#cw for gay people I guess?

[the-good-luck-anomaly]

WOUND UNDER THE CUT. CW FOR WOUND

[foccaccia]

does anyone have recommendations for fictional media that has like. actual lesbians in it. not like supergirl Two White Skinny Girls, One Blonde and One Brunette Kiss media, or "its implied lesbianism!!!" but just regular fucking lesbians

[mechacringekitty]

love that the topic of bottom surgery accidentally came up once in a conversation with my mom and she seems super opposed to the idea LMAO .i love having a "supportive" parent. she's so men hater core

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

i think im going to throw up

[sp1resong]

oneshot ft. a couple of historical characters from caveclan lore because i was in the mood for angst

Sometimes Emberstar missed it.

Sometimes she missed the days when it was just her and Minkstar, when they were just Embershine and Minksong. When they were running on the same timer as those they cared about, when their hearts could be trusted to stay silent were they to stop.

When they were apprentices and warriors and deputies, when they joked about being leaders together but never really meant it. When they made promises they thought they wouldn't have time to break, when they fell in love and were sure it would outlive them.

Emberstar recalled getting annoyed with how distant Sunstar had been when she acted as his deputy.

She understood now, of course. Eternity was a very long time.

She found herself hoping that each death would be her last, despite knowing that she would know when the end came near.

She found herself drifting away from her Clanmates, barely remembering their names but noticing all too sharply the features shared with their long-gone ancestors.

This was SnowClan and the cats under Minkstar were CliffClan. Emberstar knew this. And yet the Clan she had grown up with was SnowClan, too, and this wasn't that.

Wasn't it funny, she mused, how words and especially names could change their meaning until you became utterly disconnected from what they stood for?

Tensions were getting higher every day. Emberstar was tempted to start a war just to feel something, to fight in a battle alongside cats she knew as allies. To do something so pointlessly terrible that the stars would finally have to claim her.

Of course, it was Minkstar who attacked first, in the end. Emberstar was all too eager to fight back.

The war was long and violent and awful, but Emberstar enjoyed it perhaps a little too much. These were the highest stakes she'd seen in a while, and she wasn't about to give that up just yet.

The war had lasted five years.

Emberstar and Minkstar met in the aftermath of a particularly bloody battle. They had each died at least once in the past two days alone--their deaths had become as routine as hunger.

They'd killed each other before. It was nothing new.

By all means, this battle would end the same as all the others.

And yet--

And yet, looking in each other's eyes, both of them knew, deep down, that this would be different.

This death would be their last, and they knew it.

So they fought, and fought, and fought until they physically couldn't anymore. Neither had sustained injuries that would grant them a particularly quick death, but nonetheless they were too badly injured to speed up the process.

As they lay next to each other, dying and bloodstained with fur between their claws and corpses scattered around them, Minkstar spoke.

It was obviously difficult for her to get the words out, with her injuries, but she managed.

"Do you remember?"

Emberstar turned her head as much as she could. "What?"

"When we were warriors." Minkstar continued. "We... we promised."

And Emberstar, of course, remembered. "We'd die together and enter the stars side by side. We'd... we'd never be apart."

Minkstar nodded, laughing weakly. "I guess that worked out, one way or another."

"I guess it did." Emberstar met Minkstar's eyes. "I'll see you in StarClan, then."

"Deal." And Minkstar was silent, and so was Emberstar, and finally, finally the war was over.

[me-writes-prompts]

:-“What are we?” Prompts-:

Cw: suggestive

By @me-writes-prompts

“Whatever you want us to be.”

“Good old pals who don’t want to admit their feelings for each other. That’s what we are.”

“Enemies. I mean, what else could we be?”

“Young and dumb.”

“Hmmm. You tell me.”

“Not this question again.”

“Coffee lovers.” “Lovers?”

“Work colleagues. What else?”

“Interesting. What exactly are we?”

“Childhood best friends.” “I mean, yes. But, what about something more?”

“Rivals, is my guess.”

“Two awkward nerds who can’t communicate about their feelings?”

“Whatever the fuck they call people that are not-yet-lovers-but-still-kiss-and-have-sex-sometimes. Friends with benefits, is it?”

“I mean…we’re friends, right?”

“Jeez, the last time you asked this question, we ended up arguing about it for hours.”

“Nah uh, we’re not going there today.”

“I know you’re not asking this question after we’ve been married for 7 years. Goodness.”

“Ummm, I don’t know. What do you think we are?”

“Idiots in love.”

“We are confused. That’s what we are right now, and that’s okay.”

“No, the right question is “what could we be?”

“We’re gay.”

[steviewashere]

What's A Boy in Love Supposed To Do?

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Biphobia, Eddie Being Kind of an Asshole at First, Use of the Word Queer (But not as a Slur) Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Aware of Own Bisexuality Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Angry Steve Harrington, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Temporary Unrequited Love/Feeligns, Rejection, (But not completely because Eddie doesn't know how he feels yet), Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Confident Steve Harrington, Bitchy Steve Harrington, (And he deserves to be here), Eddie Munson Being an Idiot, Eddie Munson Figuring Things Out, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, (But He's Not in Love Yet), Mild Resolve, Dialogue Heavy, Author is Bisexual For @steddieangstyaugust Day 24 Prompt: "Go, see if I care." Title from "Oh l'amour" by Erasure

🏳️‍🌈—————🏳️‍🌈 “As flattered as I am, Steve, I don’t want to be somebody’s experiment.”

He blinks at Eddie. Rigid to the cushion he sits on. It’s an instantaneous reaction: the flush of his cheeks, the pull to his lips, the narrowing of his eyes. A rage, he doesn’t think he’s felt since Jonathan Byers and his camera, begins to fill him. Can feel it low in the pit of his stomach and pulsing in the center of his forehead.

The gall of this asshole, Steve thinks, I can’t believe this shit.

Steve clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth. “Excuse me?” he asks thinly, “what the hell are you talking about?” His hands lay on his knees and squeeze harshly, fingernails digging through the denim of his jeans.

Eddie’s mouth twists. A sharp breath shoots through his nose. He looks away from Steve’s face, shrugging. “I mean,” he says slowly, “I mean…you like girls, Steve. This could just be a fluke. Like a…like maybe you should put more thought into this.”

Can’t help himself, Steve scoffs loudly. “Genuinely, Eddie, what the fuck are you talking about? I come out to you, I tell you that I like you, and you—what—turn this around as if I’m stupid about my feelings?”

“I guess?” Eddie answers, honest in a way Steve thinks he shouldn’t be. “You’re just…you’re confused. You’ve got some wires crossed or something. Maybe it’s just because I share some features with Nancy. But you don’t like me, Steve. Not really.”

He’s honestly not sure how to respond to that. Part of him is wilted. Part of him is alive with fury and flames, with tension, and unease. This feeling through him is the thing he doesn’t know. Steve falls back into his seat on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest, and avoiding all of Eddie he’d be able to see.

“Can’t believe this,” Steve mutters, “can’t believe you’re treating me like this, too. Why does everybody think that.”

“What do you”—

“I’ve been to queer bars, y’know,” he explains bitterly, “been in there searching for people who catch my eye. Because, get this if you can, I’m not a picky person.” Steve glares daggers at Eddie. “Because, and if you can believe me on this, I know what I want. Surprising, I know. But you wouldn’t know that because you treat me like everybody does—like I’m some brainless fucking low-life who only knows how to use his dick and bat his eyes.

“I go out and tell these people at the bars that I’m bisexual. That I’m into guys, that I’m into girls. Tell ‘em that, yeah, I only have experience getting in bed with a girl. But it’s not like I’m not interested in that aspect with guys, too—I just haven’t had the chance, you understand me on that, I’m sure.” And that maybe hits a little too hard; knowing that Eddie’s gay and that his experience with sex is very limited. He continues, though, “Yet, as soon as I try and explain myself, I get pushed away. I get looked at all weird. One time, a guy told me I wasn’t queer enough to be with him. Like…what the fuck does that even mean?”

“Steve, I”—

He points a finger in Eddie’s face, hand shaking and palm sweating. “Don’t interrupt me. You came out to me and I listened all the way through; you get to hear me out, too.” Steve huffs. Draws his hand back towards his lap, immediately going to his habit of picking at his fingers. Trying to allocate the nerves he has, the ones that were so intense a few moments ago. “How queer do I have to be to want to kiss a guy?” he speaks rhetorically and quietly, “how queer do I have to be to appreciate the way they smile at me? Or…or how queer do I have to be to want to hold your hand, Eddie? Seriously. What’s it gonna take? Is it ‘experimenting’ if I know that I want it? Is it ‘experimenting’ if I know how much I already love you?

“Because I do, if you can believe that. I fell in love with you before I really had the words. And I fell in love with you before I came to the realization that I like guys, too. But I know my own feelings. I’ve been in love before, I think I can understand that part of me.” He looks down at his hands in his lap, eyes burning, throat stinging, and face flushing hot. “I wish I didn’t have to explain something I already know. But I guess I will for however long people question the authenticity of my sexuality. Including you, I guess.”

The room fills with tense silence after that. Air so hot and so thick, he can feel it heavy on his shoulders, weighing him further and further, and making him sink deep into the cushion underneath him.

Sure, this isn’t the first time he’s been rejected. Nancy did. Robin did. Now Eddie is. He’s been rejected by guys at the bars and clubs. Maybe he doesn’t have the whole knowledge or ‘etiquette’ to this yet, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to learn. He wants to call a guy his baby, hook his finger into their belt loop, drag them into a dark corner and kiss them soundly and breathlessly. Wants to take a guy home at the end of the night and hold his hand as they figure out each other’s bodies. Kiss him in the morning, if the guy sticks around. Wants to relish in the scratch of facial hair on his sensitive skin.

He could see himself with men, that’s the thing. He knows that in his fantasies—whether it be imagining himself with the men in the centerfolds of gay magazines, or the daydreams of being in love with Freddie Mercury—that he’s completely comfortable with the thought of being with a man. Loves the thought of it so much, that he finally realized he wanted that with Eddie especially. Because a night-in with Eddie, watching a movie, arm around his back, cushioning his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder, kissing each other slow and soft—all of that sounds like heaven, a dream that could animate and he could make real.

On the couch, distance between them, Steve’s never felt so far away from a dream of his. Even that initial daydream with Nancy sounds more probable than falling in love with Eddie slowly and surely. He sort of, really, hates that.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes. “I don’t know what to say.”

An apology might be nice, Steve sourly thinks. He just shrugs, though. “I don’t know what I want you to say, so,” he states quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Eddie give one sharp nod. “This is…a lot to take in. I should just leave.”

Of course. Run away, Eds. Run away like you always do. “Go. See if I care,” Steve murmurs. Face at his lap still, tears ready to spill down his cheeks. A part of him thinks that he’ll never see Eddie again. He doesn’t want that. But maybe…maybe it’s for the best? It’s the one thing he doesn’t know.

Eddie stands up, walks towards the door, but stops in the doorway to the living room. He raps his knuckles on the doorframe. Steve can’t help but look up. “I accept you,” Eddie says quietly, “even if it’s too easy to say or too easy to hear, but I do. Just let me have a little bit of time to think about your confession, Steve. I think I feel the same, but I want to be confident like you. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

He inhales slowly and lets out a soft breath through his mouth. Steve wants a better apology, but one thing at a time, he supposes. It was hard when he figured things out for himself; it’s harder to hold a grudge against somebody doing the exact same thing. “If you find out you feel the same,” Steve says hopefully, “can we hold hands?”

“Stevie, when I’m confident about how I feel, we can do whatever you want. I’ll be back, I promise. I’ll have better words and a better apology, too.” He lets go of the doorframe, where he rested his hand after knocking on it. But before he can leave, he looks Steve directly in the eyes. Says, “And there’s no such thing as ‘queer enough’. You’re perfect as-is, Steve. I’m just stupid. And those other guys are complete assholes for not even attempting to get their heads out of their asses and go out with you.

“You deserve the world. And I want to give that to you.”

“Let’s cool off first.”

Eddie nods again, smiles small, and Steve returns it. “Yeah, we should do that,” he whispers. Lets out a deep sigh. Softly, “Take care of yourself tonight, okay? I’m sorry for…I’m sorry for being an ignorant pile of shit. I’m gonna do better, no matter how long it takes to prove myself to you.”

After that, Eddie lets himself out. And Steve lets him leave, doesn’t chase after him, even when every part of him panics about letting Eddie get away. But this is for the better, he thinks. Knows that not everything works itself better overnight. It’s a start, though. Not a satisfying one, but it’s the beginning of something.

🏳️‍🌈—————🏳️‍🌈

[gravedigginbbydoll]

Tutoring and Tension

Dom! Leighton Murray x Alt fem! reader smut

A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing for something non ST fandom in a while so please be patient with me!

CW: sex, smut, porn with plot?, Leighton x reader, fem! reader (v) desperate! reader, alt reader, piercings and tattoos mentioned, makeup mentioned, oral sex (v), overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, sub! reader, dom! Leighton, use of toys (vibrator), power play, aftercare, etc.

When you first moved to Vermont, you knew there would be people like Leighton Murray. Rich, spoiled, kind of mean. 

What you didn’t guess, however, was that they would maybe be gay. 

Which was a shock to you while studying at the library, muted whispers at the table across from you. 

“I know! I know! I was shocked too! But then she pulled me into her bed and…” 

Muted squeals came from the table behind you as you rolled your eyes. You came to Essex for the fact that you could be away from your small town judgment at a prestigious school, but were starting to regret every second of it. People weren’t receptive to you, and most of the students were rich assholes who would sooner tell you that your diy patch jacket was clearly ‘Not Saint Laurent’, and call you ‘cute’ when you mentioned thrifting. 

And it didn’t help that most of the student population was scared of your look. Tattoos, piercings, dark clothing, and platform shoes. Sometimes, even colorful hair. You were a walking social pariah. You knew it, but you didn’t care. You were here to make a name for yourself through extracurriculars and studies. To follow your dreams. 

If only math wasn’t kicking your ass. 

You could never focus. Sitting behind Leighton Murray meant you had to watch the back of her perfect blonde head and that you could smell her perfume (something classy and brand name, probably, all you knew is it made her smell like florals and vanilla). You kept getting C’s and D’s on papers and tests, too distracted by Leighton’s perfect handwriting. 

And it wasn’t until you got an F that you finally plucked up the nerve to talk to the professor, begging for help. And of course…they brought Leighton over. 

“Could you help Y/N with this class, please? They’re struggling a lot.” 

Leighton looked at you with a smile, but her eyes said she wanted to strangle you. 

“Sure, Prof. I’ll definitely tutor her.” 

The two of you were sitting in Leighton’s dorm, looking over the books, your heart racing. Sure, you wore dark makeup and clothes and people were scared of you…But Leighton was much scarier. She was pretty and smart and damn blunt. You had gone over some of the problems and were still feeling your brain turn to mush next to her. You were pretending to heavily inspect an equation when she suddenly turned to look at you. 

“A-Are you, like, a goth? Sorry, I just…I don't understand this whole…Hot Topic aesthetic…thing. No offense,” Leighton blurted out, her brows pinched together as she had an awkward smile on her face. 

You laughed a bit, smiling. Her confusion was funny, despite her harshness. “Goth is a music genre…but I do like it. So kinda? I just like dark clothes…They make me feel like me.” 

She nodded a bit before putting up her book, setting it aside as she scooted closer, eyeing you. 

“Don’t tattoos hurt? You have…a lot.” 

You nodded, feeling heat travel up into your cheeks, stomach fluttering. “They hurt a bit. But I like them. They make me feel kinda like an art gallery, ya know?”

You noted her eyes traveling over your collarbones and to your cleavage, before turning to your books again, cheeks slightly pink. 

“So anyways, do you get the gist?” 

You furrowed your brows, smiling awkwardly, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, math just isn’t my thing.” 

She rolled her eyes, expression snarky as she smirked. “Let me guess…your thing is arts or social sciences…maybe even English?” 

You held up your hands, a devilish grin on your face as you attempted to match her energy, your cheeks heating up. “Guilty.” 

She tutted, eyes rolling before looking down at the paper. “Well, we’ve got to figure out some way to incentivize your learning…” 

You stared, slack-jawed, as she crossed her legs in her mini skirt, perfect pink mouth chewing on the end of her pen. She seemed deep in thought. She was like Cher in Clueless, the perfect prim and well-bred American girl…and you had such a huge crush on Cher as a child. 

She seemed to look over at you before smiling a bit, clearly catching you staring at her and your ever-growing embarrassment. She tilted her head at you, a smug expression on her face. “Do you like treats?” 

Your face heated at her sudden attention as you furrowed your brow, laughing awkwardly. “W-what? Like candy?,” You asked, voice cracking because your mind was flooded with other…ideas.

Leighton smirked and fingered the metal loop on your choker with one perfect manicured hand. Her voice was low and sultry, her eyes mischievous. “Something like that.” 

She leaned forward a bit more, whispering in your ear. “I see the way you look at me in class. It’s a bit pathetic really,” She coos condescendingly, her voice sending chills up your arm. “Big scary girl like you…all whipped over a little spoiled rich girl? What would everyone at school say?” 

You squirmed in your chair, your thighs squeezing together to relieve the throbbing need beginning to grow. “I..I just, I don’t-” 

She cut you off by squeezing your face in her hand. You felt your desire grow, your heart racing. 

“Shut up.” 

She let go of your face, standing up and smiling, her expression dangerous and yet so enticing. She crossed her arms, looking down on you.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to work on a problem. You get it right, you get a treat…get it wrong…and I’ll test your limits. Got it?,” she asked, voice radiating authority and lust. You nodded quickly in agreement, the heat in your cheeks growing and traveling to the tips of your ears. 

She grinned, pointing at a problem while still standing. “Get started, baby.” 

About an hour in and your mind had become a puddle. You were face down on Leighton’s bed, your head in her pillow, no doubt smudging eyeliner and mascara on her satin cases. She was standing near you, her wand pressed against your clit as you whined, your nails clawing at the bed. She whispered in your ear, voice low and dripping with lust. 

“Aww, is someone wanting to cum?” 

You whined, your clit throbbing at the constant attention and from the overstimulation of the last 3 orgasms she had given you. You couldn’t see her but knew her expression was probably that of an evil grin, her eyes glinting with pleasure at the mess you had become. 

“Please, please, please, please…I’ll fix the problem…please..,” You sobbed, fists clawing at the bed, earning yourself a spank on the ass, Leighton gripping your hair and pulling your head to look at you, your vision of her blurred through your tears. 

“Don’t fucking mess up my bed.” 

You nodded helplessly, thoughts only swimming with Leighton, Leighton, Leighton. She dropped your head before finally diving into your pussy, her tongue delving into your folds from behind as she ate your out, the vibrator against your clit still. You cried out,  your body about to snap, your thighs shaking and clit pulsing painfully. 

You could barely hear her over your moaning, but managed to hear the muffled ‘cum for me.’ 

So you finally snapped, body shaking as you felt waves of pleasure wash over you, your eyes rolling back and shut, your thighs shaking as you came, feeling Leighton moan against you and seeming to ride you through your high, your body worn out and practically collapsing at the end. 

You laid there for a minute, hearing some shuffling before you felt a warm wet cloth wiping you off, and Leighton’s soft manicured hand rubbing your back. 

“Hey,” She whispered softly, “Turn over.” 

So you did, brain still floating as Leighton softly wiped at your face with some cool makeup wipes, cooing softly in your ear. 

“You did wonderful, baby.” 

You felt her softly remove some of your jewelry and leftover clothing before dressing you in some comfy pajamas, silky soft like her own, before she kissed your forehead. You were slowly coming back to yourself as she snuggled up next to you, eyebrows raised as she looked down at you, smiling softly. 

“So.. I imagine you like my tutoring style?” 

You let out a giggle, feeling your cheeks heat as you sheepishly offered. “Is it that obvious?” 

She grinned flirtatiously at you, hands rubbing at your side as she whispered cheekily, “You’re gonna be acing this class in no time with my help.” 

You grinned. 

You couldn’t wait for more math.

[k3n-dyll]

Domestic!Sevika [Drabble]

||Men, minors, and ageless DNI

CW: None just Vika being cute

AN: not proofread, just started writing

Masterlist Divider Creds Helpful Palestine Links

Domestic!Sevika who has never been in love before you, finding herself roaming around your apartment while you're out and noticing a basket full of undone laundry sitting near the washer.

You've been super busy recently and haven't had much time or energy to keep up with certain household chores and laundry was one of them.

Now, Sevika has never been one to just...do shit for people. Not unless it benefitted her in some way. And yet now she finds herself sorting your darker clothes from the light ones, washing them separately, drying them then heading back onto your bedroom and putting them away. She doesnt even roll them into a ball and toss them into drawers like she sometimes does with her own things - she folds them. Neatly.

She finishes and is quite proud of herself, going back to giving herself a bit of a tour of your place, but oh, look at that - the sink has dishes from last nights dinner date.

On any normal day you'd have washed them after eating but Sevika had other plans, which is why she was over at your apartment the next morning in the first place. A part of her feels bad for practically carrying you into the bedroom the night prior instead of helping you clean up, so she may as well make up for it by washing those dishes now, right?

Needless to say, when you get back that afternoon your apartment is spotless and something heavenly is wafting from the kitchen. There's no sign of Sevika until you walk back into your bedroom. Shes lounging on top of the blankets of your now made up bed, reading a book.

"You did all this?"

And she just stares at you for a moment, thinking.

"Oh, dinner? Yeah. I figured since you cooked last night..."

You shake your head and begin to explain what you mean fully. You could literally see your reflection on the counters when you walked through the kitchen and shes just sat here as if she hasnt moved all day. Even when you elaborate, she just shrugs as if she hadnt just made your life 10 times easier by simply being left alone in your house for a day.

"I dunno...I just got bored I guess"

Is her explanation for it, though that was clearly a lie, but you werent going to push her into saying anything sappy. Her work around the house said enough. She's been here before, sure, but its clear that she takes in every little thing you do. She's cooked your favorite dish, folded your laundry and sorted it in the specific way that you always do. She'd managed to get every little organization quirk of yours down to a T.

"Well, thank you for getting bored" you respond, kissing her on the forehead, and while she'd never say it out loud but that little bit of praise makes her heart jump.

I love her sm

Little drabble that is solely based on my urge to act like a housewife when I'm with my girlfriend. I'd lasso the moon for that girl istg

Taglist: @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery, @delinthecut, @sevsbaby, @archangeldyke-all

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 3: Cursed Creatures

AO3 Link | Masterlist

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas

Note: This is not at all how I thought this chapter would start. Alas, I am riddled with religious trauma, and Taylor Swift just released the song “Guilty as Sin?” I mean… “My boredom’s bone-deep This cage was once just fine Am I allowed to cry? I dream of cracking locks, Throwing my life to the WOLVES” Are you kidding me? It’s perfect. So this started out differently than I planned. But what was I to do? I am just a girl.

----------------------------------------------------------------

There were many topics on which you had been educated in-depth but were never supposed to experience first-hand.

Sex was one of those topics.

You knew the mechanics of it. The anatomy that was involved. Its purposes and benefits. The dangers of it.

You had been told, vehemently, that it was something that should never be done outside of the safe and proper confines of marriage.

Which meant you could never do it because you could never marry.

The Prophet had to remain pure.

Set apart.

Free from romantic, familial, worldly ties.

You were taught to suppress any desire to do otherwise. A task that you had been mostly successful at upholding.

But there were times when your eyes lingered where they shouldn’t and your own thoughts made you shiver and blush.

It was the sin of lust.

The other major vices were usually easily circumvented. You could be disciplined and selfless, just and kind, modest and brave.

You always did what you were told, and you didn’t ask questions.

You told yourself that you weren’t weak; you just knew your place. You knew what was expected of you, and no other options had ever been made available.

So, like thrown clay, you had allowed yourself to be molded into the person you were today, each piece of you carefully and intentionally shaped by the hands of others.

The Elders created the perfect Seraphite specimen. Quietly devout. Enigmatic. Indelible. Untouchable. Obedient.

A mouthpiece disguised as a leader.

A Prophet.

They made you.

You were not a naturally occurring thing.

Sometimes you didn’t even feel human.

Lust was one sin you knew could be concealed, buried far below your surface, unseen by critical eyes.

It was a small act of rebellion. A hidden glimmer of defiance. Although, you weren’t doing it on purpose.

And it was made especially loathsome due to the regrettable fact that it only ever happened to you when you were looking at or thinking of a woman…

Now the Wolf stood in front of you, hammer held tightly in her right hand.

Demons were quickly descending upon you, and you had just witnessed (and neglected to intervene into) the death of three of your own people. The only person you helped was the Wolf, your enemy, who you were meant to kill.

You could guess what the Elders would say if they were here now. How disappointed they would look as they pointed out your many failings.

For once, you didn’t care.

Strangely, despite everything, you felt like a bird whose cage door was just thrown wide open.

Or a well-trained dog that had been mistakenly let off leash.

You could breathe. Unrestricted.

Your eyes remained glued to the Wolf.

Her back was to you, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin. Her shoulders rose with each of her deep, deliberate breaths.

Time seemed to slow as your eyes traced down the length of her arms, taking in her strong form…

See, you knew the sin of lust was bad, if only because it made you stupid.

Or distracted, at the very least.

Demons were coming, and you had just been moments away from gutting this girl.

You definitely couldn’t trust her.

But you didn’t have to trust her to look at her.

A series of snapping twigs and high-pitched shrieks from the surrounding forest instantly brought your attention back to the approaching threat.

Demons were another one of those things that they taught you about but never thought you’d actually encounter.

When you arrived on the mainland that morning, you had been led to the network of Seraphite-built bridges, above the city, concealed in the clouds.

Nearly your entire day had been spent in the sky.

If there were any Demons below, you didn’t see them.

Honestly, you hoped you’d never have to come across the cursed creatures.

The sounds they made were animalistic, but somehow still eerily human. Like a voice that was either enraged or overwhelmed with pain.

You had been told that they were unsavable. Completely consumed by the disease and irrevocably punished for their sins. No longer even human.

As a child, you heard stories of the first Prophet valiantly fighting off hordes in defense of her early followers.

In training, they taught you how to fight both Demons and human adversaries alike. Although the former was always theoretical.

You were shown sketches, detailing the different stages of it.

Foolishly, you thought you were ready.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for what came running out from the cover of the trees.

It moved faster than you would’ve thought possible, too quickly for you to take it all in, but the glimpses you captured were grotesque.

It went straight for the Wolf, swinging its arms wildly. She effortlessly dodged its attack before striking with the hammer. Hard. It was dead in just three blows.

Two more approached from behind you, closest to Lev, and it was past time for you to be useful.

Lev was a skilled archer, but he was still a kid. And Yara, also a kid, only had use of one of her arms.

Both of the Demons were focused on Lev. He fired an arrow, hitting one of them in the chest, but it didn’t take it down.

Its back was to you.

You couldn’t let yourself freeze again.

You closed the distance between you and the beast, lifting your dagger with both hands and bringing it back down swiftly, piercing deeply through its skull.

It let out one last pained shriek as it fell.

The Wolf had taken out the other Demon before Lev had to loose another arrow.

But there were two more where those came from. One swung at the Wolf, and the other came for you.

You were able to dodge, narrowly missing the impact of its savage attack. Stepping back, you continued to evade its blows.

You swung at it, but the thing was fast. Your blade cut into its shoulder instead of its head. Ripping your weapon out, you tried again. This time, you hit your target.

That was two for you.

“Prophet, look out!” Yara shouted. Before you could discern which direction the threat was coming from, you were brutally thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of you entirely.

Death wore the grisly face of the Demon standing above you.

You had dropped your dagger, leaving you completely defenseless.

Lev’s arrows pierced its throat twice.

It kept coming.

You blinked and it was on the ground. The Wolf knelt over it, hammer crashing over its skull repeatedly, past when the thing was decidedly dead, until the hammer actually broke in her hand.

You just blinked again.

She saved you.

Why did she save you?

You scrambled to your feet, your breaths coming too quickly.

You tried not to panic.

You had only almost died.

You were fine.

The Wolf dropped the splintered remnants of the hammer and stood, shaking out her hand. You stared as she walked over to where your dagger lay on the ground and bent to pick it up.

She looked at you for—as far as you could tell—the first time since you’d cut her down from the rope.

She walked over, holding your gaze.

You realized that she could kill you now. That that was likely why she had saved you.

So she could end you herself.

Because you were the Prophet, and a Seraphite. Or because you had nearly killed her before.

She could even do it with your own weapon. The one that had been meant for her.

You imagined that would be satisfying for a brutish Wolf.

As she approached, you noticed that she towered over you, making you doubly aware of the fact that this was not a fight you would win if it came down to it. Especially when you were unarmed.

She stopped when she stood only a couple feet in front of you, turning the dagger over in her hand and simply offering it to you, handle-first.

Dumbly, you slowly reached out and took it.

Her hand fell back to her side.

There was a hint of a smug little smile on her face, like she knew what you had been thinking.

“Try not to drop that again, yeah?” she said, voice low. It was the first time she’d spoken directly to you, and you resented the way it made your cheeks warm.

Before you could come up with a competent response, Yara interrupted.

“Prophet, Wolf! Come on. We have to move!” She held a lit torch in her uninjured hand. Lev stood at her side, ready to run.

“Where are you going?” the Wolf asked, unsure if she would be following. You were already moving to join Yara and Lev.

“Out of these woods. We’ve gotta run! Now! The coast is this way.”

They took off into the trees with you close behind. The sound of footsteps falling behind you informed you of the Wolf’s apparent decision to tag along, at least for the time being.

You could also hear more Demons, closing in on either side, chasing the torch’s light. Which meant they were after Yara.

You ran faster, trying to close the distance between you just in case.

As she passed an abandoned vehicle, one of the Demons jumped out, tackling her to the ground.

Lev shot an arrow through its head as you ran to her, pushing the dead Demon off and helping her back to her feet.

The horrifying chorus of even more of them, just beyond your vision, made you startle with each screech.

“They’re all around us!” Yara cried, moving closer to her brother.

The Wolf, weaponless after breaking the hammer, quickly looked around, finding a glass bottle. She grabbed it and threw it at the next creature that emerged from the forest.

The Demon slowed, momentarily stunned, and the Wolf wasted no time knocking it over and bringing her foot down on its skull hard and fast.

Just one stomp and it was dead.

You flushed again, transfixed.

Stupid.

You should not find that attractive.

But she was undeniably incredible.

You shook your head in an attempt to refocus as you turned to watch Lev take down another with a couple well-aimed shots.

A shriek behind you revealed the presence of yet another. You turned to meet it, killing the thing easily enough.

It seemed your training in combat had been sufficient after all, at least where Demons were concerned.

“That was the last of them,” Yara said.

“You guys okay?” the Wolf asked, like she might actually care.

“Yeah,” Lev breathed out, bow and arrow still at the ready.

“We have to keep moving before more come,” Yara insisted, taking up the lead again as she pressed forward.

You all ran after her.

“Every direction looks the same,” said the Wolf. You were inclined to agree. “You sure you know where you’re going?”

“It has to be this way,” Yara said, quietly determined.

“What the hell am I doing?” the Wolf muttered to herself under her breath.

The four of you picked up your speed as the Demons grew closer.

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Abby seriously had no idea what the hell she was doing.

She was running through the woods, fighting off Infected with three Scars.

And one of them was the Prophet.

Who had been fully intending to disembowel her not too long ago…

Something had to be wrong with her. Maybe it was brain damage from nearly suffocating.

Because this wasn’t like her.

A couple hours ago, Abby was killing Scars. Happily.

Well maybe that wasn’t the best word for it. It didn’t make her happy. She just didn’t feel bad about it.

And now, she was prancing through the forest and going out of her way to protect Scars?

The kids were one thing. They seemed to be just as in danger with other Scars as they were with the Infected.

What had that one woman called them? Apostates?

Abby had done enough reading to know what the word meant. She guessed they must have broken some stupid, insane rule and run off.

Or been kicked out.

Either way, from what Abby had gathered, they had gone rogue and were being hunted by their own people.

Which meant they weren’t necessarily her enemy.

But the other girl. The Prophet…

Abby didn’t know what was going on with you.

Were you going rogue too, or were your friends just dead and you needed help getting past the Infected and out of the woods?

And yeah, you had been about to kill her before. But you’d stopped as soon as there was a distraction. Took the out the second it was offered.

And then you had been the one to cut her down.

So maybe you didn’t want to kill her.

That counted for something, right?

Abby didn’t let herself think too much about how pretty you were.

How stunning your eyes looked when they met hers.

How your fingers felt, lightly grazing her bare skin for just a second, then leaving all too soon.

And how you had definitely blushed when she spoke to you.

See? She totally wasn’t thinking about any of that at all.

And she was probably delusional.

And way too distracted, spending any amount of time or energy thinking about such crazy shit while you were all actively running for your lives.

Abby was bringing up the rear of the group, and she knew a horde of Stalkers was not far behind her.

She really hoped these Scars knew where they were going.

“It’s just up here!” the girl, Yara, shouted from up ahead, leading the way to a wall of hanging vines.

The boy, Lev, pulled the vines aside, revealing an opening behind. Yara carefully but quickly maneuvered through. You waited until both she and Lev were on the other side before looking up at Abby expectantly.

There wasn’t time to argue, so Abby went next. You followed closely behind, then let the vines fall back into place, hiding your path from the Infected that pursued.

On the other side, Abby was met with the sight of several dead bodies, clearly recently slaughtered.

She couldn’t tell from this distance what had killed them. Or if they were Scar or WLF.

“Those are fresh. There another way around?” she asked, maneuvering around the corpses.

Lev spoke up. “If there were, would we be going this way?”

Okay. Fair point.

Yara pointed to a chain link fence with the torch. “Come on, Lev. Get it open.”

The kid tried to bend the steel wires up to create an opening. It didn’t budge, despite his efforts.

“Move,” Abby said. He did.

She strained as the piece of fencing gave way beneath her hands.

“Get in there, Prophet,” she said, teeth clenched.

----------------------------------------------------------------

You quickly slid through the opening and popped up on the other side.

Finally, you were free of the suffocating forest.

The clearing was illuminated with light of the full moon.

You wandered on ahead as Lev, Yara, and the Wolf came through the fence behind you.

“Prophet?” A new voice spoke out as you turned the corner. The reverence in the person’s tone alone told you that you were dealing with a Seraphite.

You turned toward the voice to see a woman you recognized but whose name you couldn’t recall. She was large and stood tall, the side of her face bloody and a pickaxe in her grip.

She had been part of a patrolling squad in the area. You’d seen her briefly earlier in the day, with Emily, after the Wolf had been captured.

The woman saw that you were, in fact, who she thought you were, and she bowed her head out of respect.

“Are you alright, Prophet? What are you doing out here? Where is Emily?”

You were at a loss for words.

Her voice was calm and concerned now, but you knew that she would kill Lev, Yara, and the Wolf if given the chance.

“I—”

Your two friends entered the clearing behind you, drawing her eyes toward them.

“Apostates,” she hissed, and instantly her demeanor changed.

She rushed past you, ruthlessly throwing Yara to the ground and lifting Lev up by his neck.

You moved without thinking, your dagger still tightly clutched in your fingers. Again, you raised your arms above your head, just as you had done when fighting the Demons. Using all of your strength, you brought the blade down above her head, piercing her skull. The weapon was long enough that it exited through her chin.

Her body slackened and slumped to the ground. Dead.

You stared down at her, feeling the weight of what you had just done.

This wasn’t a Demon. It wasn’t an animal.

She was a living person.

And a Seraphite. One of your own people.

You were supposed to be her Prophet. Her leader. Her new hope.

She hadn’t been watching her back because she never imagined that you could betray your people like that. That you would pose a threat to her.

You continued to stare, holding your breath. You couldn’t look away.

You didn’t deserve to look away.

You felt a sob rising in your throat. Your eyes began to water.

No. You would not cry.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Abby was the last to enter the clearing.

By then, the Scar was already holding Lev in the air, and you were already approaching from behind, lifting your dagger.

Abby watched as you killed her.

Woah.

You were good with that knife, she’d give you that.

Yara and Lev got back to their feet and watched as you stared down at the dead Scar, unmoving. Like you were frozen.

You weren’t even breathing, and you looked like you might cry.

Abby had been wondering how many WLF soldiers you killed today before you got to her. If the three she’d seen hanging when she first came to were yours.

Now, she was sure they weren’t.

Because based on your reaction, that had to be your first time.

She wasn’t usually one to be especially sensitive to the emotions of others, but when she heard you sniffle, finally taking in a ragged breath, she couldn’t help but move towards you.

Abby thought of her own first kill. How easy it was to do in the heat of the moment, but how torn up she’d been in the aftermath.

She understood that it was necessary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard as hell.

She fought the urge to put a hand on your shoulder, or even rub your back soothingly. Reminded herself of who you were and who she was and all the reasons why she shouldn’t even be here right now.

Instead, she bent to retrieve your dagger from the body. She tried to hand it back to you, but you were still stuck, staring down.

“Hey. You did a good job.” She took your hand in hers, placing the handle into your palm and closing your fingers around it. She didn’t let go, allowing her hands to fully encompass yours.

Abby waited until you met her eyes. “You saved them,” she said, nodding towards Lev and Yara, who were both silently watching this unfold. “You did what you had to do.”

You drew your eyebrows together at that, like you wanted to argue. But you seemed to change your mind, ultimately just nodding your head lightly.

She let her hands drop and glanced back down at the slumped body again, her eyes catching on something.

“Wait. Is that my backpack?” Abby asked, looking more closely.

Beside her, you lifted your shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“Probably. Emily gave it to her earlier,” you said numbly.

Abby didn’t need to ask who Emily was. She could guess.

She reclaimed her belongings while you pulled yourself together.

“Are you two alright?” you asked the siblings.

“Yes, Prophet,” Lev answered, watching you closely. Abby noticed that you seemed to bristle ever so slightly at his use of your title. You didn’t say anything though.

She held her rifle in her hands again, happy to have her stuff back.

Especially the guns.

Wordlessly, the Scar kids led the way into the nearest building.

Out of habit, Abby began gathering supplies as you went along, taking ammo and medical supplies and anything else that seemed useful.

“How’s the arm?” she asked Yara, breaking the long stretch of silence.

“I have it under control,” the girl insisted defensively.

“Okay…” Abby took a box of ammo from a cabinet. “Grab any supplies you find.”

“We can’t touch this stuff. It’s Old World,” Lev said, like that should’ve been obvious.

“Are you fu---? You need supplies. We’re not out of the woods yet.” She opened and then shut a drawer. “Pun fucking intended.”

“What’s a pun?” Lev asked from another room.

Abby didn’t have the energy to answer that question.

Instead she said, “I’ve never seen Scars go after Scars like that before.”

“Seraphites,” you and Lev corrected in unison as you explored different rooms of the building.

Again, she ignored. “So what the hell did you do?”

“I shaved my head,” Lev answered simply.

Abby scoffed. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

The group passed through building after dilapidated building, heading towards the coast. At least in theory.

“We’re almost there,” Yara said. “Just a little farther.”

She led the way down a steep drop-off into another run-down building. One where you wouldn’t be able to get back out the same way you went in.

“Now what?” Abby threw out, tired and frustrated.

“I’m quite confident it’s this way.”

“Quite confident?” Abby repeated incredulously.

“You don’t have to follow us,” Lev pointed out.

“You want me to leave you three out here alone?” Abby shot back.

Your response was an immediate and insistent, almost panicked, “No!”

Everyone else turned to you, surprised.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Lev offered.

Abby found the front doors, but they were held firmly closed by a metal gate on the outside.

Above the door was a large opening, too high for Abby to pull herself out of, but not too high for someone to climb through with a boost.

“If you get us through there, we’ll open the gate,” Lev said.

Abby remembered again that these were Scars she was dealing with. And like hell was she going to boost you all up to safety just so you could leave her stranded here.

“Get them out,” you said, as if you could read her mind. “I’ll stay with you.”

Lev started to protest but stopped after one shake of your head.

Abby nodded. “Okay. Come on.”

He gave you one last look before walking over to her, stepping into her open hands and pulling himself through the opening.

“Your turn.” Abby looked at Yara. “Watch that arm.” She carefully helped the injured girl maneuver up and out.

The all too familiar shriek of Infected sounded off behind you, coming from deeper in the building.

On the other side of the doors, Lev pushed at the gate. It wouldn’t budge.

“The gate’s stuck!”

“Fuck! Hurry up!” Abby looked back and forth between the door and the direction the Infected were coming from.

“We’ll look for another way!” Yara said, and the two of them disappeared from view.

Abby tried to stay calm and prepared herself for the inevitable fight.

“They’re not going to leave me,” you said, drawing her attention. You held your knife at the ready, rolling your shoulders back.

She didn’t respond, not sure if she believed you.

“They won’t,” you reiterated.

“I hope you’re right, Prophet.” She offered one of the weapons from her stash. “You ever shot a gun before?”

You shook your head but accepted the firearm anyway.

“Come here. I’ll show you.”

What Abby hoped would only be a few Infected turned out to be an entire horde. Runners, Stalkers, Clickers, and even a couple Shamblers.

You were fighting them off like a champ.

Seriously. She was impressed.

You’d kept the gun, watched her rushed demonstration on how to operate it, but ultimately chose to primarily stick with the dagger.

Both of you had been fighting for several minutes as you moved through the building. No sign of the other two Scars. Abby had pretty much resigned herself to needing to find her own way out.

She cleared the room she was in, lowering her weapon to take a breather.

You were in the next room, and it sounded like you had cleared that one out too.

The only warning Abby had before she felt the blow was you urgently shouting, “Wolf!”

A Stalker that she failed to notice had her pinned to the ground, knocking her rifle from her grip in the process.

It reared its head back as Abby struggled, fighting to get it off her.

A gunshot rang out, and the Infected slumped, lifeless.

She shoved it off her and sat up to see you standing there, borrowed gun still aimed and ready.

“Good girl!” Abby exclaimed, beaming up at you from where she sat on the floor.

Wait.

What the fuck?

She meant to say “good job”…

Actually, she hadn’t meant to say anything.

You lowered the weapon. Based on the look on your face, you were just as taken aback by her use of those words as Abby was. Although, she managed to keep it from showing on her face. Mostly.

She stood quickly and fumbled through a recovery. “Good shot. That was—I mean—It was a good… A good shot. Good job.”

You smiled softly at Abby’s obvious display of nerves, walking over to where her rifle had fallen when she was attacked.

You picked it up and returned it to her.

“Try not to drop that again, yeah?” you said, mimicking the teasing tone Abby had used when she said those same words to you earlier that night.

She made a face. Something that was equal parts embarrassment and amusement.

“Prophet! Over here!” came Lev’s quiet voice from the next room.

You shot Abby an I told you so look before the two of you ran after the sound.

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When Yara collapsed, the Wolf picked her up and carried her.

You listened as she quietly comforted your dear friend, encouraging her to keep breathing and promising to find somewhere to rest soon.

Your heart felt soft for her in that moment.

Or maybe you were just exhausted.

Lev led the group with you in the back, gun drawn and alert to the best of your current abilities.

You entered a clearing, full of enormous metal boxes and small, raised buildings. All things from the Old World that you had never seen before and didn’t have words for.

The Wolf instructed Lev to start checking the doors of all the small buildings. It took a few tries before he found one that was open.

The inside was in noticeably better shape than any other structure you’d seen on the mainland, with a few simple, fully intact pieces of furniture.

You watched as the Wolf moved through the first small room and into the second, carefully setting Yara down on the couch. She went over to the windows, checking again to make sure the four of you hadn’t been followed.

When Yara began to slowly remove her overshirt, you were quick to help, being especially careful with her injured arm.

It was swollen and bright red from her elbow down to her fingertips, visibly mangled. You had to bite back a gasp.

Lev stood on the other side of the room, a horribly worried expression on his face.

It wouldn’t be helpful for you to panic now.

“Hey,” you said to him, light and encouraging, drawing his gaze to you and away from his hurt older sister. “It just needs to be set. Okay?”

You turned your eyes to the Wolf who was still hovering by the window. “You know how to do that?”

The face she made confirmed what you already knew. Yara needed much more than just for the arm to be set.

Still, the Wolf walked over, instructing Lev to cut the discarded overshirt into strips and telling Yara to lean back.

You helped her, kneeling on the floor by the side of the couch where her head lay, ready to assist in any way you could.

“I’m gonna move it, okay?” said the Wolf.

“Okay.”

They were both speaking so softly.

“You ready?” she asked.

Yara nodded, reaching her uninjured hand out for one of yours. You held it, letting her squeeze as tightly as she needed to.

The crunching noise the arm made as it was set nearly made you sick.

Yara let out a series of pained noises, panting and grunting. You used your free hand to gently brush the loose strands of her hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears.

You whispered that the worst was over, and that she would be okay now.

You didn’t know if that was true, but you hoped it comforted her a little.

The Wolf broke a leg off a wooden chair, took the newly cut strips of fabric that Lev offered, and went to work bracing the newly-set arm, using the chair leg as a splint.

Yara watched the Wolf’s face.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The Wolf secured the last piece of cloth before she answered, meeting Yara’s gaze.

“Abby,” she said.

She stood, looking to Lev and then to you.

“I should go,” the Wolf—Abby—said.

You stood too, to walk her out.

Lev quickly filled in the space that you left, kneeling in the same spot and taking Yara’s waiting hand in his.

Abby grabbed her backpack and followed you into the first room, toward the door.

You paused, turning to face her.

“Are you—” You wanted to ask where she was going. What she would do next. Really, if you were being honest, you didn’t want her to go at all.

But you didn’t have the right to ask for any of those things, so instead you went with, “Are you okay?”

You gestured to your neck, meaning to indicate the dark, noose-shaped bruises that circled her own throat.

It felt like so long ago that she’d been hanging in front of you, unfortunate to find herself on the wrong end of your dagger. But, realistically, only a couple of hours had gone by.

She cleared her throat, her own fingers instinctively ghosting over the marks.

“Oh umm… Yeah. It’ll be fine.” She waited a beat before adding, “Thanks for cutting me down.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, considering it was technically your fault she needed to be cut down in the first place.

You settled on a nod and a tight smile.

She turned to go, twisting the doorhandle and stepping back out into the rain.

Before you could close the door behind her, she looked back and said, “This area gets a lot of traffic. Whatever shape she’s in…” Abby leaned closer, hand on the door frame, “You need to get out of here by tomorrow.”

Again, you nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

She held your gaze for a moment longer before she turned and walked down the steps.

You shut and locked the door.

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As Abby walked away from the office trailer, she couldn’t help the images that came to mind.

She kept envisioning you and Lev and Yara, dead.

Hanged and gutted by the Scars.

Or shot by the WLF.

Or ripped to shreds by Infected.

She had real responsibilities. A friend to look for. A whole community counting on her.

She had a war to get back to.

But if she left now, would she always wonder about what happened to you?

The urge to stay near you—to protect you—was so overwhelming. She didn’t know where it was coming from or what she should do with it.

You were not safe, but she knew you were much safer with her.

Isaac had warned her that the first Scar Prophet had been able to make even the most dedicated soldiers turn on a dime. He said that with just a few carefully chosen words, she could make a person question where their loyalties lied.

It had seemed so ridiculous just that morning, but now you were doing the same thing to Abby.

You were in her head.

But this didn’t feel like manipulation.

She didn’t know what it was that drew her to you, but it felt real. Natural. And entirely unintentional.

Or maybe she was reading you all wrong, and you really were a master manipulator.

Abby needed to make a decision. Because she was currently standing still in the pouring rain with the trailer still in view.

She chose to trust her gut.

And her gut was telling her to turn around. To stay with you.

Owen would have to wait.

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Note: Thank you to anyone who’s read all three chapters of this! The fact that literally anyone has is absolutely bonkers to me. I’ve already learned so much about myself as a writer since I started writing fics a couple weeks ago. For example, this week I learned that I DO NOT enjoy writing fight scenes… Unfortunately it was thoroughly unavoidable for this chapter. Regardless, I really hope it was interesting to read, and I’m looking forward to fleshing out the relationship between Abby and my reader more and more!

[auckie]

Neil gaiman is such a fucking hack. All he does is ride off Terry pratchets coattails, gets. I really hate the word cuck but idk how else to describe the Amanda Palmer situation. Cucked by women and regurgitates that into flat one dimensional characters. Queer baits and panders to trashy online YA level drivel types. He’s the definition of the word fandom. If men like his garbage they’re always the kind of guy who has a beard and lets you know he has a beard. He probably owns a kilt despite not being remotely Scottish. Funko pop owner for sure, has a mini tardis and probably that dr who scarf. A pentagram tattoo, maybe some runes.

And like. Neil gaiman is a capable writer do not get me wrong. But his idea of creative writing is theorizing about how the afterlife is all bureaucracy bc that’s never been done by a bitter atheist. It’s always secularly Christian too isn’t it? I mean i guess that’s what he knows.

So im saying this knowing that he’s not solely responsible for it, really, and having read the comics and not enjoyed them at all but continued to have done so out of some weird sense of obligation, I’m very angry to admit that I’m enjoying the stupid Netflix production of dead boy detectives. It is absolutely a mishmash of other similar cw-type shows, but that’s just the thing. I eat that shit up. Riverdale, Sabrina, teen dramas with obnoxious editing and low brow production value. I even liked the second season of good omens despite like, hating a solid 40% of the secondary character and plot direction. It’s sorta like eating little Debbie cakes yknow? Or binging reality tv.

DBDA is better than all that, like it’s a crust above but it’s wrapped in the trappings of really shitty things, and whenever it manages to be a bit better it’ll sink a smidge lower by referencing its ilk or doing exactly what you’d expect of it.

Whenever I see the ‘two skinny whitish boys with obvious sexual tension and an annoying women in the middle’ I stop and ask myself— does this writer have a track record of making the same dynamic.

An obnoxious woman is not a bad thing. She can be a good thing even, but if she’s a mirror image of a million other toxic characters that indicates two things: projection, or a formula. Especially when paired between two male characters that clearly interact in ways that urge the audience to say ‘they should kiss!’

Then she becomes an obstacle. It’s rare for a character in this role to rise above the narrative, and even rarer for authors to try and write one capable of that.

A lot of fans will see people hating on her and cry ‘misogyny!’ Instead of asking why she was written, and why hundreds of other past iterations and future clones of her continue to be written. A similar character is the empty lesbian who stands in both popular media and fanfiction to prove that the author is not just obsessing over gay men and throws a bone to the supposed lesbian audience as well.

And then you have the flat poc or other LBT, sometimes disabled characters who serve to act as a tick mark off a checklist. It’s lazy, it’s annoying. But that’s a whole different can of vaguely related worms

[la2yn0va]

Hey do you mind doing something related to Hyoma Chigiri x Male Reader please

Jealous Crush

My first bllk request. And it’s with the pretty girl boy

CW: Homophobia (I think?)

———

“Hey m/n-san. Come with me” chigiri said as he grabbed m/n and dragged him away from Nikko “Ah— C-chigiri-! Wait—!” Nikko could only watch as his friend was dragged away, a smile of confusion on his face.

“Chigiri! Seriously dude relax, I can walk on my own— OW!!” He felt chigiri tighten his grip on his hand as he dragged him away onto a soccer field. Chigiri was too embarrassed to face m/n, yet he also couldn’t stand it seeing him so buddy-Buddy with someone else.

He hated how m/n was so chilled out with his rivals, he hated how m/n was practically everyone’s favorite, he hated how m/n wouldn’t pay attention to him…! No.. that wasn’t it.. it was something else… but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

“Come on. Let’s play a friendly game. Nothing serious, just pass the ball to each other. M’kay?” “I..I guess? Is that why you dragged me away?” He asked abit nervous, not wanting to anger the pretty boy further. Chigiri didn’t respond, simply looking away before placing the ball down and passing it to m/n.

They continued this cycle for a while, talking about random topics such as games, movies, future goals in their soccer careers. Talking about how their goals were advancing in the clubs they were in. Chigiri was in manshine city, while m/n was in the Ubers.

“So, you just follow Barou?” “Hah! Please. Fuck snuffy and his ‘rely on Barou’ strategy. Sure he got that hat trick on yall, but I got the hat trick on FC Barcha” M/n said, hitting the ball abit harder towards Chigiri. “Well.. I’m glad you’re not just being a sheep. I still this you should’ve came with me to manshine”

“Oh? So you WANTED me, did ya~?” He teased as chigiri’s pass messed up, his embarrassment making him kick the ball past m/n. M/n laughed at chigiri as he tried to rephrase his statement “DUMBASS!! I-I just meant that you would’ve been better off working on your physicality!! A-and… well, me and you are a good duo!”

“Mhm, if ya say so” “Ughhh” chigiri turned around and squatted down, hiding his face in his arms. Why.. of all people, why was HE…attracted to m/n…? Why couldn’t it just be admiration? Why did it have to be a full on crush? He tried to hide it, but it became impossible. Seeing m/n around others just made his heart ache his whole attention for himself!

“Hey.. you okay princess?” M/n said as he patted his back. The contact alone made his heart beat faster. ‘God I’m pathetic…’ he thought to himself, as he reassured m/n by calling him a dumbass “Yep. Still yourself” m/n laughed as chigiri faced him. His eyes shined at the sight of m/n, his skin glowing ever so slightly due to the perfect lighting at that quick minute.

Chigiri then felt doubt crep up in his mind.. there’s no way m/n would feel the same way about him.. he hears him talk about girls with other blue lock boys. It was nothing short of a miracle that m/n would be gay for him as he was for him.

“Hey. Help me up dumbass” Chigiri commanded as m/n stopped laughing, helping his pinkette friend up. Unexpectedly, Chigiri hugged him “Uh.. you okay there buddy?” “Sorry… I just… can you just hug me?” M/n was confused, Chigiri always seemed a bit strange to him—at least the way he acted with HIM in peculiar.

However, he didn’t see why he would reject this request. So, he hugged back, wrapping his arms around chigiri’s waist and standing there for a minute or two. That moment seemed like heaven for chigiri, m/n’s skin was soft, his scent seemed perfect for him. And in that moment, he would stop any insecurities from appearing again.

“Hey m/n… do you like boys?”

-The End-

[ropes3amthoughts]

DunMeshi Memes I made #4.

I marked off and labeled spoilers for anime-onlys so they won’t get spoiled (second section, under the part that says Manga Spoilers), I marked off a section where I made memes with shipping in case people are not interested in those (final section at the bottom under Ship), and I labeled any possible content warnings. They’re in chronological order, so just stop scrolling when you get to the part marked spoilers! And if you don’t want to see the ship memes, you can stop before those too since they’re at the bottom. Anyways, I hope you like these!

References Episode 1/Chapter 1:

References Episode 8/Chapter 17 (Can be read left to right or right to left):

References Episode 16/Chapter 36:

References an Extra Comic, so it doesn’t spoil anything for the main series, but if you haven’t read the extra you won’t know who Milsiril is. For context she’s Kabru’s adopted mother and she coddles him a lot because he’s a short lived race so she still sees him as a child:

Manga Spoilers past this point:

——————————————————————————

This isn’t that big of a spoiler but it hasn’t been revealed that Lycion is a werewolf in the anime yet. I drew this Lycion:

Spoilers for Chapter 60:

Spoilers for Post-Canon:

Ship stuff past this point (all of it is Lycion x Mithrun lmao I think it’s funny and one-sided on Lycion’s part)

——————————————————————————

Spoilers for Chapter 92. I made two versions because that scene reminded me so much of that jealous boyfriend text meme thing that I felt compelled to make two different versions for it. This first one reads right to left:

Spoilers for Chapter 92 again because it’s the same meme just with the original text. You can tell I edited the images on this one lmao. There’s more to this text but I cut it off here because the guy says he’s gay as proof he’s not hitting on the other guy’s girlfriend, but that would not work very well here because Kabru being gay would not help his case lmao. I mean I guess the “I have a boyfriend” part would still work but then at the end the other guy is like “why do gay people always talk about being gay” so that wouldn’t fit. Anyways uh this is like the part of the text thing I referenced:

CW Nsfw and Suicide joke:

[thescarletwitchsapprentice]

Love Bites (But you don’t mind) (Yandere!Vampire!Wanda Maximoff/Yandere!Vampire Queen!Scarlet Witch x willing!lesbian!simp!female!reader)

*Not my GIF.

Summary: Most people would probably find spending eternity with a vampire-superwitch to be frightening. 

But here’s the thing? You’re not most people. And she is gorgeous.

(CW: Blood, (I mean, it’s a vampire fic so that’s kind of a given) blood-sucking, idk what else, reader being a simp I guess. )

Author’s Note: I’m back, I’m gay, and you simps wanted this and more. Honestly if this keeps up, I might as well make it its own series/category. 

Reader is 18+.

The vampire queen stands over your unconscious body; she hasn’t taken blood yet, but she’s taken a liking to you. Her dark hair flows in the wind that blows throughout her castle.

“Such a sweet little thing,” she sighs as she sits on the edge of the bed next to you. “Fate has finally brought us together, and I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

She brushes a soft hand over your cheek, and you begin to stir. Her heart skips a beat as your eyes flutter open. Wait, this isn’t your bedroom.

“What the...?” you groan. “Where the hell am I?”

“Your new home.”

You look to see probably the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen. Your sweet little lesbian heart is pounding as your eyes widen, and it’s not just to let in more light.

“My...huh?”

Wanda smiles as she cups your cheek.

“When I first saw you....you took over my mind and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had to have you to myself. Don’t even think about running away. I know the ins and outs of this castle--”

“Wait, wait wait wait.....” You’re confused. “You actually think I want to escape?”

Now she’s the confused one.

“Well....yes. That’s how most people act around a vampire queen superwitch.”

That makes you pause.

“Wait, you’re a vampire queen and a superwitch and you’re gorgeous as hell? Damn, now I never wanna leave!”

She’s at a loss for words as you hug onto her.

“Mommy....” you sigh excitedly. “Oh mommy......please bite me. Take all the blood you want. Fuck it, drain me dry!”

“....Wha...what?”

You tilt your head to one side and point to your exposed neck.

“Right here, my neck and my blood are all yours.”

“...Is this.....is this a joke?”

“Mommy, I would never joke about you taking my blood. Oh wait! Should I eat or drink something to make it sweeter? Do you like fruity blood? I’ve got plenty.”

Wanda laughs in a mixture of shock, endearment, awe.

“Sweet little (y/n), are you serious about not leaving me?”

“Deadass.” There’s no hesitation from you. “You could drain me dry and my last words would be ‘thank you, my queen.’“

Wanda’s face flushes scarlet. 

“You....really want me to drink your blood?”

“Please?” There’s a begging tone on your voice. “My neck is ready!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Please!”

Wanda has to take a moment to recover.

“Do you want me to hypnotize you so you don’t feel the pain?”

“No, please. Just....I wanna feel it.”

That’s....unexpected. But she’s not gonna complain.

“Alright then.” Her voice drops to a low, husky whisper, running a chill down your spine as she gently places her hands on your shoulders. What a sweet, delicate thing you are. Despite you wanting to feel it, she still wants to be gentle. Her fangs grow in and she decides on a halfway point of plunging her fangs right in and slowly biting in. 

You feel the fangs in your neck as she begins to take your blood.

“You have such delicious and sweet blood.” Wanda’s voice purrs in your mind in a low whisper. “The best I’ve ever had; such a delectable blend of fruit. It’s addicting.”

“Take all you wish,” you sigh happily. 

“Oh, sweet girl; I don’t wish to drain you dry, though. I want you as my precious princess; I can’t have you that way if you’re dead, and I can’t drink your blood if you’re a vampire....perhaps I could make you an immortal human.”

Your eyes light up at this idea.

“Yes, yes, please! I wanna spend eternity with you, mommy!”

“Very well....once I finish drinking this delightful blood of yours, I shall make you immortal, my precious (y/n).”

You begin to feel giddy, and you’re not sure if it’s from joy or lightheadedness, but you’re fine with either. Once she removes her fangs, she notices that you look a little pale.

“Oh dear,” she sighs. “It would seem I took too much. Shall we rest together?”

With a sweet, lovestruck smile on your face, you nod, making Wanda giggle.

“What an adorable princess you are.” She conjures up some first-aid supplies and cleans up the bite marks to avoid infection before giving you a large glass of water, helping you drink it before laying you down on the bed. She lays next you, pure love in her eyes.

“I can’t wait to spend eternity with you, sweet (y/n).”

She brings you close, causing you to snuggle up with her. Are you never gonna get to see the outside world again? Probably not. But hey, you have a loving vampire queen/superwitch girlfriend, so the way you see it....

Eternity just got a million times better.

[galacticgraffiti]

If You Want to Give Me Anything (Then Give In) - Part II

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 2.1k Summary: And the yearning continues... CW: blood, canon-typical violence, gays yearning, blood-licking, knife-licking, knowingly hurting oneself, blood kink (i guess?), definitely knife kink, lewd thoughts A/N: Found the dividers here. Big bear hugs to @patchmates loml your help and beta comments mean everything to me my darling.

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Part II

It’s been weeks. Neither of them have spoken a word about their exchange.

Oh, they don’t avoid each other. They eat together, spar together, sit together. But they don’t talk about it. By now, Johnny is half sure that Ghost must have forgotten about it, must have thought it was a fever dream of pain, or simply doesn’t remember it at all. He couldn’t have meant it.

Sweet’eart. 

Because it’s never anything, not really.

Johnny makes Simon’s tea just the way he likes it: with lemon and copious amounts of sugar, always in his favourite cup. When the cup isn’t clean, Soap scrubs it himself. Simon doesn’t like the other cups, says their rims feel strange against his lips. This is what they have always done: Just like Simon makes coffee for Johnny, so strong that the spoon practically vibrates out the mug, grinds the beans fresh, and it’s a roast Soap likes because it doesn’t upset his stomach and yet still manages to make his brain nice and quiet and calm.

Ghost keeps the bags of coffee beans hidden now, has done so since the time Soap had around nine cups and swore he could hear God talking in his heartbeat. He almost told Simon that God sounded a whole lot like him. Almost confessed that, when Johnny pictured the voice of God these days, it sounded like Ghost’s scratchy, dark voice through the mic. Almost said that he would build an altar at Simon’s feet and worship him instead of the good Christian God Johnny has been raised to love if only it meant he would be loved back. By him.

Soap never said any of it, of course. Still thinks about it every time he takes a sip from his mug, the one Simon got for him, the one that says ‘Don’t throw Sodium Chloride at people. That’s a salt.’

Johnny’s world shifts at the edges every time he tries to grasp the way he feels about Simon. And so, he doesn’t think about it. Simple as that.

It’s normal. It’s fine. It’s not anything.

Soap’s glances don’t linger longer, Ghost’s hands don’t find their way to him more often than they did before. They don’t talk more– talk less if anything. Soap stays by Ghost’s bedside until he is well enough, just like Ghost has done for all of Soap’s injuries. This is what they do. It really isn’t anything.

But eventually, another mission rolls around. They still haven’t talked about it. (Because it’s not anything. Right?)

This time, Ghost gets the fucker who tries it before he gets got, and Soap has never been happier to see a goddamn bloodied knife in his life. Bloody knife means Ghost is safe. 

And Ghost’s voice doesn’t cry out for help, and his side is whole and untarnished and he breathes properly when Soap rounds the corner. His eyes are warm, so warm for all the death they bring, and not hazy like last time. And yet still, the way Ghost breathes his name sounds eerily familiar to weeks ago, when Soap thought he might lose him for good this time.

“Johnny.” All his relief packed into that one word, and it’s like a punch in the gut.

“You got ‘im quick this time, LT,” Soap grins, chest swelling with pride. Because that’s how good Ghost is at what he does: He survived, made it through that fucking cunt that stabbed him in the back. Is the dread of his enemies still, every time. Kills like that, but measures Johnny’s coffee to the gram so it’ll be perfect, because he takes care. Because he’s like that.

It’s not anything, but it’s special to Soap.

Ghost’s blade shimmers in the low light when Soap’s gaze fixates upon it.

“Got ‘im with my favourite fucking knife, too,” Ghost grunts, staring down at the body in front of him. “Wasted on this bloody bastard, can’t believe this is what it’s come to. The fuck do we even have guns for anyways- knife’s always been more effective for hand to hand, but God, do I hate the cleanup after.”

He kicks the body at his feet, and Soap has to take a moment to breathe when he sees – really sees – the knife in Ghost’s hand: It’s the one Johnny gifted him for his last birthday, with a carved handle and a double-sided edge; the metal of the blade twisted and hammered over and over to make a beautiful damask pattern. Supposed to make it sturdier, keep the sharpness for longer, combine only the best to make it better than the sum of its parts. It took Johnny ages to find the perfect knife, and one that Ghost would not already own, but his research was worth every second when he saw the way Simon’s eyes lit up.

Now, the blade is coated in red, Ghost’s fingers holding it easily, twirling it slowly.

“Gun’s no fuckin’ better, LT,” Johnny grunts, gesturing pointedly at his own tac vest that’s covered in blood and viscera. “Fuckin’ close range combat. Get ye dirty every time.”

“Hm.” Ghost’s fingers stop twirling the knife. A thin rivulet of blood drips from it. Ghost stares down at the blade, and Soap thinks he can see him snarl even through the mask. “Meant the knife itself, sweet’eart.”

Sweet’eart.

There it is again, spoken in those low, rough tones only Ghost can manage, that sinful inflection, the fatal tilt of his head to accompany it. It’s just a word, it’s not anything, not really, but all of a sudden, no air is left in the room.

Soap makes a pained, strangled noise, and Ghost’s eyes meet his.

Everything he is, everything he wants, is laid bare in the darkness of his warm irises, is written into the shadow his white lashes cast onto black. It’s Ghost who stared down at the body of the man he killed, but it’s Simon’s eyes looking at Johnny now. Reality grows thick like syrup, and all Johnny can do is stare and stare, and wait for his mind to catch up to the moment.

Simon’s eyes go impossibly soft for a moment, when he stretches out his hand and pulls at Johnny’s very fucking soul with his next words, so gently Soap might not even notice it’s gone.

“Johnny… come here, sweet’eart.”

It’s one breath, two steps across the room, stopping so close to Ghost that Johnny can feel his body heat. He raises his hand slowly, sliding it down Ghost’s arm until Soap is gripping the knife over gloved fingers.

“Thought you didn’t remember,” he mumbles, so quiet it’s just a whisper of air from his lips. But Ghost’s gaze goes sharp and dark at the words.

“As if I could ever forget a thing you’ve said to me, Johnny.” He cocks his head, and all of a sudden, his eyes are heavy-lidded and sweet, his voice a low purr that makes Soap’s chest vibrate in turn. “You think I could ever burn the memory of you callin’ me love out of my mind? Nothing in this world or the next could make me forget the sound of tha’. Should be fuckin’ ridiculous with the accent, but-”

“Love,” Johnny breathes, lets the world melt away until it’s just them in it. Grips the knife harder, pulling Ghost’s hand towards himself with it.

“Johnny, the fuck are you-”

Soap drops to his knees. Stares up at Ghost like he is the idol on the altar Johnny worships at. Maybe he is. Has become it so naturally. It’s pathetic, really, the way Johnny’s heart beats so fast that it wants to explode out of his chest as he stares up at Simon and thinks that this must be a dream.

Ghost cradles Johnny’s head in his hand, and Soap can’t help but sigh at the relief that comes with being touched like that. Like he is all Simon has ever wanted. Johnny’s words are pleading, sweet like he can be only for Ghost, begging for permission, starving for approval.

“Let me clean it for you, love. Please?”

A shudder runs down Ghost’s body when Soap pulls at his hand, until the cold, hard metal of the knife is right in front of his face. Lets his tongue dart out to lick at it, knows exactly what he looks like when he does. What this must look like. Debauched, his cheeks red, his eyes swimming. Begging before anything has even begun.

“Please, just let me- I want to- Ghost-”Soap is vaguely aware he is babbling, too caught up in how fucking perfect it feels to look up at Simon like this, to be the object of his desires, the sole thing Simon’s dark eyes are focused on. To be known- to be beheld.

Soap is careful at first. Presses his tongue to the flat of the blade, licks up drops of blood and watches Ghost’s eyes go wide at the sight, watches his pupils dilate and his broad chest heave with laboured breaths.

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.”

Soap smiles, doesn’t care about the coppery taste of a stranger’s blood on his tongue, not if it gets Ghost to look at him like that. Not if it makes Simon’s fingers twitch under his own like all he wants to do is bury his hands in Soap’s hair, tug at him – God, tug him right where he wants him, his face pressed up against thick thighs, inhaling the filthy scent of him and getting his mouth on his cock– finally–

Soap runs his tongue along the blade, barely feels it when it nicks him, barely registers when the cut goes deeper, sharp as it is.

Johnny has seen Simon sharpen his knives, has watched his precise movements as he does, knows he has done it hundreds of times before, knows how meticulous he is. Knows Simon keeps his blades sharp enough to split a fucking hair, but in this moment, Johnny would happily cleave his own tongue in two if only it meant Ghost might keep looking at him like that.

Blood drips down Johnny’s chin, and it’s like Ghost wakes from petrification. He pulls at the knife frantically, and as much as Soap wants to protest, he loosens his grip around Ghost’s hand to let him draw back, mourning the feel of the cold blade against his hot tongue.

“Ye do nae have tae protect me, Ghost, I-”

Ghost just shakes his head, wipes the knife clean on his own shirt, purges the blood and the dirt and the spit from it. His breaths come raggedly, and his voice is uneven when he speaks.

“Fuck, I- Can’t let your blood mix with that of enemies, Johnny. It’s a holy fuckin’ thing to bleed for me, sweet’eart. Would be blasphemy for me to taste you less than pure.”

The words are a sacrilegious prayer, offered up to Johnny’s worshipful mouth before he proffers the knife again, pressing it to Johnny’s waiting lips.

“Again,” he says, and it’s the sweetest word Soap has ever heard.

It makes his blood sing and his heart race as he lets his tongue lap at the blade again, prepared this time for the dull throb its slice leaves in its wake. Barely feels the bite of steel until his blood, warm and bitter, drips down his chin again. Is too focused on the way Ghost’s pupils seem to swallow the whites of his eyes in the low light, staring down at Johnny like he’ll never get to see anything else ever again. Like he doesn’t want to see anything else ever again.

When the knife clatters to the floor, it’s with sweet surrender that Ghost drops to his knees as well, fingers frantically wiping at Johnny’s face, cradling his cheeks, kissing away the blood until forehead presses against forehead.

Ghost’s mask, hastily tugged up, is stained red as he licks into Johnny's mouth, moaning quietly.

“My good boy,” he mumbles into him, lips barely leaving bloodied skin. “Oh, my sweet boy, my perfect- fuck- sweet’eart, come here, let me taste you-”

Blood and sweat mix and the world shatters off its axis only to glue itself back together again, everything in its place and yet not the same as it was before. Simon’s lips meet Johnny’s, Johnny’s canines biting down until he tastes copper and salt, and all he can think is:

This just might be something.

Part I ⮜ ♦ ⮞ Part III

I've added a CoD option to my taglist!

Taggies for the eternals @patchmates @purgetrooperfox @certified-anakinfucker @ulchabhangorm @pinkiemme @baba-fett and uhh some others who seemed to enjoy the story so far (lmk if u don't want to be tagged anymore no hard feelings) @almond-orchid7 @colonelcaroldanvers

[our-arospec-experience]

cw? i think this is a rather touchy subject because i may have used the wrong terms to describe myself.

so i am afab. i'd like to think im enby but leaning on more masculine expression, i guess transmasc. i know im aro. knowing that i'm enby and aro, i like to think that i belong in the LGBTQIA+ umbrella. so i thought that using the term 'gay' was a safe term to use for myself. (the term queer is not very understood where i'm from so i just use the term gay to describe myself real quick.)

my dumb ass started proudly calling myself gay because of my gender expression and my aroness.

and then, a lesbian fell in love, and said that, 'you're gay, right?!'. i said, 'girl i'm aro'. she did not seem happy with that revelation.

and me oh my this is is frying my last two braincells to this day.

i don't know if i should use the term gay again im so sorry

I'm not really sure. If you experience no attraction at all, I wouldn't say gay is the right word, and could mislead people. However, you could experience a little attraction and be gay? Or maybe you are allosexual and gay but still aro? Or perhaps oriented aro?

I'm sorry, I really don't want to gatekeep anything, so really it's up to you what terms you use.