So for context, I was joining a campaign run by my friend later into the story, and my two other friends, an elf and a… some relgious nut (can’t remember race, so we’ll call them R), were just meeting me in game.

DM: So, you guys see this weird dwarf fellow, who’s just sitting near all the homeless people, and he seems to be quite cheerful?
R: Well, let’s go meet him!
(I go and introduce myself, and ask if I could join their quest.)
Elf: Sure, why not? *rolls eyes*
Me: Great! Hold on though, I gotta stack some of these magnificent rocks.
R: What?
DM: *sighs* Fine. Roll… I don’t know, roll dexterity or something.
Me: *rolls an 18*
DM: Well, you build the most magnificent stack of rocks, and it’s so beautiful people CRY.
Me: Great, we can be o-
DM: But wait, it seems like an orc is upset with your sculpture and decides to smash it.
DM: The orc smashed your sculpture.
DM: *sigh* Roll for it.
*roll a nat 20*
Me: Great, let’s go.

End of Message - 13x07 coda, 500 words, Angst

“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“Hey Cas, just checkin’ in. Wondering if you’ve got anything new yet on this ‘interesting lead.’ Lemme know. You, uh, I dunno. You sounded kinda weird before.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“Cas, hey, it’s me. Listen, I know it’s only been a couple hours, but look, Sammy and I don’t have much on our end, here. I’d feel better if we were on this together. Just… yeah, just call when you get this.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“‘Kay, c’mon man. Tryin’ real hard not to feel like the girl stood up for prom, here. At least text or something. Gimme one of those dumbass emojis.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“Damnit, Cas, answer your damn phone.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“Okay, we’re comin’ up on two days now, man. I – I thought. . . fuck.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore, Cas. I thought we had a rule now. You weren’t gonna go takin’ off on us – on me, man – and tryin’ to do it all alone. C’mon.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s goin’ on, okay, I don’t know what kind of crap you’re getting into here. But listen, seriously, I don’t care. I don’t care if shit’s hit the fan and I don’t care if you think it’s your fault. I don’t care if it actually is your fault. Call me back, man. Let me help. We… Cas, we had a rule.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“Okay, so what the fuck was that then, the other night, huh? Fuck.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“I’m sorry. I know what it was. I know you. It’s not in you to lie to my face about this, just to – to get in my pants or whatever. But Cas, man, I also know that you carry the damn world on your shoulders, and you think that you always have to clean up your own messes, but I swear to god, Cas, you don’t have to. You think it’s still your job to keep us out of it all, and keep us safe, and protect me and Sam. But it doesn’t work like that, Cas. We protect each other. I’ve been saying that for years. And if you think that’s gonna change now, after –”

“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“Friggin’ answering machine. Look, Cas, you’re either in it so deep you think I’ll get hurt if I try to dig you out, or – or… fuck, Cas. I can’t do this again.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“Cas. Please pick up.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“I can’t do it again, man. You can’t be de – gone again, you just can’t.”


“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.”

“I won’t survive that again.”

Operation Henderson and Harrington Pt. 5 ~ Mini-Series

Summary: The kids take it upon themselves to test their matchmaking skills. With a little help, they form a plot to get you and Steve together by Halloween.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x (Henderson!You) Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Language! Mostly from Dustin.

A/N: HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO YOU ALL!!!!! Here is the moment you have all been waiting for!

Part One ~ Part Two ~ Part Three ~ Part Four ~ Part Five ~ Part Six (Coming Soon)


Phase Six of Operation Henderson and Harrington: Get Y/N and Steve to see each other.

Your feet were killing you. The red heels were a horrible idea and you couldn’t help but wonder if you could just sit on every porch that you saw. How could anyone wear heels for such long periods of time? You couldn’t figure it out!

Despite the discomfort, you were having a lot of fun. El and Max seemed so carefree as they ran up to every single house, skipping and laughing as they moved around with their arms locked together. El kept offering you pieces of candy but you insisted that she keep it for herself. This was her first Halloween where she was able to relax and be a kid, and you just knew she was loving every minute.

You couldn’t help but wonder when you’d be running into the boys and Steve. You had been trick or treating for over an hour now and there hadn’t been one sighting.

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Fireproof (extra blurb)

(No one asked for this but it happened. You’re on your period and Shawn wants to help ease your cramps.)

You had been off all evening. Dinner didn’t seem that appealing. Every way you sat snuggled against Shawn wasn’t comfortable during the movie he picked out for the two of you to watch on your laptop. Not even when Shawn wrapped his tail around your middle while he held you close was comfortable. It seemed no matter what you did, nothing would relieve the grip of the cramps in your lower stomach.

Shawn noticed early on. The way you were grumping, frowning and clearly uncomfortable. He tried his best with snuggling and wrapping his tail around you which usually put you in a good mood. But nothing was working. He waited to say anything until the two of you were getting ready for bed. And when he did…well…“You smell weird.” isn’t what you thought he was going to say. 

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i first heard about anchorites on “Stuff You Missed In History Class,” where the host says, “if you were a weird, introverted woman living in the middle ages, you kind of had this cool option of voluntary seclusion available to you”. but really, how attention seeking do you need to be to make everyone celebrate your own funeral before you’re even dead and then transition into a lifestyle that designates you as a spiritual advisor


Title: Casts

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak x Native American!Reader

Type: Platonic | Romantic | Familial | Other

Warnings: OOOF, internalised homophobia but it’s very mild, eddie’s mother is really fucking racist, profanity, racial slurs (r*dskin, t*mber).

Dedicated To: @nativelittleone ❤️❤️❤️

Summary: Eddie doesn’t trust your medicine. His mother doesn’t trust you. In the end, all you can trust is each other.

Your relationship with Eddie Kaspbrak was… complicated, to say the least.

It took a very long while for the both of you to realise that the lingering touches and an understanding of each other that ran deeper than blood wasn’t normal for most friendships, but since that realisation, you’d been physically, mentally and figuratively trapped.

For one, you almost thought it weird, because he’d been your best friend since that day in first grade when you’d nudged him with your foot and asked to borrow a pencil. He’d stared at you, mouth not working, until he blurted out in a panic, “germs spread through contact!” and turned back around so fast you were pretty sure he got whiplash.

(The next day you found a red pencil on your desk, sharpened to a point, and Eddie didn’t catch your eye for the whole morning.)

And now, as you held him firm by the shoulders in Neibolt House as he sobbed and wriggled in your grasp, you figured that no, you and Eddie could not just be friends.

“Eddie! Hey, hey, Eds, look at me!” you coaxed, fingers rubbing small circles on his shoulders in the way he liked until his breathing slowed from sharp bursts of fear and pain to whimpers that trembled in his throat, and he looked up at you with tearful eyes, then mournfully back at his arm, bent in a way arms really should not be, and your throat tightened.

“My - my arm,” he managed to choke out.

You glanced around frantically, gaze catching your rucksack half-slunk in shadows, lost in the scrabble with IT.

“Richie!” you called. The bespectacled boy perked up immediately. “My rucksack.”

Quiet for once, he slid the bag over the dusty floor toward you, and you ripped it open and began to riffle through it. Your hands brushed books and papers and gum sticks, deodorant and water bottles and keys until you found what you were looking for.

You drew out the small red box and set it down, opening it to reveal the interior, uncomfortably aware of how all your friends leant forward slightly to catch a glimpse, and the way Eddie’s eyes dilated by a tenfold.

“W-what is all that stuff?” he squeaked as you began to sort through it - tubes of thick, pale pastes, tubs of ground herbs and oils, and vials of dark-looking oils that clinked together softly as you pushed them aside.

“Medicine.” You glanced up at him. “Real medicine, Eds, not any of your placebo crap.”

“Placebo…?” Eddie mouthed silently, growing more confused and frightened by the second. Your hands ghosted over plastic and glass containers, searching for what you were looking for - and you seemed to find it finally, holding up a lip-balm-sized tub full of a dense, white paste sprinkled with greenish-black specks. Eddie recoiled from it with a squeak as you unscrewed the top.

“Y/n-” he caught himself before his fright caused him to say something possibly offensive. “I’d - I mean, my fanny pack’s only over there-”

You caught his tone immediately, much as he tried to disguise it. “Eds.” You caught his hand gently. He was shaking. “I know our medicine is…different. But it works, I swear. I’ve been using it my entire life - do I look infected, or dying to you?”

Eddie bit back his retort - not all infected people look infected, just ask people with AIDS - and instead caught his lip and shook his head tightly.

You smiled and scooped up a slim dose of the paste, going for the small cut that split his smooth skin in a jagged path down his forearm. Eddie hissed at the touch of the stuff - it was cold and oily, like the Vick his mother used to smother his chest in every night that made his nose prickle and his mouth taste of chemicals - and the herby specks felt like lumps in his orange juice (he hated lumps in his orange juice.)

“The paste hardens,” you explained absently as you continued to paint white over the red. “And when it cracks, that means it’s safe to come off. I guess it’s like a - a band-aid, except cleaner.”

“Cleaner?” Eddie echoes weakly, desperately seeking affirmation that the thin covering of white paste on his arm wasn’t about to infect his cut further, and at your nod, visibly relaxed.

You put the lid back on the pot and placed it back into the box, before bringing out a thick wad of bandage gauze. “I can’t do much with your arm at the moment - I’d probably only hurt it more, so I’ll just string it up ‘till you can see as doctor, alright, Eds?”

Your voice was so soothing, so tender, that fo a moment he forgot he was supposed to nod. When he did, you. Very gently set about your task - but now that the pain was ebbed somewhat, and his fear of becoming infected and dying had retreated back into his gut sullenly, he was suddenly aware of how very close you were, how he could feel your breath ghost hot over his skin with one of your lips caught in your teeth in concentration, and how your hands skimmed ever-so-slightly over his skin, ghosting over the sore bones, light like the kiss of a moth’s wing.

Finally, you knotted the makeshift sling as his shoulder, which Eddie rolled experimentally. The gauze seemed thick, perhaps denser than most bandages, and it felt comfortable holding his arm. Letting out a breath he wasn’t conscious he was holding, Eddie tried for a tiny smile of thanks, which you returned tenfold as you stuffed your kit back into your rucksack.

“Can we get the fuck out of this house now?” Richie chimed in from somewhere behind you. Eddie felt too drained to do anything but release a breathy chuckle as he stumbled to his feet - watching the way he swayed uncertainly, your hand shot out to fasten over his elbow, steadying his feet and bringing a tide of red to the contours of his face.

You didn’t let go of him until you were out off Neibolt Street, not until you saw the car speed recklessly round the corner and brake to a stop. Feeling Eddie’s mother’s glare through her windshield, you dropped Eddie’s hand like it burned suddenly, and he didn’t have time to do anything but throw you a guilty look before his mother was ambling furiously out of her car and storming toward them.

“Ah, fuck,” Richie whispered beside you

“You!” she seemed to yell at the seven of you as a whole as he caught her son by his uninjured arm. “You did this! You know how delicate he is!”

“W-w-we were attacked, M-Mrs K-“ Bill chimed in nervously, but Miss Kaspbrak rounded on him, thick finger pointed accusingly.

“No! You are all monsters!” Her eyes finally found the gauze already supporting Eddie’s arm, and her eyes popped. She seemed to shake as she saw took it in. “What - what - what is this?” She yanked hard at the knot, prompting a pained cry from Eddie as his broken arm was pulled. Anger flared in your chest, hot and white. “Who put this - on my son-“ she seemed to choke on her own rage, crazed eyes flying from loser to loser before landing on you. “You.”

You swallowed. “Mrs K-“

“I might have known,” Eddie’s mother breathed accusingly, her voice soaked with hatred. “Oh yes, I know all about you, L/n. I’ve seen your family, the stupid redskins strolling around town like they belong here. What did you do to my boy? What poisons did you put in him, you filthy timber?”

There was a pain in your chest such as you had never felt at the vile words she threw at you. Behind her, Eddie was crying in silence, face screwed up to keep the tears that rolled down his cheeks back, and behind you, your friends stood in various states of shock and anger - and silence rang in the street, a silence so thick you wanted to drown in it.

It was difficult to find your voice; it felt like the air had been robbed from your lungs. “M-Miss K, it’s just… just a paste. I’m - I’ve used it a hundred times-“

She crowed derisively. “Of course you have,” was her final, cold sneer before she promptly turned her back and gestured for Eddie to climb into the car. As he did, he wiped the wetness from his cheeks, head hanging at his chest. He didn’t look at you once as his mother climbed in beside him, started the ignition, and sped off down the street.

You swallowed, numbness spreading like a virus from your chest. You started at the soft touch to your arm, but clung to Mike’s gentle hand tightly when you realised it was him.

“You okay?” he asked tenderly - all you could do in response was stammer for five seconds straight before he continued. “It sucks, right? They look at you and see something different, just because…” He gestured to his dark skin, then to you, and your lips trembled as you nodded.

You wondered if you’d ever see Eddie again.


That night you went to sleep cold and woke lonely.

The tapping was what woke you. The constant patter, like long nails on wood drumming a beat into your head, driving through the thick bubble of your slumber to force you into consciousness, and you jerked from your sleep, awake with your heart in your throat.

You turned to the window just in time to see a pebble bounce of the glass, and felt the panic in your chest recede.

Swinging your legs out of bed, you turned the handle of your window and opened it; the night air was cool and prickly as it slid over you, into your bedroom on the ground floor.

Eddie’s face was pale and slanted in the moonlight, but the guilt in his dark eyes glowed brighter than all the stars.

“Hi,” he mumbled. “I, um, can’t stay for long. My mom-“ he broke off, embarrassed, and you noticed his arm. Now in a plaster cast, with your gauze probably at the bottom of a bin, and tried not to feel bitter. “Anyways. I just came to apologise.”

You apologise?” You rested your arms on the sill, frowning. “Why?”

“What my mom said, it was - it was out of order. I should’ve said something, I fucked up, Y/n - I’m sorry,” Eddie stammered.

You sighed. “Eds, I don’t blame you,” you countered softly. “Not one bit, okay?” There was a short silence. “How’s your arm?”

“Hmm? Oh - hurts a little,” Eddie shrugged with a tiny smile, bolder than he felt. “But I’m supposed to sleep it off.”

“Yet here you are, skulking in my bushes,” you teased, and a tide of pink flooded Eddie’s cheeks. He blushed prettily, small and cute like everything else he did.

“Yeah, well, I probably should get back,” he admitted reluctantly. There was a moment - you seemed to both feel it - like a pulse, a lightning strike to both your hearts that seemed to scream dontgodontgodontgo - and then it was over. Eddie broke your locked gazes with a clearing of the throat, and you glanced away, eyes suddenly fascinated with the peeling paint of the window sill.

“See you, Y/n,” Eddie called, somewhat sadly, and began trudging away with stooped shoulders.


You absolutely did not mean to shout his name. What he taken control of you for that split second, you had no clue - but as Eddie whipped round with bright eyes and quivering lips, you knew there was no backing out of it. Clenching your hands into fists, you steeled yourself. Then-

“I love you.”

The boy froze, eyes widening to liken coins. His fists clenched and unclenched, and he felt an odd soaring feeling in his stomach, like a plane had taken flight. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Say it, he ordered himself firmly. Say it already!

“I - I love you too,” he squeaked, before turning back around and beginning to walk away so quickly, he was out of your sight in moments.

He hoped you didn’t hear him taking several huge puffs from his inhaler on the way down the driveway

oh brother

A/n: This was really fun to right for some reason. Anyways, hope you fucking enjoy.

Pairing: Jimin x reader, jungkook x sister! reader. Focus’s more on the brother and sister relationship.

Genre: Angst?? Humor?? I don’t fucking know.

Summary: Jungkook’s reaction to you dating his bestfriend wasn’t the best.

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anonymous asked:

ahhhhhhhhhh i have a few things to say 1) your blog is the most beautiful blend of miraculous ladybug and warriors i'm so happy to find this combo executed so beautifully 2) your art style is so so cute!! omg!!! and 3) YOUR WARRIORS POKEMON TYPE AU IS THE CROSSOVER I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED (you're so good at giving them types and just !!!!!!!!!! my favourite thing ever holy heck) sorry for yelling and excitement and stuff ur blog is just the best :)

aww thank you!!! im still trying to mix more fandoms into this blog ,im gonna do more warriors pokemon type stuff for sure ,its so fun to do ! :> , lol dont worry u actually made me blush a lil jeje

here you go a weird cats au !


Lotus: I just wanted to ask…Do you think it would be weird if I called you Papa too?

Papaya: Oh, Lotus sweetie. That make me very happy.

Lotus: It’s easier than, you know, my uncle but also my dad’s husband. And kinda also my dad. I love mom, but you and dad are my real parents. 

Papaya: Your mother tries her hardest… It was a really messy situation when you were born and you mother…We all wanted what was best for you. And Blossom just thought you would be better with all your family around to support you. 

Lotus: I don’t really get it, but thank you anyways. 

Papaya: We can talk more about it another time. Ready for lunch?

How i (an INTP) see the other types

INTJ: Smart and awkwardly funny guy. I enjoy doing homework with you.

INTP: Quiet and really loud at the same time. We get along pretty well, especially when we decide to do crazy things together.

ENTJ: Cold as fuck but at the same time pretty good at socialize. Like wtf you’re good at everything.

ENTP: You are my favourite type. Cool as hell, black humor bitch and space nerd. I love you.

INFJ: One of my favourite types. I coud do everything with you from debating about life to drink ‘till we are both wasted. Kinda obsessed with utopian society ideas and psychology in general.

INFP: You do some weird shits sometimes. Shy as hell, your mind gets misunderstood pretty often. You’re generally as sweet as a cinnamon roll with your best friends.

ENFJ: Flirty and smart motherfucker who i pretend to hate.

ENFP: Attention whores who i love. Seriously what would i do without my favourite friend to both laugh and cry with? Master of the socializing game but incredibly bad at loving relationships.

ISTJ: Great sense of humor and really nice mate to share a funny evening with. Master of complaining about everything btw.

ISFJ: You’re honestly one of the most quiet types. You have a big heart and this is kinda overwhelming for me. Generally cries a lot.

ESTJ: I honestly don’t get along with you. No offence but you’re too loud and your obsession for control really scares me.

ESFJ: I don’t mind your company. You can be really funny but we have such different point of view and keeping a conversation gets pretty difficult sometimes.

ISTP: I personally can’t have a proper conversation with you because i’m a nerd who loves weird theories and you are good in the pratical stuff.

ISFP: Idk why but you seem to enjoy my company a lot. You’re always fascinated by my ideas and you love my sense of humor. You’re basically a fluffy teddy bear. It’s nice and funny to spend some time with you.

ESTP: Funny people ‘till they start trying to manipulate you.

ESFP: YOU ARE SERIOUSLY ALWAYS ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT EVERYTHING. I have no idea how the hell it is possible but you have thousands of friends. Although you drain every little drop of my energy i love spending time with you.



A Minus - requested by @peargogh

“doing all of your homework diligently, getting all a’s, having a neat and tidy room, practicing self love, but then after a while… you fall into a weird gray area, maybe out of laziness? lowkey depression? negative thoughts, unmade beds, not drinking enough water, ignoring your skincare routine, a reading list that keeps on piling up… and you wanna climb out of it, but a part of you wants to stay there. and this happens on a loop forever and ever.”

want your own playlist?

do you ever realize that you’ve been saying really weird catchphrases during your whole life and know they are from a movie or tv show but can’t really remember the origin and like they don’t make any sense at all and one day you’re like “?????what the fuck I just said. where’s this from”