#not sure what i think of this one

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Worship

Bit of God!Gale nonsense.

Taglist:

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard @silent-words

@netherese0rb @sorceresssundries @mumms-the-word @crimson-and-lavender

@roguishcat @weaverofnetheril @hyperfixationstation128 @pumpkinspicebooty

My devoted pet- Would that I could crush the spawn’s throat under my boot. Alas I do not rule that godly domain, only ambition… yet it will not stop me from making this clear to you. You swore to obey me. It was a promise you made, before the fight, you swore you would do anything you could to help me ascend. Now that I have, however, you appear to be mistakenly thinking that I have no interest in you. On the contrary my love, in helping me to reach new heights you were complicit. So you will obey. You will go to the tabernacle, you will kneel, and you will hear my voice. I never wanted to order you about, of course. But if that spawn doesn’t keep his filthy undead paws off you I will take matters into my own hands. The tabernacle, tonight. Come alone. Dekarios the Divine

My devoted pet-

Would that I could crush the spawn’s throat under my boot. Alas I do not rule that godly domain, only ambition… yet it will not stop me from making this clear to you.

You swore to obey me.

It was a promise you made, before the fight, you swore you would do anything you could to help me ascend. Now that I have, however, you appear to be mistakenly thinking that I have no interest in you. On the contrary my love, in helping me to reach new heights you were complicit. So you will obey. You will go to the tabernacle, you will kneel, and you will hear my voice.

I never wanted to order you about, of course. But if that spawn doesn’t keep his filthy undead paws off you I will take matters into my own hands.

The tabernacle, tonight.

Come alone.

Dekarios the Divine

[stvharrngton]

caramel

a/n: just a lil angsty prompt. i didn’t mean for it to be this long lol but oh well!!! i kinda wanna write a part 2 for this maybe? but i’m not sure

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of steve’s shitty dad

prompt: My roommate/ex/family kicked me out into the rain. I have nobody else to call but you - you and steve are broken up but he’s stuck in a storm as has nowhere else to go.

requests are open!

“Get out of my house.” the older man spat.

“My fuckin’ pleasure, Dad!” Steve retorted right back, voice dripping with sarcasm. The boy snatching his jacket and car keys from the dish on the table by the door.

He swung the front door of the house open, stepping out into the cold Hawkins air, “And don’t come back until you figure out how to be a real man!” his so-called father shouted after him.

Steve could only scoff before slamming the door behind him, “Fuck!” he screamed, voice hoarse before his fist collided with the solid brick of the house. Knuckles now bruised and bloody.

Wincing in pain as he cradled his injured hand to his chest, crouching down to sit against the wall, trying to think of some way to get outta this down and away from his Dad.

The faint patter of the rain began to hit the ground and then the heavens opened. It was pouring now - lashing down with violent thuds to the pavement and the cars that lined the street.

Shit. Steve was stuck. He sure as hell wasn’t going back inside to grovel to his Dad. His car with barely enough gas in the tank to get outside of town and his wallet in the confines of his bedroom. Double shit.

Maybe he could swing by Robin’s house? No, her Mom would kill her. He couldn’t go to Dustin’s - it was a school night, and that would be totally lame to seek shelter from a 14 year old.

Steve was left with one option and it was his least favourite option. He stepped out into the rain with a sigh, jogging across the drive to his car. The engine rumbled as the BMW pulled out, rain thrashing the roof of the car.

~

The TV crackled in the background of the room, the picture the only light illuminating your features. The thunder rumbled as the rain hit against the window of your living room. Your parents out of town allowing you to claim the comfiest couch and the softest blanket as you sprawled out.

Your brows furrowed as you noticed a pair of bright headlights turning down your street, absentmindedly throwing popcorn into your mouth. You turned your attention back to the TV until you were startled by a knock at your door.

Jumping up you padded over to the window, peaking behind the curtain to see who it could be. Your eyes wide when you saw the familiar burgundy BMW that belonged to your ex-boyfriend sat in your drive.

“What the fuck?” you whispered to yourself, wondering what on earth could be bringing Steve Harrington to your house at 12:38am, in the middle of a storm no less.

You sighed opening the front door, your mouth hanging agape at the sight of the boy before you. Hair drenched and sticking to his forehead, clothes sopping wet. Tired eyes and a glimpse of his bloody knuckles as his hand came to drag down his face.

“Steve? What are you-“ you cut yourself off, seeing his bloody and scraped hand, “are you okay?”

“I’m perfect.” voice dripping with sarcasm, “Look, I just- I’m sorry for just showing up, but I have nowhere else to go.”

You shot him a sympathetic look, lips downturned in a frown. You desperately just wanted to wrap your arms around him, to hold him and tell him it’ll all be okay - but that wasn’t how you acted around each other anymore.

Nodding, you stepped to the side to let the boy cross the threshold, shutting the door firmly behind him. “I’m gonna go grab you a towel and a change of clothes,” fingernails tapping against the railing of the staircase, “I still have some of your things… just- just wait here.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, thanks.” Steve muttered back, hand coming to scratch the back of his neck. He sighed as you disappeared up the stairs. Everything was so awkward between you, tension thick and atmosphere heavy.

You were gone no longer than a few minutes, appearing back in front of Steve towels and clean clothes in hand. “Here,” you spoke handing them over, “you still know where everything is?”

He nodded, how could he forget. Your home once his second, your home preferred to his own, “I do,” a soft smile sent your way - your stomach churning at the sight, pushing the butterflies back down.

“Right,” you nodded, eyes refusing to meet his own, choosing to linger on something else, anything else. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”

You busied yourself by making hot tea for the boy upstairs. Although Steve always ran hot like a furnace he would be sure to catch a cold standing in the wet material of his clothes for so long. You still cared for him, of course you did. No breakup could switch off your feelings for Steve.

His sock-clad feet padded back into the living room now, complete with an old pair of sweats you never gave back and a Hawkins Phys Ed t-shirt you kept. He sunk into the sofa, the opposite end to you, a hand raking through his still damp hair.

“I made some tea,” you muttered, gesturing to the steaming mug sat on the coffee table.

“Oh, thanks, ba- uh, shit,” he fumbled, “I mean, thanks. Thank you.” Steve cursed himself under his breath, cheeks flushed and neck hot. The heavy tension returned.

“So,” he cleared his throat now, “how’ve you been?” eyes burning into the side of your face. You refused to meet his gaze, eyes locked on the buzz of the TV.

“Steve,” you scoffed, “why’re you here? What happened?” you didn’t mean to come off so abrupt, but you weren’t in the mood for niceties with someone who broke your heart.

“Right,” he clicked his tongue, hand gesturing at the thin air before him, “right. Sorry.”

A deep breath. A sigh.

“Well, you know how my Dad is, right?” he asked. You nodded. A man with a cold heart and not an ounce of love or parenting know-how in his body.

“We, uh, got into a fight, again. A big one this time though,” Steve sniffled and you winced, “told me I was no good, doesn’t think my life choices are good enough, I guess.” he shrugged, “told me to get out and not come back so here I am.”

You reached out to rub your fingers up and down his back but stopped yourself short, fingers curling in on themselves, “I’m sorry, Steve.” you muttered. There was so much more you could’ve said, that you wanted to say. Refusing to toe that invisible line.

Steve shrugged then, “It’s whatever,” eyes drawn to the liquid in his mug, “nothin’ I haven’t heard before.”

Your heart shattered into pieces at that. Steve always thought so bad of himself, you knew that, and it clouded his judgment at times. But he was good. Steve was a good person. His father was just cruel.

His features twisted in a grimace, eyes a little sad, like he was thinking about what he was going to say next. You wished the awkward feeling in the room away.

“Hey,” Steve spoke, “what happened to us?”

Was he being serious? You couldn’t tell, his gaze lingering on you, eyes lacking their usual spark, a flint of hope glossing over. A hope for resolution for this situation you both found yourselves in.

“What?” you gawked, “What’re you talking about?”

He shrugged, “It used to be easy,” he said, “now you can’t even look me in the eye.”

Steve stared at you like you held all the answers, why his life seemed like it was caving in on itself. Why he broke up with you, why he let the best thing in his life go.

“Steve,” you blinked, baffled, “you broke up with me.” Your tone was accusatory, but you were simply stating a fact, “What do you want me to say?”

He sighed, fingers tugging at his hair, something you knew he did when he was on edge. He inched closer to you on the sofa now, “I don’t know, okay? Fuck,” Steve cried, “I messed up, I know that, got too caught up in my own head, but I’d do anything to make it right.”

Steve was insecure. So desperate to be loved and to have someone to look after and care for, it often made him push people away. Especially the people who cared about him most. Like you.

You looked at him now, properly. Tears prickling your lash line, threatening to spill over, “Steve,” you spoke softer now, tone hushed and cautious, “what are you trying to say?” you asked.

“That I want to start over,” he reached for your hand, taking it in his own and you let him. His voice almost a whisper, “Us. Tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it.” he spoke, dead cert.

Your eyes flitted down to where your hands were joined, then back to the boy’s face. His eyes boring into yours, gaze all warm honey and hoping, wanting.

Steve was all you wanted, all you ever wanted. He was warm hugs and soft kisses, boyish charm and addictive smile. Steve was sweet lemonade on a hot summer’s day, the smell of fresh coffee in the morning, the promise of forever. He was your soulmate, you were sure.

“Steve,” you sighed his name for what felt like the thousandth time tonight, “I…” you trailed off. Your head was a mess, you half wondered if the boy had come to your house for other reasons, not just because his Dad kicked him out in the dead of night during a storm.

Your hesitation was like kick to the stomach, Steve’s heart dropping to the pit of it. He gave your hand a squeeze before he dropped it, fingers coming to scratch at the back of his neck, “Maybe I should get going,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry- uh, for dropping in on you like this.”

You knew the apology was sincere but those words carried weight; sure he was sorry for showing up to your house unannounced, but you knew he meant he was sorry for breaking your heart, for pushing you away, for making you cry for days on end wondering what you did wrong.

He moved to stand then, making his way to the front door, “Hey, wait,” you reached after him, delicate fingers clasping around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t go,” you whimpered. Steve’s brow furrowed, concern lacing his features.

“Okay.” you spoke, nodding.

“Okay?” Steve’s eyebrows quirked, eyes scanning your face.

“It’s not a no, but I need time, Steve,” you hushed, fingers trailing down his hand until they were laced with his own, “and I can’t let you go back out in that storm.”

His lips turned up into a soft smile, sticky sweet and all fond. He wouldn’t mess it up this time, he could never, he swore to himself.

“We can go as fast or slow as you like,” his free hand came to brush your hair over your shoulder, fingers caressing the supple skin of your cheek, “you won’t regret this, sweetheart. I promise.”

You nodded, you knew there wasn’t an ounce of dishonesty behind Steve’s words. Glancing at the clock on the wall over his shoulder, the time reading 1:49am.

“I think you should get some sleep,” Steve’s eyes heavy, dark circles adoring the space above his cheeks, “guest room’s all yours, Harrington.”

Neither of you would sleep that night, itching to cross the invisible boundary you had set to crawl into bed with each other. To dream of what forever looked like.

[smallsafespace]

Stars I made for the farmers market 🥹⭐️

[bacchuschucklefuck]

typical tavern scene

[sclappin]

Man whose definition of "monster" is extremely flexible.

[officiallydoubtful]

Y’know those evil personas that Youtubers had back in like 2017 or so? I love the idea of those. I think we should bring back using opposite names as like our 'evil persona'. I'll go first, hello everyone, my name is InformallyCertain! Awful to meet you, now I'm off to kick a puppy, or whatever it is evil people do!!

[noodles-and-tea]

Your Merthur fanart is amazing! I LOVE the way you capture their expressions!!! If you've got the spoons might I request Arthur seeing Merlin in a wedding dress and being absolutely poleaxed because since when was Merlin hot- (they're idiots in love your honor). You capture their entire like. Fundamental dynamic SO WELL; your art is expressive and beautiful and I love it.

Merlin likes t help where he can

[noctilin]

could we kiss and perhaps… fall in love…? haha just kidding… unless…? 😳

another charm design as i continue to prepare to open shop w friends :3

[kizzer55555]

The Vampire Aesthetic

Ok so Danny knows two billionaires personally and they really couldn’t be more different. Yet they had one thing in common. A vampire aesthetic. Sam is fully into goth. Spiderwebs, bats, the color black. She enjoys fangs and fake blood and the darkness of her soul. Meanwhile, Vlad is Vlad. If his name wasn’t enough, the dark clothing, pale skin, and flying around with a cape and fangs with coffins in his mansion really sells it.

Danny doesn’t know many rich people so he thinks this might be some kind of trend. (If Paulina is rich, her family likes the chupacabra) So he just thinks that all rich people have some kind of vampire thing going on.

Cue Danny somehow ending in the Wayne household. Maybe he was brought over as a friend of one of the bats, maybe rescued from a field trip/vacation gone wrong, maybe some other situation. But he is there in civilian form with civilian Waynes and Danny just takes a good long look around the inside of the mansion.

“So where’s the vampire aesthetic?

Everyone freezes.

Danny just starts looking around, checking behind paintings and feeling the walls for secret levers. Used to secret passages with Vlad and possibly Sam. The Fentons definitely had them when they were temporarily rich.

“Come on, I know you guys are hiding it.”

Cue the entire batfamily thinking that this is another Tim and that he is fully aware that these people are the batfamily. Danny hangs around the mansion more and the bats just start dropping their disguises and not even bothering to hide stuff around Danny because they assume he already knows. (Possibly even trying to recruit him to be a new bat) Meanwhile, Danny, who does not know these people are batman and his birds, just does not pick up on any of it.

He grew up in a health violation with a giant ballon observatory lab above his head and a portal to the afterlife in his basement. He is a half dead teenager who has tea with the god of time and his godfather is the other parent to his clone child. He’s used to death lazers being scattered across his home and mysterious stains on clothing.

People are weird! He doesn’t judge!

[vintrage]

fire cannot kill a dragon BITCH

[hinamie]

*catboys ur shounen protag*

[krazieka2]

Fe3h did not have a beauty pageant sequence, but if it did I'm 99% sure this is how it would go

[bacchuschucklefuck]

no more fan-ta-sizing about it! everything's already changed~

[salarymanwaka]

[softinvasions]

DIRECTOR'S NOTE • Nov. 2023

You can't go home. This play has a particular care for and interest in its victims. The resident

inciting event is endless. tragedy is much more concerned with footnotes than it is with gods.

well acquainted with what happens afterward, storytellers claim they can't diverge from what's

written: resist. rage against what must be. tell a story about war without talking

about love. survive its aftermath. fail to find resolution. make this suffering

a home. There's no breaking this chain— fate, as always, gets its way.

Poetry assembled from the program of an Oresteia production. Nov. 2023.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Archery Nemesis.

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