouldn't prepare you enough either. Angels can also sometimes appear differently than their natural form, and can even seem like regular humans. They sometimes fall in love with humans, which is how most Nephilim come to be.

[Tuvia's office disappears, to show instead a Chumash opened in the Book of Genesis, chapter 6]

Tuvia (cont.): What are the Nephilim? Well, as the Torah says,

"It was then, and later too, that the Nephilim appeared on earth—when divine beings cohabited with the human women, who bore them offspring. Such were the heroes of old, the men of renown."

[Setting returns to Tuvia's office]

Tuvia (cont.): So, those are the Nephilim, then: children of Divine beings and humans, who are heroes and men of renown. And you are likely one of them.

[Tuvia takes another sip from his cup, then sets it aside]

Tuvia (cont.): You might need some time to digest that, feel free to pause the video for a few minutes. Getting back on topic, though: you are, likely, the child of a divine being. If you always grown with a single parent who only rarely reminisced of another parent you don't know what happened to them - you are likely a Naphil. It may grant you certain abilities relating to the position your divine parent served in the universe. Note, however, that those divine beings aren't gods. We do not worship them or offer them sacrifices, even as mediators between as and G-d. Some of those Divine Beings do like to consider themselves gods and were worshipped by old civilizations - the Greek and Norse pantheons, for example. That doesn't make them any more gods than the Angels known in Jewish lore - they are merely forces. Powerful, but not omnipotent.

[Tuvia pauses for a moment, letting that sink in]

Tuvia (cont.): There are other types of people who might find their way to Camp Nephilim, however. Perhaps you were training in magic under the Egyptian ḥartumim of Per Ankh and felt uncomfortable during Passover; maybe you studied under the tutelage of the Chaldeans in New Jersey, and they were harsh on you during Tisha b'Av; or maybe you were either born with the Re'iyeh, the Sight, or were granted it by an experiment gone wrong. I, personally, am descended from one of the few Jewish bloodlines that inherited the Re'iyeh from one of our ancestors. We can see the hidden world, and the threats within... and they tend to look back. Which leads us to demons.

[Tuvia leans back in his chair, putting his hands together]

Tuvia (cont.): It is important to remember that Demons - or Shedim, as they are known in Hebrew - aren't what you've come to expect from beings with such a name. They aren't evil monsters, hell-bent on tempting you to sin. Rather, they are... adjacent beings to us, not dissimilarly to elves or goblins in modern popular media. However, they are nothing like you may have come to expect from elves of the Tolkeinian kind. They are wilder than them, and prone to hurt humans. They aren't always murderous or impossible to reason with either. Some of them, like our lore instructor Yonatan Shida, are rather friendly. Many of them crave blood, though, and nothing is tastier to them than the blood of the Nephilim, or other humans capable of seeing them. They live in the edges of society and can feel when someone is looking at them. And when you do... when you acknowledge seeing them... you become fair play.

[Tuvia returns to his previous posture, lifts his cup and takes another sip]

Tuvia (cont.): You likely had a significant encounter with Shedim, or maybe other types of monsters, on your way here - but it probably wasn't your first time seeing them. It might have been a man who, upon a second look, had chicken legs. Perhaps you could've sworn that a weird stranger who seemed to follow you had two heads. You may have seen a horse fly on the horizon, or encountered a tall person with an umbilical cord tying them to the ground on a field trip. They were less of a threat to you back then. But yo have grown, and your powers and abilities grew with you - along with the Shedim's ability to sense you. They will be coming for you - which is why you're here. Camp Nephilim is a place for Jewish Nephilim and Ba'alei Shem to train. To get used to the powers granted to us by virtue of our parentage or via other means. We're not the only place for such training; Camp Half-Blood in Long Island offers training for children of entities from the Greek Pantheon, while the 21 Nome of the House of Life in Brooklyn offers training in Egyptian magic, and the Chaldean school in Jersey City will train you in the Mesopotamian vain. None of those, however, is built with Jews in mind: the worship of pagan gods is common in all these places. They don't supply you with Kosher food, tend to not care for our holidays and often enough rife with latent antisemitism. We offer a Jewish alternative - no matter what is your level of observance or what congregation you belong to, you can be sure we have here at least one synagogue you can daven at and one you'd never set foot in. We do not worship any god but G-d here - you can honor your parents in ways fitting the traditions of the Torah, but even if a divine parent asks of you to worship them you are not required to. Another difference between us and the other Camps and Schools is that you aren't trained to slay Shedim here. You're trained to keep them at bay, imprison them if necesarry. Unlike other monsters, Shedim die like humans do, and so killing them should be only taken as a last resort: if your life are in danger you should kill whoever threatens you, but otherwise killing Shedim is like murder. We would ask you to refrain from doing that unless necessary.

[Tuvia gets up]

Tuvia (cont.): That is it for the orientation video for now. Further explanations on your sleeping arrangemnt and schedules will be given to you when you exit the room. Welcome to Camp Nephilim! We hope you enjoy your time with us.

[Outro music playing, the picture of Tuvia's office is replaced by the blue background with the Camp's logo to the side while the credits are shown on screen]

———

Writer wishes to note he knows nothing about writing stage instructions.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Shinra is trying to force people to dress more appropriately for the work place, especially when they AREN’T ON A MISSION — PUT A SHIRT ON YOU ARE DISTRACTING THE DESK WORKERS!

Anyway. Shinra now has on its calendar a weekly “Dress for Success” day to promote productivity in the office.

Everyone (purposefully or accidentally) misunderstands the assignment. Everyone decides to dress like Sephiroth, with a few exceptions sprinkled in.

Even some of the Turks.

Reactions? Who is the odd man out? Did anyone wear normal office apparel?

*Most SOLDIERs are dressed as Sephiroth, including Angeal, who's having a blast bending the rules until he sees Zack*

Angeal: WHY are you wearing a chicken costume?

Zack: Remember when I got my first Second Class paycheck?

Angeal: Yeah?

Zack: And I bought this exact chicken costume?

Angeal: Yeah...

Zack: And you lectured me for an hour about being financially irresponsible and claimed I would never wear it?

Angeal, sighing: Yeah.

Zack: And then you went a step further by betting me 1000 gil that I would never wear it?

Angeal: Yeah.

Zack: Well, I consider proving you wrong a huge success. Now pay up!

*Genesis walks in wearing an elegant maroon suit*

Genesis: All you people cosplaying as Sephiroth look ridiculous idolizing a man who bears his tits freely.

Zack: What are you supposed to be?

Genesis: Nothing says success better than my own wardrobe.

*Angeal rips his blazer open to reveal a Silver Elite T-shirt underneath*

Genesis:

Angeal:

Zack:

Genesis: COUNTERFEIT SEPHIROTH, CHICKEN COSTUME. YOU REALLY WANT TO ARGUE?

*Sephiroth walks in wearing regular clothes—a simple sweater, jeans, and sneakers*

Zack: Huh?? What are you wearing?

Sephiroth: I'm dressed as the most successful thing a man can be.

Sephiroth: I'm a regular civilian who comes from a loving home.

[prismaticpichu]

I’m curious!!!~

‼️ Things to Consider!! ‼️

• Sephiroth can still go insane, even if Gen & Angeal are around (tho it would prolly be tougher!)

• Hojo’s existence is pretty essential to Seph’s existence shshshshshhd (do you REALLY not want Seph to exist? 🤣 Remember: he ain’t evil yet in these hypotheticals!!)

• Cloud would never have his amazing adventure of healing/wear a dress if nothing goes wrong

• Seph would never meet Angeal or Gen should he never join ShinRa :,3 (unless he moves to Banora ig lol!)

Just a little fun lol!! <333 Try not to view it too much as “nooo stupid mouse lady doesn’t understand the narrative beauty of all their fates being cursed” (bc, really, option 4 is very valid!!!) 💕

[buffaloborgine]

Before reading, I want to emphasize, I don't hate Sephiroth as a character, I hate how some people dismiss all of his heinous acts and cling to "He is a victim" and shove the tragedy he caused onto other characters. About that one post about Sephiroth and someone replying to it, let me be clear: I don't deny Sephiroth was a victim. Like many, he was the victim of Shinra and Hojo, that's undeniable. But to write like he is a good person and all the bad things he did were influenced by his upbringing? NO. Sephiroth is selfish, and no matter what you try to bend the narrative to fit your imagination, it is a fact. When the theme of FFVII is about "imagination/illusion", if we use the structure of protagonist vs antagonist, Cloud is the one that was affected by the illusion but he accepted help from others and got over it. Sephiroth would simply be the reversed version of that, he wasn't even illusioned, he knew for sure what he is but deciding that it was better for him if everyone else, and even himself stayed in that illusion forever. Sephiroth wasn't the only character to be affected by Shinra's evilness, but then let's take a look at those who also were affected: - Zack once learned and accepted that Shinra is evil had started running away with Cloud. - Angeal and Genesis don't share the same reaction but eventually once accepted the truth, they both rebelled against Shinra (also Lazard). - The Turks and Rufus are easy to see, I don't need to explain. - The massacred 1st SOLDIER unit mentioned in Dirge of Cerberus, fighting against the creation of inhuman Deepground facility. - Deepground themselves, they know what they are and they fought against Shinra, knowing they would even die if they do. So many would say, but Sephiroth does disobey Shinra and that he wanted to leave Shinra. Vetoing orders onto co-workers' heads doesn't seem to be a good way to protest, rather that's just push the responsibility onto others. And about "wanting to leave Shinra", as far as I remember, Sephiroth just said he would consider the idea, not that he would ever leave, and even till the event of Nibelheim, he didn't leave Shinra, not at all. So let's put this together, should we just see Sephiroth as a victim and say he isn't accounted for other tragedy happened in FFVII? Personally? Of course not. There are other victims and they fought back their abuser in different ways, maybe causing mayhem on the route but they still fought for their freedom. Sephiroth has never once given a single thought for others, and he was comfortable staying in Shinra, after all, he got the privilege for 1st Class, can veto orders and get admired by other SOLDIERs. To debunk people who claim that Sephiroth was thoughtful about Genesis' injury: Who was the one causing that mess in the first place? And even when you look at the cutscene, it was less of caring thought but more of "Why I am inadequate for this?" If he was sincere, he would have gone to check on Genesis later, but nope, he assumed Genesis was fine, like really, what kind of friend is that? No fucking friend would just assume friend is fine knowing they are hurt, no fucking friend would just condemn friends as traitor while not knowing the reason why they leave, and no fucking friend would keep their friends in the dark while knowing they are being tricked, abused. In conclusion, please stop saying Sephiroth is a good friend to anyone. If he cannot earn Zack's forgiveness, he is a prick, but if even Weiss stood against him (in DFFOO), consider he surely won't get any redemption.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 2/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

After coming back from a terrible blind date your asshole neighbor is the last person you want to see right now. He doesn’t have his signature scowl for you tonight, however. Tonight he seems terrified.

《WORDS》 2,748 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

《TROPES》 Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship

《WARNINGS》 Aftermath of Torture/Violence (canon typical), Panic Attacks, Scars, Blood and Injury, Swearing

《TAGLIST》 @tild3ath @iiirhiane-g

《NOTES》

This takes place immediately after Jason leaves his failed Batman confrontation and run-in with the Joker from Arkham Knight: Genesis Part 6.

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

This is my first attempt at a reader-insert fic 🙃

Please consider reblogging if you enjoy the read ❤️ (Thanks for all the support you've given my lil story so far!)

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated!)

You push yourself to your feet and hurry over to his kitchen, flipping on the recessed lighting overhead. The kitchen is as bare and spotless as the other rooms you’ve seen, its countertops clear of the usual clutter you’d expect. No rags nor paper towel roll. No knife block nor coffee maker nor toaster—the appliances are the ones that come standard with the unit. No stacks of unopened mail nor candles nor cookbooks nor a sink full of empty dishes. No signs of life except for the adorable houseplant and some liquid hand soap beside the sink (which is good—you need soap).

You pull open drawers and cabinets, feeling a twinge of guilt for invading his privacy like this but it can’t be helped. Even those are mostly empty, only containing the barest amount of necessities like cups, dishes, and flatware—run-of-the-mill kitchen items that were probably provided with the furnished unit. You do manage to find some clean rags and paper towels (and a coffee maker), but nothing like sandwich bags for the ice. On a whim, you check his freezer and bingo! No food or decapitated heads but plenty of ice packs along with an unopened bottle of vodka. You arch an eyebrow at the curious yet amusing stash. Perhaps coming home injured is a typical Friday night for him.

You turn on the sink faucet then tear off a few sheets of paper towels from the roll, wadding them up and wetting them before adding a few pumps of soap then working up a lather. You can’t get the sight of his bleeding face and swollen neck out of your head. It’s hard to imagine anyone doing that to him against his will. He’s an intimidating guy, to say the least. Over a head taller than you, powerfully built with broad shoulders and thick thighs (and a nice ass). Perhaps he got jumped on his walk home—an all too common occurrence on these crime-ridden streets—and his stubborn pride was too wounded to go to the ER. Or maybe it was a gang thing… some sort of hazing ritual? That could explain the bloody letter on his cheek, too, you suppose. But then you remember his shaking hands and fumbling fingers as he tried and failed to unlock his door, and how he jumped at the sound of your voice. He was scared, you realize, your heart swelling with sudden pity. He was more afraid of you than you were of him. Afraid, and probably hurting, too. That thought makes your heart swell even more. It also leaves you a bit shaken. What in God’s name could frighten him? You can only hope that whatever it is doesn’t plan to make a house call anytime soon.

With the items in hand—ice packs, wet and dry rags, soapy paper towel wads, paper towel roll—you return to his side. He still doesn’t appear to have stirred, which is troubling, you have to admit, but you put it out of your mind for now. You set the items down on the floor beside the corpse-like body before grabbing a throw pillow from his couch. (Yes, a throw pillow. There’s a throw blanket on the couch, too. It’s the strongest evidence yet supporting your furnished unit presumption, since he definitely doesn’t strike you as a throw pillow kind of guy.) You kneel down at his side, then, ever so gently, you slip an arm behind his neck and lift his head enough to pull back his hood and slide the pillow beneath him. Next you take off his cap, revealing a mop of sweat-damp black hair. You sweep the soft locks back from his forehead so that you can place a cold rag against that warm, sweat-slick skin.

That’s when you notice the scars. You’d never been close enough to him to see that his face is absolutely covered in them. Faint white lines that cut through his features: his dark brows, his full lips, his freckle-dusted cheeks, the bent bridge of his nose. The worst one (aside from the J on his cheek, that is) is a deep gash that slashes across his right cheek and his nose, all the way up to his forehead. Another knife wound? Is this guy a masochist with a knife fetish or is there some freak out there who gets off on slicing up this poor guy’s face? Those marks on his neck imply the latter—the more sinister of the two—and that sends a cold chill shuddering up your spine.

Almost magnetically your eyes are drawn back past the (cute) cleft in his chin to those sunken bands of red ringing his throat. A thin line of blood has surfaced along the outer edge of one of the bands, where whatever was used to strangle him had cut into his skin. As you wipe away the blood with one of the soapy paper towel wads you spot several scratches on his neck, and for a moment you wonder if the assailant also used his hands to choke him. But then you feel your own throat constrict as the horrible realization sets in: those are claw marks. Gouges from his own fingernails where he desperately struggled to pry the ligature away and free his windpipe so he could breathe. Defensive wounds where he fought for his life.

You set aside the wet wad, then, driven by some morbid curiosity, you find your fingers returning to his throat. Ever so delicately, as if trying not to wake a sleeping lion, you touch one of the raw indentations in his swollen flesh, tracing it with your fingertip, feeling how the abraded skin had folded inward around whatever had coiled around his neck and tried to choke the life out of him. His throat vibrates gently against your probing fingers, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. You lay one of the dry rags across his throat, hiding the hideous damage, then place the ice pack on top, as instructed by the health article you Googled. You do the same for the back of his neck as well.

Now you turn your attention back to his scarred, haggard face. After swiping away the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth you press the soapy paper towel to his cheek, which gradually turns from white to pink as it soaks up the blood seeping from the J carved into his flesh. Once you staunch the bleeding, you lift the towel to replace it with a fresh one, and you get an unimpeded view of what was hiding beneath the cut and the blood, beneath his hat and hood all of those times you passed him in the hallway, all of those times he ducked his head between hunched shoulders to avoid eye contact with you. You pull in a sharp breath. It’s not a J-shaped scar; it’s the letter J branded into his cheek. You can tell by how the skin is puckered around the too-precise curve of the raised letter, by its faint red outline, by how it seems to tug uncomfortably at his cheek.

Your mind rewinds to a few weeks back when you accidentally burned your neck with your curling iron. You’d shrieked like a banshee then thrown the damn thing across your bathroom. The blistered patch of seared skin had throbbed for the rest of the night, and was still sensitive to the touch for the following week. That was the result of hot ceramic glancing against your skin for maybe half a second, if that long. You can’t even begin to imagine how much it would’ve hurt to have held the infernal thing against your neck for long enough to melt a fucking letter into the flesh. And not just any flesh. His cheek; that tender skin right below the orbital bone, less than an inch from his eye. It probably felt like his eyeball was boiling in his eye socket from the immense heat. And the smell! His own flesh barbecuing like meat to be served at a cannibal cook-out…

You don’t want to think about it anymore. You can’t think about it anymore or else you’re gonna be sick. And luckily you don’t have to because a low moan slips from his lips and his lashes begin to flutter. A rush of relief floods through you at the small signs of life, and you absently begin to stroke his soft hair with your hand. Heavy eyelids strain to lift then glassy blue eyes are peeking out from between the slits. You smile down at him, your fingers caringly combing through his tousled hair, easing his way back into consciousness. You expect him to groggily ask where he is or what happened to him.

Instead his eyes snap open, and the romantic portrait you’ve painted inside your mind of this moment is ripped to shreds.

He bolts upright, sending rags and ice packs flying away from him, then that massive wall of muscular torso turns on you. Time seems to somehow speed up and slow down simultaneously as those large, dangerous hands of his are reaching for you, and in that terrible instant you know without a doubt that he means to strangle you. A tiny, panic-stricken sound—the choked cry of ensnared prey—comes from your mouth as you throw up your arms across your face and neck in an comically feeble attempt to defend yourself from certain death, and the thought that flashes through your mind—maybe the last thought you’ll ever have in this lifetime—is that you’ll never have the chance to open that bottle of merlot.

But his hands don’t wrap around your throat; they land on your shoulders, and then you’re sliding, falling backwards from the force of a violent shove, your vision flashing to black as your head bounces off the hardwood floor.

“Ow!” you squeal as a bright burst of pain rings through your skull, leaving you stunned for a split second until your fear takes over, clearing away the haze and stars. You push yourself up on your forearm, blood pounding through your ears as your eyes frantically search for your attacker, heart lurching as you find him.

The guy is scrambling backwards away from you on all fours like some frightened beast, slamming into a floor lamp in his haste to escape. The lamp reels drunkenly, throwing light madly around the room as it whirls, like a waving searchlight at a festival. Then he’s pressed into a corner, able to go no further, yet his hands and heels are gripping the floor for purchase, as if he’s trying to push himself into the walls. As the lamp settles, somehow still upright, its light illuminates the hulking figure backed into the corner behind it, and you notice for the first time that the front of his red hoodie is splattered with an even darker red.

You’re sitting up now, frozen like a deer in headlights, your fight or flight reflexes canceling each other out because you’ve realized that you’re the toothless predator, not the prey, and the guy you’re gaping at with his bloodless face and wild eyes is a cornered animal who’ll do anything to survive. Then, to your horror, that cornered animal seems to remember his claws and reaches for the gun that’s not there, and you thank the universe and every holy entity within it that you disarmed him.

His wide eyes narrow as they lock onto you, and the fear that had filled them only a heartbeat ago has vanished, replaced with a look so cold, so devoid of anything but shadows and darkness, that it turns the blood in your veins to ice. 

“Who are you? What’re you doing in my apartment? What the fuck did you do with my gun?” Some of the wildness returns to his eyes as he shouts at you with a scarred voice, wheezing between each sentence. You shrink back, shocked that the guy can speak louder than a mumble, then your attention is caught by something more unnerving than his shouting, something that clutches at your insides. His eyes… The little hairs on the back of your neck stir again as you study those pale blue irises flecked with green, barely visible beneath his blown-out pupils yet still trained on you like a sniper’s laser sights. There’s something wrong with his eyes… But before you can figure it out he roars: “Answer me!” and you can’t help but jump at the hateful ferocity, his deadly strength palpable in his tone.

Your heart’s in your throat again, and your mind is racing out his door, terrified all 200-something pounds of him are about to pounce on you, so you’re surprised when you not only find your words, but shout them back at him, just as vicious.

“Take it easy! I'm your neighbor, remember? You passed out. I was trying to help you. I thought you were fucking dying!”

You see a flicker of recognition flash over his face before a coughing fit takes him. Then it hits you, like a punch to the gut as you watch him clutching at his blood-splattered chest again as he gasps for a breath. His eyes… they’re red where they should be white. All of the binged episodes of Forensic Files come flooding back to you and you even remember the term for it: petechial hemorrhaging. Burst blood vessels from strangulation. His strangulation.

The rush of pity that wells up in your chest at the awful realization calms your fear enough that you crawl a tiny bit closer to him. “You’re hurt,” you say gently, trying to keep your nerves from shaking your voice. “Your neck…”

You trail off as his eyes snap back to you, pupils still blown wide. You try to hold onto his skittish gaze, praying he won’t notice his gun behind you and lunge, but his eyes fall away to the floor. He raises his free hand to his neck, as slowly as if his wrists were chained to the floor, and touches one of the red furrows there. Then his trembling fingers move to his brand, where fresh beads of blood have surfaced. You hear him mutter something so low and tremulous it’s barely audible, but you think it sounded like… “Plan J”?

“I cleaned it with soap and water,” you reply as he stares blankly at his bloody fingertips. “But it’s deep. You may need stitches. I can bring you some Band-Aids,” you pause, feeling really fucking stupid for suggesting Band-Aids for the guy who’s been strangled and cut and branded. You blurt out the rest: “If you need them… for the time being.”

His eyes have glazed over, as if he’s gone somewhere far away. Somewhere terrible, because his rasping breath quickens and his whole body starts to shake, as though he’s reliving something. His attack? His branding? All of the times that monster of a person cut his face? You desperately want to reach for his hand, to pull him back from whatever hell he’s been sucked into, but you’re too scared to wake that cornered wild animal again.

Finally he snaps out of it, and his eyes close as his hand drops limply to the floor. You watch helplessly as the tension drains from his body and he sags forward, like he’s been crushed by whatever was waiting for him in that flashback.

“You should go,” he mumbles to the floor, barely louder than a whisper.

“Yeah,” you hear yourself agree. As you stand you remind yourself that you can finally have that glass of wine, but the notion isn’t as appealing as it was earlier in the night.

You gather up your phone and bag. You start to ask if you can get him anything before you go but you know his answer so you turn to leave. 

“Thank you.” His small voice cracks like a little boy’s when he speaks, and you know he’s started to cry.

“Yeah, sure,” you say softly as you turn the knob and push open his door. You glance over your shoulder at him one last time. The sight of the broken boy—the boy whose name you still don’t know—huddled in a corner with his knees pulled to his chest, weeping into his hands, wrings your heart out like a wet rag, and you feel your own throat tighten up with tears. You hang your head as you shut the door softly behind you.

[hendersister]

that's all

summary: steve is concerned when he finds out that you're going to start tutoring billy.

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!sister reader

title 🎵: that's all by genesis

You’ve just finished grabbing some books out of your locker before first period starts. You close your locker and turn to see Steve Harrington approaching you. Your eyes widen. What is he doing here?

Even though you and Steve had become friends while you helped save the world last fall, you both still mainly stick with your different cliques during school hours. Steve’s social status has gone down a bit over the past year, but he’s still popular. He just won “Best Hair” in his senior class superlatives. Steve is one of the cool kids and you definitely are not. As president of the National Honor Society, a tutor and only girl in the school’s Mathlete team, you are considered a nerd in the Hawkins High social hierarchy. It’s all very The Breakfast Club.

“Hey Steve! What’s going on? You lost?” you joke.

Steve’s locker is at the other side of the school. This is the first time Steve’s visited you at your locker.

“What? No!” Steve shakes his head, and then, “Hendseron told me that you’re gonna start tutoring Billy Hargrove. Is it true?”

You nod. The only reason you were assigned to be Billy’s tutor is because you’re the best tutor at this school. Billy is on academic probation and needs to get his grades up if he wants to play on the basketball team next season. In rural Indiana, high school basketball means everything. You didn’t really have a choice in the matter. If you said no, you mostly likely would’ve faced some repercussions. 

“Yeah. He was just assigned to me. We have our first tutoring session tomorrow during study hall,” you explain.

Steve sighs. He looks concerned.

“C’mon, Y/N, do you really think that’s a good idea? Billy’s an asshole. Remember when he got violent with the kids? I mean, Billy’s a piece of shit…” 

You take a deep breath. Remember when he got violent with the kids? Of course you remember! How could you forget? Billy attacked Dustin’s friend Lucas at the Byers’ house a few months ago. He was scary and aggressive. Steve had to intervene to protect Lucas and the rest of the kids. The fight between Billy and Steve was rough. Steve lost that fight but won your respect. You were impressed and proud of Steve for keeping the kids safe.

“Yeah I know,” you quietly agree, “It’s not like I asked to tutor Billy. Mr. Carpenter assigned him to me…”

“Can’t you just ask Mr. Carpenter to assign him to someone else?” Steve tries.

You shake your head.

“No,” you answer coolly, “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m meeting Billy in the library. He won’t get violent in a public place.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Steve mumbles. He sounds uneasy.

You roll your eyes.

“Relax! I’m just tutoring Billy. It’s not like we’re eloping to Vegas or anything.”

“I’m not joking, Y/N!” Steve shrugs.

“I’m not laughing, Steve,” you brush off his concern, “Why do you care so much?”

Steve scrunches his forehead, confused.

“What?” 

You cross your arms against your chest.

“Why do you care if I tutor Billy or not?” you question him.

“Dustin was worried,” Steve gives you a non-answer.

“And you?” you keep pushing.

“I’m… I’m just trying to look out for you because… Dustin asked me to,” Steve stumbles through his response.

You raise your eyebrows. 

“That’s all?” 

Steve is quiet for a beat. Deep down he knows the truth but he’s not ready to admit it to himself just yet. Steve really cares about you. He’s trying to convince you not to tutor Billy because he’s trying to protect you. Steve doesn’t trust Billy and he doesn’t want you to get hurt. 

"Yeah, yeah that's all," Steve sighs.

You shrug, unconvinced. Since becoming friends with Steve, you’ve felt a spark between you two. You’re starting to believe that Steve feels the electricity too. But he won’t act on it. He’s an athlete and you’re a mathlete. And even though Steve is set to graduate soon, he still takes the high school social hierarchy seriously.

“Look, I appreciate the concern but I’ll be okay. I can take care of myself just fine. I’ve been doing it for a long time now…” you tell him.

Steve nods his head, defeated. He leaves without another word. You watch Steve go. After a beat, you turn and walk away in the opposite direction.

[missterious-figure]

(Lil mini thing!) Y/N was currently chatting with one of the harpies from the casino, a former performer in fact! Her name was Genesis, a crow harpy who used to be quite famous back in her younger years but retired from those days once she had her young daughter Tia, who was running around getting shiny trinkets for her collection. The conversation had started when Genesis approached Y/N, introducing themselves and having small talk before starting to have an actual conversation. At first it started off with Y/N asking the crow about how the casino was like all those years ago, the kind of people she met, the kind of performances she did and all and she happily asked all those questions without complaining. And somehow, the conversation's topic was now about, you guessed it, the Peacock Triplets! Specifically when they were younger! "So, you are like a mother to the peacocks?" Y/N asked the elder crow who held a glass of wine. "Well, kind of! Those three were just oh, so chaotic but so adorable too! The human staff were the ones who mostly cared for them but I pitched in every once in a while when things were incredibly hectic." Genesis said as she took a sip of her wine. "Let me tell ya, Sun is very different from how he was when he was a chick." "He is??" Y/N asked, now curious. "Of course! He was a bit of a crybaby ya know?" Genesis said with a laugh. "Every little thing made the poor thing cry. Loud noise? Cry. Too dark? Cry again. Too light? Crying too! The other two were less sensitive and scared but had their lil quirks too. Eclipse just LOVED to look around the place, keeping an eye on his brothers and what not, often getting upset whenever they were out of his sight. And Moon, oh, the lil rascal was such a chomper!" "He was a biter?" Y/N asked to confirm as Gen nodded. "That is... expected, actually." "Moon was probably the one who mostly stayed the same. I can remember their first molting, oh, such a precious moment! The moment I saw their feathers, I just knew they would do well here!" Genesis said. "You are really proud of them huh?" Y/N said with a slight smile. "Of course I am, dear. I watched them grow up and helped raise them. They were the first ones I ever started considering my children. I don't know if they regard me as a mother or if they even think of me, being so busy being the casino's top harpies, but I am just happy they are happy. Especially with you around!" Genesis said as she sipped her wine. "E-Eh? Me?" Y/N said, a bit flustered and surprised. "Don't think I haven't seen how they interact with you!" Genesis said as she picked up Tia in her arms. "Trying to show off those colorful feathers of theirs, getting your attention, teasing you, I have seen all of that during my years as a performer. Dearest, you just have somethin' that makes all these harpies flock over to ya!" "A-Ah, I guess but I still don't know what..." Y/N mumbled. "It's quite alright not knowing, it's part of the excitement! Oh, do let me tell you more about the boys when they were babies!" Genesis said as Tia chirped. "Are you sure it's okay for me to know? What if they overhear?" Y/N asked, a tad bit nervous. "You're fine! If they are to overhear, let them! These stories are to fun to keep to myself! Now, which story to tell is the question?" Genesis said with a hum.

(Insert cute yet embarrassing story about the Peacock Triplets and overhearing their mother figure telling their crush and getting embarrassed cause why mom?! Why?!) ((Hope you enjoyed this, it was fun to write and the faces the boys would make when hearing Gen telling embarrassing stories about them be hilarious!))

Awww!! Cute!! Such a ADORABLE little scenario!!! RRRRRRRRR!!!

[bisexual-queenie]

Could you please post some Mha Pro Heroes head canons. By pros I mean the current pros.

Of course! Im super happy I got this ask!

(Trigger warning: A very small mention of a cult, but its not explicit)

All of nationality headcannons:

Mic: Half Japanese Half Italian

Edgeshot: Half Japanese Half Thai

Nighteye: Half Japanese Half Vietnamese

Miruko: Half Japanese Half Dominican

Mount Lady: Half Japanese Half Swedish

Present Mic, Edgeshot, and Nighteye are neurodivergent (ADHD, ADD, and Autistic respectively).

The Lurkers have a groupchat that was supposed to be for professional uses only, however it soon became so much more chaotic in a matter of minutes. People think Edgeshot, being the leader and all, created it, but it was actually Kamui (bless his heart by thinking it was gonna be professional). Edgeshot and Mount Lady quickly filled the chat with as much chaos as they could muster in 5 minutes.

Present Mic remembers every pro hero’s birthday, and you bet your ass he throws them the most spectacular birthday party ever (and by spectacular I mean the party fits what that hero is most comfortable with. If the hero in question doesn’t like huge elaborate parties, the party is more quiet and private. If the hero is a known party animal, then the room quickly becomes an elaborate house party)

Edgeshot and Ryukyuu know how to professionally throat sing. (Listen to “Genesis” by Otyken as a reference thats where I got this one lmao)

Some headconnons regarding pronouns and sexuality! (Please note these are no way cannon whatsoever, but rather something my brain think about a lot)

All Might: Cis Male — He/Him (Bi)

Eraserhead: Cis Male — He/Him (Gay)

Present Mic: Genderfluid — He/She/They (Bi)

Midnight: AFAB NB — She/They (Pan)

Ingenium (Tensei): AMAB NB — He/They (Bi)

Nighteye: Trans Man — He/Him (Gay)

Mount Lady: Cis Female — She/Her (Bi)

Kamui Woods: Cis Male — He/Him (Straight but such a wonderful ally. Would definitely hand out water at pride parades)

Edgeshot: AFAB NB — They/Them (Pan)

Best Jeanist: Cis Male — He/Him (Gay) (But like, he still could care less about gender, he identifies as a cis guy but trancends gender at the same time, y’know?)

Gang Orca: AMAB NB —They/Them (Gay) (In his words: “Orcas dont need genders”)

Miruko: Cis Female — She/Her (Lesbian)

Hawks: Cis Male — He/Him (Bi) (Never really put much thought into his identity, but is a huge supporter if everyone else in his usual nonchalant way)

Endeavor: Cis Male — He/Him (Straight) (I wholeheartedly think he doesn’t really understand, and thinks he is trying, but sometimes doesn’t show correctly, you know what I mean?)

Fat Gum: Cis Male —He/Him (Straight Ally all the way! He’s the one parading everyone around at pride event, wearing pride merch and making food for everyone)

Ryukyuu: Trans Female — She/Her (Lesbian)

(Please tell me if I used the correct terminology or not)

Nighteye can play the piano like a pro.

Present Mic loves playing the acoustic guitar. Hes THAT guy at a campfire.

While there is the obvious romatic relationships I adore (Erasermic, Edgejeanist, Nightmight, Kamui x Mount Lady, etc.), there are so many cute scenarios for platonic relationships

Eraserhead and Edgeshot being frenemies but caring for eachother so dearly.

Edgeshot and Ryukyuu BROTP

Gang Orca thinking they are the third wheel for Edgejeanist, but little do they know they consider them to be their “third”.

Lurkers being super close with one another

All Might caring for every pro hero like a mother hen

Nighteye and Midnight having gossip sessions

Miruko and Hawks BROTP #2

Ok, possibly the weirdest one yet: Yoroi Musha (the elderly hero, former number 9 hero) is Edgeshot’s adopted dad. (I saw it in a fic once and fell in love with it).

- The story (in my head) goes that Edgeshot was born and raised in a cult in rural Japan, and then one day when they were like 10 the comune gets raided after a tip was given, and Yoroi Musha led the raid. His eyes fell into a young, malnourished, and terrified Edgeshot and was like “they’re my child now” (This is the super simplified version, and Im super intrested in writing this!)

All Might considers Gran Torino to be his father figure. As a result, Nighteye considered him to be his father in law. Gran Torino wishes he can deny this, but at this point he cannot.

Last but not least! Eri, once she gets comfortable enough, considers every pro hero to be her aunt/uncle/somewhere in between.

Thank you @dragonspiritxx for the wonderful ask! I hope you like this!

Hopefully everyone else will to! I haven’t posted anything MHA related since I graduated high school back in May and started college as well, so Im glad Im back in the groove!

[dominimoonbeam]

To The Edge - 20

This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.

story tags: scifi romance, hijinks in space, rogues learning to trust, violence, blood, guns, death, explicit language, so much kidnapping,

Works organized and easily found over on the patreon. <3

TO THE EDGE - CHAPTER 20.

Rory didn’t feel great about spying on their calls.

He didn’t feel great about it…but he still did it.

He was at times an optimist, often reckless, but not a fool.

From his seat on the deck, the holographic screen showed him their movements in his system. It hadn’t taken them long to sneak back into the controls of his ship and Rory hadn’t been the least bit surprised. He’d been ready.

A twinge of guilt cut through his chest when he watched their call to their friend. It hadn’t bothered him in the beginning but spying was starting to feel…wrong. To be fair, they were the one sneaking around in his ship’s system, ready to take control if needs be. Still, this felt dirty. Maybe he’d bring it up? Just tell them flat out that he knows they’re in there?

“If you have to, you could use that pretty bounty hunter for a decoy. It might buy you enough time to get away if Genesis corners you,” their friend said.

Rory stopped swiveling and looked at the image of the beautiful man in diamonds. He wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or incredibly disturbed. He wished he could see Stardust’s reaction.

When they replied, their voice was steady. “You’d make a good Solinoh.”

Rory curled a lip. What had he expected? Primers. It wasn’t even their fault. No one could trust anyone past the edge. Wasn’t that why he’d made it so easy for them to hijack his ship? To let them think they could take over any second, when in reality, he’d block them out the second they tried—and the attempt would trigger a full lockdown on their room and all access panels outside the deck. They didn’t trust him and he didn’t trust them.

That was fine. They just needed to get to that treasure in one piece and then they could part ways. He’d just have to make sure they didn’t double-cross him before then or steal his damn ship again when they managed to get the loot.

The call ended. The holograph became a blank glow of pale light between him and the stars.

And then they pulled up their video messages.

Rory didn’t even consider turning it off. He needed to know what they were up to before they got the better of him. He tried to imagine them betraying him—putting a bullet in him—but it seemed too impossible. Stardust was so nice. They were a goof. But then he remembered how easily they’d dropped those mercs on the station.

Solinoh.

A man appeared on the screen, beautiful like the one in diamonds—because of wealth and design. Was that what made Stardust so beautiful? They had the perfection of carefully designed genetics, and treated skin and hair. They had a careless grace and deftness of skills trained into their body since youth. But no… That wasn’t what made Stardust hard to look away from. It was that smile and the cunning glint in their eyes.

“If you surrender, I’ll let them live,” the man on the screen said. He spoke so slowly and comfortably that for a second Rory forgot it was a recorded message and not a live call. This was Genesis Solinoh. Rory had looked him up and sifted through some of the thousands of photos, articles, and recordings of him.

“If you don’t—If you put your hands on the—” he started to say and then thought better of it. After a second, he looked straight into the camera—straight into Rory.

Rory had seen people with that look in their eyes before. Desperation and rage. Some of them had been ship mad, all of them had been dangerous.

“I will kill them all, cousin. I will hunt down and see to the end of your pathetic fucking parents. I will make sure every friend of yours burns. And, so help me, I will break that bounty hunter you have chauffeuring you around the edge. You’ll see it all and beg me to end you too.”

The message didn’t end immediately. Genesis waited, like he wanted to make sure they knew it wasn’t a slip of the tongue or his temper getting the best of him. He meant it. He was coming.

The call ended.

Rory held his breath, watching the blank square and wondering what Stardust would do next.

The connection ended. Whatever they were doing in their room, they weren’t connected to his ship anymore.

He tapped the console and the screen vanished, the stars taking over the full window.

Rory leaned back in his seat, going over his options and their plan again and again. Somehow, he had let himself end up in the worst position in the galaxy—between two Solinohs.

He needed to be ready for anything. If Stardust didn’t stab him in the back, there was a very real chance Genesis would make an example of him by the end.

Rory had always wanted to be known, but never thought it would be as a cautionary tale.

He dragged a hand over his face, closing his eyes and muffling a curse into his palm. It had been so easy to forget that his Stardust was a Solinoh. He couldn’t lose sight of that. It would get him killed. They would do whatever they had to to survive. They’d betrayed him the first chance they’d had and only teamed up with him out of necessity. Thinking anything else would make him worse than a fool—it would make him a dead fool.

They were in this for mutual benefit. They would get the loot, they’d get the blackmail material their family was ready to kill each other over, and he’d get half the treasure. After that, he’d get his ass as far away from the Solar Court as he could. Maybe he’d go to the ERS? Or maybe he’d go past it all and see what else was out there.

He heard their door whoosh open down the hall and their boots padding along the metal floor into the galley.

He almost jumped up to join them. Almost.

Rory Antilla swiveled forward and put his heels up on the edge of the console, watching the stars and going over the plans, the options, and the dark possibilities of how this was going to end.

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

Hawkins, Indiana June 1987

“So what do you think?” Eddie lifts his gaze from his guitar to look at where Steve is lounging across Eddie’s unmade bed. Steve takes a hit from the joint they’re sharing, exhales, then leans forward to place the joint between Eddie’s lips before responding.

“I think it’s…” Steve chews his bottom lip, looking for the right words. “Inspired,” he settles on, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he leans back on one elbow.

“Aw, man,” Eddie laughs, taking his hand off the neck of his guitar to pull the joint out of his mouth after he takes his own hit, placing it in the ashtray on his bedside table. “You’re high already.” That makes Steve laugh, happy and weightless.

They’d just finished dinner with Max and Wayne, some stew recipe Wayne remembered his mom making years ago and had asked Steve to take a crack at after finding the yellowed looseleaf page in one of the junk drawers of the new trailer. Wayne hadn’t been able to grab a ton of stuff from their old place before it had fallen into the Upside Down in the earthquake but in a panic had shoved bits of odds and ends into the two bags the government officials had allowed him to pack before they’d moved him last spring. The meal had turned out pretty well, considering Steve had never made it before, and Steve was always inordinately happy after what he had dubbed, in the privacy of his own mind, their Family Dinners. Capital “F,” capital “D.” He’d walked Max back to her own place afterward, since it was already dark, and made sure she’d gotten in okay before coming back to see Wayne off to work and spend some time with Eddie.

“I’m—“ Steve cuts himself off, considering. “Okay, yes, I am.” Eddie laughs again. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know good music when I hear it.” Steve throws Eddie’s flattened pillow at Eddie and it hits him squarely in his face before he catches it in his hands.

For two weeks, Steve had been catching Eddie scribbling in notebooks or on the backs of takeout menus, tapping out different beats on his thighs or the steering wheel. Steve had known Eddie long enough by now to know that meant Eddie was working on a new song.

“No, but your growing collection of Tears for Fears and Genesis tapes suggests exactly that.” Eddie throws the pillow back at Steve, missing completely, before standing up to hang his guitar back on his mirror. He turns, smiling again, and leans against his dresser. He just looks at Steve.

“What?” Steve smiles, a little unsure. “Do I have something on my face or something?” He reaches up to brush his fingertips against his own cheek. Eddie's smile turns into something softer, the private smile he always saves for when they're alone that never ceases to make Steve's breath stutter in his chest. Eddie's eyes crinkle at the corners.

“No,” Eddie says, making his way over to the bed where Steve’s still lounging, loose-limbed and relaxed from the weed they’ve been sharing. It takes him all of two strides in the small space before he’s crawling on top of Steve. He’s still staring and it makes Steve smile to be this close to him.

“Hi,” Steve whispers, bringing his hand up to push Eddie’s curls behind his ear.

“Hi.” Eddie’s smiling again and so now they’re just staring at each other, faces close, smiling their goofy smiles and Steve feels his chest constrict. He feels like he’s careening off the rails. He feels out of control and he’s not sure if he likes it or not.

The last time Steve had felt like this, he’d had his heart crushed by Nancy Wheeler. This is different, all things considered. He and Eddie aren’t technically dating. They aren’t technically together. They don’t talk about what they're doing. They’re just… existing and it's so easy. The kissing, the fucking, the holding hands when no one else is around. They keep a drawer of each others clothes in each of their rooms, two toothbrushes on both their bathroom counters. Steve feels more like himself than he had in any other relationship he’s ever been in. He feels safe and wanted. Eddie never makes him feel stupid. This feels more real than anything Steve has ever had before.

Eddie had told Steve back at the beginning of May about his plans to leave Hawkins. His plans to go to New York, somewhere that wasn’t a small-time one-horse Midwestern town. A place where he’d never known anyone who died, where no one’s bones had snapped all at once right in front of him. They’d been in Steve’s backyard, kissing on one of the lounge chairs out by the pool. Eddie had pulled back, eyes shifting, and Steve had felt his own heart thudding in his chest. His hands had felt hollow seeing the slightly panicked look in Eddie’s gaze, before Eddie had spoken. Then, Eddie had said the words, said he’d be leaving in August, and Steve had breathed a sigh of relief and gone back to kissing him.

Steve had been waiting, for a full month, for Eddie to mention it again. Steve had thought about it, in the long hours behind the counter at Family Video. He’d thought about what it might be like living in New York with Eddie. How they’d hold hands in the grocery store and share a studio apartment and wake up to each other every day. How they’d kiss every single night before bed, minty from toothpaste. How Steve would make sandwiches for lunch and leave little notes for Eddie before he went to work. He’d asked Keith at Family Video about potential transfers, hypothetically speaking, and Keith had responded rather rudely before closing his office door, leaving Steve frowning alone on the sales floor.

But Eddie hadn’t brought it up again. The hopeful part of Steve wonders if maybe Eddie is afraid to ask, if he thinks maybe Steve would say no or laugh at him. The crueler, larger part of Steve wonders if this whole thing means more to him than it does to Eddie. The twin toothbrushes and the shirts folded in the drawers. The dinners in the trailer. Time spent with Max and Wayne, the four of them together. He wonders if he’s misreading everything, like he usually does. If he’s fallen too hard too fast, like he had with Nancy, in a way that was sure to leave him wounded for a long time. A way that would leave him cracked open and useless, ruined for anyone else, longing for things he’s not allowed to have.

Steve is brought back to the moment by Eddie’s lips brushing against his. He feels the soft press of Eddie’s tongue, the gentle way Eddie always kisses him at first. He moans at the feel of Eddie’s tongue against his own and he stops thinking about New York and what will happen to them in August. He stops thinking of all the ways Eddie could hurt him if he wanted to.

Steve doesn’t know how long he’ll be allowed to have this, how long he’ll be allowed to kiss Eddie’s skin and hold his hand. He doesn’t know what will happen tomorrow or next week or when this summer finally ends. All he knows is that he’s allowed to kiss Eddie now, he’s allowed to hold Eddie’s body against his own tonight, he’s allowed to lick at the ink on Eddie’s chest in this moment. He’s not going to waste any of this while he’s got it.

read more on AO3

[skelevision]

9 people i'd like to get to know better!!!

[tagged by @thislovethatslostcantbefound!! thank you :D!!! *waves]

Last Song: it was From a Place of Love by Mili and then halfway thru making this post i put on music w/o thinking so now its Soldier's Poem by Muse ✌️

Favorite color: chartreuse, dandelion, and just plain ol' red 🌹🌻🪴

Currently watching: HunterxHunter (2011), Tiger & Bunny (both recommended by my older sibling), Sabikui Bisco (i don't remember why i picked this one up but it seems fun so far)

Spicy/Savory/Sweet: tied for savory/salty and sweet because i need to balance them or i go insane. my spice tolerance is really low right now 💔

Relationship status: long distance with a very beautiful woman 😔

Current Obsession: vocal synths (it's been on and off since i was 12 but right now it's going strong. just recorded an UTAU for the first time in years), Neon Genesis Evangelion (my brother and I watched the '95 anime for the first time just over a month ago and it's stuck in my brain now), and currently some specific OCs and their story (1930s-thru-60s inspired capitalism hell planet. it may not be good but it's fun for me to think about) 🤖

@prisonerposting @silver-tounges-and-golden-lies @vampireautism @mysteryjune @tallitalianguy @authordanielcoffman @llegroai @lunari162 @milkysebastian @toocoolfordamnation (first nine people i saw who arent in my close friends group... ive known a couple of you a long time actually like miiverse long time but we dont really talk. *waves :-) you dont have to play if you dont wanna!! and if i didnt tag you and you wanna play consider yourself tagged 🫵)

also @arsonomics @constellies @brisketrotater @dmc4 i know you guys well obviously but if you wanna do this for fun you can!!!!

[variant-archive]

Autocosm: a plural network of selves, each existing in their own dimension/reality/universe, all of which share a soul and/or a sense of "self"-ness with one another. There is a central self, called a metasoul or metaself, from which all other selves, called lunen, are derived from in some way.

-

Extended definiton/extra notes:

The metasoul exists in a realm called the soulscape, which functions similarly to a headspace or paracosm, in that it can vary in size, structure, visibility, stability, etc. It can also have different areas or be split into multiple connected realms.

The metasoul's consciousness extends to all lunen, and they are able to sense, feel, and remember everything their lunen do. Metasouls do not do anything equivalent to "fronting" but their presence in the lunan's consciousness, and the lunan's awareness of their presence, can vary. They may or may not be able to communicate outside of the soulscape. Not all lunen know they are a part of an autocosm, but the metasoul is aware of all lunen.

Lunen may or may not be aware of one another and cannot communicate directly. However, there is an inherent connection between all lunen that drives them to become aware of one another, and possibly experience parts of one another's lives in a manner akin to memories. Lunen may be able to communicate with each other in the soulscape, via the metasoul relaying messages, or not at all.

The soulscape can be accessed by lunen through various methods, such as meditation, reality shifting, dreaming, or other altered states of consciousness. The metasoul may also "summon" a lunan to the soulscape, and some lunen may be able to access it without effort or be connected to it at all times.

Beings other than the metasoul may inhabit the soulscape. These are called habitans. Habitans can be of any appearance, personality, or level of sapience. The origins of habitans vary; they can be created by the metasoul, spontaneously form in the soulscape, or originate from somewhere else. Habitans may or may not be considered part of the autocosm. They are not a part of the "self" the autocosm is based on, but they do inhabit it nonetheless. Not all soulscapes have habitans.

Autocosms may have different origins, although a spiritual aspect is inherent due to the concept of souls being integral. This spiritual aspect need not be focused on or considered important to the identity, though, and other aspects (such as psychological) can be present. Lunen also have different origins; they may be created willfully by the metasoul, be split off from them, spontaneously emanate, etc. (Do not use -genic terms unless you also identify as a system, I coined -genesis as an alternative term grouping for non-system alterhuman origins, you can coin those as you see fit).

As the concept mirrors aspects of many other alterhuman and plural identities, it is possible for autocosms to identify with those as well. Autocosms can be systems, lunen can be godshards/othershards, metasouls can be archetropes, soulscapes can be hearthomes, habitans can be thoughtforms, etc. The only identities autocosms incorporate inherently are plural and alterhuman. However, as they are variations of one self, it is common for lunen and metasouls to be kin with one another.

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Oh my stars, this is the most complex term I've ever coined. I'm so happy to finally be able to express my alterhuman identity in a more specific way though, so it was well worth the time and effort! If you have any questions, feel free to ask me, and feel free to message me if you think you might be part of an autocosm. I know that it's a lot lol and I can do an FAQ later if needed. Feel free to repost on pluralpedia, termora or other applicable wikis, just don't change the definition (you can include parts of the extra notes on the wiki page however you want as long as it isn't inaccurate though). I'll be posting flags/defs for lunan, metasoul and habitan soon :3

(Also, I need help with an image description again due to my insistence on a weird flag. Sorry about that, I just don't know how to write descriptions for complex flags in an accessible manner).