#also if anyone has already done this let me know

[abusedwh0re]

My theory on Nikitas death:

Russian Prisons are well-known for their violent ways of treating the prisoners. There a plenty of russian organizations that document about what is going on in those prisons and its beyond the extremes.

Inmates are routinely getting r*aped with different objects, beaten up to the point where their face is unrecognizable anymore, for not fulfilling their tasks correctly, getting their food and water takien away, etc. This topic is being talked about often in the media, but it is often being surpressed by the russian government. It would be worth a google search as there are plenty of articles about their prisons.

Multiple news reports say different things about his death. Some report that he slashed his wrists on the 30th of november and was found dead in the early morning of 1st December. Other sources report that he was found with slashed wrists on the 28th of November and brought to a hospital, but died on the 30th of November. That means they had 2 entire days to save him from bleeding out. This just doesnt sit right with me..

Nikitas former cellmates reported that he would go as far as attacking other inmates just to see artyom once again, and that his plan was to „intimidate“ the officers by staging a suicide attempt so he, once again, could see Artyom. Artyom also told his lawyer that Nikita would kill himself or die in some other way at that prison without him. At the time of his death, year 2021, he had already served 10 years of his sentence, so he was already halfway there to getting released. His mother once stated that she would be waiting for him so she could talk to Nikita and let him explain everything. It could be very well possible that he didnt mean to kill himself, and the guards who saw him just let him bleed out instead of getting help for him. Thats how russian prisons are…

An intentional suicide could have also been a reason he has died. I mean he had been diagnosed with an mental illness before he was imprisoned, and might have been suffering from schizophrenia or a schizotypical personality disorder, he was very depressed, was being bullied his entire life (even in prison), had a very low position in the prison hierarchy, never had a real friend (he considered artyom one), and that of course could have contributed to what he had done. Its hard to say whether his death was a intentional suicide, an accident, or if he died because of how he was treated there.

But i guess well never know the true answer.

R.I.P Nikita.🕊️

im sobbing just look at him :(

(If you or someone else that you know is a subject to bullying, help them, let someone know about that, or reach out someone you trust before its too late. Being bullied is something serious and you should never let anyone, including yourself, go through that. There are people who care for you •3•)

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

You Came In Like a Fire, Burned All I Ever Knew

A long time ago (like five weeks) I went into @exhaustedpirate's inbox with an idea for a fic based on the fact that there's a couple of photos that they reblogged of Orville Peck that we both thought were Oliver Stark for a second. I finally finished it! I finished it a while ago, actually, but I didn't get a chance to edit until this last weekend. Josh Russo drags him out to a club for a Heroes and Villains night, talks some sense into him, and chases off patrons who think that Buck is everyone's favorite gay singing cowboy. At home, Buck listens to the music of said cowboy, gets real sad, and texts Tommy. It's mostly going to be on AO3, because it's almost 6k words. You can find that here.

When someone knocks on Buck’s door at 7 PM on a Friday, he doesn't expect it to be Josh. He definitely doesn't expect it to be Josh in a costume that makes him look sort of like a leather Bond villain with a mask.

“We're going out,” Josh says, pressing a mask to Buck’s chest. “To a club. Because your sister brought eight dozen scones to the office today, and you're fucking up my diet.”

Buck takes the mask and looks over his shoulder where he has a pie crust rolled out. “Okay, but—”

“That looks like something that I can put in the fridge while you put on something that makes you look like a hero or villain, because that's the event,” Josh says, pushing his way past Buck.

He chews on his bottom lip for a second. “Okay, but just—don’t handle the dough too much.”

Josh throws a dismissive wave over his shoulder. “I watch Bake Off, I know.”

Buck goes upstairs and stares at his clothes for a long time. He pulls out a pair of black jeans, a Batman logo shirt that Chris had gotten him, and a black button up. It's the closest he can get to a costume with zero notice unless he wants to break out his cowboy costume from Halloween. But thinking about that makes his skin itch from phantom boils and that feeling he gets when he wants to text Tommy.

When he's done getting dressed, he goes downstairs and sees that Josh is eating a spoonful of raw cookie dough and tapping at his phone.

“I don't want to hear it, I know the risks,” Josh says before Buck can speak. He looks up at Buck and makes a face. “God, you look like every guy I used to hook up with in college who would pretend I didn't exist after.”

Buck smooths his hands over the shirt and shrugs. “I'd have talked to you after.”

“That an offer?” Josh teases, his eyes already back on his phone.

“No,” Buck says with an apologetic shrug. “I don't think I really want to hook up with anyone right now.”

Josh tosses the spoon in the sink. “Yeah, but you can't chain yourself to an oven for the rest of your life. So let's go. I give you full permission to ditch me for a hookup, which is big of me.”

“Thanks?” Buck toys with the mask before putting it on. “How do I look?”

“Devastatingly handsome,” Josh says with a sigh. “Come on, you fucking disaster.”

There's an Uber downstairs already waiting for them, and Buck texts Maddie to find out if she put Josh up to this.

Maddie Uhhh NO because otherwise I would be there, too. Have fun ♥️

“So this is just because of the scones?” he asks, and Josh turns his head slowly to stare at him.

“No, Buck, this is not ‘just because of the scones,’” he says, an eerie calm to his voice. “It's also because of the cookies, cakes, pies, tarts, biscuits, pastas, loaves, bread, and pastries that have appeared in the break room at my job almost every single day for weeks. I have gained four pounds, it would've been more, but I've had to start going to the gym a lot. So I am going to get you laid or at least get you to stop using flour as a coping mechanism. Why couldn't you just start doing K or doomscroll TikTok like everyone else?”

Buck ignores the steadily rising eyebrows of the Uber driver in the rearview mirror. “I—I just miss talking to him. But he doesn't want me to, or he'd be here.”

“Not how that works, but we'll get there,” Josh says, patting his knee. “I need alcohol first. And a bear to squeeze after.”

“You're into bears?”

Josh shrugs. “I'm into everything. Aren't you?”

Buck considers it for a moment. “I haven't really thought about it.”

“Jesus chr—at least tell me you've been watching porn,” Josh whines, and Buck shrugs. “For fuck’s sake. I will tip you double if you get us to this club in the next five minutes.”

–

It is fun being out with Josh, who orders them drinks and scares off a guy who greets Buck by squeezing his waist and scaring the shit out of him. They dance a little bit, but it's nothing crazy. They keep a respectable amount of space between their bodies and are dancing more with the crowd than anything else. Buck even finds himself laughing more than once, losing himself in the music and wondering if he should've been going to clubs all along. It's fun, even though he isn't looking to take anyone home.

A guy comes up behind him and he's a solid weight but not quite tall enough that Buck thinks he's anything but a stranger. He must be cute, though, based on the encouraging thumbs up he gets from Josh. Buck leans into the body against his and dances the rest of the song, but when he gets turned and almost kissed, he apologizes and backs off.

“Sorry, I'm with someone!” he shouts over the music, and the guy—who is really hot—shrugs before disappearing into the crowd.

“Yeah, okay, now we need to talk,” Josh says in his ear, grabbing him by the wrist.

They end up in a corner with new drinks while Buck spills the entire story, from the anniversary dinner to the break up, and Josh looks more and more confused as he talks.

“Wait, so you guys just didn't talk about your relationship the entire time you were together?” he asks.

“I mean, we made plans, just for dates and stuff.” Buck shrugs. “I don't know, I kind of liked not having to talk about everything I did wrong that made everyone walk away from me. I thought maybe it meant he might…not.”

Josh groans and takes a long sip of his drink. “Okay, so the fact that he also seemed comfortable with this—to the point where you didn't know he was ever engaged to a woman—didn’t make you think that maybe he also had a luggage carousel full of baggage?”

Buck pokes at the ice in his drink with the cocktail stirrer. “I dunno. I just liked being around him so much, I didn't really think about any of that.”

“Well, of course you liked being around him, you guys spent six months going on dates and fucking like what I imagine to be two extremely buff and athletic rabbits.” Josh pauses. “Okay, sidebar: is he as hung as he seems?”

He flushes and reflexively looks around like someone he knows might pop up and hear him talk about his ex’s dick, because he'd been yelled at a lot by his friends while they were together. “It's—yeah. I mean, I don't know how he seems—”

“Bullshit, but continue.”

“—but there was, like, a long adjustment period,” Buck admits, then frowns. “No pun intended, I guess. I don't know, but he wouldn't let me bottom for the first month and a half until I, uh, got used to everything.”

Josh presses a hand to his chest and sighs. “Be still my beating vagina.”

[aspd-culture]

aspd culture (onset since young childhood) is wishing the community would talk more about how traumatic it is to grow up like this. not just because of what’s been done to us to make us this way but how traumatic it is to grow up antisocial. i have so much grief about it.

CW, for pwASPD, this may be upsetting to read.

Completely agree, like yes to get this disorder, we had trauma to begin with, but also growing up with ASPD is extremely traumatic itself. The earlier the antisocial traits come up, the more risk the child in question will spend their whole life ostracized and potentially hated for things they cannot control.

A child with antisocial traits appears (in my experience from discussions with prosocials about how they saw me when they met me) to have a similar “uncanny valley” impact that autistic people get. Somehow, it really feels like the second I met someone, they knew something I didn’t know about myself - saw something wrong with me I couldn’t see. I was told I was “weird” by people who didn’t know me - which is the autism - but also people I’d never met said they were scared of me. This sometimes continues into adulthood, or sometimes we get good enough at masking that people stop being able to tell. Regardless, there are almost always a number of years we deal with that, leading us to have less if any friends on top of what we’re already dealing with.

And that’s not all - we also have to deal with the symptoms themselves without having any idea what’s going on. Our brain has been convinced we can only trust ourselves and that everyone is out for only themselves and we can’t trust anyone fully. We grow up often without being able to let anyone but a close few in, if that. We grow up without the instincts or understanding of how and why other humans form these deep social connections and how they’re doing it safely but we can’t seem to be able to without getting hurt.

And humans, as pack animals, need to be around other humans and have close bonds to feel safe since in the wild we wouldn’t have been safe on our own. This means our hypervigilance from PTSD is often exponentially more intense because it is always on the high alert of a pack animal forced to live on its own. That can also strain any relationships with Exceptions if we have any because we may cling to them early on as our brain struggles to try and form the bonds it instinctually feels it needs to survive and protect itself with whatever “pack” it can manage to build. On top of that, any bonds our Exceptions make may feel like they are putting themselves in danger and we need to protect them. In some cases this will cause us extreme anxiety, in others it may lead to us engaging in toxic behaviors to try and isolate them to keep them safe, and in others still it may make us feel forced to abandon them or at least distance from them and lose one of our few close social bonds to protect ourself since we can’t protect them.

Also if the “switch flipped” (for those who had that experience) late enough that we were already in these social bonds, there may have been this sinking distrust of people we were already close to that we’d made some grave mistake trusting them, and closing off to the world like this can be terrifying because it’s a neurological difference - our development isn’t going the way it’s supposed to be and the gap between how our peers interact and see the world vs how we do just keeps getting wider.

And that’s not even all of it - I have an alter who had much less of the antisocial traits in childhood (no alter can have no symptoms of a neurological difference, but remember the reason ASPD can’t be diagnosed under 18 is that the brain has not been set in that development yet - in many ways this alter acted out the goals of a brain trying desperately to develop properly and outrun the closing of the period where I couldn’t socially develop that way), so I didn’t have to live like this all day every day until around 13. I’m sure for those that didn’t have that split but still had their brain attempting normal development, it was even more distressing and traumatic to feel that pull towards people at the same time as that push away from them.

On top of all of that, antisocial traits can worsen or create abuse for the child because the way they act offends authority figures and/or bullies, and this can put or leave us in harm’s way as they choose to actively target us or refuse to protect us the way they would other kids when someone else targets us. And then there’s the disciplinary action and deep cuts to self esteem if the child deals with the more violent symptoms - often, children engaging in those behaviors aren’t recognized as needing help. They’re either considered bad kids or products of bad parents and dismissed or actively berated by the people who could help them to understand what’s happening and do better.

If we ever do understand what’s happening because of getting help, sometimes the professional themselves is ableist and will take that ableism out on a child with antisocial traits.

By the time we accept what’s happening - whether we know what it is or not - we are very aware that our experience is different than the other kids. It’s not hard to see that they’ve been dealt a different - and from the outside, often seemingly better - hand than we have.

If we get diagnosed (or self diagnose) as an adult, now we get hit with the fact that this can’t be diagnosed until adulthood and why. Even when we thought we were stuck with this, apparently someone could have done something to get us back to normal development. Not everyone wants that, but for those of us that do there is so much grief at realizing how low the bar is to help a child process would-be PTSD so it doesn’t become PTSD and especially at how low the percentage of needs that need to be met to form a secure attachment style. Things could have been different. They should have been different. There was so much time and such a low bar to meet and instead we got this.

Having ASPD very often causes a lot of grief, and in return we’re often treated like monsters if we talk about it.

To be clear this is not exhaustive of the trauma growing up with ASPD causes - it is some of mine and some I’ve heard from others with ASPD speak about - but it also isn’t universal. Not every pwASPD has experienced every piece of what I’ve discussed here (for example I have not dealt with every one of these things, but I’ve dealt with a majority of it), what exact trauma they endure from growing up with ASPD involves many factors like what trauma caused it and how old they were when the traits started to show up etc.

Plain text below the cut:

CW, for pwASPD, this may be upsetting to read.

Completely agree, like yes to get this disorder, we had trauma to begin with, but also growing up with ASPD is extremely traumatic itself. The earlier the antisocial traits come up, the more risk the child in question will spend their whole life ostracized and potentially hated for things they cannot control.

A child with antisocial traits appears (in my experience from discussions with prosocials about how they saw me when they met me) to have a similar “uncanny valley” impact that autistic people get. Somehow, it really feels like the second I met someone, they knew something I didn’t know about myself - saw something wrong with me I couldn’t see. I was told I was “weird” by people who didn’t know me - which is the autism - but also people I’d never met said they were scared of me. This sometimes continues into adulthood, or sometimes we get good enough at masking that people stop being able to tell. Regardless, there are almost always a number of years we deal with that, leading us to have less if any friends on top of what we’re already dealing with.

And that’s not all - we also have to deal with the symptoms themselves without having any idea what’s going on. Our brain has been convinced we can only trust ourselves and that everyone is out for only themselves and we can’t trust anyone fully. We grow up often without being able to let anyone but a close few in, if that. We grow up without the instincts or understanding of how and why other humans form these deep social connections and how they’re doing it safely but we can’t seem to be able to without getting hurt.

And humans, as pack animals, need to be around other humans and have close bonds to feel safe since in the wild we wouldn’t have been safe on our own. This means our hypervigilance from PTSD is often exponentially more intense because it is always on the high alert of a pack animal forced to live on its own. That can also strain any relationships with Exceptions if we have any because we may cling to them early on as our brain struggles to try and form the bonds it instinctually feels it needs to survive and protect itself with whatever “pack” it can manage to build. On top of that, any bonds our Exceptions make may feel like they are putting themselves in danger and we need to protect them. In some cases this will cause us extreme anxiety, in others it may lead to us engaging in toxic behaviors to try and isolate them to keep them safe, and in others still it may make us feel forced to abandon them or at least distance from them and lose one of our few close social bonds to protect ourself since we can’t protect them.

Also if the “switch flipped” (for those who had that experience) late enough that we were already in these social bonds, there may have been this sinking distrust of people we were already close to that we’d made some grave mistake trusting them, and closing off to the world like this can be terrifying because it’s a neurological difference - our development isn’t going the way it’s supposed to be and the gap between how our peers interact and see the world vs how we do just keeps getting wider.

And that’s not even all of it - I have an alter who had much less of the antisocial traits in childhood (no alter can have no symptoms of a neurological difference, but remember the reason ASPD can’t be diagnosed under 18 is that the brain has not been set in that development yet - in many ways this alter acted out the goals of a brain trying desperately to develop properly and outrun the closing of the period where I couldn’t socially develop that way), so I didn’t have to live like this all day every day until around 13. I’m sure for those that didn’t have that split but still had their brain attempting normal development, it was even more distressing and traumatic to feel that pull towards people at the same time as that push away from them.

On top of all of that, antisocial traits can worsen or create abuse for the child because the way they act offends authority figures and/or bullies, and this can put or leave us in harm’s way as they choose to actively target us or refuse to protect us the way they would other kids when someone else targets us. And then there’s the disciplinary action and deep cuts to self esteem if the child deals with the more violent symptoms - often, children engaging in those behaviors aren’t recognized as needing help. They’re either considered bad kids or products of bad parents and dismissed or actively berated by the people who could help them to understand what’s happening and do better.

If we ever do understand what’s happening because of getting help, sometimes the professional themselves is ableist and will take that ableism out on a child with antisocial traits.

By the time we accept what’s happening - whether we know what it is or not - we are very aware that our experience is different than the other kids. It’s not hard to see that they’ve been dealt a different - and from the outside, often seemingly better - hand than we have.

If we get diagnosed (or self diagnose) as an adult, now we get hit with the fact that this can’t be diagnosed until adulthood and why. Even when we thought we were stuck with this, apparently someone could have done something to get us back to normal development. Not everyone wants that, but for those of us that do there is so much grief at realizing how low the bar is to help a child process would-be PTSD so it doesn’t become PTSD and especially at how low the percentage of needs that need to be met to form a secure attachment style. Things could have been different. They should have been different. There was so much time and such a low bar to meet and instead we got this.

Having ASPD very often causes a lot of grief, and in return we’re often treated like monsters if we talk about it.

To be clear this is not exhaustive of the trauma growing up with ASPD causes - it is some of mine and some I’ve heard from others with ASPD speak about - but it also isn’t universal. Not every pwASPD has experienced every piece of what I’ve discussed here (for example I have not dealt with every one of these things, but I’ve dealt with a majority of it), what exact trauma they endure from growing up with ASPD involves many factors like what trauma caused it and how old they were when the traits started to show up etc.

[mustlovelou]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Thank you so much for sending me this ask, Jessica! 🧡🧡

Also, thank you so much to @frogsinflannel for tagging me on this as well! 🧡🧡

I really appreciate it! 🧡🧡🧡

Now, if anyone knows me, they would probably know that it's really hard for me to recommend my own work... so this was very difficult hehe But I've managed to pick some fics:

I'll Always Remember Us This Way: One of the fics that I wrote for Bucktommy Flufffebruary. It didn't get much love but I quite like what I did with it. It's super fluffy. And this is the summary: Today is a very special day for Tommy and Buck… for more than one reason.

Go On and Kiss The Boy: Another fic I wrote for Bucktommy Fluffebruary. It has merman/merperson Tommy (I know it's not everybody's cup of tea, though!). Summary: After noticing something odd about Tommy for the third time, Buck decides to ask him about it. He never could have guessed how surprising and wonderful the secret Tommy has been keeping is.

I Wasn't Looking For You But You Found Me: I feel like I'm kind of cheating with this one but oh, well... This is actually a WIP that I started writing last year during Christmas. I kind of abandoned it because I was feeling insecure about it but I'm putting it here in case someone decides to read it and maybe likes it and maybe it motivates me to finish it. Summary: This Holiday season seems to promise a world of loneliness and heartache for Tommy… that is until someone knocks on his door in the middle of the night, changing everything.

Throw Me In The Deep End: I completely projected on Tommy on this one so this is why I like it hehe. Angst with fluff; Tommy with Depression and Anxiety. Summary: It's a great day for Buck since he will get to spend the next two days with Tommy. Unfortunately, Tommy sends him a message that changes all their plans.

When Tommy Met Evan: This was one of the first bucktommy fics that I wrote. It started with just one chapter but then some lovely people asked me for more, so I added another chapter... and then another one. I'm quite proud of that one and, surprisingly, people seemed to like it. Summary: After someone leaves a message after calling the wrong number, Tommy decides to call them back without knowing that he is going to talk with the possible love of his life for the first time ever.

I'm not sure who has done this already so, no pressure tagging: @bangpop91 @dark-alice-lilith @trombonechurchill @fake-mouthstatic and just anyone else who wants to do it.

Also tagging @louciferssacrament to do 5 of their favourite gifs and edits!!!

[ktrivia]

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Summary: A dreamwalker who has been in the heads of everyone from the most famous to world-leaders finds herself in Steve Roger’s dreams more than once. The Avengers don’t take kindly to people walking through their minds un-guarded, so what happens when Steve discovers her antics and takes her back to Avenger’s Compound for information?

Chapter Notes: Welcome to the rewrite of a fic I started writing years ago called “All Men Dream” This story will be a Bucky/Reader story, but we need some world building first before he can come in. Stay tuned for him starting in the next chapter! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1:

“Move Meatball!” I yelled as I tried to forcibly remove the petulant fluff ball from the sink he occupied.

“I’m trying to brush my teeth dammit,” I muttered as the cat finally moved, white face scrunched in indignation.

“It’s bedtime! You know he goes to sleep early.” I rationalized, hoping the feline understood my plight. He meowed indignantly before hopping onto the toilet lid and staring at me. I wet the toothbrush, coated it in toothpaste, and began brushing as I looked over at Meatball.

“Stop judging me,” I demanded weakly as I brushed. “I have fun with him. It’s not hurting anyone, and besides he has no idea I’m there anyway.” The cat’s head tilted to the side.

“It’s not like I planned to stick with him for long,” I stated after another moment. I couldn’t help but feel like he was judging me. After spitting in the sink and rinsing my mouth, I picked up the judgy fluffball and carried him with me to the bedroom. As I walked, I kept rationalizing my decision to him, as I had done now every night for the past month.

“Captain America just has the best dreams. Classic 1930s fun. He goes off to the dance hall and I get ice cream. It’s a win-win,” The cat laid down on the foot of the bed, ignoring my rambling. After moving to turn off the light, I crawled under the covers. As I shut my eyes, I thought of the face of Steve Rogers.

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the middle of a hustling New York City street, but rather than the modern cars rushing by me, Hudson’s and Packard’s scooted past. A grin pulled at my lips as I took in the bustling sidewalk full of people in outfits that seemed like they were from a different world. As one woman passed, I flicked my fingers, changing what I wore to match her. Instead of the pajamas I fell asleep in, I now donned a loose frilly day dress.

I took a cursory glance around, searching for Steve Rogers himself, and saw him stalking towards a darkened alley. What the exhibit in the Smithsonian said was true, Steve Rogers always stood up for the little guy and that included in his dreams. Every so often he’d disappear down a Brooklyn alleyway to recreate a fight from when he was a kid. He could go pummel every bully in Brooklyn for all I cared, because I was off the dance hall. His distraction was simply my gain.

I did my best to stay out of Steve’s way while I was in his head. Science says we only dream of faces we’ve seen before, and while that counts the people we’ve seen in passing, I didn’t want to risk Steve one day realizing that a certain face was appearing every time he slept.

Moving with the crowd, I worked my way down the street towards the Dana eh all glancing down the alley Steve had disappeared into as I passed it. I may not interact with him directly, but I also wasn’t going to let the guy have a nightmare. The last time I’d crashed one of those had been a doozy and I didn’t want a redo. I squinted into the darkness, lingering for just a moment, but didn’t see Steve. Dammit. He must have already fought the bully, which meant he’d be off to dance with some dames.

With a disappointed sigh, I pivoted on my chunky heel determined to head to the soda shop instead. A root beer float would cheer me up.

I felt a prickle on the back of my neck, like someone’s eyes were on me. No, no, no, no…

Turning slowly, I saw Steve Rogers standing across the street, stare drilling into me.

Fuck.

Hiding my panic, I gave him a soft smile, hoping to convince him I was just some woman happy to be acknowledged. I swiftly turned down the alley, bending the surrounding shadows to cover me. My mind was racing, trying to think of every possibility and option.

I could jump out of the dream, but then I’d never be able to come back and this little place had become my happy place. Sure, I could recreate it in someone else’s head but it wouldn’t be the same. Besides, planting false dreams into others mind’s wasn’t really my style. Steve could have thought I was just a pretty damn who he wanted to speak to. A snort left me as that thought came and went. No one glared at someone they thought was hot with that much anger.

That left the final and worst option: Lucid Dreaming. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, the dreamer could alter their own dream and had awareness of their actions. If Steve was lucid dreaming then all bets were off to what he could do. How did I miss the damn trigger though? Normally lucid dreams had some kind of barrier for the dreamer to cross, some kind of force they had to beat before they gained control. After a lifetime of doing this, I was quick to catch when a lucid dream was coming and bail before shit hit the fan.

Any planning was in vain, as a large hand harshly grabbed my shoulder, turning me quickly towards them. That would leave a fucking bruise.

“Who the hell are you?” The Captain demanded as he glared down at me.

“Oh, hello sir. I was just trying to get home, but I think I made a wrong turn,” I said sweetly, playing dumb.

“Who. Are. You?” He asked again, eyes burning. Looking around, I tried to find something I could use to distract him but the alley was empty. Blood dripping from his knuckles caught my eye. Damn. The bully or whoever he fought in this alley must have been the trigger for his lucidity.

“You have about ten seconds to tell me why you’re in my dream before this gets nasty,” he warned at my lack of an answer.

“A dream? Darling are you saying you dream of me?” I asked, batting my eyelashes in one last ditch effort. I really didn’t want to give up this slice of paradise.

“You’re coming with me…” Was all I heard before I cut connection.

“Fuck!” I yelled as I shot upright in bed, gasping for air. Movement at the end of my bed had me panicked before I realized it was Meatball attacking my feet under the covers.

“Well Meatball, you were right. Shouldn’t have hopped into the Captain’s dream tonight.”

After a night of fading in and out of a dreamless sleep, I got up to get ready for work. Losing my new happy place made for a depressing morning, especially as I was about to go into my unhappy place aka my job. Greg was a dick and could go fuck himself with a cactus if he tried to het me to make his marketing plan for him again.

I went through the motions of eating breakfast, getting dressed and saying goodbye to Meatball. I locked the door of the walk-up with a sigh, heading down the stairs into the streets of modern day Brooklyn. Glancing around, I couldn’t help but note how boring this was compared to Steve’s dream world, but it was what it was. The stifling heat of the city blasted into me and I could feel myself already starting to sweat through my work blouse. At least the office was only a couple blocks down the road, or else I really might have quit by now. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked the screen, noting no notifications.

“Shit!” I yelled as I stumbled backwards after running into what felt like a brick wall. A hand shot out to catch my forearm, keeping me steady. After a deep breath to steady myself, I looked up to thank the person for catching me and then chew them out for not watching where they were going. Looking down at me was a familiar pair of rage filled blue eyes.

“Shit,” I muttered again, this time for a totally different reason. Falling on my ass would have been much better than this.

“It’s you.”

[paradoxical-machine]

Trading some pokemon on the GTS on Home to complete my Home pokedex got me thinking about something

A while ago I saw a video about someone on animal crossing using nookazon to go from a simple item to a complex one. Yknow, trading items and bells to eventually get better and better things.

So now I'm wondering. Is it possible to complete the pokedex by starting with just one non-shiny pokemon?

I kinda want to try that

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

I'd like to congratulate you on getting your CPR certification.

Now remember, when you’re going in for compressions, it should sound like somebody is standing behind you with the worlds largest Dorito and cracking it open!

Go in firm and hard and snap as many ribs as you can on the way down, that means you’re doing it right.

You save that life. Good luck.

Or... Or... Or kill them, I don’t fucking care.

Audio source

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

okay so with all the spons they're doing I got curious, phannies and non-phannies please answer this poll. for Science.

Also feel free to add in the tags if you play *because* of dnp or not

[lesbiansanemi]

Currently trying not to vomit over the fact that I essentially just lost almost a thousand dollars brb

[fingertipsmp3]

Maybe I did this to myself but it does irk me when people see me knitting and they ask who it’s for and I say it’s for me and the immediate reaction is “you should sell it” yeah… let me spend at least a week’s worth of my free time making an item I like, want, and would wear just to sell it on etsy, making at most a £2 profit on materials and not being compensated for my time whatsoever 👍🏻

[starrywangxian]

because i'm normal and i always do, i'm thinking about alien stage x mdzs,,,

jin zixuan and jiang yanli as mizisua (ik it's straight but see my vision i beg or maybe xiao xingchen and song lan as mizisua, considering how they paralle with wangxian a lot and mizisua parallel with ivantill a lot??? or lan xichen and jin guangyao because they also parallel wangxian a lot??? listen there are no lesbians in mdzs i'm sorry T^T)

and of course wangxian as ivantill

potentially xiao xingchen and xue yang as luka and hyuna??? (idk i haven't thought that far)

[docholligay]

It is so hard for me to just let go of tasks I've delegated and I am being so so brave right now.

[bibleofficial]

enraging the hamstercare subreddit by ‘making a safe hamster ball’ & it’s just a wad of my hair in a hamster ball tied in a clear plastic bag

[twistitch]

Thinking about setting up to start doing art commissions but the whole thing seems very daunting

I don't know how much to price things, like I have an idea of what kind of categories people generally list on commission sheets I just don't know how much I should be pricing things at

I have an idea for a sheet layout I just have to make it and figure out prices

I also don't even know how best to go about advertising that I do art and if anyone would even want art from me

I also am nervous about the whole thing in general but I want (and kind of need to) start offering to make art for others

So if anyone has advice or suggestions I would love to hear it

[nope-body]

.

[rosegolden13]

Princess Treatment w/ John Price

His workaholic habits do not stop after he leaves base to come home to you...

We already know he's opening up every damn door for you. He has the magical skill of knowing when doors need a push or a pull so he never fails to laugh when you pull a push door. "Tha's why you shoulda left it to me, love. Stubborn thing, you are." He'll reach over your head to push the door open for you, plopping a kiss to your hair while he does.

His masculinity does not get in the way of holding your purse for you whenever you're out together, his big bear hands wrapped around the handle of your little black purse.

He refuses to let you carry your own luggage, doesn't care if it takes him multiple trips to get both of your bags into the hotel or rental house. He'll get all exasperated if you insist on helping. "You had a long drive. Lemme handle it, pet." (even though he's the one that drove...)

There's nothing he loves more than ordering for you at a restaurant. His voice is filled with an unreasonable amount of pride when he says "And for the missus..." before telling the waiter your order.

Speaking of food, if you ever eat anything that needs cutting or even doctoring up, expect him to jump in. "Now, now, doll, you know tha's my job." He'll tsk and gently take the knife from you to cut your steak into bitesize pieces or to butter your roll. Yes, he will go as far as to bring the fork up to your lips and feed you if you don't put up a fuss.

He will absolutely pay for your manicure and then coo when you offer him your hand to show off your new nails. "Real pretty, love... Don't go chippin' 'em now. Come sit."

Price always sets up a nice place for you on the couch or bed, blanket at the ready and pillows right where you like them. "Come on now, Mrs. Price." He'll pat the spot next to him like one would for a dog. Of course, he likes it best when he can be your pillow and personal heater (that man is always warm, always) but sometimes he's got to find a way to coax his little love into his arms and away from chores.

Naturally, he will swat your hands away when you bend down to tug on your heels or tie your sneakers. He'll crouch down to place your foot on his bent knee, patting your calf firmly and leaning in to press a kiss to your ankle once he's done.

If you nick yourself while shaving, he'll level you with a disapproving stare and then insist that he do it for you next time. After all, he has plenty of experience with keeping his facial hair so tidy. "Can't have my woman hurtin' herself, now can I?" You bet your bottom dollar he's using his fancy razors and shaving creams on you, extra delicate to make sure he doesn't mar your skin.

He's terrified to smoke around you after you coughed one (1) time and now he only will take his cigars out on the back porch or in his office with the window open. If you come in, he'll snuff it out asap and usher you out of the room, shushing your protests.

I'll probably eventually add a part two cuz soft Price is everything to me hehe... Can you tell my standards are ridiculously high?? Also, does anyone have an accent writing guide for TF-141?? I am painfully American.