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sp0o0kylights · 5 months

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Eddie led a weird life.

This was something he welcomed, given half the things people thought were “weird” was just his fashion sense or preference for table top games.

Small potatoes to the larger things in life, really.

Of course, this was before he found out there was an evil version of Hawkins underneath him.

Now Eddie did things that would previously sent his old self into a fucking coma.

His friendship with Steve Harrington for example.

Dude saved his life and bridal-style carried him out of literal hell.

It’d have been rude not to be friendly with the guy after that, even if they weren’t both members of a very exclusive and bloody club, with trauma and secrets that really only a select few people would ever understand.

Sleeping over at Harrington’s half the week also made perfect sense, and Eddie will argue that to his very grave.

It turns out nightmares suck, and waking up screaming all the time sucks even more.

Something everyone involved in this entire escapade (and all the ones prior) knew.

Because more bodies means more eyes to look out for you, and feeling safe means you might actually sleep for an hour, they all got used to showing up at each other's houses at odd hours of the night.

Pulled one another out of nightmares and got comfortable with the fact that they slept better, together.

Steve’s house in particular is typically void of both adults and annoying freshmen, which meant it's the most comfortable place for a lot of people to crash together.

(Sometimes the annoying freshmen do show up and maybe Eddie is also a little weirdly overprotective of the whole Party now, and alright fine, he enjoys all their company, even Erica's--but who's keeping track?

He isn’t.

He’s busy arguing all this is perfectly normal.)

Sleeping in Steve’s bed is where things get a little tricky.

See, when it was more than just Robin and Eddie crashing at Casa De Harrington, they all sleep in the living room.

Steve drags out some fancy blow up mattress (an air mattress what the fuck) and changes the couches around and long story short his fucking living room is more comfortable than Eddie’s own bed has ever been.

But when it's just Eddie and Robin, they retire to Steve’s stupid huge bed, so large the damn thing takes up most of his equally massive room.

(“This isn’t weird right?” He’d asked Robin once, hanging his head over the edge of the bed while Steve did--whatever it was he was doing to his hair in the bathroom.

Robin, who was busy rifling through Steve’s drawers for a shirt to steal, stopped and looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Not unless you make it weird, Munson.” She’d told him, and well, that was all the permission he needed.

They slept together in tight groups, where it was easiest to defend each other in case of Upside Down fucking monster attack.

Case closed.)

Sleeping in Steve Harrington’s bed, without the buffer that was Robin Buckley, is where the lies started.

Because it was weird.

It was incredibly weird, and did guys even do this solo?

Eddie hadn’t. If one of Hellfire or the band stayed over, it was a strictly floor/bed/couch situation unless there were more than three of them, and that was within Eddie’s small ass trailer.

Sure they piled up if they had to, but it wasn't like it was with Steve. All tangled limbs and being right up in each others space, no pillow or blanket or anything as a buffer.

Hell, Eddie had woken up getting spooned or doing the spooning more than once, and no one said shit.

How Steve made it sound so genuinely normal was beyond him.

Not that Eddie argued about it.

Not the first time of the fifth or the twenty-fifth, and not even after Robin pointed out he was rooming with Harrington more than she was.

Because he just slept better, next to Steve.

(Steve apparently, felt the same.

Or must have given it kept happening.)

It wasn’t like Steve didn’t crash at Eddie’s trailer either--his parents had come right home upon hearing about the earthquake, and had been a bit more present after running into the joint forces of Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers in the hospital lobby.

Add in Wayne’s own Disapproving Stare (TM) and the town being up each other’s ass to try and keep it together, and suddenly Mr. and Mrs. Harrington were hanging out in Hawkins that much more.

(Steve seemed to think it was more to save face rather than because they actually gave a shit, which Eddie felt was obvious but he wasn’t gonna say it.

“They’re trying I think. They just--they’ve never encountered anything like this.” He’d said, a little frown line pinching his eyebrows together.

“Stevie, no one has faced anything like what we have. Your parents, on the other hand, are only dealing with what they think is the aftermath of an earthquake and plenty of people have seen those.”

Steve had sighed. Stared a little helplessly, like he knew he was making excuses but couldn’t help himself.

“I know, Eds. I know.”)

Them being home more meant Steve was at Eddie’s more--on grounds that Robin’s parents were fine with him hanging out but drew some kind of weird not--very--hippy line at him sleeping over.

Which was fine.

Great even, the Eddie and Steve had never slept better! Sucks to be Robin, who had to call up Nancy Wheeler if she wanted to share.

All this was, was trauma buddies being guy pals who were very comfortable with each other due to said fucking trauma.

Steve used to help Eddie take a piss for fucks sake, and according to literally everyone else involved in the Vecna related mess, this was their fourth go round with supernatural shit.

Chances of it all happening a fifth time seemed kinda high, even if the gate was supposedly closed and the psychotic meat puppet madman six feet underground.

Sharing was caring, and caring was not letting your new buddy you saved fight off monsters alone if they popped back up.

Plus he and Steve spent a huge amount of time together, almost as much time as Steve did with Robin.They were all in each other’s back pockets to the point that Eddie’s band was used to it, with Gareth even starting to make secret lover jokes about it all.

(The dick.)

They were just really good friends dealing with the shit life had dealt them. That was it, that was the whole ass story.

Eddie’s growing gay crisis aside.

So no. It wasn't all the time with Harrington that sent Eddie over the edge. Nor was it the bed sharing, rapidly dropping boundaries, or even the fact that Steve knew where Eddie kept his condoms (An accident Eddie wouldn't ever live down, holy shit.)

No, what sent him into an absolute, hair tearin' meltdown, was the day Steve woke up, rolled over, kissed Eddie right on the lips and then went to make breakfast.

No good morning, no how ya doin.

Steve just left Eddie there, clutching onto the sheets for dear life and mildly terrified he’d just hallucinated the entire encounter.

(Hell, maybe the whole thing was hallucinated.

Maybe he died in the Upside Down and this was some sort of sick version of the afterlife.

Eddie pinched himself, and when that wasn’t enough, bit his own knuckle. Both hurt, which was unfortunate, because death seemed preferable to dealing with life right then.)

Unfortunately for him, Steve did not run back into the room with a myriad of excuses, which meant Eddie had to experience the horrifying ordeal of getting out of bed, putting his clothes on and going into the trailer’s kitchen--because Steve hadn’t even had the decency to wreck Eddie’s life at his own house.

‘What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck--’

Heart galloping, Eddie put on his big boy pants--metaphorically and physically--before stepping out into the kitchen and confront his friend.

Who was cooking shirtless, without a care in the world.

It still took him a full thirty seconds to get his mouth to work.

“Hey Stevie? Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

"Hmm?” Steve replied. His eyes were hooded, hair mussed in a way Eddie knew only a few select people had ever seen it.

He looked half asleep, and proved it a second later when he reached twice for the one of the two mugs on the counter and missed entirely.

Eddie swung in, grabbing one and offering it out for Steve to pour coffee into, before swapping it out for the other mug once Steve was done.

Stayed in Steve’s space even as the former jock fussed with adding in milk and sugar and whatever else he was feeling, working up the courage to say something.

Anything.

“Uh, the--just now?” Eddie squeaked. He coughed to clear his voice, trying desperately to act normal.

Look normal.

Like he hadn't just been kissed by the guy he had absolute worst crush on.

Steve, bless him, didn’t tease him. Just shoved one of the mugs into Eddie’s hands and kept the other for himself.

Took a nice, slow sip, adam's apple bobbing and Eddie quickly averted his gaze, staring firmly into his coffee.

“What happened?” Steve asked a second later, sounding a touch more clear, and not at all like he was experiencing deep regret, or dodging the question, or even aware of what had happened.

Eddie had two seconds to realize that hell, maybe Steve really didn’t know, before his mouth once betrayed him.

“When you kissed me?” And motherfucker, for once, Eddie wished he would think before he fucking spoke.

(Wayne had always told him he'd come to regret it. He just hadn't thought it'd be like this!)

“Oh.” Steve said, very anticlimatically. “I didn’t realize I did that, sorry.”

Eddie's entire body twitched.

One long shudder, like it was rejecting the very words coming out of Steve's mouth.

“You didn’t,” He tried, voice dry and cracking. He realized his hands were shaking and promptly put his mug down before he dropped it. “You just--what, did that on instinct?”

“...Kinda, yeah.” Steve said and why the hell did he sound entirely unphased!?

Was this some kind of weird jock thing? Did the basketball team all wake up together and kiss each other on the mouth?! Did they think it was some sort of straight--guy haha joke, or fucking--Eddie didn’t even know what, because Eddie was too busy spiraling.

“Steve I’m gay.” He blurted out, mouth now firmly ahead of his brain.

He instantly wanted to take it back.

Grab the words with his hands, and cram it into his mouth.

Maybe Steve was only cool with it if he thought Eddie was straight.

Hell, maybe he fucking did it while sleep walking or something and Eddie was the one being weird about it, or he--fuck, really did imagine it and, and--!

“I know.” Steve told him, interrupting Eddie’s catastrophizing entirely.

“You know?” Eddie stared at him, feeling like the world had fallen out from underneath his feet. “How do you know!?”

He actually had a pretty good idea of how Steve knew, considering they were both friends with Robin, but while Robin was comfortably out to both of them, Eddie was not.

Had not in fact, even confirmed that he was queer to Robin herself, though he’d hinted at it plenty and shared more than one inside joke.

Didn’t think Robin had outed him or anything, but more that, well…

Steve was smarter than the kids made him sound, that’s for damn sure.

“Honestly dude? You’re not subtle.” Steve told him and at least he finally sounded serious.

Like this was a much needed conversation and not some weird tangent Eddie was on.

“The handkerchief, that triangle pin that you and Robin both have, the fact that you once jumped in my pool to get away from Dustin asking about you're dating life."

He rolled one hand in an etc. all gesture, before adding; “Also there was that time you and Robin got absolutely smashed on my dad’s whiskey and argued about who the hottest Rocky Horror actor was.”

Eddie’s mouth sprang open to defend himself, but absolutely nothing came out.

When had they even watched Rocky Horror together!?

“You kept insisting the guy who played Brad was hotter than the one who played Rocky, remember? I thought Robin was going to strangle you because she like, adores Susan Sarandon.” Steve continued, like they were having one of their playful little spats and not--not discussing Steve kissing him!

“You guys asked me to tie-break,” He added slowly, like he was trying to jog Eddie’s memory. “and I told you guys I thought both were hot.”

Which--oh.

Oh.

“Okay so you’re…?”

Not going to kill me is what Eddie intended to say, but Steve took it as another question entirely, and answered with a nod and a hum.

Which--okay.

Steve Harrington was bisexual, and also already thought he’d come out to Eddie.

He could roll with that.

That was not the problem, at all.

The problem was; “That doesn’t explain the kiss though?!”

Steve finally put his coffee down, huffing out exasperatedly. “I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t realize I did it, man. We share a bed a lot and I guess I wasn’t--I must have--”

And now, finally, Steve was getting embarrassed. A red flush spread across his cheeks and down his neck, vivid even on his tan skin.

He ran a hand through his hair, and Eddie knew purely from the sheer amount of time they spent together that it was a self-soothing action.

“I guess I’m sorry?”

It came out less as a question and more as an accusation-- which Steve himself seemed to hear because he immediately corrected it with a far less sassy and much more sincere; “No I am--I’m sorry.”

None of which answered why Steve had kissed him.

“You didn’t think I was Nance, did you?” Eddie asked, because apparently he just couldn't stop while he was ahead.

Maybe he should have died. It'd be better for both of them, considering he was doing about as good as kicking Steve while he was down.

Steve, the guy who had saved Eddie's life and was now one of his best friends and here Eddie was, dragging this out of him like a moron.

“No.” Steve said immediately. Reflexively, almost, firm and sure. “I am very aware you’re not Nancy.”

‘Let it go Eddie. Don’t make it weird Eddie. Just laugh it off and say okay--’

“Then who did you think it was? I mean you said it was instincts and like, I'm not stupid. I know I can be confused for Nance in the low light, it's happened before but--"

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“I didn’t think. I knew it was you." Steve interrupted. "I knew I was kissing you, Eddie."

Oh god, just kill him now.

Hell he'd even take a Vecna death! With all the gross gore and the shitty villain monologue!

"This morning I was tired, and I was sleepy, and I apparently skipped the part in my head were I asked you out and we were dating.” Steve deadpanned at him.

Eddie gaped, mind shattered and rapidly reforming.

It was like the universe was recreating itself, only this time all the stars had aligned and his wish had come true and some Disney director had taken control of his life--

“But I get it if I’m not your type." Steve was saying, because Steve was perfect.

And Kind.

And wanted to date Eddie.

"I’m sorry if I made things uncomf-mmphhh!”

‘Mmmph’ because Eddie had flung himself at Steve, face first, the second "I asked you out and we were dating" had finished processing.

(Which was alarming fast, considering he'd been struggling all morning.)

‘D--ff--ing?”

Steve laughed in his mouth as Eddie tried to talk while kissing, pulling away slightly and holding his chest back with a hand when Eddie tried to chase him anyway.

“Yes, dating. As in, would you, Eddie Munson, like to go on a date with me, Steve Harrington?”

“Yes.” Eddie’s mouth said.

At least this time it and his brain were on the same wavelength.

“Yes I very much would.” He put some weight into his lean, making it harder for Steve to hold him back. “I think you can tell, by the way I'm trying to kiss you. Which you are not doing."

He pouted, and refused to be embarrassed about his behavior.

Steve laughed, and he might have said something like “God you changed up fast” except he had given in and let Eddie close again, and his words were now being swallowed down.

Eddie's life was weird alright, and now it was weird even by his own standards, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

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kosmokhaos · 4 months

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💗

Messing around with @sourlemonsimblr newest skin and kinda rehauled my sim Eileithyia Cole who hasn't been seen posted since like 2017.

#model #Eileithyia Cole #the sims 3 #the sims #ts3 #simblr #Sims Of Color #Because Yes Eileithyia is just albino #Unedited because I'm lazy #She looks nice without editing #Very late post when I should be asleep

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emry-stars-art · 10 months

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The prince in public vs once he’s in the privacy of his room ⤴️

#this goes for both when he’s just enjoying it for himself #(I know I like wearing nice things around the house sometimes idk)#and for when he maybe wants to show off a little 👀#not many people allowed in his room but oh no #how will he ever unlace his corset vest on his own #crazy how Abram’s always so conveniently close and willing to help huh #pls forgive the lack of scars and stretch marks on the unedited ones #I didn’t trust my gel pen #anyway #fan art #my art #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #royal au #digital

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moonchild-in-blue · 5 months

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Your face is a window

Sometimes it's 15:18 on a Wednesday; you're making coffee, water on a kettle, tugging on your sleeves to stave off the cold.

The skys are blue and bright and out of reach, hidden behind blurry windows. Droplets of yourself cling to the glass.

Condensation.

They too are trying to stave off the cold.

There is music playing ; the butterfly album that flutters quietly in your heart. You hold a spoon, cold steal, and weep.

Your tears faces run down the windows,falling from the sky to your hands.

I'm letting go I'm letting go I'm letting go-

The water is ready.

- a nothing writing about 50 minutes ago

#I rarely post my little blurbs here; much less unedited and raw so be nice #ridiculous how a song can make you cry pathetically out of nowhere #i had to stop for a full moment with a piece of bread on my hand 😭#I'm so nervous about being perceived so i gotta be silly on the tags. to ✨cope✨#darya is unhinged #writing #poetry #spilled ink

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screamingcrows · 4 days

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Note: enjoy another 50 word shitpost that grew limbs and ran from me. Fem reader, domestic in a way I'd define as crack when involving this man. Suggestive, minors dni

Dottore strode up behind you, having forgone his boots meant you were wholly unprepared when his chin came to hover over your shoulder. Firm hands held you by your hips, minimising the damage your jolt could've caused.

"Jumpy as ever, I see. How your distrust wounds me, darling," his voice was low, whispered against the shell of your ear as he pulled you a little closer.

It was impossible to resist, his hands already squeezing the soft flesh. Reverence through inquiry, thumbs already mapping the curve of your spine, dedicated to commit every minute detail to memory.

"That's not fair, I was concentrating!"

A content smile grazed his features when your hand released the strainer, wet fingers tracing his jaw. The residue was icky, but he always found himself willing to endure, chapped lips wrapping around your finger and tasting the sweetness blooming on his tongue. He chuckled when you pulled your hand back, any attempt to flick his forehead easily dodged.

"You've been slaving away all morning, join me for a little relaxation hm? It was, after all, you who instisted I take a day away from my duties here and there," His eyes fell on the counter, inspecting the mess you'd made, sticky liquid having dripped everywhere as you poured from the large pot, various flowers submerged in the water.

It had been a strange request, having a kitchen fashioned in his private quarters, but who were the rest to deny him anything? And who would he have been to deny you, having asked so sweetly for tools to spoil him?

"Zandik, you're not exactly making this easier," your voice was much too gentle for his ears, intent on smothering your protest, he brought a hand to tug at your hair before connecting his lips to yours.

Grinding against you was all too easy, willingly drowning in your honeyed presence. All too soon did you push back a little too sharply against his groin, a groan escaping him, sharp teeth nipping at your lip in warning. Only when his breath was shaky did he pull away, looking fondly at your grin, the pad of his thumb tracing over your bottom lip, barely resisting the urge to push it in.

"How about you leave this little project for later, join me for something else instead?"

It was impossible to resist leaning down to nibble at the curvature of your neck, blood flowing steadily under the skin. How easy it would be to stop, the mere thought igniting a low fury in his gut, hand all the more gentle as it cupped your throat, keeping you steady as he mouthed at you.

"Can't, I'm in the middle of straining, we'll have lemonade for weeks once I'm done. Ah- and I have to get the pie in the oven or it'll be done too late..."

"Too late?" he took a deep breath before reluctantly parting from your skin, stepping back and cocking his head.

Had he forgotten something? Surely he'd have remembered if today was a special occasion. At the very least written it down somewhere he would notice?

"The ladies are coming over in half an hour, thought it was fitting now that everyone is back for a time,"

"The ladies? Surely you're not-"

"Columbina, Arlecchino, Signora, hell even Sandrone agreed," the way you beamed almost tempered his annoyance.

He caught himself grumbling under his breath, reluctantly stepping back. So the sweets weren't even intended for him, the realisation more bitter than it should've been. He couldn't always be the object of your affection. No way he was dealing with them.

"I'll be in the lab, tell The Marionette to," he gestured vaguely around the room, "keep her hands off my things. I'll know if anything is missing or tampered with."

Remaining disgruntled was impossible when you giggled so earnestly, the sound infectious enough that his heart swelled.

"I promise I'll make it up to you tonight, a little dessert perhaps?"

He wanted to scoff at the horrendous attempt at flirting, but it was difficult to properly bite back, not with how your words still managed to make his ears burn hot as he left. You'd be the death of him.

#dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #fem reader #x fem reader #zandik x reader #dottore x you #il dottore x you #cw suggestive #fluff #crack drabble #i feel like the king of unedited nonsensical 700 word posts #i needed something nice and soft in my life today so i grabbed dottore by the scruff and wiped the floor with him until he agreed to this #crow with a pen

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knbposting · 19 days

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#aokaga #aomine #aomine daiki #kagami #kagami taiga #kagaao #WHAT. i just think they look nice together. theyre unedited i dont care enough to do anything with them i just think they look good #STOP ASKING QUESTIONS

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wayward-sherlock · 1 day

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hi i got emotional writing this. enjoy.

#growing up getting older moving away from your friends and your childhood home etc etc #whatever. it’s fine #also this is unedited so. be nice pls #🫧🪴#byler #wayli writes #wip wednesday #miwip wednesday #Spotify

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corpsentry · 3 months

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at the asian american studies sponsored movie screening i run out of my seat to press a button for the presenter and you look away, not in shame, but in anger

go make your own movie.

One where you’re the star

and everything’s my fault

the way you want it to be. I know, it’s easy

to let someone else hold this grief

and sit in the bathtub,

all dressed up to go to the party.

Maybe in this movie it’s your party

and I the party crasher,

holding cymbals and a baseball bat, et cetera.

But we don’t stop getting older when we’re angry

and you’re only twenty,

can’t listen to lullabies at night,

can’t sleep without a blanket

over your head like you’re scared

of your own shadow. God, go

write your own movie.

You could do it,

you’re still

pretty. Angry? Me too.

The bathtub’s overflowing,

the bathroom’s flooding

with whatever you couldn’t say

to the poet with their palms glued shut

in a cheap simulacrum of prayer.

Didn’t you say you were tired? Angry? Me too.

Upset? Unhappy? Me too. Hungry? Lonely? Me too. Me too.

Standing barefoot in the grass

I remembered the month of bad weather.

How I parted the fog with broken hands each night,

looking for your voice.

Oh, I will not forgive you.

Not like this.

With your fingers splayed

against the brute February sky,

lips cracked open like windows,

waiting, like you always are, for me to say the first word.

#my writing #my words #there are many reasons i like tumblr. for example the number of people who keep getting older is very impressive #but also it is nice because unlike my goddamn poetry account (self inflicted damage) half my friends irl do not follow me here #so i can put this poem down. it’s not public grief here it’s anonymous grief! woo #anyway i have just survived possibly the most brutal four weeks of my life and this is including getting dumped a week #before the dance concert in which my ex and i were in more than half the items together. this is including that #but i am OUT #and this poem was written while i was still in but i am O U T #lord being hurt and hurt and being mature and brave and smart makes your HR voice get really good #not by choice #for survival purposes #i am wondering if i should get this laptop. as my water bottle exploded and destroyed my old laptop #i think i will do it #yes. i think so #it is time to start taking care of myself. and so on #so here’s this poem. i wanted to share it because it’s raw and unedited and it has some lines that i think are neat #if it makes you feel some stuff that would make me very happy

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void-imp · 8 months

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present and young helena (aleksey's great aunt)

#i rlly like doing these they're funnnn #maybe i'll make nice posts in the future #helena is great i love her a lot #i reckon aleksey refers to her as aunt/auntie helena #oc rambles #olly:rambles #unedited

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a-dragons-journal · 1 year

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Singlet+

I've been meaning to write this one for a while, so let's see how this goes.

~1k words; essay on the experience of one person who sits right on the funny little edge between "normal roleplay experience" and "actual plurality".

So, let's start with this: I am not plural. But. I do seem to live in a weird space juuuuust on the edge of plurality (and no, I do not mean that I'm a median or blurry system - I mean on the edge of that).

For one thing, I'm a daemian - that is, I practice daemonism; that is, I have personified and given faux autonomy (fauxtonomy, if you will) to my "internal narrator" of sorts and he now lives in my brain with me as a thoughtform, a brain companion, in the shape of an animal. Strictly speaking, that does qualify us for plurality, but we personally don't view our daemonism through that framework and consider ourselves a singlet (as hilarious as the plural grammar makes that sentence, I know). Many daemons don't consider themselves plural; this isn't particularly unusual - in muir case, Locke is a part of me before he is anything else, and while yes there are forms of plurality that look like that, for us personally it makes more sense to view him as "part of me, therefore, still one person".

For another, I had... basically plural experiences when I was younger. I don't want to talk about the details publicly, but suffice to say that for many years I had what I would now call headmates, and I suspect that if I had been exposed to plural spaces during that time period, they may well have stuck around permanently, instead of "fading out" and eventually disappearing as is what actually happened. To this day I don't know how "real" or "imaginary" they were, and I doubt I ever will - they were certainly real to me at the time, but I have also always been very good at suspension of disbelief. Trying to analyze it in any great level of detail is made basically impossible by my piss-poor episodic memory rendering the memories of that time so fuzzy that I can't rely on them for details.

For another, my experiences with OCs are often... soulbond-adjacent? Recently in particular I've had a lot of funny experiences with an OC of mine, a character in a Vampire: The Masquerade campaign I'm a part of (Viridian Caldwell, for my own future self's reference), which led me to do some research on soulbonding because of how fictive-adjacent the experience of her is.

And yet. The answer is a definite no. I get very strong impressions and echoes from her; she "gives" me facts about her and her life that simply Are and that I feel as strongly about being true and unchangeable as I do about my own noemata; she's almost a separate person living in my brain sometimes; I somehow come up with near-prophetic knowledge about her world (as confirmed by my Storyteller, who happens to be part of a system alongside a number of fictives from the world in question, including several who know Viridian personally) with zero explanation on a semi-regular basis.

And yet. The answer is no. Because while I seem to have all the effects a soulbond proper would produce on my end - she is not aware of me, not really. She is not conscious of my world and my life. When I really quiet my own brain and reach out to call out and see if someone's there, there's only silence. It's as though I have a one-way soulbond somehow - which, of course, puts me in the fun gray space between "soulbond" and "normal roleplay/writing experience".

And she's not a unique instance of this. This just happens to me with OCs, although it's been a bit more dramatic with her because of the presence of fictives from her world to converse with (and, realistically, because of the real-time roleplay aspect that a TTRPG has that a video game or the writing of a fanfiction doesn't).

It's as though my brain has the capacity for plurality, but it just... doesn't manifest fully.

And, truth be told, I kind of prefer it this way. I like being a singlet; I would kind of hate having to share headspace with other people. Especially since, if my childhood pseudo-plurality experiences are anything to go by, we would not have good separation of thoughts and memories and true privacy would be very difficult if not impossible. Plus, because of that, I would... probably never get over the doubt of Is It Real Or Not, and I don't need that stress in my life. (For this reason, while I'm 99.9% sure that if I intentionally tried to bring her over as a fictive, it would work, I will not be testing the theory just out of curiosity.)

I wonder if I didn't train myself out of the ability to be Plural Proper, to be honest. Not intentionally, but - I may have mentioned that my power of suspension of disbelief is very strong, and as a child this came with me being extremely easy to manipulate because it was very easy for me to fall into believing things that I wanted to believe. (Again, I don't really want to talk about the details, but suffice to say I had a pretty bad case of Protagonist Syndrome, as it were, for a while.) I had to learn to combat that natural tendency of my brain for my own protection (especially as someone active in witchcraft spaces) - and I wonder if it didn't come with the side effect of immunizing me to developing true plurality (at least without actively trying) by shutting down any attempt by my brain to form a true headmate in the process.

I don't know. I might never. All I know is that while I am, after careful consideration, definitely a singlet, I do seem to live right on the edge of plurality, and it comes with some weird experiences. (And I would like an explanation for why I keep spitting out nigh-prophetic knowledge of this campaign's world; if I find out Viridian is a fictotype of mine or something I'm going to flip my fucking lid.) I've started half-jokingly calling myself "singlet+", half as a joke on cis+ (ie, someone who's questioned their gender and come to the conclusion that they are indeed cis but has a better understanding of their experience of cisness for it) and half as an "unless" "unlesss...?" acknowledgement of the weird border area some of my experiences sit in. It's... not really a serious label, but also isn't entirely a joke.

So... yeah. Singlet+, I guess. Another victim of the "if you only have two words for fear in your language, one for mild test jitters and one for life-threatening terror, you're going to have a lot of trouble describing a lot of normal human experiences" problem of how our language around plurality often works.

#plurality #i guess?#singlet plus #rani talks #not usually a disclaimer i need but this post and blog are endo-safe thank you #journaling #community writings #this is as per usual fully unedited so like. be nice pls lmao

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taintedsoul-if · 19 days

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idk if you posted those prompts for people to ask or not lol buuuut if you did.....c-can i get "You are too beautiful for me. *starts crying for Cadmus (like said by mc to him) if thats ok owo

Cadmus × MC

One stupid argument, and the weight of regret settled upon you. The words you spoke, the emotions you unleashed, lingered like a haunting melody. You knew, that this outburst was a cry of old wounds, a fear of being left behind. In the past, love had been a scarce haven, and now, to be embraced without condition, without needing to hide or pretend, stirred a discomfort within.

Your thumb twirled in restless rhythm as you gazed back at the study, the crime scene of your recent emotional storm. Ten minutes had passed since you fled, yet the memory of Cadmus's patient eyes still haunted you. His calm demeanor had only amplified your own sense of turmoil, making you feel like a wild, untamed creature, ranting without reason.

The more you argued, the more you felt like a ship lost at sea, helpless and adrift. And now, as you stood there, unsure of what had sparked your ire, a single thought echoed through your mind.

Why do you love me so? How could someone as flawed as I be worthy of your unwavering devotion? Just then, strong arms enveloped you, and your body surrendered to their warmth, melting into the embrace like a flower yielding to the sun.

Your heart ached to hide in the sanctuary of his chest, to escape the turmoil that had taken hold. But the words you'd spoken couldn't be unsaid, and the weight of your own doubts and fears had already condemned this love to ruin. You were a tangled web of emotions, a mess of contradictions, and it seemed the only way to untangle the knot was to sever the threads that bound you together.

Yet, as you opened your mouth to repeat the words that would drive him away, "Say one more thing about breaking up, I dare you," Cadmus's whispered challenge caressed your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. The gentle menace in his voice was a spark that reignited the flame of your desire.

"Without you, my existence is a hollow shell, a mere whisper of a life unlived," Cadmus's said, his words a gentle caress to your soul. He turned you to face him, and took your hand, pressing it against his chest. "Can you feel our bond?" he murmured, his voice soft and husky. "A connection forged in the depths of our souls, a union that has spanned lifetimes, not just mere years?" The warmth of his touch seeped into yours.

As his words pierced the veil of your soul, you finally found the courage to meet his gaze. Cadmus's vermilion eyes, like two burning embers, blazed with a depth of longing, remorse, and love that left you breathless. The raw emotions that danced in their depths were a siren's call, drawing you in with an otherworldly allure.

Your hands trembled as you reached out to cradle his face, as if tracing the contours of a divine sculpture. "You are too beautiful for me," you whispered, the words tumbling out like a confession, a truth you'd long kept hidden. The beauty that shone from within him, a radiance that illuminated every dark corner of your heart, had captivated you, body and soul.

#ask #lovely anon #prompt #Cadmus × MC #as requested. hope you enjoyed this little drabble #unedited.#Also I didn't.... buuuuuuutttttt since you asked so nicely #i couldn't refuse. 😋

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samanthamulder · 1 year

Photo

BETTER CALL SAUL — 6.13 Saul Gone, dir. Peter Gould | DP: Marshall Adams

#better call saul #tv #bcs6 #*#and that- completes number three for me. <3 #can't believe it's over. AGAIN!?!#shoutout to the 5 people who always cared to look at and reblog these :') i never expected a pat on the back because-#-these are unedited screencaps and i don't even arrange them in any way. it's just chronological.#but it's nice to see that someone enjoyed it nonetheless <3 #*bcsrewatch

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ladydragonkiller · 1 year

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i should have gone to bed hours ago but instead i wrote 3000 words (gaily) to finish up this 6 month old project

anyways in celebration of the new rusalka and the shepherd girl video here's this!

#the forgetmenauts #my writing #i hope people like this #it's completely unedited rn #so pleas be nice

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legendzjagz · 1 year

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Okay so I saw art on here the other day of Deku leaning over a casket with bakugou in it, in his hero uniform. And it inspired this fic. I wrote this in like an hour - it’s not edited, sorry.

FOUND THE ART - beautiful bkdk art by Bleedingivorydraws

You can also blame @z-mizcellaneous-z because we had a quick little idea abt a super angsty fic so they put me in the mood. *no worries bestie! I’m just joking around. I love you! /plat and I’m kinda thankful for getting this out!

Also, please get tissues ready when reading this cuz I fucking was sobbing writing it.

Still The Wonder Duo

“Remember when we were little and we had planned to become heroes together? We would play heroes all day long. You’d always wanna be All Might and you would let me be All Might too. It was nice when we would switch who was All Might. But even on days when I was All Might I still looked at you; still followed your lead. You were my hero even then. You were so overwhelming to watch, but I could never look away.

“I remember when we got our All Might trading cards too. I was so happy we’d gotten the same one. I knew we’d be together forever because that’s how little kids' brains work. We got the same card at the same time and it proved that destiny was real.”

Izuku sniffles and eyes shift to the card currently laying visible under black and orange gloved hands. Izuku’s own hands cover a majority of them and he can barely see the blood on the corner.

“Destiny is a bitch.” He whispers to himself and shakes his head trying to quell the still steady flowing tears down his cheeks. “You think you’ll get All Might to sign it wherever you both go? You know he will.”

Deku swallows tightly, lump in his throat, but he refuses to start sobbing. He needs to have clear enough eyes right now. Needs to keep soaking in blonde hair, the angles of pale skin, the new scar covering the right side of a face he’s known since they were children. Take in the sharp point of a nose and the curve of lips he’s only recently discovered the taste of; he reaches to cradle the cool sharp jaw of his childhood best friend in his palm. His other hand grips tightly to black and orange gloves, placed over a nonmoving stomach.

“We didn’t even get to go on a date yet.” He wishes red eyes would snap open at this confession and Kacchan would glare at him tightly and grumble: “all the good places got destroyed, shitty nerd. But let’s ditch these fuckers and i’lll make something back at the dorms before the extras show up and ruin it”.

Izuku would have laughed and used OFA to get them back to the dorms. They’d get to the kitchen and Kacchan would have him start cutting vegetables for whatever meal he’d make for him. And then yell at Deku when he didn’t like the cuts he’d make. He imagines Kacchan would wrap his arms around him, hands placed over his own to guide him in a demonstration of proper cutting and chopping techniques. And once Izuku would have completed his task he’d have sat on the counter next to the stove while Kacchan cooked for them - stealing as many kisses as he could. Then they’d move to eat at the island, ankles wrapped around the other. He’d try to steal Kacchan’s food, and they’d argue that it was the same food in each bowl. But Izuku would want Kacchan’s because Kacchan’s food was always better. He’d have those wonderful, bright, red eyes on him again. He’d have been happy just to see the intensity of Kacchan’s eyes bare into his soul for one last time. He would have -

“Kacchan - ” Izuku chokes on his next breath, because its a vision of a life they won’t have anymore. One he’ll never have again. Because the person he’s supposed to share his life with is lying before him in a casket. For someone so lively in life it's terrifying and wrong to see him so still. “Kacchan - “ He chokes again, chest tight and constricting. The tears are coming in stronger.

He rests his chin on his bicep. It’s an awkward angle, but he needs to be able to breathe in the caramel, smoke and sweat of Kacchan’s orange jacket without moving his eyes away from his face.

Izuku had been sitting outside the dorms with Kacchan, enjoying one of the last nights before they were sent out to fight. The late may nighttime air had turned chilly and Izuku had just about to suggest they head inside when Kacchan shucked off his favorite orange jacket and draped it over Izuku’s visibly shivering shoulders.

“But what about you?” He’d asked.

Kacchan had shrugged, “I run hot,”

Izuku hid a smile into the collar and breathed in deep. “Kacchan gave me his jacket.”

“Yeah, well,” He’d rolled his eyes, like it didn’t matter but Izuku could just make out a blush across Kacchan’s cheeks, “Don’t expect it everytime, Deku.”

“Okay.” He giggled into the coat.

Kacchan had rolled his eyes again, then lifted his nearest arm. Deku had taken the invitation and scooted the half a foot over to curl up into Kacchan’s chest.

“After all this is over, I’m going to date you so damn hard.”

“You can’t make dating into a competition, Kacchan?”

“Fucking watch me.”

“I already do.”

Kacchan had huffed in embarrassment, but Izuku knew he liked it. He shifted up in his hold and kissed what he could reach - the edge of Kacchan’s jaw. Kacchan of course didn’t think that was enough and had turned his head to press his lips firmly to Izuku’s. Izuku had felt like he was in heaven; the happiest he’d felt in a long time.

Now he’s struggling to find those kernels of happiness as the body under his hands remains cold.

“I wish giving you your jacket back would make you warm again. But I know your pride won’t let you take it back.”

Izuku stares at Katsuki Bakugou and studies his features till his breathing has returned to a relatively normal pace and the tears are no longer destroying his image of victory.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there.

But he knows it’s not long enough.

“Izuku,” A hand appears on his shoulder and Deku jumps and turns to look into a grey and blue eye. Shoto. Next to him stands Kirishima, his own red eyes - not the red that Izuku is desperate to see though - are filled with unshed tears. “It’s time to go, Izuku.”

Fear rises up quickly in his chest and he chokes once more on his breath, “What?” He turns to look at Kacchan, waiting to see an eyes roll and for him to tell them both to ‘fuck off’ till he was ready. But all that remains is a peacefully blank expression. “But… but…” He can feel the panic rise, “It hasn’t been long enough. We only just got here… we can’t…”

“Izuku,” Shoto squeezes his shoulder, “It’s been 5 hours.”

“NO.” Izuku shakes his head. He can’t look away from Kacchan. He has to be with him. Screw Kacchan’s pride, Izuku will walk with him till they get to his resting place. “No, it’s not time. I can’t leave him.”

“We have to go, Midobro.” Kirishima sniffles. “They have to take him back.”

“They can’t have him,” He growls and shoots his friends a glare so sharp he sees them take a tentative step back. Good. His eyes go back to Kacchan.

He hears shifting next to him, Shoto’s hands leave his shoulders; but he doesn’t look away. Trying to memorize blonde hair and how it sits just so, the way it felt to hold Kacchan’s cheek, the arch of eyebrows when doing something stupid, the way pink would tinge across his nose when Izuku would stare too long. He wants to see it now.

“Midoriya, It’s time to go.” A new voice says.

“No.”

“Midoriya, I will lift you out of here. Let’s not make a scene.”

“I don’t care. I can’t just leave him. He promised.”

“Promised what?”

Izuku can feel the tears welling up again, throat tightening and his words are voiced just above a whisper, “That we’d do this together. Side by side. He promised.”

“Okay, okay.” The new voice soothes, “He will always be with you. No matter what. He’ still with you, tied to your soul. So it’s okay to leave; because he has never left you.”

Izuku is surprised at the words and turns to look to his left to see Aizawa-sensei squatting near his knee. His eyes are red and not from quirk use. They shine like he just put eye drops in. “Sensei,” Izuku whispers.

“Come on, Midoriya. One more goodbye.”

Izuku gasps and turns back to Kacchan. Goodbye? No. no no no no no. he can’t say goodbye. It’s not time yet. They stil have so much they need to do.

He didn’t realize he was shaking his head and muttering until Aizawa places a hand on his knee, “You have to. It’s time.”

“NO!” He shouts. He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t -

“We can do this the hard way or you can walk out of here on your own.”

He doesn’t remember what he answers, just tries to touch Kacchan one more time. Maybe he tried to wake him? Maybe he tried to kiss ice cold lips one last time. Tries to run his fingers through golden hair onc last time. But one second he’s sitting and the other he’s benign held tight to Aizawa’s chest and carried away from Kacchan.

“Kacchan!!” He screeches, tyring to see past Aizawa’s shoulder. “NO! No you can’t make me leave him! He can’t leave yet!!”

He tries to push away, but he’d been pretty week from the fighting and hadn’t been eating much since the final battle. He was weak. Kacchan would be so mad at him. Well he’s mad at him too.

“YOU PROMISED!” He yells, tears are flowing freely now, blurring his vision, “You fucking promised we do this together! You’re not allowed to leave me! You hear me! Please!!”

They’re getting further away, kacchan drifting farther away from him. He can make out other people on the edge of his peripheral; but they don’t matter. No else matter right now..

“Take me back! You can’t leave me! Kacchan please! Please please please! You’re mine they can’t have you!”

He cries and tries to escape Aizawa’s hold but his hold is too tight. Izuku gets one last glance at Kacchan’s bright blonde hair and fitted in his hero suit - looking as gorgeous as ever. As beautiful as he should be as Izuku’s symbol of victory. And then they turn a corner and he’s gone.

“NO!” He screeches once more, “Kacchan! Kacchan Kacchan Kacchan - “ He cries. He sobs. He can’t do this without him. It hurts without him. They were supposed to do this together.

“It’s going to be okay, Midoriya. It’s going to be okay.” Aizawa tries to soothe him.

“Kacchan - “ Izuku sobs into his Sensei’s shoulder. He can only say the name of his future. He thinks of what could have been. Sobs for the person who should be holding him currently. Sobs for his closest person. Sobs for a boy who was gone too soon; for a boy who was only just coming into himself.

Izuku passes out against Aizawa’s shoulder, Kacchan’s name on his lips.

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