#i just need them to get through hundred layers of hell first :3

[daedelweiss]

hello, tumblr! welcome to my version of a rottmnt separated AU ✨ "life mission: save my brothers" ✨ where splinter managed to rescue only leo after the turtles have been mutated. raph was taken to big mama and was raised to become a battle nexus champion, mikey was taken by draxum and was trained to be a warrior to protect yokai and fight against humans, and donnie was thought to be dead but was actually taken by a tech mob and ran away when he was 7 only to meet big mama, who used his talent with tech to her advantage.

there will be a comic about this . 3 . it’s quite long help-

btw, donnie doesn’t know that other turtle mutants exist. big mama gave him goggles that prevented him to see them and was told to cover up his turtle-yness which is how he got to meet raph sometimes before they found out they were brothers. leo rescues them over the course of the story: first raph, then mikey, then donnie (after they found out he’s still alive).

there will be more about them! and feel free to ask 😄 i’m really happy with the feedback i have about my AU so hope y’all like it too 👉👈

-

( 🌿 do NOT repost, edit, trace, use, and/or sell 🌿 )

[lvndrlondonfog]

ok so basically I saw your post asking for prompts and I have been thinking for days about cat good omens . again. let me explain

so a while back I wrote a super fucking long cat omens fic (long for me at least) where they’re stray cats, it’s called strays on the street, almost 60k words. BUT in my head is ANOTHER CAT AU where they are warrior cats ok idk if you’ve ever read those books but there’s hundreds of them and they’re about clans of cats who fight and hunt and fuck and it’s crazy and not child appropriate. I was reading cats get mauled and give birth graphically in 2nd grade but anyway I WANNA READ THEM AS WARIROR CATS OR WRITE IT MAYBE?? Cuz all I’ve written is this snippet from my notes app from weeks ago

/ “I’m sorry,” Serpentfang gurgled, his eyes rolling back in his head, his paws convulsing as he tried to reach for Angelwing. But the white tom stepped back. /

NO CONTETX NOTHING IDK WHAT

but anyway i also need more fanart and fic of crowley with greying hair. same with azi tbh but especially Crowley i want them growing old together in the sense that they don’t have to grow old but they choose to :) ))) also i want an au where crowley becomes Duke of hell post s2 just to send petty notes through heavens administration

SORRY MY ADHD DOES NOT LET ME HAVE A STRAIFHT LINE OF THOUGHT AJSSJDK anyway i am all for new tumblerers and if you have an ao3 or something id love to follow it incase you do write or post anything! <3 random ideas to shoot at ya: sailor aziraphale x siren Crowley, crowley pretending to date furfur post s2 to get supreme archangel aziraphale’s attention, muriel trying to get Crowley and aziraphale back together PARENT TRAP STYLE, orrrr yknow what sweet and fluffy aziraphale reading and drinking tea in south downs cottage while snake Crowley listens to him read aloud and sips from his cup with his silly forked tongue

GO CRAZY (and also be my mutual? 💍)

OH ABSOLUTELY. Warriors cats was my SHIT growing up, and sosososos many ideas I cannot thank you enough: I’ll link one of my fics below and I just started writing so they aren’t AMAZING but decent I think still!!! Ones about Angel Crowley finding inspiration for the entire universe after one (1) passing glance at a specific Angel and the other about Crowley struggling a bit after the fall, past angst but wings and fluff!!!

THOUGH I ABSOLUTELY GET ZERO STRAIGHT LINES OF THOUGH FELLOW ADHDER SO LEMME SEE IF I CAN RESPOND TO ALL OF THESE AKFKRLS

So basically I have also thought about warrior cats au before and BASICALLY

Crowley is a dark forest cat (kicked out like Ashfur) and Aziraphale is a Starclan cat!!!! Remember in the first books when they have to move from the original forest bc it was getting chopped down? Instead of moving, Starclan saw no way out of that and was like “what if they all just die instead than problem solved and we never have to worry about issues ever again?”

Crowley and Aziraphale are obviously like NO THATS A BAD IDEA and after an accidental meeting at the foggy border between Starclan and the dark forest, they are both elected by their respective forces to take over two clan’s medicine cat’s bodies and make sure that the 9 layers of Armageddon that Starclan is sending to wipe out the clans will go through. Instead, they try to thwart things while each dealing with clan life once again, and of course, shenanigans ensue!

Okay growing older I literally love the idea of as they drift further from their respective sides, they lose more and more of their ethereal powers, but it means they can be together and be left alone. While it’s a sacrifice that they’re both willing to make, it does come with some unintended side effects (mostly for Crowley; human bodies don’t tend to handle a million year free-style dives into pits of boiling sulphur too well) but they again find ways. Essentially a lot of fluff post-Armageddon’t and s2 in the South Downs Cottage????

And thirdly what if post S2, Crowley doesn’t really know what to do with himself but he’s PISSED. And there is no more “their” side, only Crowley’s side and he’s not exactly thrilled to be back alone. He has nothing else to do and he wants petty revenge, so he matched Aziraphale’s position as Supreme Archangel as a Duke Of Hell, mainly as an excuse to fuck with Aziraphale and make sure that Aziraphale won’t be able to forget about him any time soon, because Crowley certainly hasn’t thought about him.

AND TWO SPLIT ROUTES ONE ANGST ONE CRACK

1) With nobody left on Earth, Crowley and Aziraphale are out of the loop and before they realize it, the second coming had happened. Earth is dead, and Heaven and Hell are preparing for war once again. Meeting on the battlefields, each full of anger and with nothing left to go back to, what will happen? Either they fight and one accidentally wounds the other before they’re both like OH SHIT WAIT WAIT WAIT THIS IS STUPID MISTAKES HAVE BEEN MADE or one is hurt by the enemy side and found by the other; how do they stick together when no place is safe anymore?

OR NOT HORREDNOUS ANGST

2) Crowley finds out about the second coming, which he doesn’t think Aziraphale knows about, and vice Versa. Cue notes with ridiculous clues and stupid Spelling Things Out with random capitals to send a message, and completely obliviousness on both sides because they’re too desperate to get their own sides across that they don’t even stop to consider that the other may Also be trying to send a message. Cue increasingly grand gestures from both sides before Aziraphale shows up at Crowley’s office holding the Son of God, and they have to figure out how to stop the second coming while finding out ways to acknowledge the emotional damage they both still carry from their last meeting in the bookshop

Sailor x Siren writes itself: maybe shipwrecked Aziraphale finds Very Almost Miraculously Convenient things on this abandonded island that he’s trying to survive on, before one night he finds a certain someone repairing the broken boat little by little. They get scared off before they can talk but Azi leaves an offering back, and cue not-meeting-but-absolutely-communicating until actual meeting than bam! Eventually they both realize that there’s nobody getting him off this island and the ultimate choice for Aziraphale to drown and become a siren too, he takes the offer and is literally just held by siren!Crowley as he takes his last breath and a bit of suspense before BOOM REBORN HAPPY ENDING YIPEE!!

Than dating Furfur to cause jealousy, specifically knowing how similar the two can look, Crowley makes it VERY obvious that he’s complimenting and highlighting all the similar traits of Aziraphale but TO SOMEONE ELSE. Aziraphale refuses to directly confront but cue more and more aggressive signs from the heavens that try to break them apart that Crowley keeps spinning into good things. Aziraphale convinces Muriel child-of-divorce style to miraculously decorate the bookshop that Crowley had been living in to an EXTREME for Valentine’s Day, and Crowley spins it into ‘I did this myself’ for FurFur. Eventually, Aziraphale gets so spun up that he can no longer focus on the planning (or thwarting) of the second coming and gets so pissed with Crowley little shithead antics that he leaves the rambunctious 10 yo son of Christ at the door, with a small note reading something along the lines of ‘Fine, deal with this yourself than; PS this is Jesus!’ And the exact opposite silence, Crowley flailing to win Aziraphale’s good graces and communicate with him, handling Jesus, and dealing with some growing guilt after Furfur genuinely seemed to become attached. Not sure how this would end, but probably Crowley working through everything on his own, separate sides angst, alternating POV chapters, and they ultimately team up again to solve all the issues

Also for Parent trap Au: Muriel and the Bentley power-duo: Crowley’s depressed so Muriel can use the Bentley, and it drives Muriel places and hints at what to do next ect ect while Muriel figures out human stuff, romance, heaven, and after numerous failed attempts- a happy ending for the wonderous Mr.Fell and Mr.Crowley who had taken her in before!

Also Absolutely Dyslexic Crowley having pretended to just really hate books for the longest time, but Aziraphale eventually noticed that Crowley struggles to read menus and other stuff too- just poor eyesight and with knowledge being the root of the original sin, heaven found it quite ironic to block that in more than a few ways for the very demons who perpetuate sin! Confrontation, and eventually Crowley gives in and cue absolute fluff; Aziraphale reads and finds a new side of Crowley, who despite what he had spent many years convincing himself, actually ends up enjoying various things and even asking further questions and speculating and thinking about things (which Aziraphale is more than thrilled about to finally have someone to discuss with!)

Also I am currently on SOS Internet on the drive home, so I can’t risk opening a new webpage lest everything is risked but my Ao3 is LvndrLemonade! Top two fics are what I was talking about earlier and I will absolutely keep you updated on these ideas!!!!!!!!! Thank you for allowing me to yell I love all of tjeese sosososso much oh my god

[theeslytherinslut]

The Perpetual Freak (1/?)

Pairings: Sirius Black x reader, Marauders x reader

Warnings: Mention of bullying,

Word Count: 2,063

The Beginning

“Twitch,

Just 4 days now--like I need to tell you, likely been counting down the days all bloody Holiday, haven’t you? We’ll be there Sept 1st at 10 on the dot, we should make it to King’s Cross by 11 that way. Be ready this time, won’t you? I think Padfoot just might actually hex your grandmother if he has to make small talk with her again, but can you blame him? Anyway, we’ll be there at 10. Don’t forget Jinx this time. I don’t fancy being attacked once he breaks out of your grandmother’s house.

P.S Sirius said he’ll be on his best behavior--does that make you nervous too?

See you soon,

Prongs (& Padfoot)

The letter lay in the same spot on your cracked cherrywood desk since you received it. Though short and to the point, you’d reread it many times, hoping somehow the more you read it, the faster the day would come.

Holidays were hell. Being a muggle-born, there was always a bit of an adjustment period after coming home from Hogwarts for a break--an adjustment period usually aided by parents and family--however, this could not have been further from the truth for you.

“Y/N!” As if on cue, your Grandmother's angry call shot up the stairs. Cringing, you held your breath as you walked down the stairs into the kitchen. She stood with her blue gingham apron covered in flour, as well as most of the floor and countertop.

“If this bloody bird scratches my window one-more-time,” she said the words through clenched teeth, glaring at you from across the room. Her stacked icy grey curls bobbled on her head as she shouted, her fist pressed against her hip. “I’ll have to drown it in the creek.”

Your Snowy Owl, Jinx, sat outside the baby-blue curtained window, his big orange eyes peering at you innocently through the glass.

Piecing together the situation, you’d guessed Jinx had arrived suddenly during your grandmother’s baking and had startled her, causing her to spill much of the contents of her bowl.

Suppressing a smile at the mess, you walked over to the window and opened it. Jinx’s peppered wings stretched out briefly before you felt his talons brush against your collarbone, and he perched onto your shoulder.

“Sorry, Grandmother,” you mumbled, catching your cousin smirking at you. A blush of anger lit up your face, and you made to disappear back into your room before anything got ugly; you’d gone all Holiday without a vicious row, and you weren’t about to start one just before you walked out the door.

“When does that school of yours start again, anyway? Aren’t you normally gone by now? Blakely’s school has already started, he’s been working so hard,” she doted, smoothing his hair as he ate his cereal, milk dribbling from his lips and onto the table. “We could all use a little peace and quiet around here, frankly.” she sniffed.

Jinx gave an annoyed hoot and ruffled his feathers unpleasantly as your grandmother glared at him from across the room.

“Train leaves September 1st at 11am like it always does. I’ll be leaving within the hour,” you said, struggling to control your voice.

“Train? There are enough of you--you, people, for an entire train?” Blakely said, dropping his spoon in his bowl, splattering more milk onto the table, evidently thoroughly shocked.

“Yes, oddly enough, it seems I’m not the only freak in England,” you said, using the word he often threw at you.

“Maybe not the only one, but definitely the biggest,” he said quietly, glaring up at you from his cereal. Grandmother, however, pretended as though she didn’t hear, merely clanged dishes loudly together as she turned back towards the sink.

“One day, I’ll hex you so terribly you’ll be lucky if someone calls you something so kind as freak,” you pushed the thought into his head and promptly stormed out of the kitchen, though savoring the terrified shock on his face.

“She-she did it again!” Blakely called, color draining his face. But you were already halfway up the staircase with Jinx balancing on your shoulder before her angry screech reached you.

You’d almost always been an utter freak in their eyes, and it all started when you were only a baby.

Your mother died while giving birth to you, and your father was never in the picture, so there was no one but your Grandmother to take you in; no one but you to blame for it all. You were, after all, the product of your mother’s insolence--having fallen pregnant at 15 by a man whom she’d never spoken of. And further, you were the reason she’d died; she wouldn’t have bled out if you hadn’t been conceived. To your Grandmother, it was as if you were the cause of every problem she had in life, a walking reminder of where it all went wrong--and she made sure you knew it.

Terrible as things already were, nothing was to be helped by the events that were to unfold. As the story had been told to you, you were a little over a year old, crying incessantly in your crib. You’d evidently been exceptionally whiny that day, crying non-stop, refusing to be consoled, and just when she’d for the first time seriously considered doing you in, you stopped. Relieved yet confused, your grandmother had come in to check on you.

“I’m hungry.”

She had heard the words clear as day, in a voice she didn’t recognize, but the words sounded funny. The voice almost echoed, somehow managing to sound crystal clear but miles away at the same time. Sure she was simply going mad from a lack of sleep, she stood rooted to her spot in shock.

“Did you hear me, Grandmother? I said I’m hungry.”

Seeing your bright Y/E/C eyes boring up into hers, she let out an ear-splitting scream when you grinned as recognition dawned on her face.

Obviously, no Muggle doctor could give any sort of explanation or help. At most, they’d give one of the two of you some kind of a crazy pill and a suggestion of seeing a family counselor.

Soon after, tragedy struck your grandmother’s side once more, and you were landed with a cousin, Blakely. Blakely, however, seemed to adopt a mindset closer to your grandmother’s about it all and would no sooner take a shine to you than get friendly with the rabies-infected alley cat.

But as the years went on, things began to get even stranger.

At the age of 3, your wailing cries caused all the lightbulbs around you to pop inexplicably (costing your grandmother a fortune, as she so loved to remind you).

At 5, you’d managed to levitate a ball Blakely was taunting you with out of his hands and into yours.

However, at age 9 is when it became harder to keep a secret; at age 9 is when your grandmother began truly resenting you.

Being a self-ascribed ‘freak,’ bullying was something you were no stranger to. A comment here, a hair tug there. However, this had been a particularly extreme case. Kylie Kippely and her best friends had backed you into a corner, each shooting off snarky comments at your scared state, and when that wasn’t enough, they began throwing things--anything they could get their hands on--cans, papers, pencils, erasers. All the while yelling how everyone would be much better off without such a freak in their midst, about how all their parents were scared to even send them to school anymore after your last incident.

Then, they began running out of rubbish and started picking up rocks instead. Before a single rock could leave their hands, however, the mulch around you began to shake, then chips slowly started rising into the air behind them. As your face went from scared to full of awe, they turned around to see what you were looking at and simultaneously dropped everything in their hands. The mulch then began pelting at all of them, causing everyone around you to scream and disperse, all batting away the pieces of mulch pelting at their running backsides.

Grandmother had pulled you out of the school before you could receive any other punishment, and from that moment on, you’d been stuck in the house with her.

With no outlet, with nothing but growing rage and resentment inside of you, things began to spiral even worse.

Just when Grandmother began researching distant reform schools, however, you received your Hogwarts letter, and everything made sense.

All the strange things you could do, all the bizarre things you made happen, had an explanation. Sure the explanation was that you were, in fact, a freak--but you weren’t the only freak. There was a whole school’s worth of freaks just like you--well, almost just like you.

Though paper cranes soared around you and magic burst from the tip of hundreds of wands, through your time at Hogwarts, you found you did have one unique gift: it was evidently called Telepathic Impression, a branch of complex magic known as Legillimens--no one else could push thoughts into other people’s heads like you could, not naturally anyway. Nobody could ask a question silently and have the Professor answer for all to hear. After you’d interjected into McGonagall’s head during your first Transfiguration class, she’d had you go straight off to Dumbledore’s office. After a brief discussion, it was found you possessed natural Legilimency skills--something that had only been seen once before. He’d been absolutely transfixed when you told him the first instance had been at the ripe age of 1, in fluent advanced English no less.

You smiled fondly at the memory of his laugh of delight as you’d repeated, ‘Did you hear me, Grandmother? I said I’m hungry.'

Never before had you told that story in any sort of positive light, never got a positive reaction either. Dumbledore had been absolutely enthralled with you from then on.

He had carefully explained the practice of Legilimency, how the mind was a layered thing and could not be ‘read’ simply, like a book. He’d explained how everyone learned it to some advantage of theirs, how no two Legilimens were the same.

After several years of private lessons, it seemed all you’d ever be able to do with your gift was push thoughts, images, and sounds of your own into other’s minds--but this was an incredible feat in itself, a private gift of yours. However, just the year before, it was found that with effort, you could twist the thought to become persuasive, convince the person the thought was their own, and to complete the idea you’d given them. During the first lesson which you found you could do so, you’d been practicing with Dumbledore. Though he was giving no effort at all to resist, you’d silently suggested his tea was abysmal and that he knock it off his desk in disgust. With a twitch of his wrist, the cup shattered onto the floor, shocking you both into silence. It was after this Dumbledore had insisted you promise to never use it for evil, never ever use it with ill intentions--for as a Legilimens himself, he would know. You quickly agreed, of course; you’d never once had the thought to use it with ill motives--aside from maybe having Blakely go for a nice long dip in the creek in the dead of January, but that was a fantasy you kept for yourself to get you through Holidays like these.

Shaking your head of past childhood memories, you turned to your trunk to make sure you did indeed have everything all packed up and ready. You didn’t want to stay a second longer than necessary.

Spotting your cloaks pushed into the depths of your closet, you plucked them from the dark and folded them into your trunk. It wasn’t a moment too soon either, because right as you closed the lid, you heard the boisterous arrival of your best friends as they pulled in the winding driveway driving the enchanted car James’ parents had lent him. You heard an enthusiastic barking whoop and smiled as Sirius’ bright eyes and smile filled your mind.

Your stomach bubbling with excitement, you hastily put Jinx in his cage as he looked around in interest. Picking up his cage, you bounded down the stairs to meet them.

[gogglor]

Cap-Ironman RecWeek: What-If Wednesday

Time for another installment of @cap-ironman rec week! Today’s theme: AU’s.

I know AU’s in different settings are half the reason most people read fanfics, but they’re not really my thing on the whole. AU’s where different choices are made, or different events transpire? Absolutely. Coffee shops? Not my cup of... you know.

So, here’s my AU recommendations for mostly “turn left” scenarios. This time with an under-the-cut break so I don’t take over everyone’s timelines (sorry about that last post). Also with some summaries truncated for length.

Alone Like This

Author: GotTheSilver

Word Count: 7,452

Summary: Steve, post waking up, runs away from SHIELD, and Tony's the one who tracks him down.

Why You Should Read It:

First off, GotTheSilver’s been consistently and regularly putting out solid Stony since 2012 and not only are they not stopping, they’re only getting better. This writer doesn’t get nearly the fanfare I’d expect in Stony circles for someone who puts out this much good stuff, and here’s hoping this post can be a part of changing that.

While I am always a sucker for enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, there’s something to be said for stories where Steve and Tony hit it off right away. And watching these two very different people look at each other and see the same sense of being lost, then finding each other again is... excuse me, there’s something in my eye, ignore me.

Second Chance Lives

Author: raeldaza

Word Count: 43,872

Summary: Tony's gonna die of palladium poisoning anyway, why not join a pointless expedition to recover Captain America’s body? And after, well, why not dedicate his last few months to making sure an American hero settles into his new life? What else is he going to do, get drunk at parties?

Why You Should Read It:

This writer doesn’t write a lot for the MCU but when they do, dang.

“Tony is the one helping Steve acclimate to the new century before Avengers 2012″ is a whole genre of Stony fanfics that scratch an itch I didn’t even know I had before I started reading fanfiction, and this is one of the best ones out there. It’s got it all - Steve poorly coping with his PTSD, Tony poorly coping with his immanent mortality, some breathtakingly poor communication between the two most emotionally stunted men in the MCU, and a cat named Roomba. What’s not to love?

Should You Choose to Accept It

Author: elwenyere (look, you’re gonna be seeing a lot of them this week, sorry-not-sorry)

Word Count: 27,106

Summary: After a terrorist attack and a field operation gone wrong, the Avengers realize that Nick Fury's secrets are just the start of a much bigger mystery. Steve and Tony try to keep some things from each other as well, but that can't possibly affect the mission — right? Mission Fic + Getting Together (or Mission: Getting Together) that mashes up elements from Iron Man 3, CA: Winter Soldier, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season one, and Mission Impossible 3.

Why You Should Read It:

You can see my post yesterday for singing El’s praises, but what I really liked about this fic was how how damn creative it is. The CAWS/IM3/AOS mashup is everything I wished the actual MCU gave us and more, with well-developed characters and an exciting story to put them in. And because it’s El, you know the banter’s gonna be on point, the way the characters care for each other is gonna be emotionally constipated but touching, and the pacing’s gonna be exciting enough to draw you in and keep you there. Also, this fic doesn’t have nearly enough kudos so please go read it and fix that or I’m gonna have to try to hack AO3 and that’ll just be embarrassing for all parties involved.

What Happens In Vegas

Author: sabremc

Word Count: 161,951

Summary: “What the hell, Tony?” Rhodey demanded brusquely.  Tony winced and drew the phone away from his ear.  “You’ve got cops and Feds all over the hotel.  I’m watching you perp walk out of the police station on repeat on CNN.  They’re saying you tried to bribe Stern?  Fox News has you selling weapons on the black market, and God that picture they’re using is the one from Bali in ’09.   You look like shit.  They wheeled Stern out and put him in an ambulance, by the way.  Got some paparazzi swearing you decked the guy.  Now they’ve got ‘copters following it like he’s OJ.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Sourpatch, I’ve got it covered.   Uh, though, I should probably tell you that, purely in the interests of national security and the greater good, I kind of had to fake marry that stripper-gram  you sent.  Thanks for that, by the way,” Tony added quickly.

Why You Should Read It:

If you’re deep enough into Stony to see posts like this on Tumblr, you probably know sabre’s what we in the business call a “big name author.” They’re prolific, they’re popular, and most importantly, they write words good (technical term). Seriously, sabre just keeps cranking out high quality stuff over and over again, raising the bar for the rest of us like a jerk (not really. I’m not bitter they write stuff so good I wish I’d thought of it first. Not at all.)

I never read stripper!Steve or stripper!Tony as a rule, but this came so widely recommended that I broke that rule and boy am I glad that I did. This is also the only fic on this list that’s a true-AU, with Steve being a non-powered vet from Afghanistan who left his army career to help Bucky and is stripping in Vegas to raise money for a prosthetic arm. He’s booked to do a private show for Tony, shenanigans ensue, and now they’re fake-married. This fic’s got some top-of-the-line banter and character development, but I particularly love it for its rich setting. Sabre paints a Vegas not just with strip clubs and blackjack tables, but KISS-themed minigolf, romantic dinners on the Eiffel tower, gaudy hotel lobbies, and making out on giant ferris wheels. It’s such a richly developed playground for the characters to play on, and through it, Steve manages to find a life for himself he’d given up on, and Tony finds multiple ways to show his kindness and depth of feeling for Steve. I know the word count’s long for this one but trust me, you’ve gotta read this fic.

Wait & Sea

Author: Lenalena

Word Count: 53,244

Summary: In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

Why You Should Read It:

This one’s old and popular enough to be considered one of the “classic” Stony fics, and for good reason. Lenalena doesn’t write too often and not as much as they used to, but the fics they have up there are an absolute delight.

This is another fic that I skipped a bunch of times for being outside my comfort zone, but when I finally read it I saw why everyone’s so wild about it. In this story, Steve’s defrosted a bit earlier and not revealed as Captain America. He and Tony are sent undercover to sniff out Hydra shenanigans on a cruise and, because it’s fanfiction, they’ve got to pretend to be a married couple while onboard. There’s tons to love about this fic, but the things that bring me back to reading it over and over is first, Tony’s kindness and the way he’s attuned to Steve’s feelings, which... God, just inject “kind, observant Tony” straight into my veins, please and thank you. This is also another really rich setting for a story, and Lena knows how to fold the the hokeyness of the cruise into the seriousness of the mission and the depth of feelings Steve and Tony are finding for each other in a really beautiful, layered way. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, it’s steamy, it’s gripping... why are you still reading this here? Go check it out for yourself!

Ashes to Ashes

Author: dirigibleplumbing

Word Count: 51,582

Summary: After regrouping following some surprise time travel, the world's heroes and sorcerers come up with a plan to protect the Mind and Time Stones by taking them into space in opposite directions. The result involves a lot more time loops than Steve would like, but at least they're getting a second chance to stop Thanos. (As well as a third, and a fourth...) And if Steve takes the opportunity to try to reconcile with Tony, too—well, they have the time, and Steve's going to make the most of it.

Why You Should Read It:

Dirigibleplumbing’s another name in Stony fanfics that does not get nearly as much fanfare as they deserve. They’re consistently a really creative voice in Stony fanfics and I always look forward to their stories showing me something new. Go read all their fics, I need more people to geek out with me over them.

I tend to limit myself on Steve-and-Tony-mend-things-after-Civil-War fics not because they’re not good, but because they’re so heavy, and also the Sokovia Accords have five hundred layers of crap in them that no good fic could possibly hash out well. This one, though? When you add in the Infinity War/End Game fixit? Poetry. Art. Music to my ears. DP wrote a really engaging, twisty story where it’s hard to predict what’s coming next, in spite of it literally being a pseudo-Groundhog day scenario. The characterizations are great, the story is engaging, and the feelings are big and sad and eventually happy. Go read it, you’ll love it.

I have tons of other recs for this category but this seems like a good place to stop for today. Tomorrow’s Alternative Media Thursday, and I’ve got some real gems I’ve been saving for that day (aaaaand possibly a self-rec or two ;)

[maddiwrites]

Secrets of the Shore (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Pogues x OC, Eventually JJ x OC

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister.

Note: I’ll be honest, this isn’t my best chapter, so please don’t judge too harshly I swear it gets better!!! (: Again, forever grateful for all the kind feedback. I truly appreciate it. If you asked to be on the tag list and I accidentally forgot, please let me know! 

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Slight insinuation to sexual assault.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 & Chapter 4

Like I said before, I'm good at advertising. Although the cell phone towers are still down, making it harder for me to get the word out about a party in the boneyard, I still know how to get around to the other teenagers on this island.

I sneak in an hour of surfing on the beach, afterwards finding Tourons and even some Kooks. These are the best people to go to when you want word to get around. They're rich and live for gossip. They have the internet and cell phone service, which means they can text their friends and send out tweets. And that is exactly what they do when I'm finished talking to them.

Later, I go with JJ and John B to get the kegs. As they work their magic, somehow securing two, I walk around the lot where most kids who live on the Cut hang out, hoping to score cheap booze from a stranger walking into the beer and beverage store. I use to spend a lot of my weekends here when my dad first disappeared. A small part of me still wants to. It was so easy to forget about my life falling apart when I was too wasted to form a complete sentence.

I tell them about the party and tell them to tell their friends and so on.

As I expect, the empty boneyard fills up quickly. To Kie's dismay, almost every kid has a red solo cup in their hand instead of a reusable one by the time the sun sets. Music and the chants of people playing drinking games fill my ears like a bird chirping on a Sunday morning.

Beer dribbles down my chin and onto my pink v neck crop top. JJ has his arm linked around mine, also chugging his drink, trying to down his before me. However, I beat him by one gulp and slam my cup on the sand as triumph.

"Seriously, Mar?" Kie scolds. She picks up my cup and throws it away.

JJ just smiles at me, maybe even looks at me with some kind of pride. It's hard to beat JJ in any drinking match, but I'm his biggest competition. I usually lose against him, but sometimes I have my nights where I'm undefeated.

He points his finger at me, pretending to be mad without losing the smile on his face. He takes a menacing step forward and bends down to lift me over his shoulder. I squeal in surprise and laugh against his back as he swings me around in circles.

When he sets me down, I shove his shoulders playfully. "Looks like you've finally met your match." JJ just shakes his head. "Get me another beer, loser?"

"You're lucky you're cute." He winks.

You can't understand the Outer Banks without understanding the boneyard. It's kinda like a three-layer burrito. There's us and our friends, working-class derelicts. Then, there are the Kooks, the rich second-homers. They're mostly from pouncy-ass boarding schools, just rich trustfarian posers. Our natural enemies. And then, there are the Tourons. Totally clueless. Here for a week on vacation with their families. Chum for the sharks. They're usually my first pick. A night with no attachments and a more than likely chance I'll never see them again.

I walk past Kie, who's sitting on drift wood talking to someone about zodiac signs and horoscopes. And when I pass Pope, I hear him talking about dead bodies and how TV doesn't portray the biological condition of them accurately. I giggle to myself when I see who he's talking to. A really pretty girl who wasn't expecting to get an anatomy lesson from the boy next to her. I make a mental note to work on Pope's flirting tactics.

As I make my way to the back of the beach, I see Sarah Cameron leaning off a fallen lifeguard stand. Her boyfriend, Topper Thornton, is right there with her, trying to get her to come down. Sarah Cameron's known as the Kook princess. Kiara's best friend in the ninth grade, worst enemy in the tenth grade. None of us know why she started hating her all of a sudden. She doesn't like to talk about it so we don't bring it up. However, John B works on Sarah's dad's boat thanks to me.

My teeth clench together at the sight of both of them. The two of them and their friends are the worst Kooks of all. Bad memories prickle my brain like a million tiny needles and the palms of my hands sweat against my solo cup.

I walk to the back of the beach and lean against a tree that's as close to a palm tree as this island is going to see. I like being back here when the sun goes down.  It gives me the perfect view of the party. Watching people laugh and have fun because of a night my friends and I put together makes me feel satisfied. Like I did something to make their day a little more enjoyable.

"Now what's the life of the party doing back here all by herself?" A voice that makes every muscle in my body turn to ice says.

I force myself not to look in his direction. My hands clench tighter around my cup until it bends and beer sloshes on my hand.

"Trying to avoid grimy wandering hands from pompous pricks," I say through clenched teeth. I'm surprised my voice isn't as shaky as I feel. "Go away, Rafe."

Rafe Cameron ignores me and moves to stand in front of me. His blonde hair is slicked back with a gel that's probably more expensive than my entire outfit. He's wearing a salmon pink button up shirt and white shorts. The sight of him makes me sick and I don't know if I want to drink more heavily or throw up and call it a night.

"Oh come on, Marleigh. Let's not pretend like you don't want to finish what we started."

I stand up straighter, feeling bile rise in my throat. "I'd rather rip both of my eyes out with a spoon." My insult wipes his stupid cocky grin off his smug face. At first I take it as a compliment, but the look in his eyes chills me to the bone. "Get out of here, Rafe. I'm not going to tell you again."

Rafe jerks forward and pushes me back into the trunk of the tree. His forearm presses against my chest, right below my collarbone. I try fighting him off but he's surprisingly strong. His eyes swing back and forth with craze, his pupils large and dilated. He's gotta be on something. Cocaine maybe. I've heard rumors.

"You think you can talk to me like that? After what my dad did for your friends?"

"Your dad only helped them in hopes to cover up the mistake that you made," I seethe, trying to push him away again. I try to keep my breathing even and my eyes unblinking. I don't want him to think I'm afraid of him. Even though I'm scared enough to vomit on his two hundred dollar shoes. "I owe you nothing." There's a pause as Rafe considers his next words carefully. So I push even harder. "You know, if you keep bringing it up, people might overhear and start to talk. I don't know if even your dad could buy the entire island's silence."

"You seriously think you can threaten me? You're nothing but a dirty walking piece of trash Pogue. No one will believe the Cut's biggest whore." Rafe shakes his head. "Remember that next time you think about talking to me like that."

His words cut through me like a stab in the chest, but I try not to let him see that. I push against him, keeping my face pinched and my eyes unwavering. "I'm not the same girl I was eight months ago," I say, finally pushing him away from me.

Back then I was a messed up girl who's dad had just left after a big argument that resulted in him thinking she hated him. All I wanted to do was drown myself with drugs and alcohol in hopes to forget about him, even if that meant following Kie to a Kook party when she was trying to roll around in the Kook life. I was easy to manipulate and take advantage of...easy to hurt. But not anymore.

"You think I'm above hitting a girl?" Rafe breathes heavily, his hands clenched to his side. I struck a nerve. One more and he might actually attack me.

"No," I say honestly. "I don't think you're above anything...or anyone. Including me - a dirty walking piece of trash Pogue." I use his words against him.

Rafe jerks forward and raises his hand to hit me and I'm ready for the blow and a fight back, but someone's voice forces us to halt, stopping us like she just pressed paused on a movie screen.

Kie watches us with wide eyes and glances back and forth between us. She looks both scared and angry. Rafe doesn't even bother looking in her direction. He's more disappointed that she got in his way.

I stand up straight again and walk past him, making sure to shove him backwards with my shoulder. Kie wraps her arm around mine and pulls me in close as she guides me away from him. She looks behind us one last time to make sure Rafe isn't following us. When the coast is clear, she stops and turns to look at me with a stone cold expression.

"What the hell was that?" She says, trying to read my face. "Are you okay?"

I can barely hear her behind the screaming in my head. Dirty walking piece of trash Pogue. The Cut's biggest whore. Who would believe you?

"Fine," I shrug, feigning nonchalance. I look back to where I was just standing. Rafe's gone, but the nausea he left me with isn't.

"Marleigh."

"Seriously, Kie. I'm fine. Just some unresolved built up resentment coming out full-fledged. I can't say I'm surprised. Now that summer's started, we're probably going to see a lot more of them."

Kie sighs and looks at me sympathetically. I hate that look.  "You should tell the boys."

"What? No way!" I snap.

"What if he -"

"He's not going to." I glare at her.

"Why won't you just -"

"So they can think of me as some pathetic little girl who needs protection from some self-centered Kook? Besides, John B and probably JJ will go after him and the last thing either of them need is charges pressed against them."

The noise of people yelling at one another and some cheering stops Kie from fighting back with me. We turn to look towards the water, seeing a crowd form around two people fighting. Dread creeps up my chest. If I had one hundred dollars, I'd bet it all that one of my friends is the center of attention in that crowd.

Kie and I run to them, pushing ourselves to the front. My breath hitches in my throat when I see who's involved. John B and Topper are fighting ankle deep in the ocean, each one getting a few good punches in.

"John B, stop!" I yell. I don't care who started the fight or why Topper deserves to get beaten to shit. If John B gets caught, the two of us are more than screwed with DCS.

"We're suppose to be incognito, remember?" Pope yells at my brother next to me.

"Babe!" Sarah yells at her boyfriend, jerking back and forth, trying to grab him by the shirt to pull him back. But his movements are scrappy. Sarah would just get hurt.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" The crowd around us cheer like it's a high school wrestling match and not my brother, the one that threw them this party by the way. I can't believe people find this as a source of entertainment. Half of them wouldn't even last a second if they were the one's getting beaten to a pulp.

Topper gets the upper hand and throws John B into the water. I flinch from the pain that must of caused to John B's back.

"Hey, John B, don't make me drown you like your old man, all right?" Topper says.

In that moment my vision turns red and a switch flips in my body. I picture my hands around Topper's neck and him begging for me to let him go - him taking back those words.

When I step into the water to reach him, arms wrap around my waist, stopping me from going forward. I glare at the blonde Pogue and try shoving him away from me but that only makes his grip on me tighten.

"JJ, let me go," I grunt.

"Sorry, pretty girl. Can't do that." His lips are so close that I can feel his breath.

John B tackles Topper to the ground and punches him in the face again.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"John B, let it go!" Kie screams. "Stop, you guys!"

Topper kicks John B's feet from under him and just like that, JB is back in the water. The Kook kneels next to him and punches my brother across the face before shoving his head into the water.

"Topper stop!" I yell.

"Come on John B!" Pope yells.

Topper lets John B come up for air before dunking him back in. I feel my chest tighten when I realize what Topper is going to do, whether he means to or not.

"JJ, please! He's going to kill him! JJ!" I cry against his hold.

"Come on, Man!" Topper taunts John B, keeping his head under water.

I'm going to kill him, I think. The second JJ lets go, I'm going to rip Topper apart.

"Topper, stop! No!" Sarah cries.

"Pope!" JJ says, swinging me around before pushing me into our other friend's arms. "Hold her."

"What? No!" I fight back but even Pope is stronger than I give him credit for.

JJ disappears to God knows where and I'm left watching like a stranded duck. I feel useless, like I should be doing more to help my brother. Everything I said to Rafe only minutes ago goes straight out the window. Maybe I am weak and still a girl who needs protecting.

Then the world freezes. JJ holds the gun we found in the motel to Topper's head, not only making Topper pause, but the rest of the crowd too. Pope releases his hold on me and I stumble away from him. I only watch the scene unfold in front of me with wide eyes.

"Yeah, you know what that is," JJ says, clicking the safety off the gun. "Your move, broski."

"Come on!" Pope yells. "Chill dude!"

"Stop! JJ!" Sarah cries. "Put the gun down!"

"Did you say something princess?" JJ turns towards Sarah and points his gun at the sky.

"We're good. We're good." Topper stumbles away from my brother to stand in front of his girlfriend.

The second he backs away, I'm in the water helping John B. I pull his upper back into my lap and push his hair out of his face. He coughs up a couple gulps of water before relaxing against me.

"Kie! Can you check your psycho friend, please!" Sarah yells.

"Okay, everyone, listen up!" JJ addresses everyone else who still watch in fear. "Get the hell off our side of the island!" He fires two bullets into the sky, causing people to shriek and cry around me.

"Are you crazy?" Kie yells at him. "Why do that?"

"I'm saving his life, okay?" JJ yells back at her.

When people begin dispersing, Pope runs into the water to help me lift John B back to shore. He's in a daze and barely able to stand on his own.

The four of them help me drag him back to the Chateau, the party long forgotten. Kie covers John B with blankets and places a glass of water on the nightstand for when he wakes up. I don't say anything as the night wraps up. I'm not mad at JJ like Pope and Kie. He did what he had to do to save John B. Topper could have killed him and the police would probably chop it up as an accident and I would be left with no family.

"You guys should go," I say.

I just want to be alone. Between Rafe and Topper, all I can think about is sleep so I can wake up to a new day. Start over and try again.

"Are you sure?" JJ asks, looking between my eyes to find any sign for him to stay.

As much as I want JJ to stay the night and let me cuddle into him like the night before, it's best if I'm alone. So I reluctantly nod.

"You can stay at mine tonight, JJ," Pope offers.

I offer a weak smile before turning around to lock myself in my room. When I hear the door to the Chateau close one last time for the night, I sigh deeply and stare up at my ceiling. I'm restless, anxious, sweaty. As much as I want sleep, sleep doesn't want me. I toss and turn hoping for a wave of darkness to hit me but it never does.

I glance at my clock. 3:04 AM. I roll my eyes and groan to myself, pushing myself up against my bed's headboard. I tip toe out of the Chateau and make my way down to the dock. I dip my toes in the water and lay back against the wooden slacks. The moon's half crescent illuminates the water, dark with a mystery glint. It's cold against the night, feeling refreshing against my skin.

Even my mind isn't tired. My head wanders with different thoughts. Rafe, Topper, Scooter, the gun...my dad. His words echo through my ears like a skipping record. The night before he disappeared he told John B and I that he might have to vanish for a bit. This only caused a major fight to brew between my father and I whereas John B only nodded and said okay. I think this is why John B still holds on to hope that he's alive somewhere.

John B was always the loyal one to my father. Although they fought almost as much as my dad and I, they were quick to move on and pretend like it wouldn't happen again. Even though it always did. He tried to help my dad keep me on track with school, friends, and other activities. Most of the time, he just joined in on my antics. Sometimes I regret not giving my dad enough credit. He was a single father to Pogue twins with the distraction of his own obsession. My last words to him haunt me every day I pass his office.

"I hate you!" I screamed. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my tears. I wanted him to know I was strong and that I didn't need him. I think my main intention was to hurt him like he hurt me, but I would do anything to take it back.

                                                  ~ ~ ~

I wake up to the low rumble of an engine and the crunch of gravel underneath some tires. I blink away the sleep in my eyes, looking out into the marsh. The sun is above me, warming the entire island with it's summer heat so early in the morning.

My back aches as I sit myself up. I twist to find the noise that woke me up.

"Shit," I curse when I see the cop car parked in front of the Chateau.

Sheriff Peterkin sees me walking up my yard and waits for me to approach her before barging into my house. I squint against the morning light. Even though I'm not in the mood for a pop in, I actually like Peterkin. She's the only one I trust to do her job right.

"I hope you brought some coffee," I say before opening the door for her.

"This will be quick," She says. I watch her eyes scan my kitchen and living room judgmentally. "Where's your brother?"

I point to his room. Peterkin gives me a look to go first. I sigh, knocking twice on the door before letting myself in. John B is still passed out. Half of his body hangs off the bed. His left eye is officially black and blue, a mark I know Peterkin won't subtly ignore. It's the first thing she sees and gives me a sideways glance. I cross my arms and look away.

John B blinks up at us when he hears our footsteps. His brows furrow in confusion, sleep still fogging his head.

"Get decent, sweetie," Peterkin says. "We need to talk."

As we wait for JB to get dressed, I sit on the pull out couch in my living room, fumbling with my thumbs until he appears, dressed in an open button up and swim trunks. He glances between Peterkin and I for some answers but neither of us give him any.

"Sorry to break in like this," She says, pacing the floor. John B stands next to me with his arms crossed. "But DCS called. They wanted me to check on you. See how you two are doing." Neither of us answer. "So, how are you, besides -" She points to JB's shiner and I hold myself back from rolling my eyes. So far so good!

"Oh, no, I'm - I'm great," John B says, shrugging like our life is just full of rainbows and butterflies. "Yeah, fantastic. Uh... thanks for coming by."

Peterkin just smirks. "I'm so glad to hear you say that, John B, but I heard a few things that worried me. Let me see if I can remember. Oh yeah. One of the things I heard was that your Uncle Teddy, your guardian, hasn't been in the state for three months."

"Yes he has -"

Peterkin cuts me off. "You don't have to say anything. I know it's true. I called the school. They said you used to be a good student," She says, looking at John B. Then she looks at me. "You not so much. But John they say now you're failing all your classes."

"No. No, I'm only failing one and it's history. He's a dick. He's out for me - "

"I heard," Peterkin continues, not giving a damn about John B's bullshit excuses, "there was a fight on the beach yesterday, and a gun was involved."

My eyes snap up to look directly at Peterkin. I feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach. What else was she going to ask? Would JJ get in trouble? Are we going to jail?

"Okay, gun?" John B plays dumb. "No. Did I get in a  dustup? Yeah, but was there a gun? No. No way," He scoffs.

"That's okay I know who it was. I'll get to him. All I'm worried about right now is making sure you're in a safe home."

"Yeah," I say. "Super safe."

John B knocks the table next to him. "Super sound, sturdy. You know?"

"Uncle T's coming so..." I say to get John B to stop talking. He's a lot of things but a good liar isn't one of them.

"That's what he told you?" Peterkin looks at me with a raised brow.

"Yeah."

"If he is coming," Peterkin picks up a cigarette and sniffs it. "I think you should be allowed to stay."

"Thank you."

"But if I stick my neck out for you, you have to help me. Tit for tat."

John B tilts his head in confusion. "What - what does tat mean?"

I squeeze my eyes shut and let my head fall back. I swear I'm going to buy duct tape to keep this boy's mouth shut.

Peterkin ignores him. "Let me see, how can you help me? Oh, I know. So, a body was found in the marsh yesterday. Were you in the marsh yesterday?"

"Yeah," I decide to answer. "We were fishing for some drum."

"You catch anything?"

"Nah, we were skunked."

"Strange," She says, not believing me. "Fishing's usually good after a storm. All sorts of things get stirred up. You come across a wreck yesterday?"

"No." My heart falls deeper,  but I try to keep a straight face.

This makes Peterkin sigh and she glances between the two of us. "You two are skimmin' just above the surface. Now, down here is foster care, juvie," She says, dropping her hand to about knee length. "Pretty big drop for smart kids like the both of you." She moves her hand to eye level. "Up here is you and your little friends doing whatever you want. Outer Banks...or foster care on the mainland." I let her threat swim in my brain. "You one inch above the surface, Routledge. If I was you, I'd start flapping my wings." She looks at us one last time, no longer wanting to play games. "Now, you sure you didn't come across a wreck yesterday?" She looks at John B who's more likely to blab than me.

I look up at my brother, warning him that he needs to lie.

He shrugs his shoulder, the lie sliding across his tongue like silk. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm sure."

Peterkin looks between John B and I and nods slowly. "It's better if you didn't, you understand? I'm gonna look the other way as long as you stay out of the marsh." She runs her finger along the wooden kitchen table and rubs the dust between her fingers. "I got dogs living better than this. You might wanna think about cleaning' up."

Peterkin lets herself out without saying goodbye. John B and I don't say anything until her car pulls out of the driveway and only then do we just share a look that says how screwed we both are.

Tag List: @notyourcupofteax @acvross-the-universe @jjmaybankzz @jeeperky @realistic-breadstick @moniamaybank @urbinoutfiters​ @brebear121​

[killyourpoet]

What to expect on 12th September? (NEET 2021)

Hey everybody, if you're appearing for the NEET 2021 exam this Sunday (12th September 2021), I've compiled a list of some important things you might want to keep in mind.

The National Entrance-cum-Eligibility Test (NEET) is the national medical entrance exam in India. It is the only gateway into all medical schools in the country. It is conducted annually around May, but due to the COVID-19 pandemic, it has been postponed to September in 2020 and 2021. This year, 1.6 million students will be appearing for the exam.

[This list is by no means exhaustive, I only speak from my experience and the advice of friends and teachers. Feel free to add anything I might have missed out!]

How to make the most of this last week before the exam?

Do not experiment with anything new. Doing so might disturb the delicate subconscious programming that your brain has undergone through all these months of studying and practicing. By experimentation, I mean anything other than the routine that you've built while solving question papers. If you're used to starting with Biology, then moving on to Chemistry and ending with Physics, do not attempt to spice up your 3 hours by indulging in adventure sports like staring with Physics first. This will end in disaster.

Look through all the important things at least once. I know, I know. That's 10 fat books in one week. But remember that this is not the first time you're reading it. Skim. When you catch on something you're not too familiar with, only then should you actually read.

NCERT = holy book. Idk if you've heard but actually reading the books prescribed by the examining body will most definitely give you an edge over someone who hasn't. I cannot stress this enough. They will LITERALLY take out things from the NCERT and slap that onto the paper and call it a day. Remember that the examiners have to cater to those who do not have access to / cannot afford any sort of study material other than the NCERT. While study guides can help you interpret the NCERT, they cannot substitute it.

Have a plan. It doesn't have to be grand or very detailed. Just clearly defining what you intend to do with your time will suffice.

Set your internal clock. Practice at least one exam a day from 2:00 pm to 5:00 pm IST because that's when the actual exam is held. You want to maximize concentration and attention at that time of the day.

Practice answering on OMR sheets. This year, because of COVID, all your mock tests were probably online. In that case, take a few hours to practice exams on the OMR. The time management on that is very different from online exams.

Eat well. Remember to drink plenty of water. Try to eat things that have come directly from the earth and onto your plate. I know it's hard and the anxiety is enough to make you under eat / overeat but messing up because of something as trivial as meal choices would kinda suck tbh. Please do not eat an entire large pizza all by yourself the day before the exam. Stay the hell away from carbonated drinks for at least this one week. I am begging you. You might not notice but they seriously mess with your head. Whole foods are the way 2 go babes

What to expect on the day of the examination?

The NTA will be releasing the admit cards 3 days before the exam. Your exam centre and time slot to show up will be mentioned on it. This is most probably done to (a) prevent unfair practices and (b) give students enough time to visit the centre.

Know your exam centre beforehand. If you're living with your parents who will be driving you to the centre, you could even ask them to visit the centre the day before just so you don't waste time searching for the centre on the day of the exam. Believe me, a lot of people have lost an entire year because of this.

The peeing. Listen. They'll allow you to go to the washroom in the middle of the exam, of course. But if you ask me, try to avoid getting up to pee. Try to time your water such that you wouldn't have to pee during the exam. Please make sure you pee right before the exam. Idk about you but the exam pee has always been a real problem for me and together with my anxiety, it has ruined a lot of exams. It also breaks your momentum and you'll have to re-orient yourself when you get back. NEET isn't like JEE - it's not about how smart you are, it's about how efficient and accurate you are, because that's what a doctor needs to be.

Eat a light, nutritious meal. Something that'll give you energy but isn't too hard to digest. You don't want to nod off during the exam. That would be highly inconvenient.

Be on time. If you don't turn up on time, no matter what, you will not be allowed inside. Again, a lot of people I know have messed up here.

Security check. You will be checked before entering the centre. Do not wear anything dark (black, dark blue, dark brown etc). Do not wear jeans or any tight clothes. All your clothes must fit loosely and they must be light. This is done to prevent people from sneaking in transmission devices. If you wear long sleeves, you will be asked to cut them then and there. Do not wear heavily embroidered clothes. Do not have any metal on you. Take off all jewelry at home. If you wear a bra, remember to wear a sports bra or one that doesn't have any metal hooks. You can't wear shoes - your feet must be visible. Wear flip-flops or thin sandals. People have been made to take off their shoes before and write the exam barefoot. They will provide a fresh mask at the centre and gloves. This time, due to COVID-19 restrictions, they will not be doing body pat frisking, they will not be checking your ears and mouth. There will be bluetooth jammers in the exam hall to prevent any transmissions and the entire exam will be videographed.

Stay calm. I know it looks like a high security airport check and you'll probably be scanned several times and subjected to several layers of screening but remember - this is done so that nobody has an unfair advantage over you. India has incredibly clever people, but sometimes for the wrong reasons.

While writing the exam:

Don't panic. If you see a question that looks hard do! not! panic! because we always know more than we think we do!! Wait a second, linger for a moment and the answer should come to you.

Know what to leave. If you aren't aiming to get a perfect 720/720 then you should leave time consuming questions and try to do as many questions you know as possible. If you are aiming for a perfect score, do the same but remember that you need to leave sufficient time at the end to come back to them.

Repeat. Remember - this is just another one of the hundreds of exams you've done. Follow the same strategy you're used to. Most definitely DO NOT experiment in the final exam.

Lastly, always remember that ur super cool and smart and amazing and one mistake won't define you. Your worth is inherent and not determined by an exam. Your timeline is very different from someone else's. This is not a race, it's about doing things right. Your physical and mental health are more important than anything else in life. Do your best today and try again tomorrow. And then the day after that.

If you have any questions, feel free to message me :))

Best of luck!!

— Svante

[manaketefirestone]

“We are not entirely different, so hold your head higher.” He commands, his formal demeanor betrayed by the soft smile on his face. 

He extends his hand to you, your fingers trembling as you accept his grace. A strong grip helps you to your feet, even going so far as to brush the dust off your clothes.

You apologize profusely, he need not to dirty his hands for someone like you. Still wiping away tears, you turn away to hide your face, the tips of your ears red with embarrassment and shame.

His hands gently cup your cheeks and tilt your head to meet his gaze. “Please,” He begs, a pale sadness behind the sparkling gold of his pupils. “Don’t run away from me.”

Demonic Debauchery Lore: All About Demons Pt. 1- Caste

There are two main demonic classification systems which delegate rank, privilege, and magical potential in the Devildom. One of those is caste, and the other is curse. As a demon, they are both equally important in determining your role in society. Now let’s get to the details shall we? Starting with caste.

There are three demonic castes, each of which have different origins: Lesser Demons, Greater Demons, and Half-Demons. For convenience sake, I will be referring to them as LD, GD, and HD respectively.

LD are by far the most common of the demonic castes. They are the most natural form of demon, the other castes eventually evolving from or out of them in the long ago past. No two LD are exactly the same, and come in a wide arrange of sizes and shapes. 

They range from small and annoying pests, commonly referred to as imps, to huge and terrifying abominations known as eldritch. However, the majority of the eldritch were wiped out during the Celestial War, when the Devil King sent forces to assist in Lucifer’s rebellion. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend” and all that.

Most LD are moderately intelligent and make up the majority of citizenship in the Devildom. They are often rash, abrasive, and volatile- and all are deeply influenced by their curse. They also possess little to no magical ability, relying on brute strength or cunning to survive.

GD are the nobility of the Devildom, and for a good reason. They have an innate understanding and control of magic, and with just a little training, far outclass the average human sorcerer. They are able to mask their demonic appearance and take human form, which allows them to preserve their magic until provoked or otherwise deemed necessary to release their true form. 

Even in their true form, they still retain a vaguely human appearance- albeit with horns, pointed ears, reddish scaly skin, wings and/or tails, and an inky blackness surrounding the pupil. Alright, maybe that’s a little too much to be considered vaguely human, but I digress. 

You may be wondering why the boys don’t possess all these traits despite being GD, and that’s because they aren’t true GD. They were born as angels, with the exception of Satan, and this makes them a special case. Satan came from Lucifer, so he isn’t really a true GD either. It’s also because I said so. 

So then how are true GD or even LD “born” then? I’m glad you asked! LD breed just like humans do, raising families or (more commonly) abandoning them when the next opportunity arises. The “soft-hearted prince” has tried to quell the issue of LD orphans by providing monthly Grimm to family units and investing in a public education system for LD and their youth, and he’s had some success with this. If his father weren’t dormant in the deepest layer of hell, he would consider this a waste of time and money. 

The modern GD is bred similarly, but their smaller population and long lifespan means they don’t reproduce nearly as fast or as frequently. There is usually about 3-5 babies born every year, and only to families who desire them, as an unwanted pregnancy can be easily magicked away. In addition, GD are only fertile during a blood moon induced heat, but more on that another time! 

Why specify modern GD? Is there a difference between them and ancient GD? You ask the best questions my friend! Remember how I mentioned GD evolving from LD earlier, well, there was a reason for that. An unpleasant reason. You see, hundreds of thousands of years ago, there was once an LD born that wasn’t like the others. He was powerful, able to control magic, and incredibly intelligent. Eventually, he learned that he could make himself even stronger through one simple act. Devouring a human soul. So he did, and he didn’t stop, not until he had become something new entirely. 

He was The First, The Lone Moon, The Soul Feaster. He was given many names, but ultimately he gave himself only one. The Demon King. He soon taught others to do the same, under his dominion. They bred, and their offspring was the same, no longer LD, but GD. There’s a lot of details I’m leaving out here, but all will be revealed in time.

Modern GD do not require human souls the same way the ancient ones did, although many will partake in what as seen as a delicacy. The Devil King has given very few commandments, and mostly allows the population to do as they please, but one of them in particular is relevant here. “No demon shall eat a soul unwilling, or one gained through trickery.” That’s why contracts (not the same thing as a pact) are an integral part of noble demon society. I sound like a broken record here, but we will talk more about that another time, this post has gone on long enough.

BUT WHAT ABOUT HALF-DEMONS, YOU FORGOT THEM?! I take back what I said earlier, you ask horrible questions. That’s classified information fucko. 

[georgiedx]

Don’t blink

Summary - When Y/N, Jay’s partner is taken during an undercover op, what will the team have to do to get her back?

Read part 2 - https://georgiedx.tumblr.com/post/643582775508729857/summary-in-the-fallout-of-an-undercover-op-gone

Word count - 2k

Warnings - potential abuse and sexual assault

“What the hell just happened!” Voight shouted as he stormed up the bullpen stairs. His subordinates stared back at him, dumbfounded, as they too were processing the chaos that had just unfolded.

Kevin was the first to speak up, “Sarge, slow down…” He was interrupted but the harsh shouts of his sergeant. “Don’t tell me to calm down Kevin! One of my detectives was just abducted and not one person here can care to explain? Huh? Not even her partner. Halstead?”

Jay cast his eyes down to avoid the burn of Voight’s stare. He was ashamed. He was still processing. How had this all happened? Why didn’t he protect her?

“Sarge, I don’t know what to tell you, those guys, they just blew up, snapped. They pulled guns, put one to Y/N’s head, and dragged her into a truck that was waiting in the alley around the back. It must have been a setup, Sarge.” Jay replied, his voice laced with guilt.

“Ruzek, I thought you said your CI was solid?” Voight turned his anger to Adam. “He was...or at least I thought he was. Look, Sarge, I’m so sorr…”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. We just need to focus on getting Y/N back.” His sergeant snapped back. The rest of the unit mumbled in agreement, heads hanging low, all weighed down by the guilt of the parts they played in allowing Y/N, their partner and friend, to be thrown into the back of a truck by violent criminals.

...

The team all sat around the bullpen as their sergeant emerged from his office. “Right, talk to me, what do we have?”

Jay jumped to his feet and walked over to the board to stick up a photo. “This is Nicolas Heath. Vice has had him on their radar for years, he’s a known pimp, big in cross-state trafficking, and has priors for sexual assault, trafficking, and fraud.

Jay placed two more photos up underneath Heath’s. “These were the guys at the meet last night. They were the ones who took Y/N. They have similar priors to Heath but seem to be more like his lieutenants. We’ve got them on pods driving Y/N away in a black SUV Toyota. That was tracked to a house in Evanston where we think Y/N is being held.”

Ruzek walked up to the board next, reading a file in his hand. “That checks out, my CI is sitting in interrogation room 2 right now. The prick told me he’s been taking money from Heath over the last few weeks. In exchange, he invited girls to parties at clubs that Heath runs. My CI was getting nervous so reached out to me with fake info about Heath, he wanted us to take Heath down to save his own ass.” Ruzek then pinned up a few photos of a large, fortified, white house. “He tells me this is one of Heath’s places, it’s in Evanston so that checks with the footage of the SUV. But he also tells me it’s heavily secured with armed guards and it’s likely that if Heath has Y/N and we try to move on it, she’ll be dead before we get through the front door.”

The whole team sighed in frustration. They knew what type of guy Heath was and the longer they waited the worse things would potentially be for Y/N. Finally their superior spoke up. “Adam get your CI to reach out to Heath. We need to know if Y/N’s cover is still intact. If we can’t go in through the front door maybe we can set up a ‘buy’ and get our girl back.”

The team shook their heads in a mix of frustration and disgust at the thought of having to ‘buy’ back their teammate from that monster like she’s some object.

…

A few hours later and Jay was down in the roll-up, fixing a wire to the buttons of his shirt. A plan had been formulated; Halstead was going to meet a contact of Heath’s, posing as a pimp looking to move some ‘product’.

A quick, yet painful, phone call between Adam’s CI and Heath revealed he was still unaware Y/N was a cop. Jay had said on the phone he was looking for a specific type of ‘product’ and once he described a girl roughly matching Y/N’s description, Heath said he had someone for Jay. A meet was set at 9 pm by the docks.

The whole team was on edge. Some were scared of what Y/N was going through in the hands of the monster that is Nicolas Heath, most were nervous of the ‘buy’ that was soon to go down, but all were feeling guilty for allowing Y/N to be in this situation in the first place.

Once the wire was fixed and the van set, the team rolled out the back of district 21, with a thousand things racing through their minds.

They arrived at the predetermined meet point and waited. The surveillance van with Kevin, Adam, and Voight was hidden around the corner, whilst Jay waited in a UC truck parked out in the open. His jean-covered legs were bouncing up and down, but not from the cold. His partner, no, his best friend was out there somewhere in the hands of a rapist-pimp, alone and defenseless.

After 20 mins, a tattered grey van turned the corner and parked opposite Jay’s truck. Halstead sent a quick text to Voight notifying them of its arrival and then climbed out the truck. He looked on trying to see his partner beyond the blaring headlights of that grey van. When the white beams were cut he finally locked eyes with her.

When he saw her weak and bruised body with legs barely holding herself up, in a vice grip of two thugs, Jay’s instincts were to run to her, but he couldn’t. Thug 1 had a Glock 19 jammed into the side of her head and Thug 2 had one trained on him. He had to play this smart. The only way to get Y/N out of this was to play along with the ‘buy’, despite it making him sick to his stomach.

Jay casually walked around to the back of the truck and pulled out a black bag from the back. He checked his watch, stalled a bit to not seem too eager, put a stick of gum in his mouth, began to chew, stalled some more, and finally walked back towards Heath and his thugs.

“What you got for me then?” Jay questioned nonchalantly as he nodded towards his partner. “She what I asked for? Cuz I got a lotta cash here and I ain’t about to waste it.” Saying this was breaking him, but he had to play along.

“Yeh this one’ll be worth your trouble, she’s feisty, trust me.” Heath laughed back at his ‘buyer’. Jay’s heart sank. What had he meant by ‘trust me’? What had he done to her?

“Halstead keep your cool, flash him the money and get him to hand Y/N over” his sergeant’s voice spoke through his earpiece. Jay listened and opened to bag up to show Heath he meant business. “It’s all there. Hand her over, I wanna get a look before I hand this over.” Jay swallowed the sick in his mouth as he watched his partner shift uncomfortably between the two men.

When Y/N cast her eyes back up to look at Jay, he could see her tears in her eyes, despite the bruises there. His body kept playing the role but his eyes were calling out to her, he was internally begging she could see through his facade.

Thug 2 lowered his gun once Jay had flashed the money. Thug 1 kept his gun tight against Y/N’s head as he roughly pulled her towards Jay. He released her and she stumbled, on weak legs, the short distance to Jay.

Jay, careful not to grab at bruises, yanked on her arms and roughly pulled her towards the truck. He wanted to hug her, hold her and wipe her tears but he couldn’t. There were still 3 armed men 10 ft away who couldn’t know they were cops.

Y/N let out a small cry as the zip ties on her wrists dug deeper into the red, bleeding skin. “Quiet!” Jay demanded. “Move. Go on.” He pushed her around the back of the truck, attempting to shield her from any further potential dangers.

“Your money’s all there. Was a pleasure doing business with you.” Jay called out to Heath and his thugs.

“Pleasure’s all mine man, anytime. Enjoy that one” he nodded his head towards Y/N and stuck out a hand to Jay. Reluctantly Jay shook it and forced himself to say “Oh I will.”

The three men climbed back in their van with the money and reversed around the corner.

Shortly after, sirens and shouts of Chicago PD could be heard but Jay paid no attention. As soon as that van was out of sight Jay ran around the truck to Y/N.

Only now did he have a chance to fully take in her appearance. Her wrists were bleeding underneath zip ties. Arms were painted a horrible mix of blacks and blue. Blood was drying around her eyebrows and lip. Her left eye was swollen and purple and both were glistening with tears. She was in a short dress, ripped and filthy. But worst of all she was shaking violently, perhaps from the lack of layers and cold but more likely from the trauma of the last 24 hours. And that thought haunted Jay, he knew it always would.

When he finally reached her small and trembling body he cut the ties quickly and engulfed her in a hug. She sunk into his warm and then down to the floor. Jay went down with her, just holding her close as sobs shook through her body.

A hand came up to her face and he wiped her tears away and tucked her hair behind her ear. His strong arms held onto her so tight she thought she might crumble into a hundred pieces if he ever let go. So he didn’t.

“Shh. You’re okay. You’re okay Y/N/N. I got you. You’re safe.” He whispered into her ears. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m so sorry.” He began to choke up and the sound of her sobs. How had he let this happen?

Shortly after, the surveillance van and a few patrol cars arrived on scene. As Voight and the other officers climbed out their vehicles they were horrified at the scene before them.

Y/N looked like she’d been through hell. She was clinging to her partner desperately. Her shaking, although likely caused by a state of shock, prompted Adam to take off his coat and walk over to the partners on the floor.

He placed the coat on her shoulders and then squeezed one, trying to show his support and love and remorse through the action. Kevin walked over next with a blanket and knelt down with them.

“You’re okay Y/N. We’re here. You’re safe.” Jay kept repeating those words to his broken best friend, whom he held in his arms. Only when she heard the gruff voice of her sergeant did she take her head off Jay’s chest and lookup.

“I’m sorry Y/L/N. You’re gonna be okay kid.” Spoke Voight to his detective. The four men consoled their teammate, their family member, for a while longer. Their voices cracked and caught as they continued to whisper words of comfort until the ambulance arrived to take her to safety.

Read part 2 - https://georgiedx.tumblr.com/post/643582775508729857/summary-in-the-fallout-of-an-undercover-op-gone

I hope you guys liked it! Again I have no idea what I’m doing, this is just fun and a nice little escape for me.

[skullrock]

the campers, chapter nine

chapter nine - the savior 

series summary: Steve gets a job as a camp counselor at Camp Know Where, intending on using the summer to discover himself. When things start to go wrong at camp, the only people that can help him are the Party, Hopper, and his mortal enemy - you. [Enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort]

chapter summary: You, Steve, and Hopper explore the Upside Down in search for the missing campers. 

warnings: swearin’, angst, violence feat. demogorgons, death! this one is dark folks!

word count: 5.5k

a/n: you can catch up on the series here! sorry I was gone for two months w this story but here u go <3

===

The walkie drops from Steve’s hand and he straightens immediately, pressing his back up against Hopper’s. He holds the bat in both hands now as he scans the area.

It’s always weird, Steve thinks, how much of an impact adrenaline has on his body. He can’t hear anything except his own heartbeat and the rapid breaking of twigs somewhere in front of him. It’s almost an out of body experience - he’s numb to everything except the horror and anticipation. His knuckles turn white against the dark wood of the bat as his eyes flicker around in the near pitch blackness of the dimension.

“Steve, do you copy?”

And Steve does what seems right - he stomps on the walkie until it stops. The moment the sound goes out, the Demogorgon appears, and Steve’s tense muscles falter before stiffening again.

Hopper turns on his heel to stand beside Steve and cocks his rifle before shooting, directly into the opened flora of its head. Steve plants his feet and raises the bat as the thing gets closer. He almost feels like he’s right back at Jonathan’s house, with Jon on one side and Nance on the other. He kind of wishes that was the case, but Hopper would do.

Steve swings the bat as hard as he can once the monster is close enough and the nails slice into the thick skin of the Demogorgon. Both Hopper and Steve groan at the sound of its high-pitched shriek, and Steve rips the bat backwards before hitting it again, right where it’s ribs would be. Hopper fires more shots at it, but Steve knows it takes more than a few bullets to kill one of these things. If it can even be killed.

The Demogorgon’s mouth opens again to cry out and it slashes towards Hopper first, narrowly missing him. Steve arches forward to miss it’s claws before slamming the bat into its neck. When it cries out again, Steve aims towards it’s opened mouth and swings with all of his strength. Hopper takes a shot right after, and that seems to do the trick - the Demogorgon shrivels up on the cold ground. Hopper and Steve assault it a few more times before it finally goes limp, leaving the scene in deafening silence, save for the men’s ragged breathing.

Steve let’s the bat fall to his side, his grip on it easing. Hopper steps forward to look over Steve’s shoulder at the corpse before clapping Steve on the shoulder, sighing. The corner of Steve’s lips quirk up at the validation before he frowns when his eyes land on the obliterated walkie talkie.

It reminds Steve of Jonathan’s camera.

“Shit,” Hopper breathes, kneeling down to pick at the pieces.

Steve feigns innocence and points at the dead Demogorgon. “Must have stepped on it.”

Hopper stands. “We need a walkie.”

Steve looks at him like he’s crazy. “But we - we’re all the way in here -“

“I’ll go forward to look for the kids. You can go back to get a new one, since you broke this one.”

Steve’s mouth opens and shuts. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to split up.”

“We’ll get more done if we do.”

Steve stares before rolling his shoulders, throwing the bat back over them. “Fine. But we need to know where to meet.”

Hopper simply points at the shoe prints in the ground. “Follow these when you get back. I won’t move from them.”

Steve feels like he’s going to throw up at the thought of being alone here, but he knows that they really do need a walkie. So he sighs and nods curtly before taking off, back in the direction they came from.

“Hey, Steve?”

He turns. “Yeah?”

Hopper frowns. “Be careful.”

“No shit,” Steve mumbles, kicking at dead leaves as he continues.

===

You have no idea how literal children are handling this situation better than you, but they are.

El never really struck you as the superpower type, but you watch as she helps the portal open just slightly for you. Mike is completely unfazed, of course, like he’s watched this happen one hundred times. You stare at both of them with your jaw slightly agape before nodding. “Thank you.”

“You need a nickname,” Mike says. “For the transmissions.”

“Who is going to intercept this transmission, Mike?”

“Just -” He sighs loudly. “What should we call you?”

“I don’t give a shit,” you mutter, climbing onto your knees and looking into the portal with uncertainty.

Mike makes a noise of annoyance. “We’ll call you Athena.”

You genuinely couldn't care less, but anxiety pools in your gut as you continue to stare. El takes a small step forward. “Axe first.”

You throw it through to the other side and look up at her and Mike as you touch your waistband for the walkie-talkie you had. Your bandana is secure around your face and the goggles from the science room fog up slightly with each breath you take. If this was a prank, it was a very elaborate and good one.

“I’ll call you,” you say.

“Good luck.”

No one says it’ll be fine, or it’s really not that bad once you get in, or haha this is a big prank and we totally got your ass!. It’s just a somber good luck, with El wringing her hands and Mike clenching his fist.

Still, you continue. You have to find Steve.

===

Steve really does not like being alone in here. He doesn’t like being alone anywhere, but certainly not in the Upside Down. Any noise that he thinks might not be his makes his blood pressure skyrocket. His bat is constantly out in front of him, ready to strike at any second. His knuckles twist the bat tightly, making his fingers go numb.

About thirty minutes pass since he’s left Hopper, and he cannot seem to locate the portal he entered through.

Steve’s starting to get really scared now. He pauses his movements to think hard, eyes taking in the continuous scene of navy and black. Nothing looks familiar, but that’s probably because everything is cloaked in toxic particles and some kind of mucus that makes Steve shutter.

“You’re okay,” he mumbles out loud, taking a small step forward. “Jesus, you’re okay.”

Another small step. Then another.

A clicking sound emerges behind Steve and his blood runs cold. He can suddenly feel a presence behind him, and it sure as shit is not human. The clicking mixes in with a high pitched chittering and Steve’s knees nearly give out, but he turns and swings with the last of his strength.

He thankfully hits the Demogorgon, but the bat gets stuck in its thick skin. Steve pulls back, and pulls back, and pulls back, and he swears the moment before it swipes him it laughs at him.

He hits the ground with an audible thud and groans before rolling, narrowly avoiding its claws again. The bat is stillstuck, sticking out of the Demogorgon’s neck. For the first time, Steve curses his weapon for being useless

He jumps to his feet but is thrown down again. The claws reach him this time, swiping through his jacket and shirt and piercing the skin of his ribs. And Steve screams. He can usually grit his teeth and bare it, but the feeling hurts more than any punch he’d ever encountered. He feels bile rising in his throat and he pushes up, trying to scramble backwards. The fresh blood only motivates the monster, who comes for Steve slowly, chittering and clicking sickeningly.

Somewhere off in the distance, you hear Steve’s scream, and your heart drops to your soles. You take off, sprinting after him, too scared to shout for him. As you get closer to the sound you can hear something else, an unsettling clicking noise, and goosebumps rise on your skin. You still run, though, zeroed in on finding and saving him.

Steve’s pretty pissed. He’s been through a hell of a lot, and this was how he was going to go out. He’s a seasoned survivor and he’s about to die at the hands of the first monster that he ever defeated. And he’s pissed because he’s never going to be able to save those kids, or save the Party, or tell you that maybe he kind of sort of loves you.

Still, he braces himself, figuring that it can’t hurt any more than the pain in his ribs. He squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to think about sitting on that large rock with you at the swimming hole, feeling your soft and warm skin on him again.

Instead of hearing his own screams, though, he hears the Demogorgon let out one, a shrill and painful shriek. Steve opens his eyes curiously and his mouth drops.

You slice through the Demogorgon’s back, exposing a black interior. You pull back with a shout and slam the axe back into it, this time aiming right by the bat stuck in its neck, and it cries out again. It tries to twist back but in a complete moment of fury at the sight of a wounded Steve, you slice it’s head clean off.

The body slumps, but the head rolls, still shrieking. You march towards it and slam the axe into it over and over until it completely stops.

Steve’s never been more in love in his life.

You pant down at the head before looking back to Steve.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey, Steve.”

You pause for a moment longer before running for him, dropping your axe and kneeling beside him. He winces and hisses, moving his hand to his rib cage. You push it out of the way and examine him, moving back the blood soaked layers to assess the damage. It’s not as bad as you’d thought, but he’s losing a good bit of blood. You help peel his jacket off before tying the arms tightly around the wound, making him cry out.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, tears forming in your eyes. “God, Steve, I’m sorry - so sorry for everything.”

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching for you, resting a blood soaked hand on your cheek before removing it. “Ah, shit -“

You grab his hand and lace your fingers through his. “Steve. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up - I should have trusted you -“

“‘s okay,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, too. Should’ve just told you.”

“I get why you didn’t,” you laugh sadly, running a hand over his cheek. Your eyes well with more tears as you’re hit with the overwhelming sadness of his situation. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s still a kid. And he’s had to live with this for years.

“Don’t cry,” he says, furrowing his brows. “‘m okay.”

You shake your head and bring it to rest against his, forehead against forehead, eyelashes fluttering together. “I’m just so sorry.”

“Think you made it up to me,” he smiles - or maybe it’s a grimace. “Now I’ve got to make it up to you.”

You push him back down when he attempts to stand, but he shakes his head, brows furrowed in concentration. “Gotta get up.”

“You’re hurt,” you say, and he sets his jaw.

“Have to help,” he pants. “Need to save the kids.”

You’d almost forgotten about them in the excitement. Your shoulders slump at the reminder and you have some serious doubts that they could have possibly lived through a hell like this.

Still, you help Steve up. He moves slowly, planting his feet and taking a few shaky breaths once he’s up. He walks towards the corpse of the monster with his back hunched and rips the bat from it’s flesh, wincing a bit as he does. He shakes it to get some excess flesh off before swinging it over his shoulder gingerly.

He looks very good like this, you think.

“Why are you here?” he asks suddenly. “How did you -“

“The kids told me,” you explain, grabbing your axe. “They told me your walkie had gone out and they needed help.”

Steve’s mad for a second before realizing he would have done the same if he was a kid with no other adult to go to.

“Demogorgon broke ours,” he explains. “Well, actually, I broke it -“

“A what?”

“Demogorgon,” he says, nodding towards the body on the ground. “Monster.”

“Like from Dungeons and Dragons?”

“The kids had a theme when naming everything,” he says. “C’mon, we have to go find Hopper.”

“Is he okay?” you ask, following after Steve, who stumbles and moves a lot slower than he had before.

“Who knows,” he mumbles. “Hope so.”

He stops walking for a moment to reach for you, grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers through yours. He gives a firm squeeze and looks to you with a sad smile, but you squeeze back in reassurance.

It’s all that needs said.

“Athena to… whatever the hell - I got Steve.”

A cacophony of noises erupt softly from the walkie until Dustin says, “Is he okay?!”

“Doing great,” you lie, trying to not scare them. “We are going to find Hop-”

“Stache,” Steve corrects, only because Mike has yelled at him enough to make him remember.

You stare at Steve in annoyance but Mike also cuts in with, “He’s called Stache.”

“I do not care what the names are. We are going to find him and then we will look for the kids. Okay?”

“Over,” Steve says, and Mike says, “Over,” and you almost have a mental breakdown between the technicalities and the anxiety.

“Over,” you hiss, and turn the walkie off.

You and Steve follow the footprints that he had pointed out to you, hands clenching your weapons tightly. Steve realizes that he’s probably leading a trail straight to the two of you with the blood dripping from his ribs, but he knows he can’t back out of this. He won’t back out of this. He needs to save the kids and put a stop to this.

Eventually, you find Hopper, who’s a bit rugged but otherwise okay. Hopper stares at you for a moment, confused with why you’re here, but Steve simply points to the walkie. Hopper nods and steps towards Steve, suddenly noticing his wound. He examines Steve with worry laced in his brows, touching the fabric over the wound gingerly. “Got you pretty good, huh?”

“Hurts,” Steve mumbles, his fingers still tight around the bat.

Hopper looks to him with a newer expression, one laced more in fear than worry. “It likes blood.”

“I know,” Steve says, shifting. “We - we’ll be alright.”

Hopper is not so convinced, and neither are you, but there really isn’t much of a choice here.

“Have you found anything?” you ask quietly.

Hopper shakes his head, but points off into the distance. “But I bet we’re close.”

In the distance, you can see the buildings of the Camp. Well, this version of the buildings - dilapidated and overgrown.

“You think they’re there?” you ask.

Hopper nods, continuing to look at the buildings. “Will was….”

Your heart drops, remembering the story that the kids had told you. Steve looks sick as well, but everyone moves forward, weapons at the ready once more.

You come upon the main buildings - the cafeteria and the classrooms. The cabins are off in the distance, but Hopper is sure that if the kids were anywhere, they’d be here. He remembers where he found Will and Barb, in a sort of nest at the heart of the city. He reckons if the Demogorgons were going to have a nest, it’d be in one of these buildings.

Your heart leaps to your throat as you approach the buildings, and you stick as close to Steve as you can. He moves slowly, hunched over, but adrenaline keeps him moving. You look at him with concern, but Steve looks straight ahead, trying to act unfazed.

Hopper enters the school building first, raising his rifle and flashlight as he breaches the entrance. Steve ushers you in, looking around the outside before falling in behind you. Hopper looks around at the numerous hallways, before turning to you and Steve. “Somebody want to lead the way?”

Steve looks at you expectantly, and you narrow your eyes. “Come on, we’ve been here for weeks. Do you really not know the layout of this building?”

Steve shrugs innocently in reply and you sigh loudly, pushing past him and Hopper to lead the way. Your knees shake with each step you take, but you force yourself to stay upright. Steve moves in front of Hopper to be close to you. It’s not that he didn’t think Hopper could save you; he just wanted to be the one to do it.

The first few rooms are clear, although some are a bit more decayed than others. You have the fleeting thought that you wished you had brought something to take samples with - but who would ever believe this, anyway? The three of you pushed on, looking into each room slowly, straining to hear any signs of danger.

When you get to a new hallway, everyone splits up, checking the rooms separately to cover ground quicker.

You find the first missing camper.

The room is decayed beyond repair. Vines tangle over the concrete floor, and the same slime-like membrane covers the room and it’s inhabitants. It looks almost like a nest - cocoons on the walls, membranes with web-like appearances attached. But there were undoubtedly bodies in the room, and you stepped one foot over the threshold cautiously. You couldn’t breathe - refused to - as you took another step into the room. Your shoes stuck to the membrane on the ground and it took a bit of effort to keep moving. It felt almost unreal - the atmosphere, the scene before you. Like you were in another world completely - which, you were - but it felt like a nightmare.

Brent Albright was twelve and skinny. He disappeared first. You recognize his body immediately.

Shaking, you knelt down. “Brent?”

There was no response - no stirring, no signs of life. You reach for him and shake his arm, your own shaking violently. “Brent!”

It took every effort in you to not throw up.

“C’mon,” you whisper hoarsely. “C’mon, Brent.” You grab his wrist and feel for a pulse, but find nothing except ice-cold skin and veins.

You try to scream, but nothing comes out. Soon, Hopper and Steve notice your absence, and they find you kneeling on the ground, shaking your head as you stare at his body.

Steve’s knees buckle but he pushes himself forward, following Hopper to kneel beside you.

“Gone,” you whisper.

Hopper reaches to feel the boy’s pulsepoint in his throat, but he knows once he feels his skin that he’s not there. His head droops and he sits his rifle down, cursing under his breath.

Steve shakes so hard that it feels like his organs are vibrating. He stands, takes a sharp breath in, and then strides to another room to vomit.

The scene hurt everyone, but it hurt Steve so much that he felt like he was drowning. He could always save them - he could always be the hero. He thought he’d be able to find the two campers and bring them home, safe and unharmed. But he failed them. He couldn’t bring them home. He couldn’t keep them safe, couldn’t get to them fast enough. And if he couldn’t do that, what could he do?

Steve remembers what Nancy told him about Barb. That El had found her in the Upside Down. Dead. He can’t help but to look around the room and realize that this is where Barb was when she died. Alone and lost and scared, just like Brent. And no one could save her, either, after she was ripped here right in his own backyard.

Will was here, too. Will had to deal with this. Will was probably in the same position - apparently nearly dead when he was found.

Steve digs his nails into his chest, trying to use the pain to ground himself. His head spins and he collapses to the ground, putting his head in his hands, wincing at the pain in his ribs. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.

It feels like he deserves to be next.

In the other room, you and Hopper examine the walls for any other signs of life, but find nothing that’s remotely distinguishable. Everything was flesh and bone.

Hopper rests his hand on your shoulder and sighs heavily. “There’s still a kid out there. We have to find them.”

You nod weakly. “Steve.”

“Go see if you can calm him down,” he says.

You nod and move to where Steve is, the room across from this one. He shakes alone as he curls up in on himself, and you rush for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“It’s all my fault,” he whispers brokenly.

“How?” you ask.

“I couldn’t… I shouldn’t have waited.” He shakes his head and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Jesus, I should have looked for them sooner.”

“How would you have found them here?”

“I don’t know!” he snaps. “But they’re gone, and I couldn’t - I couldn’t do anything.”

Steve understands so deeply how Nancy felt in 1984. And he had brushed her off, terrified that they’d get hurt if they talked about it. He understands how helpless she must have felt, and it makes him feel like there’s a boulder in his stomach, cold and rough.

You wince when you hear him start to cry, and you press him deeply into your side. You feel sick and upset too, but you know you need to be strong for him.

“Steve,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

It makes him cry harder. He doesn’t know if he wants the pity or not, but nonetheless, he feels small and scared and he just wants to go home.

“There’s another kid,” you say gently. “And he needs our help, too. We have to keep going.”

Steve nods and swallows hard. He takes another deep breath - which really isn’t that deep - and sniffles, then stands, grabbing his bat and moving from the room. You follow him, frowning, tears brimming your eyes, too. But you push them back and grab your axe, setting off to find the other.

===

Fred Perkins is found just a couple of doors away. This time around, the kid is breathing.

Hopper finds his pulse, which is faint and slow, but there. He must have been recently dragged in, as he was relatively unharmed, but seemed to have hypothermia or something similar. His lips were blue and his face was paler than anything you’d ever seen - you were surprised he wasn’t a corpse. But you checked his pulse as well, and it was there.

“Fred,” you say, pushing his hair out of his face. “C’mon, buddy. Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t even stir.

“We need to get him back quickly,” Steve says. “I don’t know how much longer he can be here.”

Hopper nods, but you pause. “Isn’t the nearest portal the one that’s almost half an hour away by foot?”

“Do you want to leave him here?”

“No,” you snap. “But it’s not going to be easy, and your ribs are already messed up -”

“We can do it,” Steve says. “We have to do it.”

Your eyes linger on him for a moment before you look back down at Fred. You wish you’d brought a blanket or an extra jacket for him, but there’s nothing you can use. “Hop and I can carry him. Steve, just keep an eye open for us, okay?”

Steve stiffens, irritated, wanting to help. “But -”

“Steve.” Your voice is quiet and sincere, and he drops it.

“What about Brent?” he asks. “We can’t leave him here.”

Hopper sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We don’t have much of a choice.”

Steve nearly becomes belligerent at this. “Leave him here? You want us to just leave him here? All alone?”

“Steve, it’s too dangerous. We can’t.”

“We can come back for him later,” you say, although it’s a lie. Eleven needs to close the portals - there’s no coming back. “We need to worry about Fred right now. Okay?”

Steve takes a slow, deep breath and nods, gripping his bat tighter. “Okay. Okay. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Hopper really doesn’t have much of an issue carrying the child, since he’s small and skinny and had very obviously lost some weight. As he carries Fred, you call the kids back at camp.

“This is Athena, can you hear me?”

“This is Paladin, what’s your twenty?”

“We found Fred,” you say. You think it’s probably best to leave out Brent’s fate. “We’re coming back to the portal to get him out of there. It’ll take us a bit, but stay on the lookout. Have you seen anything on your side?”

“No,” Mike answers. “But El keeps having to reopen the portal. It keeps wanting to close.”

You share a glance with Steve and Hopper. “O-okay. We’ll move as fast as we can. Over.”

You clip the walkie back onto your waistband and follow closely beside Hopper, your axe over one shoulder. You pay more attention to Fred than to the woods around you, but Steve is luckily very aware of everything. Every crunch makes you all halt, looking around like prey before continuing once no threat is made obvious.  The walk feels like an eternity, and there are times where Hopper needs to rest and adjust; he still refuses any help, which irritates you, but only for a moment. You’re not sure if you could really help much.

Your worry drifts to Steve, who hasn’t said much of anything and whose jaw is perpetually clamped tightly shut. You quicken your pace to walk with him, and you run your hand down his arm in an attempt to soothe him. “I’m sorry.”

Steve licks his lips, sniffles, and shakes his head just slightly.

“How are your ribs?”

“Medium rare.”

You smile slightly and bump into him. “We’re almost back. We’ll get you help.”

Steve nods, but he’s distracted. Though he can’t see anything, he feels some imminent danger that he can’t shake. The woods are dark and too quiet, and the fine hair on his neck stands on end. His hands wring around the bat as he looks around and scans the trees for any signs of danger. It’s so important to him in this moment that he protects you and Hopper and Fred. After letting down Brent, he cannot - will not - let anyone else get hurt. He’ll die to protect you if he has to.

After what feels like a hundred years, you arrive back at the portal you’d gone through. A massive wave of relief runs through you as you approach and you can’t help but to almost skip as you get closer to the portal. You call through to El and Mike who answer immediately, their own relief evident in their voices.

Steve protects you and Hopper as you kneel on the ground. “We’re sending Fred through first,” you say, helping Hopper lay him down gently. “We need to get him back to camp as soon as possible, he’s in really bad shape.”

You help Hopper feed Fred through to where Mike and El are able to grab him and bring him to the other side. You can’t help but to smile widely - you did it. You made it. Steve’s alive, Hopper’s alive, and one kid is alive. You did it.

Something snaps nearby.

Immediately on alert, Hopper jumps up and grabs his gun off the holster. You grab your axe and stand by him, behind Steve, who announces, “Company.”

You hear something wet behind you and whip around - the portal is closing. The portal is closing.

“El,” you call. “The portal -”

It closes.

“Guys.”

“What?” Hopper snaps, eyes trained on the darkness expanding in front of you.

“The portal closed.”

Both men’s shoulders - and weapons - drop as they spin to confirm your observation.

“What the -” Steve starts, but a similar, eerie clicking noise fills the air.

“Demogorgon.”

It clicks in Steve’s head within a split second - they’d been following the four of you this entire time. They planned this. An ambush. They closed the portal to corner you. Steve’s blood left the trail.

Clever shits, Steve thinks, before his bat swings at a Demogorgon that had sprung towards him.

You shout for him, but one emerges to your left. You slice through its arm with your axe, cringing as it lets out a piercing scream. You hear Hopper unloading his gun beside you, but you keep going, slicing at the monster before it eventually crumples and falls to the floor. You jump when something grabs your arm, but it’s only Steve, who quickly pulls you to run from the tree. You hear more snarling behind you and you feel like you can’t breathe with the bandana and goggles fogging up. Steve keeps pulling you though, and Hopper runs beside you, occasionally pausing to shoot back behind him.

What Hopper and Steve know, and what you don’t know, is that bullets don’t do shit to these things. The only time Steve ever saw one of them disappear was when he had set one on fire with Nancy and Jonathan - and even then, he couldn’t be certain that it actually died. It seemed that slicing through them was good enough, but maybe it wasn’t - maybe they could form themselves again. Either way, your chances weren’t looking good, and Steve’s heart plummets when he realizes what he has to do.

Steve suddenly stops running and Hopper goes to help him move along, but he shakes his head and nearly shoves him away.

“What is it?” you ask quickly. “Are - are you hurting? Can you not -”

“Go,” he says, turning around, and walking back the way you came.

You lunge for him, grabbing onto his arm, pulling him towards you. “No. No. This isn’t time to be hero, Steve -”

“They’re right,” Hopper says, taking a step towards Steve. “C’mon, we need to -”

A piercing wail pierces the air. They were getting closer.

“It’s my fault,” Steve says quickly. “It’s my fault. My blood -”

“I don’t care if it’s your fault, Steve -”

“Please.” His voice cracks. “Please. Go.”

“Not without you!”

“Kid, come on -”

Steve shakes his head and cups your cheek with his hand. “Right behind you. I’m right behind you. Go.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, reaching up to your throat. You feel like you’re suffocating. “Steve, please, not again, can’t lose you -”

But he leaves, marching towards the darkness, bat raised and shoulders back. Hopper tries to grab him, but Steve moves with such purpose that the universe itself could not call him back.

Hopper forces you to run, grabbing your arm and pulling you along. You wait to hear any noises of Steve’s certain death, but it’s eerily quiet. Only your breaths and footsteps make any noise.

You soon after land on the camp’s main buildings once more. Your mind races as you try to think of places to hide, but Hopper can see something bright and luminescent at the bottom of the lake. He stops to squint, and realizes that it’s a portal. An odd place for a portal, but a portal nonetheless. It’s your only option.

You’re confused as Hopper pulls you towards the pier, but you quickly understand as your eyes land on the open mass at the bottom. You almost stop running. “No way!”

“Hope you can swim,” Hopper says, and although you can, you’re not so sure you can survive that long - not when your heart hurts from beating, with your lungs on fire, with the absence of Steve cutting through your gut like blades. Not without him.

“But Steve -”

Hopper grabs your shoulders and turns you to face him. “We have to. We can’t wait. He’ll be right behind us, he’s more than capable, but we need to go now.”

Your eyes dart back to the woods, then to Hopper. “Right behind me?”

“Promise,” he says. “I’m right behind you.”

You nod, legs and arms shaking. Your eyes move towards the woods one more time, hoping Steve would emerge, but there’s nothing except silence. You take a deep breath and step towards the edge of the pier, then another, then another. Your lungs contract and expand; your legs feel weak and on fire; and you feel your chest expand one more time before plunging into the water.

===

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[sirphillipcranestanaccount]

Modern AU teaser under the cut. Let me know what y’all think!

“Ugggh” Eloise said, dropping her forehead onto the textbook that lay on the table in front of her. She looked at her phone, 10:30 on a Friday night and she was still in the library. “How did I get myself into this situation?” she raised her head and looked across the table at Penelope, “Pen, when I said ‘oh I think I’m going to get a master’s in English’, English of all things, why didn’t you talk me out of it?”

Penelope shifted her eyes from her laptop screen to Eloise without moving her head. “Because,” she began to reply, never once stopping her typing “I believe your exact words were ‘Pen, I’m going to grad school and there’s no way you can talk me out of it’.” 

“She’s right, El,” Edwina said not bothering to look up from her computer, “I have it on video.” 

“How many drinks had I had up to that point?” Eloise’s head was once again in her textbook making her words difficult to hear. “And was I aware at the time that I would have to read The Canterbury Tales again?”

“None and yes,” Penelope replied.

“Ugh,” Eloise repeated, “what are you two working on?” she wanted to distract herself from Chaucer for a moment,

“I’m writing a paper about the works and political activism of Susan Sontag,” Penelope answered.

“I’m writing a reflection on a trip I had to take to the Met,” Edwina stated, “so I’m attempting to be engaging about statues I have seen on what must be at least a hundred occasions.”

“Do you guys remember in undergrad when we used to do fun and interesting things on the weekends?” Eloise asked. 

“I don’t think that emptying 4 bottles of Barefoot Riesling and eating buffalo wings while watching Golden Girls re-runs could be deemed interesting in any sense of the word,” Penelope said, “plus, judging by the frequency with which Eddie’s phone has been vibrating, she certainly has an interesting weekend ahead of her,” she smirked.

Eloise’s head popped up in interest. Finally a distraction! “Are these texts from a gentleman?” she asked with a tone of overstated interest.

Edwina started to flush “Do you guys remember that TA I had last semester for my archaeology class?”

“The one who’s so smart and funny and cute and always replied to your e-mails right away?” Eloise replied, “I’m not sure if you mentioned him.”

Edwina’s eyes narrowed at Eloise’s teasing, “Well, we went out and got coffee the other week and we’ve been texting ever since, and long story short I think I’m going to marry him.”

“Marriage?” Eloise scoffed, “have you two even…?” she let her words trail off, but let a rude gesture with her hands finish the statement.

“I was being facetious,” Edwina replied, “and no, I haven’t slept with him,” she returned to typing just before adding, “Very ladylike hand gesture by the way.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve never once tried to be ladylike in my life,” Eloise retorted.

“The blouse and pencil skirt you’re wearing at the library would state otherwise,” Penelope teased.

“Pen, you know I have to wear this when I tutor,” she shot back “apparently I have to look professional when I’m trying to help freshmen comp lit majors figure out what Candide is about.”

“What is Candide about?” Edwina asked.

“Hell if I know,” Eloise replied with a shrug. She looked back at her phone, “can we go home now?” she asked, “I hate walking through the park after 11.”

Penelope closed her computer, “I was about to suggest the same.”

As the 3 women walked out of the now-empty library Eloise spotted something on a bench in the vestibule between the library doors. It was a leather-bound notebook with a snap closure. Eloise couldn’t help but be curious, so she opened it.

“What on Earth are you doing El?” Penelope asked, “we are in New York City, god knows where that’s been!”

“Calm down Pen, it’s not street trash,” she replied. She opened to the first page of the notebook and read: property of Phillip Crane. If found, please contact pcrane282@nyu.edu

Phillip got home and all but went straight to sleep. Well, first he thanked and said goodbye to his Aunt who had been kind enough to watch his children after their most recent nanny had quit.

It appeared that the final straw for the most recent young lady–in what seemed to be a revolving door of unfortunate women (and some men)– was when the twins had decided to put a layer of cream cheese on the deodorant that they found in her purse. Phillip was more bewildered by his children’s antics than anybody, but even he had to admit that someone who decided to pursue a career in child care ought to be made of sterner stuff. 

But today had been a long day, and he needed to sleep before he went back to the lab tomorrow. He peaked his head into Oliver and Amanda’s room to make sure they were asleep. Or, if not asleep, not causing trouble. Then he went to his room and simply fell face down on the bed.

Phillip woke up the next morning to his alarm at 6 am in the clothes he had worn the day previous. He cursed under his breath, he was planning to wear that pair of khakis again today, but now they were all wrinkled and so was his shirt. Phillip went out into the kitchen and started making coffee when he heard a small voice from behind him.

“Daddy, you’re not going to wear those clothes to work are you?” He turned around to see Amanda in her pajamas. 

“Don’t I look good?” Phillip joked with her.

“You look like you slept in your clothes,” she said flatly, moving a chair to the side of the cabinet to reach for the cereal that was a bit too high for her to reach on her own. 

“That’s just the look I was going for,” he smiled and took a sip of his coffee, “do you want me to pack your lunch for you?” he asked. He didn’t have to be at the lab until 9:00 this morning. 

“No thanks,” Amanda said passing him to get milk from the refrigerator, “Me and Oliver packed our lunches last night.”

Phillip felt his stomach knot. He was proud that both of his children were self-sufficient, but he hated the fact that they had to be. Ever since their mother died–and frankly, before–they had needed to be like little adults, in spite of being 8 years old. Phillip tried the best he could to be a good dad to them, but working toward a Ph.D. and having the pressure of a research fellowship on one’s shoulders made active fathering somewhat difficult. 

“What did you pack, is it healthy?” Phillip asked, trying to make up for his dead-beat ways.

“Sandwich, apples, yogurt, and cheez-its,” she said matter of factly “I don’t know what Oliver put in his.”

As if on cue Oliver walked into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “I made the same thing but with chips instead of yogurt, because yogurt is gross.” He joined his sister at the countertop and poured cereal into a bowl that Amanda had already set out for him.

“Alright, kids, what’s on the schedule for today?” Phillip said, putting down his coffee, “anything after school that I should let Aunt Gertie know about?”

“I have piano right after school,” Amanda stated.

“And I have a hockey game at 5,” Oliver said with a mouth full of cereal, “can you come, Dad?”

Phillip’s heart sank, he knew he probably wasn’t going to be able to make it, but he decided to try and humor his son anyway. 

“Let me check my book,” he said walking over to his bag. He looked in the brown satchel to find that he couldn’t find the familiar brown leather datebook.

“Shit,” he whispered under his breath, “shit shit shit shit shit.”

“Are you okay dad?” Oliver asked, once more with his mouth full.

“Yes,” Phillip said with a sigh “I just can’t find my datebook.”

Phillip grabbed his phone to check the schedule he tried to maintain electronically and saw that he had an e-mail.

Dear Mr. Crane,

Hello! I just wanted to contact you because I believe I found your datebook outside the library last night. At least, this is the e-mail that was written to contact in case it was found. What is the best way that I can return it to you? I know I’m personally lost without my planner. Let me know how I can get it back to you and I will be sure to do so ASAP.

Sincerely,

Eloise Bridgerton, B.A.

Student | NYU Graduate School of Arts & Science

ebridge240@nyu.edu

(212)995-3422

P.S. I suppose I should ask you to describe it, just to make sure I’m handing it off to the right person. Once you’ve done that I will promptly return it to you.

[brandywine-tomatoes]

Hope was a Dangerous Game

Masterlist

Another oc fic

Characters: male!oc/Crosshair, the Batch

Prompt/Inspo: @keo-the-raptor was angsting with her oc and that gave me ideas

TW: depression, depressing thoughts, angst to loads of fluff, strong language

Word count: 1839

QUICK NOTE: Sinleo is my immortal cape maker/tailor.

Cross and him met on a peace treaty voyage with all the Naboo and Pantoran delegations since Sinleo is a long-time friend of the Naboo throne and besties with Riyo Chuchi. The Batch was stationed as part of the security detail.

They saw each other on and off over the years until Sinleo was encouraged to stay on the Havoc with Cross and the Batch (obvi without the Republic's knowledge).

--

Sinleo trudged through the busy streets of Coruscant, pushing and shoving his way through the gloomy crowd as everyone tried to get out of the pouring rain. He didn’t mind the intense downpour, it felt like a layer of grief was sliding down his shoulders, creating a thick sludge of sorrow being tugged along by his cheap boots.

He never wore his custom or expensive stuff anymore, not after the Empire took his trooper. He felt he lost a piece of himself, and without that piece, nothing else could fit. He had to pack away everything about himself into a mouldy storage locker. Crosshair had made his way into every part of him. He couldn’t think or look at those pieces without diving deeper into despair and isolation.

Force, he missed him. It hurt to even think sometimes. Everything everywhere reminded him that he wasn’t really in the galaxy, just a look-alike that tried to kill everyone close. Just a shell of something that used to love Sinleo. A shell of something that gave Sinleo something he never thought he’d get: Purpose. Hope. A future.

Hope was a dangerous game.

Sinleo dragged himself into the elevator, clicking the highest level and waited for the doors to slide open.

He tossed the drenched black windbreaker on the single wooden chair beside the door and made a beeline towards the mattress in the middle of the supposed living room. The ceiling fan was on full blast against the high ceilings, a sharp and cool wind blowing the dark greasy hair from his forehead. Cross used to do that. He used to hold Sinleo like he was his whole fucking world and brush the hair from his face.

He had to stop. Crosshair was gone. He wasn’t getting him back. Ever.

He’d survived for hundreds of years, he could survive hundreds more. But living them?

His depressing train of thought was cut off as an irritating beeping echoed off the bare walls from the windbreaker. Groaning, he stood and shuffled to the chair, taking out the comm device and flipping on the speaker and microphone.

“What?” He growled.

“You’ll want to hear this.”

“Hunter, I already told you, stop calling me.”

“Trust me, you’ll want to hear this.”

Sinleo paused and took a deep breath, defeated. “What do you want, bandana?”

“Are you sitting? You need to sit for this,” Hunter’s voice was growing more irritating by the second. Sinleo didn’t know if it was from pure annoyance of his past knocking on his comm device or how Hunter’s voice was filling with joy. Who the fuck could be joyful during this fucking time?

Sinleo pulled the wooden chair forward and sat. “I’m sitting.”

“Miss me, Sin?”

His heart jumped for a fraction of a second.

“Hunter,” he stood up in a rage. “I can’t fucking believe you. This is sadistic level shit. You really think I’m not in enough fucking pain without him? You think-”

“Alright alright, enough,” Hunter tuned back in. “Pack a bag for the next shuttle, I know you have senator-level security passes. Get to Alderaan’s National Spaceport, strip 3, by tonight. Private comm channels are unreliable for this kind of conversation.”

“Who the hell do take me for? A fucking fool? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sinleo. Please. For Cross. If you won’t believe it over comms, come see him yourself.”

Sinleo scoffed and practically snapped the comm device in half turning it off. The building in his eyes throughout the conversation spilt over. He let out a sob and crumbled to the ground. He shoved the palms of his hands into his eyes to try and stop the streaming of tears, only seeing a burst of crumbling light and a searing pain start to blossom.

He sat with his knees to the ground and let out sob after sob, grief-stricken memories of Crosshair giving one of his rare smiles or holding Sinleo’s face when everyone else was asleep making him sob even more. His muscles ached, his head pounded, he felt drained and empty and nowhere near better than before that conversation.

His heart leaped out of his chest when he heard his voice. It’d been almost a year since the love of his life used the nickname he gave him. His little sin.

He almost asked if it was really him, almost let himself believe he was alive and cut out of the puppet strings.

For just a second, he imagined seeing him again as Crosshair and not some Imperial mutt. His Crosshair. Hugging his Crosshair for hours so he wouldn’t slip away so easily again. Taking him to raid the upper-class district and leaving it in a flaming heap again like the first time they visited.

But then the ceiling fan pushed his hair from his forehead. The rainwater from the windbreaker was seeping through his clothes. His exhaustion from the last 10 months whittled its way back in.

He was gone.

But maybe he should pay his respects to his brothers. They were family after all. Maybe seeing them again, seeing the ship where him and Cross had their first kiss would offer a little closure. Offer a little piece of him back that Crosshair took. If he could get a piece of who he was, he might finally start working towards making someone new, someone whole again.

He made a few calls to senators and off-world shuttle security before he packed the few simple clothes he had and other necessities into a light duffle bag. The couple hours he had before the Coruscant guard came to escort him he curled up on the bare mattress and stared out the floor to ceiling windows numbly. He wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while, not after a breakdown like that, after what it uncovered.

Boy, would he pummel Hunter when he got there.

--

Sinleo fiddled nervously with the handle of the duffle bag on his lap as the shuttle gracefully touched down on the strip. The other passengers started undoing their safety harnesses as Sinleo sat there, paralyzed. He hadn’t thought of what he was doing. He only acted; he didn’t think of what would happen. What was waiting for him on strip 3? On that darkened and unused strip he passed seconds ago? Did his brothers fall to the Empire too? Was this all a trap for the Empire to finally nail him in jail for the shit he pulled in the past?

“Sir, we’ve landed,” a red-dressed bellhop gestured to the exit.

Sinleo fumbled with the safety harness and scurried towards the exit with the duffle in hand, accidentally ignoring the bellhop and descended the stairs. The passengers all left separate ways seemingly all over the tarmac towards groups of people or vehicles already waiting.

He walked in the direction of strip 3, pulling the same black windbreaker closer to him as a wind chill swept through the spaceport, ruffling his hair and lightly pushed him to the side. The tinted windows of the grand and beautifully historic spaceport building glistened softly against the pure black sky with Coruscant and Corellia on the other side of his view. The air was cleaner on Alderaan, it refreshed your lungs and brought a clear mind instead of the fogging effect the planet-wide city had.

As he neared the darkened strip 3, he spotted a group of moving figures, most likely the Bad Batch, and grimaced. This was a mistake; this was all a mistake. He should just turn back, save himself the embarrassing tears of seeing the crew again. He stopped dead in his tracks and seriously debating just getting a hotel and going back in the morning.

But one of the figures started walking towards him and he knew there was no going back. He couldn’t run away from them when they were right there.

He started his slow pace again, his heart beating quicker. That wasn’t one of the surviving Batch members. This was someone new. Or someone old.

“Sin!”

He stopped again, a heavy pressure resting on his chest. Oh my fucking god.

He dropped the duffle and started sprinting. “CROSS!”

His Cross kept the same pace as Sinleo closed the gap, already sobbing before they embraced. Crosshair spun Sinleo in a circle, a sputtering of a sob and a laugh escaping his choked-up throat. This wasn’t happening.

Sinleo buried his face in the crook of Cross’s neck, his arms impossibly tight around his waist as sobs racked his body.

It shredded the sniper’s heart that his absence had crumbled his love. But he was finally there with him. It wasn’t some dream in the back of his mind. It wasn’t some daydream that CT-9904 didn’t know how to explain. He was fucking there. This was all real. This was all he ever wanted.

A few tears leaked into Sinleo’s matted hair as Crosshair returned the death grip, whispering that he was there, and he wasn’t leaving. They wouldn’t let each other go again, not ever again. This was it. They were it. They were done with being alone, they were going to stay together for as long as they had. Sinleo muttered a few words before Cross lifted his head gently from his shoulder.

“Didn’t catch that, Sin.”

That sent another sob escaping Sinleo’s lips. They returned to their bone-crushing embrace for a few more moments before Sinleo lifted his head to try again at forming words.

Words failed him for a second as he finally got a look at the love of his entire life. “Don’t- don’t leave me again,” his voice came out desperate and hoarse.

Cross ran his thumbs over his cheeks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Sinleo closed the space, desperate to make up for their lost 10 months. Sinleo’s soft lips against his finally convinced him that it was over. No chip, no orders to follow, no one to report to. There was only him and his Sin, his first and last of everything in the middle of an airstrip, trying to convey how much they needed each other through a sloppy and suffocating kiss. Cross cupped his face and kissed back with everything he had, everything he could give.

They separated and gasped for air softly, foreheads leaning against one another as neither of them wanted to open their eyes. They stayed, Crosshair holding Sinleo and Sinleo’s arms around his waist, keeping them together.

The sniper was the first to flutter open his eyes, feeling heart palpations at the sight of a tired but peaceful Sin.

He smirked. “This is getting sappy.”

Sinleo snapped his eyes open and tried to glare at him. “We can be sappy.”

“Hell naw, we aren’t sappy,” he pulled away, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

Sinleo pecked his lips. “We are now.”

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

“Oh no, we’re sappy now.”

Sinleo kept his arm around Cross’s waist, finally ready to approach the group far away at the edge of the tarmac. “I can live with that.”

--

A/N: I stayed up unit 5 in the morning writing this. It was an emotional ROLLERCOASTER, but I got it done in one day and I'm pretty happy with it!

please go easy on the critisism, this was the first time i wrote 2 characters sharing a kiss

If you want more of/about Sinleo or any other oc, just let me know! I love sharing my bbs!

[bowieandqueen11]

Not So Great / Stanley Barber Imagine

Request: Hey love! Could you please do a Stanly Barber imagine, it’s set at the end of season 1 and after the whole head incident she watches as everyone runs but she runs over to Stan to see if he’s okay (maybe she could know about Sydney’s powers?). 

Yess @confusedmilcc​ I’m so excited to write for my other Stanley XD <3

Comments are much appreciated!

Boy, what a scream that was.

Madison Block was the first to start screaming, of course. It was the sort of noise that would have made the hair stand straight up on the back of your neck, if you had been able to pay attention, of course. All you could think, in that singular moment, as Jake Hill elbows into you and knocks you back onto the auditorium floor was ‘he punched Stanley, that bastard.’

Pulling bits of pink string and whatever other flickers of decoration lay on your fingers, off, it hadn’t even hit you yet that it was his head who had exploded. The screams were only growing louder, more piercing, screams of hysteria and disbelief - bordering on terror.

The school would never forget this dance, that’s for sure. No matter how much they may want to.

She ran, Sydney did. Ran as fast as she could. She didn't know if the police were still behind her or not, in fact, she didn't want to find out. His blood left a sick trail, droplets of crimson falling to the ground as she kicked off her shoes and kept on running down the street, a street she had walked up everyday of her life. She hoped the rain would come and wash it away, conceal her path, hide her away so no one could ever find her again

The wind doesn’t howl, instead it’s a different kind of horrifying: stiflingly silent as the students push past each other, tripping and tearing up expensive dresses they would never dare to wear again, shoving past each other, hustling and bustling down the corridors and out through the school gates as fast as they could go. The monotone buzz of several-hundred voices hummed like an orchestra as you stumbled to your feet, taking one step forward, and then another, making your way towards Stanley Barber.

He still lay there, in his light blue suit you had helped him pick out in town a couple of weeks ago. You were apprehensive when he pulled it off the rack, but with one eye roll and a small smirk, he had won you over. Holding it up by the hanger, he bowed at you from in front of the mirror, and you could do nothing but grin helplessly as you watched his curls bounce over his forehead, reflecting the warm light of the afternoon.

‘I can pull it off, Y/n.’

‘You can pull anything off, Stanley. That was never in doubt.’ You prod him in the shoulder as you continue, ‘even that horrible bowling shirt you’re wearing right now.’

He sighed dramatically as he placed a hand on your shoulder, not noticing the way you had stilled. The cashier huffed silently at the both of you, continuing to straighten out another row of dress shirts nearby, but all you could feel was Stanley’s warm breath against your cheek.

‘What a world we live in, Y/n, where a man can be teased so relentlessly for dressing as cool as he does.’

Little did he know that that same jacket would soon be lying on the floor, covering a man still flickering in and out of consciousness, the colour making the bloody trail as obvious as the nose on his face. It was already browning with those sickly matted clumps that could be fragments of what was once human. Clamping your hands down on his shoulders, you start to drag Stanley away back towards the bleachers where the two of you had been sitting only moments before. You wished the two of you had just stayed there, hand in hand as you watched the rest of the school dance by. Sure, the redness of your cheeks would have started to burn, and the side glances of Stanley would have begun to make you squirm uncomfortably, but the way his thumb brushed over the inside of your palm was a hell of a lot better than this.

Before his legs had managed to get a meter away from the carnage, you felt a hand clamp down on your arm, and a shaky voice rise from the pale, clammy face of your best friend.

‘You haven’t seen my sunglasses have you? I think I could use them right now.’

You nearly slap him for joking at a time like this, but as Stanley rises unsteadily to his feet, you can’t help but nearly cry out in relief.

‘Yeah, your face isn’t looking so great.’

The bruise that had begun as a purple stain above his eyebrow had sunk into the socket itself, and so now it had the appearance of a black eye.

‘Eh, I’ve had worse. What the hell happened when I was out?’

You say nothing in reply, but Stanley gets the message. Slowly, with almost a knowing grimace on his face, he follows your eyes to where they’re trained behind his back, gulping slightly as he catches sight of Brad.

‘His face looks worse.’

You only slap him on the shoulder.

‘Ow!’ He sighs before covering his eyes with his hand. ‘Syd?’

‘Syd.’

‘We gotta go, now. One thing I’ve learnt from comics, is that nothing good ever happens when the superhero runs away by themselves.’

His eyes showed the kind of gentle concern you wish he would show to you. He senses your discomfort, and lays his hand lightly on your shoulder, wiping off a drop of blood. He left his hand there and spoke with such a soft voice you felt his words calming you more by the way they were said than the actual words.

‘Okay, you get all that? We need to grab the journal first. Stay right here.’

Stanley disappeared for a second, before the two of you were out and into the empty hallway. It felt different today. Along the walls are balloons pinned on with cheap tacks, many of them already withering. Their colours are garish in the bold strip lights and from some dangle curled ribbons. It looks like a toddler's birthday party minus the cake and gifts, almost haunting in its vacant pleasantness, but the two of you keep going until you reach the edge of the school field. The grass was damp and covered in a thin layer of frost. As you walked, your footprints were embedded, leaving a piece of you in the cold ground.

‘Stanley, this is crazy!’

Under the moonlight, the street into the school lay still; the heat of the day had been replaced by a cool breeze, and all the students had run home. Stanley moved between the pools of streetlight, almost silent until he reached the sidewalk. A pair of headlights came bouncing over the hill, blinding him temporarily before passing and disappearing, but it’s enough to jolt him.

You let go of Stanley’s tugging hand, and he stops, turning around to look at you, almost shocked.

‘We need to go home, Stanley, please. Just let me drive you home. Where’s your car?’

Stanley froze. All he could think of, when he imagined home, was his dad chugging a beer to it's very last drop. He always went for another bottle. He always mistimed it, when he tried to sneak out. When he tried to come out of his room. He always managed to come out when he was on his last bottle. And that was always when he felt the need to discipline his son, to stop him becoming ‘soft’, as he liked to put.

‘You know I can’t do that, Y/n.’

‘The police are going to be here soon, Stanley. We can’t help her! Shit, we don’t even know where she’s gone!’

When you came to a stop in front of him, your eyes were on the floor, scared at what you might see when you looked up. You really, really hoped he wasn’t already gone in his crappy little car, driving far away from you and towards her. You were snapped out of it, and into shock by a finger placed under your chin, tilting it up gently until you could feel his steady breathing against your forehead.

‘Y/n please...I’m going to tell you a secret, right. I’m scared, Y/n, terrified, more than I’ve ever been, but we have got to help her. Sure, she may have been a jackass, but she’s our friend, and I really, really need you now. I can’t do this without you.’

You chew on your lip for a second, gazing up into his eyes as they start to brim over with tears.

‘For you, Stanley Barber, anything.’

Please support me on Kofi!

[theleakypen]

first lines: fic-writers meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

I was tagged by @la-muerta! I've mostly been archiving my kissing fics on AO3 lately, so that's what these will be, probably. I'm going to skip the ones where the first line was given to me by another person, since those are not illustrative. I am also skipping my filks. XD

1. Terms of Care - in answer to the prompt: "wei wuxian & wen ning + forehead kisses"

“Ah, Wen Ning, come join me!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, waving Wen Ning over to his spot in the bunny clearing.

2. Not To Be Alone - in answer to the prompt: "jiang cheng/song lan - hating separation"

“I was in shock still, and I said such awful things… So I’m looking for him now, to apologise. To say: traveling with you is better than traveling without you.”

3. This One's Spicy - in answer to the prompt: "lan jingyi/lan sizhui - yi city"

Lan Jingyi was still making elaborate disgusted faces, scraping his teeth over his tongue and the like.

4. fell through the cracks, but we're okay - in answer to the prompt: "oyzz/a-qing, au where they meet when they're both alive"

“Excuse me, are there any powerful people around here? Powerful people who cultivate?”

5. All This Burning Sexual Tension - in answer to the prompt: "wei wuxian/wen qing + laughter"

“Qing jiějiě!” Wei Wuxian shouts, bursting into the mess. “Jiang Cheng has brought it to my attention that we need to work out the unbearable sexual tension between us.”

6. In the Officers' Baths - in answer to the prompt: "mu nihuang/xia dong - something fun and not sad"

“Jùnzhǔ!”

7. in this great golden tower - in answer to the prompt: "qin su/wen qing, koi tower"

Qin Su has never asked xiǎo-Qing about her past.

8. sharp words, soft hands - in answer to the prompt: "chengxuan after like a big battle or something and one of them is hurt and the other one is worried and expressing it through getting snappy?"

Jin Zixuan opens his mouth to speak when Jiang Wanyin strides into his tent, but before he can say anything, the Jiang sect leader snaps, “Don’t bother. I saw exactly how it happened. You’d think someone raised in the great Lanling Jin sect would have learned a modicum of tactics.”

9. corpse kiss - in answer to the prompt: "how about wn/jzx with the prompt “qiongqi path”" (content warning: this one is noncon)

There was no longer a flute playing, but Wen Ning was still rushing toward Jin Zixuan like a hurricane in human form.

10. Closed Fist, Warm Mouth - in answer to the prompt: "xianxuan, in the middle of an argument"

It was lucky that Jin Zixuan had stomped away from his entourage as well as from the Jiang contingent, because it meant that there was no one to stop Wei Wuxian from throwing a punch this time.

11. Growing Things - in answer to the prompt: "lan sizhui & ouyang zizhen (my underappreciated boi!), growing things"

The Baling gardens were one of Lan Sizhui’s favorite places.

12. what's left when revenge is over - in answer to the prompt: "Sisi/Nie Huaisang post Guanyin temple"

“It’s done, then,” Sisi says, standing behind Nie Huaisang and beginning to take his hair down.

13. a good bruise - in answer to the prompt: "chengqing, jiang-furen wen qing. after training disciples"

They have been married for just over a year, but it still somehow seems scandalous to Wen Qing that she gets to be here, in Sect Master Jiang’s own personal quarters, as he gets ready for his post-training bath; that she gets to pull at the ties on his outer robes, skim her fingers along his collarbones to feel him shiver, help him shrug off each successive layer of clothes until all that’s left between her and his sweat-slick skin are her own clothes.

14. why the hell not - in answer to the prompt: "wwx/nhs, burial mounds. why the hell not"

“Nie xiong, what the hell are you doing here?”

15. Rivers and Lakes, Towns and Cities - a prequel of my Songxiao Middle Earth AU, where the Elf Xiao Xingchen meets the Human Song Lan after leaving Baoshan Sanren's mountain (which is, like, an Asian equivalent of Rivendell)

Baoshan Sanren always said that the world west of the Mountain was full of corruption and iniquity, that the Western Elves were liars to a one, and that the gods they called the Valar were betrayers.

16. A Hundred Beautiful Things - The Untamed (TV) fandom, Jiang Yanli/Nie Huaisang political marriage set after the Qishan indoctrination arc.

It was an adjustment, to be sure.

17. Taste You In My Core - 魔道祖师/Mo Dao Zu Shi novel fandom, Nie Huaisang/Xiao Xingchen monster4monster porn with Eldritch Xiao Xingchen and Beast Nie Huaisang.

“Are you all right, gōngzǐ?" the young man asks, and Nie Huaisang does his best not to laugh.

18. A Fruitful Correspondence - The Untamed (TV) fandom, Lan Wangji is forcibly befriended by Jiang Yanli (and by extension Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng) during the time that Wei Wuxian and the Wens are holed up in the Burial Mounds.

Lan Wangji’s plan upon attending the wedding between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli is to put in the bare minimum of appearances and then go home at the earliest opportunity.

19. Bored - Leverage (!!) fandom, in Season 2, Episode 1, Parker mentioned stealing the Hope Diamond and then putting it back. This is the story of that heist.

Planning the heist still carries the same thrill as it always does: scoping out guard rotations, evaluating the schematics for their new security system (laughable, even with the increased bandwidth to support a greater number of security cameras), visiting the museum as a paying guest… Parker loves this part, and it’s good to stretch her muscles in this way, relying on no one but herself.

20. Best Friends for Best Friends - The Untamed/MDZS fandom (could go with either canon) fic for Jin Ling's birthday featuring the Juniors quartet and a whole litter of puppies - this is an archived threadfic that was cleaned up and then thrown on AO3.

Jin Ling totally forgot about the "no pets at Cloud Recesses" rule, okay?

--

I've noticed that I tend to like to start with some kind of dialogue most frequently; otherwise, something to establish the POV character's interiority. The big exception is the Middle Earth fic where I was emulating Tolkien's narrator, somewhat.

I think of these twenty, my favorite opening line is probably either 7 or 16. They're so sparse, but still set up a lot.

Tagging @hunxi-guilai, @iamwestiec, @bladedweaponsandswishycoats, @shadaras, @withbroombefore, @vyther15, @vivisextion if y'all wanna play! If not, no worries ofc :3

[mxvirani]

just like you | task 3 (nightmare)

You ever think about what it would be like If the clouds were gone and you could see light? If the door was open would you take flight Or just close the curtains up and stay inside?

his eyes are wide open, he’s standing in the kitchen barefoot but things look different. there are so many versions of different but now he’s staring at pencilled drawings on his own fridge, staring at stick figures with his sisters name scribbled by them. the clock is ticking and it’s so loud that it strikes him over the head like the hands of time and he stumbles backwards to a counter that’s still there as a figure appears and walks over to the fridge. he’s staring with wide eyes at the boy looks back at him through messy dark hair, sharks on button up pyjamas and the same eyes staring back at him. 

it’s not real, it’s just a memory. a thousand trips but he’s never came face to face with himself, only a hundred ghosts of futures past. 

"can you get me a glass of water?”

he almost doesn’t realise that it’s addressed at him, isn’t that like inception? he’s staring but he takes an empty cup from the drainer, barbie printed on the front... that was probably more loved by him than pari. the tap splashes on and water begins to drip down into the glass... he’s too busy staring as it overflows onto his hand and something strange and slimey slides out. he glances back down, “what the fuck!” he pulls his hand away, goldfish spilling over into the sink, wriggling around like crazy at the bottom. he steps away.

“aren’t you going to save them? they only have us,” the boy rushes over, his fingertips at the edge of the sink as he watches the fish flip and flop to a standstill in the inch of water. 

“uhhh, yeah,” he says although he’s pretty sure he’s wasting his breath. his subconscious is super into his wildlife conservation phase and he is totally not. 

he turns and backs out of the kitchen but on the way out he crashes into someone, spinning around half expecting to find himself awake but sleep walking, face to face with a member of his family but the person that he’s almost nose to nose with is wearing thick plastic sunglasses and an orange pinstripe shirt, one green headphone hanging out of his ear, “hey, watch where you’re going. i’m trying to get in the zone here,” the newest... uh, old mx complains, an annoyed look on his preteen face. 

“just so you know, that dance show was fucking lame and you only get third place,” he tells himself. not that he needs to tell himself because he... his actual self... obviously knows. fuck. time travel and now this. life was complicated but death had added a new dimension. 

out of the house... that was the best idea... he jogs down the hallway and through the front door of his house, stepping out onto the street where the snow falls on his tanned skin. footprints out there in the depths of fluffy white planes. it’s not a memory he recollects, a snowman in the yard with a red and green scarf wrapped around it’s neck and a parsnip instead of a carrot for a nose. he doesn’t see himself this time but he steps forwards and the snow sinks beneath his feet... it’s like sinking sand, he tries to grab onto the ground but it disappears into nothingness and instead his fingers slip cold and wet until only his head is visible. snow is still falling and his heart beats fast. it’s just a dream, close your eyes.

“you know, mitesh, if you don’t help yourself out of this rut then you’re never going to do anything with your life.” a pair of feet are in his view, a pair of snow boots belonging to two lengthy legs. he can’t see her face but he knows it’s his mother.

“can you get me the hell out of here? this is my worst trip and i’m not even on anything, deepfake mom,” he tries to look at the face but it’s too high. 

a hand reaches out and manage to grab him by the shoulders, an unrecognisably strong grip that breaks through the cold and the ice for long enough for him to reach up and grab onto them for return. 

then it stops...

he’s looking into his own eyes but this isn’t the past him, this is the future of him and his eyes are drawn and tired... he is thin and trembling with chapped lips and a drained look in his eyes. he doesn’t seem strong enough but he’s holding on...

“pull me out,” he whispers. a plea.

“i can’t do it. i’m too weak. you shouldn’t rely on me, i’ll only let you down,” the other mx tells him.

a new feeling is rising and it feels so real, the fear and the terror as he grabs onto a man that he knows is destined to let go, fingers clutching more than just snow and ice but onto the ghost of himself. he doesn’t want to die like this, he doesn’t want to die right now and yet it’s destiny... it’s fate... isn’t it? what if you don’t want it to be? “fuck, just pull me up, just fight it! please!”

the other mx loses his grip ( at least that’s what he tells himself when he knows that he let go )... he’s holding on tighter but those eyes are so dead that there’s no fighting with them, there’s no hope. he tries as hard as he can to hold onto the other mx but instead he begins to slide back down and take him down with him too. his head goes under the ice and he’s underwater, air bubbles in a scream as he yanks the body that was holding him above water down with him.

that’s when he sees it... the flash of red hair... the woman that he spent the last years of his life with falling through the ice into the water. then there they are... mx after mx, life after death and death after life... they’re drowning, screaming out to him for help and he’s screaming back but he can’t do a damn thing about.

one of the other mx’s latches onto rachel and she’s drowning, she’s drowning and it’s all his fault. maybe it’s not him but it is him. he’s killing her, taking her to the bottom of the lake with him where she will never resurface and for the first time in his life mx doesn’t know if he is strong enough but he has to be. he swims deeper, he can breathe under water when he grabs onto her under the shoulders and pulls and swims against the invisible current until the other mx breaks off.

he is swimming to the top as the other mx’s die, their screams air bubbles, unheard by anyone because of the layer of ice. as he makes it to the top, the layer keeps them trapped. he slams his fist against it over and over and a crack appears, his lungs are deflated and his body feels tired but he slams and slams until eventually he makes a hole. he pushes rachel up through it, her limp body sliding on the ice.

it feels like a blink and there it is... her hand reaching out to pull him up too, the light above him shining bright in his dark eyes. he is reaching out too, he’s considering going towards it... their fingers are almost touching...

something slippy on his ankle. a hand. a mangled damp hand.

he looks down and sees another mx and this one is more familiar to him, a crooked smile and a laugh in his eyes, a mask that never comes up. his hair is shoulder length and free in the water and he feels like home... a damp and hopeless home that always called out to him...

as he sinks into the depths of the lake he sees rachel’s face peering through the hole but her eyes are different... she can’t see why he’s leaving her... she’ll never know.

[nsfwmonomazine]

Weekly Thread 3

THREAD: Week 3

Writing: @StevieTMQ

Ship: MonoBaku

Kink: Dubcon

Other Warnings: Sex Pollen

Look out for more Weekly Threads from our various contributors!!

Read the thread below!

Patrolling is hell. Patrolling with Bakugou is double hell, extra fucking tedious hell with torture on top.

He’s already the cockiest, worst bastard in 1A, probably the first fucker Neito would pick to bring down if he were given the opportunity. But this is school and Vlad has been on his ass about playing nice with the kids in the other class, no matter how Neito has to chew the inside of his lip until it bleeds. 

It’s cold on top of everything else, the wind bitter and biting, sinking deep into Neito’s bones. Bakugou has enough trouble with his own quirk in the winter and it shows, the way he’s hunched into his high collar, grumbly and sulky. Neito can barely get close enough to touch him and borrow it, let alone use it in the difficult weather. He can’t seem to sweat at all, doesn’t have the benefit of equipment designed for that express purpose. 

They’re on a rooftop, surveying from above, keeping an eye on the crowded streets. Bakugou maintaining a solid few meters of distance between them. “Doesn’t want some extra stealing his shit!” 

Neito snorts at the memory. He’s no extra, he’s the fucking star. As if Bakugou would know. 

“Shut up!” 

Neito chooses to let that go with grace. “You see anything?”

“No, and I won’t if you keep makin’ fuckin noise over there.” Bakugou’s voice is a gravely interruption in the low howl of wind, the city sounds a few stories down. 

Neito turns back to the street, hands balled into fists. Annoying bastard. 

Nothing happens for a while, except Neito’s fingers and toes stinging and burning with cold before inevitably going numb, hundreds of nameless sets of winter clothes and various vehicles passing on the streets below. 

Then someone stops and looks at him. Neito clocks him immediately, stares back, taking in the red scarf and beanie, the nondescript grey peacoat. An average man. May just be admiring the architecture. 

He’s too far to make out features but he doesn’t turn his face away from Neito, doesn’t even shuffle his feet for a few minutes. Long enough to give Neito the sense that something is very wrong.

His stance shifts and his hand comes out of his pocket, still fixated on the top of their building. 

“Bakugou,” Neito says calmly.

Bakugou grunts back noncommittally and the man on the street throws something, too hard and fast for Neito to see, other than the fact that it’s coming straight for them. When he looks back, the man is gone, vanished in the sea of bodies. 

The top of the roof is covered in coarse gravel, camouflaging whatever small object was thrown onto it. Neito scans quickly across the pale rocks. He swears he heard it on his left, but he sees nothing. 

“What’s with you?!” Bakugou half shouts, just loud enough to carry over the wind without bothering to get closer. 

Neito’s crunching over the gravel, looking for the object, whatever it may be, when he sees it. A little red sphere, cracked open by the impact, cradled in the stones. He leans down to inspect it closer. 

He’s rocked by a wave of vertigo, nearly knocked on his ass by it. He grits his teeth and picks up the capsule. Nothing is inside it anymore, just an empty shell of shattered plastic. 

Weird. 

“Hey, extra! What the fuck is goin’ on!?” 

The sound of shifting stones announces Bakugou closing in, coming to see if Neito is doing something he should worry about. 

Neito squats over the gravel with the broken capsule pinched between his thumb and index, trying to stop the rooftop from spinning, gasping for breath as if it was punched out of him. He’s suddenly feverish, super sensitive to the cold air rushing into the sleeves of his coat, goosebumps rising instantly. Every vessel in his body seems to dilate simultaneously, a hot, sick rush of feeling tingling through him impossibly fast. 

The capsule falls, Neito catching himself with a gloved hand on the gravel, for a moment, heaving as if he’s going to be sick. The rush fades fast though, nausea disappearing only to be replaced with an arousal that grips so suddenly, so tightly Neito feels it creak his bones. 

“Oi!” 

Neito spins quickly to face Bakugou, still crouched between his knees like a beast. He feels like an animal, throbbing with dumb desire. It heats him from within, warms his numb extremities, makes him feel unstoppable, undeniable. 

And Bakugou… Bakugou doesn’t look annoying or haughty or imposing anymore. He looks like a challenge, like he needs to be levelled. He’s fucking tempting, all curiously narrowed eyes and empty threats and that sickeningly slim waist that makes Neito’s cock throb even under the thick winter wear. He is, without a doubt, a feast, that no one is here to discourage Neito from consuming. 

Neito lunges at him, without warning or interruption, so fast that Bakugou can do nothing but take the impact around his middle and fall to the gravel beneath him. 

“What the fuck!?” 

“Just- just-” Neito starts, but doesn’t finish. He’s on autopilot, can’t stop to string two words together, can’t think. He’s all action, pinning Bakugou under his thighs, feet flexing around his calves to minimize struggle. But he’s Bakugou and he fights, relentlessly, shouting the whole time. 

“What’re you doing?!” As Neito seizes his wrists, ignoring the tiny explosions that assault him. 

“Fucking stop!” As Neito slams his hands to the gravel above his head and holds him there. 

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” As Neito grinds against Bakugou experimentally and light bursts behind his rolling eyes with the sheer, heady pleasure of it. 

Neito can barely hear him through the ecstasy, his body moving on animal instinct alone, hindbrain in full control. He forces Bakugou down, bends him to his will, intent on taking what he needs. The power is almost as intoxicating as the sensation, a harmonic force that has his nerves feeling everything at neon intensity. Bakugou’s once narrow eyes blown wide with fear, his cock half hard despite all of it makes Neito feel indestructible, unconquerable. A force to be reckoned with. 

He bends to claim Bakugou’s pretty pout with his own mouth, violent and desperate, teeth clacking together. Bakugou bites him, inevitably. Neito bites back, harder, sinking teeth into his lip until he yelps, high and helpless and Neito laughs against his mouth. 

It’s amazing, it’s so fucking good, but it’s not enough. Neito’s body demands more, demands to be closer, demands entrance. He can hump and grind against Bakugou, through their layers of clothing, but it won’t take him over the finish line, he can tell already. He needs in, needs in right fucking now, his skin like fire every second he’s not buried in the heat of Bakugou’s inviting body.  

Neito pulls back to flip Bakugou over, passes his wrists to the other hand to avoid the explosions, throwing all his weight to one side to get him prone. His hand goes directly to the waistband of Bakugou’s pants, not even stopping to grab a handful of round, tempting ass on the way, yanking and stripping. 

“Whoa, whoa, STOP, FUCKIN’ STOP!!” Bakugou’s crying now, Neito can tell from the thickness of his voice, the shake in the tone. It only spurs him on.

“Can’t,” Neito says, croaks it out with a clumsy tongue.

“WHY THE FUCK NOT?!” 

Neito’s grinding against his ass, moaning despite himself. He’s so close, just there, just under him, open and tight, oh fuck, he must be so tight. 

“Won’t stop,” Neito forces out with a groan, “fuck- won’t stop- inside- gotta be inside-”

Neito resumes pulling Bakugou’s pants down, over his pale, shapely ass and he yelps again.

“JUST USE MY MOUTH YOU FUCK!” 

Neito nearly blacks out at the very thought, the immediacy of Bakugou’s huge, loud mouth wrapped around his cock, finally shut up, makes him shudder toe to tip. That’s inside his body, that’s where his cock needs to be. He flips Bakugou back over. 

“Really?” He asks, kind of, but he’s already moving, already getting his own pants shoved down as far as he can with Bakugou in the way. A string of precome drools from his slit, his cock violently, vibrantly red, aching. 

“Fucking get it over with!” 

Neito takes Bakugou’s wrists, one in each hand to force back to the gravel. He kneels on his biceps, just inside each elbow to hold him and sits back on Bakugou’s chest. A king, taking his rightful throne. Bakugou’s eyes burn crimson, hatred-heated, looking past Neito’s cock to sneer at him. 

There’s no time to savour it, no time to appreciate how Bakugou’s eyes are puffy and pink-rimmed, his lips bitten and swollen, chapped from the cold. Neito takes his cock in hand, a fistful of Bakugou’s fluffy hair in the other, shifting forward until the head of it meets Bakugou’s pout. His mouth falls open, a dream, big straight teeth and wide, soft-looking tongue on full display. 

It’s just as velvety as it looks, Bakugou’s rough, dry lips providing a contrast to his warm, wet, perfect mouth. Fucking divine. Neito’s grip tightens in his hair, pulls his head down onto his cock, needing to be further enveloped, working him down to the hilt.

Bakugou is a masterpiece, tear-streaked cheeks and pouty lips stretched to accommodate Neito’s girth, tongue working against the underside. He gags as Neito leans in further, eyes rolling back, wincing. He looks so stupid. Neito’s cock throbs, precome leaking down Bakugou’s throat, milked out by the convulsion of it. 

His mouth meets Neito’s pelvis, presses into dark blonde hair, and any semblance of restraint that Neito had snaps with it. He leans forward, knees crashing into the gravel, pain barely registering through the rapture that is Bakugou’s mouth. Bakugou’s gripping Neito’s hips hard, hands now free, trying to hold him back but he is unrestrainable. 

Bakugou’s skull is pushed into the gravel, Neito falling onto a hand over his face, fucking into his mouth brutally. He barely notices the graze of teeth, the bruises bursting under Bakugou’s fingers. He’s single-mindedly driving into the hot resistance of his throat, the flexing, choking, fight of it meeting and matching his rhythm. Sensation bursts in every inch of Neito, electric pleasure sparking and crackling, rolling to a peak, finally, finally reaching a conclusion. 

Neito comes so forcefully he feels pulled right from his body, soul escaping the bonds of its cage the instant he spills down Bakugou’s incredible throat. It’s bright white euphoria, fittingly explosive, perfectly brilliant and all-consuming until it ebbs slowly away, leaving Neito gasping. 

He’s embarrassed, suddenly and maybe irrationally. He lets Bakugou’s hair slip from his grasp, pulling out and away and scrambling back as fast as he can, tucking his softening cock back into his pants. He’s unsure where to go from here. 

“Oi, oi, oi,” Bakugou says with a wrecked voice, the roughness of it down to sandpaper from it’s usual rock tumbler. He wipes his mouth as he sits back up, not ashamed or violated as Neito expected, but mean. A wicked grin splits his face. “You think you’re goin’ anywhere without returning the favour?”

[drwcn]

Hi! I was wondering on what you thought of the reunion scene where Wen Chao dies, why didn't WWX hug JC back?

Hi!! Sorry for the late reply, I was thinking of a coherent way to answer this after my exam. Here it goes:  

I think it boils down to a combination of 1) his personality, 2)his trauma/state of mind, 3)his long-term intentions. 

First and foremost, Wei Wuxian is not a touchy-feeling character, as least, not from what I saw from tv canon. I don’t mean he doesn’t have emotions, or that he doesn’t express affection, but that he is a very layered individual who keeps what he’s feeling deep down very well hidden from everyone. Yes he may be loud, mouthy or whatnot, but his true emotions, his true thoughts and feelings are kept bottled up and shielded against the world. In a way, I can sort of identify with that, as someone who seems very extroverted and is not afraid to speak. I am willing to share and talk about a lot of things, but the things that are closest to me, deepest most private emotions, I will never speak of to anyone. Perhaps I’m projecting or misinterpreting WWX, but I truly believe that he is quite like that as well. 

This is very different from Jiang Cheng, who although is bad at communicating, actually very much seeks to communicate. There are many instances where he asks wwx what’s going on, reaches out to him, and tries to understand. And his own outbursts of anger are his way of demonstrating that he is trying to understand, trying to communicate. Given his dysfunctional parents, I doubt Jiang Cheng was ever taught how to communicate healthily. He yells at wwx, again, and again, and again, because he wants a response. Because Jiang Cheng is confused and he just wants to sit down and talk about what the hell has been going on.

When Jiang Cheng hugs WWX, he is holding nothing back. He is damn relieved that his brother is alive, and he is so, so overjoyed. But the WWX who crawled out of Burial Mount is a different person than who went in. Nobody who goes through that kind of trauma consecutively (home destroyed, core surgical removed, beaten, tortured and tossed into the abyss of living hell) can be expected to stay the same. But he has to move forward, because the war is not won, because WRH is still alive, and he has a clan to avenge. At the same time, he couldn’t let Jiang Cheng know what had happened to him, because if there’s one thing more important than revenge to wwx at that moment in time it’s to keep the secret of the core transfer. 

When burdened with all that, WWX has to steel himself against everything. Have you ever been so angry, so hurt, so vulnerable that when a friend tries to reach out to comfort you, you shrink away. You shrink away because you can’t be touched, can’t be comforted, because if you even let go a little bit you’ll completely break. Because holding onto your anger and your coldness and that numb apathy is hundred times better than confronting everything that’s buried inside you. 

And lastly, I believe WWX has been working to self-sabotage himself since the very beginning. His target (whether he is aware of it or not) is that he is going to have to walk this demonic path alone. To him there are only three types of people in the world 1) people he needs to use demonic cultivation to protect e.g. the Wens; 2) people who he needs to keep away from to not taint with his demonic cultivation e.g. the Jiangs, Yanli, A-Cheng; and 3) the enemies who want to destroy him because in their ignorance they believe he is evil (Lan Qiren) or the enemies who want to use him for their own gains (Jin Guangshan). 

Until Lan Wangji (with 16 years to ruminate and reflect) makes it crystal clear to WWX that he wants to stand with his Wei Ying, no matter what, I don’t believe Wei Wuxian felt like there was anyone he could share this part of himself with. Even Wen Ning is in away... a creation of demonic cultivation, and not on par with him, the creator. 

I believe Wei Wuxian knows that he’s fucked from the get go. He never anticipates there will be a good end for himself, and he probably foresaw that in the end he’s going to have to walk this path alone. He begins isolating himself from those around him incrementally. He shuts himself off from Jiang Cheng just as he pushes Lan Wangji away. Because to him, he has no other choice. He has to keep walking this path because there is no other path to walk, but he couldn’t explain that to anyone. If he explains why he can’t walk the spiritual path....all the secrets he kept is going to to come out and he can’t have that. So, he is set to go down this single plank road, and he believes he has to walk it alone. 

He isn’t wrong. Without explaining why he is walking this path, no one 16 years ago is going to walk with him. No one. Not Lan Wangji nor Jiang Cheng. No one. And that’s perfectly reasonable. It’s like seeing your best friend randomly decide to rob a bank one day without telling you why. Of course you’re not going to help them. But if they explain to you that they’re being forced to do it because their son/parent/spouse is being held hostage, suddenly your position to stand with them might change. The same reason applies here. 

Thus, anticipating his future, it is probably easier for Wei Wuxian to isolate himself first than to be actively rejected by his friends and kin later. He strikes first instead of waiting to be struck.  Not hugging Jiang Cheng back, in its essence, is Wei Wuxian’s defence mechanism.