#sleeper steps

[sysig]

I can't remember if you've done any drawings for this before, sorry, but I have a requestober prompt! Vargas ladyverse snake charmer au? Or ladyverse dryder au Scri, I feel like the potential for pretty spiderweb clothes is high there. I would request both, but I want to respect the rules ^^ Thank you!!

Day 27 - Skillfully spun sheer shawl

[marshvlovestv]

Each MBTI Type as One of the Last 50 Games I Played (Part 5)

ENFJ: Saltsea Chronicles

ENFP: Slay the Princess

ENTJ: One Step from Eden

ENTP: Citizen Sleeper

ESFJ: Chants of Sennaar

ESFP: IMMORTALITY

ESTJ: Strange Horticulture

ESTP: Monster Prom

INFJ: Harmony: The Fall of Reverie

INFP: Cartomancy Anthology

INTJ: Master Spy

INTP: Genesis Noir

ISFJ: Promesa

ISFP: Stray Gods: The Roleplaying Musical

ISTJ: Black Book

ISTP: Turnip Boy Commits Tax Evasion

[abysskeeper]

What if I just got real weird about The Odyssey again?

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Actually, it kind of makes what my step mother and father pulled when I moved out extra hilarious.

Okay, so to set the stage, I was being told by more than one doctor that if I didn't leave my parents house, the stress of living there alone would kill me with or without my cooperation by simply shutting down my organs. It was that bad. I could assure them I would never hurt myself till I was blue in the face, but they were like "well sweetie at this point staying there at all is self harm"... I was doing about 1000 sit-ups every night to be able to fall asleep at all by the time it got to the worst of it, and then only sleeping 2 hours max before the lights were turned on in the morning... For reference. I was beyond anemic and exhausted but I still couldn't exhaust myself enough to sleep and I had to sneak out of school to go to the doctors because they didn't want me going.

So I tried to leave the first time when I was 14, this did not go over well. My 'boyfriend' at the time was really happy to try to convince me I should just leave my parents and he'd take care of me, until I actually seemed convince to leave but still not fuck him. So suddenly, he was happier to conspire with my step mother to convince me I couldn't leave.

And we'll get into the whole fucking "my stalker and want-to-be-rapist boyfriend is conspiring with my step mother to control me, and they both think they are using each other" issue later, some time, eventually. It will make you want to light things -or people- on fire, probably. But that's off topic.

What's on topic, now, is that at 14 I tried to simply pack my bag and not return from school, and stay wherever he was staying, but when trying to fuck me continued to not work, suddenly he's telling me that if I even show up at school to keep going to my classes I will be arrested and brought home, whether I have had my "3 days grace" or not, and I am getting the exact same line in overly similar wording from my parents... But whatever, i went back so I could avoid falling behind at school.

But from that point on they knew I wanted to leave. And they knew the moment I turned 16 they legally wouldn't be able to stop me.

My birthday is in November, and no matter how poorly they treated me while I was there, they certainly got even more upset when I tried to go. They tried making sure I had no money, never letting me have a job, and they made me do as many chores as they could without actually teaching me a few key life skills to make it on my own, like -for example- I got in trouble for ever trying to cook, and they wouldn't show me how, unless it was making the same stupid salad to go with dinner every night for 6 years, or frying bacon for my stepmother's lunch that I wasn't allowed to eat... Anyway the point was I figured I would give them one more family x-mas before leaving.

Part of me was curious. The point of contention every year for birthdays and x-mas were that we were supposed to request gifts that would work out to 100$ each. But everything I suggested was vetoed as "messy" or "not a good gift"... So practical things like hair ties, the good white erasers or batteries were off the list, good pencil crayons, drawing supplies and etc, gods forbid paint, was forbidden because I would "make a mess with it"... Saving up the 100 myself in an account from each event wasn't allowed. Basically anything I actually asked for I was told I didn't need/want/get that. So in the end they acted like the problem was that I wasn't telling them I wanted anything and they'd buy me something really gendered, or movies that would vanish into my step mother's Disney movie collection never to be mine again anyway... And I wanted to see what they would do when they knew they had one chance to somehow convince me to stay.

Suddenly, they proved that they had been hearing me all along and just choosing not to listen. I got a green bath robe, something practical comfortable and not pink, I got green frog slippers, some frog plushies, statues [I was into frogs and reptiles and the like] and nothing -suddenly- was pink or a girl's toy, or girl's clothes, and it was suddenly okay to give me practical gifts [which were the kind of thing they did not normally buy us or let us spend our allowance on, so I am not sure how else they expected us to come across those things anyway...]

And you would think... You would think that this would impress someone at 16 who was used to having everything about them either willfully ignored or criticized... But what it did was really demonstrate that they had been plenty capable of paying attention and letting me pick out what I wanted all along and had just been trying to needlessly control how I spent my time and what I could express [truly to a useless degree that... Like what was your goal, even?]. If art supplies were too messy for me why did my stepsister get to have them? She was only two years older, and then I got to be her age and the answer was still no. Suddenly eraser bits weren't just something that would get ground into the carpet, etc... These excuses were always flimsy, but they had fully fallen apart at this point... And now the only reason they were being remotely attentive or kind was because they knew I could up and chose to live with any adult willing to take me in.

Suddenly I didn't need to be grounded constantly for breathing the wrong way or be made to do chores 10 times over during every Saturday morning until I had "done it right" and missed all my shows... Sure, but I knew that would backtrack the moment they felt secure again about me staying, just like how my step mother had backtracked on everything the -mandated- family counselor had suggested the moment it was clear my father wouldn't have anything to say about it and just like she backtracked on who those movies belonged to...

Really nothing they could have done that x-mas wouldn't have been the final nail in the coffin. Nothing short of setting me up with my own savings account, letting me find a job, teaching me to cook and letting me use up resources to teach myself what I wanted to, even if it was "messy"... Nothing short of turning into actual parents trying to enable me to have agency over my own life, and that was never going to happen.

After 6 years of constant criticism, no support with anything, being used to do almost 100% of the housework in a household of 5, ZERO FUCKING PRIVACY AS A TEENAGER, the constant threat that if I didn't bow the verbal violence would become physical [from my step mother], zero ability to go to them with anything, being blamed for anything other people tried to do to me, shamed for how I spoke, how I walked, how tired I looked, shamed for being hungry, for trying to eat more food, for the narratives my step mother made up about me in her head and then punished me for with zero input from me... I was never really going to be able to trust them enough to stay, not without them giving me the kind of genuine freedom that would let me walk away from them at any given moment, which they weren't going to give me.

So I left, of course, shortly after.

Keeping your child dependent on you doesn't necessarily make them stay, it just makes it more dangerous and harder on them when they do leave.

I packed my stuff into a big black garbage bag and went to a friend's house until my aunt could come and pick me up. [Moving in with her was a mistake too, she also conspired with my -then stalker- to try to talk me into letting him back into my life in exchange for what she assumed was accurate information about me that she could use... I really should get into the full extent of the bullshit this guy pulled and the level of bullshit my -parents- tried to HELP him pull... but that's off topic!]

And for months they were trying to tell me how worried they were and how it scared them I was missing and how they just wanted me to come back and how I was free to come "home" at any time... Even though they clearly knew I would leave at some point... so me and any medications I was taking and my toothbrush etc disappearing in the night can't have been scary, a kidnapper wouldn't take me, leave my little sister [same bedroom] and take my fucking toothbrush and school books...

Whatever, they eventually convinced me to come back for a dinner for one night to basically debrief about the whole leaving thing... And yes, I made sure I was serving myself out of the same dishes as everyone else, because at that point I had zero fucking trust about anything with them, I was starting to remember a lot of stuff and figure out a lot of stuff all at once about my step mother's using my stalkery ex as a spy all along and about times I had been filmed without my consent or knowledge, tracked using my cellphone which was why they were forcing me to have one, etc... [story for another time you will have violent thoughts about it] Eugh, even just the willfully isolating me from any friend who was actually supportive or who had healthy parents who would question how they were treating me... I was starting to clue into how all my good friendships kept falling apart. Getting grounded for "attitude" any time I came back from their house happy, not being allowed to call them, having letters to them never make it out, or their replies never make it back, etc and so forth. Most of it was my step mother -for the record- but my dad watched it happen.

But the point, the real point is I showed up and they were late. Maybe they missed the part where I am always the fuck on time.

I got a call telling me they would be a while and apologizing... Or I called them, idk.

And I was like cool, but I still have my key, I could just let myself in and wait on the couch until you all get in, if you are cool with that.

And my dad has to tell me... 'It isn't that I don't trust you'... It's that we already changed all the locks [pretty much the moment you left].

Because making sure I couldn't get back in was more important to them than making sure I had someplace 'safe' to go back to in the event that something went really wrong. And they used the excuse that my 'delinquent' [her words] friends could have my key copied without me even knowing, but they should know my key never leaves my pocket, I don't get drunk or high, and the only reason my friends were considered rebels is because they were all queer. They were gay, fruity af, not like, lighting fires in department stores or breaking and entering...

But me? I could have let myself back into that house 10 different ways if I wanted to, key or no key. I lived there for 6 years. If I had wanted to break in and take their shit I already had that place 'cased' down to a detail and knew all their habits and schedules, why the fuck did they think I would need a key?

But I took their precaution as a polite request not to enter.

And I sat out there, chilly or not, and waited looking at her rose bushes until they got back.

Because all they had to do was ask. And if they knew me at all they would have known that. They would have known that everything John was telling them about me was fake af and that he was setting me up, and they would have known that all they had to do was ASK ME for my key back. if they were uncomfortable. I would have handed it over.

All I ever did was do my chores, try to keep my head down and try to do my fucking school work, but they had such an *idea* about me built up in their heads -mostly my stepmother- that the moment I left, while very publicly crying about how worried they were... They changed all the locks behind me within the week. as if they were accomplishing something other than endangering me and displaying their mistrust, and how poorly they knew me. Either of my sisters would have been happy to rat them out on how fast that was, so I can't recall which one of them actually told me or if it was both, independently.

This is what happens when you make your child so afraid/disheartened about talking to you about anything that you have to get all your information about what they're "really up to" from a guy who's desperately trying to pit you against them so he can control them enough to get sex out of it. Grade 'A' fucking parenting.

And if I was anyone else it probably would have worked on me, on both counts. I'd be locked into their toxic bullshit and not think I had the option to leave just like my little sister, and letting that manipulative-fuck, John, fuck me. Which is I assume what they wanted, I have to, because my step mother was literally conspiring with him ['a little birdy told me so'] and it's what they got out of my sister isn't it? And her fucked up enough about it and on enough drugs that at some point they were able to take her kids so they'd have kids to raise together as their own from babies, as a couple, the way they never got out of us [stepmother is infertile, we were another woman's kids until I was 10]... And so my dad could have the 'son' he actually wanted [instead of just letting me be a boy???].

I am not -to anyone who has ever known me as an adult- the 'kind' of person you would expect to come with a funny little autobiographical detail like "ha ha, when I left home at 16 my parents immediately changed all the locks, ha ha" because it just wasn't fucking warranted then or at any other time... But here we the fuck are.

[star-crossed-lizards]

idk why but i was compelled to recite aku’s opening monologue from samurai jack and i shocked myself by apparently remembering every word and exactly how he said it

[cantankerouscatfish]

we used to all sleep in the livingroom in the winter bc it was the warmest spot in the house. even the floor was warmer than our beds upstairs. there is no comfortable way to sleep on a sofa with someone else btw. none. everyone's annoyed.

[mojimallow]

prying myself out of bed with a crowbar

[marshymallo]

fuck creaky floors and creaky stairs, the bane of my existence

[crowcryptid]

The greatest lie ever told was white ppl convincing Florida Latinos that they are Special and Different while still calling them every other slur behind their backs

But the secret is that every group of Latinos does the exact same thing when someone from another group isn’t present. Especially Cubans. Pídele a un gringo que pronuncie tu nombre, Yanisleidys. Ya que te crees tan especial. They’ll hear you talk and tell you to go back to your country or stop speaking mexican.

Yet latinos don’t ever stop to consider why their neighbors are only other latinos.. it’s almost like.. the white people you are so desperate to please don’t want you. But maybe if you shoot yourself in the foot and do a little dance they’ll accept you, surely? But that’s asking for too much introspection from them. Así es la vida. Can’t fix stupid.

[orestesimp]

Every You Every Me #Issue 5

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally catch Spiderman in your bed and try to get answers to the many many questions you have.

Word count: 3,200 words.

Content: Awkward one bed shenanigans, teensy bits of angst

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [TBC]

You wake to the glare of the morning sun spilling through the curtains.

Your first waking thought is that it. is. so. bright. God, why is it so fucking bright.

Your second thought is that you need to pee. 

There is no third. Because your bladder is killing you. 

There's just one not-so-small problem, and he's lying on top of you, in the same position he fell asleep in last night. Wrapped all around you, clinging on like you're a soft comfort blankie he refused to be weaned off of.

It's not... unpleasant, exactly (your need to pee aside).

For such a large man, being trapped underneath him is more comfortable than you might have expected. He's heavy, sure, but the pressure feels more like a weighted blanket with the way he's draped across your body, arms curled around your waist and back. 

It helps that the sheer size disparity means that you're too small of a surface area for his whole body to cover and most of his weight rests on the mattress. 

Rather than suffocating, it’s almost… cozy.

It must be really early in the morning, because your room is nearly silent. You can’t hear the familiar New York traffic. The noise of honking cars, angry shouting people and screaming cop sirens outside of your window. Instead, in the quiet of the morning the only noise you hear is the sound of his soft snoring against your collarbone.

Before today, you never knew superheroes snore. It’s not the sort of mundane thing you ever think about superheroes doing.

You stare up at him for a minute, soft skin and long lashes fluttering across his cheeks, marveling that he looks so... human. 

Which of course he does. The observation shouldn’t really surprise you. For all the fantastical mythos that surrounds them, at the end of the day, most superheroes are human beings. 

…Unless you're talking about Thor, of course, who’s an actual Viking God. And maybe not Hulk either, because... well... look at him. He’s all green and roided out, you don’t know what he is but he’s certainly not human. And then there’s– Okay, you know what, now that you actually think about it, a lot of superheroes are not human at all.

Maybe that’s why last night took you so much by surprise. You always thought they were invincible. You’d never guess that a slice of coffee cake could bring one down, collapsing as easily like a poorly built house of cards.  

Even more surprised when he’d held onto you, pleading for you to stay. 

When you see the Avengers plastered on the front cover of every newspaper, they look larger than life. When you see Captain America and his star-spangled shield sparkling in the centerfold of the Times, you never really stop to consider, what’s he like when the mask comes off.

In some abstract way, you were aware that superheroes have lives beyond just superheroing. You just never thought about the fact that a lot of them probably have families at home that they worry about. Friends that they care for. People they miss. 

Nena

He'd said.

The person he mistook you for last night.

Something squeezes uncomfortably tight in your chest just remembering the tone in his voice when he said it.

Something is going on here. It's clear to you now even more so than before, that this man doesn’t just keep saving you out of sheer coincidence. There’s a mystery here that’s all tied together in an interconnected web somehow and you're pretty sure it has to do with this Nena person. She is most likely the answer to why your whole life has been upended in the last few months. 

You need to find out what is going on and now that he's physically here, right in front of you, as soon as he wakes you can finally ask him and get some answers that are long overdue. 

You just really need to fucking pee first.

Gingerly, you wedge an arm between your chest and his. You attempt to slowly and carefully pry open the stranglehold he has on you, hoping to scoot up and out of his arms.

He grunts in reply, still soundly asleep, and his arms tighten their hold on you, pulling you back into him as he burrows his face into your chest.

"Five more minutes," he grumbles, voice raspy with sleep. "Nena, it's too early."

There it is again, that nickname. You freeze, holding as still as possible, feeling your heart skip a beat at the tone of his voice as he said it. It’s said with so much fondness and hints at so much familiarity each time he has said it. 

You don't know what you're meant to do in this situation. Except you clearly can’t let him go on thinking you’re… whoever it is that he thinks you are for much longer.

There are the muddy moral implications of allowing this to go on any further after all, considering that the man probably has no idea where he is after you practically roofied him with baked goods.

You also still really need to go pee already.

He shifts against you, one thick, heavy thigh wrapping over your leg and pulling you in further before coming to a rest directly on top of your bladder. Okay, fuck, you take back what you said about this not being unpleasant. This is really, really unpleasant. 

You need him to get up now. 

Forcing your hand free, you reach up to give him a polite tap on the shoulder. When polite doesn’t get you any results, you do it harder, three successive taps, and he still doesn’t even stir. You keep tapping, progressively harder until you’re punching him hard enough that any normal person would be yelping in pain and begging you to stop. 

He groans once, arms shifting to secure his hold on you. For a moment you think he’s going to ask for another ‘five minutes,’ but then the whole of his body goes stiff, every muscle suddenly rigid with tension. A suspended silence permeates the space, and you find yourself holding your breath unsure of what to do next. The silence is broken by the sound of your bedsheets shifting, and you feel the firm hold around your waist ease off, his arms and legs retreating from your body. 

He's up and out of bed in one smooth move, almost faster than you can follow. By the time you struggle upright in bed (much less gracefully) he's already standing a few feet away, hands fisted at his sides. 

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you and then off to the side like he can’t quite bring himself to meet your eyes, a bright flush burning high on his cheeks, “I… uh… I thought you were someone else."

His hulking frame towers over your bed, but he’s acting like a sulky, embarrassed little boy. The contrast should be absurd, but instead you find it… strangely endearing. Apparently even a high and mighty superhero can be brought low by an awkward situation, just like everyone else.

"It's okay. You didn't... um... do anything weird or anything," you say, trying to reassure him, but you can't concentrate on your words when your bladder is screaming bloody murder, "Look, can you give me a second? Just– shit. Just stay right there, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!" you admonish him, throwing the words over your shoulder as you rush past him and into the bathroom

You nearly break your tailbone with how fast you sit down on the toilet seat, hoping to get your business done as quickly as possible and praying the whole 15 seconds that you’re gone that he won’t make a break for it and still be there when you get back. 

Thankfully, when you nearly tear the bathroom door from its hinges, he is.

The first sight that greets you is his broad and defined back framed by the amber light pouring in from your window frame. It makes for a dramatic image. Golden and majestic, he seems to occupy half the space in your tiny apartment as he stands turned away from you, apparently taking in the view from your one and only window. 

The first thing he says to you as he opens your mouth is not, ‘good morning.’ There's no ‘sorry for almost drunkenly smothering you to death last night,’ ‘how did you sleep with my hulk sized body on top of you’ or even a 'thanks for letting me sleep on your bed.' 

No. Rude, knock off, maybe-vampire Spiderman, who still hasn't told you his name, slowly turns back towards you and takes one look at your face. Then he says, "I have to go."

Which, of course that’s what he’d say and do. Of course. You’re nearly growling with frustration as you run up to him.   

"Wait!" you shout, darting around to block his path as you try to lead him back further into your apartment. "Do you want some breakfast?" 

You still don't know him very well yet, but your few interactions so far have shown you that the way to break through his grumpy defenses is through his stomach.

"I can fix you up something. I’ve got some eggs in the fridge, and I can do scrambled or fried. Maybe over-easy, though I sometimes mess up the timing.” 

You’re rambling on purpose. Speaking as fast as you can, as you continue to pull him towards your kitchen. You’re making sure he can’t get a word in edgewise, so that he doesn’t have a chance to protest before the food is in his stomach, and by then he’ll surely eat the whole thing before he starts getting sassy with you again. By then you’ll hopefully be able to sneak in one or two questions between mouthfuls. 

He shakes his head, "No, I–I have to go... I wasn't supposed to..."

Not a fan of eggs, you note. It makes sense, so far the only thing you've ever seen him eat is baked goods, probably has a sweet tooth.

"I could make you pancakes? I won't even put coffee in them, I promise," you tease gently, hoping the humor might pull a smile from him.

It doesn't. If anything, his eyes look even sadder.

He stops mid-step, and no matter how much of your weight you put in trying to herd and push him towards your kitchen, he won’t budge an inch. You’d have more success moving a bull by its horns, and considering he’s bigger built than one, that tracks. 

There’s no strain in his features, as he stays still, resistant to your efforts. "This is a mistake,” he says. “I should never have gotten involved."

He's moving again, this time away from you, stepping towards the window. Shit, he's going to make a run for it.

In the course of the last 24 hours you've managed to leap off the Chrysler building; poison the superhero standing in front of you; slept with him in the same bed; and yet somehow, through all of this, you still haven't managed to do the one thing you actually wanted: have a simple conversation with him.

"Wait, wait!" you shout out, panicky. "Can we just talk for a second? I really need to talk to you. I just want some answers.”

"I don't have any answers for you," he says. 

He's turned his back again, one hand on the window sill as he's preparing to climb onto it. If you let him leap off it now, you don’t know when your next chance will be to catch him again. 

"I'm not going to stop trying," you shout out in a last desperate attempt and that finally stops him in his tracks. 

“I’m gonna be leaving,” he says with a finality in his words. 

It doesn’t stop you though, doesn’t even discourage you. He might be stubborn, but you can give him a run for his money, because this is your life on the line.  

“Then I’ll run after you. I’ll keep chasing after you. I'll keep asking, and asking, and asking. I'm not going to stop until you give me some answers."

There’s a silence between you again. Then he straightens his posture, and turns his head just far enough that you can catch his eyes. Whatever uncertainty was there before fades away as you see the resolve in his eyes harden.

"You're never going to see me again."

There's an ugly noise. A scratch over the vinyl of a record screeching in your brain that makes you unable to comprehend his words. You have to replay them in your mind, parsing them out, before you realize what he's actually telling you.

“Wait, what do you mean never see you again!?” you step forward towards the window sill, and he visibly retreats at your advance. “As in, you're going to back to avoiding me? It’s kind of late for that, isn't it? I've seen your face... twice. We’ve slept together!"

"No," he answers brusquely, brows pulled in at a sharp angle. “I'm leaving the… area. I'm not going to be around anymore."

“But you’ll be back… right?” you ask. Some corner of your brain refuses to accept what you think he’s telling you. 

With a graceful movement, he leaps back down from the window sill, taking a step forward and leaning in until he’s looming over you, his face inches from your own. 

“No,” he repeats, emphasizing the word.

Oh… 

His words finally click. It took a few attempts for the stubborn gear in your brain to unjam, but you finally hear what he’s been trying repeatedly to tell you.

He’s leaving for good. He’s not coming back. 

You… You don’t know how you feel. Your cheeks are strangely numb. Somehow the idea that he might not be around indefinitely had never occurred to you. You’ve grown accustomed to the safe haven he’s provided. Come to rely on him and the familiar safety of his shadow lurking around every corner, the blurred blue and red rescuing you from this crazy world trying to kill you. 

A flash of cold sweat breaks out along your back. His presence is your only anchor to safety. If he’s not here… 

"But– but– if you leave…” You trail off, barely able to imagine it.

All the near-misses flash through your mind. The taco truck stampeding through the city, the subway train barrelling towards you, construction sites crashing down right above your head. So many deaths held at bay by the one man in front of you, and if he leaves… If he’s gone…

You can barely choke out the next words, your voice a strangled whisper, “...what’s going to happen to me?”

A flash of anguish breaks through his stony features before he turns away, dropping his gaze to his feet. Pained sadness bleeds into those crimson eyes, something that speaks of guilt, loss and defeat. 

"I’m sorry," he says quietly, "I can't save you. I never could. Nothing can."

And what can you say to that? You can’t force him to do more for you than he already has. He’s done a lot—much more than anyone has to, superhero or not, and you know that—and it’s selfish of you to ask more.

You swallow down the anxiety crawling up your throat and it tastes like burnt bile. 

Anyone would be lucky to have a superhero save them from certain death even once in their lifetime, and somehow you've been blessed with more times than you can count. 

In fact, you’ve been spoiled rotten, managing to escape death so many times that you've grown almost… complacent about it. Expecting him to rescue you, when really you've been living on borrowed time for months now, winning one lottery ticket after another. You've had more extra time than anyone could ever wish for.

In front of you, you see him moving again. If you let him go like this, then this is it. This is where it all ends. Without him, it’s only a matter of time before death catches up with you again—for good this time.

You shake your head, refusing the defeat. It may be selfish, greedy even, but this is your life and you can’t let it end here.

You don’t want to die. You made a promise to yourself when you fell out of the Chrysler building for the first time. 

You want to live. You want to live. You want to live. 

"Wait! Please..." You grab onto his hand, and even though you have no doubt he could break free from your desperate grip with very little effort, he stops for you.

"I don't know what's going on! Every day I walk out that door, and almost die again and again and again. I'm scared and confused, and it seems like the universe is hellbent on killing me, and you're the only clue I've got as to why. The only reason I'm still alive is because you keep saving me. I know that it’s selfish to ask you this, because you don’t owe me anything. But…” 

You pause, drawing in a deep breath, and say the words with your whole chest, “I want to live!”

He doesn’t quite flinch, but the hand at his side twitches and then he’s reaching up to you. So close, you can almost feel his knuckles grace the side of your cheek. Then he stops, a fraction of an inch from your face. 

He tilts his head to the side, like he’s listening to something you can’t hear.

Must be some other emergency your unfriendly neighborhood Spider-man needs to be on his way to. You try to push down the unexpected envy boiling in your stomach at the thought. 

Although… now that you’re listening, you can hear something too. Something like the low hum of a helicopter, growing louder all the time. 

Must be a police chopper. Traffic ‘copters aren’t allowed to fly so low.

Abruptly, the light flees your apartment. Shadow sweeps across your window and covers everything in pitched darkness. 

A blackout? But it's morning, even if the power went out, the sun should still be–

You feel it before you see it in the dark, a tight grip on your wrist pulling you. His arm slams across your waist, yanking you backwards.

The world lurches around you, receding with a deafening roar of collapsing concrete and shrieking metal. The last thing you see is the wall of your apartment disappearing in a cloud of dust and twisted metal.

Your stomach drops sickeningly. Bright light flashes across your vision in intense rainbow-colored bursts. Pink. Red. Green. Blue. You have to close your eyes as wind whips mercilessly against your cheeks, loud impossible roaring in your ears.

Is this death? Somehow you thought it would be quieter. Calm.

Still.

And then it is. Everything stops, and when you finally dare open your eyes again, there’s…

Nothing.

Dedication & Credits: To my lovely collaborator @thirstworldproblemss who is always staying up brainstorming with me, listen to my insane ramblings, plotting each scene in the outlines and helping me beta and edit and even rewrite large chunks of paragraphs I'm unhappy with til the very last minute. Truly my favorite person in all of the lands. I love you!!

[frimleyblogger]

The Seven Sleepers

My thoughts on The Seven Sleepers by #FrancisBeeding #BookReview

A review of The Seven Sleepers by Francis Beeding – 231221 Originally published in 1925, The Seven Sleepers, written by the duo, John Palmer and Hilary Saunders under the nom de plume of Francis Beeding, is an all-action thriller very much in the style of John Buchan’s Thirty Nine Steps. There are murders, three particularly brutal ones, but the focus of the story is whether the narrator, Thomas…

[talentforlying]

@shilohgreen: "i try not to waste too much time wanting things." — HOW TO BE EATEN STARTERS

' can't stop wanting though, can ye? might've learned not to mind it or show it, but it don't just walk out on yer schedule. part'o the human condition, to want things. '

out the cabin window, tendrils of mist are crawling over placid water towards the frost-bitten shore, steely winter-grey: scouts for a rolling fog behind. the cold and damp that slinks in with it will demand they draw the blankets up to their chins tonight, and leave them slipping and flailing in the slick grass come morning — but inside, the warmth of the fire that will's stoked and fed like a well-loved pet keeps the chill at bay, produces a pleasant sweat along the brow, a tingle at the fingertips; a yearning to reach out and be burned. so does will, in his own way: all of the above. seems to take pride in it.

( the best defense against the dark and loneliness: one that john doesn't have to lift a finger to make for himself. not selfish to indulge in when it's offered, when it's gifted. )

he can't remember how they got to the topic of personal desires; what playful, probing set of steps took their dance to an edge that has curiosity coiled up so high and tight in his chest that it's almost physical, nearly alive. they don't often cut this close to truth without a metaphor to pad the incision, at least when it's truths of their own — and more than he cares about getting an honest answer, more by miles, constantine wants to see if will would be inclined to give him one.

' y'know, the 'ole point of gettin' away from it all is to free up time for shite y'can't do otherwise. freedom to indulge. nothin' wasted, now. '

as close as they are, shoulder-to-shoulder on the battered tartan couch, it doesn't take much doing to tilt his head back against the cushions to catch both fire and face in the same vision, will's outline painted in flickering shadows; looking without looking, assessing without clinical study, eyes no less sharp for their attempt to cut indirectly. the corner of constantine's mouth lifts in a smile, beer hovering against his lips like the casual air of a drink would make the question any lighter. ' so what is it you want, will? '

[thelineofisstillhere]

Gwen wanting it to seem like she’d slept with Jack (or letting her true want slip) but Ianto was quick to reaffirm “Erm actually bitch I think I would know,”

This episode was so unhinged, complete and utter chaos.

TORCHWOOD 2x02 Sleeper

[autumnmatt]

𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺.

summary: matt is playing fornite with his two brothers and he gets to loud when he keeps losing, causing his girlfriend to wake up from her slumber.

classification: fluff

warnings: kissing, pet names, suggestive language, use of y/n

it was about 3 in the morning and you were fast asleep in yours and matts bed, snuggled up in a blanket with matts stuffed pug mr. wrinkleton tucked under your arm.

matt on the other hand was in the middle of a very intense fornite match with his brothers nick and chris. there were about 10 people left in that match and your boyfriend was very determined to win.

all was going good during the game play until him and his brothers came across this very sweaty team. “on me on me!! these kids are good I need backup quickkk” matt yelled to nick and chris through his headset.

he then faced one of the opposing teammates but of course he lost the battle between them and got knocked. “FUCKKKKK” he screamed out of frustration. nick also got killed a little while after matt did by the same person.

y/n wasn’t that much of a heavy sleeper so when he started to yell out, she shifted in bed a little opening up her eyes to see what the yelling was coming from.

she looked up and saw the bright screen in front of her with fornite being played along with her boyfriend sitting in his gaming chair banging on the desk from just getting killed. she puts the blanket over her head and closes her eyes in an attempt to fall back asleep.

“CHRIS DUDE YOURE SO BAD THOSE KIDS WERE ASS” matt yells, slamming his controller on the desk making a very loud sound that could be heard throughout the room.

y/n tossed and turned once more slowly losing the battle of getting back to sleep. so she got up, yanked the covers off of her body, and started sleepily walking over towards matt, dragging her feet with every step she took.

once she made it over to the chair where he sat she stood there, waiting for matt to realize she was standing here. and once he did he could see the pout forming on her lips, instantly feeling guilt for being so loud so late at night.

“oh baby I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” he frowned, muting his mic and taking his headset off then holding his arms out to her and patting his lap, inviting her to come sit down.

she straddled him and rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the comfort of his warm body and taking in his familiar scent, the scent she loved most.

“go back to sleep baby, I promise I’ll keep it down”. he said and kissed the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her so that he could still have access to the controller also slowly rubbing up and down on her lower back.

“come to bed with me.” she groaned into his shoulder. she was already strarting to fall back asleep.

“of course I will baby.” he smiled taking his hands off the controller putting the headset on one last time to tells his brothers his was going to sleep. he shut of his computer, put his headset and controller up and gently picked her up to bring to the bed.

you wrapped your arms around his neck to prevent yourself from falling out of his arms. your face now buried into his chest.

he set you down on your side of the bed before walking over to his pulling the blanket over the both of you and situating the pillows so they were at a comfortable position under your heads.

you faced him for a few seconds to say your goodnights. you kissed his lips lazily before speaking. “goodnight I love you.” you spoke up, resting your head onto his chest and wrapping your arms around him.

“goodnight I love you too baby”. he said before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. he kissed your forehead before you slowly drifted off to sleep in each others arms.

a/n: AHHHH I think this is so cute. my 2nd story on here, thank you so much for the love on my first story and definitely send me some requests. hope you enjoyed this fic, love you all!!!

taglist: @stayingstromboli @conspiracy-ash

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[alexthetrashyracoon]

Simon was a light sleeper, he had to in his line of work, but he wasn’t just a light sleeper when he was on duty, but at home too.

So when one night he was woken by a clanging down in the kitchen, Simon sat straight in bed, clear headed and focused on locations the reason for that noise.

A small smile slipped on his face, someone was stupid enough to break into his home, must be Simon’s lucky day.

“Stay here, I’ll take care…” He whispered into the dark room, hand patting the space next to him only to find it cold.

You weren’t there.

Simon’s blood froze.

The smile was gone.

His mind ran with a million questions at the same time. Did something happen to you? Were you in danger?

Without hesitation he slipped out of bed and out of the room.

He searched the guest rooms but found everything empty and quiet. So Simon sneaked downstairs, seeing lights on in the kitchen.

To be honest, Simon shouldn’t be surprised. He should absolutely not be surprised to look at the clock on the wall to see the time being three in the morning and you, sitting on the counter, in one of his shirts and your unicorn slippers on while snacking on a freshly opened bag of shredded cheese.

“And here I thought someone broke into our home.” Simon announced his presence and stepped next to you, realizing that you had been daydreaming while eating.

“Damn, don’t scare me, Si!” You complain and cough harshly as you felt some shredded cheese making its way down your windpipe.

He laughed and patted your back, helping you to take a deep breath again. “Sorry, sweets. Like I said, thought we get robbed. What happened that caused me to wake up? Usually you’re quite as a mouse eating your shredded cheese.”

“You left the salad bowl out, I haven’t seen it, ran into it with my fat ass. Sorry for waking you. Know how much you love your sleep.” You mumbled and leaned against his side.

“Mhm… but not as much as eating shredded cheese with you at three in the morning.” Simon grinned and stole the bag of cheese from your hands. “That’s for waking me.” He ate half the bag before handing it back to you. “And that’s for making me think we were getting robbed.”

He stole a sweet kiss from your lips when you were closing the bag of cheese, grinning when you accidentally let it fall to the ground in surprise.

If anyone asks where I was, five words, Genshin Impact and Honkai Star Rail. Sorry <3

[tomatoclown]

can’t hear the words “out of time” anymore without shooting my head up, wide-eyed like a deer who heard some ruffling in the forest

imagine being able to hear "you're out of touch I'm out of time" and not think about The Greatest Mafia Movie Ever Made.....couldnt be me ofc goncharov on the mind 24/7