#2675

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: March 13, 2000

Lyrics:

2 am and the rain is falling

Here we are at the crossroads once again

You're telling me you're so confused

You can't make up your mind

Is this meant to be

You're asking me

But only love can say

Try again or walk away

But I believe for you and me

The sun will shine one day

So I just play my part

Pray you'll have a change of heart

But I can't make you see it through

That's something only love can do

In your arms as the dawn is breaking

Face to face and a thousand miles apart

I've tried my best to make you see

There's hope beyond the pain

If we give enough

If we learn to trust

But only love can say

Try again or walk away

But I believe for you and me

The sun will shine one day

So I just play my part

Pray you'll have a change of heart

But I can't make you see it through

That's something only love can do

I know if I could find the words

To touch you deep inside

You'll give my dreams just one more chance

To let this be our last goodbye

But only love can say

Try again or walk away

But I believe for you and me

The sun will shine one day

That's something only love can do

So I just play my part

Pray you'll have a change of heart

But I can't make you see it through

That's something only love can do

Songwriter:

Brendan Morley / David Froggatt / Graham Bidstrup / Kenneth Miller / Laisa Vulakoro / Michael Hegerty

BandFacts:

👉📖

[albertxylin]

Patient Growth

The painful thing about progress is its speed. It sprouts slowly, And day to day it's sometimes hard to believe that it's growing at all. That doesn't mean you give up. It means keeping your faith, Watering patiently, And taking photos So that years down the line You can look back and see how big the leaves have grown.

[tmt-sketch-a-day]

Sketch a Day 2675-Mustache Kitty- 5/16/23

[harveyphotography]

Tutto qui spira grandezza, gusto, umanità, purezza, e bellezza, nel più alto grado. Credo che sarei più felice qui con voi, che in qualsiasi altro luogo. Ciò è il massimo elogio che io possa fare a questa città. Non so se voi amiate pitture, statue, bronzi, marmi antichi di tutte le qualità. Lo credo, perché lo desidero. - Klemens von Metternich

[pupgrandma2]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Lularoe 2XL Valentina Blouse .

[yoga-onion]

Legends and myths about trees

Ent, Treebeard of Fangorn forest - Tree Guardians in literature

Ents are a species of beings in J. R. R. Tolkien's fantasy world Middle-earth who closely resemble trees. Their leader is Treebeard of Fangorn forest. Their name is derived from an Old English word for "giant".

The Ents appear in The Lord of the Rings as ancient shepherds of the forest and allies of the free peoples of Middle-earth during the War of the Ring. At then, there are no young Ents (Entings) because the Entwives (female Ents) were lost. Akin to Ents are Huorns, whom Treebeard describes as a transitional form of trees which become animated or, conversely, as Ents who grow more "treelike" over time.

The Old Forest, Tolkien's fictional world of Middle-earth, was a terrifying ancient forest beyond the eastern borders of the Shire.

Treebeard, called by Gandalf the oldest living Ent and the oldest living thing that walks in Middle-earth, is described as being around 14 feet (4 m) tall:

A large Man-like, almost Troll-like, figure, at least fourteen foot high, very sturdy, with a tall head, and hardly any neck. Whether it was clad in stuff like green and grey bark, or whether that was its hide, was difficult to say. At any rate the arms, at a short distance from the trunk, were not wrinkled, but covered with a brown smooth skin. The large feet had seven toes each. The lower part of the long face was covered with a sweeping grey beard, bushy, almost twiggy at the roots, thin and mossy at the ends. But at the moment the hobbits noted little but the eyes. These deep eyes were now surveying them, slow and solemn, but very penetrating.

Tolkien called the collection of such writings a legendarium (legend space, legend system).

During most of his own life conservationism was not yet on the political agenda, and Tolkien himself did not directly express conservationist views—except in some private letters, in which he tells about his fondness for forests and sadness at tree-felling. In later years, a number of authors of biographies or literary analyses of Tolkien conclude that during his writing of The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien gained increased interest in the value of wild and untamed nature, and in protecting what wild nature was left in the industrialised world.

Nearly 100 years after Tolkien's time, the destruction of forests, trees and nature continues unabated. Moreover, because of the historical background, I could not believe my eyes when I saw several WWI war photography in his biography. The clothing, background and even the tactics are almost identical to the ongoing war photos. The only difference appears to be in black and white or colour.

It is obvious that human society has made little progress in more than 100 years. In the face of the whole universe, a century is probably just a fraction of a second. Alternatively, there is a good chance that what we think of as evolution may actually be degeneration.

After all, it may just be a bunch of half-monkeys who are conceited and not knowing their places. We should realise this and learn from other creatures who do not go against nature. Don't get caught up in what you can see, but don't forget that there are things you can't see.

木にまつわる伝説・神話

エント、ファンゴルンの森の木の髭 〜 文学における樹木の守護者 

エントは、J・R・R・トールキンのファンタジー世界 "中つ国 "に登場する樹木によく似た生き物で、彼らのリーダーはファンゴルンの森の木の髭である。彼らの名前は古代の英語で "巨人 "を意味する言葉に由来する。

エントは『指輪物語』に森の古代の羊飼いとして登場し、指輪戦争では中つ国の自由民の味方となる。指輪戦争当時、エント女たちが行方不明になったため、若いエントたちは存在しない。エントたちに似ているのはヒューンで、木の髭は、樹木が生気を帯びるようになる過渡的な形態、あるいは逆に、時が経つにつれて「樹木らしく」成長するエントたちと表現している。

トールキンの架空の中つ国の世界である古い森は、シャイアの東の国境を越えた恐ろしい古代の森だった。

ガンダルフに "最古のエント "と呼ばれ、中つ国を歩く最古の生物とされる木の髭は、身長約14フィート (4メートル): 

トロールに近い大きな人間のような姿で、少なくとも14フィートの高さがあり、非常に頑丈で、頭が高く、首がほとんどない。緑や灰色の樹皮のようなものをまとっているのか、それともそれが皮なのかはわからない。いずれにせよ、幹から少し離��たところにある腕にはしわはなく、茶色の滑らかな皮膚で覆われていた。大きな足には7本の指があった。長い顔の下部は、根元は小枝のようにふさふさで、両端は細く苔むした灰色のひげで覆われていた。しかし、そのときホビットたちが注目したのは目だけだった。その深い瞳は、ゆっくりと、荘厳に、しかし非常に鋭く、ホビットたちを観察していた。

トールキンはこのような書き物の総体を『レジェンダリウム (伝説空間、伝説体系) 』と呼んでいた。

トールキン自身は、自然保護主義的な考えを直接表明することはなかったが、いくつかの私的な手紙の中で、森林を愛し、伐採を悲しむ気持ちを語っている。後年、トールキンの伝記や文学分析の著者の多くが、『指輪物語』の執筆中��、トールキンは野生の手つかずの自然の価値や、工業化された世界に残された野生の自然を保護することへの関心を高めたと結論づけている。

トールキンが生きた時代からおよそ100年近くすぎた現在でも、森や樹木、自然破壊は延々と続いている。さらに、その時代背景から、いくつかの第一次大戦中の戦争写真を彼の伝記の中に目にして、思わず目を疑った。服装、背景、戦術すら現在進行中の戦争写真とほぼ同一だ。白黒かカラーの違いだけに見える。

100年以上経っても、人間社会はほとんど進歩していないことがわかる。森羅万象を前には、100年という単位などほんの一瞬なのだろう。あるいは、進化したつもりが、実は退化している可能性も十分にある。

所詮は、半分猿の身の程しらずな人間たちが得意になっているだけなのかもしれない。それに早く気づいて自然に逆らわない他の生物を見習うべきだ。自分の視界に見えるものだけにとらわれず、目に見えないものの存在を忘れずに。

[exotic-indians]

[english-history-trip]

More adventures in manuscript hunting

So I've got two depictions of Philippa of Hainault here from different editions of Froissart's Chronicles. They show the badass moment I was unaware of when she rallied the troops on horseback before the Battle of Neville's Cross against the Scots.

The first one is very pretty and detailed, but clearly way out of date (the artist of this edition puts 15th century Burgundian fashion on everybody.) The second one is simpler, but may have been produced closer to Philippa's lifetime (none of these have a date, other than some time between 1350 and 1450). Also, she's kinda warlike and fired up, even riding astride instead of sidesaddle.

So the question is:

[dogstomp]

Dogstomp #2675 - May 1st

Patreon / Twitter / Discord Server

[blogpopular]

Anjo Número 2675: Significado, Mensagem e Impacto em Sua Vida

O Anjo Número 2675 carrega uma mensagem poderosa e cheia de significado que pode transformar sua vida. Este número é frequentemente interpretado como um sinal de orientação espiritual e apoio dos seus anjos da guarda. Vamos explorar profundamente o significado e a influência do Anjo Número 2675 em várias áreas da sua vida. O Significado Espiritual do Anjo Número 2675 O Anjo Número 2675 combina as…

[the-scp-files]

SCP-2675 │ The Cradle │

Object Class: KETER

By: Anborough

See their author page here:

[storiesforallfandoms]

by the lake ~ benedict bridgerton;bridgerton

word count: 2675

request?: no

description: in which she flees from a pushy suitor, only to find a lovely alternative painting by the lake

pairing: benedict bridgerton x female!reader

warnings: period accurate stuff, use of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

Whenever perpetual bachelors would moan about the courting season, I couldn't help but laugh. Sure, eager mamas trying to force a connection with their daughters could be tiring, but as a man it was fine to turn down potential wives and live a life of bachelordom. For women, that wasn't an option. The moment we come of age we are expected to find a husband and bare children. If we don't, we are spinsters that essentially become outcasted from society.

Not to mention that some male suitors can be just as pushy as the eager mamas.

One example of this was Lord Windsor, a middle aged Lord who had gone a number of seasons without finding a wife and had gotten noticeably desperate. Lord Windsor was okay on the eyes, but not overly handsome. He came from a prominent family, but was the youngest of the three brothers. And, the worst of all, he had the personality of a wet napkin. He was awkward and bored anyone he spoke to to tears.

And I was his current victim.

I was attending an event in town with my family when Lord Windsor's attention fell on me. He began talking to me - or rather at me - not noticing how desperately I was trying to escape him. I kept trying to make eye contact with anyone who passed by to try and silently ask for help. Some gave me a sympathetic look as they passed by, while others merely snickered at my misery.

I was becoming overwhelmed with his persistence. I would do anything to get away from him.

In a moment of desperation, I said, "Can you get me a drink? I am parched."

He seemed almost perturbed by my request, but went off to get me a drink anyways. Once he had mostly disappeared into the crowd, I turned and ran off. I had no idea where I was going, but I needed to get away. Not only from Lord Windsor, but from any other desperate and pushy suitor who would try and approach me.

I found myself stumbling down a trail and coming out by a lake. It was peaceful - the water bright blue and calm, and the area was empty. Well, almost empty. There was a gentleman sat facing the water, with a canvas set up in front of him, painting a lovely portrait of the calming lake. I gasped as he turned and I recognized who it was: Benedict Bridgerton.

"I-I am so sorry," I said. "I did not realize - "

"No need to apologize," he said, smiling at me. Oh my, his smile was so handsome. "This is a public place. I lay no claim to it. And I will not complain about the company of a beautiful lady."

I felt my cheeks light on fire at his compliment.

He glanced behind me, as if expecting someone else to be there. I realized then that by fleeing Lord Windsor, I had also left behind my mother, who was supposed to be my chaperon to the event. Now I was here, alone with a man, far away from the event. It would be a scandal if anyone found out, and the Bridgerton family had had enough scandals in the last year or so.

"I should go," I said, turning to leave.

"I don't mind some company," he said. "And perhaps a lady should not wander on her own."

"I suppose not."

Benedict gestured to a nearby bench. I sat down and watched as he returned to his painting. It was a truly beautiful creation. Better than some of the portraits mama had on her wall. It was a perfect recreation of the scene in front of him.

I had heard about Benedict's artistic abilities. The whole Ton had. It was quite the surprise when Benedict Bridgerton, one of the most sought after bachelors in the Ton, had decided to pursue art instead of a wife. Many hopeful debutantes thought that he would only do it for a short period of time before finally taking a wife. I could still hear mama ranting about it after reading that morning's Whistledown. But watching him now, I could see his talent and passion for the art. I didn't blame him for not wanting to give this up just to get married when he clearly had no desire to take a wife.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?"

I jumped when his voice broke the silence. He turned to smirk at me and I felt my face light on fire, as if he had caught me doing something wrong.

"I was attending the event in town but...I needed some space," I explained.

"Ah, I understand. Those events can be tiresome. Many people either gossiping or trying too hard to remain in some arbitrary social circles."

"You are one to speak when your family is part of the most respected social circle."

"I did call it arbitrary, did I not?"

I chuckled and nodded. "Yes, I suppose you are right. My biggest plight are the suitors, though."

Benedict paused with his hand raised to his canvas. He lowered the brush back into the paint to look at me again. "You are unmarried?"

I nodded. "Not for the lack of trying on my mother's part. I just haven't met anyone that I click with yet. Unfortunately, the marriage pool is becoming very shallow. I was being pursued by Lord Windsor today."

Benedict cringed. "Oh, I definitely understand your need to get away then. Lord Windsor is...a man...to say the least."

"That is one way to describe him."

He smiled. I watched him run his brush through the cup of water before drying it in a cloth and standing. I watched as he began to pack away his painting supplies. "What are you doing?"

"I have a carriage waiting by the road. I am going to bring my art supplied back there, then I will walk with you around the lake before returning you to your family in the town." I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off by saying, "I was finished with my painting anyways, and I must make an appearance there, no matter how brief it is. I would not mind arriving with such a beautiful lady on my arm."

He knew exactly how to shut me up and he had only met me moments prior. My mouth shut instantly and, for a third time in such a short period of time, I felt like I was blushing. Benedict smiled at me again, almost triumphant, before going to his carriage with his art supplies. I remained seated on the bench until his returned, in which he extended his arm to me and I took it.

Our sides were pressed firmly together as we began to walk. My arm, hip, nearly my legs if it were not for my dress, were pressed against his. The parts that were touching started to feel warm and fuzzy. I wondered for a moment if there was something wrong with me, until I looked up at Benedict and his eyes met mine, and suddenly that warm and fuzzy feeling was running through my entire body.

Of course I always knew Benedict Bridgerton was attractive. I had eyes that could see his beauty, and I had ears that could hear all the gossip from other mamas and debutantes about him. But being here, with my arm laced through his and our bodies so close together, was much different than observing him from afar.

"How many seasons have you been through?" he asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

"This is my third," I responded. He gave me a look that made me giggle. "What?"

"You were not married in your first season?"

"I believe that is what I said, yes. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, forgive me for sounding like a broken record, but you are incredibly beautiful. If I know anything from my years observing the marriage markets, it is that beautiful women usually have a very easy time finding a husband."

"I am flattered by your compliments, and you would be right that I had no shortage of suitors asking to court me, but the thing is is that I am looking for something that many seem to think is impossible: a love match."

Benedict scoffed. "Impossible? I have three siblings that would argue with you there."

"They are exceptions, not the rules. Of course there are people who marry for love, but there are still others who only believe in marrying for looks and for titles. And it seems there are very few suitors who are looking for a love match. Most of them just want a beautiful lady who they can take to bed and produce heirs with, and once that job is done they will return to the brothels."

"You would get along exceptionally with my sister, Eloise."

I smiled. I squeezed his arm a little as I asked, "Why have you not married then, Mr. Bridgerton?"

"Please, call me Benedict," he said. "Which reminds me, I have no caught your name yet."

"(Y/N)," I told him. "And do not avoid my question."

"I would never!" he said in mock offense. "My answer is just more selfish than yours."

"That does not make me want to hear it any less."

He chuckled. "I have just never had the desire to take a wife. My older brother, Anthony, is the Viscount, he was the one expected to find a wife and produce little Viscount heirs. Daphne was the first daughter to come of age to join the season, and her love match has made our mother much more intent on having similar experiences for my other sisters. Colin, Gregory, and I are not under the same pressure as our other siblings. Colin had his travels, Gregory is far too young to consider marriage as it is, and I have my art. I thought Colin and I were in agreement about our thoughts on marriage, but it seems he has changed his mind."

"Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Changed your mind?"

Benedict stopped walking a moment, pulling me to a halt next to him. He looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, "I have not decided."

We continued to walk in silence for a while. It was a beautiful day, and the lake was an ideal place to be. The water shimmered under the bright sun, still calm without a single ripple, and the sky was clear without a single cloud. It was a beautiful day, and I was walking with Benedict Bridgerton. It truly could not be a better day.

"Your painting was beautiful, by the way," I told him. "I understand why you would choose art. You have quite the talent for it."

"Thank you," he said. I could see a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. One that was genuine, maybe a bit flustered at the compliment.

"What do you do with your art? Do you sell it or hang it yourself?"

"Oh no, my mother usually takes whatever I paint and hangs it around the estate. I think most of the artwork in our house is all mine now. She loves to gush over what I have painted, almost embarrassingly so."

"Well, I would love to have one for my home, if you do not mind having another client."

He looked down at me. "Really?"

I nodded. "I believe your painting to be more beautiful than some of my own mama's choices of artwork. But keep that between us."

He smiled. "I will not tell a soul."

We began walking up a path that led back to the town, and suddenly I could heard the bustling of the event. The light and happy feeling I had since running into Benedict had slowly began to fade into dread as I realized what our arrival at the event meant. With any luck, my mother would want to leave the second she found me and I would not have to endure Lord Windsor for any longer.

I expected to be surrounded the second we came into view. I thought, for some reason, that mama would know of my disappearance and would be worried sick. I expected lots of questioning, and then for her to whisk me away quickly where she would likely continue to question me at home.

To my surprise, no one approached us at first. No one even noticed our arrival for a few moments, until one person glanced at Benedict and I as we walked past, and then did a double take to make sure they had seen correctly. Suddenly, there were dozens of prying eyes and hushed voices, with us at the centre of all their attention.

"I told you," Benedict whispered in my ear. "All gossiping."

"Seems we may find ourselves in the next issue of Whistledown," I said.

Benedict gave me a playful smile and said, "May as well make that count then."

He led me through the crowds of people, all whispering and watching us go. I was beginning to feel a little insecure under all their watchful eyes, until I noticed Lord Windsor as one of the many who was watching us. His face looked sullen as he watched us go by, holding two cups in his hand - he still had the drink I sent him to get. The thought of him standing around with it in his hand this whole time made me giggle to myself, and then I found myself standing up straighter and leaning into Benedict more. Lord Windsor seemed to have gotten the message loud and clear.

I found my mama with a group of other mothers, and when we began to approach they all fell silent. Mama looked at us and her eyes widened with shock.

"Mr. Bridgerton," she said, looking between myself and Benedict. "How lovely it is to see you."

"I hope you do not mind my borrowing of your daughter, my lady," Benedict said. "She was most excellent company for a walk around the lake nearby."

Mama looked to me like she was trying to figure out why I had left without telling her. I merely smiled at her, mentally willing her to leave that question until we returned home.

"Of course I do not mind at all, Mr. Bridgerton," mama said. "Although, next time I do hope there shall be a chaperone with you."

I opened my mouth to tell her there would be no next time, but Benedict cut me off by saying, "Of course. I was hoping to call on her tomorrow afternoon, if that is alright with you."

Mama seemed just as dazed as I was. She managed to stutter out an agreement, which amused Benedict to no end. She turned back to her friends as Benedict and I stepped away to speak once more.

"You are giving her some false hope," I told him.

"What do you mean?"

"You are making her believe that you are going to court me. She will be more heartbroken than I when she realizes that is not the case."

"Who said I do not intend to court you?"

It was my turn to be at a loss for words. I tried to form a coherent sentence, but I just stood there with my mouth open, no doubt looking tremendously stupid.

"You seem like a lovely lady, (Y/N)," Benedict said when I could not find the words to say. "I truly did enjoy our time together today. I would like to spend more time with you, if you would allow it. And I must bring that painting to you at some point, remember?"

I nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would very much like to spend more time with you as well."

His smile was bright and genuine once again. I couldn't help but smile back at him. "Perfect. I shall see you tomorrow afternoon then."

"Yes. I suppose you shall."

[readerstories]

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 3/?

I love writing this so much, it's not going to be a quick thing for sure. I'm thinking and plotting constantly. (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, eventual smut, slow burn, stiches

Wordcount: 2675

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

Silence fills the apartment.

For a few moments.

“Red, I am going to kill you.”

“Wade, I am going to stab you.” Both of you talk at the same time, then glare at the other. You notice that his eyes are a nice shade of hazel, before your gaze snaps to Wade as he speaks.

“Why am I getting the heat for this?!” 

“You ran.” You and Flannel say in unison, glaring at each other again. His hand is still on your neck, warm and solid.

He raises an eyebrow as you reach for your pants, you grab one of your knives out of its hidden sheath, stabbing his shoulder. He grunts with pain, hand clutching at your neck for a moment before pulling it away. You pull your knife back out, before putting it parallel between two of Flannel’s claws, twisting it hard as you can, somewhat pushing his claws further apart. He winches, and the claws retract, allowing you to quickly slide away, and then take a few steps back. You notice there is no trace of where they came from on his knuckles, so this guy must have some sort of healing factor too. 

Fucking great.

“Why are you armed if you came here to meet your soulmate?” He scowls at you.

“Like you can talk, Mr Knuckle Claws.” He growls, fucking growls, and you would mock the absurdity of it, but his claws are coming back out. 

You grab your second knife, spinning them once in your hand, steeling yourself. Flannel lurches forward, one set claws aimed for your throat. You deflect them, your arm almost vibrates with the effort it takes to stop the swinging momentum, but you don’t have time to reflect on it, his other set of claws coming for your left arm. You stop these too, but you don’t have to stop a third or fourth swipe, as Wade drags Flannel backwards by the shoulders, making the man stumble and almost fall.

“Nu uh! No murdering of our soulmate peanut, they don’t have a healing factor!” Flannel huffs, glaring at you again, but his claws retract. 

You want to stab him. 

You are pretty sure the feeling is mutual. 

Irritation coming across the bond, if somewhat muted. You also want to stab Wade, because fuck him, you could fight Mr Scowl on your own merit. You don’t sheat your knives yet, staring at them both, hand clenched tight around the handles. Flannel scowls at you.

“Gonna put those away bub?”

“Trying to figure out if I can get to both of your hearts from here.” Flannel snorts.

“For me it takes at least some candles and a nice dinner with gifts, then it’s all yours.” Wade winks at you, you feel your eye twitch in irritation.

Flannel sniffs the air suddenly, nose wrinkling.

“Why do I smell blood?”

“What?” You look down at your chest, suddenly realizing there are wet spots forming on your dark shirt. “Shit.”  You pull the collar away from your skin, looking down and seeing blood trickle slowly from the gauze on your chest.

“Great, popped a fucking stitch. Thank you asshole. Now Evelyn is gonna tear me a new one.”

“Aw pookie, cheating on as already? Tell me, what is she, a nurse that found you on her doorstep and took care of you, and now you make sweet, sweet love like in so many fanfictions?”

“Don’t call me that, and no, you fucking moron, she’s a veterinarian, a friend, and we are both gay in the wrong direction for whatever the fuck kind of fantasy you have in that scarred brain of yours.” You put your knives back in their sheats hidden under your pants, ignoring how two sets of eyes follow the motion.

“I hope you guys got a first aid kit around here somewhere. I assume that the old lady and whoever else you guys have over aren’t all super healers.” Wade and Flannel look at each other.

“I’ll see if I can find anything between Al’s coke in the bedroom.” Wade walks off, leaving you and Flannel alone in the room. It’s not long, maybe a minute, but it lets you feel the confusion coming through your bond from him, and a swirl of other emotions that are hard to identify through the still very fresh bond.

You wonder what he feels from you, as neither of you say anything, just watching the other. A shot of guilt comes through your bond, which makes you scowl at him.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“What?”

“Pretend like you care.”

“You’re our s-”

“Say it and will stab you. I know you probably can’t die, but I will give my best damn try.” He scowls, again, but doesn’t say anything. Wade comes back then, a little red and solid bag with a white plus sign on in one hand. You reach out to take it, but Wade pulls it out of reach for you.

“Give me the damn med kit Wade.”

“Nah ah, better for me to do it, promise I’ll be gentle, done it before.” 

“No, Wade.” He sighs, a second later there’s a gun aimed at you. Where the fuck that even came from, you don’t know. You wouldn’t be surprised if Wade was armed before you even came here though.

“You just stopped Flannel from attacking me, now you are aiming a gun at me?” You tilt your head, and Wade shrugs. Flannel seems frozen, eyes flicking between the two of you, arms tense at his side again.

“His name is Logan, and he would not have made it non-lethal, but I will.” He’s serious, you can tell by the flat tone in his voice, the most level and even it has ever been in the times you have heard him speak. You look into his eyes, a lovely shade of brown that is filled with stony seriousness.

Getting shot would fucking suck.

It would hurt.

It would take forever to heal.

It would make you weak for a good while.

You sigh, rubbing your face, opting for the lesser of two evils. 

You think.

You’re tired.

“Fine.” The gun is moved away, safety clicked on, and tucked into the waistband of Wade’s pants. He takes a few steps away from you, picking up takeaway boxes (that you hadn’t noticed, but to be fair all your attention had been on the other two men) off the dining room table, handing them off to Logan, who takes them to the kitchen. Wade pats the table.

“Up you go pumpkin.” You roll your eyes, too tired and annoyed at your bleeding wounds to tell him to not call you that. You don’t think he will stop. You sit on the table, taking your jacket and shirt off, dumping them on the floor before laying back. Wade whistles, dropping the med kit next to your shoulder as you glare at him.

“Nasty.” 

“Your fucking handiwork.” You tilt your head to look at Logan where he leans in the doorway to the kitchen. “And yours, since I’m bleeding again.” He grimaces, opening his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it. A hand brushes against the gauze covering your stomach wound.

“Gonna take this off now.” Wade’s voice is soft, you give him a weird look, but he’s not looking at you, but instead he’s looking at his hand where it lays gently on top of the gauze.

“Yeah, yeah, just get it over with.”

“Hey, consent is sexy.”

“This isn’t-” You stop yourself, grimacing at the feeling of gauze lifting off your blood soaked skin. The wound drips more freely now, blood trickling down onto the table. A blue towel appears next to Wade, Logan is quiet on his feet, you hadn’t even noticed he went anywhere. Wade takes the towel, cleaning up the blood as best he can. The towel is soft against your skin, you watch him for a few seconds before moving your focus to the ceiling. 

Wade leaves the towel on your stomach, gently prodding at the wound. You grimace, the feeling unpleasant.

“This isn’t too bad, you only need two new stitches, pookie.”

“Get on with it then.” You hear the flicker of a lighter, glancing down to see Wade hovering a needle in and out of the flame. You know it’s not going to be as well done as Evelyn’s, but you don’t want to go back there and get an earful. 

Or more likely, yelled at until your whole body feels like it is on fire.

Eyes back to the ceiling, you take a deep breath as you feel Wade’s fingers press just beneath the wound. Then there’s some sort of black cloth, a small towel you are guessing, hovering over your face. You tilt your head to look at Logan, who offers it up with a little shake and a raised brow. You nod, opening your mouth, letting him drop it so you can bite down on it just as the needle pierces your skin.

It’s not a pleasant sensation, so you bite down on the towel, forcing yourself to take measured and deep breaths as you stare at the ceiling, concentrating on a little damp spot you can see in one corner.

What a charming space.

“You know, next time you are shirtless, I hope you are going to be bleeding less.” Wade puts the needle aside, wiping his hand on the towel on your stomach. Next he digs around in the medkit again, taking out supplies to cover his (and Evelyn’s) handiwork. You ignore his comment, closing your eyes and just breathing.

You stay like that as he finishes up, and moves onto your chest wound. Once again, the blood soaked material doesn’t feel great coming off, and neither does Wade’s prodding fingers.

“Two again. Beginning to think that’s your lucky number sweetcheeks.” You groan, moving your arm to smack him, hitting a solid thigh. Wade laughs, and it’s such a bizarre situation, you can feel it through your bond, so it takes actual effort to not smile under the towel in your mouth. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll get on with it.” He keeps babbling some more, you tune him out, letting him be background noise as you breathe deeply through your nose as the needle pierces skin again. You flex your fingers and grind your teeth on the towel, willing yourself to stay still to not fuck up Wade’s stitches.

“There we go, all done! Well, almost, I still need to cover my beautiful handiwork, which is a damn shame.” You are not sure if he’s talking about the wound or the stitches, but you don’t care. As he covers it in gauze once more, you take the towel out of your mouth, licking your lips. The towel had soaked up a good deal of moisture from your mouth, so it takes more than a few moments for your mouth to feel normal again. By the time that happens, Wade is done, leaning away from you, gathering up trash, wet towels, and the needle. He takes it away, leaving you and Logan alone again. You sit up on the table, noticing Logan has your shirt in his hand. You reach for it, but he pulls it out of reach from you. Confused, you scrunch your eyebrows. He scrunches up the shirt, one hand in each arms hole, holding the opening for your torso towards you.

“You gotta be kidding me. I’m not that fucking fragile. Let me put my own damn shirt on.” Logan just arches an impressive brow, and you sigh, not willing to fucking wrestle him for your shirt back. Tearing up your stitches again would just be counterintuitive, and you are tired. So you sigh, again, reaching both arms forward.

You let Logan put the shirt on you, you grimace as the mostly dried blood is still present, even if it’s not very visible. The action is weirdly intimate as he stays close afterwards. You let his eyes wander over your face and chest for a few seconds, before you push him away with a boot to his stomach. You could, and you almost do, go for the crotch instead, but you are not certain he wouldn’t actually stab you with his claws if you kicked him in the dick, since Wade isn’t in the room.

“Enough.” Your voice is low, your feelings are a mess, but most of all you are tired. You can’t really make out Logan’s or Wade’s either, it’s all just a jumble in your head now. Christ, you thought having one person sort of in your head was bad, this is just so much messier. Logan hands you your jacket, this one you are allowed (fucking silly as that sounds) to put on by youself. You do it slowly, staring down on the floor, and resolutely not on Logan, or his boots. 

Which is why it’s a short way for your gaze to move as you hear the patter of small paws and claws on the floor, quickly followed by Wade’s pink slippers.

The creature sets itself down at your feet, tail wagging, tongue hanging out. It has mostly grey-brown skin, covered with white tufts of what you think is supposed to be fur. Its eyes are big as it looks up at you, barking once, tongue hanging out of its mouth.

“What the fuck is that thing.” Wade steps forward, bending down to scoop it up.

“That is Dogpool, or Mary Puppins. Say hi!” Wade holds her up to your face, you recoil as much as you can while still seated, as that long tongue tries to lick you.

“Aww, she likes you.” You grimace.

“She’s hideous.” Wade gasps, pressing her close to his chest, pressing a hand over one ear like she can understand you.

“So rude! She’s perfect.” Logan snorts. “Oh shut up you. She takes after her beautiful papa.” You glance down at the cre-, no dog apparently, as you get off the table.

“The dog is uglier.”

“Aw, such a charmer!” You start to walk towards the door, or doorway rather, but are stopped by a hand on your wrist. You look down, and then up at Logan who scowls at you.

“Where the fuck are you going?” 

“Away from here."

“We need to-” 

“We don’t need to do anything. I don’t even know why I came here, I don’t want any of it. Soulmates are messed up, a thing that I don’t care about, a fucking cruel joke of a perverse fucking universe. I’ve seen way too many people get messed up by it all, and I will not be one of them.” You wrench your wrist free, bristling with the concern you can now feel push through everything else in the bond from them both. You send pure anger back, they both frown at you.

“Just read up on how to suppress the bond, learn the fucking mental gymnastics of keeping it and yourselves quiet, and if I start getting a migraine or achy joints, I know where to find you fuckers.”

“We don’t know where to find you. What will we do if we start feeling achy for your love and attention?” You are sure if Wade had eyelashes, they would be fluttering as he blinks rapidly at you, Mary Puppins still in his arms. It’s not quite as confident or flirty as before, he’s trying to hide how disappointed he is at your words, even as you can feel it through your bond.

“Suffer.” This time, none of them tries to stop you as you leave, grumbling to yourself under your breath. 

“Oh, I love how cruel you are pookie, so nasty!” You ignore the nonsense Wade yells after you as you take the stairs, ready to get away from this fucking mess. 

You have two fucking soulmates.

You want to scream, but there’s other people around when you get to the street, but in your mind it’s far from quiet.

FUCK.

(Part 4)

[lateatnewyork]

social media au with percy pls😛🙏

life lately

percy jackson x castellan reader

warnings: none

summary: your life with your boyfriend

a/n this is rlly pg cos like walker, leah and aryan are underage but i love their personality to these characters.

liked by persassy, imannabeth, clarisselarue and 1989 more whosyn luke’s on a feminist rampage view comments

persassy i’m a feminist too ➔ iamlukecastellan did u protest? no didn’t think so ➔ persassy @whosyn your brothers being mean ➔ whosyn luke stop it ➔ iamlukecastallen low blow man

liked by imannabeth, itschris, whosyn and 786 more iamlukecastallen not percy being sad y/n’s not at home view comments

whosyn awww at least he cares abt me ➔ iamlukecastallen i care abt you??? ➔ whosyn you threw water over my face to wake me up??? persassy i wasn’t sad ➔ itschris you so were liked by creator

liked by clarisselarue, imannabeth, silenab and 1556 more whosyn my girls tagged: clarisselarue, imannabeth, silenab view comments

persassy where was my invitation ➔ itschris yeah ➔ groverishere yeah ➔ whosyn it was a girls night??? iamlukecastellan where’s my camera creds ➔ whosyn camera credits to this big baby

liked by persassy, clarisselarue, groverishere and 2675 more whosyn what’s half of one? tagged: persassy view comments

iamlukecastallen didn’t know you could do math ➔ whosyn 🙄 persassy damn i’m beautiful ➔ imannabeth keep telling yourself that liked by creator

liked by whosyn, persassy, groverishere and 678 more iamlukecastellan imagine not knowing they were a thing tagged: whosyn, persassy view comments

whosyn clarisse knew we were a thing before you ➔ iamlukecastellan can’t hear you🫸😝🫷 ➔ whosyn 🙄 persassy you forced it out of us?? ➔ iamlukecastellan ok and?

liked by whosyn, clarisselarue, imannabeth and 567 more persassy i’ll always pick you up tagged: whosyn view comments

clarisselarue cutest ppl ever liked by creator

liked by persassy, imannabeth, silenab and 1567 more whosyn love you 🫶🏻 tagged: persassy comments are closed

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

Writing Prompt #2675

He hated that it wasn't worth it. After everything he sacrificed, and told himself that it would be in the end, it simply wasn't true. Everything he stood for was a lie, and everyone he hurt in the process was for nothing.