#not something that has actually ever happened

[may-be-a-plant]

I keep thinking about this fic idea involving 'too many beds'.

Pre-relationship Kallus and Zeb get sent on an enforced vacation (they were both getting dangerously overworked and crabby), and they get told the room only has one bed.

Kallus has this whole "oh gods, wait, I actually kind want there to be one bed, but I can't tell Zeb that" in his head.

Then the receptionist comes back and says "actually, we have an additional bed on the way up to your room".

Kallus promptly excuses himself to go sabotage the bed delivery in some way.

The problem is this hotel is comically serious about making their guests comfortable, and keeps trying to get more beds, but every time, Kallus does something to stop it from happening.

As in like, new bed #2 is mysteriously soaked in mystery slime, bed #7 is somehow broken in half, bed #14 has completely vanished along with the delivery person.

Eventually it comes down to Zeb is just EXHAUSTED and is like "dont worry about it, it's fine," and Kallus thinks he's won and there's only one bed left, until Zeb is like "you can have it, imma sleep on the floor".

Cue Kallus "accidentally" spilling his drink on the last bed and being like "oh no, I gotta sleep on the floor too, and its cold, we should snuggle about it" and it all kinda clicks together for Zeb who's like "you are a menace, come here" and they have the best floor-sleep ever

REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS

Too many beds

Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

Really nice guy who hates only you

Academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class

Divorce of convenience

Too much communication

True hate’s kiss (only kissing your enemy can break a curse)

Dating your enemy’s sibling

Lovers to enemies

Hate at first sight

Love triangle where the two love interests get together instead

Fake amnesia

Soulmates who are fated to kill each other

Strangers to enemies

Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating

Too hot to cuddle

Love interest CEO is a himbo/bimbo who runs their company into the ground

Nursing home au

[original-fangirl]

okay opinion incoming im sorry but genuinely ENOUGH with the modern companion thats just a quirky 20 something year old girl from current year who also happens to be the most special person ever born. how about we pick up ugg from caveman times next, hm? or maybe just some guy from like the 50s. maybe a young girl, but from the far far future? can they at least be totally unimportant to the universe, but important to the doctor none the less. i miss when the tardis team was a real mix of total randos, it felt believable that he'd find amazing intelligent people from every time to be his friends. the vibe was different when the companion was special in their own way, not forced to be by greater powers. i loved that rose was just like me when i was a kid; low income, totally normal day to day life, realistic messy home - but she was still brave & smart. ruby is like a pinterest perfect shiny smooth engineered companion to me idk, like her outfits colour co-ordinate with her perfect apartment? millie gibson didnt do a bad job acting at all but the character itself to me feels made to be a companion in a lab, not an organic person who just happened to come along for the ride. dare i say i think graham was a better companion, i just wish the writing had been better, i was actually so excited for an old man companion + young female doctor dynamic lol.

i think thats why jamie is my favourite, a scottish highlander from the 1700s who cant read & has no idea whats going on most of the time, but is the doctors best friend all the same & they have a real connection regardless. i feel like he brings ideas & perspective to situations the doctor wouldnt have otherwise thought of.

[yanderedrabbles]

What's the worst thing Yan Military Contractor has ever done to the reader?

Yandere! Military Contractor

The very worst? Now that's tough competition. He's fucked you raw so many times that afterwards you can only curl up and whimper, legs aching so bad you can't stand. He's bitten you so hard that he's left a scar of his teeth on your thigh. He's bent your arm so very far up your back that on bad days your shoulder still aches. He's done anal without any prep or lube.

But the very worst? That happened on the day you almost escaped.

He likes to humour you. Likes letting you try and get away, just to drag you back at the last second. Likes the way you fight so much harder when freedom is so very close. But he never once entertained the thought of you actually succeeding.

You're too damn clever sometimes. Too smart for your own good.

You planned your escape carefully this time. Waited for a rainy day when he'd have trouble hearing your footsteps and seeing your tracks. Managed to make a mess in his armory and get out of a second story window when he was distracted counting his guns. And then you ran.

You saw a tree out on your forced walks once. Thick oak with branches that just about reached over the fence. It would be a hard fall, but if you managed to not snap an ankle you'd be home free.

He almost found you. You were up in the branches, rain pelting you in thick sheets when he walked right under you. It was pure luck that you noticed him in time. Even without the noise of the rain to cover his footsteps, he was dead silent.

He looked pissed. But that wasn't what made your heart drop.

He had his gun with him. Not one of the rifles or shotguns. That might have almost been better. Those guns felt unreal, felt like something out of a movie. No, he was carrying his chrome .50 calibre Desert Eagle.

You hated that gun. It was the one he carried on him almost all the time, the one he had the day he took you. Huge, mean looking thing. 'One of the nastiest shots you'll ever see,' he told you once.

It was scratched with years of use. A soldier's gun. A killer's gun.

You fingers went numb on the branch before you had the courage to keep moving. You dropped down on the other side of the electric fence, landing bad. You smacked a hand over your mouth to stifle your yelp.

Staggered to your feet, holding onto the trees to take the pressure off your stinging ankles. You did it.

You actually fucking did it.

You were free. Actually, finally free. You half didn't believe it until you reached the end of the trees and open farm land stretched in front of you. The rain was so much worse without the trees to protect you, but you didn't care. An empty field of wheat had never looked so damn good.

"On your knees."

You froze. No. No.

"I said, get on your fucking knees!"

You sat so fast that you felt lightheaded.

He came to stand in front of you, blocked your view of the open land and your last chance to escape. He was scowling, hand gripping his gun so tight that veins were standing out on his forearm.

The rain was sheeting down around you, running past the grooves and catches of his pistol. You couldn't see his face through the rain, but you could feel his eyes. Raking down your body, burning.

He pointed the gun at you, cocked it. The metallic sound of it somehow the loudest thing you'd ever heard.

"Open your mouth."

"I'm sorry! Please just-"

"Open. Your. Mouth."

You did. He forced the barrel passed your lips, all the way to the back of your throat. Your teeth scraped the metal.

It tasted bitter. Iron, gunpowder. It tasted like your death.

His finger was on the trigger. One little twitch, one inopportune gag, and you were done.

"Suck it."

You did, crying so damn hard but terrified to make a sound.

"No," he snarled. "Suck it like you would a cock."

He grabbed your hair, yanked your head back. "Show me why I shouldn't kill you right here and now. Remind me exactly why I keep you around."

You sucked his gun like your life depended on it. Tongue out, drooling, like you weren't a hairs breadth from death. Looked up at him with rain and tears pouring down your face.

You must have given him one hell of a show. When you couldn't take it anymore, when you were shaking from the cold and your lips were turning blue around the metal, that's when he pulled out. One hand still in your hair, he pointed the gun at the sky and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed over the trees.

Fuck. You really did just have a loaded gun in your mouth.

He holstered it, grabbed your jaw with the hand that just held your death.

"Never again. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

steve singing the cheesiest pop songs into a fake microphone at eddie just bc he's in a good mood and because eddie 'hates' it

steve singing these songs morphs into steve singing the same songs but swapping out lyrics to whatever eddie is doing, or they're doing, or to something that happened in a hellfire campaign etc

steve still singing those songs around everyone else but also starts to sing his changed lyric masterpieces to eddie specifically

One particular instance being when Steve starts to sing Frankie Valli at him while trying to convince him to go out with him and robin to this club they'd heard about.

He and Robin were trying to convince him from their spots behind the counter at Family Video, arguing about if he should come with them or not long enough for Steve to come around the counter and actually do his job, stacking away tapes onto the closest shelves, when Sherry comes on over the radio.

Steve starts to bob his head along while Robin tries telling him again that it's a good place, that she has it on good authority that it's a place for other Friends of Dorothy, but she doesn't get far before Frankie AND Steve start to sing.

Eddie can quite literally note believe what he's seeing.

Steve is staring him down, his eyes full of glee as he croons Eddie's name back at him, a well-worn copy of Gremlins acting as his mic.

"Eddie~! Eddie Baby! Eddie~! Eddie Baby--" Steve's long, high pitched (though somehow still in tune) crooning of his name in place of Sherry's is (luckily) funny enough to keep his face from showing exactly how he's feeling about being called baby.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"I agree with Buckley."

Steve ignores them, signing about his moonlit party or something, putting the tape where it goes on the shelf to Eddie's right just in time to turn and snatch up Eddie's hands in his to sing "I'm gonna make-a you my-i-ine~!", right to him, tossing his head around with the last line and spinning away to keep shelving tapes.

Eddie's face blazes hot.

"Oh my god, this is actually doing it for you, isn't it?"

He looks over at Robin, ready to snap at her, deny it all, but she looks so sincere under that mirth.

He sighs.. "Yeah."

"Can you come out tonight?" Steve sing-asks, jumping into his space and startling him.

"Really??"

He's grabbed up Ghostbusters this time, "YooOOOuUU better ask your Uncle~ Tell him everything is alright"

"He won't care!"

Steve's voice pitches lower as he continues to ignore Eddie's comments, stepping away to a nearby shelf "Why don't you come out?" then higher immediately after, as he slides the tape onto it's shelf, "With your red flannel on"

"I can't wear a dress?"

"Mmm, you look so fine~!"

"Shut up, Harrington!" Eddie's cheeks are on fire

Steve continues to ignore him, stepping back into Eddie's space and snatching him up in a spin, one hand on his hip, one grabbing his opposite hand, "Move it nice and easy,"

He's front to front with the man of his dreams and said man is, shimmying his hips to the tune, "Well you make me lose my miiiind!"

Steve goes into more long belts of "EeeEEdie bay-ay-bee" as he spins away back to shelve more tapes, leaving Eddie both entranced and bewildered at the front of the store.

"He'll be so bummed if you don't come now."

Eddie sighs, leans back against the counter to wait out the rest of the song, "Yeah.. I know."

- - - - - - - - - - -

and then they go to the bar and then steddie kiss and robin kisses a super cute girl and they live happily ever after the end

this exact scenario has haunted me every time sherry comes on the radio so today you finally get it too lmao

[softness-and-shattering]

Most of my autistic friends expect that their friendships will one day out of the blue blow up in their face as people vent built-up frustrations about behaviours that annoyed others that was never ever communicated to them, and/or because of whats called "the double empathy problem" which describes one of the main ways allistic-autistic communication goes sideways. Ive been in social groups - discord type groups - where the autistics get kicked out because we are speaking plainly and askingd questions, and the mods or admin or other authority figures interpret these questions as deliberate insubordination and challenges to their authority, get "tired and fed up" with "the disrespect" and start kicking people. I have seen this happen in disability groups.

And its not all black and white. Like sometimes I can pick up on social cues because I have deliberately learned them, or learned them the hard way. I can even sometimes say one thing and mean another, but I dont often. I might pick up on one cue and totally miss another. Sometimes I just dont know why someone is saying something, theyre obviously implying something but I dont know what. This can get tricky when someone wants to indicate something without being able to be quoted about it, and sometimes I need to ask them to clarify and if theyre still dodgy I have to guess and hope I got it right.

And sometimes we're aware of unspoken rules but we dont recognise their authority over us because theyre bad or nonsensical. We tend to stick to rules if we understand them and they make sense. When theyre crap rules, I dont care how much money someone makes I will treat them the same as everyone else. I dont care how many high status cars someone has, we are equals.

Im getting off track - my point is that basically every autistic I know has ongoing trauma of friendships and social groups suddenly turning on them for no discernable reason and no warning and absolutely no previous indication that anything was wrong - sometimes after being explicitly told everything was ok the day before. This happens to us all the time. Its so damaging and so hurtful.

Personally I dont second guess as a general rule. I someone has a problem with me I trust they will tell me about it and we can problem solve and introspect. If Im not told, no matter what vibes Im picking up bc I dont know if the vibes are real or my own anxieties, I will act like nothing is wrong. If someone wants to blow up at me that has reflects zero on me and entirely on their inability to speak up about whatever was bothering them. Thats not a me problem. I cannot do anything with zero information.

Lemme induct you in an autistic way of bring and introduce you to a script you can use. Something like "hi friend, can I talk to you for a second about the meeting yesterday? [If Y continue, if N ask when you can talk to them about it.*] So I dont know if you noticed, but you spent the whole time tapping your fingernails on the table, and honestly the noise was distracting and mightve been irritating for some people. I just thought you should know bevause I dont think anyone else was going to bring it up with you. Could you please find a quieter way to stim/do what you need to/move in the ways you need to to concentrate. Ok thank you, no ones super upset just mildly irritated I think. I just figured someone should actually tell you"

Or even "hi. You spent the whole meeting earlier tapping on the table and it was pretty loud. Could you please find a way to be quieter in meetings, its just a bit distracting for some people? Awesome thank you".

Just be polite and straightforward, say what you want and what the problem is. Assume competence, sometimes we make deliberate choices against the status quo for important reasons not cluelessness. And give time for them to figure out an alternative, be undsrstanding if they cant. Just use your words, communicate clearly. It might feel a little confrontational but believe me its not as bad as bring dropped as a friend or fired out of nowhere. That sucks**

*Dont just say "can we talk", give a reason, otherwise they will likely spend the time between notification and meeting inventing every worse case scenario they can possibly think of. A couple words of context goes a long way.

** I came across a youtuber who, idk for sure if theyre autistic but they talk with an extremely flat effect (meaning, little tonal variance between words, not much expression in the voice, every word comes out more or less the same, "robotic"), which is an autistic trait. They mentioned in a video that they had a 'normal' job before youtube, until one day they found themself fired, given reason was their flat effect scared people and made them seem unfriendly and unhappy to be there and interacting. Sounded like it was completely out of the blue. Thats a job lost due to ableism though possibly no one involved sees it that way. Some people cant change how they speak or dont want to. Shouldnt have to. But at least mention it, see if the person is willing to adjust, and consider if it truly disqualifies them from being able to perform the job or is it just a little unusual.

I saw some snippet of a callout post for an autistic trans woman where they list social faux pas she committed, and I think we allistic people should all feel 100x more ashamed of not telling people in the moment how we feel about what they're doing. I think its extremely evil and cruel to not only lie to an autistic person and blame them for it but also to feel justified shaming them for your behavior. And it's currently the social norm to do that

[mapis-putellas]

𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒓/𝑰.𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒏 𝒙 𝑴.𝑳𝒆𝒐𝒏

This has some Mapi in it. Don’t feel obligated to read if you don’t wanna

Ingrid’s fingers move slowly up and down your spine, tracing aimless patterns over the fabric of her hoodie that you’ve claimed as your own. Her other hand is curled around your hip, keeping you pressed against her as you lie sprawled across her chest on the couch. It’s quiet, peaceful. The kind of rare, uninterrupted silence that only happens when Mapi isn’t home.

You love Mapi. Love her more than you ever thought possible. But Mapi is Mapi, and Mapi doesn’t do still. She doesn’t do quiet. She does prodding and teasing and exaggerated sighs when she’s bored and dramatically flopping onto you and Ingrid when she wants attention. It’s adorable, it’s her, but it’s also exhausting sometimes.

So when she left for the weekend, you’d missed her immediately, but you’d also secretly relished the stillness. The extra bit of uninterrupted Ingrid time.

Ingrid shifts slightly beneath you, her chest rising with a deep breath as her fingers continue their slow, lazy movements. “You’re thinking too much,” she murmurs, voice low and accented in a way that makes warmth pool in your stomach.

You hum against her, nuzzling further into her. “Am not.”

“You are,” she counters. “I can feel it.”

You huff a soft laugh, but she’s right. She usually is.

You tilt your head to look up at her, chin resting on her sternum. “Miss her?”

She exhales a small breath through her nose, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Mmm.”

You study her for a second. “But you like the quiet too.”

The tiny smile turns into a proper one, eyes twinkling just slightly. “Mmm.”

You grin, stretching up just enough to press a kiss to her chin before relaxing back down against her. “Me too.”

She chuckles softly, her hand drifting up from your spine to thread lazily through your hair.

Neither of you speak for a while, just lying there, breathing in sync, soaking in the rare, undisturbed moment of peace.

Then your phone vibrates against Ingrid’s stomach, the buzz breaking the quiet. You groan dramatically, not bothering to move as you blindly pat around for it. Ingrid sighs, reaching down and grabbing it for you.

“Mapi,” she says before even looking, because of course it is.

You huff a laugh as you take it from her, unlocking the screen to see a string of messages.

MAPI

MI AMORRRR

Princesa says she misses me 🥹

You miss me too, no?

I bet Ingrid is enjoying her break from me 😏

TELL HER SHE CAN’T REPLACE ME

I’M IRREPLACEABLE

I’M A NATIONAL TREASURE

You roll your eyes, grinning as you type back.

YOU

We were just talking about how much we miss you, actually

Ingrid too, though she won’t admit it

A second later, your phone vibrates again.

MAPI

LIARRRRR

Put me on video NOW

You sigh, pushing up onto your elbows. “She wants to FaceTime.”

Ingrid groans. “Of course she does.”

You smirk, hitting the video call button before flopping back onto Ingrid’s chest. She huffs when the weight of you presses down on her again, but she doesn’t move.

Mapi answers immediately. “MIS AMORES.”

She’s grinning, all teeth and dimples, nose scrunched just slightly. Her hair is damp, messy, like she’s just come out of the shower, and she’s wrapped in a hoodie that you’re fairly sure belongs to Ingrid.

“You’re drunk,” you accuse, eyeing the slight flush on her cheeks.

“I am not,” she gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “How dare you.”

Ingrid snorts. “You’re slurring your words, Maria.

Mapi squints at her through the screen, face pulling into a pout. “Princesa, why must you betray me like this?”

“Because it’s easy,” Ingrid deadpans.

You laugh, tilting the phone down slightly so Mapi can see you better. “Are you having fun?”

She brightens instantly, nodding. “Sí! We went to this-“ She pauses, turning her head to yell something in rapid Spanish to someone in the background. You hear laughter, a few indistinct replies, before she turns back to the camera. “This bar, and there was karaoke -real karaoke, not that fake one where they mute the mic-“

“Did you sing?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“OBVIO.”

You grin. “What song?”

Mapi opens her mouth to answer but then stops, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you two cuddling?”

You blink. “Uh…yes?

Her eyes narrow even more. “Without me?”

“You’re literally in another country,” Ingrid points out, unimpressed

Mapi huffs, crossing her arms. “You’re replacing me.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ingrid mutters, exasperated.

You snicker. “We would never replace you.”

Mapi points a finger at Ingrid. “Say it, Princesa.”

Ingrid sighs heavily. “Mapi-“

“SAY IT.”

Ingrid tilts her head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like she’s calling for divine intervention. Then, finally, she relents. “You are irreplaceable.”

Mapi grins smugly. “Damn right.”

You giggle, shifting so you can tuck your face into Ingrid’s neck.

Mapi watches you both for a moment, then sighs. “Okay. I go now. I just had to make sure you weren’t too happy without me.”

“We’re miserable,” you deadpan.

“Good,” she says, blowing a dramatic kiss. “I love you both. Goodnight.”

“Night, love you,” you say, and Ingrid mumbles a soft, “I love you too,” before Mapi hangs up.

You stare at the phone for a second, then glance up at Ingrid.

“She’s going to be so hungover.”

Ingrid hums. “Good. She deserves it.”

You giggle, tossing your phone onto the coffee table before settling back against her. “Still miss her though.

Ingrid sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Me too.”

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[on-the-clear-blue]

I am thinking about, what if Jason, fresh from the grave, actually managed to get to Wanye manor?

Like, some Gothamite stumbles upon this kid in a muddy silk suit, with hands bleeding and bruised, whos hollow looking eyes are filled with tears, trying to draw in weezy breaths and let's out a long desperate whimper that sounds like..."help me"

But instead of running and calling the police because clearly the dead are starting to raise in Gotham and that is like, actually the worst, they notice something, they have seen that face before, fucking hell nearly all of gotham had, maybe a little younger, maybe with a happy smile and a twinkle in his eye even in a black in white photo put out by the newspaper, cus that's the Wayne kid, that's Brucies little boy that got killed.

And they take him home, to the Wanye Manor clearly some bullshit happened, because in Gotham the even the dead arnt allowed to rest it seemed.

Even if nobody ever made it past the front gate, everyone knows where the Manor is, it's the seat of power for like, the most important family in Gotham, criminal or otherwise.

And they feel horrible ringing the gate bell, they would wince because it sounds like a sick joke to just to roll up, and say "I got your dead kid, you want em back?"

Imagine the pain that Alfred has to go through hearing that? Some stranger has just rung in that they have his youngest charge grandson who Alfred personally dressed in his finest to be laid to rest. The same Alfred who did the same for Thomas and Martha, who cried over their bodies in secret just as he did Jason.

He let's the stranger through the front gate, while Master Bruce has a rule against killing, Alfred is more than willing to, and his shotgun is loaded as he watches a older car slowly wind up the long driveway.

He is standing at the door, gun lowered as the stranger pulls to a stop, they don't even look surprised at the gun in the old man's hands, simply nodding at it before heading to the back seat of their car and-

Dear God they dug up his boy, anger pulses through him, the gun raises to shoot down this utter scum before...the body twitches as the stranger speaks to it, gently shaking it and...and Jason blinks awake, a strangled gasp coming from his chest before coughs, and Jason is stumbling out of the back seat.

Alfred can't move for a second, can't think as he sees Jason alive once more, the boys pained expression lessens slightly as he seems to spot thr butler, and a soft, hoarse whisper came from his lips, "A-Alfie..."

Imagine Bruce, drunk beyond the point where it should kill him, laying in Jason's bed, the curtains drawn closed, leaving the room pitch black, the only lights coming from the smattering of glow in the dark stars, done up in constellations across the ceiling, and a small night light by the door.

His son still needed a night light, his darling boy was still young enough to fear the dark, even if it was at an instinctual level.

Bruce felt disgusted by himself, hatred of the pathetic excuse of a man that he was, his son was gone gone GONE.

The lights of his life was gone, and he deserved it, he shouldn't have been so greedy, so selfish to want Dick in his life, so what if Vruce saw himself in the boy, commerserated with the searing pain of his parents, Bruce should have kept the child away, to not allow Dick to become anything like him.

It was good that Bruce was pushing him away, making the wonderful young man Dick turned out to be hate him, Bruce only deserved that, it hurt so much to turn his back on his son, but Bruce couldn't allow anymore of himself to befoul the boy he loved so dearly.

The man longed for another drink but he refused to bring the bottle into Jason's room, he wouldn't desecrate his sons space with something he had hated so much.

It was the only reason Bruce rolled out of the bed, his body felt like lead, numb and dull to the world, and as he opened the door into the hall, he saw him.

There Jason was, yet more to hunt him, his child's phantom back to torment him again.

Mind clouded with pain, Bruce would stumble up to that ghost the figment of his imagination that sought to torment him, stopping only a foot away and falling to his knees, fresh tears sting at the man's eyes. A gutteral sound of agony tearing through him as he wails in sorrow, of a future, a life snuffed out.

Only to be silenced by a weight on his shoulder, followed by a smaller body drapped across his own, the cry of pain was choked out by shock, eyes that shut fly open to see that the phantom, the ghost of his son...was not just a figment of his foul mind.

And Jason's body was not cold, not stiff with rigor mortise, it was warm and soft, the thrum if a weak heart beat pounded across his back where his sons chest was across him.

With shaky hands Bruce would, almost reverently, reach out to touch his son, pulling his hand back as if he was burned went he felt the boys body.

In a moment the man was latched onto the boy, holding onto him as if he let go Jason would fade away and he would lose his son once again.

Of course they run tests, though Bruce is never not in arms reach of Jason, always trying to keep the boy in his eyesight, and went they come back that it really is Jason? That their boy is returned? Bruce clings to his son once more, tears renewed, this time filled with relief not sorrow.

Though sadly, we don't get this, instead after digging himself out of his own grave, Jason gets hit by a car and gets kidnapped by a murder death cult and gets dunked in the evil mountain dew before getting turned against the people that love him, fed lies to fuel his pit madness and then set off on a killing spree of revenge.

[pansexualkiba]

to begin with, I am sorry for your lived experiences, and I wish you hadn't gone through that. you deserve to have guardians who care for you, food you enjoy eating, and a government vested in your betterment. these are simple facts, and they are something we all deserve.

as a response, however, i am not telling you what you meant. i am making assumptions based on how you reacted to both the quoted statement and your response to someone screenshotting your starement. in short, your response was incredibly disproportionate and, frankly, inappropriate for the actual quote. what Bourdain is doing here is answering the question in a publication, "what is the sexiest thing [one] can do on a date". his response is a bit wordy, but what he describes is about how people who eat reservedly and self-consciously, as if to serve some unknown audience, are less attractive compared to, say, his wife, who has such zeal for what she eats that he, assumedly, married her. anthony bourdain is richer than both you and i will ever be (yes, combined), so assumingly he is talking about dates that he has been on, with another party who was similarly attracted to him, and were in rather fancy environments as well. he is talking about decorum here, and how, in his experience, if they are so obsessed with such in a low-light and intimate setting as a restaurant date, then in a furtherly intimate setting, such as sex, they will not be much more fun to be around.

you, admitting you do not know much about bourdain, stated that from this anecdote, he sounds like a creep and an "alpha male", because he makes a direct link from a date both agreed to to sex, and therefore further make a value judgement based on him answering a question about what he personally found attractive - a married man, who is presumably not seeking a third and spends a half of the question relating his experiences dating his wife. there is an inherent sexusm as to judging how someone eats, but you seem to misunderstand that this is supposed to be judging a woman on how she eats and insisting she should be more demure or polite - something bourdain is actively stating should not be the case. he is not taking a woman out to watch her eat (and even so, this is a rather neutral stance to have - presumably, she is also on the date because she wants to be there, and she can always leave because it is a public space), he is taking her out to eat and making a note of her dining habits to gauge her personality in private and, again, intimate settings.

your response and gut reaction were, in a word, disproportionate. however, this is your personal opinion, and that cannot be helped. improved upon by interacting with the text critically, yes, but i cannot put words into your mouth. however, you further responded to the text by acting as if bourdain discussing something he finds attractive about his wife (and, yes, kissing and sex, two things that tend to happen after a date) was somehow a personal attack on you. that, because he related that his wife likes lobster and beef, he is railing against veganism (a stance that comes up nowhere in the quoted passage), and therefore he is against you, as a person. he is not. you are reading so far into his words in a published interview that you are completely not interacting with the words on the page. your spite is completely unfounded and misplaced, and to simply say "its just my mental state" does not exonerate you from the fact that you decided what a person you will never meet finds attractive in someone who is not you was a personal attack against you regardless, and you lashed out against this perceived slight on a platform he will never be on on a post he will never see, and when someone else reacted to this with a picture that felt, to them, similarly absurd (allegedly), you, still feeling you were in the right for your completely detached response, said, "what's not clicking".

none of this is to invalidate your personal tribulations or your experiences as a woman. however, one must understand that, in a public forum, how you react to generally-neutral statements as "i like it when my dates don't care about restaurant etiquette" are going to be perceived by the public, especially people who read the tags out of curiosity, such as myself. no amount of "i wish to not be perceived" will change that. were my perceptions of you lacking in context and based on my own personal feelings? yes, and i apologize for overstepping in that regard. however, understand that i am also not stating you were right. because you weren't. and that, while the context for your eating habits are miserable, they do not change that you have a less-than-positive relation to both food and the act of eating, and that you took a man discussing eating in, likely, a high-end restaurant during a romantic excursion, and took it to be a criticism of you in your own house rationing out your food for the next month, and reacted publically and explosively along those lines. just because its your blog and your own personal thoughts does not mean people do not read them and react accordingly.

all this to say, i am returning to my original question: are you alright?

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Thank you for everything you do! This page is amazing! I’m looking for #Sterek where One of them is super smart and the other is the best athlete, they don’t run in the same clicks, but outside of school they are close! Anything like that? TYIA!!

I love this trope!

begin again by bleep0bleep

(1/1 I 2,501 I Teen)

Ten years ago Derek turned down Stiles for prom.

Now it's high school reunion time.

seems to me it's chemistry by HalfFizzbin

(1/1 I 4,153 I Teen)

Awkward Nerd Derek has been crushing on Handsome Jock Stiles since forever—so getting paired with him on a Chemistry project is definitely the best/worst thing that's ever happened to him.

Hot Nerd Alert by alisvolatpropiis

(1/1 I 4,537 I Not Rated)

Derek can't believe he's actually doing this: taking a selfie snap of the guy he’s been crushing on for weeks to prove to Danny that one, yes, he really does exist, and two, he really is that hot and thus he is totally justified in being too scared to make a move.

Or you know, even talk to the guy outside of the class they share.

In his defense, this isn’t just any guy. This THE guy. Hot Nerd. The utterly adorable but still somehow insanely sexy freshman in his twentieth century American Lit class who he’s been lusting over since the first day of the semester. If there were ever a time for him to be that person who tries to be subtle while taking snaps of other people, this is it.

Game On by stilinskisparkles

(1/1 I 6,391 I Teen)

Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.

But Then What... by orphan_account

(3/3 I 24,343 I Explicit)

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

The Awkward Love Life Of A Sheltered College Werewolf by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle

(10/10 I 30,134 I Explicit)

Derek had been used to being home schooled. Being used to be surrounded by pack, and nothing but pack. When he decides he's going to attend college, like a normal person, his family has a fit. Derek goes anyway. It's scary and new and exciting. Then he meets Stiles. Then...Things get even more exciting.

A Cunning Plan by yodasyoyo

(17/17 I 32,737 I Teen)

Stiles has a plan to get Lydia Martin to notice him. Derek is not impressed.

If you asked me if I love him, I’d lie by dereksstilinski (greyslittlediaries)

(18/18 I 37,305 I Explicit)

Derek has already typed the entire report out and even got all of the stuff prepared for the poster that Stiles and him will have to present. Derek found that he actually didn’t mind doing all the work when it was Stiles he was doing it for, but he wasn’t going to let Stiles get away completely. He was going to get Stiles to come over and help with the poster, so help him god.

When the Universe Comes Knocking (It’s Polite to Open the Door) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) 

(6/6 I 135,402 I Mature)

It was like a door he’d nailed shut in his brain suddenly exploded open, all of his past confusion and anger and hurt and adoration flooding out at once. Stiles? Was it actually Stiles?!

Stiles, the guy he’d had a crush on for fucking years growing up. The guy who’d been an absolute dick to him their whole last year of high school.

The guy who’d told him he loved him in a dirty men’s bathroom on prom night while drunk and upset because he thought Kira was Derek’s girlfriend.

That Stiles? But it couldn’t be!

Burn with hellfire in the blue light of midnight by babisays

(20/20 I 203,189 I Teen)

Stiles met the Hale siblings when he was eleven years old. Now it has been six years since he lost his best friend Cora in the fire, and Derek and Laura left Beacon Hills.

Six years was a long time, so he didn't think he would ever see them again, but now he was wondering what the hell was Derek Hale doing back in Beacon Hills.

[solarmorrigan]

3 & 4 steddie? I love everyone's takes on eddie interacting with steve after the halloween party in s2💛

So! A thing about me is that I'm actually not always comfortable writing about drinking. The "why" of it is kind of a moving target, and I really should have just nixed "drunk" as an option in the tags, so that's my bad D: But! I think I got the rest of your prompt in pretty alright??

4. Cry - Eddie &/ Steve

-

Eddie had only been looking for a quiet place to smoke. Business is great at parties like this, but sometimes he needs a break from all the hubbub. The backyard had been milling with people, but as Eddie had trailed out towards the edge of the property, close to the tree line of the woods behind the house, the crowds had dwindled to nothing, leaving undisturbed peace in their wake.

At least, Eddie had thought so.

It takes a minute for him to notice the new noise – the soft, inconsistent huffs of air working counter to the sound of the whispering breeze. It’s the sound of someone gasping, he realizes, cold anxiety beginning to pool in his gut.

Is someone hurt? Had some drunken idiot wandered out back here, maybe fallen or run into a tree and injured themselves? Were they too hurt to get back up? But, no – as Eddie gets closer to the source of the noise, it becomes clear it isn’t pained gasping, it’s the hitched-breath sound of sobbing.

And just as he starts to think maybe he should just give this person their privacy, let them have a good cry in peace like they clearly intended, he rounds a tree and sees exactly who it is that’s come out into the woods in their lament.

He can’t see the face, but even in the half-light spilling out from the house, the head of hair is unmistakable: Eddie’s just crashed Steve Harrington’s private backwoods breakdown.

For a moment, Eddie is frozen, unsure of what to do. He feels a little like Actaeon stumbling across Diana bathing in the forest, and at any moment he’s going to be turned into a stag for witnessing something he shouldn’t have (and take that, Mrs. Davis – he does pay attention in English class. To the cool parts, at least). Except it doesn’t seem like Steve has noticed him yet, still wrapped up in whatever’s got him miserable, so maybe Eddie can just make a clean getaway? Pretend none of this ever happened?

Intending to do just that, he takes one careful step back and puts his foot down directly on what is apparently the loudest twig in existence. The crack of it rings out like an alarm, and Steve’s head snaps up, his cheeks shining wet in the low light, glancing around frantically until his eyes land on Eddie.

“Uh,” Eddie says, raising one careful hand in greeting. “Hey.”

That seems to knock Steve back into action. He swears, reaching up to wipe roughly at his face, running a hand through his hair, probably trying desperately to look like he hadn’t just been crying. Eddie figures he should probably let him, give him some plausible deniability, pretend he hadn’t been able to see anything in the dark, that he hadn’t heard anything at all. Except now that he’s here, Eddie finds he can’t quite leave well enough alone. He’s curious.

And maybe he feels a little bad for the guy. Just a little. He looks sort of devastated from where Eddie is standing, eyes wide and wet, cheeks red, hair disheveled (but still goddamn pretty. How is that even fair?).

“You, uh… You okay?” Eddie tries, feeling a little lame in the attempt.

“Yeah,” Steve snaps, running a hand down over his face again. “I’m fine.”

Clearly.

“Did you come here with someone?” Eddie asks. “Like… someone I can go get?”

“What? I’m not drunk or anything, man, I’m fine,” Steve huffs, leaning back against the tree he’d been half-hidden behind, shoulders still slumped.

“No, yeah, I just – like, whatever’s going on with you, I figured maybe a friend would be… better,” Eddie says, waving a hand vaguely at Steve, who scoffs at him. “Wait– Wheeler. You came with her, didn’t you?”

That doesn’t get an answer – not a verbal one, anyway. All Steve does is sniffle and glance away.

“Ah,” Eddie finds himself nodding, speaking before he can stop himself, “trouble in paradise?”

Steve scoffs again. “You know what?” he asks harshly. “When your girlfriend says you’re bullshit, and that your love is bullshit, and blames you for her friend dying, you start to think that maybe there was no paradise to begin with.”

Eddie blinks. That’s a lot to process. “I thought Holland ran away?” he asks after a moment, because apparently that’s the thing to focus on.

“Right. Ran away,” Steve spits out, and that’s – hm.

What do you know that I don’t, Steve Harrington? Eddie wonders.

He doesn’t ask, of course, because nosy as he is, Eddie also has a healthily developed sense of self preservation, and this seems like the sort of thing he shouldn’t be prying into.

“That’s kinda fucked up, man,” he says instead. “She seriously accuse you of that?”

Steve shrugs, says nothing, but still looks miserable enough that Eddie would believe it. Whatever went down between Steve and Nancy had clearly been a hell of a mess. He isn’t entirely sure why he cares (his persistent soft spot for strays is honestly a bitch sometimes), but he finds he doesn’t want to leave Steve like this, depressed and alone in the woods on Halloween.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws his pack of cigarettes, shaking two out into his hand. Steve tenses when Eddie takes a few steps closer, but the only thing Eddie does is offer him a cigarette. There’s a moment of confused staring, eyes flicking between Eddie’s face and the cigarette in his hand, but eventually Steve reaches out to take it.

Eddie takes a chance, leaning in a little closer to offer him a light, and Steve takes it, the warmth of his face near Eddie’s cupped palm feeling almost as strong as the flame from the lighter.

Eddie drops his hand as soon as the cigarette is lit. He needs to get a grip. He lights his own cigarette and takes a drag.

“Thanks,” Steve croaks once he’s blown out his first breath of smoke.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie replies.

They smoke in silence for a minute, watching the backlit figures of drunken teenagers churn in and out of the house before them.

“Maybe she’s right,” Steve finally says.

“Hm?” Eddie glances over at him, but Steve is glaring at the ground.

“Love,” Steve sneers. “Maybe it’s really just bullshit.”

And something about that just hits Eddie wrong. Maybe he’s never believed in love, as such—not the way it’s described in poetry or sung about in ballads or written about in shlocky romance novels—but Steve clearly does. Anyone who’s been around him and Nancy for more than a minute in the last year could see that. For it to be otherwise feels like it goes against the natural order.

“Nah,” Eddie says. “Love is out there, man. The real shit, y’know? Stuff worth fighting for.”

Steve lets out a little snort, more amused than derisive, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “You’re not a romantic, Munson,” he says, so sure of himself – which is fair.

“Oh, I’m a cynic through and through, baby,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve gives him a little laugh. “But you – you’re a romantic. You don’t really believe that love is bullshit. And you shouldn’t.”

Subsiding, Steve leans back against his tree, taking another drag of his cigarette like he’s stalling for time. “Why do you care what I believe?” he finally asks.

Eddie shrugs. “The world needs people like you. Romantics. Dreamers. You keep people like us pessimists from collapsing beneath the weight of our own dark souls.”

“What?” Steve coughs out, really laughing this time, and Eddie smiles right along with him.

“Just saying,” he offers.

Steve shakes his head. “Okay, drama kid. And I’m guessing people like you – what? Help people like me keep our feet on the ground?”

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Everyone needs a rock now and then. A nice solid foundation to start from.”

“Hm,” Steve hums, finishing off his cigarette as Eddie does the same. “Well – you’re, uh. You’re a pretty good rock, Eddie. Thanks.”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie says, pretending that the weird little compliment hadn’t made him light up just a bit. “Don’t mention it.”

And Steve doesn’t, but the smile he gives Eddie – well. What’s something else.

[patchworkideas]

I have a folder named 'Story Ideas' in my home system, for easy access.

In there, I have a folder for each fandom that I write in.

If a Wip stays a one shot or only an idea post it stays in the general fandom folder it belongs to - with AUs and Crossovers in the fandom that uses the characters or has the biggest influence.

If it grows it becomes it's own folder. If I already know the future name at that point it will be named that, otherwise it gets a descriptor that stays even after it has a name. (example: My 'Coming Forth By Day' Story is still in a folder called Subnautica AU in the Yu-Gi-Oh Folder.)

The chapters are neatly named 'Chapter 1' or 'Chapter 1-6' etc, depending on how frantically I was writing. If it got written in one file it stays in one file. (This became more common since I started dictating, where i need to check for dictation errors before I can close a file (to listen to my own voice to check) and often new ideas are howling to be given voice before the check for the prior one is finished.)

Most bigger stories with their own folder also get a subfolder called notes.

That's the danger folder, where the wild things go and nothing is safe or certain. I have doubles, often actually writen or rewritten notes, sometimes removed scenes or whole removed chapters. Notes in order and notes very much not, in whatever order they came to me or I thought they fit best.

The notes folder is the depth of my mind and very often contains a multitude more words than actual make it into the story. (Long Way Around is an extreme example - by the time I had 10k posted, I hit over 100k in notes for everything still to come. Something that has been invaluable for me as I continued writing it these past years. It's been slow going but it's allowed me to keep the plot for these last 3 chapters i still have to write after almost 4 years now. Though there's a lot more to edit and polish before we get close to posting those even once they're finally written, since I hiatused to ensure I don't drop one of the myriads of threads I'm weaving together in the critical third act.)

I love writing, and I lost so much in the chaos of not having it organized in the past. So now it is.

.... Don't look on my PC where I do most of my drafting via dictation though. There's a folder called 'transferred to phone' for everything I already copied over to my phone. My phone has fandom folders but no notes, big stories are only told apart by name + chapter number. I then send the draft from my phone via different email addresses to my tablet, where all the notes and edits etc happen. *That* is where I'm organized in the above fashion.

... There and in a dedicated backup drive where I copy my tablet files to - admittedly not as often as I should. But even if I lose edits someday I at least know that I'll never lose the original draft.

Which makes it much easier to edit without abandon since the original never lost if I fuck something up beyond recognition during editing. Or in case of technical issues, obviously.

Backups are important, doubly so for anything creative.

... And I still manage to lose track of small ideas because each fandom folder usually has a shit ton of those small idea files that never become a full blown story.

And I still very much enjoy reading through those occasionally and enjoying the diamonds in the rough, those I forgot and those I didn't.

I love writing, and I love my stories. <3

Edit: And now, after actually checking, since I didn't want to risk tumblr eating my post, I realize that for some unfathomable reason I forgot to set up the fandom folder system that I have literally been using for over a decade on my tablet - probably because I figured 'I love this new fandom! I'm going to write for nothing else ever again!' when I did it. *sigh* It always feels like that, it never is X-D

So the majority of everything has the fandom name in the title, aka 'Subnautica Yu-Gi-Oh'. The handful that don't I'll need to rename at some point and finally sort everything into folders as it should have been...

And what was i thinking when i wrote my game fandom stories in the gaming folder - which does have the 'fandom/game name' folder system at least! And I usually do back those up too, since my game notes are also fun (and just as long, looking at my +100k Oxygen Not Included notes...). And I suppose some of these are stories to help me remember what happened last...

But they're still stories, and I wonder if I'll remember to check for stories in 'Games' someday 🤔

Sigh. I have a very specific order in my head. It doesn't always make it onto the page. Kinda like in writing. But it's otherwise still as described above and I'm very proud of it.

only sort of related to the wip meme that's going around, i'm curious, now: how do you, personally, organise your wips?

this does not feel like a poll kind of situation—it's a 'just reply or reblog and add to the body of the post' kind of deal. please feel free; i'm genuinely curious.

[glorious-spoon]

a row of captured ghosts [9-1-1 | Chris & Eddie | Buck/Eddie | 1/1]

8.3K words | teen christopher & eddie | pre-relationship buck/eddie | near-death experiences | car crashes | hospitals | hurt/comfort | arguments | parent-child relationship | hopeful ending

a row of captured ghosts [On AO3]

Eddie is at an open house in El Paso, eating mini quiches and making awkward conversation with another prospective buyer—single mom, two kids in the school district Chris has been attending since September, pleasant and, in retrospect, kind of flirty—when the accident happens.

He doesn't know, though later that feels impossible. He should have felt the impact from eight hundred miles away.

In the moment, he wanders through the house trying to smile around the knot in his throat, looking for flaws. It's a three-bedroom ranch with a yellow brick exterior, a manicured little strip of grass out front, and an attached one-car garage that he might not be able to actually fit his truck in. Definitely not enough room for anything else, but it's not like he'll have Buck turning up at all hours of the day or night in El Paso. Any visits he has from Buck from now on out will involve plane tickets and planning. Eddie will pick him up from the airport, probably. The Jeep and where Buck will park it is not a concern here.

It's not in the same neighborhood as his parents' house, but it's not far. The layout is accessible. That was something Buck filtered for right away, when he sat on Eddie's couch scrolling through a dozen different listing sites while Eddie did the walk-through with the real estate agent. He presented his results to Eddie after the call ended with a bright-eyed, determined enthusiasm that Eddie knew better than to trust, but what could he do? What could either of them do?

"Is it just you?" the woman asks. Her name is Leanna, he's pretty sure. She definitely introduced herself, and Eddie smiled and introduced himself back, and now they're in a corner of the eat-in kitchen, which is staged with a little round table under the window. Eddie can imagine sitting at it with Chris, should Chris ever deign to visit him here. He tries not to imagine anyone else in that picture, and only half manages it.

"Just me and, uh," he stops before he can say my son. He doesn't want to explain any of this to a stranger. "Yeah. Just me for now."

(Continue reading on AO3)

[allthingsfangirl101]

Big Brother's Wedding – Glen Powell

The second I left my room, I heard voices coming from the front room. I descended the beach house stairs, recognizing the voice of my brother's childhood best friend.

"Do my ears deceive me," I started to taunt him before they could see me, "or is that the best Tornado Wrangler this side of the Mississippi?"

"Ha ha," Glen faked laughed. I rounded the corner, instantly seeing his Hollywood smile. "My dear sweet Y/N."

He laughed for real as he wrapped his arms around me. "It's good to see you, Y/N."

"It's good to see you too, Glen," I whispered. We broke the hug and I could feel my face burning. "I'm kinda surprised, Powell."

"By what?" He smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"By the fact that you actually took time away from being Netflix's Heartthrob to come to your childhood best friend's wedding."

"Are you kidding?" He chuckled as he put my brother in a playful headlock. "I wasn't going to miss this dweeb's wedding. Who else is gonna tell his girl that she's too good for him?"

"Who else is gonna tell me that I'm the only adult among the three of us?" I rolled my eyes and headed to the kitchen as they started to fight the way they did as teenage idiots.

I grabbed three beers from the fridge and opened them. Once I opened the last one, the two idiots jogged into the kitchen. They laughed as I handed them each a beer.

"Thanks, Y/N," Glen smiled as he took it. I nodded before taking a drink of my beer.

"Your room is going to be upstairs," my brother started to explain. "It's the room between mine and Y/N's."

"Should I be worried about the bride-to-be sneaking in?" Glen smirked.

"Shannon and her family are in the beach house next door," I chuckled. "and her parents are very traditional. The soon-to-be-married couple can see each other during the day, but no sneaking off in the night."

Without warning, my brother ran out of the house. "What the hell was that?" Glen chuckled. I pointed outside, making Glen follow my finger to my brother running toward a girl and picking her up, spinning her around.

"Gotcha," he laughed. "Our boy's really in love, huh?"

"Oh yeah," I elongated. "I've never seen him like this, Glen. He's really in love."

"That's great," he smiled. I watched as his smile slowly fell.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he cleared his throat. "I was just. . . Do you ever wonder if it's gonna happen for you?"

"What?"

"Falling in love."

The silence came suddenly and it was thick. I let it settle before trying to lighten the tension. "You fall in love on almost every movie set," I teased.

"True," he sighed, "but it's not real. I want something real. Something. . . timeless. I want to find a girl that I'm crazy for. A girl who if I go even a day without talking to her, it's too long. A girl who I want to be with every minute of every day. A girl who, when friends look at me, they say that I am whipped. A girl that I would happily leave my boys for. A girl who is the most important person in the world to me. I just want to find my person, my girl."

"You will," I said, my voice soft. "Someday you will find a girl who will be as crazy about you as you are about her."

"And someday you'll find a guy worthy of you," Glen smiled. I watched as his smile turned slightly dark. "And if he hurts you, I'll kick his ass."

* * * * *

We spent the next couple of days hanging out, drinking, and acting like stupid kids again. It was great. I've missed this.

After playing the version of football that Glen learned for Top Gun: Maverick, I collapsed onto my lounge chair under the umbrella. I drank some water before relaxing into my seat.

"You good?"

I opened my eyes and instantly shielded them from the sun. I ignored the embarrassment flooding me when I saw Glen standing in front of me. Very shirtless and very sweaty.

"Yeah," I chuckled, trying to relax. "Just needed a breather. The game's a lot more intense than I thought it would be."

"I know," he laughed as he sat on the chair next to me. "The day after we filmed the scene, we were all so sore. They had to give us a day off so we could feel our bodies again."

"Rumor was that you got hurt filming that scene," I said, my voice slightly softening.

"There were worse scenes," he shrugged off as he turned back to our friends. I let the silence settle between us for a few seconds before I had to tell him.

"I've missed you, Glen," I sighed, my eyes on my brother and his friends.

"I've missed you too, Y/N," he said, looking at me, but I didn't return the glance. 

"I hope you know," I said, slowly turning toward him, "Matt's really missed you. As soon as he got engaged, he kept talking about planning the wedding in between your projects. He wanted to make sure you could make it."

"I would've made it," he winked. "No matter what."

"Okay!" Matt yelled as he walked over. "Let's go!"

"Go where?" I laughed, sending a look toward Glen. 

"Sailing, duh!"

My head snapped toward my brother. "You. . . You can't be serious," I stuttered.

"It's gonna be great!"

"Matt, are you sure that's a good idea?" Glen asked, glancing at me, his eyes soft. 

"Y/N," my brother said softly, "you'll be fine. I checked the weather. No storms. Nothing we can't handle. Plus, the boat has a railing." He patted my shoulder before leaving.

I looked out at the ocean, my mind going back to that horrible sailing trip, my brother, Glen, and I took back in high school. I fell overboard and almost drowned.

"You going to be okay?" Glen asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I said, my voice slightly breaking. I looked over to see Glen studying me.

"Y/N," he whispered as he reached over and grabbed my hand. I quickly pulled my hand back and stood up. I started gathering my things, not looking at Glen.

"I'll be fine."

* * * * *

As we left the dock, my hand gripped the railing tightly. I could feel Glen's eyes on me, but I couldn't look at him. I gasped when the boat went over a wave. I closed my eyes and tried to take a deep, calming breath. I opened my eyes when I felt someone gently grab my hand.

"It's okay," Glen whispered as he sat next to me. "We are perfectly safe."

"I know," I said shakily. I looked up at him and let out a small chuckle. "I begged my brother to do anything else for this outing."

My heart skipped a beat when he scooted a little closer to me.

"I begged him to choose something else, too," he nodded. I studied him, trying to see if he was being honest with me.

"Did you really?"

"Of course," he said, his eyes softening. "I even brought up the time when we were in high school and went sailing."

"I begged my brother to go back to the dock but . . ."

"He ignored you," Glen finished. "I turned to him to tell him that it was probably the right idea. You screamed and when I turned around, you were gone. You had fallen overboard."

"You dove in and saved me."

"I couldn't let you drown," he said, his voice lowering.

I gasped when we went over another wave and landed hard. I instantly tucked into Glen's chest and he quickly wrapped his arms around me. I closed my eyes and tried to calm down.

"I'll be right back," he said, anger building as he stood up.

"Wait!" I grabbed his wrist before he could walk away. Embarrassment flooded me as I added, "Where are you going?"

He smiled as he knelt in front of me. "I'm going to go talk to your brother. This was a stupid idea and all he's doing is torturing you. I've had enough."

I wrapped my arms around myself as Glen went over and got in my brother's face. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but my brother looked at me over Glen's shoulder. I sent him a weak smile even though I was shaking.

My brother said something to Glen before turning back to the steering wheel. Glen patted his back before returning to me. He sat next to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

"Matt is taking us back to the dock."

"Thank you," I said, my voice breaking.

"Just focus on the dock getting closer," he tried to comfort me. With his free hand, he grabbed one of mine. We sat like that the entire ride back to the dock. The second we got back, I was the first one off the boat.

I didn't focus on what everyone else was doing. I needed to get back to the beach house before my panic attack bubbled up. As I unlocked the front door, I finally turned around. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw Glen getting in Matt's face. It was clear that Glen was angry while my brother was surprised.

I shook off any curiosity I had and went up to my room. I got in the shower and allowed the hot water to wash any anxiety away. Once I was sure I had successfully stopped my attack, I got out of the shower and pulled on my pajamas. 

Everyone was already asleep when I went downstairs to make myself a cup of tea. I was just pouring it into a cup when someone else came downstairs.

"How you feeling?"

I looked over my shoulder to see Glen walking in. "I know that boats kind of trigger you and when you're triggered, you end up having a panic attack. I'm hoping I stopped it in time."

"You did," I said, a little too quickly. I cleared my throat before looking back at my hands wrapped around my tea.

"Good," he chuckled. He walked over and poured himself a cup of tea before sitting next to me. We drank in silence for a while, neither one of us breaking it. Glen eventually did.

"You ready for the wedding tomorrow?"

"I guess," I mumbled. I looked over when I felt his eyes on me.

"You guess?"

"I just mean," I stuttered, "I'm really happy for my brother and future sister-in-law."

"Then what is it?"

I hesitated. "It's the fact that, no matter how happy I am for my brother, it's not easy to sit back and watch your sibling get married while you haven't even had a long-term boyfriend."

"I get that," he nodded. "It's not easy sitting back and watching your best friend get married while you haven't even had a long-term girlfriend."

We started at each other, the tension getting thicker by the minute.

"Well," he said softly, "at least we won't be the only single people tomorrow. We'll have each other."

Part 2

[thepossummoldypasta]

ok, ok hear me out on this one.

The party is holed up in the hospital, Vecna is dead, Eddie isn’t, and the “earthquake” has absolutely devastated the town.

Steve ended up being a little more hurt than he let on and nobody really realized until one of the nurses threatened to tie him to his bed. The only reason Steve even agrees to stay in his hospital room is because the kids pitch a fit about it, and it’s the same room a comatose Eddie Munson is laying in just one bed over.

The first few days are rough, and Steve’s starting to get really antsy. Luckily another nurse sees what’s going on (and hospital staff are stretched thinner than paper) and goes “You’re an omega right? Do you think you can help me out with something?” And Steve—desperate for something productive to do—agrees.

So the nurse—a short , sweet, and badass alpha woman who calls herself Jack—helps Steve into a wheelchair and steers him over to the NICU. Jack brings over the tiniest baby boy Steve has ever seen and explains how he was born prematurely thanks to the earthquakes and his Mama didn’t make it through delivery.

“He needs round the clock care, but it’s no longer necessary to keep him here,” Jack says “And because there are a lot of babies that are worse off, we can’t keep ‘em in this unit unless it’s absolutely necessary.” She seems really unhappy about the situation and Steve knows it’s something that would never happen if things weren’t so bad.

“What’s going to happen to him?” He can’t help but ask.

“That’s where I’m hoping you come in.” The alpha’s chirps “Normally when things are this rough we would place him with a foster but all the roads are closed and Hawkins is cut off from everything. I was hoping that since you’re itching for a job you could look after him?”

Steve tears his eyes away from the baby (how long had he just been staring at him?) and he looks at Jack.

“What’s his name?” It’s not a confirmation, not yet, but it’s enough for Jack to chuff and hand Steve the baby.

“Legally? Nothing, and we can’t technically name him until he can be claimed by the state, but you can call him whatever you want. Doubt he’ll have any complaints.” She chuckles, leaning against a wall. It strikes Steve then that despite how young she looks, she also looks equally exhausted. This is probably the closest the alpha has gotten to a break since the actual earthquake.

“Okay” Steve says, it’s a he can say, and really it’s all he needed to.

Three days later Eddie wakes up, looks to his left, and immediately sees Steve god damned Harrington sitting at his bedside holding a newborn baby.

“Oh fuck…” Eddie says, not exactly eloquent but in his defense he just woke up from a coma feeling like he was mentally and physically hit full force with a semi truck.

And Dustin, because he’s a little shit who’s been presented with a golden opportunity to mess with his friends, cries out “Eddie! Thank god you’re awake. You’ve been in a coma for nine months!”

[orphee-aux-enfers]

@miggyluv your post is singlehandedly helping combat the last 510 and a bit days.

Non obligatory ramble under the cut but in short form: thank you so much for giving me a little bit of faith back in humanity.

My spouse is a UK citizen. I have lived about half of my life here via various set-ups. I l love the UK and thought it was my favourite place I'd ever lived, though I've yet to actually meet residency requirements due to visa types/tiers.

My current visa started 01 October 2023. Due to the holidays, we delayed our return from visiting family back to the UK, after a few months, away until 13 October 2023. Then 7 October happened. We were afraid to fly but needed to return or I'd forfeit my visa.

Arriving in the country was tragic in many ways. It was my spouse and I, and a bunch of shell-shocked, visibly Jewish people swamping Heathrow. We all looked so downtrodden, even the children who were the only people to smile at my spouse and I (other than a very excited border control agent who had never personally seen my current visa). Adults were trying to pretend that if we all just ignored each other we'd be less noticeable. I think it just made us all more miserable.

But, we arrived back in a place we'd called home for a While, sad, grieving, but we at first saw a lot of support for both sides initially -- and then it shifted. And since late October 2023, has ramped up, including our synagogue being regularly vandalised and protested. We no longer attend due to risk.

We lost most friends in January 2024 when we finally broached the subject with them and received that we were "far right" for supporting both an Israeli and a Palestinian state (aka a two state solution, historically something considered moderate). We've moved to a new town now, to escape the weekly to daily protests which could become at times quite hostile and now have escalated to full Holocaust inversion on a daily basis.

In our new flat, we've switched to DVDs and officially do not pay for a licence which funds the BBC, because of the most recent issues. I personally am bereft about this as the BBC was how I was taught to read the news, as a reliable global news source to compare back to. I don't trust them for anything, not now. So hearing it from you, too, not just other Jews? Revolutionary to my world view. I'm so sorry it comes with what Jews face for questioning the BBC for you as well. It isn't easy, and especially when it's your family, it's especially difficult. I think for me this makes your post all the more meaningful.

I was genuinely beginning to think no one would grow positively, only negatively, on this issue. I've experienced even British Jews refuse to engage with us because we are Mizrahi to them (though we're a mix due to a mix of heritage), and Mizrahi means Israeli to specifically young British Jews, and this is, to a small amount of them, apparently the most heinous evil.

Your attitude seems rare, or is rare in my life, and it is so, so meaningful to see. So, this is all to say, genuinely thank you for giving me this little bit of faith back. I had lost it, and I have needed it desperately, especially in the last few days.

I stopped wearing my Star of David. You've inspired me to try again in our new town. Thank you for that, too.

The moment for thinking “what would I have done in Germany before and during Hitler’s reign” is over. Look back over the past two years. What did you do? What did you think and feel?

Did your opinion about Jews change?

If you went from supporting all Jews to thinking that a least some Jews, (namely “Zionists” or “Israelis”) deserve suffering, exile, and/or death, then you fell for modern antisemitic propaganda, and you would’ve fallen for it in Nazi Germany, too.

Maybe you would blink if the police today started rounding up the Jews in your neighborhood, or smashing synagogues, or arresting Jews off the streets. But would you feel better about it if they call them Zionists or Israelis? They’re not arresting “good Jews”, they’re arresting Zionists, to make them pay for their crimes.

It’s not too late to fix that, though. You can come back from being sucked into antisemitism. You can do better going forward.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @ironheartwriter @tellmegoodbye @annoyingcloudearthquake

@strandnreyes @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom @whatsintheboxmh @paperstorm

@henrygrass @emsprovisions @everlastingday @nisbanisba @carlossreaders

From BF fic, I too have something to offer on the theme of them getting absolutely railed:

In the months since adopting Jonah, they've had a crash-course in how to have quiet sex. Something neither thought was possible, and became a gnawing concern right before they flew out to Switzerland to bring him home. It had been on Carlos’ mind, but TK actually spoke it, and when he spoke it, the floodgates opened. They sat cross legged on their bed and had a long, late-night conversation about their sex-life. Which wound them up so much, TK found himself deep-fuck-spread-eagle and screaming, but that's neither here nor there.

“I’m worried that if I’m quiet, you won’t know how much I’m enjoying it,” TK said, “I love telling you. I love shouting it.”

The worry was needless. Of course it was. It seems so obvious now. In quietness, what happens is they can hear each other’s breath shake. Within every whine and plead there is a hurricane. They kiss more to shut each other up. They whisper close to each other’s ears the filthiest words to describe how they feel and what they want. In quietness, they cry more – orgasms are gasps in their throats, tears falling. The intensity is different. It’s more. Tomorrow, TK will find himself walking with a slight limp like he always does, the day after Carlos has had him twice. Carlos will saunter into the office with a confident smile, suit jacket slung over his shoulder.

"Well...good mornin', partner," Sam Campbell will say, shaking his head and taking a ‘that’s none of my business’ sip of his coffee.

Open tag and tags below:

@lightningboltreader @goodways @bonheur-cafe @reyesstrand

@alrightbuckaroo @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @liminalmemories21 @welcometololaland

@ladytessa74 @orchidscript @mikibwrites @freneticfloetry @rmd-writes

@chicgeekgirl89 @pimento-playing-hopscotch @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@herefortarlos @sapphic--kiwi @literateowl @butchreyes

@futures-tense @anactualcaseofthetruth @the-126-family

@theghostofashton @butch-buckley @rangersoup

@nancys-braids @laelipoo @captain-gillian @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@kiwichaeng @carlos-tk @no-goodbyes-no-regrets - If you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜