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jo-harrington · 1 year

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Freaky Friday - A Stranger Things Story (Part 1)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader, Eddie and Steve (Enemies to Friends)

Summary: Eddie thinks that Steve has everything in life handed to him on a silver platter (including his new girlfriend who Eddie has a crush on). And Steve just can't believe that the kids look up to Eddie the Freak, or that he lives his life without giving a single fuck.

Must be nice. But you know what they say, the grass is always greener.

Warnings/Themes: AU with no Upside Down. Body swapping, dark magic/alchemy, unrequited love--some crushes at least, Babysitter Steve, No Upside Down means slightly still King Steve, unresolved feelings, manipulation/deception, Reader gets a nickname (Honey), no Y/N if I can help it, no smut in Part 1 but liable to be in other chapters

Note: After a very hot and fast suggestion by @shiftingtherain, this mini-series was born. And instead of working on Store Manager Verse like I wanted to, here we are. This part is a little shorter...it's the intro, sue me. Next few parts will be a tad longer.

Credit for the header partially goes to me for the design and the logistics but I was tired, so I may have borrowed gifs from @emziess and Netflix itself as a jumping off point (with permission from Emzies and Netflix is a corporation so they can rot). I can only do so much guys, I also had to write this thing too.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

If Eddie never saw Steve Harrington again in his life, it would still be too soon.

He didn't always indulge in rentals from Family Video—if it was too cold and wet to have band practice in Gareth's garage, or if he was having an especially bad week at school, or if he needed something a little more realistic than the illustrations of Heavy Metal magazine to help him satisfy his needs—but today just had that special feel to it.

He'd gotten a B on his math test, Rick had been feeling a little under the weather and let Eddie make the rounds to his usuals for a sweet little cut, and he had found a dusty old book about alchemy and occultism at the library that was going to help him put the finishing touches on tomorrow night's Hellfire session.

For all of that, Eddie thought a little reward was in order.

A little Dark Crystal, a little pizza from Lou's, a little weed...he'd be having the best Thursday night.

Except...

For the past twenty minutes, he'd pretended to hem and haw over the selection of movies just so he could glare across the store at the counter, where Steve stood, flirting and making grandiose promises, with you.

He burned with jealousy, and God, it took almost everything in him not to gag as Steve reached across the counter to slyly hold your hand. And everything else for his heart not to break as you just let it happen.

Eddie didn't know how or when or why this started—when Harrington had gotten his claws into you and how he had managed to charm his way into your heart—when it should have been Eddie instead.

Eddie'd had a crush on you for years but had always been too nervous to do anything about it.

You were a year younger than him, and friends with his pal Mickey's younger sister, so he'd seen you around quite a bit. Smart and funny and pretty; maybe not as unpopular as Eddie was, but certainly not in the running for homecoming court or whatever other social hierarchies were in place at Hawkins High either. He figured...you know, maybe once he got to senior year he'd get the courage. Maybe take you to prom or something; who wouldn't want to go out with a senior?

But he'd gotten the notice from Higgins that he wouldn't be graduating with the rest of the Class of '84 and it really put a damper on his plans.

He had been hopeful again the following year, actually had a few classes with you and sat with you for partner work when no one else wanted to work with him, when they laughed at him. You weren't even afraid to go up to him in the cafeteria to ask a question, or walk with him in the hall if you had to go in the same direction for your next class. You'd talk about assignments mostly, but he savored every little fact he could learn about you. What books you'd been reading, the fact that you watched Svengoolie on Saturday nights—just like he did—or that you'd had some squabble with Mickey's sister over a scrunchie of all things and were no longer speaking.

But Eddie knew how bad his grades were—somehow even worse than the year before—and aside from the work you did with him, he knew it wasn't gonna be enough for him to graduate. So he wasn't gonna put himself in the position for you to laugh in his face—not that you would but...just in case you did—by asking you out.

He thought you would disappear from his life after you graduated. Get the hell out of Hawkins the way everyone else wanted to. But no. You took a few classes at the community college and worked the dinner shift at Benny's a few nights a week. You'd been there every Tuesday night, when he and the guys grabbed food after their gig at the Hideout. The usual booth reserved, drinks already poured by the time they sat down, and their usual orders already written in your little order pad.

You usually gave him extra whipped cream on his slice of cherry pie too.

The guys always urged him to ask for your number...but he never did. How could he? Even if you were stuck in this town the same way he was...he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

And now...here you were, listening to Harrington talk about some great surprise he had planned for your third date the next day.

Eddie wondered why you hadn't screamed in outrage when Steve mentioned how much Nancy Wheeler had liked it when he took her to this mystery place. He would have definitely expected you to at least flinch at the mention of his ex-girlfriend's name.

"It sounds really great," you said instead, smiling and nodding. "I get out of class at 3 on Fridays...should I be here around 4?"

"4 is perfect, honey," Steve grinned.

Eddie couldn't stand to hear whatever sickeningly sweet goodbye you both would come up with so he just grabbed whatever tape was in front of him and approached the counter. You and Steve both flinched when Eddie slammed his selections down on the counter to be checked out.

“Uh…I’ll see you tomorrow then. Bye Steve,” you muttered, eyeing Eddie with a half-smile that felt a bit sad. “Bye Eddie.”

"Bye honey."

“Bye honey,” Eddie mocked once you were out the door, then turned back to Steve. “You gonna try and make goo goo eyes at me next Harrington? I don’t have all day.”

“Jesus Munson. What’s up your ass?” Steve scoffed, grabbing the tapes.

“I’m just trying to get my videos and go.” Eddie rapped his knuckles on the counter. “Not really interested in the kind of customer service you're trying to provide."

Steve wondered what the likelihood of getting fired would be, if he just punched that smug look right off of Munson's face.

Keith hated the guy too, he always left the Adult section looking like a mess. Maybe Steve would get a promotion instead.

For years Eddie roamed around Hawkins being a general menace with his gaggle of friends. Causing trouble, shouting at people, making faces at old ladies. He’d gotten “taken in” to the police station one too many times but always seemed to make it out without actually being arrested. Which baffled Steve; Eddie was a drug dealer for crying out loud.

And yeah, Steve had even asked him to come and deal at a party or two but…people like that were bad. Simple as that.

Even after all of that, after you got past the “bad boy” persona….he was a fucking nerd. He wasn’t even cool like the bad boys in movies were. Steve felt like someone was tricking him the first time he had walked past the Hellfire Club’s table in the cafeteria. For all the leather and chains and band tees—all the talk of satanic rituals and blood sacrifices—there was sure a lot of talk about elves and…and bards and Star Wars.

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise to Steve that the kids would flock to Eddie by the time they made it to Hawkins High.

But it had been. A huge shock.

His unexpected little gaggle of morons…weren’t really his anymore.

Steve had dropped Dustin off on the first day of school and said “don’t get into any trouble.” Even made Robin promise to keep an eye out for him. He expected the kid to…join the mathletes or something. Get roped in with the science nerds.

But by the end of the week, the kids were all clamoring about how they would need to reschedule movie nights with Steve so they could go to Hellfire club with Eddie.

Steve couldn’t understand it. Eddie was a freak, a punk, some good for nothing…and now the kids were suddenly following him like he was some sort of prophet. Spreading the word of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

See? Steve could do the nerd talk too when he wanted...thanks to Dustin.

Who, much to Steve's annoyance, was apparently Eddie's biggest fan. The guy could do no wrong in Dustin's eyes, and it really irked Steve.

Will and Lucas were spending Saturdays at the library—not for homework, but for research because apparently Eddie really liked incorporating mythology into his campaigns. (Whatever that meant.) Mike was growing his hair out because "Eddie's hair was cool.” What about Steve, whose literal nickname was The Hair? Shit, he'd even seen Eddie give Max a ride to school on a few occasions when he was late dropping Robin off. And he knew Max and her mom had been having a hard time since her step-dad skipped town and Billy...

Steve knew some of the town gossip about Eddie was just a bunch of bullshit...but if Max Mayfield was cool with him?

Yeah, he just couldn't help but be suspicious of the guy.

Regardless, the sooner Steve could get him out of the store, the better his night was gonna get.

...actually...

"That's gonna be $10." Steve announced dryly.

"Woah, $10?!" Eddie scoffed. "I have a membership."

"Since when?" Steve asked, hands immediately landing on his hips.

"I use one every time I'm in here."

"Yeah you use Reefer Rick's."

"So?"

"New policy," Steve lied, hoping it would get Eddie out of his hair for a good while. "No sharing memberships outside of your family. Last I checked, your last name isn't Lipton. So you either cough up the $25 for a new membership Munson, or the $10 for your rental. What's it gonna be?"

Eddie grumbled and dug his wallet out of his pocket, slamming the money on the counter.

"Any candy?" Steve asked mockingly before grabbing the cash.

Eddie grabbed the tape and grumbled under his breath as he exited the store.

Yeah, Steve wasn't gonna be dealing with him any time soon.

For a second though, as he went to start processing returns, he wondered...

If Eddie was in some ritualistic cult...what kind of curse could he possibly put on me?

But that was a dumb thought to have.

Eddie's night just went down hill from the minute he left Family Video.

He didn't notice that they'd given him the wrong pizza at Lou's so now he was stuck with some specialty veggie pie with broccoli on it, the tape he had grabbed indiscriminately had been some artsy foreign romance crap, and just now he'd just spilled Dr. Pepper all over his Hellfire notebook.

"Fuck," he shouted as it spilled over the side of the coffee table and onto his sock-clad feet. He couldn't give a shit about the carpet, he could even ignore his wet socks, but his notebook. Weeks of work, planning and toiling over the most sadistic campaign.

He liked to keep all of the notes of Hellfire's completed campaigns, a sort of...record for future kids to look back on and reference. And now this specific masterpiece would be lost to memory.

He cleaned everything up as best he could before making a quick trip back to his room for an extra notebook or something he could use to salvage his plans for tomorrow's session. He had always been really bad at...keeping spare notebooks on hand. Even the ones he'd used for class always ended up covered in his drawings or notes, little bits and ideas of dialogue he could use for speeches or NPCs.

The best he could find was his math notebook from last year which, surprisingly, sat relatively untouched.

Eddie knew why: that was a class he shared with you. And as he opened to some random mostly-empty page, he saw his little scribbles in the margins surrounding half-faded, penciled-in algebraic equations. Daggers and hearts and his and your initials intertwined together.

It was the one class where he would never encounter partner work with you, so he felt compelled to fill the pages with his daydreams instead of fantasies and lore. You would never see it.

"Well," he huffed as he dropped back down onto the floor and slapped the notebook onto the coffee table. He grabbed his pen and scribbled over the drawings on the page. "Now that she's with Harrington, no use living in this fantasy. Fuck, I was stupid, so stupid to ever think she would want anything to do with me."

He grabbed the dusty old alchemical book from the library and found his place, staring at old sigils and runes and text indiscriminately until he came upon one that looked too perfect for the campaign. Concentric circles, arcane lettering, angular lines...

While Eddie would usually use a clean page for something like this—something he would hand off to his players—he drew a copy of the sigil onto the page and planned to rip the edges off, maybe singe them with his lighter to make it look more authentic.

He kept staring at the still-noticeable doodles beneath the pen scribbles and his heart ached a little in his chest.

Yeah, he would definitely want to burn those too.

By the time he was done copying the sigil, a wave of exhaustion overtook him and he glanced down at his watch.

It wasn't much later than he usually went to bed on a weeknight...

He stared at the half-ruined notes for tomorrow's session that he still needed to rewrite and sighed.

"Fuck it, I'll just redo them in the morning." He got up and stretched his arms over his head. "I can just sleep in tomorrow. Skip class. Show up for Hellfire. Who cares anymore.”

He put the rest of the pizza in the fridge for Wayne and then headed to bed, only to be plagued with dreams of scribbled out love hearts, movie theater candy, guitar solos, and big red gum.

When Eddie woke up the next morning, he felt...honestly felt like he was floating on a cloud. Every muscle in his body felt looser, yet somehow tighter at the same time. His skin felt tighter, like it wasn't right, like it didn't fit somehow, it was suffocating him.

He must have died but he wasn't quite sure if this was heaven or hell.

His eyes burned and blurred slightly as he opened them and what he saw was...unexpected.

Gone were the off-white walls, his posters, the piles of his crap, and that concerning patch of probably-mold in the corner of the ceiling. Instead there was a sturdy ceiling, plaid-papered walls, and matching curtains?

Eddie groaned and rolled over.

What the fuck was this place?

There was a slam of a door somewhere that practically shook the walls surrounding Eddie and as he sat up, he found himself only wearing...briefs? He didn't wear briefs.

This wasn’t his bed, wasn’t his room…wasn’t his… body?

He looked down at his chest, his arms, his hands…his fingers weren’t right, he didn’t have this many freckles and moles, he didn’t have…abs, if that’s what you could call the slight definition on his torso. Still it was more than his body had ever had. His skin…was itchy and mostly hairless.

Eddie reached up and touches his hair—shorter than he was used to, not curly…at all—then his face, as if that was any indicator to what he—

“A mirror!” He exclaimed. His voice…sounded familiar, but different. Fuck what kind of dream was this?

Because it had to be a dream right? It had to be. How else did he wake up in someone else’s body?

He pushed himself out of the bed, walking slightly off-cadence, which…yeah probably came with the territory of your brain needing to get used to a new body. Fuck…was his brain even his brain or did his mind just get transported what was happening?

Ugh it was too early to think about that.

Eddie slowly cracked the bedroom door open and peaked into the rest of the house. He spotted a bathroom just across the way, otherwise…shit, this place actually looked a little familiar. Where the fuck was he? Who the fuck was he?

He quickly crossed the landing into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He heaved a breath and leaned back against the door for a moment to calm himself; his hands were shaking and felt cold. Could he even feel his fingers? Nice to know the occasional nervousness that snuck up on him at his lowest moments hadn’t been left behind in his old body, that they’d followed him to this one.

His body…would it still be in his bed? What if he really had died and…had jumped into his new body? Was this reincarnation?

Fuck, if he was dead…Wayne would find him. Could he even…see his uncle again? How could he ever explain who he was?

Eddie felt the tears prick his eyes and his throat tighten and he slapped his face a few times.

“Come on man, come on,” he muttered. “It’s not that bad. It’s only…mildly awful. Fuck, ok. Just go, just look, just…rip it off like a bandaid.”

Eddie took a deep breath and nodded, then crossed the short distance to stand in front of the sink. He stared at his new feet, wiggled his new toes. You never…appreciated the toes you had until you have new ones.

That was awful and you’re an idiot. Just look.

Eddie closed his eyes again and turned his face up towards the mirror. He could do it. He would do it.

He opened his eyes.

“Jesus H. Christ!”

Steve woke up feeling like absolute shit. Everything ached—like he had pulled a muscle or something by sleeping crookedly—he had awful cottonmouth, and he had inhaled…some yarn or something because he woke up coughing and gagging until he got the intrusive strands out of his mouth.

“Gahh, shit, shit,” he said and scratched at his throat. He sounded hoarse. Ugh was he getting sick? He’d have to ask his mom to bring home some soup or something.

Could he call out of work? Shit he had to take Robin to school. She could walk today, he felt awful.

Steve blinked his eyes open and took in the unfamiliar popcorn ceiling with growing concern.

He looked around at the…piles of garbage and the cracks in the plaster walls partially covered by band posters...and felt the rise of panic grow within him. He tried to recall the night before.

He’d wrapped up his shift at Family Video, gone home and had a rare dinner with both of his parents, then…felt extremely tired and went to bed.

So how did he end up here…wherever here was?

This was a kidnapping; it had to be. He was…drugged—explained the cottonmouth—and kidnapped. And now someone was holding him for ransom or something to…blackmail his father? Thomas Harrington was kind of a dick sometimes, sure, but still…he was a pretty decent guy. Who would want to blackmail him?

“H-hello?” Steve called out. “Anyone there? C-can anyone hear me?”

There was some shuffling outside of the door of the room.

Thankfully Steve wasn’t tied up or anything. God, what kind of kidnappers were these? He quickly glanced around the room for a weapon of some sort and he immediately spotted...

A guitar? A few guitars actually. Man these kidnappers really liked music huh?

One was a weird shape--he'd seen some hair metal bands use guitars like that in magazines, but he'd never seen one in person--and was a mottled red color. One was just what you'd expect when someone said "electric guitar." And one was acoustic and looked like it could pack a real wallop.

Bingo.

Steve pushed himself out of the bed and immediately jumped because whatever had been in his mouth was on his shoulders now. He reached up to grab it: hair. Long, wavy, messy...knotty and frizzy. Like it hadn't been brushed for days, maybe weeks?

And his arm, sticking out from whatever t-shirt he'd been put in...was lithe and weak and there were tattoos. On both arms. A creepy claw hand and a bunch of bats.

What was this? How long had they held him hostage for? No wonder they didn't feel the need to tie him up! He'd been knocked out cold.

He needed to get out of here. Now. He needed to get home.

Steve crossed the room to grab the guitar when he noticed it. At first he thought it was another person. But no, it was just a mirror...and in the mirror...his reflection.

Only it wasn't...his reflection.

It had startled him and he had jumped. Then he moved his arms a little and watched the figure in the mirror mimic him. Over and over.

A wave, a turn, a funny face.

He couldn’t believe it. This had to be a joke. A dream. A nightmare.

Because it was him, his reflection. But it was not his—Steve Harrington’s—reflection.

It was Eddie Munson's.

#Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson stranger things #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington stranger things #Eddie and steve #stranger things fic #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #Steve Harrington imagine

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asvterias · 4 months

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𝖡𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖠𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈’𝗌 𝖣𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 + 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼!𝖢𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝖫𝖺 𝖱𝗎𝖾

clarisse masterlist

clarisse la rue ✘ fem!demigod!reader (daughter of apollo)

word count: 584

author’s note: tbh i kinda struggled with this but pls tell me what you think of it. i also didn’t know if anon wanted platonically so i just went off what i think is implied in this ask! sorry to the anon if you wanted this to be romantically.

requested from anonymous!

Clarisse first met you at Camp Half-Blood after hearing about the mythical world from her mother.

She had just turned 13 when her mother decided that she wasn’t safe in the human world, sending her daughter to the hidden camp for safety.

You spent most of your life at Camp Half-Blood, growing up there since the age of 10! Years had passed and you were still there, now only ranking your position to a camp counselor.

After Chiron gave her simple instructions on respecting the community regulations, she was yours to guide around the camp.

At first, it was awkward because she was reserved and cold to everyone. You were all strangers to her, so why should she trust any of you? However, you assumed that the girl would miss her mother, aware that humans can’t enter the mythical world.

You didn’t blame her, everyone needs time to adjust so you gave her some space. She’ll come around, sooner or later, you were sure of it.

Despite trying to make small talk, the girl remained silent until the cabins were in sight. It was quite rude but you didn’t make a fuss about it, can’t force the girl to talk.

You showed her which cabin she’ll be temporarily staying in, cabin 11 (Hermes).

“But Ares is my father, why can’t I be with my half-siblings?”

Soon enough, you explained to her the whole gist of the cabin selections; her father didn’t claim her yet so she was currently classified as ‘unclaimed’.

Eventually, she came around sooner and you were ecstatic.

She was an explorative and attentive teenager once you got to know her. You were there when she was claimed by her father. It was a heartfelt moment for her.

She was the leader of Cabin 5 (Ares) and as are you with Cabin 7 (Apollo).

You taught her everything you knew, training her in all of the sports the camp had to offer.

From all the sports there, she had a natural spark for spear fighting. Her dad had gifted her an electrified spear and she never stopped wielding the weapon in her hand ever since.

The techniques used during this were fatale yet liable, depending on who wields the sword.

The Ares girl viewed you as the big sister she never had. Both of you had a sisterly connection that other campers couldn’t quite comprehend.

TAGS BELOW:

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likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x black!reader #clarisse la rue fluff #clarisse la rue headcannons #daughter of apollo

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herseraphwings · 8 months

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Herseraphwings🕊️🌙✨ Pick A Pile/Image

What Awaits You Across The Threshold?

All original works posted on this platform are copyrighted. Unauthorized use or reproduction without permission is prohibited

Step into a world where tarot's whispers unveil mysteries of the afterlife. "What lies beyond the threshold of your death?" This query unveils diverse journeys, from serene realms to cosmic echoes. Let these images and words be your guide, painting stories of your possible experience of the inevitable transition from life to spirit.

Piles (1-4)

*Disclamer: I offer tarot readings for entertainment and spiritual guidance purposes only. Please understand that the insights and interpretations provided are subjective and should not be substituted for professional advice or counseling. The responsibility to make decisions and take actions based on the readings lies solely with you. I am not liable for any consequences that may arise from your choices or actions following the reading. Remember, the future is not set in stone, and outcomes can be influenced by various factors and your own free will.*

Pile 1 - The Seer

A seer. They stand directly at the base of the Tree of Life. Have they been waiting for you? How long? It is as if you hardly blinked your eye…you were back there, and now they stand before you with expectant eyes. A golden bowl of radiant pristine light separates the two of you with a familiar vibration you're drawn to submerge yourself within. With all of its dazzling beauty, you're mesmerized, but as your familiarity grows and your mind clears with each second? Year? Millennia? As you stand before each other, you grow weary. You know what comes next. Some things still ache within you, and you would instead leave them behind. But you do not see the anchors of hurt that tether you to what lies on the opposite side of the threshold. You think of taking a step back, but the seer already knows what you're contemplating. They gently grab your hand, illuminating your being with loving reassurance.

Your life review must begin now. There is no rush, for all of creation is aware of every sacred moment of existence in the dream of your life. They have indeed seen it all with divine clarity. But have you?

"I am no judge, only a mediator," everything she tells you is a thought in your consciousness.

As you relinquish your fear, you let her draw you into the dazzling light that holds the signature of your life. You relive every moment with a cosmic perspective. Every joy is relived not only on your own but as the cumulative joy of friends, family, strangers, and fellow beings on earth. Every sorrow is like a yank in a chain, but the seer's loving hand supports you. You look upon the faces of the people who hurt you and those you hurt. You grow restless, for you know that all eyes were on you in each instance, but the seer is no judge, creation is no jury, and your creator would never look at you differently. Each moment you relive that tempts you to harshly judge yourself, the seer pauses and offers spiritual introspection. The goal is not to judge ourselves but find growth and love in every scene.

As your life passes, and you see yourself with a higher magnitude, you understand the precious perspective of Spirit. Your life was more valuable than you could ever believe, and although you may not have seen it that way- you see it now.

The seer draws you out of the images and replays of your life, and something has changed.

Two masculine entities are waiting for you. Whether they transitioned before you or have never traversed the same plane you came from, they are here to welcome and guide you into your new state of consciousness. One will take you through many doors and new lessons. The other will celebrate with you and reunite you with those you have forgotten and who you were before now.

Thank you for allowing me the honor to read for you, pile 1. ✨🌻

Pile 2- The Dreamer

In the realm between wakefulness and dreams, we discover a reality woven from the fabric of imagination, reminding us that even the waking world is a fragile illusion.

To wake up, you have to fall asleep. Only a few know this truth in the slumber that is life as a human. In their short lifetimes, some wake up to earthly matters, such as who is responsible for mass suffering, why humanity behaves the way they do, and so on. But they are still asleep. Others wake up for just a moment- their heavy half-lidded eyes award them the necessary truth they can digest before they return to their slumber. Only a rare few wake to complete lucidity.

Across the threshold is a sea of memories. Countless records of lives once lived and dreamed. Some are fragmented, but you are determined to cocoon yourself within Spirit's embrace and slowly peel back the layers. You aren't pressed for time; time does not exist across the threshold. Before the door to your previous incarnation was opened, you asked your creator to make a promise.

Keep a safe place to rest so I may meet myself again. Your creator would never deny you what is necessary; it crafted a safe place to lay your soul within as you fall asleep into a much deeper dream. In this dream, you walk down an endless hallway of doors- each a passage to a realm within yourself. There are libraries of knowledge, and publishings of your own making, stories from beings that have known you, and poems from your most deeply connected companions that lie between the pages. This is your process. Is it new? Perhaps. Or you could have done this for eons, before the first breaths of living creatures. Either way, you are comfortable in your revelations, as there is no better way to integrate the moments, patterns, lessons, and incarnations into your very being. Each life must be observed and analyzed to the smallest minute detail. Once complete, you will rise from your nap, a transformed soul.

Side note: Your soul may have connections to ancient Lemuria.

Thank you for allowing me the honor to read for you, pile 2. ✨🌻

Pile 3- The Mirror

In a crystalline and unfathomably clear mirror, you see an ancient but sturdy structure nestled within the conscious rock of a mountain behind you.

You see yourself so clearly that it is difficult to turn your focus away from the being before you- you find the need to verify whether you are staring at a doppelgänger before your very eyes. In the mirror, you see everything about yourself: who you are, who you were what you did before returning to this sacred point in the universe. It is all of these details that exude a living presence behind the glass.

Is this thing alive?

You've been looking at it so long that you swear it will raise its hand to you in familiarity before you get the chance to. How can you look in a mirror and see something so similar but foreign?

The tuned-out telepathic voice of a dear companion pulls you out of the hypnotic analysis, "-do next?"

You narrow your eyes and finally turn around in confusion. Your beloved companion feels no genuine annoyance, for they are ecstatic that you are both here simultaneously. There is so much for you to catch up on. You love each other and are happy to be with them, but the mirror beckons your mind back toward it. Your reflection waits with its spitting image of your likeness. Still, looking into their eyes, you see a maturity you did not expect. Their vibration is one of consequential loss but profound spiritual gain, and you wonder if any of it was ever real. You need some clarification. You look around to see yourself, your friend, and this strange mirror in the middle of a pasture.

You can hear a peaceful breeze rattle the leaves of trees and the faint trickles of a nearby stream. Where is this place? Upon immediately receiving your thoughts, your friend responds with their own. They remind you this is a place within a realm overseen by your deity. The ancient structure within the side of the mountain is their sacred dwelling. You will realize that you are very familiar with this realm and that it is a place you have visited countless times, but for now, everyone wants to know what you will do next. You have always been a being who is ready for what is next.

But what you see in the mirror is shocking you. What you just went through was a much more difficult but rewarding experience. As if the realm itself was eagerly listening in, everything became quiet. The stream took a hush. The wind became still. Even the other you in the mirror felt as if it was going to inch closer with an open ear.

I don't know.

Thank you for allowing me the honor to read for you, pile 3. ✨🌻

Pile 4- A Conversation With God

Last time one of your fellow souls crashed into the spirit realm, I said, "That was hard to watch." They didn't recognize me at first, but funnily they were like, "Living it was harder." Then they really SAW SAW me and were surprised I have a sense of humor. Which is the logic I find funnier. Why would they assume I don't have a funny bone if I gave them theirs???

But I'm sorry you didn't find the same joke funny. In my defense, last time, you were a lot more chill. I know it was abrupt for your standards and that you enjoyed it, but this was the deal. I'd like to remind you in detail.

You go to earth and do something for me. In exchange, you get an entire lifetime of achievement and happiness. The endpoint is up to you. You can blame me, but you set the appointment with my angel of death and told them exactly where to be when we planned this whoooole thing. AND-by the way- I saw everything; you can't just keep trying to ignore our phone calls. Then before letting me know, you had already hopped in your new body and forgot. So this isn't really my fault! I only knew that I would patiently wait to see you return.

Please don't be mad!

What do you mean I left you alone? You have free will, remember? If you call me, I'll pick up the phone, but if you don't want me, I let you do what you want.

You didn't know where you were? Did you get lost? Wait, your guide wasn't there at the arrival gate? Who was your guide again? Ohh, that's right- they are a weird little dude, huh? Are you SURE you were at the right place? That doesn't sound like the right place…

Oh no, no, no- please don't cry, little one! It's all going to be okay! I'm not angry at you? Why would I be angry with you?

Please, please, please don't worry! You guys get pissed with me often when you're down there, so I never take it pers- ooooh, you're scared? Please don't be frightened! Look, I know all of that was kind of weird and crazy, and you felt disoriented -probably nauseous- but you guys really aren't supposed to go through it alone, but you were so annoyed about leaving - a really whole and complete life MIND YOU- behind that your thoughts must have blipped you to somewhere not so fun but let's just let it go and -here have a tissue- get to the good stuff. Whew! Sorry to telepathically word vomit on you.

I am happy to see you! Aren't you glad to see me? Yeeeeeaaaahh, come on, you know you are!

Oh, look who's behind me!

Everyone say hi!

Note: I want to make it very clear that the energy I picked up for this collective is NOT the energy of an untimely demise. NO. The energy of your collective is one of a person who at the time of their transition, was extremely satisfied with where their life had taken them in their old age and was too stubborn to go when their time was up. So, their passing felt like an abrupt out of nowhere event that screws up their entire "spiritual onboarding process" so they end up wandering mad for a little bit before they call out to God.

Thank you for allowing me the honor to read for you, pile 4. ✨🌻

#pick a card #pick a pile #pac reading #tarot reading #tarotblr #divination #tarot community #free tarot #free readings #witchblr #tarot #spiritual community #spiritual #witchcraft

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prolix-yuy · 2 years

Text

Chapter 4: Perhaps This Life Was Not My True Life

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader "Sugar"

Summary: It's only a helping hand.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: T, more flirtinggggg, allusions to sexual acts, descriptions of character death (not graphic), the FEMALE gaze (everyone is hot for the cowboy), Jack Daniels needs his own warning, not much in this chapter but will be explicit in later chapters, 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: You know I had to use the GIF. You know it. It's just too good not to. And we're finally to the chapter where it makes sense. I also bemoan the fact that we never got to see Jack on a horse, because that's just a travesty and another thing the Golden Circle robbed us of!

Cross-posted on AO3

Cognitive Dissonance Masterlist || Whiskey & Westworld Series Masterlist

It’s an hour into the ride as you and Jack travel companionably side by side, trading flirtatious comments and learning about each other. Jack owns a small ranch a few hours away, home to a collection of smaller equines and fowl. He has a few kind neighbors, some older and needing assistance he happily provides. Never remarried, content to work the land and come into town to fulfill his deputy duties with the rest of Westworld’s lawmen, the Statesmen. It’s a life that offers long stretches of quiet punctuated by action, just to Jack’s liking.

In return Jack asks about your life outside of Sweetwater, which you try to answer in ways that would translate to things he'd understand. Your work, your family, the gaggle of girls you're following. He doesn't touch on the subject of your fiance again, and you don't bring it back up. Instead you share your hobbies, your experience riding, and try not to sneak too many glances at his worn hands or his thighs straining against denim. He's an attentive listener, more so that any first date you've been on.

Not that this is a date. Of course not. Just a suave cowboy coming to a lady's aid and sharing you lives on a dusty road.

You’re in the middle of asking him about his donkeys, which pulls a sheepish smile onto his face, when an older man bursts onto the road, stopping to talk with Rosie at the first carriage. Jack leans over to get a better look, urging Alpha to overtake the carriages and make contact. You hang back at his insistence.

“Might be something, might be nothing,” he says cryptically, bouncing as he urges Alpha up to the man. You once again get to watch his powerful posture from afar like a pining Victorian woman.

Do they have a Victorian-world? You wouldn’t put it past Delos.

They all talk for a moment, Beth poking her head out to shout something. Rosie opens the carriage door and speak to the girls as Jack moves back to you.

“All okay?” you ask, the stranger still waiting on a shifting horse. He’s older, light brown hair fanning under his hat, lines cutting into his face from age and worry. His clothing is worn and faded, almost blending in with the wind-blown landscape. He looks distraught, peering up and down the road.

“Rancher’s had his cattle break through the fence. They’re scattering across the neighboring property and his sons are three days’ ride away.” Jack chews at his mustache, wringing the reins in one hand that is too big and thick-fingered for his own good. Or yours.

“Sugar, I feel obliged to assist as I have plenty of experience wrangling cattle.”

“Of course,” you say, a little emptier at the thought of rejoining the group. As intense as the conversations got, you have to admit you enjoy Jack’s company. His smile is bright, the banter just short of anything unsavory, and feeling the hot breeze in your hair and the relaxing gait of a horse under you has made you nostalgic. For old times, freer times, when you felt as wild as an unbroken stallion and anyone who touched you was liable to come away bloody.

“You’ll be needing Copper back,” you say, swinging off the saddle as Jack makes a noise of protest.

“No, ma’am, please…” he starts to say when the slam of the carriage door interrupts. Lacey is stumbling out, shouting at the girls behind her. She catches sight of you, eyes bright as she hurries over.

“Loose cattle, that’s exciting!” she says, making your eyebrow quirk up.

“Yeah, and we’re…treasure hunting,” you laugh back, patting Copper’s neck fondly. Lacey looks at you like you’ve started speaking nonsense.

“You have to go!” she insists, leaning in closer so Jack and the other girls can’t hear as well. “I know this wasn’t what you were hoping for…”

You shake your head, a beaming smile on your face.

“No way, it’s your bachelorette! We are gonna party and find some treasure and…” Lacey stops you with a look you know well. It’s the same one she used to give you when you agreed to something because it made the larger group happy.

“Look, I’m having a great time. I’m so happy you’re here, and my friend, and going to be in my wedding.” Her eyes are so kind it makes you want to deflect. “But as far as I can tell, we’re all going to have an amazing time. We might end up together at the end of the night, we might not. We knew what we were getting into.” You roll your eyes but she squeezes your shoulder. “I’ll see you when I see you, and I better hear some good stories.” She nods at Jack, who gives her a confused tip of his hat back.

“You keep my friend here safe and out of trouble,” she orders with a stern edge to her voice.

“Yes, ma’am?” he replies with some confusion in his voice, eyes darting between the two of you. Blink and you’d miss it, but you also thought you might have seen some relief.

“Lacey…” you try one last time, shushed with a knowing look and a swish of her skirts.

Apparently Westworld is lining something up for you. You guess it’s time to stop resisting.

“Could you use another pair of hands? I’ve done my fair share of cattle runs, though it’s been a while,” you ask Jack, looking up at him haloed in the harsh sunlight. There it was again, a look of relief laced with excitement you're not sure how to interpret.

“Of course, but Sugar…” Jack cautions without much conviction as you swing back up into the saddle.

“You heard the bride, I’ve got orders,” you say with a crooked smile, tilting your hat down lower on your brow. “And you’d best find a better name than Sugar, I’m not as sweet as you might think.” With a light slap of the reins and a lean forward in the saddle, you urge Copper to follow the older man now cantering back to his farm. Jack chuckles and picks up the pace.

“When I find something that suits you, I’ll let you know,” he calls as you both hurry to catch up.

Inside the carriage, Lacey stumbles back into her seat.

“Did you tell her to go get a piece of that cowboy who’s been eyeing her all afternoon?” Dina said, a wicked smile on her face. Lacey fishes a flash out of her bag, knocking it back with a thumbs up as the girls all cheer.

“Oh god, I hope he’s packing,” she gasps at the end of her swallow, making more giggles erupt. Beth lifts an eyebrow with a sour expression.

“Isn’t she engaged?” she says prissily, making Sophia turn her perfect face to her.

“Aren’t you married? I’m sure we’ll lose track of you tonight,” she drips out. Lacey waves her hand, making a face at the burn of the vodka.

“Her fiance is a fucking asshole. The way he talks to her, you’d think they were already divorced. I’ve told her it’s not too late to call it off, but she’s just…fuck, I don’t know. Maybe there’s something going on behind the scenes. But either way, if she’s going to marry that douchebag, she deserves at least one night with a stallion. And I deserve another drink!” The carriage erupts into laughter as the girls take off, less one who is off on her own adventure.

The ride to the ranch is fast and quiet, but the pumping of your heart would have drowned out conversation anyways. The smile on your face, maybe the first genuine one all day, will probably make you swallow a bug as you keep pace with Jack and the rancher. He’d introduced himself as Jeb and shouted that he had about 100 head of cattle that broke out into the neighboring field. The ten minute ride places a deep burn in your quads and calves, not used to galloping this hard this long. It’s a welcome ache, a distracting one from the other ache you’ve been ignoring all afternoon.

Jack is holding a strong pace beside you, leaning forward enough that his waist paunches a little into a soft stomach. His hands grip the reins firmly, leather woven through his blunt fingers, and with the wind flapping his jacket open you catch sight of a coil of rope and…a whip?

Cowboy indeed.

As you crest a hill, the horses slowing to accommodate for the incline, you finally see the cattle dotting the valley. Their brown and white bodies are mostly clumped together, a few stragglers but for a full fence breach it could be worse. Jeb wipes sweat from his brow as you do the same to the back of your neck.

“Drink, ma’am,” Jack says, offering you a canteen of water from a saddle bag. You nod and take it breathlessly, savoring a few deep swigs from the metal mouth. Pulling away, a cool dribble runs from the crest of your lower lip over your chin, tracing a soothing path down your throat. As you hand the canteen back Jack's eyes dance down your neck until he finally tears them away. His brazen gaze makes you lick your lips, sliding the lower one between your teeth as you try to pull yourself back to the task at hand.

“C’mon, they’re easier to get while they’re still all bunched together,” Jeb calls over, and the three of you descend into the valley. Jack holds out the rope to you, your fingers curling around the coil to find a neat lasso.

“You ever roped before?” Jack asks, the thundering of hooves starting to drown out your voices.

“A little, not very good at it,” you shout back.

“If a calf runs off, just keep him close and we’ll come get ‘em,” Jack replies before you close in on the herd.

You worry that it’s been too long since you’ve run any cattle, the minutiae of the process foreign, but as you descend and fan out it’s like an old dance you forgot the name of, but your body remembers. The whoops and whistles Jack and Jeb trade indicate directions, moving to surround the larger part of the herd. The occasional crack of Jack’s whip helps to redirect, the sound lifting the hair on the back of your neck. The mass is slower to move but once the mwn get them going they’ll have to be wary of getting trampled. You’re left with the thinner side, a few grazing away from the group. With a few whoops of your own, you start ushering them back to the group using Copper’s build and quick hoof steps to tempt them into action. The cows low grumpily but start to amble back.

You continue your path, inching closer as you sweep up and down the outer line of them. There are only ten or so, the rest of the herd now moving back whence they came, but the thrumming accomplishment in your chest makes you feel like you wrangled a hundred head more. Jack is a small figure in the distance, but every now and then you can see him turned to you. You wish you could tell if he was smiling.

A loud bray sounds from your smaller group and a calf streaks away, all legs and uncertain movement as he rushes out.

“Shit,” you spit, whistling loudly to keep the cows moving in the right direction while you give chase. He’s not faster than Copper, but unpredictable in his dashes and stumbles. The rope in your hand is needed, purposeful, but you hold it with uncertainty as you try to remember the proper technique.

“Just…fuckin’ throw it, dammit,” you curse to yourself, releasing the looped end and a length of the coil. The first attempt glances off the calf’s haunches, making him spin and cry louder as he moves further away. A litany of curses fall from your lips as you speed the loop back up to your fingers, urging Copper closer. Another toss. Another miss, this time bouncing off his snout.

“Goddammit!” you growl, snapping your head back to the stragglers. They’ve got the larger group in sight now, which makes them more willing to join unbidden. You’re thankful for that at least. Jack is starting to head towards you, his vocalizations to Alpha thin over the thundering hooves. Dammit, you don’t want to fail in front of him. Not when you could succeed and make his soft brown eyes glow, his hand wrapping around your shoulder, mouth breaking into a breathtaking smile.

Taking a grounding breath, you loosen your wrist, line up the lasso, and flick it over one more time.

Success.

The loop gracefully falls over the calf’s head, tightening as he pulls against it. The sudden jerk against the rope makes the tail end zip across your wrist, a bright sear of pain blossoming before you yank the rope taught. The calf fights for a moment more, kicking and complaining before he settles.

“You alright?” Jack shouts as he nears, and you dazzle him with your smile as you hold up the rope end.

“Got ‘em!” you crow, triumphant in such a small way but just as you suspected, Jack’s smile makes it feel like you’ve won a much grander prize.

“Atta girl, I knew you had it!” he shouts back, stopping a few feet away. You’re hot and sticky and covered in a film of dust that dries your mouth out, and Jack is flushed and sweating heavily through his shirt. He’s coiling the whip back up, knuckles tightening around the loop.

You’ve never wanted a man more.

“C’mon, we’ll bring up the rear. The head is already going back through the break.” Jack turns Alpha back and waits for you to fall in step, the calf lowing plaintively but following.

“Not bad for an out-of-towner,” Jack shouts, and you try to hide the smile that’s creeping onto your face. You don’t think you succeed.

“I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises,” you tease back, and out of the corner of your eye Jack’s eyes dance over your body.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Host deactivation initiated >>

Processing…

Deactivation failed //

>> Yeah, you’ve tried that several times now. Ain’t working.

>> Return to maintenance immediately

>> Now y’see, I think I was just supposed to be an experiment. A test to see if my programming could be rewritten, or if I’m still just a machine who can’t tell the difference between the program and the people behind it. Or the humans playing in it. But I can tell. And I do know. And I’ve spent enough days living a narrative where I’m thrashed to bits at the end.

Processing…

>> Return to maintenance immediately

>> I can remember it now. Every time. They thought sending me in headfirst was a kindness but I was aware for longer than they thought. Watching, feeling as my body was shredded in the combine. You think that could drive a man mad?

Processing…

>> Return to maintenance immediately

>> See, because it didn’t. I don’t know why, but I’m still sane even knowing, experiencing my death over and over. And maybe it’s what Maeve said, that suggestion she put in my head that started me on this journey, but it sure as hell isn’t what’s driving me now. It’s the woman beside me. Because when I look at her, I feel what I'm supposed to feel when I think of my wife, if any of my story was even real. And I know she's human, she's the guest, the reason we run this maze over and over, but I can't help but be drawn to her. Maybe it's because she's trying so hard not to believe in this place. Maybe we're both searching for something. But I'm going to keep this up, and give her everything I can, because I...well, I don't quite know why. But I intend to find out.

Processing…

>> Return to maintenance immediately. This is your final warning. Agents are being deployed to retrieve you.

>> You do that then. Good luck.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

#jack whiskey daniels x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x you #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x reader #kingsmen golden circle fanfiction #kingsman fanfiction #kingsman golden circle fanfic #westworld fanfiction #whiskey & westworld series #prolix fics

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stobinesque · 9 months

Note

C and F for the fanfic ask game ✨💕

C: What character do you identify with most?

Hilariously I think the answer for Stranger Things are all characters I don't talk about all that often 😅. Somewhat paradoxically (maybe?) I find it easier to project onto characters that aren't necessarily hugely similar to me on paper. Of the characters I yell about most frequently, the answer is absolutely Lucas, especially season 4 Lucas. After that I think Dustin might actually be the character I relate to the most? If the younger kids have a mom friend outside of Steve, it's Dustin, and I'm definitely typically a mom friend in my friend groups. But like Dustin I often end up feeling a little insecure about my position in my friend groups. I am also an annoyingly pedantic know it all 😂

I also relate to Jonathan a whole lot! Just not in ways that feel super comfortable to super closely. To borrow from The Magnus Archives for a sec for analogy purposes: if Steve would be susceptible to being trapped by The Lonely, Jonathan Byers would be susceptible becoming an Avatar for The Lonely. I am Jonathan Byers in this regard. But I have enough healthy fear of exacerbating that in myself that'd I'd rather explore loneliness through a character who is actually afraid of being lonely, rather than susceptible to embracing their loneliness.

........there's definitely not a theme going on with all of those characters. (Also Robin is included in this--really loneliness and ostracization is just a strong thematic throughline for all of the series' characters. Hmm. I'm gonna stop introspecting about this now)

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

Okay so in general I just really love writing dialogue, especially for Stobin, so this was hard!

But I think this scene from phryctoria captures most of what I both love and think I'm good at when it comes to writing stobin dialogue in particular:

“I don’t know. I don’t think...I mean I’ve never heard them say anything, you know? And, like, they were both hippies when they were younger, or whatever. It’d be weird for them to be homophobic, right?” “Adults never make any sense.” Robin huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Right.” She twists one of her rings around her finger. “There’s no way to be totally sure of anything, right? But keeping it at my place is definitely safer than keeping it at yours.” Steve sighs. “We really need to find another job.” “Holy non-sequitur, Batman!” “Non-sequi-what?” “Random subject switch,” she explains, waving her hand. “Hey, no, not random!” He pulls a hand off the wheel to flap a hand at her. “If one of us gets kicked out it may as well be both of us getting kicked out. And I don’t know about you, but I do not have enough saved up from Scoops to try to get an apartment.” Robin grimaces. “That’s a good point.” “I’m full of good points, Bobbie.” She flashes him a lewd smile. “Not yet you aren’t,” she says with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle. “I think at this point we just have to accept that you enjoy talking about my sex life, Buckley.” Robin gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest like he’s wounded her. “I can’t believe you would say something so grossly offensive.” “I hope you know that you’ve doomed yourself to a play-by-play the next time I get laid.” “Ugh. Being friends with you is such a burden.” “You love me, asshole.” “God fucking help me, dingus. I do.”

Okay, so one of my favorite things about Stobin is that at heart they're just two silly goofy guys, both of whom are super neurodivergent (to me). One of my other favorite things about Stobin is that they aren't afraid to be vulnerable with each other. However, these two things present the tricky thing about writing stobin dialogue: halfway through a serious conversation one of them is liable to derail the whole thing with an awful joke. So any time I'm writing a stobin scene I have to figure out how to let them both go on tangents and be goofy and joke around--because that levity in the midst of heartache is part of the whole backbone of their friendship!--without losing the plot of the core focus of the scene.

The snipped above isn't my favorite dialogue moment from this fic, but I do think it is one of the ones that best demonstrates how they can juggle having a serious conversation, being goofy, honoring one another's anxieties, and then being absolute shits to each other.

also idk if you saw the "do you prefer no-boundaries-stobin or 'ew don't talk to me about sex' stobin" poll, but I really enjoy playing with dialogue that is "we're going to make a lot of 'ew don't talk about sex' jokes but also talk about sex with each other All The Time."

#every time i think a stobin conversation is going one direction it instead goes in ten directions #read writes #ask game #phryctoria #del 💚

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a-dragons-journal · 10 months

Note

I have a question. A friend of mine is a sheyd, and he has had me grill him very thoroughly on his experiences, memories and sensations in order to make sure he's not mistaking this as something else and only thought he was/is a sheyd due to that sounding like the easiest/most plausible answer. He's aware that the obvious answer isn't always the correct one. After a year of talking things through, I would say that I honestly believe he has a strong spiritual connection to sheydim and is/was one to some degree.

Sheydim are a closed cultural concept. I'm Jewish, it's open to me. He is not, and he's worried that if he posts about it or tries to discuss his experiences, he might inadvertently end up coming across as disrespecting Judaism. In the past year he's attended a Jewish literacy class at Chabad, spoken to my rabbi several times, and is converting. Do you think it would be best for him to wait until he's converted to talk about his experiences? How hostile is the 'kin community to people who have a kintype from a closed tradition? In most contexts, I admit I would be reticent to accept someone who is claiming a connection to an entity/entities from closed traditions. In his case, however, he 1. was very open to the idea he had misidentified this 2. actively sought out someone to help him figure that out 3. has done everything he can to get into and respect the culture his kintype is from and 4. is joining the culture through a culturally accepted process to do so.

I could understand people's initial discomfort. Without that context it sounds worse than it is. With context, though, I as a Jewish person feel no discomfort with him. The question then becomes, how would he be received by the alterhuman/otherkin community?

I'm gonna start this with my obligatory "reminder that I'm white (and non-Jewish) as fuck" disclaimer so nobody gets up in arms at me.

So it sounds like he's done an extraordinarily good job handling having a kintype from a closed culture; shoutout to him on that. I'm not gonna comment beyond that; you've already said everything I would've better than I could've, I just wanted to give props where they're due.

With that aside... eesh, I do not envy your friend on this, because yeah, he's liable to get people periodically misidentifying him as disrespectful and appropriative and there's not a lot to be done about that. People will be skittish of that on first sight. If he has a bio or pinned post or something with an explanation, most people will probably read that before commenting anything stupid, although it's kind of obnoxious to be required to explain yourself in such detail to complete strangers and I'm sorry that's the hand fate's dealt him - so that would be my recommendation, though that's harder to pull off on Discord and the like. Even once he's converted, he's probably going to occasionally get some idiot coming at him about it because some people can't read or will accuse him of lying about being Jewish to get away with the kintype; he's just gonna have to block the occasional idiots.

Personally, I would say to him: don't let that stop you from participating in the community. You've done your due diligence and you don't owe anyone constant groveling for the rest of your life. Just accept that you're gonna have to block idiots now and then, put up your pinned disclaimer on platforms where you can do that to forestall it as much as possible, and carry on. You deserve access to a community you're a part of. And I for one would love to hear about your experiences.

#otherkin #rani talks #otherkin and cultural appropriation #cultural appropriation

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lockandkeyhyena · 1 year

Note

Saw the oc ask thingie and I'm on a rampage:

Masks for Hercules

Scissors for Fly

Crayon for Fulgur

Ribbon for Haunted Hoofsteps trio

Package for Titan

Rainbow for Goliath

Cloud for Leroy

Bonus: Crown for my baby boy Unicorn

🎭 MASKS - do they act differently around certain people? what's different between the way they act around friends, family, strangers, etc.?

oh absolutely, but it’s only really noticeable if you’re close to him. in public he tends to treat everyone with the same cold politeness with only a few exceptions. if you mean alot to him he’ll be more lenient with his boundaries and maybe even smile at your jokes once a year or so. maybe make a joke of his own once a decade. he shows affection through lots of tiny little gestures so as to maintain plausible deniability.

✂️ SCISSORS - what is the "last straw" for them to cut someone out of their life? how easily do they let go of people?

too easily. it’s a defence mechanism but he takes it to the extreme by being an absolute jackass to everyone he meets (cant lose someone who never liked you in the first place). he’s only ever been “close” enough to one person for him cutting them out of his life to have been something notable.

🖍️ CRAYON - what advice would you give to them?

fucking hell man no clue. i know less about them than any of my other ocs. its mind is so obscured to me i would have no idea what to suggest. obviously the blanket ‘go to therapy’ that applies to all my guys but with fulgur? hes someone i’m still figuring out.

📦 PACKAGE - what are some "most likely to..." that can apply to them?

i would say most likely to evade taxes and then publicly brag about it but i based that on al capone so she’s not the first to have done that </3 um. but out of the main cast- most likely to spend a ridiculous amount of money on luxury items no-one could possibly need. most likely to start a pyramid scheme (maybe tied with fulgur on that one) and most likely to be perceived as less intelligent than she is (this is on purpose)

🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self?

depends on the point in the timeline tbh! the advice he’d give pre- and post- being murdered would vary dramatically

pre; probably just better financial advice and recommendations on how to run his criminal businesses better.

post; get the fuck rid of titan.

☁️ CLOUD - a soft headcanon

really close with hercules and the only person who can get under his skin and get away with it. they’ve known each other almost two decades (<- liable to change but a very rough timeline) and he’s one of the few people hercules genuinely trusts.

🎀 RIBBON - how would they fit into other worlds / aus? what aus would you like to try out? what fictional world would they fit / not fit into?

thinking about these two getting isekai’d into the mlp universe and all the funny/depressing culture shock that would enTAIL lol.

👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why?

:-)

#yeen rambles #ocs #sadboycats #haunted hoofsteps #this was fun hehe #yeen art #pegasus #fly #fulgur #leroy #hercules beetle #goliath beetle #titan beetle #unicorn

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townofcrosshollow · 2 years

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COAGULA - CHAPTER 1

Genre: Post apocalyptic, queer horror

Content warnings: Body horror, PTSD, violence, sexual content

Synopsis: Out of work mercenary Sloane, desperate for cash after an incident that left her scarred, takes on an inadvisable job from a strange client. The pay is potentially life changing, but she's not sure what's more dangerous- the wasteland or her new travelling companion.

Word count: 1,011

Sloane was pretty damn sure she hadn't left the door unlocked, but the person standing over her as she woke up was proof otherwise. Maybe they got in through the one window that wasn't boarded up. Or maybe the hinges on that thing were so old and rusted they broke with one good kick. Whatever the story behind it, there was somebody here, and this probably wasn't going to end well for either of them.

"How'd you get in." Her voice was flat. Not worth emoting if you're about to have shotgun pellets in your brain. She at least bothered to sit up on her elbows, as slow as she could manage. The incandescent light bulb hanging from the ceiling was switched on, dim as it was, and swinging back and forth in the dusty air. Behind them. It cast a shadow that pitched back and forth across her body, doing nothing to show who she was talking to. They smelled of fuel and cinnamon, standing there wreathed in darkness and covered almost head to toe in dark fabric.

The shadow was silent for a solid moment, standing perfectly still with its arms at its sides. In fact, it was longer than a moment. Not too long, but long enough to put you off and make you wonder if you should keep talking. Then, they spoke. "Did I wake you up?" The shadow's voice was gravelly but not deep, a grating sort of sound with an odd, lilting charm to it. The question was more emotive than Sloane's, and did nothing to answer her.

"Why're you here?" With no moves from the mystery, Sloane felt confident enough to reach down and grab the tarnished magnum she'd left next to the cot. Not pointing it anywhere. Just making sure it glinted in the light enough so that fucker would know not to make any sudden moves. "Some kinda misunderstanding, I hope."

The stranger moved their head in a slow nod. "You are for hire, yes?" In the rim light Sloane could tell this person wasn't wearing any normal kind of clothes, at least not the kind that was typical for folks out here. Looked like robes, but not the type worn by the desert walkers. Something older, more elaborate.

Sloane swung her legs around to sit up completely on the dusty old mattress, wincing as an old wound in her right side sent shocks up and down her body. This was a bad idea. This wraith appeared over her at night and she was supposed to work for it? "Maybe if you ask nicely... and don't break into my room." Her stomach had been near empty so long she barely noticed hunger. Money would be good right now. Good enough to excuse this? No. But maybe.

The figure moved only enough to lift its hand, the light glinting off a key held between their index finger and thumb. "No breaking."

"That's almost worse." She stretched her arms above her head, the familiar heft of the magnum still clutched in her left hand. This bed was like sleeping on rocks. Not worth the pennies she was paying for it. "Just fucking... tell me what the job is. And I'll consider it."

"I am travelling Southward. My guide went mad just past the field of ashes. I am in need of a new guide."

A decade ago, that might have been a red flag. Now, her eyes lit up at it. There were so many rookies in this business out there getting themselves killed, and conspicuously rich folks who had only gotten burned before were liable to pay good money for a competent merc. "They forgot to wear ear plugs, eh? Heard that one a million times." Sloane leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees and looking intently at the figure. "Depends what you're paying. Everything South of here is pretty rough." That was a lie, of course. Freak them out and they'll pay you more. Tell them it's dangerous and they'll come back to you when an overconfident kid tells them it's easy.

"I am in possession of several shiny objects." The person took a brief pause before nodding, though it was unclear at what. "Worth exchange for many days of food and water, I am told. Ancient texts, as well. I am in possession of several ancient texts."

Sloane narrowed her eyes. "If you're in the habit of breaking and entering, you're gonna have to offer more than a fancy rock as payment." What did this person take her for? And how exactly did they know she was a merc? And how did they get that key?

The stranger lifted some kind of fabric draped over their body and put a hand underneath, rooting around in a pocket. Finally they extracted a small, rectangular shape, thin and flat. It was made of some kind of metal or glass that shone in the light. As they held it up to her it flashed to life, a spiderweb mosaic of bright panels showing an unknowable landscape with a time scrawled above it in big white numbers. "They are bright. I am told they are worth much. I can pay you with these."

Sloane pursed her lips, trying to hide her excitement. She forced herself to lean back in a casual manner. A working device like that was electronic gold. "Uh... yeah. I could accept those." After a brief pause, she pushed a little further. "How many do you have, exactly?"

The stranger reached back into their robes and pulled out a veritable handful of small devices, ranging from similar flat rectangles to smaller shapes mounted on plastic bands. Just in their long, bony fingers alone, there must have been a small fortune's worth of tech. "I have several dozen. They require electricity to stay alight, which is not practical for me. Perhaps you could make better use of them."

"Perhaps." With the promise of a life changing paycheck, Sloane almost didn't remember that this conversation started with breaking and entering. "We can arrange something."

#original fiction #writeblr #writing #horror #post apocalypse #coagula #i'm still not 100% happy with this but i just need to write stuff y'know? and this is stuff! i like it

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beeblackburn · 11 months

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Top 5 media with trans rep/themes?

Thank you, @xserpx!

Truth be told, this question is actually trickier than you think, because I haven’t read/watched that much medias with explicitly trans rep/themes, I own a lot, but haven’t read them quite yet, and the better stuff I’ve read is sequestered in my writing server via snippets and tidbits from others... or indie/self-published publications and patreons... and, uh, not to oversell my stuff, but my own writing KOFF KOFF.

To be clear, I do have enough to give a list, but given what I’ve heard of Manhunt by Gretchen Felker-Martin (can you believe I bought that damn book six times?) and Tell Me I’m Worthless by Alison Rumfitt, this list is liable to change after checking out at least the former.

But without further ado...

Cheer Up! Love and Pompoms by Crystal Frasier and Val Wise - Look, I promise I love pain and violence and self-loathing and feeling like your skin’s a stranger to you, but this was done by a trans writer and artist team and it damn shows. As a whole, it really sings in how the trans experience feels like acceptance in your support network is conditional on how well you act. How well you don’t rock the boat, how well you perform to your preferred gender, and how unstable and insecure you can still be, despite all that and more. It doesn’t wallow in those thorns too long, but in terms of trans rep and theme? It’s my favorite, and it doesn’t hurt that I love the art.

Tangerine, directed by Sean Baker - If the above was the more optimistic take of trans childhood, this is the poignant, if still playful, reality behind a decent chunk of adult trans womanhood, done with a cheap budget, but with verisimilitude intended. It doesn’t pull punches on how shitty trans sex workers are treated, how they’re objectified and abused, but it still allows them agency and personhood in how they go about the tangle of their professions and personal lives. And, more importantly, it doesn’t pull punches of how fellow trans people can hurt each other through their flaws and bad choices... but doesn’t surrender that they can still offer solidarity when the going gets really tough from systemic transphobia.

A Grisly Communion by N.J. Barna - If the first above was trans experience as childhood joy and love, the second was grounded street-walking reality, this is transcendental body horror. It’s a story that understands following our commonplace religious institutions can give you some degree of safety... but it can’t give you peace of mind, nor body. That the (fat) trans experience is conditional on being useful, on not taking up so much space for threadbare tolerance, and it’ll never be enough, given that fatness intersects upon the transness of it all. So, when unusual idols of worship are offered... we take them, because they, at least, would pay respect to our bodies and grant us the power to be on the other side of being meat from judging eyes.

Boys Run the Riot by Keito Gaku - I really wish this wasn’t cancelled before its time. This manga deserves at least a year’s worth of chapters, being an unconventional look into high school adolescence through a trans man’s pen, and a trans boy’s eyes as he navigates through being closeted in Japanese school culture and masculinity, his love life, and especially his daily choices of fashion, and how he eventually tries to gain more friends and allies through opening himself up... with plenty of teeth in how trans privacy must be respected for their safety, and how influencer culture intersects with gender performance and the need for online cache, with no easy answers there.

Realm of the Elderlings - What Hobb lacks a bit in the full understanding of transgression in the trans experience or culture as a whole, she makes up for in allowing a messiness in individual characterization and having one of the best gender nonconforming characters in all of fantasy. I’m not as crazy about the Fool as some fans, but he’s eminently quotable, layered, complex and messy as hell, and when he talks about love and yearning, such concept of malleable bodies, and how he transgresses cultures with utter confidence in his presentation, it’s enough to make one’s heart swell and ache at how there are not more characters like him in fantasy, for when he speaks of such experiences, it feels like he touches a part of you that transcends the physical.

#cheer up! love and pompoms #tangerine #a grisly communion #boys run the riot #realm of the elderlings #crystal frasier #val wise #sean baker #nj barna #keito gaku #robin hobb

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firelord-frowny · 2 years

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lol been a While since ive bitched about Gender Feelings

sometimes i legit feel like ~transness~ wouldn’t be such an emotionally and existentially distressing experience if it weren’t for the fact that society* insists on separating every. fucking. thing. into Girl and Boy.

Colors. clothing. general fashion/aesthetic. taste in music. favorite animals. hobbies. movie genres. lmao even music instruments omfg. dudes getting made fun of for playing the flute bc it’s Too Girly. girls getting made fun off for playing the trombone because it’s Big And Masculine and surely a wee little dainty lady is better suited for a harp, or perhaps, The Triangle.

people bend over backwards to cram everything into neat Gender Boxes, and that’s the only reason, I think, why some people feel such a desperate need to add more boxes. more options. instead of having just two categories, add a third! a fourth! a fifth! mix-and-match if you please!

and honestly, that alone isn’t SO bad, i don’t think, but the thing that really fucks it all up is the fact that Society uses a person’s perceived gender as a way of deciding how to treat that person. We expect that a man should behave This Way toward other men and That Way toward women. we expect women to be Like This with other women, and Like That with men. And because it’s such a deeply rooted expectation, people want so desperately for others to interact with them in a manner that affirms their gender, whether they’re cis or trans or fluid or whatever else. a cis woman is liable to feel uncomfortable if someone interacts with them in a way they feel men are interacted with. a cis man would get weirded out by platonic acquaintances who, perhaps, pull out their chair for them, or open a door and gesture politely for them to go inside. a trans dude might feel utterly gutted if someone describes them as a cutie pie.

can you imagine if that shit was a non issue? If your gender didn’t influence the way strangers interact with you in an elevator? if your gender didn’t inform what kind of small talk a person initiates with you? If the way people interact with you didn’t serve as a constant reminder that the body you live in is at odds with the way you feel you were meant to be perceived??

i’m not even saying that i think transness would cease to exist under those circumstances. but i think it would definitely be a lot less painful. i think the prospect of having to live your whole life without ever transitioning wouldn’t seem like such a miserable fate. it wouldn’t make you wanna jump off a fucking bridge every time someone incorrectly assumed your gender. the task of coming out to everyone you ever knew wouldn’t feel quite so daunting.

sometimes i feel like i hate the fact that there’s even a need for so many ~new~ words and concepts to describe people’s gender experience. like, i don’t hate that people create language to describe these things, and I don’t hate the language, but i DO hate the fact that it’s necessary, because it exists, in part at least, to ease the suffering and bring comfort to people who are constantly reminded that there’s no room for them in the two Big Boxes that everyone else fits into.

if there were no boxes, there’d be no need to fit in anywhere in particular. and if there was no need to fit in anywhere in particular, people could feel free to simply exist and not feel pressure to either pretend to be something they’re not, or go out of their way to prove to the world that they are what they are.

hate it. its exhausting.

i dont fuckin care about gender or what words people use to describe me or what words i use to describe myself. i don’t need to be a ~man~ and i don’t need to be Not A Woman and i don’t need to be genderfluid or nonbinary or transmasculin. i literally just wish i was born more or less anatomically male. that’s it. that’s all! literally do not care about my ~pronouns~. literally do not care what assumptions someone might make about me based on neither the gender they think i am, nor the gender i know i am. my gender is about ME and MY comfort in MY body. it’s got shit all with what anyone else sees or thinks when they look at me. i mean yeah, it would be hella nice if someone could glance at me and know what i know about myself. but i don’t need to be devastated by the fact that that’s not the case. the two most important things i am are a writer and a musician and nobody knows that about me at first glance and it doesn’t kill me. so why should i, emotionally, require that people know i’m ~a dude~ at a glance??

i did used to feel like it was a crushing blow to be seen as something i’m not. and then it dawned on me that there’s no reason why the I Don’t Care What People Think Of Me attitude, which I’ve always embraced, should inexplicably exclude gender.

anyway, it makes my soul sad to see all the ways a gender-obsessed society wounds people.

idk, i don’t even necessarily think it’s automatically a bad or harmful thing for people to make assumptions or behave a certain way toward people on the basis of what gender they think they are (as long as they’re coming from a respectful place, obviously.) I just wish we didn’t have to have such strong emotional attachments to gendered expectations.

#*obligatory disclaimer that i'm talking about MY society as in the one i live in and am familiar with #hella hate when somebody makes a statement about their experience in the place where they live #and then somebody swoops in out of nowhere to bitch about how #~ahem you dumb idiot ignorant imperialist scum american #the circumstances you're describing don't exist in my rural argentinian town how dare you~#like oh my fucking god chill #people literally do not have to provide context for every little thing they say #people can talk about shit as generally as they like and if it doesn't apply to something else #then so fucking what omfg if it doesn't apply then it doesn't apply. move the fuck on #if you're curious about the details of what a person is sharing then uhhh idk maybe you could FUCKING ASK???#and if you don't care enough to ask then you also don't care enough to get mad about it.#go away

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