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wtftarot · 18 days

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How can you navigate your life from here on?

Thank you, @lifeofaie for suggesting this reading, I really loved the idea.

Listen, I fuckin love a good road trip, ok? And navigating on a road trip ain't that different from navigating your life. Great music and shitty snacks. Wrong turns and detours that end up being half the fun and the whole story later. Arriving later than you planned or having plans changed entirely. How it always seems like the more you try to plan and control things the more they go off the rails. What do you need to keep in mind on this road trip called life? (yes I know how dorky that was, nope I don't care, yes all of these are gonna be heavy on road trip metaphors) Consider this reading, stopping and asking a local for directions and I promise not to lead you to the den of a serial killer. What is your inner compass saying? Is it time to make a rest stop? Let's fuck around and find out.

as always this reading is for entertainment purposes only and is not a substitute for professional advice in any capacity. Remember, use common sense, and don't be a dumbass.

Pick either the Road Stretching On, The Road to Anywhere and Nowhere, or the Road to Ol' Kentucky and head on to your reading

The Road That Stretches On

The Tower, Seven/ Swords Rx and the Magician on the bottom of the deck.

This reading is HEAVY. Some of y'all who came to this reading are dealing with some heavy mental shit. I am not a mental health professional, please seek one out. Tarot is awesome and helpful but it is not therapy.

Take a breath. I'm so fuckin serious right now. You need to breathe and clear your mind even for a second. Don't ya just love how many people come to readings and then ignore the simplest advice given? To just take a breath? ( I love y'all, but some of y'all need a lil call out every now and then) The reason why I'm pushing y'all to stop and breathe is cause y'all's mind never. fuckin. stops. does it? Never. I had to restart this reading three times, cause I just kept getting wrapped up in y'all's anxiety spiral. And, I know it's hard but if you never make a conscious decision to try and slow down and give yourself a second, it's not gonna happen. Human brains are mostly auto-pilot and if you don't try and take the reins every once in a while it'll just keep doing what it's doing. Y'all are incredibly overwhelmed by making decisions for your future. It's like you see your future like the picture you chose, a road stretching on forever that can lead to anywhere depending on the turns you make but for you there's something that could be lurking in each turn. Something you're not seeing and that is terrifying to you. Now the main contender here looks to be anxiety about the state of the world, climate change, wars, pollution, famine, natural disasters, and on and on. Like y'all seem to be thinking what's the point, everything's going to shit. Listen, I'm gonna try to be gentle but when I tell y'all I'm very passionate about this, I am downplaying so fuckin hard. A lot of people fall into this overwhelm, it's not your fault. Governments and corporations put a shit ton of effort into keeping us feeling overwhelmed, cause overwhelmed people are too drained to put up a real fight. The point of trying is you being happy. That is worth it. The point is you can spread that joy. The point is to make a difference while you can. The point is that yeah, the world may be going to hell in a handbasket and you're just one person but you are a whole ass person. Who doesn't have to take this shit lying down. You want to live your life but are terrified of what might happen if you do. You feel like the world is a scary place and it can be sometimes, but you're so scared of truly stepping into the world, you never let yourself be or do much. It's like y'all are super fuckin excited for the road trip but are so scared of what may be around any turn, you just keep going on the same road letting it take you wherever it does. To get anywhere you want to go you have to make some choices. Yea, they may not always turn out how you planned but here's the thing: You will be okay. What you need to do to navigate your life? I'm sorry, y'all are gonna hate this advice but trust yourself. Sweetie, you are so much more capable than you give yourself credit for, hell you may not have any knowledge of your full capabilities cause you've never let yourself reach them. Tarot readings can help you navigate, but all the readings in the world won't help you get anywhere if you never put your foot on the gas.

random ass vibes: I dunno if y'all forgot to eat but like I've been ravenous this whole reading, The cartoon Roadrunner, venus, tea, sunburn, flowers, 666

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The Road to Anywhere and Nowhere

The Star, the Five/Pentacles Rx and the High Priestess on the bottom of the deck.

Listen, honey. You can handle this. And you know you can. You're listening to your intuition, learning to trust yourself if you don't already. Y'all are navigating your life, you may have rough moments as we all do but y'all are learning to handle those moments with grace. I'm not gonna lie, it took me a minute to figure out why y'all are even at this reading, seems like the topic of this reading ain't something y'all need help with. And it ain't, y'all are killing it in this area. The reason y'all are here? Y'all need some encouragement. Maybe need is the wrong word, cause y'all are doing fuckin awesome either way. Deserve. That's the word. Y'all deserve some encouragement. The road you're on may be unconventional or the people around you very strongly disagree with. Or maybe they just strongly disagree with you, your identity as a person. (I dunno where "strongly disagree" is coming from but it keeps popping up in my head?) I feel like y'all have actively had people put you down and were able to power through and encourage yourselves, so you may not need others to encourage you. BUT we all deserve to be encouraged, just cause you can power through without supportive voices doesn't mean that you should have to. SO GET READY FOR SOME CHANNELED ENCOURAGEMENT MOTHERFUCKER! Y'all have been doing a fuckin amazing job moving away from shitty past situations and are not fucking giving yourselves enough credit. Yes, even if it was "just" some mental blocks. Oh, "just" a mental block are you kidding me? Do you know how hard getting over your own mental bullshit is?? Y'all are over here, learning to parkour over your mental bullshit like a goddamn ninja, acting like it's no big deal. Sweetie, that's huge, you do realize that? To be honest with yourself, call yourself on your bullshit and then do something about it? Step fuckin one of that is daunting. And I'm hearing that y'all were able to get through faster than even your guides were expecting. Honey, how powerful are you? Not only that, but y'all are learning to argue with your self-deprecating thoughts. Asking them, who gives a shit what they have to say? And taking all the energy you used to put into pushing yourself down and using it to build yourself up. That's SO fuckin badass, y'all! Talk about fuckin alchemizing shit. Y'all saw how much time and energy it was taking to keep yourself small and hurt, thought: Wonder what would happen if I used that to build myself up instead? And then you went and did it and ITS FUCKIN GORGIOUS. The blessings are gonna start rolling in with this new energy, but you already knew that. Cause motherfucker YOU are the blessing! Y'all are really embodying your own power and strength and are KICKING ASS. The last message is to let yourself rest, y'all are doing a lot. So give yourself a break, let yourself sleep in a bit later. Set aside time to just chill, you won't lose your progress while you sleep.

random ass vibes: receiving roses, worms, gardening, astronomy designs on clothes, 18, hide and seek

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The Road to Ol' Kentucky

Shout out to all my fellow Kentuckians! How y'all doing?

The Moon Rx, The Queen/Wands, the Page/Cups Rx and the Five/Wands Rx on the back of the deck

Y'all are being called to really embody yourself and your power moving forward. It seems like y'all not only have it in your head that you're a Page when you're a Queen (queen energy, not gender). You're wrong about the whole damn suit. Others may have convinced you you're being sensitive when they're being an asshole and you're pissed about it. (As if letting people talk shit about you is "weak" right?) Y'all think you're the negative aspects of the Cups: Overly emotional, flakey, manipulative, disorganized, and self-centered. When the truth is you're the positive aspects of the Wands: Passionate, creative, driven, confident, and strong-willed. Y'all are really fuckin hard on yourselves, okay? Others may have been intimidated by your strengths and convinced you they were your weaknesses. If y'all have been feeling stuck, this is why, alright? You are stuck cause you've been told that the way to get unstuck IS the reason you're stuck. Think of it like this, y'all are an airplane, convinced by cars that flying is your biggest weakness, trying to figure out why you never seem to get anywhere. Airplanes can roll around, sure but they're MADE to fly. It's time to do some hard thinking, probably back to when you were a kid. What were the things you loved and pursued, how did you pursue them and what bullshit did others say about it? Like, did you get super focused on an activity you were doing, forget about choirs or some shit, and then be called irresponsible and lazy? When you wanted something, were you the type to push and work towards it, then be called stubborn or relentless or annoying when others decided they wanted you to do something else? Because there are some good qualities y'all have that are how you're supposed to show up in the world that you're not letting yourself embody. To be clear, I'm not talking about being told you're acting like an asshole when you were, in fact acting like an asshole. I'm talking about strengths you had that were demonized to you and in an effort to be a better person you stopped using. Now they've atrophied and you've gotta work them out to get them back. Cause, listen the typical way of navigation ain't gonna work for you. Y'all can continue to roll around and try to get where you wanna go, but it's gonna be slow and a billion times harder. You ever seen an airplane trying to go down a road through town? Think a sec on on how hard that would be. Cause that's you, right now. There are no road maps for the sky, ya know? Y'all are charting your own path. You need to stop trying to make yourself follow the road map for life that others are using. It's not gonna work for you, cause it was never meant to. Y'all are on an unconventional path, the only way forward is to embrace it.

random ass vibes: Back To The Future, coffee, night owl, finding your people, reds oranges and yellows, clouds, libra, cats. Thelma and Louise

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#tarot reading #tarot #divination #tarot community #tarot cards #pick a card #pac reading #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #wtftarot #tarot readings #tarotblr #Spotify

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syoddeye · 24 days

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unsolicited

semi creepy little thing inspired by @pfhwrittes's incredible soap x reader roommate piece and this thought i had once upon a time. ~1k words. unedited, because i'm about to be dragged out to watch sports. gaz x reader. cw: dick pic, stalking, masturbation

“That one’s no good,” A tongue clicks.

You turn from your close study of the tube of tomato paste in your hand and find a man inches from your side. The aisle was empty save for you a second ago. Either he’s light on his feet or a ghost. A twinned tingling of your belly and spine fires off mixed signals to your brain: Are we scared or horny?

Both.

He's handsome—he knows it, too, judging by the hook of his smile and the slight crinkle of his nose. He sports a scar on his cheek and the right amount of stubble. He looks down at you, all smug, like he's saved you from an unforgivable culinary mistake. He tears his deep brown eyes off you to reach toward the top shelf and selects a beautifully branded sealed box of paste. It's artisanal, not within your price range, and he sets it in your handbasket like you're shopping for dinner together.

“You’ve got to treat yourself to nice things once in a while.”

Oh, he thinks he’s so quick with it, doesn’t he?

You smile so wide it pushes the apples of your cheeks up like a cartoon chipmunk. It usually does the trick of deterring smarmy little bastards like this one. “Wow, thank you, what a gentleman.” The feigned saccharine lilt of your voice hurts after a long day on the phone, but the look on his face when you swap the pastes is worth it. You leave the fancy one on the shelf and continue down the aisle for pappardelle.

He finds you in produce. He doesn’t immediately approach, giving you space while you grab an onion and garlic, but he circles.

“So, what’s on our menu tonight?” He asks, inspecting the leek as you place a vine of tomatoes into the basket. He’s too close again. His hand lowers the vegetable to his own haul, purposefully skimming your skirt with the spindly leaves, letting the texture catch the fabric before he drops it in. Nutcase.

“I’m making pasta for my friends.”

He chuckles.

The dance continues around the store. He’s clearly following you through the store, not trying to hide it at all. He ‘helps’ you at the dairy. Heavy cream’s better than light, don’t you think? The spices. Babe, we can afford name brand. The meat counter. Bacon? No, no, here. Pancetta. You want that meat. Trust me. He’s insistent and inappropriate, yet his voice drips with the weirdest charm. Calls you ‘babe’ and ‘sweetheart’. You let him continue. You should find an employee and tell him to buzz off, but he’s not really doing anything other than raising your grocery budget. Maybe you do deserve nice things, though. You sit on a seesaw, bouncing between sick interest and appropriate unease.

You’d always been a thrill-seeker, but stringing along a beautiful, perverted, and officious stranger? Were your last few dates so terrible?

By the time you reach checkout, you’re bored of his antics. He must be desperate to seal the deal and get your number, given how his approach escalates to trying to pay for your groceries.

“Is he bothering you?” The cashier asks bluntly, glaring daggers at your shadow. At the end of the counter, the bag boy’s head pops up, eyes wide at the question.

You glance at the hand, reaching past again to place a card on the counter. You catch half a name. Kyle. You look at the older man. “Yes, yes, he is.”

It’s a wonder what a few strategic smiles can do. They’re catnip to men like Gerald, the store manager who walks you out. He’s soft-spoken and apologetic and slips you a gift card. Your groceries are free, and so is next week’s haul if you promise to remain a loyal customer. If being followed by a harmless model of a man pays for your food, you’ve done stranger things for money.

Still, you take the long way to Alyssa’s and look over your shoulder. That night, over pappardelle alla Fiesolana, Grocery Kyle becomes a joke. A morbid fantasy you and your friends giggle over between glasses of wine. He becomes a real fantasy that night when you snake your hands between your legs beneath the duvet and imagine him smirking down at you. Condescending the whole time, he talks you through it. He’s the type that likes the sound of his own voice. Your fingers curl, and you cum at the idea of him scolding you for being so easy.

The following day, somewhat hungover on your couch, you warm your hands with coffee and open Instagram. One new follower. It's not so odd; you have hundreds of followers. Mostly bots at this point, but you're too lazy to weed them out. You don't post as often anymore, either, nor do you share exciting things. Flowers, cats you meet on your walks, and the rare selfie. So when you see that the new follower liked a photo from nine years ago, that sick little twinge sparks something in your belly. A spark that grows when another notification pops up. And another. They're on a liking spree, driving through your memory lane.

When they like your very first post on the account, an awkward self-portrait in front of your first-year dorm eleven years ago, you finally investigate.

‘Sgt141’ has no profile photo. No description. No followers. No posts. Only follows you. It’s another bot spamming your notifications for some unknown reason.

You forget about it until you post a selfie from the gym two weeks later. Nothing scandalous, just showing off your growing biceps. Sgt141 is the first to like it, and minutes later, you receive a DM request. You fully expect a generic chain, formulaic message about being your own boss. The dick is a surprise.

A very pretty and completely unsolicited surprise.

In an instant, you know whose dick you’re looking at.

You should be scared and report the message instead of screenshotting it. You should be disgusted, alarmed, and probably crying. Not stuffing your hand down your shorts.

Definitely shouldn’t respond.

> someone got a crush?

>> you have no idea.

> following me around the grocery store did it for you?

>> did a lot for me, actually.

> maybe you can follow me around the mall next time.

sgt141 changed the theme to Love.

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #cw stalking #cw unsolicited dick pic

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thisapplepielife · 4 months

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Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Beautiful Boys

Prompt Day 23: Wayne Adopts Steve | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Lingering Injuries/Trauma | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Wayne & Steve, Wayne POV

Wayne is in Hawkins Hardware, looking at the fence pickets. He definitely didn't expect them to have this many choices. He figured he'd come in and buy what he needed, from the only option available. In and out. Wallet a little lighter, but no choices to be made.

But, no. There are options. Decisions. And he isn't sure which style Eddie would prefer. He just wants Eddie to have a place he feels safe outdoors, again.

Wayne reaches out to touch the samples, again, when he hears clattering and an "oh my god, I'm so sorry" that sounds an awful lot like Steve Harrington.

Wayne pokes his head around the corner of the aisle, and Steve is gathering up a bunch of swag hooks off the floor, swiping them back into his handbasket.

"What're you doin' with those, kid?" Wayne asks, crouching down to help him.

"Eddie's plants," Steve says, standing back up, pushing his hair back and up, out of his eyes. These boys and their hair they can't keep contained. Wayne smiles. He remembers how his (now long-gone) hair was in the sixties. Different styles, sure, but just as impractical, at times.

"Eddie's plants," Wayne repeats with a smile, then asks, "You're gonna hang them from the ceiling?"

Steve nods, and Wayne grins, "That's a good idea, kid. He'll love that."

Eddie has gathered up a lot of houseplants recently, tending to them, taking care of them, babying them. The first ones were sent to the hospital by his friends, and Eddie latched onto them. And now, Steve drags a new one home every week or two as a gift. Eddie is still recovering, might always be recovering, but his plants make him smile and give him something to do.

Wayne doesn't quite understand it, not with the black thumb he has, but it's like everything else about Eddie. Wayne doesn't have to understand it, to support him. If Eddie wants plants, they can have a whole houseful of them.

Eddie survived something he still hasn't fully explained to Wayne, might never, so if he wants to fill the house with greenery, so be it.

If he wants to fill the house with Steve Harrington, too, that's also just fine by Wayne.

Steve smiles shyly, "If you don't care that I put holes in the ceiling, that is."

Wayne doesn't care. "I'll help. I've got a stud finder, so we won't have them falling and cracking us on the noggin."

Steve laughs, and nods, "Thanks. What are you doing here?"

Wayne waves him over, getting Steve to follow him.

"Trying to pick fencing for the backyard. If Eddie's gonna keep dragging home strays, we'll need a place to put them," Wayne says, and Steve blushes, just a little.

"I could make a tent work," Steve teases, and Wayne squeezes his shoulder. Steve is always, and will always, be welcome in the house.

"Good to know, but I was thinking more along the lines of dogs, cats, raccoons. You know how he is," Wayne drawls, and Steve smiles. It's wishful thinking, because they both know the real reason for the fence. Eddie doesn't want to leave the house these days.

"I just assumed I'd get dog-ears," Wayne says, pointing at the slightly-rounded piece of wood on display. "But there are choices."

Steve studies them all, finally saying "I think Eddie would like the pointed ones the most. Looks dangerous," Steve says.

Wayne nods. He was thinking the same thing.

"They're narrower, be more work to set," Wayne mutters.

Steve turns to look at him, "I'll help you, you know that."

Wayne nods. He knows Steve will. He's a good kid, who spends most of his time hanging out in their new little house, doting on Eddie in one way or another. Wayne isn't blind. He knows what this is, what these boys feel for each other, even if Eddie hasn't told him yet.

He will. Wayne just has to be patient.

"Sounds good, kid," Wayne says, and Steve grins, big and bright. Like he wasn't sure his help would be accepted.

"I don't know much about building a fence, but I can learn. I can follow instructions," Steve assures, and Wayne pats him on the back.

"Let's double-check my math here," Wayne says, pulling a small notepad out of his pocket, rerunning his figures.

Once he's got a good number, Wayne directs them towards the stain options. Steve picks one with a red tint, and Wayne nods. Looks good to him.

When they get to the counter, he takes Steve's basket and adds it to his.

"You don't have to do that," Steve says.

Wayne knows he doesn't, but it's for Eddie and it's just a few dollars worth of hooks and bolts. He's definitely gonna get his money back in fence-building help.

"I know, I want to," Wayne says, opening his wallet.

Outside, Steve helps the guys from the lumber department load up the trailer full of the pickets.

"See you at home?" Wayne questions, and Steve nods and smiles.

"Yeah, at home," he answers, walking towards his car, with his small sack of hardware.

And they spend days hanging the over-abundance of plants in front of every window in the house, so many that it seems like they're living in a greenhouse, and then they work on the fence. Putting it up, picket by picket, together.

Sometimes, Eddie comes and sits on the patio and watches, but it still takes a lot out of him, even now, months later. Wayne's worried he might never fully recover.

But, Steve works hard to entertain Eddie. Steve's funny, and he treats Eddie real good. That's all that will ever matter to Wayne. Eddie's his boy, and by extension, Steve's his boy now, too.

Eddie and Steve fight over the radio, a welcome sound, and Steve's won.

So, John Lennon's singing about a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.

Wayne knows that feeling well.

He's got two of those beautiful boys, now.

close your eyes, have no fear, the monster's gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy John Lennon, Beautiful Boy

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

#steddieholidaydrabbles #wayne adopts steve #wayne munson fic #good uncle wayne munson #wayne munson is always the best #wayne munson & steve harrington #eddie munson lives #steddie #steddie ficlet #wayne munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles #Spotify

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hotvintagepoll · 4 months

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NEED to know which poll you think is a grave injustice 👀👀👀

As poll administrator, I'm not allowed to have opinions. I must not sway the tournament or influence others' decisions in any way. I am very careful about this. however.

CAGNEY. CAGNEY. IT'S CAGNEY. I CAN FINALLY SAY IT BECAUSE ROUND 1 IS OVER AND AS ADMIN I'M FREE TO HAVE OPINIONS NOW

YOU GUYS DITCHED CAGNEY??? I WAS GOING TO SET HIM UP WITH LAURENCE OLIVIER ORIGINALLY! I WAS LIKE! THAT'S FAIR! EYELINER VS GANGSTER! BUT NO, WAIT, THIS GETS RID OF TWO GOOD MEN TOO EARLY—THEY SHOULD WAIT TIL A LATER BRACKET—I CAN'T LOSE TOO MANY GOOD HOTTIES TOO EARLY!

SO I SET LAURENCE UP WITH ROONEY OF ALL PEOPLE, AND I SAY, YOU KNOW WHAT, I'LL GIVE CAGNEY BING. THAT FEELS FAIR! THERE'S A CHANCE THE WHITE CHRISTMAS PEOPLE WILL SHOW UP FOR BING, WE'LL HAVE A NICE FAIR COMPETITION, CAGNEY WILL CONTINUE ON AND BING WILL HAVE GOTTEN OUT, SEEN THE FLOWERS, SMELLED THE SWEET FRESH AIR BUT NOTHING DRASTIC

AND THEN WHAT DO I SEE???? WHAT DO I SEE???????? YOU PEOPLE VOTE FOR BING??????????? THE SEARCH ENGINE????? NOW I WON'T HAVE NEGATIVE PROPAGANDA ABOUT ANY CONTESTANT! BUT!! JAMES CAGNEY!!! WAS RIGHT THERE!!!! DID THE TAP DANCING MEAN NOTHING TO YOU? THE EVIL ANTICS? THE WAY HE'S FUCKED UP BUT LIKE. IN A LOVABLE WAY? I'VE BARELY EVEN SEEN A CAGNEY MOVIE AND I KNOW HIS HOTNESS IS TRANSCENDENT LEVELS!! HE CAN YANKEE MY DOODLE DANDY ANYTIME HE PLEASES!!!! MEANWHILE OLIVIER IS USING MICKEY ROONEY AS A MOP!!!!!! THE WHOLE BRACKET'S GONE TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET AND MY GLORIOUS EYELINER'D TAPDANCING EVIL GANGSTER MAN HAS BEEN LEFT IN THE DUST BY A JAZZ SINGER ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! !!!!!!!

#asks #anyway on the outside i am very very calm.#and yes for the shadow bracket i don't care if i influence it. it's the shadow bracket. it does what it wants in its evil ways #anyway. a grave injustice. i was clearly fine and normal about it #james cagney

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apomaro-mellow · 3 months

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For the bingo, I need to see a Tommy and Carol appearance please !

A lot was running through Steve's mind as he grabbed some food for Eddie, hiding out in the boathouse still. The fact that they were going through this all over again when last time for sure he thought they were done. Would it just be monsters this time? Or would they have to fight people? They were already avoiding the cops.

Steve wasn't putting any thought into what Eddie would like, how would he know? He'd just met the guy.

"Is that who I think it is?"

He definitely wasn't thinking about them anymore. He tried not to look too annoyed when he turned and Carol and Tommy were standing there, Caroll with a handbasket full of groceries, Tommy, arm around her shoulders.

"Heyy", Steve greeted half-heartedly.

"Oooh, he doesn't look to happy to see us", Tommy teased.

"You still sore about little miss priss?", Carol asked. "You two aren't even a thing anymore."

Of course they would bring up Nancy. That was their go to, before, during, and any time they crossed paths after. Steve didn't hide his annoyance this time and openly rolled his eyes.

"No, maybe it's not that. Maybe he's worried about that freak still running around", Tommy speculated.

"Yeah, and since the Byers are gone, Nancy doesn't have her weirdo boyfriend here anymore. Maybe she'll get got by that freak, Munson."

"Byers didn't actually off his brother, so she needs to get got by a real killer."

Steve listened to them snicker for half a second before losing it. "Pretty rich coming from a couple of nobodies who couldn't make the news even if they did get the nerve to kill someone."

They looked affronted but not chastised so he continued.

"If you learned nothing from what happened with Jonathan and his brother, it's innocent until proven guilty. So no, I'm not worried about Munson or anything he might be up to. The guy plays pretend in the drama room and hangs out with freshmen."

Steve took a quick look in Carol's basket.

"And I'd be more worried about the fact that Carol's picked up a box of condoms that are not in your size Tommy."

He stayed long enough to catch the look on their faces before meeting back up with Dustin at the register. Eddie was innocent. And when this was all over, he'd make sure everyone in town knew it.

Steddie bingo under the cut

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #tommy hagan #carol perkins

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senseandaccountability · 8 months

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So I'm just here to scream a little about this.

WHAT A QUEST THAT WAS OH MY GOD. I loved how much he had to say about everything, all the way, how much lore and history I got out of the mission and how FUCKING SAD and messed up this vampire family/army is.

I had tears in my eyes when we meet Sebastian and the Gur children OH FUCK, I cried over them. Over the fact that they were children, that he didn't even fucking remember them (which even he was a little taken aback by) and that they didn't want to be let out because they'd hurt their families I CANNOT WITH THE CHILDREN OKAY. And the delicious study in Astarion's range of uncaring, manipulative defenses that got deflated constantly because around every corner there's something new that reminds him of what he is trying SO VERY HARD at making the world and most of all himself forget. GODS do I love that we get to call him out on this, too, the very heart of his struggle. This isn't you - NO BUT IT SHOULD BE. Because the alternative is too much to endure.

And yet, this is the line for me. THE line:

The world doesn't need to know my shame.

The actual fight went to hell in a handbasket first, because I went for the cinematics and wanted to have a big convo with Cazador. Totally worth it for screencaps and angst, though, but it stole an hour from my life.

Then I remembered that I have a brain and ungrouped them, had Astarion hide so he wouldn't get dragged into the ritual while Elnys and Karlach blew shit up and Shadowheart (who I respecced as a healer for act 3) kept everyone alive. SO much easier, thank god. I will play with the save to see the different outcomes of the ritual at some point but it's safe to say the only option for me was to convince him to break the cycle. It's just so UNFATHOMABLY dark to me to imagine him ascending after all this, I don't think I'll ever be able to do it. The abuse of power he was subjected to is such a strong theme in all of his personal details, all of his actions that it just makes me sad for these pixels to think that a solution is to repeat the miserable, hopeless pattern. I love this outcome, I love that he says he isn't above enjoying stabbing Cazadore into a million pieces because he shouldn't be. I love that he isn't even regretting giving up the power, if you ask him afterwards because the source of his fear is finally gone. The spell is broken. He can be free. So much of Astarion's arc is about reconnecting with life, feeling things instead of hiding behind a mask while carrying out shit others told him to, and I adored that it's also what he says when they're done - this place reeks of death and I want to feel alive.

#lilith plays baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion

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saltsicklover · 4 months

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Title: Fated to Run - Fated to Fly ꨄ︎ Part Two

Read Part One

Part Three Coming Soon!

Prompt from THIS ASK

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader SOULMATE AU

Word Count: 4000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Lots of Crying, Parent Trouble and Reconciliation, Insecurity,

We don't get to meet Bobby yet, I'm sorry!

My father's office looks the same. Honesty it has looked the same for as long as I can remember, and it's not just this office either. Every single one of my father's offices has looked just this way. Tan walls, that sort of sad, off beige color that every military installation, from this side of the world to the next, think outfit them so well. There's always a strong oak desk, sometimes it's pine, but either way it's always a sturdy piece of furniture that has no business around the thrown together particle board of the neighboring pieces.

My father has always brought in his own chair. It's faded leather is always well conditioned and it's warn in. Warn in just the way that when you sit in it, you can almost feel the ever lasting presence of the many years my father has sat in that very seat. He has hauled it with him all around the country, always in unaccompanied baggage so it would be sitting in his office and ready for him upon his arrival. He used to joke that if he made it there before his beloved chair, his time stationed there would be hell in a handbasket.

The day he got stationed at Top Gun as the Air Boss, that chair took it's rightful place behind the new desk. The same desk with empty drawers and too many files preemptively stacked atop it. But that's just how it is, right? After all, it's been that way since my father made Commander and things don't look to be changing anytime soon.

The decanter on his book shelf has been wiped clean of dust and fingerprints. No doubt filled with any run of the mill whiskey that may find it's way into my father's hands. It's an office staple, that decanter's about as old as myself, but the crystal still shines after 25 years, especially after a good cleaning. There's a bottle of good whiskey in the bottom drawer of his desk, sat beside a bottle of the best vodka he could find. Always ready for the COMPACFLT to drop by on a moment's notice, though the Admiral has never made himself known long enough to break it out.

I sit and stare out the windows, the ones that make up the back wall of his office. There's always windows, but strangely the size seems to correlate with rank. One might think it would depend on the building, on the base, on the climate or area of the world, but what I've come to find out is the higher the number on your Pay Code, the bigger your fucking office widows.

That, and the less time you have for your family. It seems the higher that Pay Code number, the more time I've managed to spend with clerks and assistants. More visitation with office windows and the low reflection that stares back at me as I try to focus on the air field. Aircraft take off and land, the service men and women knocking out their required flight hours as the sun moves its way throughout the sky. But still, there are times I catch my own eyes in that low light reflection, but there are less tears now. Or there had been, until that fucking incident at the airport.

Truth be told, I haven't stopped shaking. In that damn reflection of my father's office window I can see both my tear stained cheeks and the confused looks on Rhett and Jake's faces. The images twist together. It's all hurt, every last piece.

I'm sure the three of us would be a sight if we were all standing in the same place, the boys with those same lost looks, hurt flashing through there eyes, and me, red rimmed irises and damp skin. Skin that is already threatening to chap over from the way it stings. I should have savored the way they so fiercely defended me. The way they folded me into themselves and kept me safe. Isn't that what home is, if only so briefly? A lifted wing to a chick in the same way their kind eyes were to me. It's a shame, the way it all came crashing down with those four little words.

There's not even a part of me that doesn't ache when the memory of only hours ago runs through my head. Their touch still ghosts over my shoulders. Phantom fingerprints left upon my upper arms, still smoldering, smoking as they cool.

Friendship has to be written into the strands of the universe, it just must be. Hidden deep within the stitching, taking a back seat to the drips of ink that are marred into skin, so easy to see. Because if it isn't, my soul shouldn't feel this heavy. It couldn't feel this heavy. So it must be. It must be.

There's mumbling coming from just beyond the fire door of the office, voices that I can't make out by ear but I know those tell tale footsteps that can't help but get closer. My heart pounds in the same way his footsteps all but reverberate through the floor. The voices get closer, and closer, but I can't seem to focus on anything but the air field- the vision of my own red rimmed irises in the glass of the O-9 sized window.

"Sir, I'm trying to tell you that-" The words come through muffled then clear as the door nearly squeaks open. A call to DPW and those hinges wouldn't grind, but I know door hinges aren't exactly on the high priority list for a Vice Admiral.

"Birdie?" That damn nickname's spoken by my father, in that surprised tone that is just a little too irregular completely flattens all my resolve. The floodgates open, or moreover, they break, just as I turn to meet his eye.

"Hi Dad," The words come out too wet and too close to a sob, but we both just stand there looking at one another. In the time we stare at each other, the Earth has rotated almost two hundred eighty miles around it's access. Four hundred fifty kilometers in roughly fifteen seconds. His hand is still curled around the doorknob, the brass of the handle turned down just so. A Lieutenant stands next to my father, an apologetic look hung upon her features. The tightness of her bun pulls her eyebrows up, barely noticeable, but it makes her look a little more surprised, a little bit more of herself that's usually hidden under the mask, just barely breaking through.

It's another two hundred eighty miles before my father makes a move. He enters further into the office while the Lieutenant slips the door shut. I can almost feel how the handle must be warm beneath her slender fingers. The same warmth is rolling off of my hands; all of the nervous energy having nowhere to go but cycle out to my fingertips only to crawl back up my arms once more.

"Hey, kid," My father speaks after another moment passes, another few miles, "I- uh,"

There is so much hanging between us. After spending so many years arguing, instead of words left unsaid between us they all seem to be hanging in the air. Stiff and starched like a uniform collar, textured underneath my fingertips. The way they brush against my skin makes me itch as I inch closer. I wish to choke on them; on the words, longing for a moment that I had something else to say. Some sort of words found stuck somewhere between the tightness of my throat and the stickiness of my gums, lips dry and cracking under the pressure. Instead, they all still hang between us, a rickety old rope bridge while the few feet between us is a canyon's expanse.

The average argument lasts ten minutes, and families tend to have around a hundred arguments a year. That's a thousands hours of disagreements that stand between us over the last year alone. A hundred and twenty five words per minute. That's one hundred twenty five thousand words and I can feel each and every letter that hangs between us in this moment, thick between us like a fog. I can't seem to breathe.

The only thing that seems real is the hot tears falling down my cheeks and the sight of my father's downturned smile. There is so much pity there, or maybe it's remorse in the way one is remorseful for not appreciating a song the first time it's played through. It's the missing of the baseline and the way the bridge carries through to the end of the score. His eyes are gentle, in the way roses are- pricking, piercing from just the right angle.

"It's been a long time, Dad, I've missed you," The words have been hidden in the spaces between my molars, stuck there so long I barely recognized their honesty as they fell from my tongue. My lips catch on their sharp edges and I swallow down the acrid taste of bile and copper. Wiping at the new found streaks of tears, smearing them across the heat of my cheeks, my fingers come back tinged with watery mascara smudges.

"It's been too long, Birdie, sweet pea, too long," There's a slight hesitation in his tone, but it's all too genuine, in a way that makes my stomach turn. The nausea isn't new, not today. "How was-" I know he's going to ask about the last year, about the travel and the time spent in-between our arguments but I can't keep the words from slipping off of my tongue.

"I need to know about your Aviators," He stops, the words hitting him straight in the face leaving mouth hanging open mid sentence. His eyebrows scrunch with the narrowing of his gaze, the confusion evident in the way his head cocks gently to one side before he straightens it right back again. Parts of my father are slipping past the Admiral, like sand through fingertips, but he does everything he can to hold onto his hardened exterior.

"My Aviators?" There is so much hidden in the way the syllables crackle from his throat. He looks as though he has words still stuck to the roof of his mouth, words he keeps tonguing at to keep them hidden behind his teeth.

"I- yes," My brain is spiraling just a little to fast for my mouth to keep up. I can almost feel the way my nervous system is spiking, my neurons firing as my tongue tries to say the words in the forefront of my mind. The deep breath I force into my lungs does nothing to slow my thoughts, but my father's shoulders relax at the sight of my own shoulders dropping slightly. It's a shallow effort but it helps, if only a little.

"I met one of your Aviators today, at the airport," He nods in understanding, "Blond, tall, from Texas. Super nice. Said his name was Jake,"

"Jake?" My father huffs out, scrubbing a hand over his face. "A Texan with one of those shit eating grins?"

"He had a nice smile, if that's what you mean," I reason. The feeling of an impending argument is like static in the air, the hair on my arms standing on end as gooseflesh breaks out over my bare skin. That feeling is acknowledged with a quick glance between us, a look that has him moving closer to his desk. He picks up a framed photograph from it's corner before holding it out to me. I finally move closer, separating some of the distance between us. It's strange, being so close together after spending so long apart. I often wonder if that's how all children's relationships with their parents are after they grow up, or if my father and I are stuck in a unique form of perpetual misunderstanding. I take the photograph from his hand.

"This him?" He points at a man in the back row of the photograph, big smile and kind eyes. It's definitely him, that much I am certain of. There is just something so recognizable about that smile of his, the way the lines on either side of his mouth bend with a dash of mirth, bracketing perfect teeth. It's sick, really, how nice his teeth are.

There are a handful of other people shoved into the photograph together. Jake has his arm thrown around another man who sports a mustache and messy hair. That man looks at Jake like he emits pure light. Eyes squinted slightly with a smile too big to be contained with a closed jaw. That's Rooster. That's Jake's soulmate. There's no other explanation as to why the blond would be holding the other man so incredibly close, with his hands gripping into the material of Rooster's flight suit.

To Jake's other side is a woman. Her smile is smaller, almost practiced, but true joy emits from her eyes. With slicked back hair and sharp brows, she looks all business, like a woman not to be fucked with. But a friend, maybe? Her nametape is too small to read, but as one of the only women in the squad, she won't be too hard to pick out of the crowd. It's the man standing next to her that throws me. Another familiar face stands to her side, Rhett, only with shorter hair and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. My eyebrows scrunch, mimicking my father's expression.

"Yeah, that's him," I confirm, my eyes still tracking over the faces in the photograph.

"Why do you ask, sweet pea?"

"I met a man on accident, really, his name is Rhett, and his friend was with him, this man here, Jake. We actually ended up on the same flight" I watch my father nod in understanding, one of his hands coming up to brush at his nonexistent five o'clock shadow. I huff, averting my eyes for the next part. "I might have had my soulmate sentence encounter earlier this afternoon," The confession is sheepish at best. I don't meet his eyes. There's no point. I know the expression he wears now and I know I can't handle it in this moment. There's already been enough crying.

"Was it with him? With Hangman?" I watch from the corner of my eye as my father's eyebrows knit together impossibly tighter. His voice is pinched at the callsign, lips tight around it.

"Yes, it was him, but that's not really the point, Dad," My eyes trail over him in the photograph again, but I'm pulled back to Rhett, confusion gnawing inside of my skull, just behind my eyes, "How old is this photograph, because this is Rhett right here, and he told me he wasn't military," I want to ask him if he really knows his aviators all that well, considering the lack of acknowledgement on his features.

"That photo was taken after their last mission, wasn't more than a few weeks ago, right after they all graduated their advanced training. It's recent, and there's nobody in that squad named Rhett,"

"There has to be! This is him, right here next to that woman. I swear it's him!" My fingernail, all chipped polish and sparkles, clinks against the glass, my father leaning closer to get a better look before plucking the frame from my gently shaking hands.

"Sweet pea, I think you're mistaken," His tone sounds like his words are treading a minefield somewhere deep in his throat. I can't help but cough at the thought. That tension bristles between us again, electric like a storm. My fingers knit through my hair to keep from chipping more of my nail polish from my already scraped up nails.

"That," My father taps the glass with his finger, "Is Lieutenant Floyd"

"Lieutenant Floyd?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Floyd," There's a faux confidence in his tone, the same one he used to use when he would call home to say he'd only be gone a little while longer.

"Dad," I raise my eyebrows as I finally swing my eyeline back up to meet his, "What is Lieutenant Floyd's first name?"

He sputters a bit, a hand rubbing at the lack of stubble on his chin. There's a sort of furrow to his brow, one I recognize, even if the rest of his features are laid out in a way I have never come to know. My father has always been a sure man, steadfast in his actions, information spread out in his brain easy to access. This grappling for an answer is unlike him, but it makes him seem impossibly more human.

"Oh, Dad," The words are spoken with slight exasperation laced in the low chuckle that springs forth from deep within my chest. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I'll just ask the very nice Lieutenant who let me in earlier, she seemed... knowledgeable,"

I am met with the deep roll of my father's eyes, his hands no longer scrubbing over his face, instead he rubs carefully at his temples. His reaction makes me grip a little harder at my hair. It's stupid, this battle between us. Something left over from the strife of my youth; what we clung to with white knuckles and bloody nail beds just to keep a semblance of a relationship. It's all adolescent animosity stripped to adulthood anonymity, achingly arduous.

"Honestly, Birdie," The words travel on an exhale, "I don't know his first name. Hell, I don't know most of them, especially if they don't give me trouble. I've always called him Lieutenant, barely ever needed Floyd tacked on the end,"

My father shrugs his shoulders unceremoniously, plopping the photograph back down onto the corner of his desk. He leans back into the long line of his desk, his usually pristine tan uniform wrinkling with the way he almost folds in on himself. My tongue flicks over my teeth as I fight the grimace I can feel rising over my features. I try and school my face back into pleasant nonchalance, much like my father usually does, however I think it's a skill better mastered with each star pinned to his collar.

"Can I say something?" There's too much honesty in the way the words crackle out. I nod; it's easier that way. My hands find home near my hips, my thumbs tucked into my belt loops in a shallow attempt to keep from continuing the pull on my roots.

"For what feels like forever now, it's just been you, your brother and I against the world. Just the three of us, and I know not having your mother has been one of the most challenging things, for all of us. I know there has always been this bond that Arrow and I have had, and maybe it's because he is my son, or because he decided that the Navy was his calling too. Either way, I know that there's a foundation there, one that you and I just don't have," I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I do my best to blink them back. The more he speaks, the more the sight of him swims.

"But, I want you to know that even though you and I have struggled," There's a little trace of humor there, but neither of us comment on it, "I love you so fucking much, kid. So much that my chest aches. And I knew this day was coming- your soulmate encounter. God, kid, I am so excited for you, but so fucking scared because you're my baby bird and I don't want anything bad to happen to you, I love you too much,"

There are tears steaking down his cheeks, a sight I haven't seen since my mother passed away. It makes my own chest ache in turn, seeing the strongest man I have ever known begin to crumble. With two quick steps, I am in my father's embrace. His arms are warm, cradling me into his chest, my face into the sandalwood scent of his collar. The stars pinned there less of an obstacle between us, now. He lets a land run over my spine, palm flat to my back, the warmth pooling through my top.

"I'll love you no matter what, kid, even if your soulmate is some military rat like me," He laughs, low and rumbling, into my hair.

"I love you, too, Dad, so much," I mumble into his collarbone, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. I can feel my tears sinking into the cotton of his shirt, the tan darkening with moisture. He doesn't seem to mind, or if he does, he doesn't say a thing. We stand there like that for a while, embracing. It's my father who breaks the silence.

"So, kid," He clears his throat in an attempt to hide the mangled bit to tears that still sits on the back of his tongue, "Tell me, how did it all happen? What did Hangman say?" The distaste in my father's tone is evident. I pull away from the embrace with a rueful laugh, one that stirs around that anxious feeling that's been ever present since the airport.

"Well," The word is all sigh, "Jake, Hangman or whatever you call him, was on the phone listening to his voicemail and Rhett had asked him who the message was from, you know? It was a pretty long message," I babble out the last sentence, trying to get to the point, but the words are stuck somewhere under my tongue.

My father just nods at me, allowing me the space to continue. Instead, I plop down into one of the chairs that sits in front of his desk, ones that are meant for official meetings rather than anxiety soaked realizations. I scrub a hand over my face before winding my fingers through my hair again, gentler this time. He stares at me, patient eyes and expression neutral. It's practiced, but genuine. I stare at he ground in front of my shoes when I can no longer meet his gaze.

"Rhett asked who it was," I begin again, back tracking a bit, "And Jake looked at him and said Oh, it's just Bob and that was it. I've had these words on my skin for so long that I thought hearing them would be so easy, but Dad, I panicked,"

"Oh Birdie, it's okay," My father hums, giving me a small grin on the side of reassurance, "It's not always like the stories, the fairytales are just to give us hope, but that's not how life is supposed to play out. It's alright,"

"It gets worse," My words are wet, "I ran, Dad, I ran. I heard him say that and I ran out of the airport and into the first cab I could find. I came straight here, I didn't know what else to do. I didn't even stick around to figure out exactly who Bob is to Jake. God, this whole situation gives me as much anxiety as a baby on board a pond jumper, look at me, I'm shaking like a fucking leaf."

"What did you just say?"

"I said I'm shaking like a leaf, look at me!" I laugh, but it catches in my throat and comes out all gargled. I hold my hands out, watching the way they tremor at the thought of it all.

"No, not that," My father shakes his head, "The thing about the pond jumper,"

"I dunno, Dad, it was an analogy," I reply, it's all furrowed brows and tired voice. as if it could be anything else at this point. I watch my father's expression turn quizzical, his eyes tracking though the air as if he's watching a hop. His nose twitches for a second before he schools his expression back. His hands tighten a bit around the edge of his desk, then he's clicking his tongue to punctuate a sort of silent eureka moment.

"Come with me, kid, I think there's someone we need to go talk to," Then he's pushing himself form the desk and heading towards the door with the same conviction the Admiral meets everything with.

"What?" I push myself from my seat but can't keep my shoulders from sagging. He's stopped at the door, turning back to offer just a hint more.

"I think you and I need to go see Captain Mitchell," There's distain in his voice at the name. I bite at my lower lip, tucking my hands back through my belt loops.

"Why do we need to see Captain Michell? Isn't he the man you can't stand?" I ask, following after him. The whole thing seems futile but a curiosity thrums between my ribs. We pass the nice Lieutenant's desk, her seat vacant, before turning down the hall. It's not long before we are out on the air field and heading towards one of the large carriers.

#ftrftf #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #soulmate bob floyd #bob floyd soulmate au #icemav #father figure iceman #top gun maverick fanfiction #saltsicklover #requested prompt #saltsickrequests #father beau cyclone simpson #father cyclone

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imagineitdearies · 3 months

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Do you write Astarion as asexual in Perfect Slaughter? Tyrus and him would be quite compatible in this regard then.

Hi anon! Buckle in, I love this topic so my answer is hella long 😂

Astarion is not asexual in Perfect Slaughter 😊 Perhaps not so evident because it's not in his POV, but he finds Tyrus physically attractive immediately in ch2, and imagines being intimate with him again (minus the obligation of their first encounter) by ch6! Of course, that all goes to hell in a handbasket by ch7 as we know, but even if it hadn't, I think Astarion both in bg3 and PS is great representation for people who may display as somewhat ace because they're sexually traumatized.

In PS, he's often forced to go out multiple times a month to whore his body and is at the same time being preyed upon at random by Cazador, so he’s getting way too many sexual encounters for all the wrong reasons and that trauma has somewhat suppressed his desires in the midst of falling in love with Tyrus, who is a safe haven from those obligations and horrors. But sometimes his attraction jumps out at him (ch12 or 17, anyone 😏) in moments when he feels uncommonly safe and loved, and in those cases we see more of what he'd probably be like once out of this terrible circumstance and with time to heal. He hasn't actively pursued sex with Tyrus because the act has terrible, visceral associations for him still right now (and due to his worries of manipulating and hurting Tyrus). He both desires it, and is terrified by it.

One of the reasons I really like pairing him with a demiromantic asexual but still sex-positive character is because Astarion gets the chance to be loved without physical attraction and sexual desire even coming into play at first. Tyrus is endeared to him right away, wants to be closer to him, and enjoys giving and receiving physical affection, all without sex coming into the picture on his end. But Tyrus being sex-neutral/positive means that one day, if and when they finally feel safe enough, Astarion can also enjoy the sexual intimacy he still desires in PS (and clearly does in bg3, too).

Basically, I'm showering our pale boy with every single goddamn thing that he says he desires in a partner in bg3. He wants a caring partner who doesn't think of him in terms of sex? I'll write it. He wants to wake up next to a handsome virgin every morning? I'll give him Tyrus 💙

Thanks for this question anon! Even if you got more than you bargained for, lol.

#fic: perfect slaughter #ask me anything #astarion #astarion x tav #tyrus #so much more i could say #honestly i could talk for hours just about their relationship dynamic lololol #yes *technically* Tyrus is not a virgin any longer #but the term virgin really in my opinion just means pure and wholesome lol #which are synonyms you’d find right next to the word ‘Tyrus’ in the dictionary 😂

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ihni · 10 months

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New tagging game: Bookmark recs!

I'm gonna go ahead and make a new tagging game, because a) I just went through some of my bookmarks on AO3 and there are so many lovely ones and b) why not? So!

Rules (more like guidelines really, but ...): Pick (at least) ten fics from your AO3 bookmarks, and post them with links and a note of why you like them or why you picked them (alt. your bookmark comment). Then, as tradition goes, tag ten people. Or something, whatever, I'm not your boss.

I'll go first (might be spoilers ahead, as I use my - slightly edited - bookmark notes)!

Stranger Things fics (gonna make another one for non-ST fics):

when he loved me by pratintraining (3,2K, Billy & Max) My notes: The one where Max thinks that Billy deserves what he's getting from Neil, and she tells the Party, thinking that they TOO will think he deserves it …. But they don't. Because hitting your kid is fucked up.

for want of a nail by sepulchralsmile (172K, Billy/Steve) My notes: The one where Billy's dad throws him out a window before they move to Hawkins. The one where Steve doesn't like him much at first (but learns to, after). The one where Max tells her friends what's going on.

no longer one raindrop he is the endless sea by LazyBaker (@lazybakerart) (1,9K, Billy/Steve) My notes: The one where Steve picks Billy up after Billy went to a bar to lose his virginity. The one with the broken arm, where Steve insists that Billy deserves better.

Apocalypse by CallieB (@callieb) (66K, Billy/Steve) My notes: The one where the Mindflayer broke through years ago and a group of survivors are trying to make it in a nightmare world. The one where they go into the Upside Down for a supply run, and finds Billy. The one where Billy is unused to people and have been alone for ten years.

the love you build your house around by eternalgoldfish (@eternalgoldfish) (19K, Billy/Steve) My notes: The wishbaby one.

Hard Road: A Comic Series by Steven S. Harrington by imperfectabstraction (6,9K, Billy/Steve) My notes: The one where Steve deals with everything by making a comic about Billy, and giving him the future he never got. The one that made me emotional. The one with the absolutely PERFECT goddamn ending that made me cry.

.｡❅*⋆⍋* Warm Nights at Frosty Heights *⍋⋆*❅｡. by BouncyPickle (38K, Billy/Steve) My notes: The one where they go to a ski lodge and Steve woos Billy, who lets himself be wooed. The romantic sweet one with no speed bumps. Feelgood!

He Walked In Through The Out Door by HeckinaHandBasket (@heck-in-a-handbasket) (2,4K, Billy/Steve) My notes: The one where Billy shoplifting tampons and is caught by Joyce.

He Needs by immortalitylost (3,2K, Billy/Steve) My notes: The one with the nixa. The creepy one which I could see so clearly, in black and greens. The one with splashes of red, and a believable Billy through the eyes of a hesitating Steve.

If I Only Told You by CrossedQuills (68K, Billy/Steve, Steve/Eddie, Billy/Eddie) My notes: The one where Billy and Eddie are hooking up, and Eddie's teaching Steve about the whole guy on guy thing, and then Billy and Steve fall into bed with each other too … The one with the perfect ending.

Observations Through Candy Wrappers by weirdan (@weird-an) (3,4K, Billy/Steve) My notes: The one where Billy doesn't eat candy, even though he obviousy want some. The one where Steve sneakily tries to get Billy to eat sweets.

The Stolen Sapphire by Jad3w1ngs (@billyharringson) (13,7, WIP, Billy/Steve/Eddie) My notes: The one where Billy is younger and in Pirate Captain Steve's and his Love Eddie's bed. The one where they wreck him, lovingly and obsessively, and take him apart with the plans to rebuild him as they need him. The one where he's naked except for gold, told to stay in the bed while their ship is overtaken by enemies, and … Well. He stays in the bed.

We'll Become Who We Meant To Be by missroserose (@missroserose) (2,9K, Billy/Steve) My notes: The one where Steve stumbles upon an altercation between Billy and Neil behind the mall. The one where Neil thinks that Steve is okay with it. The one missroserose wrote for me <3

Say the Lord’s Prayer Twice and Hold Your Babies Tight by lilies_in_a_vase (@lilies-in-a-vase) (7,6K, Billy & Susan, Billy&Max) My notes: The one from Susan's and Max's povs, where Billy is sick. The one where he mistakes Susan for his mom and has to go to the hospital, and Max is there with him.

... and I'll stop there, so it won't be so long.

Tagging: MYSELF (yes, I'm totally doing this again, with non-ST fics!), anyone I've already tagged previously in this post, @thewaywardkees, @introvertia, @dragonflylady77, @bentnotbroken1fanfiction, @mourntheantagonist, @socknonny, @akioukun, @keziahrainalso, @robthegoodfellow, @withoneheadlight and honestly anyone who'd want to do this. God I'm bad at tagging. But you know, spread the love! (Or don't, if you don't feel like it! No pressure)

#tagging game #fic recs #harringrove fic #fic rec

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cj-ghostemoji-destielpie · 7 months

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Dieu vous aime

Soon to be posted by: dragonborn_eldenlord on AO3 and Wattpad once I finish editing chapter one. The summary/teaser is below.

Male OC/Daryl Dixon fanfic during The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon spin off series

Summary:

Daryl Dixon was just a drifter from Georgia before the apocalypse but became a reliable hunter, friend, and family to a close knit group of survivors.

Daryl was simply looking for his family; specifically Rick Grimes. He was determined to find his soul brother and nothin' was gonna stop him.

But he finds himself in France and tied up in the lives of a Nun and a young boy.

And their bodyguard Michael.

Michael McLaughlin was just a college student before the apocalypse; with a part time job too. He was from America and was in Germany for college, because of the college exchange student program, when the world went to hell in a handbasket.

Now, twelve years later, Michael has found himself in France. He met Isabelle probably five years ago or so. She took him to the Abbey after he'd fainted from dehydration after meeting her.

Another American shows up- what's up with Sister Isabelle and finding Americans? Mother Superior had complained playfully- and now his life is getting even crazier.

From student to bodyguard to friend, and possibly more with a certain redneck, Michael sure is becoming more than just another survivor.

This is a story of redemption, faith, and possibly even love.

A story of deux âmes perdues.

Of two lost souls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm hoping this is interesting to others and y'all can leave helpful criticism on this post or on the story once I post it on the websites. Scene ideas are also welcome; just comment.

☮️♥️🥧🏳️‍🌈

~CJ

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therealvinelle · 9 months

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Seeing Heathcliff being hot potatoed to denalis: hehe happy ending for everyone!

Realising it isn't the final chapter of the fic: not hehe am terrified

(Anon is referring to Dark Fantasies/Writhing Coils by myself and @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin)

Oh that wouldn't be the ending. Much, much too nice to the characters if we do that.

Besides, Carlisle happily smiling into the camera, "I'm so glad we solved all the conflicts in this story and won't have any more problems with the tentacle hentai monster" is how you know things are about to go to hell in a handbasket.

#dark fantasies/writhing coils #my fic #the carnivorous muffin #the carnivorous muffin fic

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002yb · 9 months

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Ok, Titans (2018) - the interval between S4 beginning up to Tim's "gauntlet" under Jason.

Any headcanons how Dick and Jason mended things? How did they go from Jason saying his goodbyes to Bruce and "never been here" (aka last fight at the end of S3) to being on phone call terms with Dick and plotting & executing The Hazing Of One Tim Drake?

How did they become close again? How close at all?

What has transpired?! 😳😳😳

(...I know this has to be full on CanonDivergwnce for Dick ends up with Kori in the series, no questions here, but hey, we do what we do to survive....)

The ask in which I get exposed for having only watched through s2. 😳😳😳 It's totally cool though, I've got this ahahaha. I'm vaguely aware that things went to hell in a handbasket in s3 from the Jason clips I watched, so let's see what I come up with. >)

It's Dick who reaches out first - a text about some suspect rumors or a potential case.

Strictly work related, completely impersonal - a professional inquiry

And Jason sits on it for days

Because obviously Dick is fucking with him. Why the fuck would he be reaching out to Jason for anything after everything? It's uncomfortable.

Personal headcanon that for as bratty as (2018)Titans!Jason can be, he's more concerned with how he fucked up than with how Dick slighted him

And it's not that he's disillusioned by Dick (Robin) anymore, that ship sailed and burned in a tragic wreckage, but like...he's still eager to impress

Praise this boy immediately

Days pass and Dick figures that Jason is ghosting him. That's fine. Reaching out was a shot in the dark. The casework was nothing he couldn't look into himself. More than that, it was just an excuse to check in.

But Jason doesn't owe Dick anything. Maybe Dick hopes that by by asking for 'help,' Jason might come to him if needed.

A long shot. They both fuck things up too much for that (in their own opinions)

But then Dick gets a message out of the blue. No comments, no insights, just a plethora of information for Dick to sift through.

And it's...organized? Not so much in an anal Bat sort of way (although it's that, too), it's just. It's compiled in a way that's very easy and pleasant to follow along with. Highlighting, diagrams, math written out in margins and worked through; formulas deconstructed and it's - it's a lot. It's curious and insightful and smart.

For as much as I loved the narrative impact of Dick's comment on Jason not reading AHHHHHHHHH and idk if Dick ever found out that Jason did all that complex chemistry with the fear gas thing, but FFFFFFFFF any and all opportunities to have (2018)Titans!Dick be confronted by him never having known Jason on a deeper (not even that deep omg) level is so wildly important

Anyway, yes. Dick being at a loss on how to reply because he doesn't want to provoke Jason's ire. So he just sends 'thanks'

And Jason ahhhhahahaha, poor boy. He put so much work into this project. He's doing it on top of his own work too, so when he gets the reply - 'thanks' - he's seriously just ._. before huffing and having a tiny tantrum because typical fucking dick

But then later Dick messages again and Jason swears that he's not going to read it. He'll leave it alone until he has the time to spare

Then of course he reads it immediately, a text that asks how Jason got to xyz solution for whatever formula or equation

And then they talk math/chemistry/what-have-you like a bunch of nerds

Tbh Dick just be marveling Jason being as smart as he is and enjoying the conversation for what it is

Some time passes. Their conversation would have ended as soon as it began, really. It goes back to radio silence until Jason thinks about that case again and checks in on the status

It's resolved, of course. Which is nothing Jason couldn't have looked into himself, in hindsight. He's a bit embarrassed for texting, but Dick texts him again with another, 'thanks again (:'

And Jason is just //n/// as he tosses his phone aside and gets back to his own thing

With no case to use as an excuse though, neither of them have any reason to text. They'll look at their phones occasionally though. Contemplating, maybe drafting something before deleting it and going back to their days

Then, one day, Jason receives a text that has some sort of equation. Which. Wtf is Dick working on now? Jason can't figure it out, but he sends a text back with his answer and how he found it

Following is a text from Dick; different method, same result

And that becomes the new norm. Sending one another complicated hypotheticals or brain teasers/puzzles to solve. And Jason doesn't necessarily enjoy the subjects much, but it's still a fun break to his days

More fun still is when they work together to solve something - sending bits of progress to one another and using that joint effort to come up with something grandiose and sometimes entirely wrong and they're both flabbergasted but get back to work because they won't be bested

And yes. This paves the way for Jason reaching out to Dick for help with something he's looking into.

Even when Jason outright rejects Dick's first response and is vicious in his teardown of the ones following, Dick is diligent with lobbing thoughts out there, finessing them with each of Jason's rejects and further insights until they unwittingly solve the case together

To be cheeky, all Jason texts is: 'thanks'

It's a slow crawl to mend what was broken between them but they get there, however tentatively. ///U/// As for how close they get? Probably just far enough to occasionally joke around and ask for work-related favors.

Also oh gosh just reread the ask and apparently they talk on the phone on occasion? How intimate LOL. These are probably less common though, just because there's no backspacing when in a verbal conversation and Dick has a habit of putting his foot in his mouth and Jason can and will take offense if Dick so much as breathes at him wrong, so help him.

I like to imagine Jason answers the calls with a gruff, 'what?' Just so inconvenienced even if he's not really bothered by it. And depending on the situation Dick might get straight to business or he'll get cheeky and have to call back after Jason hangs up on him.

Last Minute Addition:

Probs will make a different note of this if I remember but dickjay doing crosswords together 👀

=====

As it turns out, even with only two seasons under my belt I've got a lot of 2018Titans Dickjay feelings hahahaha. I'm real sorry if the thoughts aren't very accurate for what the vibes might be for post s3&4!

#dickjay #jaydick #not very shippy but they're cute regardless #dc titans #archtroop #thank you for bringing me back to (2018) titans dickjay ahhhhhh they hold such a special place in my heart <3

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boxwinebaddie · 3 months

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URGENTT ADVICE FROM UNCLE NINA NEEDED!!

ok so I know you work with kids; even if theyre not as young as the ones I work with, and I have a situation I need some advice on. I'm 15 and I volunteer to work with kids that are troubled/their parents don't or can't have them home right away. (D.A.R.E) And there's this kid who has become my little buddy, he's nine years old and today I was at my little volunteer job and he started fake moaning so ofc I let him know not to do that; and he didn't stop so I repeated myself. That resulted in him asking why, so I said "Do you know what that means?" And he said yes. But then I was like bro no way so I said what dude thats crazy then he was like im just kidding but then he asked me what it meant and I was like, "ask your mom." Then he started making inappropriate jokes and I continued to let him know that it wasnt appropriate, Then he asked if I had a boyfriend so i was like nope and he was like oh I thought you would have one so I said thanks, but it really concerned me. I don't know what I should do, I talked to my mom and she said to just keep correcting him and he'll learn and not to tell the deputy I work with because that'll just get him in trouble and to only do that when it becomes too extreme. I agree with her but I want another opinion to see if this would be the correct thing to do.

thanks so much:D

hi, my friend! i apologize if this is brief and a bit jumbled -- i am still a little out of sorts, but you did say Urgent, so i wanted to respond!

that...is an unfortunate situation. and a tricky one. i do agree with you and your mom, though. i think you should definitely use your next interactions as an indication of tone w/ the kid you're working with, see if he mellows out or is still not listening/not respecting your boundaries. i think it might even be wise as a final warning to be like, hi, this is making me uncomfortable, this is your last warning before i speak -authority figure- and while not telling that deputy, perhaps mentioning the possibility of consulting that deputy will deter the kid.

most importantly though, i just want to caution you and say please don't let that drag out too long. the biggest issue i found with my new job is i did not set boundaries well enough or firmly enough and that's why i got hell handed to me in a handbasket, like if that child is saying something uncomfortable to you and you are like "hm, that was weird, i didn't like that, but maybe it'll be alright" that is not alright and you should not feel like that.

at the end of the day, those kids need support and while getting in trouble is very unpleasant, if that is how that kid is going to learn not to conduct himself in that manner, then he is better off for it.

but yes, i would go ahead with the corrections but if you notice it getting Worse ( and not even like massively worse, i think any amount of it escalating/you not being listened to is cause for action )...i would speak to the deputy but also maybe see if there is a gentler way in which your friend can go about speaking to the child?

either way, i will say sometimes you have to put up that hard wall, it sucks but it's always easier as a teacher to start stern and get sweet, if you stat sweet and try to get stern, that's muuuch harder. so tldr, give the kid grace for now, but if it gets worse, i would say something and i would say something sooner rather than later.

i am...not very wise, but i hope this helps?

#sorry this is a mess u did say Urgent #and i think that ur on the right track #the important thing for me is that u cannot let wanting to help any child be placed over your personal comfort levels #and that is behavior that does need to be corrected asap #it does suck having to get kids in trouble but...unfortunately it is most of my job and it does keep them safe #it also keeps you safe my dear #just really listen to your heart and how you feel and i would say #even a time before you think Okay This Is Really Bad #i would tell someone #bc u are likely holding out far longer than you should for the sake of keeping that kid from getting reprimanded #be kind to yourself my friend; set those boundaries!#also having boundaries and structures like that are what i think are going to support those kids the most #but also i like boundaries and support ig #SPEAKING OF THE KIDS #I AGREED TO STAY 3 EXTRA HOURS TO DO AFTER SCHOOL #BRUUUUUH WHY AM I LIKE THIS #mine is diff tho mine is for money shskalskslas

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undertale-writing-times · 9 months

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May I ask for the new soulmate prompt with stretch?

You may :)

Words: 839

Learning that any pain he felt, his 'soulmate' would feel the same pain, made Stretch nervous. Why was that a thing? Was it so you could protect them? Yeah, that's great and all but you know what? It could have started AFTER they met each other.

At first, he wasn't too nervous about it. A small cut here and there, a bruise here, a mark there. Simple stuff... but then the resets started to happen. He kept dying and getting hurt, and he knew that his future datemate would feel that, and they most likely remembered everything.

Unless the resets affected them as well? Would they be a monster or... a human? He liked monsters more than he liked humans but hey, maybe... it would work out well?

Sometimes he would keep an eye out for anyone that had matching marks to him, and if he ever hurt himself on accident, he would look around to see if anyone reacted... even if he was alone.

At times, when he felt pain but there was no reason for it, he would smile. It meant that his datemate was still alive. If it was a big pain he wouldn't be as happy and be worried about them but there wasn't anything he could do.

And he hated it.

He wished that there was something he could do to stop the pain, stop the resets. Nothing he did stopped it though! It was... it was maddening.

The only thing holding him together was his brother and how excited he was to get to the overground, and the rabbit that understood where he was coming from.

He spoke about this cat that was his soulmate, the nice cream guy. A rabbit and a cat, who would have guessed that?

Stretch spoke about what he would want from a datemate, how someone would have to be to catch his eye... if he even wanted a soulmate. The bunny dude told him that it was sorta, you know, a sealed deal.

You can't just NOT have a soulmate. It's part of you, it has to be part of you. He said that he knew, but he could still think.

"Yeah, whatever you say, dude," he says, blowing out smoke, and looking up at the roof. Stretch watched as the smoke disappeared.

He should go to Muffet's.

That had been months and months ago, more resets happened, until this one. In this one, they got above ground, and the kid said that they were sorry to him about the resets, and explained that they weren't going to do it anymore.

This was the last one and even broke the reset button to prove it. "Now... I can't reset any more. This is it"

He felt like he wanted to cry when he saw them do it. It scared him, but damn it, if he wasn't happy too! This was finally it! They... they were free.

He went home that night and hugged his brother for the first time in... a long time. Really hugged him, and Blueberry asked him if he was okay. What's wrong? Why are you wet? Yeah, Stretch was crying.

And then he met them.

It was on a day just like all the others above ground, he went to therapy, went to the store, and went home. Yet, when he went to the store; he bumped his leg against the edge of the holder of oranges, making a soft hiss sound between his teeth.

"Shit" he mumbles, but paused when he heard someone else make the same sound, and he turns his head to see them rubbing their leg. The same spot that he hit.

Wait...

He slowly moves his hand to hit it against the counter, just hard enough to cause a small amount of pain, and they change their attention to their hand. They were frowning a little, rubbing it.

Holy shit... that was his soulmate!

He gulps down his nerves, his eyes shooting down to the handbasket. Should he go to talk to them? Should he just... leave? What should he do? Slowly he stood up, picked up his basket, and walked over to them.

"You okay?"

They jump, looking over at him, making a soft sound when they saw him. Most likely, you know, cause he's a monster. Humans were still trying to get used to that idea. "Uh... Yeah, I'm fine. I guess my soulmate bumped into something" they let out a little laugh.

He copied the small laugh, nodding a little, his cheeks flushing "Yeah I... I'm sorry about that" he clears his throat, "Gotta... hand it to ya, you're good at handling that sorta stuff" he couldn't stop the puns, not his fault. "I'm Stretch I think I might be your soulmate"

Damn it Stretch, why are you being so forward? He thought to himself, his mind rushing with different thoughts. What if they called him crazy and left?! He should have made more small talk.

Now just to wait and see how they react...

#Stretch #Stretch X Reader #Reader X Strech #Soulmate #Soulmate AU #Soulmates #Soulmate Prompts #Undertale AU #Undertale Alternate Universe #Undertale Alternate Timeline #Undertale AUs #Undertale Imagines #Undertale Ask #Undertale Ask Blog #Ask blog #Undertale Fanfics #Underswap #Underswap Papyrus

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