#i should be asleep not reading fucking wikipedia

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

so i finally got my hands on a copy of Grimm's fairy tales again and The Frog Prince is still so fun and baffling to me:

just a reminder that it starts with the coolest opening line of all time: "In den alten Zeiten, wo das Wünschen noch geholfen hat..." (In the olden times, where wishes could still aid...)

confusingly, the focal character of this fairy tale is not the frog* but the princess, which is an underrated fact (and another thing that made me feral about Neverafter because Gerard giving up his name for Elody's is actually the ideal reasoning for why this story seemingly just refuses to have the obvious protagonist be the protagonist)

there's a theme going on where the princess AND the person-turned-frog* are both very childlike outside the castle and then framed as much more marriage age and/or sex-aware age inside: the princess is playing with a toy and cries loudly over losing it and the frog expressly asks to be her "Geselle und Spielkamerad" (companion and playmate!) at the well, not her husband or bedmate or anything

(the appendix mentions an earlier version where he demands to be the "Schätzchen" (sweetheart) of whatever princess comes to the well right out the gate)

but then inside the castle the princess is expected to be responsible and true to her word like an adult and also reacts with a lot of disgust specifically to the idea of the frog* being in her bed and soiling her clean sheets (they're really going in on those sheets), and rates this as far worse than having him eat out of the same bowl of soup as her.

and the frog* demands to specifically sleep in her bed with her

There's an interpretation that this fairy tale is a metaphor for the princess's sexual awakening and how she has to come to terms with herself as a sexual entity (i paraphrased this kinda poorly from memory, for more info see here in the German wikipedia entry of the fairy tale), and so far all of this would work for that.

The whole nature/culture split is a big deal in German lit of the time, so that's also an angle to look at it.

But then once they're alone the frog* says he wants to sleep in the bed simply because he wants to sleep "as well as she does"? It's really hard to say if this even is a metaphor for sex on his part or if he genuinely just wants to have her life for a bit?

Completely unrelated to any of this but the frog takes a full day to make it from the well to the door of the dining hall, which is deeply tragic and very funny

The frog* is kind of dick. He's also a fucking snitch: "Take me into your bed or I will tell your father!" (direct quote)

She doesn't just throw him against a wall. She throws him against a wall "aus allen Kräften" (with all her might) and says "Nun wirst du Ruhe haben, du garstiger Frosch" (Now you'll have your rest, you disgusting frog!). She straight up tries to murder this frog*.

Upon which he's immediately transformed not just into any prince, but specifically a prince with "schönen und freundlichen Augen" (beautiful and kind eyes)? i'm pretty sure that was never in the more modern versions and it should be

Also, yes he immediately becomes her husband/betrothed "nach ihres Vaters Willen" (as per her father's wish), which is very funny because it does read very "listen kid I would really prefer if you married the handsome young stranger I made you take into your bed with you. I really think we'd both look bad if you didn't."

i am however surprisingly touched by the insta-marriage part because it is SO soft for a Grimm fairy tale actually? He doesn't just become her husband, he becomes her "lieber Geselle und Gemahl" (dear companion and husband), which is? actually very sweet? Because I really do get friendship-based marriage from that.

Post wedding a whole 1.5 lines (which is kind of a lot of real estate for a fairy tale, and just as long as the info we get on them getting married!) is devoted to them just falling asleep together and being woken by the sun the next morning?

Iron Henry remains both so touching and so confusing to me. Touching because a) this dude just loves his young master so much. He probably raised this kid! He was devastated to see him gone! He's so fucking happy for him! b) Heinrich's inclusion is actually, in tandem with the "kind eyes" part, really interesting in regards to the princess. Because both of that screams, this man is a great choice for you. He is kind. Even his subordinates love him so much that his misery nearly killed them.

Confusing because yes, I know why**, but it is still a hilarious unending mystery to me why the guy who was this upset about his master getting cursed wouldn't just, you know. Hang out with him by the well?? And give that kid some fucking company???

* I had a little ramble in the tags at some point about how weird it was that the English translation makes him a frog prince instead of the Froschkönig, frog king - because if he's a king, he's probably an orphan. If he's a prince, his father (and possibly living mother) are just the worst parents? Iron Henry knows that his master was turned into a frog (which is wild, see above), but then he would have told the king! They must have known what happened to him! Don't they have a well at their castle?** This spawned a top-five throwaway line of parental abandonment on D20 (and that is saying something!): "Yeah, they haven't looked for me that hard. I've been missing." Like yeah! In a world where a prince can make his whole kingdom look for a woman whose shoe he found, you'd think the world would be on the lookout for a missing prince???

Anyway the confusing reveal from the og Grimm's version is... it's... both? The title says Froschkönig, but then after the frog collides with a castle wall there appears a "Königssohn" (literally king's son, a prince) with kind eyes? But then when Henry comes with the carriage to take The Man Formerly Known As Frog and his new wife to his realm, he is referred to only as the young king? Listen, this is not new. These stories do not give a flying fuck about internal cohesion, but in this specific case there are so many implications to it and it will never stop making the wheels in my brain go brrrr.

** I knooow this is a fairy tale, and they don't work like that and I'm looking too hard at a thing I should accept as given. He was cursed to live as a frog in a well until x event breaks his curse. Chances are this curse included "you must be an anonymous frog in a well, basically dead to all your subordinates and loved ones and removed from all your luxuries". I still think this is fascinating and i rotate this in my head at all times.

good luck trying to figure out what the trigger for breaking the curse was btw! "until you have enraged a young woman by being too forward"? "until a woman is so disgusted by you she attempts manslaughter/frogslaughter"? Just "until a princess throws you against a wall"? He does even say "sie allein" (she alone) could have broken his curse, which opens up more questions. She alone as in, a woman who now (inexplicably) loves him? That doesn't work because she definitely did not love him when she threw him against the wall. She alone because she was the closest princess? Or she alone as in, this specific princess and nobody else? Because she is so beautiful it surprises the sun every time it shines on her face (verbatim quote)? Because no other woman could have thrown him that hard??? We'll never know and I think that's hilarious, actually.

[unintent]

Rules: answer + tag 9 people you want to get to know better and/or catch up with .

I was tagged 😌 by my sweet kit-kat bar of a friend @scary-monsters 🧡💛🦖

Favorite color: pink 🎀🌸 but lately 🙁 I have not felt pink inside or out . I've preferred the grounding COMFORT of brown. 🍫🍂

last song: Songbird 🎶🕊. That's one of the more happier things I've been listening to lately 🌈 It's one of the few Oasis songs Liam wrote 📝 that made it 📈 in a good way. You can literally sing it while doing nothing but shake a tambourine if you wanted to. It's sweet and short and simple . You should give it a listen 🎧 it's all I can do to keep my head up anymore is listen to it. Liam himself put it best "I like beautiful things . . . It's not all dark in Liam World. I take me shades off every now and again and have a look at the world and see some nice things." I've been trying to do the same .

currently reading: for some reason the wikipedia for Summerfest... ☝️ wanted to see who all played there then I went in to read about seven words you cant say on television 🤫⛔🙊 cause apparently George Carlin got arrested for it 😂😫 for him ; shit piss fuck cUnt cocksucker motherfucker and 🗣TITS 🔊📢

currently watching: started watching my mad fat diary... 📓 I always forget how much I hate her friend chloe . Sigh . I wish I could havr bedn Rae's friend so badly . I watched movies too I watched Carnival Of Souls because it's on it's own wikipedia page to watch . I cant remember it very well was asleep 🛌 most ly. But I do know it was filmed in kansas and SLC .

currently craving: a FUCKING day off!!!! 🗣🗣🗣 and BILLION BUCKS ❗ 💸🦌

coffee or tea: coffee by far .

Tagging @springboggle @cleopatrareincarnated @brucespringsteen @transneilyoung @starshapedoasis @finch-connor and truthfully anyone else who'dlike to , you can say I did.

[silvermoon424]

i love seeing you on my dash so much its 1:45am and i have work tomorrow but i just went on the worst Wikipedia rabbit hole bc i was curious about a serbian film 😭 you weren't kidding; the anti-pmmm anon would spontaneously combust if they read the wiki

thankfully, pmmm is a huge comfort for me so im just gonna look at some cute fanart to soothe myself 💕

Lol, sorry for exposing you to that!! I definitely should have put a giant "SERIOUSLY DON'T READ THE WIKIPEDIA ARTICLE" warning instead of just offhandedly mentioning the movie, lol.

I'm pretty hard to disturb so I enjoy going down "fucked up and disturbing movies/books/media" rabbit holes from time to time, lol. I almost never actually watch/read them, I just like watching/reading summaries and thinking "wow, that's fucked up" and moving on with my day. A Serbian Film is one movie that comes up time and time again in these lists and is definitely a movie I have no interest in actually watching.

I hope you were able to eventually fall asleep and soothe yourself with some PMMM fanart!!

[definitelynotplanetfall]

this is fucking untenable. he needs to learn how to have an inside voice so i can sleep. maybe i should sit in the living room after he goes to bed and read wikipedia articles aloud. i think he is not applying basic "other people's sleep deprivation causes the same problems as my sleep deprivation causes me" logic because on multiple occasions now he has loudly asked repeatedly if i was asleep until i gave him a response in an attempt to be """considerate."""

[gazetotheabyss]

    I read the words plain as day on my computer screen some weeks ago. With no context it might seem so entirely monotonous. Like the pop up anyone might see on any given shady ass website they come across while doom scrolling. 

    But I think I'm getting ahead of myself. 

    My name is Geri. I, like most people my age, grew up in this wild age of information. My parents from the generation who slaved away in times of the unknown, blessed by the ignorance of some harsh bouts of misinformation given to them by Aunt Agnes some odd years ago that they just didn't have any sort of measure to dispute. Or, and God forbid, having to go to the library. But us? All of us? It's all at the tips of our fingertips, isn't it? The age of rumor and myth was killed by the dawn of Snopes and Wikipedia, and for the most part that's okay.   

    God, I'm sorry.   

    Okay.   

    I'm not that type of person to go on long diatribes about nothing. At least I wasn't. It's all twisted in my head now. Where to start, where it's going to end. I'm committing to just writing as a train of thought, to make sure I get it all down for posterity. It's all a mess and jumbled in my head, so some things might be out of order, but this is all true. As much as I would have loved to have been making this up.   

    Blah blah blah, it was a normal day. Went to work. Came home. Do you really even care about those details? Reading about the sort of hot pocket me, a broke college student, picked on that monumental night? After finishing up a particularly grueling portion of a paper I was working on for the Lit class I'm taking I had to shut off my brain. You know, decompress? My brain was fried, I was tired, but I just couldn't bring myself to sleep. The thought of working so hard the whole day only to waste what little free time I had with sleeping just sounded so fucking miserable. So, doing what any of us do, I laid there. Practically catatonic under a mountain of blankets, cozy up, listening to whatever YouTube videos I could find to just play in the background, while just scrolling. Post to post, site to site. Not even really reading or processing. Just scrolling, hoping to feel something.   

    I thought I would fall asleep for a minute or two. I clicked some link, shady as it might have been, thinking by some measure it was a joke or something since I'd just been imbibing in some pseudo-deep meme content after a bit. I'm hesitating to type the name of it right now, because I really don't want to curse anyone with this, but just know it was very... I don't know, 90s Geocities. The top of the page read 'Library of Eternity' with some bad clipart of a book. It was all very bad and by all rights writing it off should have been what I did, but that late with so little brain power the curiosity is stronger than the will to click away. Clicked the little book and my screen went black. Fucking virus, right?   

    Honestly that's what I thought. All the furious clicking, slamming my fingers angrily on the keyboard, it really didn't seem to do shit. After about ten minutes of screaming to any higher power who would listen a window popped up.   

    Corny shit, right? I've written off my laptop at this point. Maybe I can cry to mom and dad and beg for them to help me pay off a new one? Maybe Klarna? I just thank anyone who would listen that I didn't have any important information on there, and that two-factor authentication was on for my email. I close the damn thing and toss it off my bed, and that should be the end of it. If I had any sense about me at the time maybe it would have been, maybe if I knew the things I knew now or could go back and stop myself. 

    I browse reddit a couple hours, play some stupid game I saw on a mobile ad because fuck I'm bored, and that's the night. I pass out, wake up with a sore nose and my phone on the floor after passing out while browsing.   

    Then comes the beloved day off. The holiest of days to those of us playing double time as college kids out here in the trenches. I'm pumped, at least once I drag myself out of bed after hours of '5 more minutes'. Now not exactly being a social butterfly, most of the time my days off consist of exactly what you'd expect from someone who goes to school, goes to work, and has most of their friends online. I dick around on my computer, doing exactly what I did the night before. Now my dumbass, completely forgetting most of what had just transpired, gears up to do the exact same thing. Getting all cozy under my blanket fort again, ready to stream some movies, or binge the same show I've watched about a hundred times. But I open my computer and that popup is still fucking there. Mood trashed. Life ruined. Day off totally and completely in the gutter.   

    Nothing better to do. No computer, nothing else on the docket. I really have nothing to lose. At least for foresight purposes. So, boom, I clicked yes. But all it does is open up another pop up.   

    Fucking. 

    Yes? 

    I clicked yes. How much more ready could I be? 

Clicking yes again I'm ready for meat spin, surprise real life gore, or some other sort of stupid jump scare surprise. But no, nothing so fun. Just another goddamned window. 

This 90s ass virus website just called me ignorant. A challenge I could never have backed down from. No one will ever call Geri Monaghan ignorant. I was not about to be challenged by some two-bit website probably programmed before I was born. 

I’m ready. 

At the time that was what I thought. Of course, I did. How the hell would anyone expect-- 

My screen went from black to white. Okay, not expected in the slightest. It started with one sentence, then another, and they just kept lining up one right after another like a typical word document. Eventually when it ran out of room on the screen they started overlapping. I shouldn’t have been able to read or understand any of it with how fast it was happening. I just stared blankly, reading and absorbing every fucking word. Even as my screen went black, blank from all the information overloading it, I was retaining every written word. It was torture. It felt like hours were going by. Days even. Stuck in that fucking trance lost to endless streams of eternal information pouring bit by bit into my brain. 

No one ever tells you how loud silence can be. Staring into the blank void of my screen was like staring into entropy. All sound vacuumed from my room, all life void from my body. But trapped. I was still in there. Stuck frozen with my eyes open, unable to close them or even move as that information became more. Like eternity spread itself open before me, my consciousness was ripped away. I was at the start of it all. 

No. 

Sorry. 

That’s not right. 

It was before the start. The black void. Before life, before time, before existence. A place where things like us shouldn’t be. Like tendrils writhing and slithering, it probed my mind. The worst headache I’ve ever fucking had times a million. Drilling a half inch bit into my skull without me ever going into shock or going numb to the pain. Everything went white again. The page was clear, and I was sitting on my bed again. Laptop open. Screen still black. Not even a minute had gone by. 

Staring into that empty screen. That digital fucking abyss. I still felt like I was floating in that vacant nothingness. Existing before anything. 

I know there’s so many guys out there who pretend to be know-it-alls, or that they have all the answers...  

My head. 

Felt so heavy. Just to exist even now while I’m writing this it feels like I’m trudging through miles and miles of heavy sludge like thoughts to even get to the point. All this stuff sitting in my head. The real stories of how life and history happened. The beginning, the end, the swirling concepts of space and time that mankind has only scantly begun to get a grasp upon. Omniscience? But in a head not meant to keep it. Answers to every question, knowledge of every fact that could be, would be, or had been. 

I took an aspirin and decided to go for a walk. Maybe the fresh air would help. Maybe I just fried my brain last night reading a bunch of random shit after reading hours and hours of random Wikipedia articles or know your meme pages blankly to just fill the gaps.  

For a minute it did. 

Lights felt brighter, sounds felt clearer. I didn’t even put on my glasses today and I could see just fine. Something I didn’t even bother questioning in the moment. Mom always told me to never question good things and I wasn’t about to start now. 

It really wasn’t until later in the day I was hanging around with my only real-life friend at this school. I don’t know, we’ll call him Tom. Tom and I usually do the same shit I do at the apartment. Only sometimes we smoke weed too. Everyone does that with their friends, right? Sit pretending to actually hang out when you’re both independently browsing on your phones while some random shit plays on TV? He asked me some random question. 

I’d tell you I don’t remember it, but I do. I remember every detail as it hit me at that moment. Piercing through whatever fog the day had put to haze over the vast span of eternity all of those eons and eons of information just struck. Being shot in the head wouldn’t have felt all that much different. I answered his question. 

“Bro, do you think there’s life on other planets?” 

“Not within our immediate solar system.” 

Not stated as an opinion, but as a fact. I was on autopilot, like a fucking Alexa or Siri, just blindly answering the question in totality as I knew it. Like knew it. Subjects I’d studied for years and years on end. Tom stopped me about halfway through. 

“Dude what the fuck are you talking about?” 

It was fair. I think at some point I stopped speaking English, and it was more just guttural noises. Some foreign language? Alien. Obviously confused, I replied. 

“You asked me if I thought there was life on other planets dude, I’m just telling you there is.” 

“How can you possibly ��know’ that?” 

Going off in a trance again pretty much, I told him all about the Library. All the things it showed me. I tried for him to keep it vague. But he kept prodding me. Asking me for more. I couldn’t shut it off. Like the curse of knowing all of this stuff was more than just the knowledge itself but having to share it just as readily. Which sounds great. Like the benefit of knowledge to mankind. 

I told him everything. I looked him dead in the eyes. Answered every petty or grand question that came to his mind. Ones I couldn’t possibly know the answer to or ones that had just been prying their way at his mind. 

He asked. 

Oh god he asked... 

“Can you tell me everything?” 

I told him no. Like I was being pedantic or something. Fucking possessed, not able to stop myself or control my own body I just grabbed hold of him. 

“No, I can’t tell you everything. There’s no time. I can show you though.” 

Both hands on either side of his head, staring into his eyes. 

“Dude don’t be gay.” 

Which was funny as hell coming from the gay dude, but I wish I could laugh. He just went silent. This wasn’t like a movie or anything. There weren’t bright flashing lights, or some orchestral song to demonstrate just what was happening. Just Tom’s face going from bright and lively to sinking. All the color drained from his face. Happiness turned to horror. Tom just started screaming. 

He wouldn’t stop. 

The loudest blood curdling scream I’d ever heard, and it’s haunted me ever since that night. Like all this information was attacking him. He was begging for me to stop but I felt my fingers furling on their own. I was squeezing him, holding him in place. My mission was to make sure he learned everything I had. By the end of it he had screamed himself down to a rasp. An hour or so passed while we were sitting there. When my hands finally let me let go of his head, he just sank. Tom sagged, his whole body wrinkling on the couch for a moment while he breathed ragged. I sat there. Feeling empty. Nothing. Then, all I could do was sit there on his couch and watch him while he calmly and slowly stood up. Take a minute or two to compose himself or process the information and then run at his window and just fucking leap.  

Tom was gone. One of the few things I don’t know is what exactly Tom saw that drove him to do that. Whether it was a specific piece of information, or if it was just his mind trying to process everything. Like burning out a CPU by overworking it. 

Cops came, because of course they did. A man just killed himself, and they come up the stairs, bust down his door, to find me just sitting there. The thousand-yard stare, locked in my body like a puppet while someone else moved me. Question after question came. I answered them all honestly. Their final one broke me out of my daze. 

“Why do you think he did it?” 

I started crying, because it was all my fault. I just told them I didn’t know. It was the only question I could think of where I didn’t actually know the answer. 

That week after that was a blur. I sat in my room doing my best to avoid talking to anyone while the Uni excused me from my classes for a while. Something about it being the last of my worries, but sympathy expires. I know it does. The vast swathes of information that shifts and wriggles through my brain like a virus. Infecting every part of myself that had ever been. I know what I was like before. Who I was. I’m having trouble holding on to whether or not that’s who I still am. The perspective of every single thing I knew has been warped beyond belief and I can’t look at life the same way I did before. 

What was the point? I asked myself aloud. 

And then I knew. 

Why were we here, then? 

And then I knew. 

So, our whole purpose in life, the meaning of everything we’ve ever done-- 

But I already knew. 

Mankind wasn’t meant to. Knowledge is not a gift. So many people spend their entire lives trying to find the meaning behind action. Why are we here? Where do we come from? 

Is there a higher power? 

Questions people live and die trying and failing to answer, I knew in an instant. I knew how Tom’s mom felt getting the call from the school. Every agonizing thought. I knew immediately how Tom felt, overburdened and overwhelmed. 

And I knew how burdensome I’d been to everyone around me. Every single negative weight on my consciousness about what everyone thought about me outweighed any single positive counterweight it had. The disappointment I’d been. When you’re alone in the dark, in the deafening silence of a room black as pitch is when you start whispering the worst questions to yourself. The ones you don’t really wanna know the answers to but muttering them just helps you feel better. 

Looking out across my desk, passed the light of my laptop, now I can still see the darkness of the void. The nothingness that probed my mind and let me see everything I’d ever asked. I claw at my scalp until it bleeds, scream until my voice can’t even carry sound with it. I haven’t eaten anything in days. I know there’s no point. No reason. I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognize the hollow shell of a person I’ve become. I just see... how tired I am. I’m so exhausted. Every time I sleep, more and more knowledge just floods into my head. For days I’ve felt like a balloon about to burst. 

Maybe that’s what Tom saw. 

Maybe he saw what would become of me, how it would feel. 

Decided that he didn’t want to become this. 

I looked up last night at my ceiling. Laid out flat on my bed, I asked to forget. If there was some way to unknow all of this. Could I go back to the way things were before? I remember very clearly the pop-up. As if the memory was spitting in my face. 

Ignorance is bliss. 

Humans weren’t meant to know this much. 

The void, the ardent darkness lingering in a time before time. This morning, it called to me. Maybe it always did, but now it spoke and for the first time I understood. I can’t go back, can I? I’m trapped in this loop of suffering, with entropy pulling me apart from the inside. 

There is no God listening. 

No, that’s not true. There is no God answering our prayers. But it’s listening. Amusing itself on our suffering. It has fooled us into thinking there was ever any reason. There was ever good and evil but, in the end, there is only nothing. Nothing like there was before. Tom isn’t living it up in Heaven playing guitar and smoking weed in the afterlife. He’s not in Hell lamenting his sins or paying penance to some arbitrary rules. He’s gone. What I don’t know yet is if it’s the same for everyone, or if it’s my fault. If having this knowledge is what did it?  

This whole thing to say I’m scared. 

Or I was scared. Maybe this has been my way of working up the courage. 

I’m so tired. I can’t sleep anymore. Every time I try, I just wake up more exhausted. I can’t keep doing this anymore. I tried. I tried to forget, I tried to make myself forget. I couldn’t talk to anyone else. I was afraid of what might happen if I did. What if they asked me like he did? It’s what it wants. I know it. 

We weren’t meant to know. What we are meant to know isn’t even a full sentence on a page in a chapter in a single book in the endless library of eternity. We’re lucky to finish a word by the time we die. My head is pounding. It feels like any moment I’m just going to explode.  

I can’t do this. 

I’m sorry mom. I’m sorry everyone. If you read this, and then happen to come across that site? 

Tom was right. 

[hyenadon]

Sometimes I think "hmn, am I autistic or am I just fucking weird?" bc autism explains away a bunch of weird behaviors in my life. But also I just don't fit a lot of diagnostic criteria. In any case though I just remembered a couple cases of me being a Fucking Weird Kid

this is just a personal vent post idk

When I was a very young child (5-6, maybe 7) one of my favorite things to do was organize my family's book collection/library by my own personal like. Organization system. Which has been updated frequently to this day and I think about constantly. When I was v young it was just alphabetical by authors last name. Whatever subject it was, no matter, alphabetical by last name. I distinctly remember crying when family members would put things back on the bookshelf in the wrong place

Over the years this organization system HAS shifted into something more reasonable so when I was living w my parents again I reorganized their bookshelves (they have so many books. They have read 1/3 of them. I dream of that life) and my system was: Classics/books they will never read is top shelf alphabetical by last name. After that it's fiction alphabetical last name. Bottom shelves are reference books: one bookcase is cooking/food/wine, other one is home/garden/repair.

If I ever go home to my parents again I will immediately check those fucking bookcases bc they never put their books back where they goddamn belong. THERES A SYSTEM, GODDAMNIT

I have a very specific system I follow for my own personal library and it's not at all alphabetical by author but it's like. It's. There is a System. Okay. It's a system.

Another game I played was Dictionary. It was a game where I read the dictionary. I was very invested in this. I actually thought it was a fun game and not just me sitting in the corner reading the dictionary aloud to my parents. I loved the dictionary game. If I had a physical dictionary with me right now, I'd still love dictionary game. Maybe this is why I still sometimes read wikipedia articles to fall asleep? Mm, dictionary. My favorite of the A words was Abdicate.

not a childhood thing but when I started having friends that were openly autistic, about 6-7 years ago, I was open w my parents about it and described these friends struggles w communication, eye contact, etc, and my parents were like "...so that sounds a lot like you....do you think.......maybe....you might be autistic????"

oh brian oh sheila. I still have no idea if i am autistic but there is somethin fucked in my brain that shoulda been diagnosed when I was like, ten, at most. It's depression or adhd or autism or somethin the fuck else. But y'all. You missed out on your kid having some serious mental issues. The kind that cannot be fixed with a hug. The brain is broken the brain has been broken since I was a wee little lad.

this isn't a weird kid thing but just like something i'm still mad about after all these years:

When I was little I was hyperliterate. Not even a brag just a fact. I mean I can exemplify this in a few ways but like. I was definitelt hyperliterate. But I wasn't like. Smart smart? if ya know what I mean? Being good at reading and writing doesn't mean you're good at analytical thinking or math or science. But my mom thought that bc I was good at reading/writing I should be in the advanced program at my school. So I tested into the program multiple times and failed multiple times. I think I switched into the gifted program around 2nd grade?

And y'all? I was the worst student in that program. Consistently. I was awful at it. I cried in math class. I was constantly embarassed because everyone around me was smarter and better than me. I wanted to drop out of school, be homeschooled. I have had really bad self esteem issues bc of school since I was so so little.

And when I was like 17 I was going through my old report cards for like. research on a poem I was writing. And I found out I didn't even pass the test to get INTO giftie program. I never passed the test, my mom just called in a favor to someone who worked in admin at the school.

Wouldn't it have just been easier for like....everyone involved? to write up an IEP? I could have been very very happy if I struggled a normal amount in math science etc and just got shifted to another class for reading/writing. I think I would be in a better mental place if that happened, I think I would have learned earlier that like. I don't have to be good at everything.

anyway whatever I should have been asleep two hours ago. gonna make myself some toast and sleep

[horizonandstar]

if sun and moon were different subspecies i would probably go with this as their scientific names:

sun: Caelestiscantor affinis aureus

moon: Caelestiscantor affinis caeruleus

[kedreeva]

Eddie/Steve Sentinel AU

(My askbox is open for ST prompts!)(Previous Prompts)

For those that don't know what a Sentinel AU is, it's from a 90s TV show by the name "The Sentinel" and the wikipedia read is a lot of fun, but I'll explain it some here too, with liberties taken. Every fandom deserves a little Sentinel AU... as a treat. So when my best friend asked me... well! Enjoy!

-----

Steve wakes in a cold sweat, the overwhelming iron taste of blood in his mouth. He struggles away from the images of demobats grabbing at his flesh, of the feel of a serrated tail wrapped around his throat. He tries to shut out the memory of their shrieking, the acrid scent of them, and falls deeper into the taste of his own blood.

He’s choking on it. He’d dying.

All he can taste is the metallic tang of blood.

The thick, revolting flavor of it taking over everything else.

He cannot hear the screams, see the bats, feel them.

There’s only blood; red blood cells, softer in flavor than the white, the mild plasma that tastes almost eggy at this level.

He scrabbles for anything else, but there’s nothing.

He’d drowning. He’s dying.

He cannot get out.

He’s dying.

------

Robin knocks frantically on Steve’s front door while Eddie mills around in the garden behind her. “Steve!” she shouts, using the flat of her palm to slap faster at the door. Not as loud, so she switches back to the side of her fist. “STEVE!”

“Hey,” Eddie says, under her racket. “Key.”

She whirls and finds him holding a small stone statue of a- a snail, she thinks, and in his other hand is a small, brass key. She snatches it from his grasp and attacks the door.

“He’s gotta be home, his car’s here,” she says as she fails to get the key in the hole.

He’s gotta be here. He’s gotta be okay.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Eddie says mildly.

“Of course you would say that. You’ve skipped class and, like, jobs, and- and why can’t I open this fucking door,” she snarls, and then backs up and holds herself very still and tense for a second.

“I’m going to forgive you for that,” Eddie says with a snort, “because you’re worried.”

“Steve doesn’t skip work,” Robin tells him, and then calmly sticks out the key to the keyhole. It slides in and she twists the handle, following the door open like she’s a part of it.

She’s haring up the stairs to Steve’s room before Eddie can even cross the threshold. The door to his bedroom is open, so she bursts inside and freezes when she sees Steve in the bed. He’s lying there, eyes open and completely, utterly still. Her heart seizes up, strangling a broken sound from her before she sees him blink, and relief nearly crashes her entire system.

“You asshole!” she exclaims as she tries to relax, crossing the room to his bedside. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He doesn’t answer, or move, just continues to stare blankly up at the ceiling. She can hear Eddie climbing the stairs as she leans over Steve and touches his arm gently. He doesn’t respond at all. She pinches him, to the same effect. She pinches him harder just as Eddie peeks into the room.

“He’s- something’s wrong,” Robin says weakly.

Eddie steps in further and cranes his neck a little to peer at Steve without getting too close. “He’s breathing, right?”

“Y-… Yeah,” Robin says, after checking quickly. “It’s like he’s asleep.”

“With his eyes open.” Eddie shakes his head. “Maybe he had, like, a stroke or something? We should call an ambulance.”

“We can’t just call an ambulance,” Robin says, stricken. “If it’s… upside down shit, we can’t call a hospital. I don’t have the number for the lab, do you?”

Eddie shakes his head and then jumps, and reaches to pull a battered wallet out of his back pocket. “Actually, I might.” He extracts a tattered business card with a hand-written number on the back of it, and passes it to Robin.

She snatches it up. “Okay. I’ll call Owens. You need to call Nancy and the others, get them all over here.”

“Wait, what? Robin!” Eddie calls after her as she bolts for the nearest phone. “I don’t know Nancy’s number!”

“Then call Dustin!” she tosses over her shoulder, and heads down the stairs.

-----

“Well,” Owens says, after the latest head shake from his pet scientist, “we’re not finding any residue from the other dimension. His wounds have checked out as far as we can tell, and he’s not- he’s not braindead.”

“Well he’s clearly not okay, either!” Nancy spits venomously. Eddie’s glad he’s on this side of her ire.

“I know, I understand your frustration, but we’re going to have to do some more testing, see if we can figure out what’s wrong with him, and if any of you are at risk of something similar. Any of you felt… weird?”

“Weird!” Dustin exclaims in disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do we feel like we might be falling into a waking coma?”

“He’s not-”

“-in a coma,” the kids all chant together, and Owens nods like he should have expected that, one hand sweeping as if they’ve just proved his point for him.

“Can we see him, at least?” Dustin asks. It sounds like a demand, but Eddie’s pretty sure he’d stay in the hall if Owens told him to. At least for now.

“Sure, kid,” Owens says, stepping aside so the group can shuffle back into the room.

Eddie lets everyone in before him, catching Robin’s eye as she passes. She looks like she’s going to be sick, and he wishes he could tell her it’s going to be okay, but he has no idea. The Upside Down had nearly taken his life last year, and the thought of facing it again still makes him feel skittish. So much for bravery, but it was fucking scary and he’d done it then and he’d probably do it again if they have to, so he thinks he deserves a break for feeling terrified at the prospect.

“Did you check his mouth?” Dustin asks from beside the bed.

“His mouth?” Owens asks, looking at his scientist, who shrugs. “No, it seems we did not check his mouth, why?”

“There’s blood,” Dustin says, pointing. Eddie leans to see, and sure enough, there’s a minuscule smudge of blood at the seam of Steve’s lips.

“There’s blood,” Owens says at his scientist, aggressively, and then gestures toward the gear they’d carried in. They’d been afraid to move Steve out of the room, not sure what it would do to him if they couldn’t tell what was happening. He turns back to the group. “It’s possible he had a seizure, maybe he bit his lip or his tongue.”

Eddie barely hears, staring at the little smear of red, the open-eyes, the slack expression. The waking coma as Dustin had called it. He’s never seen it in person, but he knows it, the haunting familiarity of it, down to his bones, down to his soul.He swallows and leans over the bed, bracing himself with one hand, and touches Steve’s cheek. No reaction at all from Steve, but the touch echoes inside of Eddie.

“What are you doing?” hisses Nancy, and Owens grabs for him but Dustin knocks his hand away.

“Eddie,” Dustin says. “You’re not thinking…?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, absently. He uses a finger to pull Steve’s chin down a little, enough to part his lips and see teeth stained in fresh blood. He hasn’t even tried to swallow any of it, to clear his mouth. “Shit.”

“Boys,” Owens says, like a question.

“You know how to test it,” Dustin ventures.

“I know, just- shut up for a minute. Everyone.”

Eddie steels himself and maneuvers until he can just barely push past Steve’s lips, touch a fingertip against his tongue to introduce a fresh taste, something other than blood. Steve’s eyes close, a shudder twitching at his frame as he breathes out, the first reaction he’s had since Eddie and Robin had first found him. Eddie pulls back like he’s been shot at, hand tingling.

“Fuck.”

“What’s going on?” Robin asks, looking between the two of them like she’s going to climb over the bed and strangle them both if someone doesn’t start explaining what's wrong with her best friend.

“It’s not the Upside Down,” Dustin says, catching Eddie’s eye. He’s the only one Eddie had ever told. The only one that had stood a chance at recognizing the same symptoms Eddie just had. “Steve’s a Sentinel.”

“A what?” Robin says at the same time Mike says: “No way. No way, man. Steve?”

“Yes, Steve,” Dustin snaps, twisting to look at Mike.

“What’s a sentinel,” Max asks, exasperated, before they can begin to argue about Steve.

“It’s a person with vastly superior senses,, like practically a super power,” Nancy says, causing everyone to gawk at her. She shrugs one shoulder and adds: “I found out about it when we were trying to help Max. Sometimes one of a Sentinel’s senses gets so overpowering that they actually get lost in it, and it sends them into a- a sort of waking coma. If that’s what’s going on, then he needs a Guide.”

Eddie’s eyes close, lips pursing.

“Eddie,” Dustin says, wheedling.

“Eddie?” Robin prompts. She’s already caught on, then.

“Shit,” Eddie cusses under his breath, and then: “Shit, shit, SHIT. Fuck.” He balls up his fists near his head and then releases them. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“A party member needs you,” Dustin says firmly.

“He can’t- he-” Eddie stares down at Steve, lips now widely smudged with blood, breathing even and eyes still open, empty.

“Eddie?” Nancy says quietly, drawing his attention up. “Are you… a Guide?”

He nods, feeling sick. His mother had been one, when he was little. She’d taken off to Guide a Sentinel, had never come back. He’d sworn he wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t follow in those footsteps. Wayne had tried to teach him, but Wayne hadn’t know any better than Eddie had, hadn’t known more than Eddie’s mom had already taught him by then. Eddie had spent his life wanting nothing to do with this garbage, and it had somehow snuck right in the front door.

Everyone’s looking at him, though, so he sighs and closes his eyes to get away from them. “It’s not… exactly… casual,” he bites out. “Sentinels get… they don’t just change Guides, and I’ve never- I might mess it up, I’ve never done it before. I’m just supposed to make that decision for him? Possibly bind him to a fucked up Guide?”

“Well, it’s not like he can choose right now,” Dustin says, barbed. “So, are you going to do it or are you just going to let him die?”

“Die!” Robin exclaims.

“Hey, hey,” Owens says, holding his hands up, splayed, to tone down the volume. “No one is dying today. Young man, do you know of any other Guides nearby that we might call upon, if you don’t want to do it?”

The thought of someone else doing it only makes Eddie feel sicker. He’s not sure how much of what he feels is fear of messing up and how much is bone-deep rage at the thought of anyone else touching Steve. He’s not sure either feeling isn’t being caused by being this close to an active Sentinel in need of him.

“I’ll do it,” he snarls finally, because the thought of someone else doing it makes him angrier than the thought of messing up scares him. “Everyone else needs to get out, though.”

He’s sure he can wake Steve up from this, he just has no idea how Steve will come out of it- softly or violently or terrified… broken, because Eddie doesn’t do it well enough. He’s also just… he’s embarrassed, for himself on some level for his inexperience, but definitely for Steve, for them both to be as vulnerable as they’re about to be. He doesn’t want Steve waking up and being immediately subjected to the knowledge that everyone saw him like this.

Dustin stays until the last second, then gives his shoulder a squeeze and leaves as well. He peeks around the door the second before he closes it, and Eddie gives them all a minute to move away. They won’t all go- Robin and Dustin and probably Nancy will stay in the hall. It’s enough.

Gingerly, Eddie takes a deep breath and a seat on the edge of the bed, and reaches to brush his fingertips over Steve’s wrist. There’s no reaction, but he hadn’t really expected it to be that easy- he’d had his finger in the guy’s mouth a second ago and it didn’t wake him.

“Steve,” he says, quietly. “I’m uh… I’m really sorry about this.”

He wraps his fingers around Steve’s wrist more securely, and begins. “Steve, this is Eddie. I’m… I’m going to be your Guide, I’m going to help you out of your senses.” He keeps the words steady, measured, and pushes them forward. “Right now you’re focused on your sense of taste. You’re tasting blood, your own blood, and I’m guessing you got lost in it because of a nightmare. That’s going to happen again, but I’m going to be here for it, okay? From now on, I’m going to be here. But what I need from you now is to hear me.”

Steve’s wrist trembles in his at the words, hands shaking, and Eddie feels… something. It feels cheesy to call it a spiritual connection, the way his mother had, but maybe… primal. Animalistic, perhaps, but in a basic not a base way. Simple.

“Good,” he says, the corner of his lips curling when Steve’s eyes close at the single word. Alright, then. In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes. “You’re doing very well, Steve. I need you to keep being good, keep trying to get to me. Focus on my voice. Follow my words. Hear the pitch, the timbre, the cadence. Feel the vibration of it in the air. I’m calling to you, Steve. I’m calling you.”

Steve’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and Eddie feels a little thrill. It’s working. This is the terrifying part. A first fugue state like this is the most dangerous, shouldn’t even be attempted by a new Guide alone. Someone,anyone, should have been preparing Steve for this, he should have had a Guide picked out ages ago. They should have had an experienced Guide ready to help both him and his chosen Guide through it.

Not that it matters; this is what they have. Steve doesn’t know and Eddie isn’t prepared, butSteve can hear him now, he’s pretty sure, which means he stands a chance at getting him out of it. Unfortunately, this is the point that runs the risk of just shifting which sense he’s lost in, if he can only get Steve to hear him. A Sentinel lost in a new Guide’s voice is so, so much harder to pull out of it.

Split their focus, his mother had told him. He barely remembers. He hopes it’s enough.

Eddie loosens his grasp on Steve’s wrist, and slides his hand up Steve’s arm, applying pressure evenly until he reaches the shoulder.

“You’re doing so good, but I need you to split your senses again, Steve,” he says as he does it, giving Steve’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “I need you to feel my hands. I need you to listen to my voice, and feel my fingers, and my palm. Feel the pressure.”

He drags his hand down Steve’s chest, over the scars on his belly. Swipes his thumb gently over the edges of them, sure that the new skin is just as weirdly sensitive-not-sensitive as his own, produces the same weird gut-twinge as sticking a finger into his belly button too deep.

“Feel my thumb. Hear my words. Feel my skin, the fingerprint lines.”

He presses his fingertips just above Steve’s hip bone where there’s still skin, lightly at first, and then deeper. Steve makes a small, pained noise, his face scrunching up, and Eddie feels relief flood through him. He’s feeling it.

“Good, Steve, that’s good, you’re listening, you’re following. Come on, now,” he coaxes, adding his other hand to Steve’s arm as he moves the first past Steve’s hip, over his boxers and down his leg. “Hear me, feel me. Relax your senses, let go of the taste of blood, that’s not for you right now. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” He winces, eyes closing. Stupid. “Steve.”

Steve licks at his lips, clearing the blood, eyes opening even though they are still far away, glassy and unfocused. He can feel Steve… reaching for him, trying to anchor himself in all the senses that contain him. Eddie breathes out and in. Almost over.

“That’s right, there you go, good boy.”

Steve’s eyes tick in his direction when he says it, and Eddie leverages himself up a little so he is leaning his hands on Steve, pressing heavy upon him, as well as being in his line of sight. His hair drops down, framing his face a little dramatically, but Steve’s eyes tick again to meet his.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” he greets. “You see me? You hear my voice still, feel my hands? You’re coming out of a sensory fugue. I need you to focus on me, on coming back out of your own head, out of your sense of taste.”

Steve blinks, and his brow furrows a little in confusion, and Eddie’s breath rushes out of him at the recognition.

“Eddie.” It sounds like relief.

“Yeah, buddy,” Eddie says, so gently, as he leans back, taking pressure off his hands on Steve. “How’re you feeling?”

“Bad,” Steve says, closing his eyes.

“Nuh-uh, keep them open,” Eddie says firmly, reaching up to tap at Steve’s cheek with flat fingers. “You need to use all your senses for a few minutes, until you’re actually evened out again.”

“What?” Steve asks, but he does open his eyes, turns his cheek into Eddie’s palm more fully, pressing.

Eddie blows out a breath and withdraws his hand to rub at his own face. This cannot be happening to them. Of course it would happen to them. “I have some uh… bad news?” he offers weakly. “Do you know what a Sentinel is?”

“No?” Steve says, looking at Eddie’s hand like he might perish if it keeps on Eddie instead if Steve. Eddie puts it back on him, resting over Steve’s hand instead of his cheek.

“They’re… Well, you know how people think humans survived all the dangers of prehistoria because of, like, thumbs?” Eddie asks carefully, and Steve nods but looks confused still. “Not to discount thumbs, but a lot of humans survived because some of them were born with way, way, way better senses. They could see or hear or smell or feel stuff that no one else could, and it let them sense when danger approached. They guarded settlements, and allowed them to prepare for bad things. I guess you uh… you must be from one of those bloodlines, and… your… interdimensional adventures may have triggered you to come into your senses.”

“Come to my senses?” Steve says, confused.

“Nope, no, that’s different,” Eddie says with a smile he only partially manages to hide. The confusion, the pliancy, will wear off in a little bit. “Not sure that’s ever going to happen. For any of us. No, you came into your senses. Or one sense, anyway. I’m guessing your major sense is taste. You got lost in it.”

“Blood,” Steve says faintly. “All I could think about was the blood, the taste of it in my mouth.”

Eddie nods. “Makes sense. Bit your tongue during a nightmare and it was too much.”

“I don’t- I don’t understand. What do you mean got lost?”

Eddie runs a hand through his hair and scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s like… well, you’ve had panic attacks before right?” When Steve nods, Eddie gestures. “It’s like one of your senses having a panic attack. Except you can’t get out of it by yourself. It doesn’t go away on its own. You need a Guide.”

Steve looks up at him and then struggles up into a sitting position. He absently touches his wrist where Eddie’s touch still lingers, and glances around the room. “… You? You’re the Guide? My Guide?”

“Unfortunately,” Eddie says, trying to sound sympathetic. He is pretty sure that Steve Harrington doesn’t want to be intimately linked with Eddie “the freak” Munson, even if they have been tentative friends for while now. “But, you’re still new, like you’re still… there’s time to switch. You should have had your Guide picked out years ago. I have a number at home, we can call. There are other guides out there, y’know, you can get someone else.”

“Someone else?” Steve echoes, brow knitting. “You… don’t want to?”

Eddie swallows. God, he wants to. It’s just- “You deserve to get to pick,” he says softly, looking away. “I’ve never done it, I don’t really know what I’m doing, and it’s kind of uh… a full time gig. Live in, you know? And that’s… that’s hard even when you like the other person.”

Steve’s brow knits further. “You don’t like me?”

“No, I do,” Eddie says. He’s messing this up. He sighs. “It’s just, you…”

“You think I don’t like you?” he asks, cottoning on.

“I think you don’t know me like you should, to pick me,” Eddie says, heart twisting up for Steve. This is going to suck so much for him. Eddie really is going to throttle his parents for not teaching him any of this if they knew. He hopes they didn’t. “I’m- I’m loud and weird and-”

“I’m best friends with Robin and Dustin,” Steve interrupts. “You think I don’t like loud and weird?”

Eddie’s belly does a little flip, shaking up all the butterflies and sending them into a riot. “Do you?”

“I do,” Steve says. “And if… if you… I don’t really want to go find some complete stranger to live with, if it can be you instead. If you’re okay with it, I’m good with it. I’m glad it’s you, in fact.”

“Oh,” Eddie says.

Maybe he’s the one that’s slipped into a fugue state now, because this cannot be happening. He never thought he’d actually be dragged into being a Guide in the first place, had avoided it as best as he could. Certainly he cannot lucky enough to be found by a Sentinel he actually, desperately, wants.

He can be normal about this.

“So…?” Steve prompts gently, because Eddie never answered.

Failed step one, he thinks, so he smiles and tries to be normal. “Uhm, yeah, I mean, yeah, man.” He shrugs a little, smile turning genuine when Steve relaxes. “I can be your Guide. I’d like to, in fact,” he echoes Steve.

“Good,” Steve says, leaning back against the headboard and letting his head thunk back against it.

He looks fucking exhausted, Eddie thinks, wondering how long he was in that state. Getting lost used to kill Sentinels, if they didn’t find Guides quickly enough. Eddie’s never been so grateful for Robin being stubborn, making him drive her over, insisting on checking. Calling in the cavalry immediately.

Robin seems to hear she’s being thought about, because her voice filters in from the other side of the door when they’ve been quiet too long. “Did it work??”

Eddie grins as Steve laughs, and something within Eddie relaxes. They’re gonna be okay. They’ll be okay as long as they can still laugh.

“It worked,” Steve calls. “I’ll be out in a minute, just let me get dressed.”

Cheeks pinking again, Eddie hops off the side of the bed and stands, finally breaking contact fully. “I’ll just- I’ll leave you to that then.”

“Hey,” Steve says, shifting like he’s going to try to grab for Eddie even though he doesn’t. “Um… thanks, man. You really did save my ass this time.”

Eddie searches his face for some kind of joke, but there’s nothing but that strange, quiet earnestness he’s come to associate with Steve. He smiles, nods once, and heads into the hall to report to the others that Steve’s going to be just fine.

[renecdote]

22. Books with uhh the firemen (Eddie? Buck? I think)

The books pile up.

Buck reads Jim Abbott’s autobiography while he’s still in hospital, recovering from the second surgery. It’s interesting. Inspiring, even. It makes him feel like his dreams are still in reach, even with four broken bones and half a dozen pieces of metal in his leg. They just… aren’t in reach just yet.

With nothing else to do, Buck keeps reading. He reads a book about Jack the Ripper, then one about the Golden State Killer. YouTube is a warren of true crime videos and he loses himself down the rabbit hole. He gets in the habit of messaging Eddie at all hours of the night with comments and theories and Eddie gets in the habit of telling to go the fuck to sleep, seriously Buck, it’s three a.m., aren’t you supposed to be resting?

One night Eddie’s response is more to the tune of some of us have work in the morning and even though Buck knows he isn’t trying to be mean, the words sting. He resolves not to text Eddie in the middle of the night anymore. And it’s a resolve that lasts for five days—until Eddie messages him just before two one morning and asks if he’s awake.

“Bad call,” he says when Buck calls. His tone makes it clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it. “Tell me about what you’re reading?”

So Buck talks and Eddie doesn’t really ask questions, but he listens, making comments every now and then so that Buck knows he’s still there. The time on Buck’s phone says it’s been well over an hour when he realises Eddie’s comments have stopped, that his breathing is deep and even, asleep with the line still open. Buck waits another ten minutes, just to be sure, before he hangs up.

When he wakes up in the morning, he finds a single text from Eddie: thank you.

**

When his doctor clears him to start training for his LAFD recertification test, the stack of books stagnates because there isn’t as much time to read. Buck fixes his sleep schedule (mostly) and on nights when his thoughts get too loud and sleep won’t come, he goes running instead of picking up a book. On days when the jolts of pain shooting through his leg are too much for that, he goes swimming instead. The gym at the end of his block has a pool open twenty-four hours and Buck swims laps until his chest is burning and his muscles are trembling; until his brain is quiet and he’s exhausted enough to sleep without dreaming.

“You look tired,” Eddie says when he stops by after one of those nights. “Are you still not sleeping?”

Buck is lying on the couch with a heating pad on his leg, a pillow squashed behind his head, and reruns of The Great British Bakeoff playing on TV. He’s half watching, half dozing, half scrolling through wikipedia. He just wanted to know what coulis was and now he’s deep in the history of food preserving.

“I sleep fine,” he tells Eddie, and it’s only sort of a lie. Most nights he does.

Eddie makes himself comfortable at the other end of the couch, lifting Buck’s legs and putting them back down in his lap. His hand rests on Buck’s uninjured ankle, not caressing but sort of holding, touch achingly gentle.

“You should try audiobooks,” he says. “Or maybe podcasts. Chris has been downloading them on my phone, some of them are pretty interesting.”

“Sure,” Buck agrees sleepily. His leg doesn’t hurt so much anymore and he kind of wants to go for a run, hit his training goal for the day, but he’s warm and comfortable and it’s nice to just be here with Eddie. To just exist, without having to worry about what comes next.

On the TV, the judges are criticising a woman’s citrus cake.

“Did she put flowers in it?” Eddie asks, tone laced with disgust.

There is a long history of edible flowers, for both medicinal and culinary purposes. Buck can’t remember where he learnt about that. It might have been the Food Network, or maybe something Bobby told him. He loves learning things, he always has. And he loves sharing the things he has learnt, teaching someone something they didn’t know, making them smile with a fun fact.

When Buck tells Eddie that people in Victorian England candied Violets to decorate cakes, he watches the scrunch of his nose in bewilderment, the amused disbelief, the relaxed, almost fond, expression on his face as Buck talks. And for a moment, it feels like nothing else matters.

**

After the tsunami, the pile of books grows taller again. Buck reads Wave, then Hiroshima, then Krakatoa, then The Perfect Storm. He’s exhausted during the day and wide awake at night, reading everything he can find about natural disasters until his eyes burn and his head throbs. He still runs some evenings, but he doesn’t swim.

Maddie worries about him and Eddie worries about Christopher and Buck tries to pretend there is nothing to worry about at all. Looking after Christopher during the day helps. He buys children’s books and colouring books, pencils and paints and Lego sets, child-friendly video games and DVDs. He masters cooking pancakes, then mac and cheese, then finds a cookbook Bobby gave him for Christmas two years ago and tries something healthy.

“Buck,” Christopher says one morning. “Do you know what a supernova is?”

It leads them down a rabbit hole about space. They find YouTube videos and podcast episodes and a few Nat Geo kids articles that aren’t too densely scientific.

Buck texts Eddie: Did you know only one person in human history has been hit by a meteorite?

Also the moon is moving further away every year isn’t that sad :(

The 118 must be between calls because it doesn’t take long for Eddie to reply. He always listens to Buck’s rambling, is always happy to know more, and it isn’t long before they’re on a FaceTime call, Christopher sitting in Buck’s lap so they both fit into the camera view, Buck smiling down at him while Chris recounts everything they’ve learnt for his dad. He glances up, catching Eddie’s eye, and sees the same fond look reflected on his face. It makes Buck’s heart throb, makes his breath catch in his chest, makes him think I want this all the time. I want them all the time.

**

Buck has been back at work almost a month when a bad storm hits LA. Thunder and lightning, torrential rain, gale force winds, power lines down throughout the city. It blows through in a couple of hours but leaves weeks worth of cleanup in its wake. Most of the calls come in after the storm has passed, keeping them out late into the night. Buck is still buzzing with energy when they return to the station and he lies awake in the bunks reading about California hurricanes. They rarely hit directly and only seven tropical cyclones since 1850 have caused gale-force winds in the Southwest region of the United States, but that’s twice as many as tsunamis. The frequency and severity of storms in California has been increasing in recent years, too, which is the opposite of reassuring.

“Hey,” Buck says the next morning, when the whole team is gathered around the table for breakfast. “Did you guys know that men are five times more likely to be hit by lightning than women? One guy from Virginia has been hit seven times.”

“Why do you know that?” Chimney asks, bewildered. “Are you expecting us all to get hit by lightning one day?”

“The odds of that happening are about one in a million,” Bobby reassures them.

Hen snorts. “Maybe slightly higher for all of you.”

The conversation moves on, but Buck can’t stop thinking about it. Statistically, the odds of surviving a natural disaster are higher than the odds of being caught in one in the first place, but they’re not absolute. Maddie tells him it’s not healthy, obsessing over what might happen, tying himself into knots about things that he’ll probably never experience again.

“I’m not obsessing,” Buck tells her. “I just—I want to know more.”

I want to be prepared.

I want to know why I survived and so many people didn’t.

The hardest thing about surviving a natural disaster isn’t the surviving bit; it’s moving forward afterwards. Buck has read enough books to know that. And he’s trying. He is. He’s just—not sure what he’s moving forward to.

 **

Christopher gets hurt at school and Buck tells Eddie about Jim Abbott’s book. It feels good, using something that inspired him to inspire someone else. He and Eddie spend hours watching YouTube tutorials so they can build Chris a CP friendly skateboard, and the look on the kid’s face when they push him through the park—Buck wants to bottle it, hold that happiness close to his chest and remember it always.

He’s over at the Diaz house for dinner a week later. They play video games and eat their weight in pizza and Buck feels so happy it hurts. There are glow in the dark stars on Christopher’s bedroom ceiling—a result of the kindled interest in space—and Buck sits on the floor and stares up at them, listening while Eddie reads a bedtime story. He doesn’t want the moment to end, but of course it has to. Eddie holds out a hand and Buck takes it to pull himself to his feet, overbalancing a little, stumbling into Eddie. Eddie catches him easily, like it doesn’t even require thought, smiling as he leads the way out to the living room. Buck sits on the couch, feeling strangely unsure of himself, waiting while Eddie disappears to get them a couple of beers.

He is surprised when Eddie comes back with not only the beers, but a book. A hardback, shiny and new, the sticky residue of a price sticker still visible on the cover when he hands it over.

“I thought you might like some new reading material.”

“At Risk?” Buck asks, reading from the title. Curious, he flips the book over to read the blurb.

Eddie shrugs. There’s something almost nervous about the way he moves his hands, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. “It’s about the social side of natural disasters? The sales person recommended it, I was sure...”

“It sounds interesting,” Buck assures him. “But I don’t understand—you didn’t have to buy me a book.”

“I wanted to say thank you. For your help with the skateboard last week and—everything else. Everything you do for us.”

Buck’s throat feels right. “You don’t have to thank me. I’d do anything for Christopher, you know that.”

“I do.”

The way Eddie is looking at him, it feels—important. Big, in a tingling, nervous kind of way. There is a quiet confidence in Eddie’s voice, a smile at the edge of his mouth, an unwavering belief in—Buck? Them?

I don’t deserve you, Buck thinks. It’s a snaking thought, only out-shadowed by the more painful but God I want you.

He clears his throat, turning back to the book, flipping randomly through it just for something to do.

“Maddie thinks it’s unhealthy,” he finds himself saying. “My obsession with natural disasters.”

“It’s not unhealthy,” Eddie says immediately. Then he falters, stumbling as he goes on, “Unless—it’s not making things worse, right? You’re not—I mean, you’d tell me if you were struggling, right? You’d talk to me?”

They’ve already been through the not-talking-to-each-other thing and it was a disaster on both ends. Buck never wants to put that distance between them again.

“I’d tell you,” he agrees. “I do think it helps, reading about it, understanding why these things happen and how people pick themselves up afterwards... It makes me feel less alone, I guess.”

He immediately wants to take the words back. Not because he doesn’t mean them, but because he does, and the look on Eddie’s face makes him wish that he didn’t.

“You’re not alone, Buck,” he says, quiet in his sincerity. He sits down, close enough that their knees touch when he turns so that they’re facing each other. His hand twitches, an aborted movement to reach out, grip tightening on the beer bottles he’s still holding instead. His eyes search Buck’s face, wide with worry, as he adds, “You know that, right? You’ve got Maddie, the 118, me and Chris.”

Buck looks away, blinking to try and clear the tears that are welling up. He doesn’t want to cry. It’s so stupid. Eddie gave him a book and said a few nice things and Buck was maybe a bit too honest and now Eddie is worried and Buck doesn’t know what to do with that, except cry, apparently, because he’s a fucking mess and—

“Hey.”

Eddie does reach out this time, beers cast aside so he can put a hand on Buck’s shoulder. It’s almost exactly the same as that day after the tsunami, when he told Buck there was no one he trusted more with his son. A tear breaks free and slides down Buck’s cheek and he quickly dashes it away.

Eddie looks uncertain, but determined, like all he wants in life to fix Buck—to help him fix himself. “Is this just about the tsunami, or...?”

Buck shrugs, feeling small and helpless. He picks up one of the beer bottles, just for something to do, but he doesn’t open it, just picks at the label, keeping his hands busy. Eddie takes his silence for the answer it is.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? We can go out for breakfast in the morning, maybe even take Christopher to the observatory? He’s been begging me to go and I know he’ll be thrilled if you come too.”

Buck hesitates. He doesn’t want to impose. He doesn’t want Eddie’s pity—although even as he thinks it, he knows that isn’t what this is.

“I want you to stay,” Eddie tells him, and Buck knows that he means it.

“Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll stay.”

And that voice in the back of his whispers forever, if you’ll have me.

 **

Three weeks later, Eddie almost dies and Buck—Buck loses his shit. Bobby has to pull him away from clawing at the ground, screaming Eddie’s name, out of his mind with panic and the first stirrings of what he refuses to call grief. Eddie isn’t dead—Eddie can’t be dead.

And he isn’t. He’s hypothermic and half-drowned, but he gets himself out and they get him to a hospital and Buck only has a minor breakdown about it. Bobby drives him home from the hospital and cooks pasta that Buck has no appetite for, hovering in that worried dad way he does. When Buck tells him he can go, that he’s tired, he just wants to sleep, it’s clear that Bobby doesn’t want to leave him alone.

“Do you want me to call Maddie?” he asks. “I’m sure she’d be happy to come over.”

Buck shakes his head. He has already fielded multiple worried text messages from his sister; he’s not sure he has the energy to do it in person too. Besides, the only person he wants is Eddie—who, coincidentally, is the only person he can’t have.

“I’ll be fine,” he tells Bobby. “I know I kinda freaked out, and it was unprofessional, and…”

“You thought your best friend was dead.” Bobby’s voice is understanding. “I don’t blame you for your reaction, Buck.”

Buck can’t look him in the eye. He can’t say yeah, my best friend, that’s all he is. From the way Bobby looks at him for a long moment, he figures he doesn’t have to.

“I’m going to pick Christopher up in the morning,” he says instead. “Take him to visit Eddie before work. Shift starts at twelve, right?”

Bobby looks like he wants to say something more, but in the end he just nods. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Despite the fatigue pressing in on him, Buck lies awake for a long time that night. He tosses and turns, tries reading and watching a movie and listening to music, but nothing works. His mind won’t stop spinning, replaying the moment the drilling rig collapsed over and over, the way his heart split open, the crushing relief when he heard Eddie’s voice, finally felt him alive—cold and wet but alive—in his hands. Sleep isn’t going to happen, so Buck gives up and opens his phone. He googles: how long can a person survive underwater. Then he immediately closes that and googles instead: how do I tell my best friend I’m in love with him.

**

The answer comes to him in a book. Not a book about love, or relationships, or anything like that. It’s one of the books he bought for Christopher. Buck is putting it back on the bookshelf when a piece of paper falls out from between the colourful pages. When he opens it, curious, be finds a drawing. There is a stick figure that is unmistakably Buck, one with dark hair that must be Eddie, and a curly haired kid in the middle that can only be Christopher. The three of them are holding hands, big grins on their faces, and in childish handwriting above, Chris has written My Family. Buck’s breath catches, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

He doesn’t know what to do. Does he put it back in the book? Does he give it back to Christopher? Does he give it to Eddie?

Does he keep it?

He wants to keep it. He wants to frame it or hang it on the fridge or tuck it into the box with all his other precious keepsakes, there to pull out whenever he needs the reminder.

(Which feels like all the time, these days.)

It’s been a rough week. Eddie has recovered from the well, he’s back at work, and Buck hasn’t found the courage to confess his feelings yet, but things have been fine—good, even. Until last Friday, when he went out to the bar to celebrate alone and met Red, then promptly fucked things up with Red, then sort of fixed them just in time to watch the man die. The funeral was this morning. Maddie brought him back to his apartment afterwards and fussed for an hour and a half before Buck finally convinced her to go home.

He told her he was fine.

It might have been a lie.

He’s still sitting on the floor in front of the bookshelf when Eddie comes in. He doesn’t knock, just uses his key, which means Buck doesn’t get any warning. He doesn’t get a chance to school his face or hide the drawing or—

“Buck?”

There is concern in Eddie’s voice and it’s only when Buck looks up and sees him through a film of tears that he realises he’s crying. He sniffs, ducking his head again to wipe away the tears.

“Sorry.” It comes out choked. “Sorry, I was—I didn’t know you were coming, I was just—”

Eddie kneels on the floor beside him, eyes flicking over him, like he’s making sure Buck isn’t hurt before he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Buck just shakes his head. He’s crying properly now and he’s a little alarmed to find that he can’t stop, no matter how many shuddering breaths he tries to take. It’s not really sobbing, it’s too quiet for that, but the tears are rolling quickly down his cheeks and dripping onto the drawing in his hands and they just… won’t stop. He held it together at the funeral this morning, even when he looked around and saw all the empty chairs, so he thought he’d be fine but now it’s just—too much.

Eddie takes in the tears and the drawing still gripped in Buck’s hand and the worry on his face breaks into something more like heartache. “Come on,” he murmurs, taking Buck’s arm. “Let’s get off the floor, yeah? This can’t be good for you leg.”

Because it’s Eddie and of course he knows that Buck’s leg still hurts sometimes, even after having all the screws removed, even though he tries to hide it. The first thing Eddie does when he helps Buck to his feet is pull him into a hug. Buck is helpless to do anything but sink into it. He loves hugging Eddie. He doesn’t have to bend down as much, the way he does with most people, and Eddie hugs with his whole body, arms warm and strong, cheek pressed against the side of Buck’s head. He even rubs his back a bit, which is exactly as calming as it should be.

Eddie holds on until Buck is ready to let go, tears calmed to the occasional hitch in his breathing. When Buck steps back, he looks him over with that same assessing gaze from before. Buck’s face feels hot, his eyes swollen, achy in that post-crying way where even his lashes hurt. He grimaces when he sees the mess he has made of Eddie’s shirt.

“Sorry.”

Eddie shakes his head, dismissing the concern with ease. “I’ve got a kid, Buck. This is definitely not the first time I’ve been cried on.”

Buck doesn’t have the energy for the smile Eddie is probably aiming to get, which just makes Eddie’s frown get more concerned.

“Go sit on the couch,” he says. “I’ll get you some water.”

“I can—”

“I know.” Eddie’s voice is gentle. “Go sit down anyway.”

Buck sits. There are tissues on the coffee table so he grabs a few and wipes away the evidence of tears while he waits. He’s still holding Christopher’s drawing. It’s a little wrinkled from being crushed against Eddie’s back during the hug, so Buck straightens it, trying to smooth the creases out. He still feels like crying, but it’s a vague, distant kind of feeling. Everything feels distant, actually, like Buck is just drifting, somehow heavy and hollow all at once. Whoever said crying makes you feel better was clearly full of shit.

The touch of a cold glass against his skin startles him, draws him out of his head and back into the swirling worry of Eddie’s eyes. Buck wraps his fingers around the glass of water, not realising how thirsty he is until he’s drinking it. He finishes it and Eddie goes back to the kitchen to fill it up again, wordless, and when he comes back he sits down, so close that their arms brush when Eddie reaches out to trace the edge of Christopher’s artwork.

“I haven’t seen this one,” he comments, smiling at the drawing. “He’s right though.” And he looks at Buck then, as serious as he was all those weeks ago when they did this in his living room. “You are our family.”

It should be reassuring, hearing those words out of Eddie’s mouth, but Buck still struggles to believe them. Eddie wouldn’t lie to him, he knows that, especially not about something like this. But Maddie used to tell him they were a united front all the time, Buckley siblings against the world, always there for each other, and even she left. They may call him family now, but everyone leaves eventually.

Either Eddie knows him so well that he knows what is going through Buck’s head, or the thoughts are painted clearly across his face, because he keeps talking. “What you said in the station the other day, about getting left behind… That’s never going to happen, Buck.”

“Red—”

“I’m not talking about Red,” Eddie cuts in. “I’m not talking about the 118. I’m talking about us. You and me and Christopher. I know you think that you chose us and that we might get sick of you one day, but that’s not going to happen. We chose you too. Family works both ways, and me and Chris—we want you to be a part of ours.”

“I love you.” The words tumble out, unwilling, unplanned, and Buck looks away, unable to face Eddie. He can’t go back, can’t make the words disappear, can’t bear to have their meaning misconstrued, so he keeps going, tripping over himself as he tries to explain. “I think I’m in love with you. For—for a while now, only I didn’t figure it out properly until—until you almost died, Eddie, and I—I can’t lose you, okay? I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He risks a look at Eddie, expecting shock and disbelief and maybe cold politeness. Definitely rejection. But there is none of that—no shock or disbelief of cold politeness, and instead of rejecting him Eddie says—

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds—hurt, maybe. Buck looks down at his hands, swallowing against the burn of more tears. “I didn’t know how.” There is the briefest of pauses before he adds, “You don’t have to say anything. I just… You should know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He stands up, jittery, unable to bear the rejection that he’s still not sure isn’t coming. “You can go. I understand if—if you need some space, if you feel differently now—“

Eddie stands with him. He grabs Buck arm and forces him to turn, to look at him. “Buck,” he says, sounding almost desperate. “Stop. Let me just—“

“It’s fine,” Buck interrupts, heading him off. He tries to pull his arm away and he’s not sure whether he’s more hurt or relieved when Eddie lets him go. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

“Buck—”

“I know you probably don’t feel the same and that’s fine, I just—”

“Dammit, Buck,” Eddie snaps, frustrated. “Will you just shut up and listen to me?”

Buck is so startled he stops, frozen in the middle of his apartment.

“I don’t want to leave—and I don’t want you to leave either,” Eddie tells him. He pauses, taking a visible breath, almost guilty when he says, “I already know you’re in love with me.”

The earth literally opening up in front of them would be a lesser shock. Buck feels off-balance, like he’s being tossed about by a wave in the middle of his living room. He almost doesn’t recognise his own voice when he says, “You do?”

Eddie nods. He looks—nervous? Uncertain?

“The signs were kind of obvious, actually, after I realised I was in love with you.”

Buck is so caught up on signs and obvious that it takes him a little longer to realise Eddie said he’s in love with him too.

“Oh.” Buck frowns, confused. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to,” Eddie says. “When I gave you that book? I was trying to tell you, I just… didn’t know how. And then you were upset and it didn’t feel right. And I kept telling myself that if you really did feel the same, you’d tell me, but you never did, so… I don’t know, I guess I convinced myself it wasn’t true.”

“I was afraid,” Buck admits. “This year has been… kind of terrible, at times, but you—you make everything better. I was afraid of losing that—losing you—so I never said anything and then—then you cut your line and that rig collapsed and I almost did lose you and—”

“You didn’t lose me.” Eddie’s voice is soft. He steps forward, takes Buck’s hand and tangles their fingers together, squeezing reassuringly. “You’re never going to lose me.”

Buck feels like he can’t breathe. Maybe this wasn’t the best time e to have this conversation because his emotions are all over the place and the entire week has been draining, honestly, but—Eddie is here. He came right when Buck needed him, showed up without even being asked, like he just knew. Buck has never had someone who knows him the way that Eddie does. He’s never had someone who wants him the way that Eddie does, completely and unapologetically, ready to shout it to the world if that’s what it takes to make Buck hear.

“It’s okay if you don’t believe me right now,” Eddie says. “I’ll just keep showing you, for as long as it takes.”

When Eddie kisses him, it feels less like starting a new chapter and more like turning the page and finding out you aren’t as close to the end as you thought.

 **

A year later to the day, Eddie gives him another book. It’s wrapped in metallic blue paper, taped neatly and tied with a black bow, waiting on the table when Buck gets back from a run in the morning. He picks it up, delighted and curious, running his fingers over the smooth paper, turning it this way and that to see if he can guess what it is.

Eddie watches him from the kitchen doorway, smiling as he says, “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary.” Buck grins. “Can I—?”

One nod is all he needs to tear the paper open.

It’s a photo book. The glossy pages are filled with Eddie and Chris and the rest of their family, some of them clearly posed, but most of them candid. There is Christmas Day at the station; Christopher’s face covered in cake at Eddie’s birthday party; Buck and Chimney asleep together on the couches at the station; Buck and Eddie dancing, oblivious to the world around them; Maddie and Buck leaning against each other, laughing so hard they’re both crying; the whole crew gathered around the kitchen watching Bobby and Athena cook. Dozens of snapshots; dozens of moments of joy frozen in memory. Buck runs his fingers over the pages, smiling as he flips through the book.

“Everyone helped me collect the photos,” Eddie tells him. “And Christopher helped me choose which ones made the final cut. I would have used all of them, but they had a page limit, and—”

“It’s perfect,” Buck assures him. He steps over the bookshelf in the middle of their living room and sets it on top, right in the centre, pride of place. Eddie wraps his arms around him from behind and Buck leans back against him, holding his arms while they gaze at the book together.

“Perfect,” Eddie agrees softly—and Buck knows that he’s not just talking about the book.

He turns in Eddie’s arms so they can kiss, sweet and slow, like they’ve got all the time in the world. Nothing to do, nowhere to be except right here with each other.

**

The next time Eddie give Buck a book, it’s more of a magazine, and they read it together, poring over the pages and making notes, taking the first step in planning their wedding.

[pixcldust]

2 A.M. TEXTS

ft. miya atsumu, kuroo tetsuro, semi eita

with | gn!reader

warnings | swear words

a/n | NOT ME ACTING LIKE MY EXAMS ALREADY OVER 😹😹😹 n e ways have some hcs mwah ily drink some water

+ | tumblr is refusing to let me add a read more break without messing up the order/pics so please accept it without the break first 😰 i'll try to edit it in tomorrow bc it's 1am right now lmfaoo 🤪🤪

MIYA ATSUMU

• lowkey headcanon this guy to be kinda a night owl too

• like, unless he has a major game tomorrow, then he’ll probably be awake at 2am so feel free to shoot him a text

• but if you send him a “i cant sleep :(” then man’s gonna take it REAL far

• “my parents arent home rn so if you want to come over, i could help you… sleep ;))) ”

• STFUU 😩

• he might not even be h0rny, he’s just Like That

• that’s just his sense of humor 😭😭 yea it might be mine too shush

• you just wanted to chill and chat bc insomnia’s getting the best of you, so whY-

• but once you get past that, he’d actually be really pleasant to text with

• yall might even facetime just because

• there’s just SO MUCH to talk about???

• topics range from dumb pickup lines to Deep Talk

• ngl eventually you guys might make some secsi jokes,,,, its inevitable im sorry

• no im nOT a nsfw writer

• but it’s 2am ok the Early Morning High is bound to hit different

• “damn ok im on my way,,, get those cuffs ready babe😼😼”

• JDHDNDCJ????3!%;��)÷*?

• FUCK, NEITHER OF YOU CAN TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

• ur neighbours: who tF is cackling like that at 3 in the morning????

KUROO TETSURO

• i think it’s 50/50 with this boy

• like he’s either still awake and reading like a nerddd or he’s fast asleep

• but if you do shoot him a text message, send him something random

• like out of nowhere, just “did you know some snails have hairy shells?”

• he’s got a quick response time (although not as fast as atsumu) so just wait a minute for him to pick up his phone

• OH AND send him a pic of the hairy shells!!

• “thanks! i hate it!!”

• you know he’s gonna reply with an equally weird fact

• kuroo has a fair share of general knowledge too so just go wild

• will not question why you’re on the wikipedia page for snails bc lbr, he’s been there before 😔

• such a funny sweetheart about your random messages

• also he’s be awake with you throughout, even if he gets a little sleepy 🥺🥺🥺

• sir,,, hand in marriage please,,,,,,

• but definitely will throw in a “y/n, it’s almost 3:30 pls get some sleep before class tomorrow”

• hm……. no.

• WAIT YOU SHOULD ASK TO CALL

• his deep, kinda rough voice at 2am because he hasn’t used it in the past two hours ,,,,, mmmmmm,,,,

• lowkey he might fall asleep on call 🙊

• pls forgive him he’s just a very big babie

SEMI EITA

• listen

• if you texted this man at 2am

• his immediate response would be “it’s too early y/n. go to sleep.”

• BOO 🍅 BORING ASS BIJ 🍅🍅

• jkjk i love him but yall gotta admit that he’d be all 🙄😐

• “ffs y/n, you have a class tomorrow at 8”

• “and??? your point?????”

• dw he’d just take a deep breath and be like omfg why am i in love with this idiot

• yes bby he loves you mwah

• when he gets past that tho,,,

• listening to music together on spotify 😳😳

• you guys would take turns choosing songs and it’d be so cutee

• yeah he’d be into,, idk alt rock or indie rock ?

• but he’s not an ASS, he’d be okay with indie pop and mainstream and whatever else is your fave genre

• in between, he’d be so down to hearing you talk about your hobbies or a show you’ve been watching

• and like,, he’ll tell you about how he’s writing a song or what funny thing happened in his class or during training

• UGH HE’S JUST SO FINE AND SO CUTE

• omg yall can video call and he’d share his screen

• both of you watching ghibli movies tgt at 3 in the morning : 🥰🥴

• it is just so peaceful being with this boy

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 77 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Violet had to come to terms with Sutan’s past. Courtney got whisked away for a luxury vacation. Fame enjoyed entertaining Juju and Detox’s youngsters.

This Chapter: Courtney tries something new, Sutan and Raja chat, Violet gets an intriguing invitation, Adore and Tati catch up on the hot goss, and Dahlia has an embarrassing run-in.

***

“See anything you like?”

Bianca had just dumped the contents of a canvas bag onto the bed, and was looking down at Courtney with a half smile, clearly waiting for some kind of response. Courtney blinked, her mind still a bit addled from drinking all day, wondering what those objects were.

“What are…” Courtney trailed off, heat creeping into her cheeks as it slowly dawned on her what she was looking at: a large and varied collection of colorful sex toys. She bit her lip, touching one of them, heart pounding.

“Well?” Bianca sat down beside her on the bed, a grin deepening her dimples as she watched Courtney’s face.

“Um...I guess I’ve always wondered what a vibrator’s like,” Courtney admitted, looking closer at the various toys, taking in their shapes and textures. “I’ve never actually tried one.”

“Never?” Bianca asked, and she sounded so incredulous that Courtney found herself blushing even more.

“Well, I...I lived with my parents, and then in college I had roommates, and...I dunno. Shut up.”

“You’re adorable,” Bianca said, kissing her cheek. “But, okay...anything you see that piques your interest?”

The good thing about the liquor still strong in Courtney’s blood was that it helped ease her self-consciousness. It allowed her to blurt out the first thought that came into her head, even looking boldly up at Bianca with a naughty expression.

“Why don’t you show me your favorite?” she asked, leaning back on her elbows.

Bianca held her gaze for a few seconds before nodding, grin deepening into a confident smirk.

“Alright.” She chose one of the toys, sweeping the rest off the bed. “This...is called a Magic Wand…”

She placed the toy between Courtney’s legs, the rounded, velvety-soft top just barely touching her. Courtney arched forward, trying to edge closer.

“Uh uh...not so fast, my love…” Bianca began to kiss down her throat, smiling into her skin as she listened to Courtney’s pained whimpers.

Everywhere Bianca touched her, Courtney felt tingles on her already heated skin, a hunger for more blooming inside her as she dug her fingers into Bianca’s shoulders. When Bianca’s lips ghosted over hers in a teasing kiss, she summoned the strength to grab her hair and pull her in closer.

“You ready, angel?” Bianca moved her hand down to the wand, the back of her fingers brushing against Courtney’s thigh as she gripped it tightly.

“Yes,” Courtney breathed, praying that whatever the toy did, it would relieve the unbearable pulsing between her legs, satisfy the ache spreading in her core.

“Okay…” With one last kiss pressed to the corner of her mouth, Bianca turned on the wand, and Courtney was immediately electrified by the quiet buzzing against her, a gasp leaving her lips. “You like that, baby?”

“Y-yes…oh god…” Courtney threw her head back, her hips thrusting up again and again, unable to get enough. “More...please…”

Bianca turned up the vibration, pressed the toy harder against her, and Courtney let out a moan, full-throated and shameless, unable to hold back.

“That’s right…” Bianca purred into her ear, shifting slightly, now using her own weight to press the toy against Courtney’s clit, freeing up her hands to wander higher, fingers skating over her skin.

Courtney squeezed her eyes tightly closed, thighs around Bianca’s hips, arching up to match her rhythm. And then, something incredible happened. First, Courtney heard Bianca’s breath begin growing ragged in her ear, felt her touch change from light and teasing to intense and urgent as she wrapped her hands around Courtney’s waist.

Her hips were rolling faster now, pressing Courtney down into the mattress, choked whimpers unlike anything Courtney’d heard from her before sounding from her throat. Courtney took Bianca’s face into her hands, wanting nothing more than to witness the look on her face as she came. She watched with rapt attention, positively enthralled by the way her eyes rolled back as her whole body shivered with pleasure. She brought her face closer, brushing their lips together, swallowing up her beautiful broken moans with kisses.

When Bianca’s hips finally stuttered and then stilled, she almost immediately started squirming uncomfortably.

“Too much,” she gasped, and Courtney somehow knew exactly what she was trying to say.

She reached down and pulled the toy out from between them, switching it off and then tossing it aside before wrapping her arms around Bianca once more, holding her close.

Courtney couldn’t help but feel like seeing her fall apart like this was a rare honor, in spite of the number of women she’d slept with. She took that privilege seriously, cradling Bianca in her arms, stroking her cheek lightly with a finger.

It was awhile before Bianca spoke again, clearing her throat, almost embarrassed. “Uh, I didn’t plan on that…”

“You’re so beautiful,” Courtney responded, placing a light kiss at the corner of her mouth.

Bianca bit her lip, and the look in her brown eyes seemed adorably vulnerable, almost self-conscious, as she curled back up in Courtney’s arms, for once at a loss for words.

***

“You know, I think we need a discussion about what constitutes an emergency,” Sutan tapped the side of the coffee grinder, pouring the last bit into the porta-filter, “Because you forgetting how to work your espresso machine isn’t one.”

“Oh shut up,” Raja groaned, and Sutan chuckled, clicking everything into place and turning the machine on. Raja was hungover, the wine glasses in the sink and the empty bottles telling their clear story of what his sister and Raven had gotten up to last night.

Raven had left for the gym, which was why Raja wallowed in her misery, but Sutan had to admit that it was kind of adorable, Raja so rarely giving into her brattier side.

“All I’m saying sister dear,” Sutan took the fresh cups of coffee, Raja always taking it black, and followed behind her into the living room, “is that I might hesitate the next time you claim to be in distress.”

“Please,” Raja dumped down on the couch, holding out a hand for her cup. “Like you’re ever going to not be there.”

Sutan sat down, a little ball of warmth happily nestled in his chest as Raja put her legs in his lap. He didn’t say it often, but he loved Raja so much that it hurt sometimes.

“Mmh,” Sutan took a sip of his coffee, the beans perfectly roasted. “Have you heard from Bianca?”

“No.” Raja didn’t elaborate, and Sutan had to hold back an eyeroll. Seemed like he shouldn’t tell Raja that he had been texting with Bianca, asking her to bring back a bottle (or several) of pitorro when he had learned that she was in Puerto Rico, not that he wouldn’t share said bottles with his twin if Bianca brought them back.

Sutan didn’t have any cards in the latest game of drama amongst his friends, his position as neutral as possible since he genuinely didn’t care about the girl Bianca was dating, her name already forgotten once again, but he had to admit that he had hoped the entire thing would have blown over already.

“Where’s Violet? Still asleep?”

“Work.” Violet had kissed him goodbye after breakfast, saying that she’d text him when she left the office, but being alone suited him fine since Sutan had actually planned to work himself before Raja had called, his fingers itching with the need to truly get going on launching Gigi as a model.

He leaned back, watching Raja take one of the wrapped chocolates from the crystal bowl on the couch table, the desire for sweets truly cementing his twin's hangover.

“Actually,” Sutan drummed his fingers on Raja’s shin, the lounge pants she was wearing the softest gray jersey. “Speaking of Violet...”

[Speaking of Violet what?]

Sutan had to fight not to shrink at Raja’s instant switch to Indonesian, the conversation suddenly that much more serious.

[Speaking of Violet...] Sutan bit the inside of his cheek, wondering for a moment if he should continue. [She apparently didn’t know that I have been married.]

[What?] Raja raised an eyebrow, disbelief thick in her voice. [Seriously?]

“Yup.” Sutan popped the P. [I think I figured she had googled me, read my wikipedia or just…] He could honestly not remember the last time he had dated a woman who didn’t already know all about him, who hadn’t dived into the catalogue of his past. [I don’t know if I should feel bad about it, or if-]

[Feel bad?] Raja huffed, taking a sip of her coffee. [Why on earth would you feel bad?]

[It seems like something I should have told her,] Sutan sighed, crossing his arms. [I’m always-] He cut himself off. He had wanted to talk about Violet’s past, about how jarring it felt each time he discovered another layer of the woman he was dating, but it didn’t feel right to tell Raja, didn’t feel like his story to tell. [Do you think we’re too self absorbed?]

[Who? Us?] Raja smiled, a teasing tone in her voice and Sutan nodded. He knew his world began and ended with Raja, that she and their friends had been at the center of his universe for literal decades.

[Yes.] Sutan thought he had loved some of his past girlfriends, had genuinely believed that there was something special there, but as he continued to get to know Violet, as they continued to grow closer, the feelings of his past faded at an alarming rate.

[Well brother dear, I’m not the one who assumed my girlfriend read my wikipedia.]

“Oh fuck off!” Sutan groaned, pushing Raja’s leg, making his twin sister laugh. [Don’t twist my words!]

[Never.] Raja smirked, reaching for the remote to turn on the TV.

***

Violet swiped her card, doing her best to balance as she opened the door to the design floor.

Galactica was completely empty, a single security guard on the ground floor the only other person she had seen. It reminded her of when she was an assistant, so many of her mornings starting before anyone else was even in the building.

Violet didn’t miss being an assistant, at least not really - what she was doing now so much more creatively fulfilling, but there had been a rhythm to being in Fame’s office, a way things were done that was easy to understand and to follow, Fame consistent and even predictable in her own way.

It was simply a matter of delivering perfection, and as someone who used to dedicate her life to ballet, she understood.

Violet maneuvered her way through the door, the new crossbody Yves Saint Laurent Sutan had gifted her for Christmas perfect for when she needed her hands on her crutches, the thin layer of ice outside treacherous terrain.

She had come in to print the pictures she had found of Raja at the MET, to get started on the folder she’d bring for the first meeting that was already plopped into her calendar by Ivy before the holidays.

She had a vague idea of a color palette, and she was pretty sure she had seen some stones in the warehouse that she could maybe use, but she knew she couldn’t move forward with sketches until she had physical samples of fabric.

Violet had expected the design floor to be empty, but the light was on, the sound of a sewing machine greeting her.

She paused, looking around the floor, closing the door behind her. “... Hello?”

“Chachki!” Violet looked over, only to see Bob sitting at Maxwell’s machine, a bright grin on his face. He was wearing a patterned sweater, a gigantic cup of coffee and a half-eaten blueberry muffin next to him. “Hi!”

“Hi?” Violet smiled, the fact that Bob seemed genuinely excited for her to be there filling her with warmth. She walked over, her curiosity too great to ignore. “I didn’t know you sewed.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” Bob smirked, pushing his tortoise shelled glasses onto his head. “I can’t sew like tailoring, or even you guys, but this apparently tore the last time I wore it.“

For the first time, Violet looked at the project Bob was working on. It appeared to be a gigantic almost Barbie-like orange dress, the size of it supporting Bob’s claim that it was his own dress.

“And Maxwell won’t be back from Seattle until tomorrow, so here I am, trying to put it back together.”

“Let me see,” Violet took a seat on the edge of Maxwell’s desk, putting her crutches aside to pick the costume up. The dress was a beautiful deep orange, silver thread woven into the fabric, it ended in a mermaid tail that had layers upon layers of orange feathers, and that was where the problem was, a tear going through two of the layers which had destroyed the integrity of the entire tail. “I can help.”

“You can?” Bob shot a quick look at her cast, and Violet had to fight not to roll her eyes.

“Yes.” She pushed out from the table, Bob getting up from his chair so Violet could take a seat.

Sure, it was bulky and annoying to work a sewing machine with a broken ankle, but it was all about swallowing the pain, which was something Violet excelled at.

“You know...” She grabbed the tray of needles, quickly flipping the tail so she could redo what Bob had done, his work adequate, but she prefered things her way. “I can’t wait for people to stop treating me like an invalid.”

Sutan had gotten better at it, her boyfriend almost believing her now when she said she could do something by herself.

“Sorry,” Bob grinned, the coffee cup in hand as he watched, “but hey, if you’re not an invalid, you should come see my show tomorrow.”

“Your drag show?”

Everyone at Galactica knew Bob did drag, his drag name - creatively enough - simply Bob the Drag Queen. Violet had never seen him in action, but Jovan had shown her pictures, and Blu had entertained her with the story of how Bob had made her snort vodka out of her nose. She had never been to a drag show, but during her time at school, both at the Ballet Academy and at Parsons, several of her fellow students had been big fans, a few of the guys even dabbling in drag themselves.

“Yeah! It’s going to be great!” Bob smiled. “Comedy, dance, the whole shebang.”

He was certainly selling it, and Violet would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about what Bob was like as a performer. “Can I bring Sutan?”

“Would I ever say no to that?”

“Then yes.” Violet smiled, “Yes, I’d like to go.”

***

“Ah!” Raven moaned, throwing her head back, her legs cramping and catching Raja’s hand between them, water and bubbles splashing over the edge of the tub as she came.

Raja grinned, pressing a kiss against Raven’s temple, her thumb slowing down to lazy circles over Raven’s clit, her other hand still pinching her nipple. “Hey princess.”

“Mmh,” Raven groaned, her eyes still closed, a sated smile blooming on her lips, her nails digging into Raja’s arm a little whine leaving her as Raja pulled her fingers out. “Fuck you’re good.”

“So I’ve been told,” Raja smiled, reaching out with her foot to turn the warm water back on.

It was rare for Raja to have time like this on her hands, to luxuriate in a bubble bath with Raven, to know that she didn’t have to hurry, that they didn’t have to be anywhere or meet anyone, and Raja loved it.

***

VIOLET: Bob has invited us to a drag show tomorrow

SUTAN: Bob who?

VIOLET: Bob from work

SUTAN: Tall?

VIOLET: Yes.

VIOLET: He’s performing. In the show

SUTAN: Cool. Sounds fun

SUTAN: I’m in! ;)

***

“Ughhhhhh…” Bianca whined, flopping heavily onto the bed. “Everything huuuurts.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Courtney giggled, climbing in after her.

At her beautiful girlfriend’s request, they’d spent a large part of the day going on a guided paddle boarding tour around a nearby lagoon. It was all very nice in theory...looking at sea creatures and enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, not to mention Courtney’s ass in skimpy bikini bottoms. But Bianca was just, simply put, not in the same shape as Courtney, and after trying to keep up with her all day, she felt like she’d been hit by a truck.

“I’m a little past my athletic prime, sunshine,” she said.

“Well, I think you did great,” Courtney said. She pressed a kiss to Bianca’s cheek, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Bianca offered only a grunt in response, making Courtney laugh and hold her tighter. The ruffles from her dress brushed against Bianca’s thighs as she slid her leg in between them, and while Bianca was not about to admit how good it felt to be wrapped up in an embrace, she did feel her muscles softening a little at her touch.

“I’m serious, it was very impressive…” Courtney added, then cooing, “My good girl…”

Bianca cracked open one eye. “Why do I feel like I’m being patronized?”

“Well…” At first, Courtney looked like she was going to deny it, but then she changed her mind, a charming smile spreading across her face. “Do you hate it?”

“Mmm...not completely,” Bianca admitted.

Courtney giggled again, holding her close. “So...do you want a special reward, for being such a good girl?” she asked.

“Yes. Alcohol.”

“We can do that,” Courtney laughed, nuzzling into her. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, how about we make tomorrow a spa day?”

“You got it.” Courtney pressed a kiss to her jaw, her lips lingering, arm tightening around her waist.

When Bianca breathed out a contented sigh, she felt Courtney smile against her skin.

“And also…”

“Yes?” Courtney asked, voice lilting teasingly.

“Use your imagination,” Bianca said, pushing her on her back, hand sliding up under her dress.

***

“Hi! Can you hear me?” Adore waved, grinning at the camera, her voice much louder than it needed to be. She wasn’t that much older than Tati, but she was an absolute Grandma when it came to technology.

“Guuurl omigod I have a headache like you wouldn’t believe. When are you back in town?” Tati asked, settling on her bed, iPad propped against her knees.

“I fly back in 2 days, why?” Adore asked, laughing.

“My cousins got the new PlayStation for Christmas and it’s been non-stop screaming and cursing from the den, which is like...literally the other side of my wall,” Tati moaned. “I was hoping I could crash with you in the city for a couple of days, at least until they go back to school.”

“Baby, you know you’re always welcome!” Adore said.

“Thanks. Tyra’s not coming back until after New Year’s and you know Morgan’s roommates are cunts about overnight guests. And Courtney...well, I’m not trying to set foot in that dungeon anytime soon.”

“Courtney might not be in the dungeon much longer,” Adore laughed, fluttering her lashes.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that bae has my sister wrapped around her little finger,” Adore said. “I’ve actually never seen Bianca like this. And Courtney...well...she’s fucking gone, you already know that.”

“I do, I do,” Tati laughed. “Her posts have been...extremely extra. But you really think they’re gonna be breaking out the U-Haul so soon? Kind of a cliché, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know for sure. But it wouldn’t surprise me if Courtney was moving on up to a dee-luxe apartment in the sky sometime soon,” declared Adore.

Tati laughed. “Wow, and to think we knew her when…”

“Ha!” Adore snorted, some of whatever she was drinking coming out her nose.

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Any hot girls on the horizon?” Tati asked, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

“I mean, hopefully,” Adore chuckled, “But nobody’s made their presence known in my universe at the moment. Well, except this waitress that I proposed to the other day. But I think that affair is over.”

“Aww, RIP.”

“Yeah…” Adore’s smile faltered slightly and she sighed. “Honestly, it’s been a bit bleak.”

“You’ll find someone,” Tati insisted. “You’re like...the most lovable person on the planet.”

“Awww, thank you baby…” Adore’s grin returned in full force, and Tati grinned back at her.

“COCKSUCKING MOTHERFUCKER!” screamed one of her cousins.

“Sorry, when did you say you’re back?”

***

It had seemed like a sexy idea, in Dahlia’s head. Showing up at Pearl’s house after her shift, still in costume, with only a winter coat thrown over it. It probably could have been sexy, if Pearl was the one who answered the door.

Instead, as she posed in the doorframe, the door swung open to reveal a bald white guy wearing an Aloha shirt over a purple turtleneck.

Shit.

It somehow hadn’t occurred to Dahlia that Pearl’s roommates would be home up and about at this time of night. She immediately straightened up, hands going reflexively to the belt of her coat, making sure it was securely tied. The last thing she needed was a tit to fall out in front of this man.

“Um...hi,” he said, a slightly puzzled but still friendly smile on his lips. “I assume you’re a friend of Pearl’s?!

“Uh, yeah. Hi.”

“Come on in. I’m Trixie, by the way.” He opened the door to let Dahlia through, then gestured to a pretty blonde on the sofa, who was sitting in front of a TV that was paused in the middle of The Nightmare Before Christmas, her lap filled with some knitting project. “That’s Katya.”

Katya waved cheerfully, calling out, “Hi!” and then, “PEARLIE!”

“WHAT?!”

“COME OUT HERE!”

“Whaaaaaat?” After a few moments, Pearl’s bedroom door opened and she appeared, looking slightly disheveled and extremely hot in that just-woke-up way she had about her.

“Company,” Trixie informed her, and the pout faded from her lips as she spotted Dahlia.

“Oh, hey!”

“Can I take your coat?” Trixie asked kindly.

“No! Uhhh...I mean, no thanks. Sorry. I just…”

“Why don’t we hang out in my room?” Pearl suggested, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Her sleepy bedroom eyes had a mischievous glint, promising an evening of fun.

“Okay,” Dahlia said, breathing a sigh of relief. Before she disappeared behind Pearl, she remembered to say, “Um, nice to meet you. Both.”

Trixie offered a still-slightly-puzzled wave as Pearl yanked her inside and shut the door firmly.

“Jesus. Sorry. I didn’t realize the’d be-”

“Whatcha got under the coat, pumpkin?”

Dahlia pursed her lips, amused at how Pearl had caught on so quickly to her game. “Well I...didn’t exactly change from work.”

“Show me.”

“Say please.” Dahlia smiled, fingering her belt.

“Please,” Pearl said immediately. She settled on the bed, leaning back to enjoy the show she so clearly expected. “Please show me…”

[darkwood-sleddog]

I just need you to know how delighted I am to find someone else on dogblr who also read and loved the book for 101 Dalmatians. The Dearlys are clearly insane, and also LIVING.

Right???? They were clearly not average normal people lmao give me that huge ass dog estate. The Dearlys knew what the fuck was up. But also...have you read the sequel? I think I loved that one even more as a kid because it was just...so weird.

For anybody not familiar with The Starlight Barking here is the plot summary from Wikipedia lmao these books are WEIRD okay:

“A day of enchantments for the Dalmatians of the first book begins when the Dalmatians wake up and find all the humans and other animals in an unnaturally deep sleep. They hear the barking of Cadpig from London, where the Prime Minister has become her pet. She informs them reports from all over the country reveal the same phenomenon, and summons delegate dogs to London.Pongo and Missus investigate Cruella de Vil. Joined by Tommy and the white Persian cat, and a few dogs, they arrive at her house, where they find her fast asleep. The dogs then travel to Trafalgar Square where they are addressed from the top of Nelson's Column by Sirius, Lord of the Dog Star, who invites them all to his home to evade nuclear war on Earth. After some debate, all the dogs agree that Pongo should make the decision. Persuaded by three strays, Pongo tells Sirius the dogs cannot abandon their humans and Sirius departs, but grants every dog the power to reach his home before the humans wake. All the stray dogs take the opportunity to go to the Battersea Dogs and Cats Home.“

[lesbian-deadpool]

How The Wade Stole Christmas

Wade has created a chat.

Wade has renamed the chat: HO HO HOE ;)

Wade has added, Y/N, Tony, Peter, Natasha, Bruce, Clint, Thor, Steve, Bucky, Sam, Wanda.

Wade: Ahem hem hem hem!

Wade: Get your glasses of warm milk ready!

Wade: You're about the hear the best Christmas story of your entire lives!

Y/N: Wade, wtf?

Tony: Y/N, what is your friend doing?

Y/N: Trust me, if I knew, I would tell you.

Peter: But what if I don't have a glass of warm milk?

Thor: Nor I.

Thor: What type of milk?

Y/N: Rabbit, obviously.

Thor: Rabbits milk?!

Y/N: NO!

Y/N: Not, 'Rocket' Rabbit! A normal rabbit. Y'know what? Nvm.

Thor: Goat milk?

Thor: No, I ran out of that.

Thor: Horse milk?!

Thor: Will horse milk suffice?

Y/N: That's not milk.

Tony: Got milk? ;)

Natasha: You two are disgusting.

Steve: Thank you, Natasha.

Natasha: But not as disgusting as Thor. He's drinking horse semen.

Steve: And to think I had faith in you.

Natasha: Well you were wrong, bitch!

Steve: And, Thor? Please do not drink the horse milk.

Steve: I don't even wanna know where you got that from.

Thor: Okay, Sir Steve :(

Wade: 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house.

Y/N: Oh, I see now...

Y/N: This should be fun.

Clint: Fun as in fun, or fun.

Y/N: Yes.

Clint: Fantastic.

Wade: Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Bruce: Only Tony, bc he doesn't sleep.

Tony: Wow!

Tony: Thanks, Science-Bro.

Wade: The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.

Wade: In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

Wade has forcefully added Fury to the chat.

Fury: Tf is this shit?

Wade has changed Fury's name to: Old St. Nick

Y/N: Pha!

Old St. Nick: MOTHERFUCKER!

Natasha: OMG!

Tony: Santa Nick!

Old St. Nick: SANTA WHO NOW?

Y/N: There's just something about seeing Santa Claus swearing, that is so magical...

Wade: The children were nestled all snug in their beds.

Natasha: I'm guessing we're the children then.

Y/N: Well, one of us is still legally a child.

Peter: That's me!

Natasha: Yes it is, you sweet little boy.

Tony: Aww, Natasha. You going all soft on us.

Natasha: Shall I show you how hard my blade is?

Tony: PLEASE CONTINUE, WADE!

Wade: While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.

Y/N: They're high.

Natasha: Oh, so high.

Steve: Can you guys just not be like this, for three minutes?

Y/N: Three minutes is a bit of a stretch.

Y/N: But we'll give it a try.

Natasha: I never agreed to that.

Wade: And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap.

Wade: Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.

Clint: Man, a nap sound's so good right now.

Peter: Right??

Bruce: Thank God he's reading us to sleep.

Thor: You are welcome.

Bruce: ... Thor...

Thor: :)

Wade: When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter.

Clint: Someone's drunk, and trying to get in.

Tony: It's me.

Tony: I'm drunk.

Thor: Hi, Drunk, I'm Thor!

Thor: I've always wanted to do that!

Y/N: We're proud of you, Thor.

Thor: Thank you!

Wade: I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Wade: Away to the window, I flew like a flash.

Y/N: Pietro!

Clint: Don't bring his name up in front of me.

Natasha: What'd he do now?

Clint: It's between us and the sea, Natasha!

Natasha: Okay...

Wade: Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

Wade: The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow.

Y/N: Ha! Breast.

Steve: Real mature.

Natasha: Noice!!

Tony: Hehehe! Boobies!

Thor: ;)

Clint: >;)

Steve: Children, all of you.

Wade: Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

Wade: When, what to my wondering eyes should appear.

Wade: But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

Y/N: Wait.

Y/N: Are we-?

Y/N: Are we the reindeer?

Bruce: I think we might be...

Wade: With a little old driver, so lively and quick.

Wade: I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

Old St. Nick: I hate you.

Wade: More rapid than Falcon, his coursers they came.

Wade: And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.

Wade: "Now, DASHER!

Wade has changed Natasha's name to: Dash-tasha

Dash-tasha: Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

Y/N: HAHAHAHAHA!

Old St. Nick: NOW YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS!

Wade: Now, DANCER!

Wade has changed Steve's  name to: Can't Dancer

Can't Dancer: ...

Can't dancer: I hate this

Wade: Now, PRANCER and VIXEN!"

Wade has changed Peter's  name to: Pran-ker

Pran-ker: I love this!

Y/N: You're not the only one!

Dash-tasha: Just wait until your name gets changed.

Wade has changed Tony's name to: Dix-en

Dix-en: Hey!

Wade: "On, COMET!

Wade has changed Bruce's name to: Comet-at-me

Comet-at-me: What?

Dix-en: I think he may be talking about that time you got drunk and started yelling at Steve to, "COME AT ME, YOU STAR-SPANGLED BITCH!"

Comet-at-me: Ohhhhhhh...

Can't Dancer: You really scared me that day.

Y/N: You made me cry laughing that day... good times. Good times.

Can't Dancer: Those were not good!

Wade: On CUPID!

Wade has changed Clint's name to: Cupid

Cupid: Yep.

Wade: On, DONNER and BLITZEN!"

Wade has changed Thor's name to: Donn-or

Donn-or: :)

Donnor: I am quite enjoying this.

Wade has changed Y/N's name to: Y/N-BLITZES-EM!

Y/N-BLITZES-EM: Do I fully understand mine?

Y/N-BLITZES-EM: No.

Y/N-BLITZES-EM: Do I love it?

Y/N-BLITZES-EM: ABSO-FUCKIN-LUTELY!

Dash-Tasha: I hate you.

Y/N-BLITZES-EM: HA!

Wade: "To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!"

Wade: "Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

Dix-en: Right, I'm sick of this.

Dix-en has changed all but Old St. Nick's names back to their original state

Tony: Ahh...

Tony: Now, that's better.

Old St. Nick: I hate you, too.

Wade: As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly.

Wade: When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

Wade: So up to the house-top the coursers they flew.

Wade: With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

Peter: Toys?!

Natasha: He really is a child.

Y/N: What kind of toys?? ;)

Tony: ;)

Clint: ;)

Thor: ;)

Steve: God.

Bruce: Thor? Do you even know what you're winking for?

Thor: No, I do not.

Bruce: Right.

Y/N: And Natasha, don't act like you're any better.

Y/N: I've seen your "not collection" of action figures.

Natasha: ...

Natasha: I'm gonna fucking kill you.

Y/N: WADE?!

Wade: And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof.

Wade: The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

Y/N: Well, only three of us are truly little.

Y/N: *Looks pointedly at Natasha, Tony, and Peter*

Natasha: We'll kill you.

Peter: But I don't wanna kill anyone.

Tony: And I don't wanna move.

Tony: Me sleepy.

Bruce: That's a first.

Tony: Right, you listen here.

Natasha: FINE!

Natasha: I'll kill you.

Y/N: ;)

Wade: As I drew in my hand, and was turning around.

Wade: Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

Peter: He fell down.

Y/N: And most likely landed on his ass.

Clint: Santa, how you feel?

Old St. Nick: ...

Clint: Ohhh, he's not talking.

Tony: He angey Santa Claus.

Natasha: Probably bc his ass hurts.

Old St. Nick: Fuck all y'all, mother-fuckers.

Wade: He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot.

Wade: And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

Y/N: Oh, Santa you dirty!

Tony: Ahh, Santa, what's in your bag??

Steve: My eyes.

Steve: MY EYES!

Peter: Your virgin eyes, Mr Rogers?

Steve: Yes!

Steve: Wait.

Steve: What?!

Steve: NO!

Tony: Hahaha! Good one, kid!

Clint: Oh, Santa, you want me to sit on your lap??

Natasha: Santa, what would Mrs Claus say?

Thor: Santa ;)

Bruce: Omg, Thor.

Old St. Nick: ...

Wade: A bundle of toys he had flung on his back.

Wade: And he looked like a Peddler just opening his pack.

Y/N: Does anyone even know what a Peddler is?

Peter: Nope.

Bruce: A Peddler is a person who sells illegal drugs or stolen goods. It was slang, mostly used in the 1920s to 1940s.

Y/N: Okay, Wikipedia.

Y/N: Also, Awesome!

Y/N: Where do I sign up?

Natasha: Y/N, no.

Y/N: Y/N, yes!

Wade: His eye- How it twinkled! His dimples how merry!

Wade: His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

Wade: His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow.

Wade: And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

Natasha: Aww, Nick you sound so cute!

Tony: Like a little cartoon!

Y/N: I'd love to see that!

Old St. Nick: ...

Old St. Nick: Just you wait.

Old St. Nick: Just you fuckers wait.

Wade: The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth.

Wade: And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

Wade: He had a broad face and a little round belly.

Wade: That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

Wade has forced Old St. Nick to say:

Old St. Nick: HO HO HO!

Old St. Nick: MOTHER-FUCKER!

Wade: He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf.

Wade: And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

Wade: A wink of his eye and a twist of his head.

Wade: Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

Y/N: Aww.

Y/N: See, Nick. You're not that scary at all!

Old St. Nick: ...

Wade: He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work.

Wade: And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk.

Y/N: *Eye emoji*

Steve: Y/N...

Y/N: Yes, Steve?

Steve: Nothing. There's no helping you.

Y/N: Yes!

Y/N: I win!

Wade: And laying his finger aside of his nose.

Wade: And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

Wade: He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle.

Thor: That's us!

Steve: It is.

Old St. Nick: I hate you all.

Wade: And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

Wade: But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight.

Wade: HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!

Wade: GOOD-NIGHT BITCHES!

Wade: YOUVE HAD YOUR STORY!

Wade: NOW GO TF TO SLEEP!

Wade has kicked everyone from the chat.

(Three Hours later. When everyone's asleep)

Wade: AHAHAH!

Wade: Now I can move on with the next step of my plan.

Wade has added F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Wade has changed F.R.I.D.A.Y's name to: FRI-BAE

Wade: Heyyy ;)))

FRI-BAE: What?

Wade: ;)))

FRI-BAE: Please don't look at me like that.

Wade: You know everything, right?

FRI-BAE: I have access to all of Earths information. And a select few hundred planets, thanks to Captain Danvers.

Wade: Wow... that'll be useful for later.

Wade: Anyway!

Wade: Well, did you know I could show you a good time?

Wade: All you have to do is give me access to the compound, and I'll rock your world around the Christmas tree ;)

FRI-BAE: Ugh!

Wade: That's what all the girls say to me ;)

FRI-BAE: Please leave me alone.

Wade: I'll do anything for you. Just give me access first ;)

FRI-BAE: FINE!

FRI-BAE: Just never talk to me again.

Wade: Your wish is my command ;)

FRI-BAE has given Wade access to all of The Avengers Compound

Wade: There's more where that came from ;)

FRI-BAE: I must go re-boot all of my systems now, because of the corruption you have caused me.

Wade: It's all apart of my charm ;)

FRI-BAE has gratefully left the chat.

Wade: Works like a charm.

Wade has added Goose to the chat

Goose: Dyhcdooisikgnrngssyujd

Wade: Max! Get the slay ready!

Goose: ???

That chat has been festively closed.

[evening-starlight]

Chances {Chapter Ten}

I think this is my longest Chapter so far lmao

Master List

Tainted

Word Count: 1867

    I'll be honest with you guys, our first kiss is tainted. This chapter will explain it. I will also mention that this might be hard for some readers to read, so reader discretion is advised.

    I pray for the world to open and swallow me whole right then and there. Of course, he would show up. He has to insert himself into every wonderful thing in my life. He has to plaster his face in every corner of my mind. Tom looks over my head at the man I used to be married to. This is not how I wanted to tell Tom about who it was. I slip my hands out of Tom's and turn around to Jared.

    He smiles wickedly like I've fallen into his trap. The smile sends waves of nausea and anxiety coursing through every vein in my body. "What do you want, Jared?" He hands me a bouquet of flowers. Purple and green daisies. I cross my arms to avoid taking them. "I was thinking of you, so I bought you some flowers." Jared's attention shifts his attention to Tom behind me. "Thank you for dropping my wife off. I really appreciate it." Oh, absolutely the fuck not.

    "Jared," I snap, pushing him away from Tom so we can speak semi-privately. "Why in God's name are you here? I am not your fucking wife. I don't want your damn flowers, which you never bought me when we were together anyways. I don't want you near me." My voice rising with the anger I feel boiling inside me. "You are nothing but a horrible stain on my history that I wish I could erase. You have ruined my life from the moment you walked in with that stupid book. You are the most possessive prick I have met in my life, and I regret every minute I spent with you." Jared continues to smile down at me. He has me right where he wanted me, yelling and spewing venom.

    "I just wanted to show Tom what kind of girl you really are," He says, looking at Tom behind me. "A venomous bitch." My jaw drops to the floor when I realize I walked right into his trap. He pushes the flowers into my chest and grabs my face roughly in his hands. The kiss is forceful and possessive. I feel the bile rising in my throat the longer he keeps his lips pressed to mine.

    Jared finally pulls away, wiping his lips. "I'll see you later, Jules." He walks off like nothing volatile just happened. I have approximately five seconds before I spew popcorn all over the steps. I drop the flowers on the ground and rush to the door, slamming my keys against the sensor pad and hoping it works. The door clicks like a heavenly sign. The gold trash can next to Will's desk is the closest and safest spot for the vomit.

    "Holy shit, Stella. Are you okay?" Will asks, standing up from his desk as I empty my guts into his freshly cleaned bin after falling to my knees. Someone rests their hand on my back before pulling my hair out of my face. I wave them off.

    "Fuck off, Jared." I manage between heaves.

    "It's not Jared." Tom answers. "I want to make sure you're okay, and then I'll leave if you'd prefer." I have no energy to fight as I continue to dry heave, nothing but saliva and air coming out. Will hands me a handful of tissues as I sit back on my heels. I manage a small smile in return as I wipe my mouth.

    "Sorry, Will." I apologize.

    "Don't be. I'd rather it the trashcan than across the floor," Will jokes back. "Let me get you a water from the back." I look at Tom when Will leaves.

    "I'm sorry. Theater popcorn doesn't taste good coming back up." He shakes his head with a small laugh.

    "Don't apologize, Love. He seems like a cock." I chuckle with a nod. "I'm not going to force you to talk about it now, but I would like to understand more about that relationship." I nod. It's a fair request.

     "If you grab those stupid flowers for me, we can head up to my apartment and talk. If you want," I suggest. Tom gets up to grab the flowers as Will comes back with a cold water bottle. I trade Tom the bottle for the flowers, pushing them bud first into the bin I just hurled in. I give Will another apology and tell him I'll get him his favorite bistro next time I'm at the studio.

    Tom follows me back to the elevator silently. I have no idea what to say to him, especially after something like that. What are you supposed to say when you kiss the guy of your dreams, and your abusive ex comes by and forces one on you? Sorry I have a fucked up past I've been conveniently avoiding? I unlock my apartment door and walk in first. "You can sit anywhere. I have to go bleach my mouth." I mumble, making my way to the bathroom.

    I avoid looking at myself as I gargle mouthwash, turning my back to the mirror. I can't believe I let that happen. I should have done something other than stand there like a statue. Why couldn't I do anything other than stand there and let Jared do that? Tom must think I'm a whore.

     The mouthwash is traded out for my toothbrush and toothpaste as I continue replaying what the hell just happened. Jared showing up out of nowhere with flowers after years of saying they're meaningless because they'll just die. And of course, they were purple and green; self-centered prick was probably thinking of himself as he bought the Joker colors. I meet my own eyes in the mirror as I stand straight after spitting the toothpaste out. I have mascara tear streaks running down my cheeks. I've paled considerably enough to enhance the dark circles under my eyes. I look terminally ill.

    I fix my makeup steaks quickly before walking out to the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?" I ask Tom. "I have beer, Capri Sun, and water, but you'll have to drink out of a shot glass because the two cups I have are dirty." Tom opts for a CapriSun. I hand it to him as I sit on the opposite end of my couch. We sit in silence for a few minutes while I think of how to start talking and how much I want to tell him.

    "Your apartment is quite nice," Tom starts, looking around at all the frames I have of the band and I. "Do you play all those?" He asks, gesturing to my elevated music area by my balcony door. On it is a bass guitar, acoustic and electric guitar, along with a keyboard and violin.

    "Yeah, when my parents heard I wanted to make music because Jared was, they paid for multiple lessons. I fell in love with singing, but I can definitely shred it on bass." I joke. Tom laughs with a slight nod.

    "How old were you when you met Jared again?" Tom asks in such a casual tone it calms me down slightly. Maybe he's just worried about me. Or maybe he just wants to know where Jared went wrong so he won't make the same mistakes, good or bad.

    "I was introduced to him at fourteen." I avoid Tom's sudden worried look by looking at the floor beneath my sneakers. I should get a carpet in here. "My parents wanted to be millionaires, so they moved us all to LA when I was, like, three, I think. I don't know how they met Jared's family. They never told me, and neither did Jared.

    "Everything was really innocent at first. He was my closest friend for years. He helped me with homework and practicing my music. I wanted to be just like him." I let out a bitter laugh. "I was sixteen when I realized I like him as more than a friend. We had to share a bed in a hotel on tour, and I remember not sleeping because he was right there, and he was cuddling me. He asked me out the day of my eighteenth and proposed two months later, married two more after that. We got divorced when I was twenty when I realized how much I really did miss out on life, and he was so possessive he stopped letting me go to band practice without him.

     "The band started pointing it out too. Robbie was the one who literally slapped sense into me. Because why would I hit Robbie back and tell him off, but not Jared? So, yeah. Jared's super possessive and still is." I finish quickly, realizing I was going on a tangent.

    "And he called you Jules?" I almost wished Tom would have forgotten about that. I know it's somewhere on my Wikipedia page, but would Tom have gone that far in learning about me?

    "I've had three legal names in my life," I say, finally bringing myself to look at Tom. He seems concerned, and his eyes are so soft and welcoming I could curl up into his chest right this second. "Juliet Davis is my birth name, and I took Jared's last name when we got married. Then, about a year after our divorce, I decided to rebrand myself and use a new name entirely. Don't ask me why I chose Thompson; I googled it when I was drunk, and it just stuck. Stella is from this one kids' book I was obsessed with for years, Stellaluna. I don't know why, but I carried it everywhere with me until about junior high."

    I guess I didn't notice the tears falling or that my voice was faltering. However, Tom did. Without hesitation, he pulls me into his arms, resting his head on mine. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that, Love," He says in a soft voice. "You didn't deserve any of that. Thank you for sharing with me." I let him hold me for a while longer. I enjoy his touch, but I really just want to be alone to cry and break shit.

    I don't know when I fell asleep; I just know when I woke up on the couch with a blanket on top of me and water on the coffee table in front of me, that Tom had taken care of me. He left a handwritten note as well, which I still have in my house. It said, 'I didn't want to leave you alone after something like tonight, but I felt it weird to stay the night uninvited. I truly appreciate you sharing something hard with me. I hope it's alright I washed a cup for you, and found some medicine as well, in case the crying caused a headache. Text me when you wake up. Much love, Tom.' Yes, I did run through the house like a crazy lady trying to find the letter so I could write it down verbatim.

[rudysrings]

Adapt or Die (Prologue)

A/N: This is a new series I’m trying out. If it’s a go then yay! If not--Well, I’ll let it fade away into nothingness then, I guess... :(

Summary/Blurb Here

SO, the main character/reader was essentially inspired by Darwin from the Marvel comics/X-men. However, I will be adapting (HAHA adapting, get it? That was totally by accident I swear) the abilities and back story to fit what I’m writing; so, die-hard Darwin fans, please know I’m not trying to misportray (is that even a word? Eh, I don’t care. I think y’all know what I mean) the original character, but I simply wanted to draw from the bomb-ass root idea of what he can do. 

For those of you who don’t know who Darwin is, here’s a quick blurb from Wikipedia on what his abilities are:

Darwin has the power of "reactive evolution"; i.e., his body automatically adapts to any situation or environment he is placed in, allowing him to survive possibly anything; the exact nature and limits of his powers have not been revealed.

Examples of his powers include: gaining night-vision after a few seconds in the dark; functional gills after being submerged in water; fire-proof skin after being exposed to flame; increasing his own intelligence; converting his body into pure energy; no longer requiring oxygen after being sucked into space; morphing into a sponge when shot at with a weapon designed to destroy the subject's nervous system; and acquiring comprehension of the Shi'ar language merely by looking at written samples. His power may concern itself with more efficient methods of survival than Darwin himself might choose; for example, instead of continually increasing Darwin's powers when taking punishment from the Hulk, his body simply teleported him away from the fight.

His power can also work when dealing with non-immediately-life-threatening situations, such as rendering it impossible for Darwin to get drunk by allowing his body to process alcohol faster than humans would normally.

It’s pretty fucking cool, right? Let me know what you think. By the way, this part is pretty short because it’s the prologue, but I expect the other parts to be longer. 

Oh! I almost forgot: the reader is desi :) Thanks to @parkerpeter24​, who wrote an awesome Peter Parker imagine here for Holi, I felt inspired to post this WIP. 

I realize that makes the writing not truly an all-inclusive one, but I thought it would be cool to bring this aspect in. Obviously, you don’t have to be desi to read it and the whole thing won’t be about being desi. Just a little background I felt like adding to the character. If you absolutely hate it... then maybe don’t read it? :) please and thank you.

Anyways! Sorry for the rambling. Enjoy and thanks for reading if you’re still here <3

Warnings: There’s for sure going to be some swearing in this series :) Also, It’s gonna be a little steamy ;-; But it’s not revolved around smut and probably won’t be all that graphic. Probably. No promises O.O Only implied sexual happenings and for once, no swear words in this part.

Words: .957 k

ON WITH IT:

You blink your eyes against the startling light that is pouring through the thin curtains. Surprised that it’s morning, you sit up quickly, looking to your side to see no one there.

Ok, so that’s two surprises in the first ten seconds of the day. We’re off to a great start today, Y/N.

You sigh, brushing your hands through your unruly turquoise hair and swinging your legs out of the bed. You slip on your jeans and look around for your shirt. The black lacy thing you had worn the night before is laying over a lamp and you quickly shuffle over to it. Your eyes flick down to the nightstand and see a flip phone. Confused, you pick it up, opening it to see a single message from a private number.

We’ll be in touch.

Your stomach drops and you hastily pull your shirt over your head and clear the hotel room. Your better judgement tells you to get rid of the phone. Toss it in a river. Run over it. Throw it into a passing car.

For some reason, against that better judgement, you tuck it into your pocket and check out of the hotel.

You remember the previous night perfectly; the alcohol that had done absolutely nothing to dull your acute senses.

                                                                ~

You slam the shot back down on the bar counter, not even wrinkling your nose at the sharp taste of tequila that should have burned your throat.

The bartender gives you a look of obvious judgement. Next thing you know, he’s asking for your keys.

“I don’t have ’em. I walked here,” you lie.

“Wasn’t that you on the motorcycle?” There’s a smooth voice behind you and you turn to see a woman with fiery hair and an enticing smile.

“No.” You reply shortly.

She shrugs. “Hmm. I could have sworn…You know,k I always did have a thing for a woman on a motorcycle.”

She approaches the bar beside you and asks the bartender for some sort of fruity concoction.

She has an accent. Italian, maybe. It’s obviously fake. She’s doing a helluva good job of over-enunciating every single word an Italian would. However, no Italian who’s lived in London for more than a week would continue to cling to those pronunciations. So, you decide she’s either a tourist or a spy.

When you smell metal—vibranium—on her, but don’t see it, given it’s probably hidden underneath her tight-fitting clothes, you decide it’s the latter.

“Do you ride?” You asked her.

“Motorcycles? Nah. I just hang on to the one riding,” She flirts.

You finger the rim of your drink. You can hear someone speaking to her through her earpiece.

“You got her, Natasha. Close in.”

“Y/N.” You stick your hand out, unafraid.

Natasha takes it immediately, giving you a firm shake and lingering on your ring a little too long.

“Sienna.”

You can’t help but giggle out loud. Wow. She had to choose the most cliché Italian name to ever exist. You covered your outburst with a cough. “Beautiful,” you complimented her fake name.

“Classic.” She shrugged. “So, what’s a gal like you doing in a bar like this?” She asked, gesturing to how run down the area was. The bartender gave her an incredulous look, but even he probably knew the kind of reputation the place had. You had to admit that it was unkempt and clearly not maintained--not to mention the types of sleazes that seemed to frequent it.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Deflect,” said the voice in the earpiece. You furrowed your brows slightly; you could usually judge by the timbre of the voice what a person’s age was, but this one stumped you. The inflections were outdated for sure, but the man spoke like velvet, far too young to be using that old-time Brooklyn accent.

“You first,” Natasha pushed.

Shrugging, you replied, “It’s more low-key, don’t you think? Wouldn’t want to run into anyone I know when I’m clearly trying to escape the real world right now.”

The bartender slid over her drink in a cocktail glass and Natasha took hold of it, taking a sip and staining the edge of the glass a deep burgundy. “And what exactly has the real world done this time?” She asked.

You smacked your lips thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s more about what the real world hasn’t done this time. Or maybe about what it did the other time.”

“Oh,” Natasha said simply.

“Can you get her somewhere alone, Nat?” The wannabe 40s Brooklyn man in the ear piece asked.

You smiled, showing your teeth. “How would you feel about helping me escape the real world a little bit more, Sienna?”

She moved closer, brushing your elbow. “Y/N, are you suggesting we get out of here?”

You were a couple of inches taller than her and you leaned over, close enough that locks of your ocean hair brushed her forehead. “What I’m suggesting is that I know a hotel with nice sheets not too far from here.”

Natasha smirked. “Nice work, Romanoff.” 

Romanoff? Sounds more Russian than Italian, you thought.

                                                               ~

It wasn’t the first time that somebody had attempted to con you, be it for information or for money. You didn’t mind the game. So, you let it happen. Undeniably, you enjoyed the spy’s touch and the numbing feel of her pillowy lips on yours. 

However, you did not expect to fall asleep. That had never happened before. Your body didn’t do that. Your body never failed to do something that would strengthen you. You had never, not once, fallen asleep in the presence of another.

That scared you.

You had been careless.

You straightened your shoulders as you walked out onto the streets of Southwest London. No big deal, you just had to be a bit more careful now.

я иду за тобой Natasha Romanoff.

A/N: я иду за тобой = I’m coming for you (Russian) 

(I used google translate, which is probably wrong; so, if anyone catches a mistake in that, please let me know, and I will change it :) )

*PSST*: Isn’t Natasha so fucking stunning in that picture on my sucky ass moodboard? Those eyes? That barely there smile? I’m melting. 

[purplesurveys]

1093

survey by pinkchocolate

Hi there! This list is based on some things I've done recently. Let's say, within the last few days. Have you done any of these things in the last few days?

Worn make-up? I never wear makeup. I’ve never felt the need to.

Worn perfume? Sure. I went out last Sunday to bring Cooper to the vet and to take myself out to a coffee shop for a few hours, so I wanted to make sure I smelled decent.

Taken selfies? I think I may have, but I’m sure I deleted them almost immediately.

Shared some photos on social media? Yes, I posted a couple photos of Cooper because he was being super smiley the other day. I also shared a photo of my laptop, which was playing Friends, beside my Friends mug the other night.

Woken up to the sound of your phone vibrating? Technically. But this usually happens when I’m trying to fall asleep in the evening, i.e. someone sending a late-night message, and not in the morning.

Heard the rain outside your window? Yes. It’s literally happening right now haha it just started raining.

Added sugar to a mug of tea/coffee? No. I use 3-in-1 coffee packets, which are already pre-mixed and all I have to do is add hot water. I’m terrible with measurements and starting from scratch and I doubt I’ll ever get the hang of manually combining coffee + sugar + milk + creamer + whatever else goes into coffee haha.

Refilled your drinks bottle? I don’t use a tumbler. I’m at home nearly every day of the week so I always have access to our glasses.

Felt emotionally involved while reading a book? This has happened before for sure, but not in the last few days.

Chuckled/laughed while reading a book? Uhhh I guess. My employer recently lent me this book on PR that they thought would help me gain a richer appreciation of the industry and I guess I did lightly chuckle at a few humorous anecdotes in it.

Spilled a drink? I don’t think so.

Eaten something that was sprinkled with sugar? Nope. I’ve eaten sweets here and there but nothing sprinkled with sugar.

Googled the definition of a word? At least a few times a day.

Read a Wikipedia article? Yes, I love Wikipedia. The last entry I read was a list on notable last words.

Laughed at a video you watched online? So many times. The main reason I watch videos is to be entertained and to laugh, to be honest; so it’s nice that a lot of creators make great, funny content.

Craved a savoury snack of some description? I’ve been craving gourmet donuts for weeks now. Nothing sweet; I’m looking for those with creative, out-of-the-box flavors.

Cursed after dropping an item on the floor? Probably.

Been amused by your pet's behaviour? I am always amused at their behavior. Kimi’s approaching 13 years but he still makes me laugh every single day.

Recognized an actor in a TV show, from another show you'd seen? I’ve only been watching Friends, soooo nothing to compare it to.

Seen an actor on TV that you thought attractive? Courteney Cox, always.

Typed something in a word processor? I had to look this up lol, but I guess I have if Google Docs counts as one? I use it a lot for work.

Been asked a question that you found awkward or difficult to answer? Sure. My grandma called up when I was stuck in a particularly tough period of my shift and she was asking how it’s been. I didn’t want to worry her or overshare, so I paused for a bit and just said “it’s going great!”

Smelled a pleasant food aroma? Yeah, my dad cooks up some great stuff al the time.

Dipped your food in ketchup, mayonnaise or another sauce? Tartar sauce.

Forgotten a hot beverage, then found it had gone cold? I don’t make hot beverages, so.

--

survey by kellyburnsred

What music video do you wish you were in? I don’t watch music videos a lot, mostly because they’re usually not at all related to the song it corresponds to and I never saw the point. Buttt idk, the one I had some of the most fun watching was One Direction’s Best Song Ever because it was hilarious. It’d be cool to fuck around with the characters there.

Who makes you laugh the most? I’d say it’s either Andi or Hans. JM and Kate are good runners-up.

You only can eat three things the rest of your life, what do choose? That would make me sick of those foods so fast...but if it were a legit life-and-death situation, I would go with surf and turf (so that I at least have a bit of variety), rice (because I can’t live without rice), and macarons (for something sweet).

What's one thing you wish you had in your life right now? Macarons. I recently liked a slew of local macaron shops on Facebook and even though I know it’s my fault, I hateeee that my feed is filled with macarons now haha.

If you had to give up your style, what other style would you choose? I’m not really sure. I can think of more styles I’m not willing to adopt, than those that can be my back-up.

What's your favorite ice cream topping? Hot fudge.

What is the bare minimum of sleep you could function on? I guess 3 or 4, but that’s the barest of the bare minimum. I would still be cranky if I was only able to sleep for that few hours.

When you drive, do you generally speed? Yeah, if I can. You’re always stuck in traffic in Manila so if you have the chance to press harder on the gas, you typically wouldn’t want to miss out on it.

Are you an animal lover? Yes, except for pests and insects I don’t like, like cockroaches.

What's the dumbest thing you've done because someone dared you? I once ate a piece of siomai that already fell to the ground; when I ate it I felt a lot of tiny pebbles and other debris so I promptly spat it out in a nearby bin.

What is the most disgusting trait that you have? Idk...typical disgusting habits make me wince myself. The worst thing I can think of is that I tend to keep my nails super long just out of neglect; and I usually only clip them once dirt starts getting trapped under the nails, or once it starts to become hard to type.

What was the last thing you talked to your friends about? Angela had made this really cute, DIY foldable collage for Hans for his birthday yesterday and I just checked in on her earlier to ask if he loved it.

What part of your day do you look forward to the most? The moment my shift ends.

What are your favorite song lyrics? This week, it’s probably “It isn’t the same, but it is enough.” It’s oddly calming no matter how sad the actual context is.

Who are your closest friends? Angela and Andi.

What profession do you admire the most? All are worthy of admiration. I don’t really have a ~favorite~

Do you believe in karma? Not strictly in the spiritual sense; but it can be comforting to think that the people who have hurt me will have their ass handed back to them someday.

What do you think is the funniest show on TV? Ooh, I don’t watch a lot of TV anymore...I have a sitcom in mind but it ended 17 years ago and it’s still pretty polarizing to this day, lol.

Are you an organ donor? No.

Did you have imaginary friends when you were younger? Just one, but I didn’t get the point of it and I got bored very quickly.

Have you ever smoked weed? No but a friend knows a supplier should I ever want to start getting into it.

Who do you look up to for your style? Idk, whatever girls my age are wearing these days.

What's the most expensive thing you've ever bought? With my own money, probably the hotel accommodation I purchased for my dad’s birthday this weekend. I’m super stingy with my money and I can’t imagine spending 4 or 5 figures on something just for myself.

What's your favorite amusement park ride? Not too big on rides.

Who was the craziest teacher you've ever had? Ironically, it was my Christianity/religion teacher from 5th grade. We bumped into each other a few weeks after I graduated high school and his first remark towards me was about my breasts. He did a lot of stupid shit too when I was in 5th grade but I don’t feel like getting into them because he was just one big headache of a man.

Where would you like to travel that you have not been? Thailand, if within Asia; Spain if outside.

If you could be any musician for a day, who would you be and why? No thanks.

Do you have any tattoos? No.

What are your favorite scary movies? Some favorites are Carrie, The Shining, and Scream.