#it is. gut wrenching. i don’t know how i didn’t throw up any of the times it’s happened to me

[fingertipsmp3]

Me earlier: oh actually I don’t think my PMS has been that bad this time around?? Maybe microgynon is stabilising my mood

Me just now: *reading people’s stories about knee sprains and sobbing from sympathy*

[freshlove-sturn]

house on the cape III

pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4

summary: when the triplets come back home from la, they reunite with their favorite summer tradition, staying in the house on the cape. amidst all of the familiar laughter, and reminiscing on old memories, y/n can’t ignore the feeling stirring in her heart. something that went deeper than friendship. as she grapples with the fact that her feelings for her lifelong best friend, matt, are more than what’s just at the surface, she must learn to navigate and balance the unspoken feelings, and the gut wrenching fear of risking it all.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

i stand there in shock for a moment. the fact that he had a moment that i held so deeply in my heart permanently tattooed on his body was something that i couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“no way? really?” i ask. i try playing it cool, but it’s no use, really. matt could read me like an open book, he’s always been able to. my poker face didn’t stand a chance whenever he was around.

“yeah.” he laughs awkwardly. “sorry if that’s weird or anything i just-“ he clears his throat. “you’re my best friend and i wanted to get something to honor you and-“

“you don’t have to explain yourself matt.” i cut him off to reassure him. “i love it. that’s really sweet.” i smile up at him.

he doesn’t say anything, just smiles sweetly back at me.

we don’t talk the rest of the walk home, we didn’t need to. the presence of one another spoke in volume that words couldn’t.

volumes that i don’t think i’ll ever be able to profess to him. i just let the universe speak for me, in hopes that maybe one day he will catch on, and if i’m lucky, maybe he feels the same.

surely it didn’t mean near as much as i wanted to. people get tattoos for their best friends all the time, i was reading too far into it. how was matt supposed to know the significance of that moment anyway?

once we get inside, we bid our second goodnight. i toss and turn all night. every time i check the clock, only 3 minutes had gone by since the last time i checked, praying for it to be daylight so i could have the others to distract my ever racing mind.

the deafening sound of my alarm wakes me out of the sleep it felt like i had just fallen into. i slap my hand around lazily on the nightstand feeling around for my phone to turn the alarm off, too tired to open my eyes.

once i click stop, i run the tiredness from my eyes and stretch, sitting up in bed. i heard foot steps walking past my door, down the hall. i knew it wasn’t any of the triplets, no way they were waking up this early. i knew it was nathan.

i slide out of bed, running my brush through my hair quickly, before walking out into the living room, nate was sitting in the recliner on his phone.

“morning” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes to shake the remnants of the sleep he clearly just woke up from by the way his hair was sticking all in opposite directions.

“morning.” i reply, sitting down on the couch closest to him.

“did you leave last night? i could’ve sworn i heard yours and matt’s voicing coming back inside last night.” nate asks. my mind was instantly flooded with the memories of last night. how matt and i’s faces were just mere inches from each other, the way matt didn’t skip a beat to dive below the surface to find my necklace after i lost it, and of course, the tattoo.

“yeah, we went to the beach. we couldn’t sleep.” i tell him.

nate raises his eyebrows at me. he knows my feelings for matt. i confessed then to him the day the triplets first moved to boston. ever since then, he has been a wingman of sorts. always listening to every interaction i had with matt that i had romanticized in my head, which was practically all of them, give or take.

“ooooh, you and matt went to the beach alone in the middle of the night.” he teases, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

i roll my eyes and throw a pillow at him, to which he deflects and throws it back at me. “can i tell you something?”

i had to tell him about the tattoo thing. i couldn’t keep this information to myself. nate was always the one i confided in when i couldn’t confide in matt.

“hit me.” he leans back in the chair, folding his hands behind his head.

“so y’know matt’s shell tattoo?” nate nods.

“well, last night he told me that it’s actually the shell from this necklace.” i grab the shell that laid around my neck, nate staring intently.

“you didn’t know that?” he furrows his brows.

“you did?!” my voice involuntarily raises an octave from our quiet speaking. was this common knowledge to everyone but me? why didn’t matt tell me until now?

but i don’t have much room to talk, i harbored my own share of secrets.

just before nathan can explain himself, i hear a bedroom door open and shut, footsteps padding down the hallway, shutting both of us up.

“morning.” chris appears from around the corner, his hair messy, stretching his arms over his head while speaking through a yawn.

“good morning.” nate and i repeat in unison. nick follows lazily, plopping down on the couch.

about a half hour later, nate, nick, chris, and myself are still the only ones up, matt was sound asleep.

“what do yall wanna do today?” nick asks opening the fridge, grabbing milk for his cereal.

chris and nate start throwing out ideas, i stand up and start heading off towards the bedrooms. “i’m gonna go wake matt up.” i tell them, disguising as it as if i wanted to make sure he was apart of making the plans. while that may be part of it, majority of my motive was for my own benefit.

the door was already cracked, i open it the rest of the way slowly, and once again leaving it cracked behind me. i quietly make my way to the side of the bed. shaking his shoulder gently.

“matt, wake up. we’re talking about what we’re gonna do today” my voice soft. he stirs in his sleep a bit, but ultimately ignores me. i repeat his name again, this time earning the fluttering open of his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth when he grabs my arm, pulling me down into the bed.

“matt!” i pretend to protest. positive i’m not at all masking the fact that would lay her forever with him.

“five more minutes.” he chuckles, throwing part of the blanket over me after wrapping his arms tightly around me.

cuddling wasn’t exactly unfamiliar territory with us. our mothers telling us growing up that we were attached at the hip, following it up with how even that was an understatement.

he closes his eyes, but that doesn’t tear my attention away from his beautiful features. all of them complimenting each other perfectly in such harmony.

“matt.” i whisper, i knew i had to get him up and moving, after telling the others that those were my intentions.

his eyes open again, staring back down into mine. my stomach feels like it’s doing backflips, and my heart beating as if i had just finished running a marathon. something about the way he was looking at me, all the while his hands rest on the small of my back holding me firmly to his hip, had me swooning. if i didn’t know any better i swear i had heart eyes, with hearts swirling around my head like in the cartoons.

one of his arms releases its grip, his hand coming up to my face, brushing the hair that had fallen into my eyes out of the way. the pads of his fingers gently caressing my skin. his hand lingers for a moment on the side of my face. our faces seemed ever closer than they were the night in the ocean, i could almost feel the flutter of his eyelashes when he blinks. the booming of chris yelling for him to wake up interrupts.

“we should probably go out there, he’s been ready to go all morning.” i say softly.

“i can’t stand that kid sometimes.” matt groans.

i roll off the bed, pulling the covers off of matt. “i know you can’t.” i tell him as he slowly gets out of the bed.

we make our way into the living room, nate of course immediately shoots me a cheeky grin, i give him warning look, and he puts his hands up in defense.

if the truth didn’t come out through me, it would surely come out by nate’s not so discreet teasing.

thankfully, everyone else stays oblivious to this interaction.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

we winded up deciding on grabbing a bite to eat at a small cafe. i sit sandwiched between nate and matt. nate and chris were discussing what they were gonna order while nick vlogged, piping into conversation every once in a while. matt’s hand brushes against my thigh, sending a jolt of electricity throughout my entire body. he lets it rest there for a moment before the camera pans to him. he was always cautious about the way he interacted with me in videos, anything to prevent hate from jealous fans.

part of me understood and appreciated that, but another part of me wishes he wouldn’t hold back.

but i could never tell matt that.

our food arrives shortly after we order, everyone scarfs it down within a few minutes, eager to set off on our next adventure, hiking.

the check comes and i pull out my wallet to cover my share of the bill, before i can even get any money out, matt grabs my wrist.

“absolutely not.” he tells me, placing enough money on the table to cover mine and his meal.

“matt stop it, you never let me pay.” i protest.

“i think you should know by now that you’re never paying for anything in my presence.” he tells me. i roll my eyes, shaking my head. a gentle smile plastered across my face.

he leans down, his voice just low enough to where only the two of us could hear it. “pretty girls never pay.”

i look up at him, but he had already struck up a conversation with nick, completely disregarding the comment he had just made that is the reason my cheeks are flushed with a bright pink color.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the 5 of us trot down the dirt path through the woods, down to a lake that was in the clearing.

we were at an incline, so our steps were quick and not entirely balanced. of course given this fact, i’d be the one to stub my toe on a tree root and lose my footing, stumbling forward.

a pair of arms grab my waist, steadying my body.

“careful.” matt says.

again, our touch lingers just a second too long. a second too long to just be “friendly”.

seconds that probably all in all meant nothing, but nonetheless were part of the foundation i had anchored my hopes on.

once we get down to the lake, after matt channels his inner bird expert, as well as 12 year old boy screaming penis so loud it probably woke up a small village across the ocean, matt and i break off from the rest of the group. something we were no strangers to doing. we walk side by side, careful not to stray too far from the rest, but just far enough to have our own privacy.

we walked so close our hands touched with each step. neither of us bothered to alter the situation.

matt slows down to a stop. his blue eyes catching mine. the sun was just beginning to set, rays of light beaming between the openings of tree branches.

“this is like, my favorite place to be ever.” he says, looking out over the water. “and even more so because i’m with you.” his eyes meet mine again. i smile up at him, praying the hotness of my cheeks is strictly internal, and not making it painfully obvious to the boy in front of me that im in love with him.

i don’t say anything, i didn’t need to. his voice cuts through the comfortable silence again.

“i know that probably sounds cheesy but it’s true. it’s like, i don’t know how to explain it really. just whenever im around you it’s like nothing else matters. i forget all about anything that’s been weighing down on me and stressing me out. you’re like a breath of fresh air. if that makes any sense.”

every word he said was so close yet so far from the words i yearn to hear him speak.

i’d give anything just to hear it just once. even if it was a lie.

it’s just 3 words.

we had said it to each other countless times. but the meaning behind it was never was i longed for. i see the way he looks at me. the things he says, the way our accidental touches linger, and sometimes, much like right now, i think that maybe, just maybe he feels the same way.

but what if i’m wrong?

taglist: @ribread03 @billy9669 @lovesturni0l0s @p4lxouterbanks @blablablabla2525 @bbernard-03 @sturniololvrrr @hayhjelmstad15

[xiaq]

Is it time for a Steddie time travel fix-it AU? (yes)

A03

There’s something wrong with Steve Harrington.

It’s not that Eddie’s watching him. Not that he pays any special attention to him. But the guy is noticeable. He’s the closest thing Hawkins has to royalty: Rich. Star athlete. Attractive. He’s the cliche golden boy of every teen movie with his polos and letterman jacket and vacant, pretty smile as he walks down hallways with his arm around the girl-of-the-week. He’s a predictable staple; a static figure in the horror script that is Eddie’s high school existence.

So when Steve Harrington shows up to school on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday looking and acting really fucking different, Eddie notices.

Well, he doesn’t actually look all that different. The clothes are normal. But his hair is far from its typical careful coiffure, and there’s a frantic energy to him as he shoves his way through the double doors and jogs into the empty hallway.

He doesn’t see Eddie, tucked in the bathroom alcove.

The only people at the school this early are the marching band kids, wrapping up their hellishly early practice, and Eddie, waiting to sell to a tuba player with no concept of how much weed should actually cost. Eddie has no intention of informing him.

Steve Harrington, pacing in front of a segment of lockers, checking his watch, shoving his fingers through his hair, is wildly out-of-place in the bright-lit early-morning hallway.

And then, things get weirder.

Because Robin Buckley exits the band room and they both freeze.

“Fuck,” she says, “are you––”

“Rob,” Steve says, and it's the most gut-wrenching sound Eddie has maybe ever heard in his life.

She throws herself at him and they hug like—Eddie doesn’t even know. Like the people you see on the news from war zones who thought their family had been killed before a miraculous reunion.

“Are you ok?” she asks, voice cracked and carrying in the empty hallway. “I woke up this morning and my mom was just acting like everything was normal and I had to get to practice and I thought maybe it had all been some fucked up dream but even I’m not that creative.” She pushes away from him, tugging up the bottom of his shirt, “what about––are you––?”

He grabs her wrist, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m completely fine. I’m just…1983 me.”

What the fuck, Eddie thinks.

Well, he’s already been thinking that, but. What does that even mean? What else would he be?

“Are the kids ok?”

What kids?

“I don’t know. I don’t have a walkie or anything anymore it’s all––” Steve gestures, “reset. And if this is ‘83 then they’re all actual children again, El might not even be––and what if they don’t––”

“They have to. I mean, if we do, they have to, right?”

Are they on drugs? Is he on drugs? The blunt he smoked last night shouldn’t cause hallucinations. He pinches himself. Ow.

The band hall doors open again and Eddie shifts further into the alcove as several horn players walk past.

“We can figure things out after school,” Steve murmurs. “We just have to hold it together until then. I don’t know if we’re stuck here or not but if we are––”

“Right. Act normal. Just normal, 16-year-old Robin things. No problem.”

They grab each other again, a tight, desperate, embrace that is not at all normal, Eddie feels it’s important to point out. He didn’t even think that Harrington knew Buckley existed. It’s almost as strange as if Harrington decided to hug Eddie. Inexplicable.

They separate, Robin rubbing at her eyes and Harrington muttering something about not remembering his locker combination. Eddie’s customer arrives before he can decide if he wants to investigate things further.

Focusing in his first period is even more impossible than usual. Focusing on math is tedious enough normally, but when Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington are having some sort of shared nervous breakdown it’s even harder to care about logarithmic functions.

He sees Steve again in the hallway after first period and Eddie will admit he’s actively looking for him now. Steve is talking in hushed tones to Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Beyers of all people. His hair is an absolute wreck, and his posture is…Eddie doesn’t know how to describe it. 'Aggressive' isn’t quite right but it’s close.

And then, like Harrington has some sort of intuition he’s being watched, he glances up and meets Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie doesn’t know why he runs. His fight or flight instincts have been well-honed his 4 years at Hawkins High and there’s something about the feral-ness in Steve’s stance, the completely unfathomable emotion in his eyes, that has Eddie shoving his way around the corner and into the bathroom. He drops his lunchbox into the sink and pushes both hands into his hair with a quietly muttered: “fuck.” He feels like he might be going crazy.

The door opens.

“Eddie,” Steve says.

It sounds strangely similar to the way he’d said “Rob” that morning–full of something Eddie doesn’t understand.

“Harrington,” he says warily.

Steve takes two steps forward and Eddie automatically scrambles backward, running into the wall and bashing his elbow against the paper towel dispenser. Steve has never actually hurt him before, but some of the guys he hangs out with have and—

Steve freezes: both hands out, reaching for nothing.

“You don’t—?”

There’s a question, there, but Eddie has no idea what it is.

“Eddie?” he says again. This time, it’s desperate and Eddie has no idea why.

The only time he’s ever seen someone’s eyes look like this is when he was looking at his own reflection in the church’s bathroom mirror, clinging to the sink at his mother’s funeral.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. 

Steve’s jaw works. “You don’t remember,” he says blankly.

“Remember what? You’re kinda freaking me out, dude, which is impressive, considering,” he gestures expansively to himself, gives a little shake of his hips so the chains rattle.

Steve doesn’t laugh.

“You don’t remember,” he repeats, more to himself than Eddie. “But you’re ok?”

He’s looking at Eddie’s chest.

“Yes? A-okay. Tip top. Hagan barely touched me yesterday, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“Tommy hurt you?” Steve says.

Well, shit. The crazy eyes are back. 

“Man, why do you care?”

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I’m sorry, I know this doesn’t make any sense to you, but can I just–”

Eddie lets him approach, this time. Lets him reach out to touch. It’s just one hand, at first, tentative, like Steve is expecting to be rebuffed, palm cupped to the ball of his shoulder over his jacket. “Sorry,” he says again, letting go only to reach for the hem of Eddie’s shirt, “Sorry, I know I probably sound crazy, I just––” he pulls it up, stares at Eddie’s side, and then lets out a hysterical little noise that sounds like a cross between a laugh and a sob.

“You’re ok,” he says.

His fingers are hot on Eddie’s skin, pressed light and shockingly reverent to the space between his hip and rib cage.

“You’re ok,” he repeats. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“Hey,” Eddie says, it comes out more breathless than he’d prefer but Steve fucking Harrington has him backed against a wall in a bathroom with his hands up Eddie’s shirt so he thinks a little lack of air is warranted. “Are you ok?”

The fingers on his abdomen flex.

“No,” Steve says. His eyes are wide and fathomless and the look on his face is terrible. “No, I’m not even remotely ok.”

It sounds like a confession. 

Steve lets go of Eddie’s shirt.

He takes a studied step back but then stops, palm still splayed on Eddie’s side, free hand reaching for Eddie’s arm, for his elbow, to cling, like he can’t quite force himself to stop touching; not yet. He’s looking at Eddie like Eddie has broken his heart which doesn’t make any sense because they don’t know each other. They’ve never spoken directly to each other in their lives. So there’s no reason that Steve should be looking at him, like, like––

Like he is.

They’re breathing each other’s second-hand air and Eddie can smell him and there have only been a few times in his life when a boy has looked at Eddie with even half the want that Steve Harrington is looking at him with now. And never, never has a man who looks like Steve Harrington looked at Eddie with anything approaching whatever the hell is on Steve’s face.

“Eddie,” Steve says, and he sounds so lost. 

Eddie’s not proud of it.

He runs away.

He shoves Steve to the side, wrenches open the door, and runs without stopping through the hall, outside, down the sidewalk, and onto the main road. He runs until he has to stop because he can’t breathe and only then does he bend over, hands braced on knees, and look behind him. He almost expects to see Steve has followed him.

He hasn’t. 

Eddie can't decide if he's relieved by that or not. And then he realizes he’s left his entire stash in the lunchbox in the bathroom.

“Fuck,” he hisses, straightening, hands on his head, lungs aching.

“Fuck,” he says again, just for the hell of it.

He has no idea what’s happening.

But what he does know is that something is seriously wrong with Steve Harrington.

Pt2 here.

[callsign-rogueone]

our girl - d.a + x.r.

Dain Aetos x reader x Xaden Riorson You and Xaden have been hooking up for a while now, but Threshing throws a wrench (and another person) into your relationship. [request] words: 2.5k (went a little overboard lol, this dynamic was so fun to think about) 🏷: FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS. NSFW at the end. she/her reader. I did this one a little differently; a full scene with dialogue, and then headcanons about what the relationship would be like (sfw, nsfw + angst; I apologize in advance…) banner made by user cafekitsune!

You dismount, managing to land on your feet. Maybe the gauntlet had been good practice after all, and not just a form of torture. The flight field is slowly filling in with dragons and their chosen riders. Dain is standing next to you with a massive red daggertail. Nice.

Your two dragons look at each other, and for a moment you’re worried they’re going to start a fight, but they just bump heads softly. They’re… friends?

Then Dain’s dragon turns toward you, looking you in the eye, and you freeze, holding completely still as it sniffs you. You must pass inspection, because he pulls back after a few seconds, satisfied, but you don’t dare move, your heart still pounding.

“Relax, girl. I will not hurt you.”

You startle at the second voice speaking to you, stumbling back in shock. A shimmering red string has appeared beside the soft blue one you share with Lann. You tug on it gently, and Dain’s eyes snap toward you, having felt the pull.

“They’re mated.”

“Smart boy,” Cath purrs.

You’re still trying to get used to having another being speaking in your head, hearing your every thought, but now you have two?

You don’t have time to complain about it before Xaden comes running toward you.

Both Lann and Cath stand taller, flaring their nostrils. Cath looks like he’s contemplating how Xaden would taste.

Xaden comes to a stop a few yards away, not wanting to provoke them. It’s easy enough for him to put it together, seeing Dain standing behind you with the mated pair. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Cath blows a puff of foul-smelling steam at Xaden in warning. “Tell him to watch his tone.” 

You don’t.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Xaden says, a look in his eye you’ve never seen before; pure anger.

You take a step back, bumping into Lann’s foreleg. She curls her neck down, placing her head between your body and Xaden’s. You’ve only been bonded all of ten minutes, but she’s already willing to protect you with her life.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Dain challenges, crossing his arms. “Nor is it mine.” 

Your stomach flips. You’d never expected that Dain would be the one defending you here.

“I should gut you before the bond gets any stronger,” Xaden threatens. What is he so mad for?

“You of all people should know that the consequences can be dire. You won’t risk her life in that way.”

“What the hell are the two of you talking about?” You ask, but they don’t answer, too busy threatening each other.

“Human males and their arguing,” Lann sighs. “Were they dragons, they’d fight to the death and the victor would keep you.”

“That remains a possibility,” you reply quietly, still watching the two of them. Xaden certainly looks like he’s contemplating murder right now. 

“I could just incinerate him, but Sgaeyl would have my head if I did,” Cath muses, sounding bored. “And you seem attached.”

You turn to glare at him. “Not funny.”

“Threats from someone your size are only humorous,” Cath replies, still watching the two men argue.

“Like it or not, Riorson, she’s my responsibility now,” Dain says firmly. What is that supposed to mean? Why does Dain care all of a sudden if you live or die?

“Do not forget that you have a voice in this matter, too,” Lann adds.

She’s right.

“Quit it, both of you!” You interrupt before they can come to blows, and both boys turn toward you, quieting. “Stop talking about me like I’m not even here!”

Their eyes soften.

“Darling, I didn’t mean-“ Xaden begins.

You cross your arms over your chest, glaring up at the boy. “I’m not done,” you say, and he falls silent. “Dain’s right; neither of us asked for this, but it happened, and there’s no changing it now. I know you two hate each other, but I will not have you two fighting over me like I’m some kind of object. Neither of you have any claim to me. I’m not your girlfriend, and even if I was, you still don’t own me. I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions and keep myself safe.”

Neither of them respond, silent and guilty as your words settle in.

“And that is why I chose you,” Lann says proudly.

You ignore the compliment, stepping away from her and turning to leave, swiping the tears from your cheeks.

“I apologize, shrewd one.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly. “You didn’t know.”

—————————————————

“Professor Kaori?” You ask quietly. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

He already knows why you’re here. “I heard about you and Aetos. Cath and Lann have been mated for nearly two centuries. Their bond is strong.”

“Have you known many other pairs like them?”

“A few,” he answers. “Dragons can live for millennia. Unlike us, they do not fall in love at age twenty, and they are quite selective with their partner. It is a lifelong commitment for them, and not one they take lightly.”

“And their riders?” You ask, holding your breath.

“A pair at Montserrat, who are now married, and another pair who regard each other like blood sisters.” 

He doesn’t mention anyone like you and Dain, who hardly know each other and don’t really care to.

“I‘ll make this clear with you, cadet, as you need to know this and accept it; you and Aetos will be stuck together until the end of your days. The four of you must exist as a functional unit. The grief of one of your deaths may be enough to end you all.”

Your eyes widen. So that’s why Xaden had been so pissed.

“You are both excellent students who will undoubtedly become skilled riders,” Kaori says. “Get to know each other in the coming weeks, and settle your differences sooner than later. The health of your relationship, even if it remains strictly professional, is vital.”

You thank him quietly, heading back to your room. You don’t have time to stew over the news; you have assignments due tomorrow.

Two hours pass. You’ve just finished proofreading your essay when there’s a knock on the door.

Dain and Xaden. You motion for them to come in, knowing that the two of them together outside your door will look deeply suspicious to any passerby. 

“What the fuck do you two want?”

Xaden nods at Dain, motioning for him to talk.

“We discussed it, and we realized you’re right. We’re just going to have to deal with this, and there’s no use in us fighting about it.”

Xaden speaks next. “You’ve proven that you can handle yourself, but we both still want to protect you. We care for you deeply, and that’s not going to change. We’re declaring a truce.”

“Whose idea was that?” You ask, wary.

“His,” Dain answers. Interesting. 

You look to Xaden. “And you’re fine with this,” you say, motioning between you and Dain, “that we’ll be able to speak directly to each other, that we can’t be apart for more than a few days, that we’re going to be stationed together for life?”

“Yes. I trust him not to hurt you, if only because his life is now tied to yours.”

That’s high praise coming from Riorson, who doesn’t fully trust anyone. You don’t dare ask why he feels this way.

“As you said,” Xaden continues, the tone of his voice making your heart flutter, “I hold no claim to you. You remain your own person, no matter how strongly I feel for you or how many nights we have spent together. The decision lies with you.”

“Dain?” You ask. 

He’s been silent, watching you with a softness in his eyes. He’d never taken a good look at you before, never appreciated how beautiful you are. “If he’s okay with it, and you are, then I am too.”

You’d never felt compassion for Dain, never cared if he lived or died, but now you’re overwhelmed with a sense that you need to protect him — to guard that little red string until your last breath. “I care for both of you as well. You’re both good men, who are important to me, and I’d like to have you remain in my life, if you promise to play nicely.”

You extend a pinky to each of them.

Dain looks confused.

“She doesn’t fuck around with pinky promises. This might as well be a blood oath for her,” Xaden explains, interlocking your fingers — this isn’t new to him.

Dain reaches forward, the warmth of his skin against yours sending a wave of soothing energy through you.

“Are you going to make us pinky promise each other too?” He asks playfully, the first joke you’ve ever heard him crack.

Xaden is unamused. “Don’t push it, Aetos.”

You giggle at his barely-restrained contempt. This is gonna be fun.

———————————————

sfw

Most of the quadrant know that yours and Dain’s dragons are mated, and that messing with one of the four of you means invoking the wrath of the other three. For the first time since conscription day, you can walk the halls alone without fearing for your life.

Nobody is aware of Xaden’s role in the relationship, and he prefers to keep it that way — it keeps the target off your back, and this way nobody can say that he’s giving you special treatment or shame you for having two partners. Garrick is the only person who knows about all of this, and he’s sworn to secrecy (that had certainly been an interesting conversation to have).

Xaden may not declare his feelings for you publicly, but he and Sgaeyl are always watching your back, ready to jump in should Dain not be there or should things get out of his control.

The two act generally indifferent to each other, but their love of you is enough for them to behave when you’re around.

They find a good balance between treating you like a princess and pushing you to be the best you can be, letting you do your own work and prepare yourself for what’s to come after graduation. 

nsfw:

The first time you felt Lann and Cath going at it was... interesting.

Xaden knew that this would happen eventually, having felt the same feeling before from Tairn and Sgaeyl. He had warned you days prior that the overwhelming need could lead you astray easily, but that he wouldn’t be mad if you and Dain acted on it.

And act you did. You became addicted to Dain’s touch as soon as you felt it, not wanting it to be a one-time thing, and that’s when the three of you decided that the boys would share you.

We all know Xaden is possessive. He used to call you “my girl” when it was just the two of you hooking up, but now you’re their girl.

“Aww, is our pretty girl needy?”

“I think our girl deserves a reward for being so good.”

Dain is shy at first, but he works up the confidence to start teasing you through the bond. He loves to watch you squirm from across the room as his voice speaks directly into your mind, telling you how hot you looked sparring, what he’s going to do to you tonight…

Xaden does something similar, his shadows brushing your arms and neck, sometimes even slipping under your clothes to touch your body when he can’t, giving soft caresses to your back and waist, but he’ll never take it too far — just enough to make you want his hands on you instead. 

They’re competitive as hell. They’ll tag team you, taking turns to see who can make you cum harder/faster. Your personal record is six times in one night, three apiece before you nearly passed out. They declared a tie, putting aside their egos to care for their sweet girl who had taken it all so well for them.

Sometimes you get both of them at once, and it’s a little overwhelming but so so good. Making out with one while the other is on his knees for you, or one holding your hand and telling you how pretty you look while the other pounds you into the mattress…

The two of them together are the ultimate brat taming combo, with Dain’s strictness and Xaden’s strength. If you give them attitude, get too cozy with another rider, purposely put yourself in danger, or neglect to take care of yourself (overworking, skipping meals, not getting enough sleep…), you’ll have some consequences to face when you’re back behind closed doors that night.

Xaden will tie your hands behind your back with his shadows, Dain edging you until you cry and apologize, promising that you’ll never break their rules again (but you inevitably do, and then they have to teach you your lesson all over again, hehe)

Despite how rough they can be with you, they always take incredibly good care of you afterward, staying to clean you up and hold you close, reminding you how much they love you.

You’re always in the middle when cuddling afterward, as they refuse to touch each other more than absolutely necessary, but you don’t complain, just happy to be held and fall asleep safe between your two strong men 🥰

and now some angst, because that’s what I do:

When you and Dain came back from RSC, bloody and limp, Xaden took care of both of you, finally showing some love to Dain and taking pity on him, helping bandage his wounds and wash the dried blood from his skin.

Eventually Xaden starts distancing himself from the two of you, worried that Dain will read his memories either on purpose or by accident, and find out about his dealings with the gryphon fliers, which you have no idea about.

He plays it off as being busy with third year / wingleader stuff, and you and Dain don’t think anything of it; Xaden has always been withdrawn, never the type to share his thoughts unprompted, and he likes to spend time alone.

When Violet bonds with Tairn at threshing, you realize how Xaden had felt when he realized you and Dain were tied together, only you were less angry and more sad. 

You knew this would happen, that Tairn would have to choose a rider eventually, but it still hurt you deeply. Dain held you all night, whispering sweet things to you while you cried and promising that he would never ever leave you.

You decide to rip the bandage off first, finding Xaden alone a few days later and telling him that for the sake of all four of you and your dragons, this should end here.

He agreed quietly, giving you one last kiss and holding you for a few minutes before finally letting go. 

When Basgiath found out about the revolution, about everything going on beyond the wards, the two of you didn’t hesitate to follow Xaden to Aretia — he may no longer be yours, but you still love him and would gladly fight by his side until the end of your days. 💔

[krirebr]

Hello, my dear Kris! So after reading the newest fic from the Trapped AU… I just can’t stop thinking about those two. And you know me… I’m all about making my heart hurt with a little angst…

Can we get a snippet or drabble or your thoughts on an angsty moment -and Andy’s surprisingly soft reaction- that takes reader by surprise by the end of it…

Maybe she’s not feeling well and missing all the comforts of her old life- the things she would do when not feeling well prior to this life with Andy

Or maybe, after accidentally seeing a calendar while cleaning in Andy’s office, reader realized a special day has passed or is approaching.

Or maybe she feels a twinge of jealousy when she sees another beautiful women flirting with Andy and she’s so thrown- never once thinking she could ever feel that way with about him

Any little bit of angst where Andy uncharacteristically (at least for now) comforts her in the softest way possible- and maybe this is her kryptonite (and maybe it even turns her on a little) Would Andy use this new knowledge to his advantage? Of course he would 😈

I just want him to be soft and not so terrifying 🥺😭🫠

My heart is so torn 😭🫠

I love them and even him- you evil mastermind!

(Kris 👆while writing this lovely verse)

(Also- I LOVE trash pandas, so I hope you are not offended that I depicted you as one in your evil genius mode 😅)

Carly! I love this prompt! I had to think really hard about the inciting incident, but once I thought of it, I knew exactly what to do. This Andy can absolutely get soft. That's part of what he wants in his perfect life! It'll just always be on his terms. 😈

And no offense at all at the trash panda! That's exactly what I look like when coming up with ideas for this verse. 😏

Pairing: Andy Barber x f!reader - from Trapped AU

Warnings: Just general kidnapping/basement wife/toxic relationship warnings that come with this AU. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

It started with a mug.

Andy presented it to you about a week after you moved upstairs. It was your favorite color (your real actual favorite, not something he’d decided you liked) and had a pretty vine pattern etched into it. It was your mug. You drank your tea out of it every day. And you tried to tell yourself that it was bad because everything that came from him was bad. But it was yours. No one else drank out of it. Only you. It felt like the only thing in the world that you actually owned. 

And so, as you looked at the shattered pieces on the floor, as you told yourself that this was fine, that it was just another thing in this house full of things, all you felt was immense, gut-wrenching loss. You sank down next to the pile of shards on the ground. Maybe you could piece it back together, or, or– You didn’t know what to do. And you knew you were being ridiculous but you started crying. Sobbing. You’d already lost so much. And now the last thing on earth that belonged to you was gone too, and you were the one who destroyed it.

You heard Andy’s footsteps come into the kitchen, but you couldn’t see him from where you were crouched behind the island. “What was that crash?” he asked, harshly. The sob you let out brought him around to where you were. He looked down at you, his hands on his hips. “What happened here?”

You looked up at him through your teary eyes. He was going to be so upset with you. “I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened. It fell, and, and– it’s gone now.” You tried to wipe your face clean, but you couldn’t stem the stream of tears.

“You didn’t throw it?” Andy asked.

“No! No, I would never!” You hoped he could see how sincere you were. 

He sighed and crouched down in front of you. “Explain to me why you’re so upset.”

You struggled for a moment, no idea how to put everything you were feeling into words. And you were so scared of saying the wrong thing. Finally, all you could come up with was, “You gave it to me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed as his face completely softened, no hint of anger or a coming reprimand remaining on it. He gently grasped your elbows, “Here, let’s get you up. I don’t want you to hurt yourself on any of the shards.” 

He raised you up slowly, then guided you into one of the stools at the counter. Then he went to the little kitchen closet and grabbed the broom and dustpan. As he started to clean up, you rushed to stand. Andy hardly ever cleaned anything. That was your job. “Oh no,” you tried to stop him. “That’s ok, I can do it!”

He just hushed you, as he quickly made a pile of the shards and scooped them into the pan, and then into the trash. “See?” he said, “all done. It’s fine.” He ushered you into the living room and pulled you down into his lap on the couch, wrapping you tight in his arms. “I’ll get you a new one,” he said softly. “Even prettier than the last one.”

Without even thinking about it, you laid your head on his shoulder, as he ran his hand up and down your back. “You’re such a good girl,” he whispered. “I’m so glad you’re here. You make me so happy.” You knew you should hate that. You knew that it should make you angry. But you were just so relieved that he wasn’t upset with you, you couldn’t help but sink into him. 

After a few moments of just cuddling, he spoke again, his low voice right next to your ear. “I think you need a break, huh? How about we just spend the day together? Your chores can wait til tomorrow. We’ll even order dinner in tonight. How’s that sound?”

You were so worn out, from your sobbing, yes, but also, from everything, so all you could do was nod into his shoulder.

“Ok, then that’s what we’ll do. Just me and my good girl,” he said, his voice maybe the gentlest you’d ever heard.

“Thank you, Andy,” you sighed.

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @foulpersonahandsvoid @alexakeyloveloki @spiderwebbedhearts

[justatasteofyourpoison]

The morning after the night before…

(A Hazbin Hotel/Alastor x Fem reader fanfiction)

Part 5

Pairing: Alastor x Fem Reader

Plot: A hungover you speaks to Angel and Husk to try to dig up more information about the Radio Demon’s past ruts…

Warnings: 18+, swearing, alcohol consumption, adult themes, fluff

Word count: 1.1k

————————————————————————

You awoke in a haze, ears ringing, head pounding, face down in the pillow. You turned over with a groan and looked at the time - 11am. “Oh God how much did I drink?” you questioned, trying to make you body sit itself up in bed. After a triumphant effort you sat up and looked around the room.

You noticed your clothes were carefully placed on the chair in the corner, a pint of water sat on your side table and you were wearing your pjamas, things usually impossible for drunken Y/N. Someone must have got you home safely. You took a large swig of water, it flooding your hungover body with life like the desert rain and you could finally start to think. “Only Angel Dust would go to these lengths for little ol drunk me” you thought feeling incredibly greatful to be blessed with such a good friend. “I should go and thank him.” You swung your legs round to meet the floor and paused for a moment “I feel like something happened last night. Maybe some food and a chat would set me straight” you mused groggily.

As you put your dressing gown on and headed to the door you noticed a bow tie that Alastor had accidentally left in your room after a late night rendevouz a few nights back. You smiled to yourself as you remembered the night’s antics. But then it finally dawned on you what last night entailed. Angel Dust was questioning you about your involvement with Alastor and how you were the first girl he’d seen with him. Your gut wrenched. You knew you wanted to speak to Alastor more than anything, but didn’t want him to see you so hungover and disheveled. You decided to freshen up and speak to Angel Dust before facing the Radio Demon…

The toaster popped with a clunky bang and you swiftly chucked the two slices on a plate, no butter today, dry toast and tea was your hangover cure. You exited the kitchen to the lobby and saw that Angel Dust was already sat at the bar. “She lives!” He exclaimed throwing his gangly arms in the air as he clocked sight of you. “She does, just” you said sleepily taking a seat next to him.

“You look like shit toots, glad we didn’t stay out any longer!” he laughed giving you a pat on the back. “Thanks for getting me back safe Angel” you said greatfully.

“Don’t sweat it hun. The amount of times I’ve ended up in the gutter I wouldn’t wish it on anyone” he shrugged taking a sip of his coffee.

“Angel…” you started sheepishly. “We talked last night didn’t we?” you said avoiding his gaze. “I knew this would come up” Angel said coolly “Look Y/N, I’m not gonna tell anyone about you and Mr Creepy Radio Pants” he said in a quieter tone.

“And I really appreciate that” you said genuinely “but, I feel like you let me into an insight about Alastor last night. You said how he never really dated anyone?” you questioned.

“Ah yeah no, he is an enigma when it comes to relationships and sex ‘n’ all that” Angel reflected “that’s why when he started sneaking around with you I was surprised. But you said how he’s in a rut, so I guess a man has needs right?”

“Definitely true” you responded. “But Alastor has been in hell a long time, so would have rutted every year. But you say you’ve never known him showing interest in relieving himself with anyone per say. So my question is - why me now? And what did he used to do while he was rutting?” You said gazing up at the skulls that loomed over the bar ominously. “Don’t get yourself worked up sugar. Maybe he has been off getting his dick wet in the past, who knows? As I said - he’s an enigma. You gotta talk to him sweety.” He said with a sympathetic smile.

“Afternoon folks” a raspy voice chimed. Husk appeared behind the bar and grabbed a green bottle off the shelf before pouring himself a small glass. The sight of alcohol being poured made you feel queasy. “Well ain’t you a sight for sore eyes” he laughed taking a sip of his whisky. “Always love your honesty Husk!” you chuckled.

“You guys have a good night and stay out of trouble?” He said, darting his eyes towards Angel.

“Yeah good fun, some revelations too…” Angel chimed grinning at you. “Angel don’t, please” you whispered, your eyes pleading.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Husk said casually leaning on the bar in front of you and smiling wryly, “that she’s fuckin’ the Radio Demon?”

“DOES EVERYONE KNOW?” You exclaimed a little too loudly before slumping you head down on the bar. Husk placed his face by you head and whispered “Remember my room is next to Alastor’s. If you didn’t want anyone knowing maybe you shoudn’t have been so damn loud!” He stood up and roared with laughter. You felt your face burning scarlet against the bar. “I’m sorry little lady, me and Angel have had our suspicions for some time.” he said pouring himself a larger glass.

“She’s having a crisis cos I told her she’s the first one I’ve seen him sneaking around with. Got her questioning things…” Angel said trying to pull you back up from the bar. Reluctantly, you sat up and faced them. “Do you know anything Husk? Have you ever heard of Alastor rutting and going off with anyone?” you said quietly.

“Honestly, no” Husk contemplated. “The Radio Demon has always been obsessed with power and I should know.” He scowled at the thought of his deal with the Demon. “But no, I’ve never heard of him being interested in sex or relationships or anything. However…” he placed his head in his hand deep in thought. “At certain times of year Alastor had been more volatile, now that I think of it. He would bite at me over the smallest indiscretions and his broadcasts would be more frequent and more terrifying.” A shudder ran down your spine at his words.

“Maybe he was interested in other things. You know what a power crazed fuck he is!” He said with a warning tone.

You didn’t know how to feel after hearing Husk’s words. On one token you loved spending time with Alastor and the intimacy was out of this world. But what did you really know about him? Was your heart just blindsighted by lust and his charm? Did he have sinister ulterior motives? There was no doubt about it, you needed answers…

__________

All instalments:

[sad-eyed-lady-of-the-paperbacks]

Thoughts on 1.3

Ok, I’m still devastated over Sofia Ivanovna but I’m finally able to put that aside just enough to belatedly type up my thoughts.

But first, I wanted to acknowledge the antisemitism in the room, because it appears briefly in this chapter, comes in even stronger in 1.4, and will unfortunately continue to crop up throughout the book. I love Dostoevsky’s writing and find it to generally be very compassionate and humanising, but there are unfortunately antisemitic tropes present. Jewish people are more often mentioned than actually depicted or included as characters, which means these tropes occur as passing nods, but it is still noticeable. I do not know enough about the man’s personal views to know how much of this was done consciously or intentionally on his part, and how much was a consequence of the general climate of Europe and Russia at the time, but to be blunt, I don’t care to know. Intentional or unintentional, it is wrong and has a harmful effect. And it feels irresponsible of me to be posting about this book without pointing out and categorically disavowing that aspect of it. These tropes are disgusting and evil. They have zero basis in reality, but they do have an immense damaging impact on the lived reality of Jewish people down to this day. This bookclub will have zero tolerance for antisemitism.

Now onto my thoughts.

It seems that Fyodor not only has a constant eye for opportunities to invest his capital, but also for opportunities to prey on vulnerable women

Sofia is the orphaned daughter of “some obscure deacon.” Interestingly, she will not be the last woman in the novel who meets that description, which makes it feel like a significant detail

The only detail the narrator is able to give us about Sofia's childhood (the fact that she made an attempt to hang herself and had to be cut down) is the only detail we need in order to create an absolutely horrific and gut-wrenching picture of what this girl suffered. And there's just something so real about it? The fact that this old benefactress lady is not evil or motivated by any real malice. She isn't a Bad Person, she isn't Cinderella's wicked stepmother. I doubt she truly even hates Sofia. She does seem to be almost resentful of her own decision to take the orphan in, and takes that out on her, as though Sofia is the one who asked to be orphaned and then taken in by this woman. But it's not really about Sofia at all. Her constant picking at and criticising of Sofia comes from sheer idleness and boredom (and let's be real, probably some generational stuff from the way she herself was raised). This is how it so often is in real life. The fact that bullies and abusers of this kind are not necessarily bad or malicious people just makes it even worse. It's so pointless and petty, but the damage is real, as we can see for poor Sofya Ivanovna.

On a stylistic note, I again love the limitations of our narrator. He can’t tell us everything, he’s just reporting to us what he himself has heard or been able to uncover. It imbues the whole thing with so much reality

“What could a sixteen-year-old girl possibly make of it all beyond realizing that she would be better off throwing herself in the river than staying with her benefactress?” (McDuff) - <\3 ouch, my heart.

It’s a small comfort, but I’m glad that he at least didn’t benefit financially from this marriage. Although that seems to have possibly worsened his treatment of Sofia Ivanovna. I do think that he did have—perhaps not respect, but something like it, for the fact that his first wife was from a better family than him and brought so much wealth to the table. (The fact that she was fully capable of beating him up probably helped too.) But with Sofia Ivanovna, “he even trampled with both feet on the ordinary decencies of marriage.” (P&V)

Grigory standing up for Sofia is a little glimmer of something heartwarming and beautiful in such a dark and sordid and deeply sad chapter

This is the first mention of the klikushi, which is translated numerous different ways. I talk about it in this post and provide a good resource to learn more

The benefactress equates Sofia’s absolutely horrendous circumstances as having been sent by God. As punishment for her “ingratitude.” When she eventually took charge of the children, one wonders if she ever voiced this opinion to them. Was Ivan ever told that: that God caused his mother’s suffering?

I wish we knew more about Yefim Petrovich Polenov. He sounds like such an excellent person.

Ivan appears to be pretty much the polar opposite of Mitya. He works hard at his studies, and then works hard to support himself, loathing the thought of being dependent on others and not banking on any inheritance. He’s resourceful and creative about it too

I love his little alter ego as “Eyewitness”

Ivan managed to write an article in such a way that people of completely polarised views all read it and thought the author was on their side. Honestly, this isn’t that dissimilar from how Dostoevsky’s own work gets picked up today.

Are the “one or two astute men” who conclude that Ivan is basically the 19th century equivalent of a troll the correct ones here?

Why did Ivan show up in his hometown when he had been preparing to go abroad? What business could have possibly made Mitya decide to summon the help of his brother that he’s never met before? Whatever it is, apparently even this will not serve to make his arrival completely explicable.

Why does the arrival almost immediately give our narrator an uneasy feeling? What is this sense of looming catastrophe that continues to haunt these pages?

Ok. Now I’m off to delve into chapter 1.4, and then I’ll be caught up!

[psycheofaphaggot]

we’re opening the floodgates people because the only thing i think about ever, and what i WILL shout from the top of every rooftop i come across

DINA IS THE PERFECT WOMAN.

i don’t care. i don’t care what anyone else says. i don’t care if your opinion is different because you’re wrong.

she’s witty, she smart, she’s incredibly fucking kind, patient, and yet so strong willed and never not willing to speak her thoughts even when she’s unbelievably scared. she’s so perfect it hurts honestly.

one of the things that breaks me the most about dina and ellie’s dynamic throughout the entirety of part 2 is dina’s part in it all. her, irrevocably in love with one of her closest friends, JUST after finally confessing to one another officially is suddenly thrust into a WAR where she can only be a bystander. ignoring the whole pregnancy thing, just that is fucking insane.

and she handles it with the utmost care and patience. moreso than honestly anyone around her deserved (not that these characters didn’t deserve kindness).

i could go in depth about how much i believe ellie williams is one of the best representations of PTSD in modern media today but as much as seeing that breaks me, watching dina deal alongside her is infinitely worse. ellie is a character who has just lost her entire world basically, only a few years after seemingly losing her purpose for being alive at all. with no closure. she’s sad, she’s angry, she’s broken, she feels essentially unloveable.

and dina treats her with the gentleness of a morning breeze. you know the thing thats like “character who feels unloveable and the other character who loves them like its breathing”? yeah.

dina is patient, kind, stable. she is exactly the thing that ellie needs. she never blames ellie for her outbursts, she never insinuates that ellie should get over her emotions faster, and even better she doesn’t even treat ellie like glass that could shatter at any moment. she just loves her. in the easiest way one could possibly be loved.

and its hard. it’s difficult and they both go through an unbelievable amount of trauma together and yet they still come out on top. they’re still able to build the semblance of a life together in the ashes of what they’ve lost.

as someone who identifies a lot of myself in ellie. everything about their love and how they love each other does nothing but break me apart. its so full of hope yet so layered in nothing but destruction. it really is the worst kind of despair. especially because of their end. all of that work and just the existence of trauma is what throws it back in her face.

i am not the most eloquent person. im sure my thoughts are jumbled and insane and hard to understand when i write them out like this. but there are so many aspects of this games that are so fucking admirable. naughty dog found a way to tell a tragic story full of people. not good people, not bad people. just humans, and the world would devolve into when pushed to the absolute edge. and even before that. it is a story of the human race at its most raw.

and its heartbreaking. its enjoyable, its sadistic, its humorous and it’s absolutely gut wrenching. its beautiful.

this series will probably never not be my favorite game ever. i will scream about it and look like a crazy person, and i will keep finding more and more things to love about it.

but this is a ramble when its really supposed to be a dina appreciation post. i love her. everyone should love her. she’s such an amazing person and i think about her constantly. i hope that wherever she ended up, her and JJ live the happiest and most fulfilling life they can.

[tragidean]

suck [2.2k] (ao3) part of the Shameless series!

“You’re gonna have to talk to me at some point,” Dean huffs from the backseat. In the rearview, Castiel watches him twist his shoulders in a failing attempt to unlock the cuffs binding his wrists. “You can’t just spring me out of lockup and haul my ass off in the back of my own car.” I can, Castiel thinks. Part of him wants to, just to drill the consequences of Dean’s actions into his head. But Dean has been arrested before—several times, in fact—and apparently never once has he learned his lesson. Granted, most of those times were monster related and not due to any actual wrongdoing, but the point remains. Dean still got thrown into the back of a police car, and Castiel still had to bail him out with one of the wildly illegal badges Dean made for him. For some reason, he doesn’t think Jimmy Stewart would appreciate being involved in this from the grave. “You know I know how to get out of these things, right?” Wiggling in his seat, Dean struggles to curl his fingers, presumably about to pick the lock with a bobby pin he somehow managed to obtain. Or, he could be bluffing, hoping that Castiel might feel sorry for him. The latter of which, he wishes he could feel some sort of sympathy for Dean. As it is, all he manages is a deep-seated annoyance that makes his hands itch. “I’d rather you kept them on,” Castiel rumbles. In the mirror, Dean looks up, a brow raised and his lips curled at the edges, just barely. “Oh, so now you talk,” Dean jabs. “Thought you were just gonna let me talk to myself for the rest of the day.” Castiel clenches his teeth. “It’s a thought.” “It’s not my fault.” Petulant, Dean kicks his feet in the footwell. “I get it, you ran off ‘cause you thought you could get a witness to talk, but you left my ass in the woods, and Officer Bigshot over there thought he had to prove a point by dragging me in.” “I’m beginning to think I should’ve left you there.” Castiel rubs the bridge of his nose. “Did you at least find the location of the nest?” Dean pouts and fidgets, still struggling to wriggle free. “Yeah, it’s down the hill. But if you’d’ve stuck around, we could’ve had this over and done with. But no,” he throws his head back, “you ran.” “I didn’t run,” Castiel shoots back, but Dean ignores him. “You ran.” Scooting forward, Dean leans his chest into the back of the Impala’s bench seat. Castiel keeps his gaze forward, glaring an ominous hole in their motel door just feet away. They could be having this conversation inside, but Dean insists on talking. “Just ‘cause you saw some—some twink you thought you could get to spill his guts—” Castiel wrenches his head round. “Twink?” “—and you left me. So instead of lopping off some heads, I’m gettin’ felt up by one of the good ol’ boys, and not in a sexy way.” Rubbing his temples does nothing to ease the ache building behind his eyes. “I’m beginning to doubt our friendship,” Castiel says, and Dean laughs. “It continues to amaze me, how far you test my patience.” “Your patience?” Dean scoffs. “Dude, you’re not the one who got thrown in the brig on some bullshit charge. Five more minutes and I would’ve been out of there—” “Or transferred to county,” Castiel cuts in. “You’re lucky I found you when I did.” Dean laughs, right in Castiel’s ear. “Lucky? I’m ‘lucky’? I know what I’m doing, Cas, but it sure seems like you don’t have a damn clue—” Half a second—in half a second, Castiel spins around and grips Dean by his shirt lapels. Dean grunts and steels his jaw; Castiel exhales, nostrils flaring. Their noses brush. Never in his life has Castiel wanted him to shut up more. “Do you ever stop talking?” A sneer crosses Dean’s lips, that mouth so dangerous, so lecherous, that Castiel can barely look away. He has an idea—an awful, blasphemous idea, and his brain refuses to unlatch from the thought. “Make me,” he taunts, all teeth and all bite. And Castiel intends to.

continue reading on ao3

[black-arcana]

‘As Pure and Raw As It Can Get’: The Pretty Reckless’s Going to Hell Turns 10

Taylor Momsen and Ben Phillips recall the tragedy-to-triumph story of the band’s second studio LP, released on March 12, 2014

Taylor Momsen and The Pretty Reckless perform during the 2014 iHeartRadio Music Festival Village on September 20, 2014 in Las Vegas. (Credit: Isaac Brekken/Getty Images for iHeartMedia)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times—the making of The Pretty Reckless’s Going to Hell, that is. As the band’s second studio album celebrates its 10-year anniversary, frontwoman Taylor Momsen and guitarist Ben Phillips recall the epic and often heartbreaking journey of its creation—and surprising success, against the odds. “I think that it’s a story of triumph in a lot of ways,” Taylor says. “To see it become so successful when that wasn’t the intention is a little surreal, to say the least.” 

The triumph part is easy. Four years after their studio debut Light Me Up (“Make Me Wanna Die” its hit lead single) established them as a band of definitive talent, The Pretty Reckless set out to create an album that reflected their shared love for the same fiery sound—with zero interest in topping anyone’s charts. The result was Going to Hell, an album best described in any room as unapologetic. Untamed and gut-wrenching also apply, as well as thoughtful, deliberate, and empowering—showcased by Taylor’s fierce and flawless voice, one perfectly suited for hard rock ‘n roll. 

For perspective, in 2014 the Frozen soundtrack boasted the longest-running No. 1 album, with Pharrell Williams’ sticky, bop-along “Happy” Billboard’s No. 1 song of the year. And then here comes Going to Hell, flame-throwing itself onto Billboard’s No. 5 spot upon its release. “We melted Frozen,” Ben remarks, and he and Taylor break out in laughter. 

Bassist Mark Damon, Taylor Momsen and the band on stage at London’d Brixton Academy on November 26, 2014. (Credit: Christie Goodwin/Redferns via Getty Images)

Clearly, the intention wasn’t to create a commercial album, and Ben goes so far as to recall when he and producer Kato Khandwala first met Taylor and how authentically “non-commercial” she was.

“She wanted to be Chris Cornell, and she didn’t care about anything else,” Ben says. “We don’t even know what a hit is in this band.” 

As Ben recalls, Taylor and Kato met first, and it was established that Taylor “didn’t want to write songs for the record label or for [an] audience or for the whatever. She had songs that she wanted to write, and that meant that you had to be an artist about it. No one ever hears our records till they’re mastered and finished. That’s the first thing. No one. We’re not looking at the radio, we’re not looking at anything. We just create in the studio.” The 15/16-year-old Taylor that ignited Light Me Up wasn’t the same as the 18/19-year-old Taylor behind Going to Hell. “She’d stepped into maturity,” Ben says.

Going to Hell started with the best of intentions. Gone were the “childish pretensions” and “a whole mess of music industry stuff we weren’t expecting” of their studio debut, according to Ben. Kato had put together a new studio for them—Hoboken, New Jersey’s Water Music Recording Studio—and they “worked on songs as they came, in a vacuum making our music and not knowing what anyone else was doing,” Ben says. Also present were bandmates Mark Damon on bass and Jamie Perkins on drums. Working as a unified, creative force, these were the best of times. But then, in October of 2012, Hurricane Sandy came and destroyed the studio. They relocated to Lake Hopatcong (also in New Jersey) to finish up. 

“There’s no songs on this for radio or anything,” Ben thought, at the time, and they were happy with what they believed to be an honest, authentically non-commercial album. Taylor agreed, definitively, remembering: “This is not a hit record.”

Taylor and Ben before a live performance at London’s Electric Ballroom, March 24, 2014. (Credit: Rob Monk/Total Guitar Magazine/Future via Getty Images)

Ben refers to the album as a “dark record about Taylor removing herself from her childhood, growing out of her upbringing…identifying with all her childhood mistakes and everything that she had done.” Aside from its obvious dark themes, the album was written in actual darkness, during the 2012 NYC blackout, Taylor sitting in her apartment surrounded by candles. “I was sitting in the freezing cold writing ‘Going to Hell,’ Taylor says, of the single that eventually became the theme of the entire project. Though they initially wanted “Going to Hell” to be the album’s first single, they went with “Heaven Knows,” released on November 13, 2013, and it would become the band’s first No. 1 on Billboard’s Mainstream Rock Songs chart. “Messed Up World (F’d Up World)” and “Follow Me Down” followed in chart-topping suit.

No one was more surprised than The Pretty Reckless. “We never had any radio [play] in America, so we didn’t even think that was a possibility,” Ben says. They clearly struck an unexpected chord. A “heavy and dark” chord at that, according to Taylor. Going to Hell was already a hit.

Taylor and Ben attribute the artistic and unanticipated commercial success of Going to Hell to being a cohesive unit. 

“Possibilities were endless… musically we were on the same page,” Taylor says. This, of course, included Kato who, according to both of them, was at his creative height on Going to Hell. Aside from Hurricane Sandy drowning their studio in six feet of sewage, and, in Taylor’s words other “devastating outside forces” during the making of the album, Kato’s wife Lisa passed away at the end of the year. It was Lisa who’d come into the studio with Q-Tips and, as Ben recalls, “cleaned every guitar from screw to screw for us, bringing them all back to life.” Going to Hell is dedicated to Lisa. 

This devastating loss signaled a definite shift. In an attempt to help Kato through the tragedy of Lisa’s passing, they brought him back into the studio to work on the last single, “Messed Up World (F’d Up World),” a song that Taylor says “sums up the whole thing.” Kato, their cherished collaborator who Ben referred to as “our best friend,” died in 2018 as the result of a motorcycle accident. 

As Ben says, losing Kato meant trying to navigate future projects without him, moving forward: “We had to rebuild and figure out how we were going to do this without him.” 

Taylor adds: “[Kato was] a conduit for our songwriting and our creativity. He got inside what Ben and I were writing and helped to make that vision come to life in a really deep and involved way.” Going to Hell, she continues, “changed our lives. Even though we maybe didn’t see it at the time, we certainly are feeling the effects of it to this day. First, it made us double down on our ethics. It gave us the confidence to go, ‘We’re doing the right thing by doing it this way,’ and continued us on the path that we’re still on.”

“It’s ups and downs, but…that’s life,” Ben says.

“That’s the life,” Taylor says. “It’s a perpetual, lifelong sacrifice to be a songwriter and to be true to yourself.”

From his 125th Street Harlem studio, photographer Danny Hastings, best known for his legendary hip-hop album covers (Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers, Eminem’s Slim Shady special edition, among others), shot a naked and painted Taylor over the course of 16 hours. 

Determined to preserve authenticity, and inspired by the classics, Taylor and team were committed to capturing the Going to Hell cover image in its entirety on camera. That meant, the now-famed downward-pointing arrow/cross was painted on Taylor on site, a task that took time, but was well worth it, in the spirit of iconic covers of the past. As Taylor explains, the idea came from the famous 1996 Pink Floyd promo poster shot by Tony May featuring six naked women sitting by a pool, their backs painted with the band’s cover art. (Eric Clapton’s E.C. Was Here and Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, where a man was actually lit on fire, served as further inspiration.) 

“It’s kind of a homage to love, with a new take on it,” Taylor explains. “Because the cross was something that I had drawn myself and come up with. I was like, ‘This is the physical representation of this record to me, this is the symbol.’” Visuals, she says, come naturally to her, “especially when making music.” (She says she sees music visually, too.) 

“I was drawing [the cross] while we were recording the record, and I was like, “Well, this is the logo, this is the symbol for this record and so let’s put it on my back and use sensuality and sexuality.”

An outtake from the Going to Hell photo shoot. (Credit: Danny Hastings)

The artist hired to apply the graphic on Taylor was familiar with the band, but not Taylor and her former acting career — in the beginning.  “As he was painting my nipples very detailed and it’s specifically my nipple…that’s what’s funny about this…he’s leaning in…creating every little speck and dot perfectly. He puts together that I was Cindy Lou Who [in 2000’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas], and this guy drops his paintbrush, starts spinning around the room, screaming, going, ‘I can’t believe I’m painting Cindy Lou Who!’” Taylor says. It provided some “much-needed comic relief [for] this very serious project.” 

As to not distract from the music, Taylor’s face is intentionally not shown. They thought of every detail, including the redness under the right elbow. “It’s getting scorched by flames you can’t see as I’m reaching down to hell, being tugged,” Taylor says.

To achieve the final image—Taylor’s body curved just so, arms forward in gentle balletic motion—the inky graphic had to be painted perfectly and, according to Ben, she had to angle her body a certain way, to achieve, in Taylor’s words, “a piece of art.” 

The result is an astute personality test for any onlooker: Is the woman in the picture actually going to hell – or emerging from it?

“This is me as pure and raw as it can get,” Taylor says. “Kind of how I feel about this album.” 

[ncfan-1]

So I’ve found that Mae’s memory wipe is still extremely gut-wrenching to watch more than a month later—like, even thinking about it still makes me actively upset, and actually watching it makes me feel like I’m going to throw up. I’ve been trying to figure out why that is, and I think I’ve hit on the reason why.

On a rewatch, it’s painfully obvious that little of what Mae does is for her own sake first and foremost. We don’t know under exactly what circumstances she became Qimir’s apprentice, but learning Jedi arts is likely something she did because he wanted it—and while we can’t know exactly what she felt about learning the ways of the people who killed her family, possibly to the point that the lessons taught to her by her Coven began to fade, but I can’t imagine that it felt good; to her, it was likely nothing better than a necessary evil for her to seek justice against her family’s murderers. Her pursuit of retribution/justice against the Jedi who killed her family is not, I think, something she’s doing primarily for her own sake, either, because I don’t think she would be able to arrive at the point where she was willing to offer Sol a way out that didn’t involve his death if this had ever been purely personal revenge to her. Her pursuit of justice feels like an expression of filial duty to her dead family, the last duty she can perform for the Coven she couldn’t protect, and can’t be with.

The only thing Mae seems to do for her own sake first and foremost is pursue Osha, and how does that turn out? Prioritizing her need to be with Osha over everything else when they were children led to Osha hating her, and now, the one thing she needs for herself is for Osha to love her again. And how does she accomplish that?

Like, I still think that Mae needed to learn to let go of Osha. I’m not arguing that. She clung onto Osha to the point where it hurt Osha, and she needed to let go of her for them to move forward. But the speed with which she agrees to have her memories wiped exposes something really ugly about the lesson Mae has taken away about what it’s going to take for Osha to love her again. For anyone to love her. That it’s not enough for her to respect other people’s wants and needs. That she has to behave as though her own don’t matter.

It's already hinted at in Qimir’s assessment of her. He dismisses her as having only been interested in revenge, when any viewer knows damn well that that wasn’t all she cared about. It implies that he never devoted any real effort to getting to know her, but it also implies that he ultimately wrote Mae off even before she tried to desert because she wasn’t willing to completely subordinate her wants and needs to his own, that there was something she needed to do that didn’t gel with his own goals, and that that wasn’t good enough for him. He wasn’t willing to compromise with her, he wasn’t willing to meet her halfway; in order for Mae to be accepted by Qimir in the end, it’s implied that she would have had to completely abandon her own goals and follow his instead.

And Qimir is Mae’s only other significant relationship with a living person in The Acolyte, besides her relationship with Osha. Qimir wrote Mae off because she had wants and needs that she wouldn’t cast aside for him. And now, Mae is completely casting aside her own wants and needs for Osha. She needs to let Osha go, but why does she also need to accept that she can’t even remember Osha? Why does she have to go back to a life where the only proof she has that anyone ever loved her at all is the mark on her forehead? Why does she have to have so much of what makes her her buried inside of her own head?

I think what upsets me so much about Mae’s fate is that it feels like the lesson she’s taken away is that the only way for anyone to love her is if she’s willing to set herself on fire for them. That she has to be willing to completely sacrifice herself for them, and expect nothing in return, not even hope that that person will care about her needs in return. And now that the show’s been cancelled, that’s the note she ends on, with no certainty that she’ll ever learn to love others and be loved in a more balanced way, with no certainty that she’ll ever love or be loved in a way that lets her actually care about her own needs.

[brothersonahotelbed]

orpheus & eurydice????

spent an hour writing & this is what happened!! who knows!!! i love writing characters without names or any real backstories! anyway!!

***

I have long since given up on trying to escape the inevitable, and it didn’t take long for the finality of the future to settle in my bones like a harsh winter chill. I don’t bother trying to savor the champagne tonight or worry about how my hair looks. I should get a haircut, but there’s a part of me that hopes she’ll say something about the shaggy parts over my ears, that maybe she’ll get angry, storm off, never be seen again. This is a horrible thing to wish for. I don’t feel the guilt; that ship sailed months ago.

Months. God, it’d been longer than that. You don’t forget the way his eyes look illuminated by the car lights, and you sure as hell don’t forget the searing aftershocks of his hand when it brushed yours in the darkness of the theater. It’d been months, maybe longer. Or maybe we were set apart when we were created, just us two, as our maker decided our fates would be intertwined by fate’s red string. 

The string that binds us is red because it’s been saturated in blood. But when you’re in as deep as me, not even that fact is enough to deter you. This constitutes me as a horrible person, because tomorrow she’s going to be in white and she’ll be smiling like she didn’t know what hit her and I can just imagine her face, blooming brightly like the honeysuckles in the garden of the park where he told me those things and goddamnit, everything goes back to him, doesn’t it? 

The finality of the future weighs on my mind and slows my heart. The champagne loses its flavor, but I ask for another glass. She’s next to me, close enough that I can see every freckle on her exposed shoulder and I see that her lipstick has faded. I could begin to cultivate an entire list of her faults tonight, but I don’t allow myself the pleasure of doing so. She’s so ecstatic that her eyes brighten up her entire face, and I know that everyone has noticed. Her parents are on their best behavior because the sight of their daughter so blissfully happy is enough to quench their hankering for rivalry with one another. The grandparents, the siblings, the cousins, everyone is feeding off her energy so that the entire restaurant seems to be warm and glowing with contentment. I can’t ruin this, and I won’t even entertain the thought of it. 

He’s two seats across from me and has been doing an excellent job of fooling everyone. That was my request. He’s the type of guy that loves with his entire being, that throws himself wholly into it without so much as a single glance back. The only way he can stop loving is if he’s dead, and I’m inclined to believe that not even that would be enough to stop him. He’s insatiable but not desperate, foolish but not unaware. He knows his limits. He knows he has none. All this I know. I forced his heart into a kennel and shackled it to the bars in hopes that, just for tonight, things could be normal for us. I guess I was hoping to get a glimpse of what things should be like at this point in time: I’m in love with my fianceé and she is overwhelmed by our future, but no less excited for it. And my asking him to be my best man was easy and normal and didn’t make me feel like my heart was crawling with ants, burning in pain from their bites. 

But that is not how things are. His string of fate, wrapped tightly around his heart, is attached to my rib and I can feel it tug harshly in my gut whenever he so much as looks at me. Throughout the whole night I have refrained from even looking in his direction out of fear that our gazes will meet and I will ruin everything. 

The need to meet his eyes wrenches in my gut. We are Orpheus and Eurydice, and he will disappear if I look at him, if I let it slip that he is not my friend. I don’t know what he is to me, but he is not my friend. Friends don’t look at each other the way we do when everyone’s away, like we’re afraid that, at any minute, we could be over for good. Friends don’t hug with their chests pressed close enough that their hearts swell and mesh together. And friends shouldn’t touch each other the way we do, in the comfort of the darkness when we’re sure we’re out of their sight. Friends shouldn’t have to live in secret in order to protect the natural order of things. We’re not friends, but I can’t allow us to be anything more than just that.

I find a brief break in my excessive drinking and polite nodding to quickly glance at his side of the table. He’s not even turned in my direction, talking to someone on his left with which he seems to be having an engaging conversation. As soon as I let my eyes drift ever-so-slightly in the upward direction, waiting to meet their demise upon seeing his face, he immediately mumbles, “Excuse me,” and looks at me in one swift glance. The weight of his gaze is enough to hurt me physically. In fact, I don’t know how to breathe. Fear grips me with razor-sharp talons, piercing my windpipe, preventing me from taking a breath or, God forbid, speaking a word. 

He swallows. Brown eyes flicker with want, and I tell myself it’s just the effect of the candle placed in front of him. He does not want me. I do not want him. I want my wife and the freckles on her shoulder and her hands on my thighs tonight when this dinner is over and we’re alone. 

He’ll be alone too. And I’ll only be able to get hard if I think about him. 

So it goes. 

He blinks, once, twice – I’m just staring into his eyes at this point. I’m not being subtle. The candle’s flame sways in his direction, then mine, and while everyone’s conversing around us we are having our own conversation, privately, via our shared string. He tugs on it once, my gut reacts instinctively. I blink, his mouth twitches, his eyebrow creases slightly, in a way only I would be able to notice.

You’re sure about this? he asks. He doesn’t suggest anything else which tells me that he already knows the end result. He knows that I know it, too.

I nod. It can’t be any other way. 

He knows this. A flicker from the candle, a few blinks of his lashes, and it finally settles. The smile tugs at his lips and he nods to me as well. 

Then it’s final. 

There’s neither bitterness nor sorrow. It relieves me to know that all along, he knew this wouldn’t work either. 

Her hand’s on my thigh again, rubbing the fabric gently, but with intention. I tear my eyes away from him and turn to her. She beams up at me and flutters her lashes, tightening her grip on my thigh just a little. Again, intentional. Experience with him has taught me that this is a sign, so throughout the night I encourage her behavior and try for the millionth time to spark something in my gut for her. I try to imagine that him, my Eurydice, is but dust under my soles and not currently boring holes into the back of my head as I request more champagne from the waiter. My Eurydice is so needy, but he is dead. He is dead, I tell myself, and Eurydice’s death is how the story became popular in the first place. My Eurydice, with his eyes of dark brown ochre and his heart always bursting from affection, will have to die in order for me to make this work. I need to make this work. But I need him more. Don’t I need him more?

That can’t matter anymore.

***

The next day, I wait patiently for the red string of fate that connects us to unravel. To fray, to snap, to do something. The whole ceremony passes and I am focused on it and on her. My new Eurydice, the one I can look in the eyes without fear of losing her. She is radiant. I tell myself it is important that she looks radiant, because this means she loves me. And who doesn’t want to be loved? 

I kiss her and we are married as easily as it is to breathe. I imagine that the Fates are unwinding a new spool of string to connect her rib to mine, now that we are bonded for life. 

And I was right. At the reception, as she discards her shoes and begins dancing to songs that I can learn to love, I feel a familiar tug in my gut. Wrapped around my rib is a new piece of string, this one strong and taut. My fingers pass through skin and muscle to graze the rib that supports my end of our shared string, and I finger the neat wrapping with fondness, with relief. This rib is a bit heavier than my other ribs from the weight of the string, but this is not much of a burden to bear. I am not worried about feeling heavier as long as the heaviness is from love and nothing else. 

I am surprised to find out that the rib above is heavy as well. I push my way upward and graze it, finding a string wrapped around this one too. The string that is connected directly to his heart. 

It is still intact, with no signs of wear at all.

Before I can tell myself otherwise, I pinch the string between my fingers and find it warm to the touch, almost hot. I tug on it just to see what’ll happen and find that the other end of the string tugs back. I crane my neck for him, but the dancing bodies and dimmed lights make it hard to find him. I panic for a moment, but it soon becomes clear that this is futile. I never had to let him go. He’ll always be wrapped around my ribcage and he’ll keep on loving me until he dies and right there, in a room full of dancing, my heart swells with longing and painful sorrow. He’s my Eurydice – I can’t see him but I still love him. He’s gone but he still loves me. And that’s the pain of it all, I finally understand. I love him and he loves me and neither of us will ever know because we are each other’s Eurydices. We are ashes in each other’s wakes, we are dead because of our own choices. And we are cursed because we never stopped loving.

[hekateinhell]

I’ve always adhered to Interpretation 1 and Interpretation 3 the most and I think they even compliment each other. As you point out, the text is the text, and we don’t really have any reason to question Armand’s motivations during that scene, he’s being as much of an open book as he can be, pouring his heart out to Lestat like never before and it’s as ugly as it is gut wrenching and beautiful. Is it toxic? Most definitely. Is it unhealthy asf? Absolutely. Is it also the truth? Also yes. And at the time of this confession, he did think Louis and Marius were dead and I feel like he was trying to be like “see these two here? These two we both loved so much and we just lost? Well, this seems like a good moment to tell you I love you more than I ever loved them, and you won’t even think about loving me in the same way” (even if we know this isn’t exactly true, it’s not like Lestat contradicts Armand directly to his face). Throwing Daniel’s name as a point of reference, as much as he adores him, wouldn’t have meant much to Lestat given that Lestat doesn’t have a history with Daniel, whereas he’s very much aware of the depths of Armand’s love for Louis and Marius because he loves them just as much. And still, Armand loves him more. Which is just BLEAK to me lmao and that’s the beauty of it I love them so much your honor (and you and your meta!!!) xoxo DA 🥹

PS LMAO @ your comment section and Anne saying that about Daniel in BC. Mama just didn’t give a fuck 😭😭😭 left his ass in some fancy ass couch at TG while the action unfolded, like that one Rolling Stone article where the interviewer mentioned he walked into Hailey Bieber staring at the wall in some hotel room while she waited for Justin to come back 💀 It’s ok tho that’s why we’re here ♥️

I woke up for water at 5 AM, checked my phone like the terminally online millennial I am, promptly choked and then thought I dreamed this ask until I peeked in the ask box just now... because I know you did not come in here and call Daniel Hailey Bieber 😭 which makes Lestat Selena, right? I can't live like this DA, have mercy.

But gosh, yeah, thank you for your feedback on this one! It's such a loaded scene no matter how you choose to interpret it! I've broken it down firmly within the L/A context before; it is BLEAK but I do have hope for them. 🥹

Prior to The Scene, Lestat's pondering, 'And where is Armand, my poor desperate Armand, who had been beating the walls with his fists, my poor Armand?' Then his 'poor desperate Armand' lays right into him a few pages later. (Much needed, very deserved, but still... woof). And I think such a large part of that is that Armand knew he couldn't trust Lestat with Louis and then he was proven right in the worst way. Lestat acknowledges this as well, after Armand has left him even more shell-shocked. Ultimately, I love what Anne did there -- it was necessary for both of them and their relationship to grow.

My meta and I love you more 🥹💖 It's pointless nonsense ADD work, but it sure sparks joy. 😌

[contiousmissunderstanding]

that gut wrenching feeling where you feel like you could throw up at any second & eating or drinking water would trigger such reactions, you can’t walk, can’t see straight, you’re all sweaty and now you can’t tell if you’re crying because of all the sweat on your face. you have something that feels like the shakes (but you’re over that), something that makes you so vulnerable you’re scared of the dark again, even though you’re migrant hurts to bad to be scared

then you think, oh my period has started

then you think, maybe it’s actually the emotional attachment I’ve had to every period because they are lives that could have been like mine but instead I’m groping and missing dance about them. And you wonder, by not giving this thing a chance at life, isn’t that considered murder by the logic that pro-life people use? and continue to wonder how you would ever ever ever bring a child into this world knowing they couldn’t get an abortion if they needed or wanted. when there are so many kids without families out there.

But they you really pause and come to the conclusion that the feeling is the grief that you were born with because your mom’s mom died a week after you were born so your mom had to raise you - a horrible baby to raise (me & my younger sister were supposed to be a year apart but we’re 3 years apart because I was so difficult to raise) - while grieving. But she seldom brings her mom up so you know that deep down in her heart she didn’t fully grieve, she suppressed it for you. I mean me, she suppressed her grief because of me.

Then maybe you’re weary about the feeling and wonder if it’s the lingering grief of your grandma who died. who was supposed to die in June but fought until the end of July to make sure I was a healthy baby. She didn’t know me. She’ll never know me and she’ll never know if her decision was worth it. Even though you don’t think it is. You haven’t done enough for someone to put themselves through that pain for you, who didn’t even know what you would become.

Ultimately you settle on the root cause of the feeling: having to attach being a daughter or being a mother or a sister to every part of your life. You only see your life in relation to other women. But if I only see women in relation to other women, as mothers, does that devalue them? They are more than that. it’s women’s history month ( which I resent) for Gods sake! Women are the only people who have ever been mothers since the beginning of time. Maybe I’m not crazy I just want to guarantee myself that love. Not in a selfish way though.

[book-place]

If Only

Warnings: cursing, hints of abuse, character death, mentions of running away, bad family, mentions of detention, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Sirius Black x sister reader

*not my gif*

Summary: You bring the news to your brother, expecting him to mourn with you. But his reaction is not at all what you expected

A/N: Got another short one for y’all. The whole time I was writing this all I could think of was that tik tok sound that goes “keep her name out of your mouth, you don’t deserve to mourn”

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

You shuffled into the room, head down and hair in front of your face, the only sound filling the air was your quiet sniffles.

This had made Sirius look up from the Daily Prophet in alarm, he quickly ran over to you, taking you by the shoulders and immediately began scanning your face for injuries, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s-“ Your voice broke off as a gut-wrenching sob escaped your lips and it took you a minute of Sirius’s horrored expression staring at you before you could finally talk again, “It’s Reggie, Siri… He-he’s gone.”

No longer did silent sniffles fill the room, now it was the full on sobbing noise coming from you, the middle Black sibling.

You hadn’t even noticed Sirius let go of your shoulders stiffly and pulled back with a cold and emotionless face.

You were too busy letting your thoughts consume you about how it happened.

If only you had been there, you could’ve pulled your little brother out of harm's way.

“Oh.” Was the only sound that came out of the eldest Black’s mouth.

And you looked up at him with shocked, watery eyes, “Oh?” You repeated, hiccuping a little.

He shrugged stiffly, “It’s a war, Y/n, people die everyday.”

You took a stumbled step back as if just punched in the gut, “But he was our little brother, Sirius.” You whispered.

If only you hadn’t been selfish and left him alone in that house when you ran away with Sirius, then you could’ve stopped your parents from forcing him to join.

“He was no little brother of mine.” He kept his tone as emotionless as his face, leaving his sister in an unbelieving state.

“You don’t mean that.” Your voice continued coming out as a whisper.

He only nodded once, “I do, though.”

Suddenly all of the sadness disintegrated from inside you, instead it was replaced by anger. Hot, red, boiling anger.

“It was our job to protect him! He was only a child!” You screamed at the top of your lungs at your twin brother, wishing with every bone in your body that this was only his way of being in a state of shock at the news.

Sirius scoffed, anger leaking through his mask, “Child? Please, he was of age! He knew what he was getting into.”

“He had no choice!” You argued, vision continuing to blur.

“No choice?” Sirius stalked over to you and towered over your smaller form, glowering, “He might as well have been throwing a parade over the whole thing!”

“You think our parents really gave him a choice over the matter? You know how they are!” You could hardly believe that the same person you were talking to was your older brother.

The one who helped you and Regulus with your homework.

Who did everything in his power to keep his parents and their punishments away from the two of you, his little siblings.

The one who would yell across the hallways in the early years of school about how much he loved the two of you, not caring about embarrassing himself.

But that was all years ago. You were all still young school children.

You and Sirius were now members of the Order of the Phoenix, and Regulus was a death eater, up until a day ago anyway.

If only you had been there to fight against your parents who forced that way of life onto the young boy.

“Well he died the way he wanted to.” The black haired man spat venomously.

You recoiled as if the words physically hurt you, “Stop.”

He didn’t though. Either he didn’t hear the brokenness in your voice, or he just didn’t care, “He died as mommy and daddy’s favorite. Their perfect little death eater, blood traitor hating, Slytherin son.”

You looked up at your brother with wide eyes that held nothing but complete and utter brokenness, but he didn’t stop.

“He was glad when we left, all we did was hold him back. We took the attention off of him when we were home. He was always snitching on us to our parents when we would do something bad and get detention at school. Don’t ever forget that!” He finished his small speech with heavy breathing, out of air.

You stared at him in silence for a moment before letting some quiet words come out, “Fuck you, Sirius.”

And with that you sprinted out of the room, sobs still leaving your form.

As soon as you were out of ear shot, Sirius dropped to his knees and let out a gut wrenching sob that could rival yours.

If only he could take it back, tell you he never meant any of it.

If only he could tell Regulus how much he loved him.

-•-

Sirius shuffled into the meeting room with a death glare on his face.

After that morning he had gone looking for you to apologize and tell you that he was being stupid like usual, and allow the two of you to mourn for the loss of your little brother.

But you weren’t anywhere to be found.

He had checked absolutely everywhere, and then came to the conclusion that you were just avoiding him. Which was well deserved on his part.

But you didn’t deserve to mourn alone.

Everyone in the room either avoided his stares or sent him looks of sympathy, no doubt having heard the news about Regulus.

All of the members were in attendance except for a handful that were away on missions, Dumbledore, and you.

He should’ve expected it, you would’ve wanted alone time after all of that, not yet ready to face Sirius.

Instead of sitting in one of the many chairs spread around the room, he opted for standing and leaning against the wall near the door. Just in case you came in late and wanted to talk to him.

He watched as James and Remus exchanged looks full of sorrow and Lily let out a little sob into her hands, clearly trying to hide the fact that she was crying. Alice had an arm wrapped around her shoulders, trying to comfort the redhead even though she too had tears in her eyes.

That threw Sirius off completely, none of them had been close to Regulus. He doubted that any one of them ever even had a full conversation in all their years of knowing each other.

He immediately pushed himself off the wall, realizing that something else was wrong, “What? What happened?”

James sent Remus one more glance before standing up, “Pads… something… something happened.”

All of the other members minus Alice, Remus, and Lily took that as their cue to scurry out of the room, wanting to give the friends some alone time.

“What is it?” Sirius’s eyes were wide with panic now, his mind immediately began going to the worst scenarios, “Is it Marlene and Dorcas?” The two were on a mission together.

James shook his head, “No, Pads it’s-“

“Peter?” Sirius guessed in horror, “I knew we shouldn’t have sent him alone! Oh god-“

“Padfoot it’s not that-“

“Frank? Mary? Hagrid?” He began rambling and pacing.

“Sirius!” Remus yelled, standing up, “It’s Y/n.” His voice became quieter for the last part.

Sirius froze before slowly turning to face the werewolf with a hard glare on his face, “That’s not funny, Remus. She’s still here, we don’t have another mission until-“

“Tomorrow.” Finished Albus Dumbledore, striding into the room, “You and your twin sister were supposed to go on a mission together. But Miss. Black had approached me earlier this evening saying that the two of you talked and it would be better to just send her alone and right at that very moment.”

Sirius felt his heart drop to the very bottom of his toes.

“Of course even if I questioned it, I wouldn’t have been able to stop her. She was of age and therefore able to make her own decisions.”

Behind him, Sirius heard Lily let out a sob. Or Alice, he couldn’t tell who it was.

“But-“ Sirius tried, but cut himself off, unable to wrap his head around what was being told to him.

“There were more death eaters than we thought there would be.” Albus explained, not even the slightest bit of sympathy in his voice or face. “She was outnumbered.”

“No.” The last Black sibling put his hands in his hair and pulled, “No, no, no.”

“I’m so sorry, Pads.” James whispered, walking over and pulling Sirius into a strong hug, letting him sob into his shoulders closely followed by Remus.

If only he had been there.

He could’ve saved you.

You wouldn’t have been outnumbered.

If only he had been a better brother.

[eddiemunsonssoulmate]

I just got some bad news (my beloved DND campaign gets cancelled because some other players don't invest enough time and constantly miss sessions), so I could really need some positive thoughts right now.

So could you please write the essay about why killing Eddie would be bad writing? I need the hope, that while losing my DND campaign I at least don't lose my favorite DND nerd...

(btw I agree with everyone else, your stories are great and I love how you write Eddie!)

That’s a horrible thing, I’m so sorry! Loosing a D&D group always sucks, happene to me too many times. So in this case, your wish is my command~

101 on why Eddie isn’t dying and if he does, why I’m suing the Duffers for bad life choices and burn the Netflix HQ.

I'm sorry for any typos in there but it's past 11pm and I'm tired

Maybe teeny tiny spoilers ahead but actually not really because it's 99,9% me trying to make him survive.

Let’s start with the bad things but I promise it gets better!

The foreshadowing for his death is huge. “Outside of D&D, I’m no hero.” and “I did what I do best, I ran.” and “There is no shame in running.” 

Him coming in as a new, beloved character and we all know what the Duffers do with them

The trailer scene in the Upside Down where he plays guitar to distract the Demobats

No one knows how he gets out of being hunted by the whole town

Overall it feels like they’re setting him up to be a martyr, dying a hero’s death in Volume 2 and being, once again, another sacrificial lamb for the show.

That’s exactly where my problem already starts.

Been there, done that. Barb? Sacrificial lamb. Bob? Sacrificial lamb. Billy? Sacrificial lamb, little longer buildup than the others at least. Alexei? Sacrificial lamb. See where this is going? I’m tired of the sacrificial lamb trope. “Oh, it’s a new season and we need another death but we’re not going to kill anyone from the actual main cast, let’s throw in more sacrificial lambs.” It gets boring. Predictable. They talked about Season 4 as having “high stakes” and being “gut wrenching''. For me, high stakes are not writing in a new character only to kill him off as a sacrificial lamb later on. That’s pure laziness.

What’s the difference between all those others and Eddie? Barb? Only in season one, died quite fast. Bob? Older and only Joyce’s boyfriend when we all knew she and Hopper would end up together. Billy? Villain coded. Alexei? Just a cute russian with no real relevance. Edide on the other hand fits perfectly in the established group. He’d be the 5th young adult, making the kids and young adults the same amount of people. Which also brings me to my next point

He fits in. He is similar to Max and Robin joining the main group, fitting right in there. Something those other death’s didn’t have. Gaten even compared Eddie’s introduction to Max and Robin, so that gives me a little extra hope.

The season is about finding your confidence. What kind of message is that if Eddie finds the confidence to be a hero only to die two seconds later? Right, it would basically say “Hey, don’t find your confidence, it has bad consequences.” Leaves a really bad taste in my mouth if you ask me.

Joseph wants to come back and hinted multiple times at Eddie’s return. Of course he might just be teasing but ya know it gives me hope. “Oh, yeah, I think so. I can’t see why not. I’d be furious if they’re not bringing me back.” Is the first quote from him. Means to me, they could totally bring him back because he’s not dead and it wouldn’t make sense to not bring him back in S5. For the second I don’t have the actual quote but it was about Eddie and Jonathan meeting in S5 and Joseph was like “We’re pushing for it in Season 5” or something like that. Would be a weird thing to say if he wouldn’t have the possibility to come back, right?

One thing most people don’t know about is that the Duffers took inspiration for Eddie from Damien Echols, a member of the West Memphis Three. He was accused of murdering three kids but was later on proven innocent.

The trailer scene still has me concerned, not going to lie, but given that Dustin is with him, I can see them fleeing into the trailer and finding shelter from the Demobats in there, giving the others just enough time to get into Vecna’s lair.

Joseph did a fantastic job with Eddie and that’s not really a reason to not kill Eddie but I just wanted to mention it here.

They have also been hyping Eddie up before the season started, he’s included into the main poster right in the middle of the main group and tbh, it would be a really really wasted character if they’d just kill him off.

I might be reaching because I need a lifeline here. I might be thinking too much, I might try to turn it all positive but just thinking about his death rubs me the wrong way because at this point, none of us would be surprised if he really would die. We’d be devastated and sad for sure but not surprised because that’s just how the Duffers did it in the past. And that’s why I, as a writer myself, would just not do it this time.

They’re building up for a final season, a big war coming to Hawkins. The stakes have to be higher than a sacrificial lamb.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk called “Eddie’s death would be my 13th reason”, thank you for staying, hope you have a nice day.

(Also thank you very much <3)