okay let’s make this clear: elizabeth swann didn’t do shit for will in potc3. first, she was there to save jack and then she was there to avenge her father’s death. will wasn’t her motivation, she didn’t become pirate king to save him, she didn’t trade jack with will thinking of some past offence done to will. she was there to fight a war against the man WHO KILLED HER OWN FATHER. she was there to fight for freedom and for piracy. those are things that literally happened. saying that all elizabeth ever wanted was to be with will is just plain ridiculous seeing how they spent the entirety of potc3 with other priorities and hiding shit from each other. and that trend didn’t even start in awe, mind you.
hell if you want to bring dmc into this, let’s have it. the entirety of that movie is ABOUT their desires and being a good man vs a pirate. that movie represents a huge step for elizabeth in terms of character development and she spent the majority of the time away from will.
so what are we left with? cotbp? sure, elizabeth started it out looking for will, trying to save will, but as her character development progressed, she found out she was a pirate, then a pirate lord and finally a pirate king and all those titles happened FAR AWAY from will.
You should Write a Fanfic, where Lance has a fever and he’s a bit delirious. In the middle of the night he get up to do something (idk, you tell me. Maybe he thinks it’s a different time of day) and Shiro (who never gets any sleep) comes across lance attempting to do whatever he got up for. Shiro then finds out Lance has a fever and coaxes Lance into bed, but Lance will only go to sleep if Shiro sleeps with him (not sexually, just like, in the same bed) Yeh. Idk add a panicky Shiro or something.
Lance bolted up, frantically looking around. His room was dark and empty. Empty. He let out a soft sob. They had left him, his team…the people he had trusted with his life, they’d left him. He pushed the covers off his lap, cold hitting him like a ton of bricks. He shivered and stumbled out of his room, he leaned against the wall. Water and pain. Those were the only two things on his mind, he needed water, his head pounded, his throat was dry. He slowly made his way down the hall, fighting the black around his vision.
Thanks for doing the fundraising drive, Sam, I hope it goes well! I was donation "random word: outstanding." I headcanon Steve as panromantic asexual and, if you're into it, I'd love to see a few words about that because no one writes ace fic. Otherwise anything upbeat, really. Thanks again!
Oooh, a challenge! Hope this is okay,
I know asexual covers a lot of different attitudes towards sex. And that you’re ok with Steve/Tony.
“So…no sex at all?”
Steve grinned at Clint, who was looking perplexed. “No, Clint. No sex at all.”
“You don’t even want to?”
“Not especially. I’m always surprised other folks do. I used to think it was a joke,” Steve said.
“But you date people,” Clint said. “You’re dating Tony Stark.”
“Indeed I am.”
“And you dated Sharon Carter for like two minutes, right?” Clint’s eyes widened. “Was it because of the – “
“No,” Steve said.
“Really? She was cool with it?”
“Shockingly,” Steve said deadpan. Clint took the hint.
“Sorry, that was rude.”
“It’s fine. Sharon and I broke up for other reasons.”
Silence fell. Steve glanced at Clint over his breakfast cereal.
“You can ask,” he said, and he almost wasn’t done speaking before Clint blurted,
“Is TONY okay with it?”
“Tony is fine with it. What you fail to realize, Binocular Brain,” Tony said, walking into the kitchen with an empty mug, “is that I am forty-five, not twenty-five, so if he did want sex I’d barely be able to keep up anyway. Besides, I have two perfectly good hands.”
“They’re very nice,” Steve added.
“Thank you, I think so.” Tony poured out a cup of coffee, added just enough milk to cool it to drinkable temperature, and slurped down half of it. “Clint, what relationship advice would you give someone who is having a compatibility issue with their partner?”
Clint considered his, stirring his cereal. “I dunno. Find ways to make it work, I suppose,” he said.
“And is that likely to easier or more difficult when it’s an emotional issue rather than a physical one?” Tony continued, leaning against Steve’s shoulder.
“Fine, you got me, physical workarounds are probably easier,” Clint grumbled, but he sounded good-natured about it.
“Run along, Mom and Dad have stuff to talk about,” Tony said. “Go google asexual, then go google panromantic. For good measure, google bisexual Tony Stark.”
“Keep safesearch on when you do!” Steve called after him, as Clint cleared out. “What do we have to talk about?”
“Mostly what you want to do today. I think we should go to the Met, look at some art, and then not have sex,” Tony said brightly. Steve leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.
A/N: I am planning on making this into a series, since the idea gave me a really good inspiration and I really like the plot. That’s why this is short hehe. Hope you enjoy this part one. I’m starting tag lists as well, so if you would like to be added just ask and tell me what tag you want to be in. That’s all. Thank you!
Request: Could you do one where Will (strangers things) meets a girl out in the woods near his home who is like El except she can control dreams and emotions. She helps will and he ends up falling for her???? Please, I love you
Pairing: Will Byers x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 676
It had been a year since the entire incident. A year since the small town of Hawkins, Indiana, was targeted by what the small group of people involved called “the demogorgon”.
You were one of them. One of the innocent kids taken away from their parents and forced to work at Hawkins Lab for the cruel people there.
But, you had escaped. You had made it out. Alive, too. You weren’t the first either. Numbers Eleven had run away from the lab some weeks ago, out of nowhere.
The crew of course, panicked, as they claimed, and sent out search parties. No results. She was nowhere to be found. No trace of her left.
So, with this “tragedy”, the security at the lab was strengthened. More guards were hired to keep watch day and night. More cameras installed.
It was hopeless, you’d thought, to be able to escape now. Under these circumstances.
Yet, here you were. Sitting on piled up dully colored fall leaves that had fallen from the now bare trees, leaning against the trunk of one.
You sighed, picking at the dried mud on the sole of your shoe with a stick. You had made it out of the hell hole that was a prison the night before, running as fast as you could before the sirens went off.
Being out of breath, and taking notice at how dark the night had been, you’d stopped for the evening. Deciding to take the risk, you found a fair enough hiding spot in the woods, and fell asleep.
Now the following day in early morning, you knew you had to keep going, and get out of there quick. Not just because you were starving and it was a bitter cold out at this time of day, but because of them.
They could easily find you and take you back to the torturing hospital. Getting up, you rushed through the leaves, listening to them crunch under your feet.
| ~ | ~ |
“No, no, no. My plan is better! Our costumes this year are Ghostbusters, that’s the end of that!” Dustin told his three friends, as they walked through the woods by where Will lived.
“I like the idea!” the Byers boy piped up, agreeing with Dustin.
“Thank you, William. See boys, here we have an intellectual!” Dustin said, looking back at Mike and Lucas.
“Ew,” Mike murmured quietly.
“What?” Dustin shot back.
“You called him William. We don’t do that. It’s like calling me Michael.”
“Huh, well maybe I should call you Michael. It’s what you deserve for being a loser.” Dustin joked, letting out a laugh.
“We sure do have the most random conversations,” Lucas rolled his eyes at his friends, continuing to push his bike through the piles of leaves.
| ~ | ~ |
Unaware of this group of rowdy boys wandering through the same area as you, you continued to walk your way around.
The woods were rather large, as you’d found out, and there were even some streams you’d had to cross.
It was sometime in the afternoon, based off the sun’s position in the sky. You were doing okay, along your way finding some edible berries, but you were still extremely hungry.
Your worries disappeared, leaving your thoughts, once you heard the murmured voices not far away. Freezing dead in your tracks you turned your head, fully expecting to see guards running to snatch you away and back to the ugly place.
Instead, your eyes were met with four boys, now only standing a few feet away, staring at you with wide eyes.
“Y-yo-you d-don’t think…” one of them, the one with a cap topped on his curly brown hair, spoke.
“That—That there w-were…” he paused again.
“More of them.” the boy standing next to him, brown hair styled in a bowl cut, answered. Without a single stutter.
“Yes, of course there had to have been. It’s only logic. Eleven wasn’t the only one.”
That is incredibly, incredibly sweet, and thank you so much for that, but honestly? I’m doing really well. We are mind-bogglingly lucky that we’re in a financial position where I can take care of my dad without worrying about money, and we have a good house and great neighbors and dogs that keep my dad entertained pretty reliably. My life is by no means anything to… IDK, worry about.
Don’t get me wrong, it can be hard and it will get harder; my dad’s condition means that eventually he won’t recognize me, his moods will turn sour and unpredictable, and eventually he won’t be able to bathe or dress or feed himself, and I’m going to be there for all of that. And that’s tough. But I did a lot of reading and a lot of thinking about it and I went into this with my eyes wide open. I wouldn’t change anything.
One thing that does worry me, though, is that my generation and those younger than me haven’t really, truly faced is the reality that this is probably gonna happen to you, too. Dementia and cognitive disfunction affect most seniors past the age of 75 or 80, so if your parents live for a good long time, chances are you’re going to have to decide if you’re going to take care of them yourself or if you’re going to find a place that will care for them. And neither choice is easy. And as far as I know none of my friends have had this talk with their folks, despite watching me deal with my dad.
So maybe I’ll take this opportunity to advise all my beautiful people reading this: talk to your parents, and your grandparents. Talk to your aunts and uncles and relatives who don’t have offspring who can care for them in their old age. Find out if they have a living will, if they’re DNR, if they’re organ donors, if they want to stay with you when they get old, if they want to go to a nursing facility near you or near a relative. Find out what kind of resources they have squared away and what you can contribute—because odds are you will have to contribute in some way to their care. Start these conversations now, even if your parents are only in their 50s, or 40s, or 30s. Even if you think you’re way too young to talk about this, you still have to talk about this.
Because I watched my mom die, and I now take care of my dad who can’t turn on the TV without help, and I didn’t get a choice about when either of those things happened. You won’t, either.
The human body has many parts, but the many parts make up one whole body. So it is with the body of Christ. —1 Corinthians 12:12
You are not in competition with that woman who is flourishing in the gifts that God has given her. You are not any less than the believer who seems to already know exactly what God has called him to do. We are all members of the body of Christ and we are not in a race against one another. God is shaping you in this very moment to be apart of what He’s doing too, even if you don’t feel as equipped, prepared, or worthy as everyone else.
You are just as important to God’s family as any well known pastor, speaker, artist, or anyone you look up to. Yes, God calls people to lead, and we should respect our leaders, but not to the point that we think less of ourselves and what God has called us to do. It’s not only the job of the leaders to encourage the discouraged. It’s not only famous Christian leaders who are responsible for making Christ’s name known. Yes, we all have roles within the body, but ultimately, sharing the Gospel is on all of us.
Hold onto this. The enemy loves to remind us why we are not qualified to serve the Lord. He loves to remind us that even though we have been forgiven and that we are strengthened by the Holy Spirit to do whatever God has called us to do, our shortcomings will eventually catch up to us. He wants us to see ourselves as imposters and not as children of God who have been saved by grace.
But you don’t have to believe those lies. You also don’t have to know exactly what your skills and talents are to begin to use your gifts for the glory of the Lord. Read through 1 Corinthians 12:8-10 and let God speak to your heart. Ask the Holy Spirit to guide and strengthen you to step out on faith when it comes to how you serve Him. You don’t have to have a how-to plan written down on paper to start serving the Lord over the next day, week, or month. Make it your priority to be intentional about trusting God to open doors for you if you continue to let Him lead you!
Written by @morganhnichols for #TheDevoCo
so I watched season three and immediately had to write reunion fic okay I couldn’t not I had to write soft sheith everywhere it’s all sheith in my head so have some reunion fic dammit I need to go lie down. also here is a song to go with this fic the title made me cry
if I should return
The smoke cleared, wisps of it floating up to the ceiling. Keith wiped at his forehead, soot smearing over his cheek and forehead. His blade reverted. Beyond him, sentries sprawled, spewing electricity and cracking bits of metal.
“This floor is cleared,” Keith said. “Moving on to the next floor. Pidge?”
“Looks good from my end. You should have a straight shot to the next area without too many enemies.” Beneath Pidge’s explanation was the quiet beep of data being transferred. “You sure about this?”
“No,” Keith said as he jogged to the door, slapping his hand against it.