#for whatever reason Glass Chameleons is stuck in my head...

[bunchbackedspider]

I wrote that little poem to start us off on this adventure. I hope you liked it. What adventure, you ask? I’ll tell you: Remember Glass Chameleons? Anyone? No? I kinda forgot about Glass Chameleons for years. Then the other day I found something that jogged my memory and I fell down this rabbit hole. It’s not like I’d forgotten entirely. The feeling was akin to what happens when you turn your back on the ocean for years, and it becomes a lake in your mind’s eye, no, a puddle. One day you spot a seashell and it all comes rushing back, the salty brine, the wide grey-blue expanse, the tumbling waves that sucked your friends under and dashed them against the sand between your toes. I guess you could say I’ve fallen down a Glass Chameleons shaped rabbit hole. This blog is me inviting you to hop down into this rabbit hole with me. Are you coming? If you are, make sure to pack an umbrella, tune your instruments, sharpen your swords, say your prayers to the devil, and buckle your seatbelts… and I’ll see you under the cut:

Alright. So... what are we doing here? Glass Chameleons was one of my favorite stories growing up. Might have been one of the first stories I ever loved more than I love myself, but that’s not saying much. It was also one of the scariest, most disturbing things I’ve ever experienced, and that, let me tell ya. That is saying something. Anyway, I’m sure a lot of you (who am I kidding, no one is reading this) have no idea what I’m talking about, in which case, we’ll get there, but if you know, you know. And if you do know, let me ask you – do you remember where you first discovered Glass Chameleons?

Maybe you found a tattered picture book at the back of the “difficult” bin in your second grade classroom library, with a poorly spelled note scrawled in orange crayon across the first page warning you to leave the book alone. Those of you who had TV might recall seeing episodes of Glass Chameleons on a few cartoon channels, where it aired exclusively from midnight to 5am, in between advertisements for BB guns and adult movies. Remember those banner advertisements on game websites that pretended to be their own little games? There was one where you had to shoot a purple bug by clicking on it, and the bug was really hard to catch, and if you took your shot and failed to click it, the ad would disappear. But if you shot it, it would download and install the original Glass Chameleons videogame onto your parents’ computer alongside a selection of low-grade adware and viruses the nature of which we were all too young to unravel. There was also the Glass Chameleons kids’ variety show at 11pm on Monday nights, featuring a live audience of real sleep-deprived children, and a cast none of whom I’ve been able to track down.

Whether you found the Glass Chameleons themed airplane safety booklet, in which our favorite Glass Chameleons characters demonstrated different ways to die on an airplane (I swear this exists and I should never have put it back in the seat pocket), or ate one of those limited-edition fruit roll-up mobius strips that are rumored to have psychoactive properties... I bet your parents (if you had any) lacked awareness of this story. Right? Even if you thought you had, like, cool parents. If you told your parents about Glass Chameleons, you likely never saw it again. It disappeared. Slipped out of a hole in the pocket of your life. The book hiding in the classroom library wound up in some other kid’s desk, and your parents got an antivirus and stopped letting you stay up late enough to watch the shows. Much like childhood itself, the Glass Chameleons franchise was an unsettling mirage, shimmering in a pre-dawn mist that evaporated come daylight. A shadowy woodland creature of a story, glimpsed only by latchkey children whose parents weren’t paying attention. Glass Chameleons appeared for a few years in the mid-to-late aughts and then disappeared. Nowadays it’s all but gone.

Trust me. I looked. Before I set out to write this, I tried hard to find a copy of Glass Chameleons in any medium. I spent weeks looking, and I turned up jack shit. Not even so much as a ratty old kid-sized Glass Chameleon merch t-shirt buried at the bottom of a sea of shirts in a thrift shop discount bin. Not even a sticker. I can only assume that’s because I’m starting to get old. Not old-old, but too old for the mirage of Glass Chameleons. I fear it won’t appear before me again. Maybe that’s why I want to seek it out and find it one last time, before it’s too late.

So Glass Chameleons was a difficult story to get through, and a tough story to find, too, even back then. Back in the day, some of us did dangerous things to get our hands on a copy. Some of you die hard Glass Chameleons fans are gonna demand my ass get whipped for saying this: Personally, I not only condone this danger, I encourage it. Kids, DO try this at home. It’ll be soooo fun. It’ll build character.

That said... for those of you who are A. not children or B. not willing to do inadvisable things for the sake of obtaining reading material, the safest, nay, perhaps the only way to take this story in, is through listening to somebody else talk about it. And isn’t that what stories are really for? Isn’t that why we all love them so much? Not just because we like to be entertained, but because we like to tell them to each other. There’s nothing quite like sitting and listening to somebody tell you a story.

So that’s what I’m going to do, right here, right now in the next post, and the one after that, and however long it takes me to get to end. I’m going to tell you this story, as best I remember it. And if you remember it too, let me know. Maybe we can find it together.

Until next time! - Spider

A world made of windows is inhabited by chameleons the color of each other.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Greetings Raven-san, may i ask for headcanon: MC practicing their lead role and asks Jade, Azul and Ace to be their practice partner and things go love mood ~

Curiouser and Curiouser...

You couldn't have asked for a better practice partner. Jade is like a chameleon--he's perfect at playing any role he is given, it's almost frightening how well he takes to it. Well... you supposed that an actor was just a professional liar, right? And who better to ask than a masterful liar himself?

The longer Jade reads his script, the more you find yourself coming to believe that he is his character, and that you are yours. You start to get really into it, putting as much feeling into your words and your expression as he does.

Swept up into the world of the play, you almost forget about the romantic subplot of the story until you hit the first line of it. Jade doesn't miss a single beat, and he easily executes his part, the confession. Gallant, chivalrous, sincere--just as his character was written to be. It's such a contrast to what his personality is really like that it throws you for a loop and has you pausing in your tracks.

"... Oya? You appear to be rather taken aback. Whatever is the matter?" he asks, cocking his head to one side. His smile, teasingly curious. "Have I misspoken my lines? Fufufu... Or, perhaps, have you found yourselves to be tongue-tied by my humble acting?"

Acting. Right. This was just acting. A show, a lie. You tell yourself that as you clear your throat and pick up your script, starting again from the top. Jade says his part a second time, his gaze bearing directly into you, and a mysterious smile on his lips.

You furiously blush, hiding your face behind your script--unable to keep the scene going. A few seconds elapse before you dare to peek out from behind it, only to be met with Jade's polite chuckling. You hesitantly ask if he meant what he said before, but he suggests, “Why don’t we take a break? It would be counterproductive to one’s health to continue pushing the body past a point of exertion. A break to rest and rehydrate would be most beneficial before we resume practice.”

He never gives you a straight answer, always dangling someone in front of you and then snatching it away again while you're stuck second-guessing and doubting his intentions. You're left on the edge of your seat, wanting more of him, and more of his addictive performance.

Azul has his own ulterior reasons for agreeing to help you practice your lines--he wants to get in Vil's good graces, and what better way than assisting the lead actor? Surely that will put both you and Vil in his debt, and this octopus values such efficiency.

He's not the worst practice partner ever, but he's not the best, either. Azul recites his lines serviceably, but he has a tendency to be very theatrical (which sometimes comes off as "too fake" since everything, especially the smiling, is done in excess).

He overacts, putting emphasis on his words and projecting them clearly to an invisible audience. Azul also gestures or sweeps his arms about to gesture to important places on an imaginary stage, be it a prop or a detail in the set background.

When you finally hit that first romantic scene, Azul has to stop and do a double take just to make sure he's reading the script correctly. He squints at the words for a few seconds, then removes his glasses, wipes them off, and replaces them. "Hmm. An interesting turn of events," he notes, smoothing out the pages. "Trust Vil-san to add a dash of drama to his works."

Azul gets through the romantic scenes without much of a fuss, though you notice that he isn't adding his usual flourishes. His tone is much more serious, and his body language is much more self-contained, as he expounds on his "love" for your character.

When you recite your lines, you find that Azul stares at you rather thoughtful, giving you his undivided attention as he scrutinizes your performance. At the end of every scene, he, ever the perfectionist, provides feedback--and, in particular, hones in on the romantic bits.

"Now these are your weakest points," he explains, leaning over to tap a finger against your script. Your shoulders touch, your faces mere centimeters apart. "These lines could make do with more oomph. Summon all your emotion and speak from the heart--as though you are truly professing your love to me." There's a bit of a conniving glint to his eyes--another underlying motive. But what that motive is? You're not entirely certain.

He rolls his eyes and acts like it's a big deal that he's agreeing to help you--but deep down, Ace is glad that you trust him enough to come to him! Once he actually has a script in his hand, though... He quickly loses interest, calling the contents of the play boring and lame. Too late now, he already agreed to help--

Ace half asses his reading, his eyes lazily grazing the script. He can't take the play seriously, so he does his own interpretation of it by reading all his lines in various funny voices. You can't finish your own lines without stammering or bursting out into laughter.

That really feeds into Ace's ego, making him puff up like a balloon. "I know, I know, I'm hilarious!" He'll top it off with a mock bow and a cheeky grin, reassuring you that he'll "be here all night" to amuse you with his superior comedy!

With his ego freshly stroked, Ace boldly swaggers into the love scenes. He reads these parts in a very nasal-y and high-pitched voice that makes you lose control all over again. When you’ve laughed so hard that your stomach hurts, you wipe away a tear and remind him that he should be treating this a lot more seriously than he actually is.

“What, it’s supposed to be this sappy? You sure it’s not meant to be played up for laughs?” Ace makes a face as he stares down at his script. “Like any of this stuff would happen in real life. Bold confessions, forbidden romances, enemies to lovers, happily ever afters... It’s all like something out of a fairy tale.”

He sighs, rolling up his script--and crushing it between his fingers. “... Hey. Do you actually believe in that stuff? Do you? Is that the kind of love you want or something?” But Ace doesn’t give you the chance to answer. Instead, he brings his rolled up script down on your forehead in a light tap. “Idiooot. As if it’d go that smoothly. Keep dreaming, you dork.”

He tosses the script on the table and claims that he has lost interest in helping you practice. As he bolts off, he feels a nip of annoyance in his subconscious, disappointment in knowing that he can’t be like the perfect prince in the play. Even so... Ace will relish in knowing that he could get you to smile as much as he did. That’s one thing no stinking pretend prince will have over him.

[hypsterlicious]

What could possibly go wrong? (Voltron Paladins x Reader)

This is an oldy, but a goody. I wrote this when I watched the Voltron series on Netflix and became obsessed! I was only intending on it to be a one shot, but maybe I will hop back on this story if anyone wants more. Hope y’all enjoy it!

------------------------------------------------------------- <3 --------------------------

The Paladins were successful in liberating yet another alien planet from Zarkon's hands and were one step closer to ending the war. Although the planet's locals were nocturnal and usually let the planet rest throughout the day, they were forced to work on the Galra's schedule due to Zarkon's reign and the planet suffered, risking the utter destruction of the civilization and the planet itself; That is until Voltron liberated them. To show their appreciation, they threw together a late night party in honor of the Paladins to celebrate their victory. The heroes gathered around in the lounge room of the Castle, exhausted but with a newfound adrenaline after yet another successful mission.  Shiro brought everyone in for a team huddle to congratulate them and to thank everyone for doing their part in making this mission one of many victories.

 "Nice work, team. You've really come together in these last few missions and we've made a lot of progress." Allura couldn't help but add on to Shiro's encouraging words by saying a few of her own. The war against Zarkon might not be over, however she valued everyone sticking together and pushing through every battle making the Coalition ever stronger.

"Yes, excellent work Paladins. Thanks to you, Voltron still stands as the most powerful defender of the universe." Although Coran was present in the meeting with everyone and also grateful, he seemed preoccupied with checking the time along with anything else that sporadically popped into his head, turning to face the group.

"The locals of this planet were so grateful, they've orchestrated a huge celebration in your honor! Unfortunately now it's a bit late and we should probably get some rest. Off to bed with you now." Dramatic sighs erupted from the Paladins all at once. Although they were burnt out from their recent battles with the Galra, they were also young adults who felt as if one night of being able to relax and enjoy themselves would do them some good. Lance being the most vocal of the group was of course the first to express his concerns.

"Aw, come on! They're celebrating us! Can't we just have one night where we can be us instead of the 'Defenders of the Universe' or whatever?!" Although Pidge and Lance didn't always see eye to eye on most issues, she agreed with him and stubbornly made a statement of her own, much to everyone's surprise.

"Zarkon's men have been defeated, so we know the planet is safe. Plus, everyone's been working really hard on our last missions. Can't we have a little bit of fun?" Although Allura listened to their reasoning and attempted to come to an understanding, she also couldn't ignore the duty that her father had tasked her with and therefore couldn't take any chances with Voltron falling into the wrong hands, denying their request harshly.

"Like it or not, you are the Paladins of Voltron now and we cannot risk  something happening to one of you." Shiro both being the Leader of Voltron and a respected figure to the team made the decisive call and sided with Allura on the issue, both expected and much to the demise of the group's hopes.

"The Princess is right. If something were to happen to any of you, then we couldn't form Voltron. Also, just because we've defeated Zarkon's men on this planet doesn't mean we should let our guard down. There could still be more of them working undercover." Coran decided to crush the young Paladins' morale by reiterating his previous statement, adding on to their hatred of the many burdens they bare as Voltron.

"Now off to bed with you!" The Paladins all groaned in unison as Shiro, Allura, and Coran all exited the lounge, leaving the rest of the team to themselves as they prepared for their next move against Zarkon's empire. Lance obnoxiously exclaimed his frustration, making the rest of the party in the room eye roll knowing that it wouldn't help their situation.

"Man this sucks! Everyone gets to party except for us! We're the reason they even get to party!" Pidge plopped down on the sofa with a sigh of defeat.

"Oh well. If we die fighting the Galra, I can safely say I died never having gone to a real party before." Lance  over exaggerated to the point of absolute annoyance in reaction of Pidge's comment.

"Wait Pidge! You've never been to a party?!"Keith jumped into the conversation, defending Pidge against Lance's judgmental satement.

"So what? Neither have I."  Hunk confessed to the rest of the room while they were all on the subject.

"Yeah come to think of it, I've never been to one either." Lance just scanned everyone in the room slightly irritated.

"Okay, so let me get this straight. Three out of the five DEFENDERS OF THE UNIVERSE have never experienced the utter enjoyment of a party?" An idea fired up in Lance's brain causing his face to light up in everyone's horror, "Well I say we change that, tonight." Hunk caught on to what Lance was suggesting and quickly started to panic a little.

"W-wait, what? D-didn't Shiro and Allura say to stay put?" Pidge cut Hunk off with her answer nonchalantly.

"I'm in." Keith attempted to shut down Lance's proposal to everyone by reminding them of what was just discussed.

"No way. Do you know how much trouble we'd be in if we got caught? Shiro and Allura were right, it's too risky." Of course Lance found an opportunity to tease Keith and took full advantage of the moment.

"Oh, whatever Keith! You're just scared to go to a party!" To everyone's expectations, Keith and Lance started bickering back and forth, "No, I'm just not an idiot."

"Who are you calling an idiot, IDIOT?"

"Maybe if you weren't an idiot, YOU'D KNOW!" Pidge finally ceased their vocal war by butting in.

"Whatever, are we going or what?!" Lance did a one-eighty and got right back to the point, dropping his attitude towards Keith like it was nothing.

"Alright, so me and Pidge are in. Hunk, you in on this?" Hunk hesitantly responded, unsure of what to say.

"Uh, I don't know Lance. Are you sure this is a good idea?" Lance defended his brilliant idea to the room.

"Ah, relax will ya? Like Pidge said, we've defeated the biggest threat to this planet already. And besides, we're the Paladins of Voltron! What could possibly go wrong?"

Outside of the Castle sat a restless Shiro letting his thoughts run wild while watching the celebration going on nearby. He thought about Zarkon as he sat there trying to figure out what to do to defeat him. He thought about what would happen after they did. Would the fight ever end? Or would others try to take Zarkon's place? Would they have to defend the Universe forever? However, what Shiro thought of most was Earth. He thought not only of the possibility of never seeing his home planet again, but the other paladins as well.

"Maybe I have been pushing them too hard." He stood up to go back inside and talk to the others when he saw a small group of familiar looking individuals in the distance heading towards the party. Shiro let out a defeated sigh.

"I can't ever catch a break."

You were seated at the bar enjoying the atmosphere of the party, space beer and other drinks flowing around freely. You were an earthling and had your own messed up reasons for getting stuck on the other side of space, but you were resourceful so you made do. It was refreshing to see a planet liberated from the Galra and by Voltron nonetheless. You've heard of the Legendary Defender from all across the Galaxy but to see it with your own eyes was a whole new experience. A group of four entered the club, catching your attention as you stared at them in awe.

"Humans? And I thought I was the only one unlucky enough to make it all the way out here." A Hispanic earthling in the group locked eyes with you from across the club and immediately strolled over to you.

"Hello there, beautiful. The name's Lance. I see you don't have a drink or a date, mind if I fix that for-?" A boy with dark eyes and a black mullet pulled Lance by the ear.

"Sorry about Lance. He's an idiot." Unsure of how to react, you just stared at them with a smile, fighting the urge to laugh as they squabbled in front of you.

"Ow! Okay, Keith I get it. Now could you please let go of my ear?!"

"Nah I'm good." Their squabble was interrupted by a nerdy girl with short hair and glasses.

"So are you from Earth like us? Or are you an alien that looks similar to humans? Ooh! Or do you have a chameleon ability that helps you blend in?" A bigger guy sporting an orange bandanna stepped in to stop her rambling by addressing the elephant in the room.

"I think what Pidge is trying to say is if you are from Earth, then how did you get all the way out here?" You were surprised to say the least. No one had really asked you anything like that since you've been out here so you just assumed that nobody was interested.

"It's kind of a long story." Keith and the rest of the paladins were interested in what you had to say so he made an excuse to keep the conversation going.

"Well, we've got all night."

As you sat there talking with the surprisingly young Paladins of Voltron, you grew to admire them a little as they reminded you of how Earthlings were since this was the first time you've come across people like you during your time here; It was almost nostalgic. You ordered drinks for everyone and chatted it up, sharing your experiences out in space and reminiscing about Earth. Hunk hated the taste of the drinks being served so he whipped up a new drink of his own called 'Altean Love Potion' while Keith, Pidge, and Lance played Space Pong. You were seated at the bar, laughing at how buzzed the Paladins were all getting and enjoying your drink to yourself when a muscular man with a white tuft of hair and an old scar across the bridge of his nose sat beside you.

"Mind if I join you?" You kindly accepted, your cheeks feeling warm from either the buzz you were getting or from the man who was now sitting to your right, you weren't quite sure. He ordered a space beer as you casually started conversation.

"So you must be Shiro." He gazed at you curiously, wondering how the girl seated next to him figured him out so quickly.

"Alright, you caught me. How did you know I was here?" Resting your elbow on the table, you placed your head in your hand, a playful smirk emerging from your lips.

"I might have noticed you watching your friends from across the club." He chuckled nervously, noticing now how obvious he must've seemed and apologized to you for not taking responsibility for them sooner.

"Yeah, sorry if they've caused you any trouble. And thank you for looking out for them."You giggled as you stared at the Paladins, watching them as memories from Earth started to emerge once again.

"No problem, they're a nice group of kids." Shiro stared down at his drink, a mixture of sadness in his eyes and a half smile on his face.

"Yeah, they are. I wanted to let them have their fun. They deserve it."He felt a warm hand gently placed on his left arm, drawing his gaze back to you as your eyes locked with his. The lights from the bar gave off a captivating gleam in your eyes and time seemed to stand still.

"And you don't? All they could talk about was how they wished you were here with them tonight. They look up to you ya know?" The sound of glass shattering distracted you both to the source of the noise.

"Hey, that was my drink!" An angered and obviously drunk Keith stood up to a nasty looking alien twice his size. You and Shiro started towards them as Lance stood beside his fellow Paladin against the alien brute, adding fuel to the fire as he started to taunt the intimidating alien.

"Yeah! You're just mad because we kicked your alien butt in Space Pong! It's not our fault you're a sore loser!" Lance's taunting angered the alien to no end making Pidge step back, uncomfortable by the situation.

"Uh, guys?" Lance and Keith directed their attention to Shiro, both turning slightly pale as they realized their leader had caught them at the worst possible time.

"Oh, Quiznak."  Shiro stepped in just in time getting between them and the buff alien.

"Lance, Keith, it's time for you to leave, now." Although Keith had a lot of respect for Shiro, he refused to back down as he couldn't ignore what this alien did to his drink in his drunken state.

"Not until he makes up for that drink!" Hunk and Pidge held Keith and Lance back while the tough guy growled in a rage.

"I'm not making up for anything, boy! And your little friend here's not gonna stop me from tearing you ap-!" A taser gun entered his neck as he fell to the ground, making a huge thud as his body fell seemingly lifeless on the floor, revealing you from behind him.

"Well that shut him up." The paladins all just stood there staring in awe at what you just did, "What? I didn't kill him." Keith was the first to speak up, motioning everyone towards the entrance of the club.  

"We better get out of here before he wakes up." The rest of the group followed Keith to the door, Lance slipping out his excitement of what you just did while in pursuit of the others.

"Holy crow, that was so cool!" You watched them with a strange pang in your chest that you couldn't quite pinpoint as they were about to leave when Hunk turned to you, halting the rest of the team.

"Hey wait, what are you gonna do?" Pidge added on to Hunk's point in curiosity while the rest of Paladins directed their attention to you, interested in your answer.

"Yeah, didn't you say you were trying to get back to Earth?" You peered down at the floor, an uncertain expression painted your face as you attempted to come up with an acceptable answer.

"Well, I'm unsure of that myself to be honest. I'm a long way from from Earth and I'm all alone out here so..." Footsteps approached you as you were lost in your train of thought and you felt a strong grip on your shoulder, drawing your eyes to Shiro, a confident smile on his face.  

"Why don't you join our team?" You gazed at everyone else who all wore welcoming smiles, all waiting for your response. You nodded at Shiro, sharing his confidence as you all headed out of the club, together. The alien you incapacitated earlier stood up groggily after you all left, pulling some sort of communication device out of his side pocket.

"Emperor Zarkon. I have some information that might be of use to you. It's about the Paladins of Voltron."

"Proceed."

"They've recruited an earthling to their forces. There was discussion of this new recruit's pursuit back to Earth, sir." An eerie amount of silence fills the communicator as the alien awaits Zarkon's response.

"....Excellent."  

The End.

[d0gdaze]

1.

The body swap au a surprising amount of people asked for, actually. 

Read on AO3 / Summary

Pairings: Eddie Kaspbrak / Richie Tozier

Warnings: swearing, sexual references

Chapter 1/?

| Next 

Word Count: 3279

Eddie’s playlist

If given the choice to remove something from existence, most sensible people's suggestions would be akin to war, famine, homelessness, cancer, or something else along that line. Some people would be more specific, maybe choosing to rid the world of a particular person, or food, or trend in clothing. Some would say they would get rid of bagpipes, or tomatoes, or the entire concept of wearing socks and sandals. Others wouldn't be able to give you an answer, making the argument that we need the bad to balance out the good, or some other pretentious and insightful bullshit.

Richie Tozier knew exactly what he would get rid of, if given that choice. It would, without a doubt, be the song Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves.

This was the thought that crossed Richie's mind as the annoyingly energetic opening drumbeats graced his ears at six that morning, as they did every morning without fail. It was promptly accompanied by the familiar sound of a window sliding open, which only aimed to amplify the sound. He gritted his teeth and mumbled something unintelligible, but undoubtedly profane, and pulled the pillow out from under him, wrapping it around the back of his head and over his ears in an attempt to drown out the music. It proved to be futile, though. Because then, right on cue, the singing started. Well, calling it singing might be a bit of a stretch. He would have described it as more of a pained-sounding screech, much akin to a dying cat, or maybe a kazoo thrown into a paper shredder,

I use to think maybe you loved me, now baby I'm sure.

Of course his next door neighbour had to have the worst voice imaginable, paired with the worst music taste imaginable (that is, one of a preteen girl). He honestly thought he would much rather be beaten over the head with a baseball bat every morning, because even that would be less painful than this.

The chorus started, and the 'singing' escalated from a slightly reserved cry to a full on caterwaul, his neighbour's voice cracking a little, rather comically, on the 'woah's. He let out a defeated huff, which slowly drew out into a groan. He removed the pillow, throwing it off the bed in lazy frustration, and turned his head to face the window. From where he was he could just see Eddie Kaspbrak, his personal alarm clock, sitting at the foot of his own bed, bent over himself to tie his shoes. He was still belting out the lyrics as he did so.

Eddie, at least on the outside, seemed like a good kid. 'A wrinkly old grandma's wet dream', Richie had once said to his friend Beverly the day after he moved in next door, and though the analogy was responded to with disgust, she later discovered that he really did have a point. The boy was constantly pristine, always wearing variously coloured, yet always dull-looking polo shirts, tucked into jeans that were always unreasonably well-fitted. And cardigans. Oh god, the cardigans were the worst. They looked like they came directly out of Mr. Rogers' personal collection, though everyone knew the kid didn't own a single item of second-hand clothing. Which was, in Richie's opinion, worse, because it meant that he didn't dress like that due to financial strife, and that he spent good money on new clothes that made him look like a tiny senior citizen by choice. His haircut hadn't changed since the start of highschool, the same suburban-white-father-of-three-esque side-parted quiff that never had a single hair out of place. When he wasn't dressed like this, however, he was in his P.E. uniform. That is, a grey t-shirt with their high school mascot printed on the front, and shorts. Bright red, flashy, and ever so short. Absolutely shorter than necessary, and shorter than anyone else on the track team seemed to have them. And once again, the Kaspbrak's didn't have an issue with money. He hadn't grown out of them and couldn't afford to buy a new pair, hell, he had barely grown two inches since freshman year. They were short, because that weirdo liked them that way, for whatever reason. And Richie didn't care enough to ask. All he knew was that they when he was wearing them, it was distracting as fuck. Every time he did his stretches on Saturday morning, after strategically placing himself in his room so Richie could see him from where he sat on the bed, reading over his play scripts, it was like he was actively trying to show himself off.

And Richie hated it. He hated him.

He grabbed his glasses off of his bedside table and dragged himself out of bed, feet hitting the floor and pulling him into a slouched stance, and shuffled his way over to the window. He lifted the pane open with a small groan.

There was a small stretch of roof in front of both of their windows, about three feet each, the gap between the two properties only about the length of Richie's arm. Small enough to cross over with barely any effort, if either wanted to do so. Before Eddie had moved in, he thought it would have been perfect if someone came and lived there, someone nice, someone that he liked, and they could sit out on the roof and talk all night. They could have climbed into one another's rooms when their parents were asleep, or leave little notes on the glass, or even, maybe, if he was really lucky, fall in love with them. It would have been perfect, and rather shakespearian, he guessed. His own little Romeo and Juliet story. But then the universe decided to throw it's middle fingers up and say “fuck you, you're getting this hobbit instead,” and the only time he had ever crossed over to the other rooftop was at the start of junior year, to draw a massive, rather detailed piece of male genitalia on Eddie's window. In permanent ink, too, and Eddie had spent a good twenty minutes crouched out there in his pyjamas with a bottle of ajax and a sponge, desperately trying to scrub it off, cursing out Richie as he did so, fretting out loud about his mother seeing it. He deserved it though. He must have, even though Richie couldn't remember exactly what event had brought it on.

He leaned out slightly, fingers tapping a beat into the wood. Eddie looked up, obviously catching him out of the corner of his eye, and grinned. For a moment it even looked almost genuine. Almost. He knew better.

“'Morning Dick!” he chirped, making his way across the room, leaning against the window frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Richie pressed his lips together into a forced smile.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're a really good singer? I mean, obviously the answer is no, because you're shit, but I was wondering if maybe someone once lied to you about it and that's why you're still in denial about how terrible you are.” He tilted his head to the side. “Sorry to rip the bandaid off like that but trust me, it's better that you know.” He nodded his head, feigning sympathy. Eddie let out a short, sharp laugh.

“Oh I'm sorry Rich, was I cutting in on your beauty sleep? Is that why your face is all-” he paused, holding his hand up towards him, gesturing vaguely, “-like that?”

“Nice comeback,” Richie replied, before returning to a deadpan expression, “can you turn the music down now?” Eddie stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, shaking his head.

“Maybe if you weren't up until two in the morning reciting your weird poetry you wouldn't be so tired, ever think of that?” he asked, a mocking lilt to his voice. Before Richie could say anything in return, he reached above him and slid the window down, leaving just a small gap at the bottom as to not muffle the noise, and promptly flipped him off through the glass. The song faded to a close, only to be replaced by something equally as upbeat and obnoxious.

Richie thought that if he could remove something else from existence, it would be Karma Chameleon by Culture Club.

“Fucking twat,” Richie muttered under his breath, just as Eddie's curtains were pulled shut. He sighed in defeat, shutting his own window and rolling his shoulders forward a few times, trying to ease some of the tension in his back. His lumpy old mattress was starting to become a prominent problem, there wasn't many days that he woke up without a crick in his neck. “Stupid mattress. Stupid shitty pop songs. Stupid fucking pink sweater bullshit.”

He collapsed onto the bed face-down, the bed creaking and complaining under him as he did, ignoring the painful way his glasses pressed into his face.

“'Weird poetry', like you can fucking talk, weirdo. At least I don't fucking iron my jeans.” He barked out a laugh at his own remark, then quickly realised he was talking and to someone who could not hear him, and sighed again. He rolled over onto his back, looking up at the cluster of glow in the dark stickers on the ceiling that he had put there when he was eight, only to never take them down, even as he was nearing the end of highschool. Most of them were peeling away at the corners. He had an urge to fix them, but knew he wouldn't, choosing instead to fixate on them with a weird sense of frustration.

It took around twenty minutes for him to actually get up. He only knew it took that long because five songs played during that time, averaging three and a half minutes each, he guessed. And Eddie sang every single lyric, so badly that at points Richie thought he must be consciously trying to sound worse than normal. It ended up being a rendition of Don't Go Breaking My Heart, in which Eddie sang both the male and female parts, even putting the effort in to sing them in alternating pitches, that drove Richie to the edge. He threw on a pair of jeans and the first shirt he picked up that didn't look too filthy, and trudged his way down the hall to the bathroom. He didn't have time for a shower, so he brushed his teeth and sprayed on an arguably excessive amount of aftershave before heading downstairs.

It wasn't necessarily a surprise to see the note on the fridge, but it still made him feel- something. Disappointment, perhaps, though he wasn't sure why it would be. It wasn't like it was a rare occasion for him to wake up to an empty household. He walked closer. Words scribbled on a piece of yellow lined paper torn from a legal pad, obviously done in a rush, held up by an old souvenir magnet from Niagara Falls. That trip had been before Richie was born, back when he figured his parents still led relatively interesting lives. Or maybe they didn't. Maybe it was a gift, and his parent's lives were never extraordinary in the slightest, not even enough to go to Ontario. He had never thought to ask.

Will be back tomorrow night. Leftovers in the fridge. -Mom x

He read the words aloud to himself, his voice sounding all too loud now that he was aware there was no one else to hear it. He told himself he didn't care, because truthfully, he wasn't sure if he did.

His parents weren't bad, per say. They did care about him, obviously, they must have. When they were home it was nice, they ate dinner together in front of the television, he helped his mother with the dishes, his father gave him pocket money for mowing the lawn. Hell, they even actually talked sometimes, mostly about the sports his father watched. Richie loved those talks, even though he really didn't have any interest in the subject matter. No, they were fine parents, he thought, perfectly fine. The problem was that they were rather... absent. Increasingly so since he hit high school. Nowadays it seemed that they were gone more than they weren't, either gone on some sort of business trip, or working late shifts, or his mother was at her book club, or his father was at the sports bar downtown. There was always something, and they barely ever specified what it was. Sometimes a week would pass and he wouldn't see them at all.

He swallowed the hurt that had started forming in the back of his throat, god knows he didn't need to acknowledge it, and opened the fridge. Empty. Like, absolutely empty.

“Good one, ma.”

He let the door swing shut and close with a soft thud, and took one last look at the note, as if it had somehow changed in the last ten seconds, or maybe to make sure he had read it right. Ten words are a lot to handle, after all, he easily could have misread it. But, unsurprisingly, he had read it right the first time, his parents still weren't home, and he would nothing to eat but cup noodles for the next two days. He didn't get the chance to mull over it for much longer, because right then a car horn sounded from outside, announcing his friend's arrival.

He bounded down the driveway to Mike's vega, where Beverly was leaning against the side of the hood, the front seat shifted forward already for him to climb into the back seat. He never understood how they had conned him into sitting in the back every day, seeing as he was tallest out of all three of them and the car was so small he would have been uncomfortable even in the front, but they had, and he did, and every day his back hated him for it. Don't complain, he reminded himself as he contorted himself into the seat, at least it's better than the bus. He sat in the middle of the bench, legs awkwardly spread apart, but it was the only way he could fit semi-comfortably.

“Any interesting developments today?” Mike questioned as Beverly readjusted the seat for herself.

“Eh, same old. Little fucker called me ugly, I told him 'at least I don't iron my jeans'.”

“Noice,” Bev exclaimed, swinging the door shut. The engine revved to life again and Mike pulled out onto the road. “Yeah, would have been pretty good. Except I didn't actually say it while he could hear me, so it's fucking wasted,” he huffed, slumping back into the seat, not that there was much room to do so.

“Nah, just save it for next time,” she replied, shooting him a toothy smile over her shoulder which he returned.

“Sadie's for breakfast?” Mike asked, and Beverly made a noise of excitement, sitting up in her seat.. “Hell yeah, we have time?”

“There's always time for Sadie's, miss Marsh,” Richie remarked, leaning forward over the centre console.

Sadie's was a small, relatively popular fast food joint in town. An unsuspecting visitor would undoubtedly be discouraged when entering; the establishment was cramped and borderline claustrophobic, the purple and white clad employees were always abrupt and rude, the floors were sticky and the tables hardly ever clean, and the food was downright awful and way too overpriced. But everyone knew you didn't go there for the service, or the food, or the atmosphere, or any of that crap. No, you went to Sadie's for the shakes. Those vanilla shakes were what kept the damn place in business, and for good reason. They were heaven, a perfect balance of flavour and consistency. Anyone who ever had one would tell you that it was the best thing they had tasted in their entire lives. No one could figure out how to recreate it, either, and not through lack of trying. No matter what people did, how closely they watched through the narrow window into the kitchen as they were being prepared, how many different variations and measurements and methods they tried, nothing was ever as good. It was almost magical. Richie and his friends probably went through over twenty a week between the four of them -the three in the car, plus Stan, though he often unfortunately missed out on their impromptu snack runs due to him refusing to ride in Mike's car.

They arrived just under ten minutes later. The restaurant was situated between two other buildings, looking almost like it was shoved in there at the last minute, and there wasn't actually anywhere to park. Bev quickly hopped out and gave a two fingered salute before marching inside, and Mike began to drive around the block, as he would do multiple times as they waited for Beverly to retrieve their order. The two of them sat, the radio filling the gaps in the comfortable silence between them.

“And coming up next,” the voice on the station hummed as the song faded out, “to brighten your drive to work on the glorious Monday morning; a hit from Katrina and the Waves-”

“-Oh god.”

Mike laughed as Richie lurched forward, his fingertips just barely brushing the radio dial before Mike grabbed his wrist with one hand and keeping the other on the wheel. The drumbeats faded in. Richie felt like he might cry. “Fucking hell, Hanlon, please don't make me listen to it,” he pleaded, sounding so genuinely desperate that it only caused the other to smile wider. “Aw why? Don't you like this song?”

“You know damn well I do no- watch the road, man!”

Mike swore under his breath and swerved back into his own lane, not letting up his grip on Richie's wrist despite his squirming.

“Driver picks the music, Rich,” he jeered, shoving Richie backwards. He fell back with an exaggerated groan, letting his head roll back against the edge of the seat. The lyrics started, and Mike started to sing along, or at least tried to. It quickly became clear that he didn't know any of the words.

“You suck,” Richie hissed, though it lacked any real heat.

“I know,” he returned, flashing a smile in the rearview mirror. It was so innocent looking and contagious that Richie had to bite back one of his own. Damn it Mike, Richie thought, why'd you have to be so pretty, huh? Cut me some slack here.

They went around the block twice before they spotted Beverly standing on the curb. In that time Richie did his best to block out the song, and the one after that, though the second one didn't make him want to rip his hair out nearly as much. He could only thank god that Mike wasn't one to blast his music at a ridiculous level.

Bev swung down into her seat, carefully balancing the cardboard cup tray on the centre console before shutting the door and doing up her seatbelt.

“Alright, pay up. 'Dollar seventy five,” she held her hand palm up over her shoulder, directed towards Richie. He dug around in his pocket and came up with a crumpled bill and a quarter, and placed it in her hand. “I owe you fifty cents,” he said, reaching forward to snatch one of the drinks. He had to stop himself from straight-up moaning as he took a first sip. “Holy fuck.”

“Mhm,” Bev hummed in agreement, lips wrapped around her own straw.

“Oh my god, Bev,” Mike said abruptly, “you'll never guess what came on the radio.”

Tag list (bolded won’t tag):  @fanficisgoodforthesoul @i-is-gazebo @dandeliontozier @panicatbakerst @howellhxlic @musicalsaftermusicals @bernaynay @bust-a-move-bev @reddie-to-go @richietoaster @omgboiledcabbages @reddietofall @flowersiren @lousytrashmouth @get-fcking-reddie

[a-ginger-journey]

A Voltron Fanfiction: What Could Go Wrong? (Paladins x Reader) Part 1

So Voltron's coming out in two days and I just...hnnng...I wrote a fanfic because I was bored and I love me some Space Daddy. Here is my trash. Enjoy.

====================================

The Paladins were successful in liberating yet another alien planet from Zarkon's hands and were one step closer to ending the war. Although the planet's locals were nocturnal and usually let the planet rest throughout the day, they were forced to work on the Galra's schedule due to Zarkon's reign and the planet suffered, risking the utter destruction of the civilization and the planet itself; That is until Voltron liberated them. To show their appreciation, they threw together a late night party in honor of the Paladins to celebrate their victory. The heroes gathered around in the lounge room of the Castle, exhausted but with a newfound adrenaline after yet another successful mission.  Shiro brought everyone in for a team huddle to congratulate them and to thank everyone for doing their part in making this mission one of many victories.

  "Nice work, team. You've really come together in these last few missions and we've made a lot of progress." Allura couldn't help but add on to Shiro's encouraging words by saying a few of her own. The war against Zarkon might not be over, however she valued everyone sticking together and pushing through every battle making the Coalition ever stronger.

 "Yes, excellent work Paladins. Thanks to you, Voltron still stands as the most powerful defender of the universe." Although Coran was present in the meeting with everyone and also grateful, he seemed preoccupied with checking the time along with anything else that sporadically popped into his head, turning to face the group.

"The locals of this planet were so grateful, they've orchestrated a huge celebration in your honor! Unfortunately now it's a bit late and we should probably get some rest. Off to bed with you now." Dramatic sighs erupted from the Paladins all at once. Although they were burnt out from their recent battles with the Galra, they were also young adults who felt as if one night of being able to relax and enjoy themselves would do them some good. Lance being the most vocal of the group was of course the first to express his concerns.

 "Aw, come on! They're celebrating us! Can't we just have one night where we can be us instead of the 'Defenders of the Universe' or whatever?!" Although Pidge and Lance didn't always see eye to eye on most issues, she agreed with him and stubbornly made a statement of her own, much to everyone's surprise.

 "Zarkon's men have been defeated, so we know the planet is safe. Plus, everyone's been working really hard on our last missions. Can't we have a little bit of fun?" Although Allura listened to their reasoning and attempted to come to an understanding, she also couldn't ignore the duty that her father had tasked her with and therefore couldn't take any chances with Voltron falling into the wrong hands, denying their request harshly. 

"Like it or not, you are the Paladins of Voltron now and we cannot risk  something happening to one of you." Shiro both being the Leader of Voltron and a respected figure to the team made the decisive call and sided with Allura on the issue, both expected and much to the demise of the group's hopes.

 "The Princess is right. If something were to happen to any of you, then we couldn't form Voltron. Also, just because we've defeated Zarkon's men on this planet doesn't mean we should let our guard down. There could still be more of them working undercover." Coran decided to crush the young Paladins' morale by reiterating his previous statement, adding on to their hatred of the many burdens they bare as Voltron. 

"Now off to bed with you!" The Paladins all groaned in unison as Shiro, Allura, and Coran all exited the lounge, leaving the rest of the team to themselves as they prepared for their next move against Zarkon's empire. Lance obnoxiously exclaimed his frustration, making the rest of the party in the room eye roll knowing that it wouldn't help their situation.

"Man this sucks! Everyone gets to party except for us! We're the reason they even get to party!" Pidge plopped down on the sofa with a sigh of defeat.

 "Oh well. If we die fighting the Galra, I can safely say I died never having gone to a real party before." Lance  over exaggerated to the point of absolute annoyance in reaction of Pidge's comment.

"Wait Pidge! You've never been to a party?!"Keith jumped into the conversation, defending Pidge against Lance's judgmental satement.

"So what? Neither have I."  Hunk confessed to the rest of the room while they were all on the subject.

"Yeah come to think of it, I've never been to one either." Lance just scanned everyone in the room slightly irritated. 

"Okay, so let me get this straight. Three out of the five DEFENDERS OF THE UNIVERSE have never experienced the utter enjoyment of a party?" An idea fired up in Lance's brain causing his face to light up in everyone's horror, "Well I say we change that, tonight." Hunk caught on to what Lance was suggesting and quickly started to panic a little.

 "W-wait, what? D-didn't Shiro and Allura say to stay put?" Pidge cut Hunk off with her answer nonchalantly.

 "I'm in." Keith attempted to shut down Lance's proposal to everyone by reminding them of what was just discussed.

 "No way. Do you know how much trouble we'd be in if we got caught? Shiro and Allura were right, it's too risky." Of course Lance found an opportunity to tease Keith and took full advantage of the moment. 

 "Oh, whatever Keith! You're just scared to go to a party!" To everyone's expectations, Keith and Lance started bickering back and forth, "No, I'm just not an idiot." 

"Who are you calling an idiot, IDIOT?" 

"Maybe if you weren't an idiot, YOU'D KNOW!" Pidge finally ceased their vocal war by butting in.

 "Whatever, are we going or what?!" Lance did a one-eighty and got right back to the point, dropping his attitude towards Keith like it was nothing.

 "Alright, so me and Pidge are in. Hunk, you in on this?" Hunk hesitantly responded, unsure of what to say.

"Uh, I don't know Lance. Are you sure this is a good idea?" Lance defended his brilliant idea to the room. 

"Ah, relax will ya? Like Pidge said, we've defeated the biggest threat to this planet already. And besides, we're the Paladins of Voltron! What could possibly go wrong?"

Outside of the Castle sat a restless Shiro letting his thoughts run wild while watching the celebration going on nearby. He thought about Zarkon as he sat there trying to figure out what to do to defeat him. He thought about what would happen after they did. Would the fight ever end? Or would others try to take Zarkon's place? Would they have to defend the Universe forever? However, what Shiro thought of most was Earth. He thought not only of the possibility of never seeing his home planet again, but the other paladins as well. 

"Maybe I have been pushing them too hard." He stood up to go back inside and talk to the others when he saw a small group of familiar looking individuals in the distance heading towards the party. Shiro let out a defeated sigh.

"I can't ever catch a break." 

You were seated at the bar enjoying the atmosphere of the party, space beer and other drinks flowing around freely. You were an earthling and had your own messed up reasons for getting stuck on the other side of space, but you were resourceful so you made do. It was refreshing to see a planet liberated from the Galra and by Voltron nonetheless. You've heard of the Legendary Defender from all across the Galaxy but to see it with your own eyes was a whole new experience. A group of four entered the club, catching your attention as you stared at them in awe. 

"Humans? And I thought I was the only one unlucky enough to make it all the way out here." A Hispanic earthling in the group locked eyes with you from across the club and immediately strolled over to you.

 "Hello there, beautiful. The name's Lance. I see you don't have a drink or a date, mind if I fix that for-?" A boy with dark eyes and a black mullet pulled Lance by the ear. 

"Sorry about Lance. He's an idiot." Unsure of how to react, you just stared at them with a smile, fighting the urge to laugh as they squabbled in front of you.

 "Ow! Okay, Keith I get it. Now could you please let go of my ear?!" 

"Nah I'm good." Their squabble was interrupted by a nerdy girl with short hair and glasses.

 "So are you from Earth like us? Or are you an alien that looks similar to humans? Ooh! Or do you have a chameleon ability that helps you blend in?" A bigger guy sporting an orange bandanna stepped in to stop her rambling by addressing the elephant in the room.

 "I think what Pidge is trying to say is if you are from Earth, then how did you get all the way out here?" You were surprised to say the least. No one had really asked you anything like that since you've been out here so you just assumed that nobody was interested. 

"It's kind of a long story." Keith and the rest of the paladins were interested in what you had to say so he made an excuse to keep the conversation going.

"Well, we've got all night." 

As you sat there talking with the surprisingly young Paladins of Voltron, you grew to admire them a little as they reminded you of how Earthlings were since this was the first time you've come across people like you during your time here; It was almost nostalgic. You ordered drinks for everyone and chatted it up, sharing your experiences out in space and reminiscing about Earth. Hunk hated the taste of the drinks being served so he whipped up a new drink of his own called 'Altean Love Potion' while Keith, Pidge, and Lance played Space Pong. You were seated at the bar, laughing at how buzzed the Paladins were all getting and enjoying your drink to yourself when a muscular man with a white tuft of hair and an old scar across the bridge of his nose sat beside you. 

"Mind if I join you?" You kindly accepted, your cheeks feeling warm from either the buzz you were getting or from the man who was now sitting to your right, you weren't quite sure. He ordered a space beer as you casually started conversation. 

"So you must be Shiro." He gazed at you curiously, wondering how the girl seated next to him figured him out so quickly.

"Alright, you caught me. How did you know I was here?" Resting your elbow on the table, you placed your head in your hand, a playful smirk emerging from your lips.

 "I might have noticed you watching your friends from across the club." He chuckled nervously, noticing now how obvious he must've seemed and apologized to you for not taking responsibility for them sooner.

 "Yeah, sorry if they've caused you any trouble. And thank you for looking out for them."You giggled as you stared at the Paladins, watching them as memories from Earth started to emerge once again. 

"No problem, they're a nice group of kids." Shiro stared down at his drink, a mixture of sadness in his eyes and a half smile on his face. 

"Yeah, they are. I wanted to let them have their fun. They deserve it."He felt a warm hand gently placed on his left arm, drawing his gaze back to you as your eyes locked with his. The lights from the bar gave off a captivating gleam in your eyes and time seemed to stand still. 

"And you don't? All they could talk about was how they wished you were here with them tonight. They look up to you ya know?" The sound of glass shattering distracted you both to the source of the noise.

 "Hey, that was my drink!" An angered and obviously drunk Keith stood up to a nasty looking alien twice his size. You and Shiro started towards them as Lance stood beside his fellow Paladin against the alien brute, adding fuel to the fire as he started to taunt the intimidating alien.

 "Yeah! You're just mad because we kicked your alien butt in Space Pong! It's not our fault you're a sore loser!" Lance's taunting angered the alien to no end making Pidge step back, uncomfortable by the situation. 

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Hmmmm then, how about either Richie or Eddie making a mixtape for their sweetheart? Their age is up to you, it's just a mixtape so it doesn't require consent. Thank you very much! :)

~ Eddie was enjoying the small summer breeze that blew his baby hairs from his face, chin resting on his flat palm. His cassette player laid over his lap as he enjoyed the music coming from his soft headphones. He’d almost forgotten that he’d been waiting nearly twenty minutes for his late boyfriend, Richie Tozier and friend Stan Uris. Almost. 

His contentment was cut short when he felt a tug on his headphones, which were then pulled down to his neck. “Whatcha listening to short stuff?” Richie’s voice came from his left as he plopped down next to him, pulling Eddie’s headphones off and putting them over his own ears. Eddie slowly gazed up at Stan,who was looking harshly at Richie and pulling at his watch. 

Richie put the warm headphones over his hair covered ears and listened to the soft volumed music. ‘I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you for all my life, When you’re with me, baby the skies’ll be blue for all my life’. Richie’s face split into a shit-eating grin and Eddie’s face flushed. Stan rolled his eyes from above them. 

“What? What am I missing?” Stan narrowed his eyes as Richie slid the headphones off and threw them up to Stan without looking. Stan’s arms flailed out to catch it. 

“A little cheesy, innit Eds?” Richie bumped his shoulder, Eddie pushed his back. 

“You think your music taste is better?” Eddie chirped back and Richie nodded instantly with a proud smile. 

“I know it is!” Richie poked Eddie again and the smaller boy slapped his hand away with a roll of his eyes. “You’re so cute when you’re angry, Eds.” He reached over to pinch the boys cheeks but was only rewarded another slap. 

“Eat shit Tozier. C’mon we have a movie to catch.” Eddie stood and stalked off, Richie following shortly. 

Stan had been focusing, hands covering the headphones and finally glanced up to see his friends were halfway into the theater. He clutched onto the player, one hand still on the headphones. “I don’t get it. What’s wrong with this song? I like it.” Stan scampered over to them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie had been walking home from the pharmacy when Richie finally caught up to him. He quickly sped up on his bike and honked the obnoxious horn he’d got as a gift from Beverly last month that she instantly regretted. 

Eddie heard the honk from a block away and bit his lip as it curled into a smile and he slowed his pace to allow the boy to catch up. “Hey, Eds! I got a gift for ya!” Richie called as he peddled next to Eddie. 

“Really?” Eddie quirked his head to the side as Richie started circling him on his bike teasingly. Richie hummed and pulled a small tape from his pocket, one hand on his handle bars. “A mixtape?” Eddie smiled, wanting to conceal how much he adored the gesture. Richie abruptly pulled out of his circle path and skidded right next to Eddie, holding out the tape. 

“Let me know what you think.” He smiled, pushing up his glasses as Eddie took it. He leaned down and briefly kissed him before peddling off, the honk going off the entire time. 

Eddie glanced down and played with the loose tape stuck to the front of the tape, sprawled over it in sharpie it read: 

Richie Tozier’s music taste

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Track 1: Miss You~ The Rolling Stones

Track 2: Africa~ Toto

Track 3: Never Gonna Give You Up~ Rick Astley 

Track 4: Everyday~ Buddy Holly

Track 5: Karma Chameleon~ Culture Club 

Track 6 : Short People~ Randy Newman—

Eddie rolled his eyes and pulled out the tape and shrugged his headphones off with a sigh. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richie hopped up Eddies stairs happily and burst into his room with a large grin and glanced down to see his tape laying next to Eddies open cassette player. “Hey what’d you think of the tape?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes and crossed his arms “You really put on a song called ‘Short People’?” Eddie stood up to stand in front of him and Richie teasingly put emphasis on tilting his head down to meet Eddies eye line. 

“Yeah, It’s funny.” 

“The lyrics go: ‘ Short people got no reason to live they got little hands and little eyes and they walk around tellin’ great big lies’ “ Eddie pursed his lips after reciting the song in a stoic voice. Richie only laughed his ass off. 

“Did ya listen to the last track shorty?” He pulled on Eddies hands and swayed them teasingly. Eddie shook his head. 

“Too offended by the song before it I guess.” Eddie glared and Richie let go of his hands to put his tape back in the player. He carefully set the headphones over Eddies ears and hit play. 

’I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you for all my life,  When you’re with me, baby the skies’ll be blue for all my life’.

Eddie quickly started to blush. And Richie gave him a smug expression as he tugged the headphones off. 

“Figured it could be our song…or whatever.” Richie fumbled on his words as Eddie chuckled. 

“Yeah, yeah I like that.” Eddie smiled and Richie pulled him up by his hands and placed the headphones back over Eddies ears, and pulled Eddie close enough to rest his chin on his head and they started to sway. 

Track 7: Happy Together~ The Turtles 

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Running from the Past: Chapter 4

Summary: Reader is a mutant who was experimented on by HYDRA. Due to her unique powers, she escaped a year and a half ago without being seen when the Avengers attacked the Hydra compound she was kept in for 5 years of her life. Her mutations and Hydra experiments allow her to blend in with her surroundings (like a chameleon/cuttlefish/octopus) and change her appearance in minor ways (such as hair, skin, and eye color), though the changes are only temporary. She’s been caught by the Avengers. After a long and painful conversation with the Winter Soldier, she accepts his help in getting her memories from before 6 ½ years ago back. She also suspects he’s hiding something from her. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2,661 Warnings: language (always), violence/fighting, traumatic past (mentions of torture/experimentation), slow burn, angst, fluff, delicious breakfast food (Rough) Translations: Bonne apétit, garçons -enjoy the meal, boys кукла - doll Спасибо за еду -thanks for the meal A/N: A huge thank you to everyone liking and reblogging my posts <3 This is my first big fic and the support feels awesome. You’re all amazing! Also, this chapter = poor confused baby Bucky…. and sorry for shooting him in the leg earlier, but babe’s strong. he can take it.

 Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

It took everything you had to keep your face impassive. The pressure in the base of your skull returned when he used the nickname, and you gritted your teeth.

“Dollface is fine. Just go get my shit, please,” you say, your tone giving away your internal struggle.

He nodded, grinning deviously. “If you have any questions or need anything, ask FRIDAY. If you need me or the team for whatever reason, just ask FRIDAY to let us know,” he said, sparing you one last glance over his shoulder before he walked out the doors of the observation room.

To your surprise, it wasn’t Bucky who returned with the blanket and entertainment. You were pacing your room, your thoughts wandering, when Wanda poked her head in the door. She saw you staring at her with a raised eyebrow and walked in, smiling tentatively.

“Hey,” you said cautiously, not entirely sure where you stood with the woman after your comments earlier.

“Hey, (Y/N),” she responded with a small smile.

There was an awkward pause.

“I, uh, hope you like romance novels. They’re most of what I own,” she said, nodding to the small pile of books in her arms that teetered precariously on top of a fuzzy-looking fuchsia blanket.

You thought back to the bookshelves at your apartment, overburdened with romance novels. You could find the books littering every surface of the tiny apartment. “Yeah, that’ll do, I guess,” you said, cheeks burning.

Wanda gave you a crooked smile as though she could tell what was going through your head. You realized she very well might. If she did, though, she didn’t let on. She pressed a button on the wall that you couldn’t see and a small 8inx8in square hole in the wall opened at about chest height next to you. She passed the books and blanket to you through it.

“This one’s my favorite,” she said, handing you a well-loved book with a particularly muscular, oiled-up, bare-chested man on the cover.

“Yeah, Jean Lancaster is a literary genius,” you said, smiling fondly at the book. You had a brief moment of oblivious bliss before your eyes widened comically in horror, hand flying up to cover your big dumb mouth.

Wanda laughed at your reaction. Hard. You briefly considered crawling into the darkest hole you could find and never coming out. But Wanda’s laughter was contagious, and you soon found yourself laughing along, books and blanket forgotten on your bed.

To your horror, Bucky chose that time to walk into the observation room. 

“What’s going on in here? I could hear you both down the hall-” he paused as he took in the sight in front of him. Wanda was almost red in the face from laughing so hard, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Your head whipped around to Wanda, your slightly puffy, watery eyes pleading. The look on your face sent her off into another fit of hysterical giggles.

“Wanda?” he asked, completely taken aback.

“Wanda,” you whined, your voice pleading.

With what you assumed was immense difficulty, she managed to get a few words out. You strained to hear them between the giggles.

“It’s’ok, Bucky. Just bonding,” she said, throwing you a devious smirk. You shushed her as subtly as you could. Bucky looked between the two of you, the confusion on his face as clear as day. She rolled her eyes at him. “Out, you big oaf. We’re going to have girl talk,” she said, pushing him towards the door.

“But-” he began, but she gave him a shove out the door.

“I said girl talk, Barnes!” she said with pseudo anger. He whirled around to protest, but she simply waved at him happily as the doors shut in his face. “Keep him out for a while, please, FRIDAY,” she said, turning back to you.

“As you wish, Ms. Maximoff,” FRIDAY said. You heard the door lock with a surprisingly loud thunk.

“So, lovely weather we’re having, eh?” you grinned nervously at her.

“No, no. We’re talking about this. You’re not getting out of this conversation by changing the subject,” she said, pulling a chair up to the large glass wall.

You groaned and plopped down on your bed. “Alright, which series are we starting with?” you asked her, resigning yourself to your fate.

She grinned happily at you before spurring onward into a tirade so impressive you thought it had to be rehearsed.

You talked with Wanda about romance novels for hours. You discussed your favorite authors and the best plot twists of each of your favorite books. You both commiserated over how much you hated badly written doe-eyed heroines with no backbone. There may or may not have been slight squealing over certain muscle-bound heroes you both liked. You debated on whether modern day romances were better, or if tragedy in classics like Romeo and Juliet were what made a romance truly great. Bucky had come by and dropped dinner off for the both of you. You both gave him distracted “thank you”’s before returning to your debate. While you ate, however, your conversation lulled. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, in between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes.

She looked up from her meal at you and smiled softly. She didn’t need to ask what you were talking about. “It’s alright,” she said before she took a bite of chicken. She grimaced at how dry it was a took a sip of the orange juice Bucky had brought you with your meals.

“Please tell me,” you said, braver than you felt. You nearly shriveled under the look she gave you. She assessed you coolly before speaking.

“Are you sure? It’s not a happy story.”

“I never thought it was. It must have been awful for Hydra to seem like an improvement…” you say meekly, not wanting your words to be taken as a challenge.

She sighed deeply and took another sip of orange juice. She gazed at you over the glass before setting it down.

Then, she told you everything.

She told you about her family that lived a hard but happy life together in Sokovia. Of the fighting that claimed her parents’ lives and nearly claimed her and her brother’s. How their thirst for vengeance against Tony Stark had driven them to nearly destroy the world. She told you, finally, of how her brother died on the floating death rock that was Sokovia, protecting Hawkeye and a small boy. She got very quiet at the last part. You could see it in her eyes- she was years and a thousand miles away, back in Sokovia.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked out. Your voice snapped her out of her reverie and she gave you a weak smile.

“You didn’t have to start crying, you know,” she said in a teasing tone that couldn’t quite hide how sad she sounded. You were crying? You reached up and felt your cheek. Yup, those were tears. You’d begun crying without even realizing it.

“I’m horrible for saying those things to you,” you said, rubbing your tears away with your sleeved arm.

“You didn’t know… and I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Mistakes I have to live with for the rest of my life. I suppose what I’m trying to say is: Don’t worry about it,” she said, smiling fondly at you.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to keep from cracking.

“Miss Maximoff, I’m sorry to interrupt ‘girl time,’ but Captain Rogers and Mister Wilson are back from their mission and request your presence for debriefing,” FRIDAY’s voice said over the room’s speaker system.

“Tell them I’ll be there in a moment, please, FRIDAY,” Wanda said to the VI.

“Right away, Miss Maximoff,” it responded.

“Duty calls,” she said as she got up and stretched, stiff from sitting for so long. “Are you done with your dinner?” she asked, motioning to the mostly empty plate in your lap.

You shoveled one last massive spoonful of mashed potatoes into your mouth and swallowed. “I am now,” you said, grinning impishly.

“Gross,” she said, smiling at you. “I’ll take it back with me,” she said, pressing the button to open up the hole in the wall. You stuck your plate through and she placed it and her glass on top of her own.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling up at her.

“Hey, what are friends for?” she said, smiling back. She looked pointedly at the books, then winked at you. “Enjoy.”

You groaned. “I hate you,” you said halfheartedly, unable to fight back a half smile.

“No you don’t,” she said cheerily as she walked out of the room, doors shutting firmly behind her.

You sighed and carefully arranged Wanda’s books into a neat pile next to your bed. You absently wondered what time it was. There wasn’t a clock or window in your tiny room-cell. You laid back on your bed, snuggling up under the white and fuchsia blankets. It could be any time of the day, but you weren’t tired. You picked up a book and started reading.

You awoke to the sound of the doors to the observation room opening. You groaned, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You must have been more tired than you thought. You’d fallen asleep two and a half chapters into The Contest. It was such a racy read- you didn’t even think it was possible to fall asleep reading it.

You closed the book, put it down, and looked to see who had deemed you worthy of visiting.

You weren’t that surprised to see Bucky, but Steve standing there surprised you. ”And to what do I owe the pleasure, fellas?” you asked, watching them suspiciously.

“Bucky told me about you accepting our help. Wanda- though she won’t go into any specifics- has decided you’re most likely not a flight risk anymore,” Steve said, staring at you evenly. He paused. “Are you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“That depends on whether or not you try to feed me that bone dry chicken again or not,” you said, smirking. “It was like eating chicken-flavored sand.”

Bucky and the Cap smiled in unison, but Steve tried to look serious halfway through. It didn’t work, and your grin widened.

You let the joke sit for a moment before you sobered. “I’ll stick around for a while, Captain. Until this whole Hydra shitstorm blows over. Besides,” you said, glancing at Bucky, “I’ve gotten a very interesting proposal.”

“Please, call me Steve,” he said as he tapped away at the screen of a panel you couldn’t see in front of him. A loud clunk to your left caught your attention. The door was ever so slightly ajar now. You looked back at them incredulously. You pointed at it and raised an eyebrow in question. Bucky snorted, smiling, and Steve smiled and nodded.

“FREEDOM!” you screeched, yanking the door open and throwing yourself bodily into the corridor. The super soldiers followed you into the hallway, alarmed. You ran down it, relishing the ability to move more than six feet in any one direction. They jogged after you, still confused. You suddenly whirled around to face them. “Kitchen,” you said simply. They pointed down the hallway. You sprinted down it.

As you came upon an intersection, Bucky yelled to you. “Left,” he said, finally catching up to you. But you were off again in a flash. He gestured helplessly at you to Steve who seemed amused by the whole situation. Bucky groaned and jogged after you, slowed down by his only mostly-healed leg, Steve trailing closely behind.

By the time they’d arrived in kitchen, you’d already searched through most of the cupboards for the things you needed.

“Communal food rules?” you asked without looking at them as you continued to ransack the pantry.

“It’s open for everyone to use unless there’s a name on it. Never touch the prime cuts of steak, though. Sam forgets to write his name on them a lot and he’ll attempt to kill you if you eat ‘em,” Bucky said, leaning against the door frame as he watched you work.

“That’s only you, Bucky. He only gives the rest of us the cold shoulder for a day or two if we eat them,” Steve said, smiling at his friends’ shenanigans. He walked into the kitchen and sat on a stool at the island.  Bucky followed his lead and sat down next to him.

“I’m beginning to think he doesn’t like me very much,” Bucky said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“What gave it away?” Steve asked, matching his sarcastic tone.

Bucky was about to respond, but you spoke before he could.

“What do you guys like in your pancakes?” you ask, having found a huge bowl and pancake mix.

“Banana,” said Bucky without skipping a beat.

“Blueberry,” Steve said just after that.

You nodded.

“Eggs?” you asked after you located a nice non-stick pan under the counter.

“Over-easy,” they both said in unison. You chuckled and nodded.

“Got it,” you said.

While the pans heated and fruit prepped, you portioned out the pancake mix, adding banana slices to one third, blueberries to another, and cinnamon and a handful of chocolate chips to the last. You pulled out the carton of eggs and a stick of butter.

“So I hate to ask- I don’t want to lose my homemade breakfast privileges- but what brought this on? Are you just really hungry?” Steve asked, watching you work with interest.

“She loves breakfast food,” Bucky said, smiling faintly as he watched you work.

You froze for a second- not long enough for them to notice. How did he know that? That wasn’t something many people knew about you, and he said it like it was as plain as day. If he was to be believed, your relationship with him during your time as a spy for Hydra was professional (not to mention very, very evil). Were you even yourself while you were brainwashed? Did your love of breakfast food somehow transcend brainwashing? Or was there something he wasn’t telling you?

“Who doesn’t love breakfast food?” you said as cheerfully as you could manage. Neither Steve nor Bucky seemed to notice anything off about your tone. They were too enraptured by the food cooking on the stove.

“Amen to that,” Bucky said, watching as you flipped the pancakes perfectly. In between flipping enormous pancakes and their over-easy eggs, you pulled out three huge plates. As the food finished cooking, you tossed it onto their plates, doing increasingly difficult flips as you went. A behind-the-back-halfway-across-the-kitchen-pancake-flip earned a low, impressed whistle from Bucky and a round of applause from Steve. You finished scrambling your eggs and shoveled them from the pan onto your plate. You grabbed syrup and whipped cream from the fridge and placed them on the counter, set your plate down, and took a seat next to Bucky at the kitchen island.

“Thanks, (Y/N),” Steve said, lightly salting and peppering his eggs.

“Bonne apétit, garçons,” you said, taking a moment to appreciate your handiwork.

To your shock, you realized your beautiful three-stack cinnamon-chocolate pancake pile had been infiltrated by a banana pancake. It sat smugly in the middle, taunting you. You realized Bucky must have swapped one of his for yours when you weren’t looking.

“Oi,” you said, turning to look at Bucky.

“Is there a problem, sweetheart?” he asked, smiling at you innocently.

You opened your mouth to say something, but then the smell hit you. Cinnamon-chocolate-banana perfection, sitting there on your plate. You closed your mouth and stared at the pancakes in awe. 

“Nothing,” you said, throwing some softened butter onto your stack of pancakes. You heard him chuckle under his breath.

“Looks delicious, кукла. Спасибо за еду,” Bucky said as he reached for the syrup at the same time you did. Your hands collided midair.  

And just like that, it felt like the world exploded around you. The only thing you felt before the world went black was the rending pain in your head. You swore your head was collapsing in on itself.

  Chapter 5

If you like this series and want to be tagged in others like it, check out

this post!

☕ Buy Me a Coffee! ☕

[ms-hells-bells]

adding my experiences with everything he mentioned in this video because of course an autistic woman would write an entire essay for a social media comment

i used both the intrusive and chameleon method. i receded into fiction. i'm excellent with recalling facts. i had two personas for school (bright and teacher liked) and home (severely depressed and reclusive). overexaggerated gestures because they never came naturally to me so i learnt them and now have them via muscle memory, i tried to be good so people would like me (but never succeeded because the kids could still tell i was different, and i still used the intrusive method, super bossy and talkative). i have always had an extreme sensory reaction to squeaking noises; chairs, rubber shoes/jandals, balloons, scratching glass, etc. causes me what feels like physical pain in my head. i also get heart pains from loud noises due to adrenaline release since i'm so sensitive and jittery. 

i had borderline personality disorder traits as a child where i'd fixate on a particular group or person and become extremely emotionally attached, sometimes to the point of harassing them (like trying to cut a girl’s hair off and forcibly cheek kissing a boy), and i'd get extremely jealous when they'd do anything with anyone else, and occasionally i got physical with other kids who dared to be close to "my" person, which of course saw me rejected. those rejections caused extreme mental anguish to the point of breakdown. it even occurred online in my teens when any time i argued with someone i talked to online, i'd have a panic attack and meltdown in real life. it affected me so much that my mother banned me from using most social media because i became so attached to strangers as a kid. 

i developed a fear of my period to the point of ignoring it and bleeding through my clothes (partially because of the severe pain and partially because womanhood brought a lot of dread to me). my special interests have always been relatively normal (animals, bands, book series, etc) but i've always been extremely emotionally invested in them and still am, where if i get into something i will search up everything about i and devote many hours to consuming it. i made up vast imaginary worlds and scenarios in my head that i'd hide into for hours, sometimes entire days during the worst of my depression (i still fantasise and daydream everyday now). i was in the school library every single day, reading about anything and everything, both fiction and non fiction. much of my speaking and mannerisms are from the internet to a large degree more than just quoting (i got stuck with saying "bloody hell" after watching the first to third harry potter films for about FIVE YEARS, my brain just absorbed it), and was into things out of my age range because they're simple and straight forward and easy to understand (eg. liking my little pony until i was 14-15, and i still enjoy watching kids shows and movies now). i become most emotionally varied and active when talking about things i'm interested in, like history, space, science, animals, and politics. 

i was a major tomboy (and still am in personality and sometimes clothes). i've always hated femininity (and for good reason, it's fucked) and continue to defy expectations as i've never worn makeup, only shaved for like two months before stopping, and only wore a bra for a couple years before stopping. even without thinking critically about these things, i refused to do them simply because they hurt and take time for no reason. i don't wear skirts or dresses, no heels, and my clothes are a mix of masculine, feminine (cute but practical and took until i was 18 to feel comfortable wearing them) and grandparent ugly patterns. i like fashion now that i am more confident in wearing whatever i want, even if others think it's ugly (lots of my friends have said that my outfits are either super unique and cool or super unique and weird in a bad way). up until i left home i only ever worse plain black clothes because i was scared of “messing up” and being judged. i've always preferred to observe people than to do tasks out of fear of "messing up" (eg. singing, playing videos games). 

a ton of people can't believe i'm autistic because i'm so "normal" and "don't seem like it" so i have to explain to them that it's because i'm TRYING to seem normal and that it's a huge amount of effort. i ended up with severe depression and anxiety and had constant mental breakdowns from the effort of appearing normal. even now, i can only be around people for a very limited amount of time before leaving and isolating myself due to mental exhaustion. hanging out with friends is an active activity rather than an enjoyable time of relaxation for me. i was very emotionally unstable as a child and teen and am only much been now due to being away from my family and old town, being cured of anxiety and depression, and accepting myself and my limits and adjusting my life to live around and within my limits. realised i couldn't handle university after nearly two years so just dropped out to avoid further emotional harm. i am extremely sensitive to the emotional atmosphere because i'm terrified of making someone feel negative feelings or being in situations of confrontation. if i think someone is finding me annoying, i shut down and become depressed, if i get in an argument with someone, i become distressed and get super red and hot inside and can faint. i'm hyperaware of how others can feel about me. i can do eye contact a bit better now, but never prolonged, and often i have to look elsewhere to think properly. 

And dating is mostly a no for me. i can't recognise when people like me, i don't really like many people, i have high standards, and i'm happy enough with myself that if no one comes along then i'll happily be single all my life. the one relationship i did have was because i was in love with the idea of someone loving me and it was not healthy and i was probably preyed on (i was 18-19, he was 28). although i'm not a virgin, it'll be celibacy for me from now on likely (even though i like women too, the probabilities for that are very very low by stats and opportunity). I got diagnosed at 16 because my depression and anxiety got so severe that i ran away from home in order to call the police to detain me because i was about to kill myself. only after that was i diagnosed with autism. and now because of this video i am wondering if my mother is also autistic but masked it and as just been misdiagnosed with bipolar/schizophrenia. this seems to match her way more than just suddenly developing bipolar or schizophrenia in adulthood from trauma.