#that thing with the paper scraps is literally me

[captain-kraken]

Blue Blood: Perfection

Sahrav picked up a worn notebook off the table and flipped to the next blank page. He wrote the name of the book at the top, followed by the author. Then, as he had done for everything he read, he wrote down his thoughts on it, as well as patterns he had noticed connecting to other books.

There were many things he liked to note, such as when books shared the same world and had cameos of previous main characters. Or when the author would use specific tropes or cliches. That was his favourite. He liked things that were predictable.

It took him a while to finish, but as always his writing was perfectly neat and straight. Everything was formatted to be exactly as it was for all the previous entries.

Perfect.

Or not. He groaned as he realised that he’d spelled something wrong. Annoyed with himself, he tore the page out with a little more force than necessary. It didn’t tear properly, leaving small scraps in the inner spine. Sahrav shuddered and looked away from them, crumpling up the torn page into a ball.

He almost threw it out of anger, but knew he’d have to go and pick it up again, so instead he chucked it into the fire. His mistake sizzled and crumpled in on itself, turning black, before it disintegrated into ash.

Sahrav then spent the next ten minutes slowly picking off the remaining scraps of paper, grimacing as he did so. Most people wouldn’t have bothered, but he couldn’t stand looking at them. It was hard to explain what it was that he didn’t like. It just made his bones feel like they were being scratched.

There were a few things that did that to him. Certain sounds or feelings would just set off this intense discomfort that he could never quite explain. He often wondered if it was an anxiety thing, something he definitely struggled with.

He’d be a mess if he didn’t have Selma, who seemed to understand Sahrav even when he himself didn’t. She would somehow always know what to do when he was feeling certain ways, or even be able to predict things ahead of time. That was another reason why Sahrav liked her.

She was easily his best friend and he was still grateful that she’d agreed to be his Nivada. It made life a lot easier for him to navigate, especially when it came to the social situations that he dreaded so much.

He sighed and dropped the notebook back on the table, as he threw the handful of paper scraps into the fire. Not for the first time that day, he wondered how someone like him was expected to rule an entire island.

[figofswords]

i know ive made myself the #1 izutsumi stan in the eyes of all of my friends and probably some of you online people but what if i became a mithrun stan. there is something about him that compels me. i just want to *clenches fist* put him on the drying rack. lovingly stick him into a tupperware for later. make him into. a broth of some sort. do you understand

[rowenabean]

Look at my beautiful things! I can't believe how gorgeous they are all oiled up!

New hobby: acquired

[youturningintodust]

​the thing that makes me feel THE most normie (comparatively) and masculine is that this is basically my reaction to seeing the way that cis women talk about the guy from supernatural on here. or any fandom where they “babygirlify” him

like what. what. makes you like this. about the macho road trip brothers show. my guy? are you ok?

[spookside]

at work today one of the borrowers asked for my autograph ???

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

I have literally never mentioned it I do have a husband. (in system)

lol, love of my life. why have I never talked about them????

anyway, yeah. (I'm also his husband)

love of my life, apple of my eye, the dark to my light, all that.

now I will never talk about it again! yay!

[goodluckdetective]

Look, this is what moral OCD is like for me:

I walk past a piece of paper. I don’t pick it up because I had a long day at work and it’s very cold outside. This then becomes my internal monologue:

I didn’t pick up that piece of paper, I should have. Don’t I care about the environment? It’s not my trash, I shouldn’t have to pick it up. But also that’s how these things happen right? We place the blame on others as our environment degrades. It was just a piece of paper, it’s not like it can do that much damage. But also how do I know: I’m not an environmental expert. Maybe stray paper scraps are killing the frogs. You’re literally killing the frogs. You should look up how many frogs die a year so you know how shitty you are-No stop it.

I care about the environment, and I recycle and I joined green activism movements but is that enough? I could be doing more. I should be doing more. I should donate my entire check to charity. But isn’t it self serving to think that my one check could help that much? Do I really think I’m that important, how self entitled and-no stop it, reset! You are obsessing and if you fall for it, you will not eat dinner. Let it go.

Okay it’s just a piece of paper. It’s okay you skipped it this once: it could have had something dangerous on it. Yeah that makes sense. But also, that means I’m putting my own safety over trying to help the environment, which is very selfish of me. I’m just one shitty person: god how could I be so self absorbed. I should have picked up the piece of paper. I’m so selfish, and shitty and-no, no, stop it! This is not helpful. It’s fine.

It’s been a long day and I’m cold, that’s not a crime- no that’s being selfish again, you’re making excuses. You’re just a lazy piece of shit who doesn’t care about others, and selfish and God the fact you’re thinking this much about one piece of paper shows how selfish you are, you care more about if you’re a good person than anything else, you’re a piece of shit, you’re a piece of shit, YOU’RE A PIECE OF SHIT.

I get home and open up Tumblr. The first post I see says “if you don’t reblog this post about the environment you’re as complicit as an oil billionaire.” I close my computer and resign myself to looking up the state frog populations until I go to bed.

I don’t eat dinner.

The amount of frogs that die a year is somewhere from 200 million to over 1 billion.

[lovebugism]

hi!! could you write shy!reader where Eddie bumps into the new kid at school and she gets hurt? I’m a sucker when it comes to Eddie doting on people 🙈

i tried to be so normal about this request but then proceeded to write 2k words for it so... hope you like it lol :D — the hawkins high freak takes the new girl under his wing after they run into each other. literally. (shy!r, meet ugly-ish, hurt/comfort, 2.2k)

You clutch a paper schedule in a pair of anxious hands, squinting to see through the scribbles there. Three boys in bright green lettermans made a total mess of it — writing directions in chicken scratch and doodling a sloppy map of the school over your classes. They said they were helping you, but really they’ve just turned you all around.

Fallen leaves crunchbeneath your feet as you walk past the vacant football field. West of the bleachers and down the dirt trail, the stranger with a harsh jawline and quaffed blonde hair told you. His directions lead you directly to a half-decrepit building in the thick of the woods. A strange spot for a biology lab.

You’re trying to make sense of the scrawled notes on your syllabus — eyes narrowed, and chin tilted downward — when you run into something tall and firm. You don’t hit the warm body hard enough to fall, but stumble back in fear enough to slip on the dewy grass. Like a cartoon character and a banana peel, you land comically on your ass.

“Shit. Sorry,” the towering stranger grimaces. “Didn’t see you there.”

Your wrists start to sting, burdened with the weight of catching your fall. “It’s okay…” you tell him anyway. ‘Cause everything’s always okay. Even when it isn’t. 

A ringed hand enters your vision then — lanky, pale, and tattooed. “Here. Let me help you up.”

“It’s okay,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “I got it.”

Your jaw clenches tight as you rise on your feet. The slippery mud threatens to pull you down again. Your wrists throb with a dull and distant ache. You stand, despite all that, before the stranger you’d stumbled into the back of. 

Eddie watches you wipe your dirt-covered palms together with a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. He doesn’t have a clue who you are, but he’s getting a few ideas now. You’re a strong, stubborn, and shy little thing. Pretty, too. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he cautions with his palms spread awkwardly in front of him. He wants to make sure you’re alright, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Strong, stubborn, shy, and definitely skittish, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head again, finally glancing at the boy looming before you. His curls are dark and untamed, billowing in the early spring breeze. His deep chocolate eyes match the color of the frizzy strands — both equally as wild as the smile he looks at you with.

Your breath catches suddenly in your throat. You hadn’t expected to bump into him, of course, but you expected even less for him to be so pretty.

“I’m—”

“Don’t say okay,” he interjects before you can start. His plush lips quirk in a genuine smile a second later, to show he’s only joking.

You swallow hard, still hopelessly trying to rid the mud from your aching palms. “I’m… I’m— I’m fine.”

The boy scoffs a faint laugh. “Here. Let me see.”

He takes your wrists in his hands before you can protest. His fingers are long, gentle, and strangely warm as he brushes the mud off your scrapped skin — hardly flinching when it dirties his own. 

He wipes his palms on his jeans after, never minding how it stains the denim. Then he reaches a leather-clad arm behind you and plucks a leaf gently from your hair. He flicks it to the ground again.

“There,” he grins. “Good as new.”

“Thanks…” you sigh, voice wavering from a reason you can’t name.

“Why haven’t I seen you around before?”

“‘Cause I’m… I’m new.”

“Explains why you’re all the way out here,” he jokes. Most people only come around this side of the football field to buy weed off him, and you don’t exactly seem like the type. His chocolate eyes narrow. “You lost?”

You shift on your feet, feeling suddenly very silly about the whole thing. You’ve got to be a special kind of stupid to take advice from a bunch of jocks and hardly bat an eye when they lead you in the exact opposite direction. You’re too trusting for your own good. It’s embarrassing.

“I was, uh— I was just trying to follow this map, but…” you wave the paper in your clammy hand. “I think it just made me more lost.”

Eddie reaches out a ringed hand and takes the schedule from you when you hand it over. His face scrunches softly together as he squints at the sloppy scribbles. You can’t tell if he’s confused or if he needs glasses. Maybe both.

He can hardly make sense of the directions. And the map was designed in a very obvious attempt to confuse you — the sweet, shy girl who’s never stepped foot here before. Something redhot simmers in his chest ‘cause he can’t imagine doing this to someone. Finding someone who obviously needs help and doing them over for a couple measly laughs.

It’s got Jason Carver and the Dick Brigade written all over it. Literally.

“Who gave this to you?” he asks anyway, just to be sure.

You blink up at him with a pair of doe eyes, gaze glimmering with innocence. “Um… A couple of basketball players, I think. They were wearing lettermans, so…”

“Fucking Carver,” the boy grumbles under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing…” he sighs. “Here. C’mon. Let’s go.” 

“Where— Where are we…” you mutter in a mousy voice, trailing off when he stomps past you. You get a faint whiff of floral shampoo and woodsy cologne as he goes. Less inclined to stay alone in the unfamiliar forest, you decide to follow behind him. “O-Okay…”

You fight to keep up with his considerably longer strides as the stranger leads you back towards the school. His dark eyes flit over your schedule, squinting to see past the messy lettering covering the typeface. 

“No point in making it to your third period,” he announces suddenly, swinging the heavy metal door open with a ringed hand. The rusted hinges squeak in protest when he holds it open for you with his foot. You slide in past him. He walks on ahead of you again, letting the thing slam shut behind him.

“Why?” you ask the back of him, voice wavering.

“‘Cause you’re already fifteen minutes late. And take it from me— Mr. Kaminsky hates when people are late,” Eddie tells you, flashing you a stern look over his shoulder. “Trust me. I learned that the hard way.”

Your brows pinch as your face swirls with a distant panic. You couldn’t conceal your worry if you tried. The gravity of it all hits you, then — the fact that you’re following a stranger you ran into (in the most literal sense of the phrase), who’d previously been half-hidden away in the forest behind the school.

It’s all a bit odd when you think about it. This. Him. You. 

But this strange boy, dripping in silver and all black, is the very first person to show you an ounce of kindness all day. You don’t know why you’re following him so blindly — only that you don’t mind it as much as you should.

“Okay. So. Uh… Where are we— Where are we going, then?” you squeak behind him.

“Right here,” he answers, stopping short in the middle of the hallway. 

Still a few paces back, you don’t hopelessly bump into the back of him like you did before. You watch with wide and curious eyes as he wraps a pale hand around a rusted door knob. The heavy wooden entrance squeals when he opens it.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” the boy jokes with a crooked grin. Everything about the pink expression glitters with mischief. He flicks on the light switch, letting the flourescent lights buzz on in protest. “Well, not abode— I don’t live here, but… You get it.”

The room smells overwhelmingly teenage boy. A mixture of cologne, sweet soda, and sweat. Most of the chairs have been stacked on top of each other and pushed to the edge of the room to make space for the long wooden table in the center. Binders, notebooks, and miscellaneous figurines sit scattered on a gameboard.

“Is that D&D?” you wonder quietly.

Eddie lights up at the question. “You play?” he asks as he saunters to the desk shoved in the very back corner of the room.

His excitement makes you regret your answer. 

“No…” you waver, then quickly follow. “But I’ve— I’ve heard about it.”

“I’m president of the Hellfire club,” he tells you, nodding to the poster on the wall. The demon in the center of it isn’t nearly as intimidating when you can tell it’s handmade. “You should join.”

The boy eyes you expectantly as he rounds the metal desk. You shift your weight on your feet and wring your clammy hands together. He tilts his chin to his chest and peers at you from underneath his lashes. “Think about it?” he presses.

You nod once. “Sure.”

He ducks down then, out of view behind the bulky desk. You stand awkwardly in place while the boy rummages through the drawers. “Ah, here we go…” you hear him murmur after a few moments — followed by a dull thud when he bangs his head. “Shit!” he swears under his breath before rising to his feet again.

You hide your smile behind your scrapped palm as he walks back over to you. His cheeks glow faintly pink as he rubs the crown of his head with his hand — the one not clutching a first-aid kit. “Here. Shit down. Let me look at your hands,” he urges, still worried about you despite his throbbing skull.

You shake your head rapidly in response. You’re not used to being doted on like this — or at all, really — but especially not from a metalhead, wild-haired, pretty-faced stranger. “No. I’m— I’m okay.”

His chocolate eyes go wide and softly stern. They glimmer playfully down at you as his brows raise behind his fluffy bangs. “What we’d just talk about?” he teases.

You swallow down the rest of your protests. “Right…”

You sit in the chair adjacent to the one at the head of the table. The cheap plastic is a stark contrast to the heavy wooden throne the stranger descends upon — with a sort of ease that tells you he sits there often.

He digs into the opened first-aid kit and pulls out a bandaid for you. He fumbles with the packaging for a moment before ripping it open with his teeth. 

“It’s okay not to be okay, you know?” he tells you, mostly muffled until he spits out the paper in his mouth. It lands on the floor at his feet, but he doesn’t seem inclined to pick it up. “Tell me I’m a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

Your face screws in offense. “I wasn’t—”

“I’m teasing,” he interjects softly, peering at you with a pair of button eyes. “Even though I am a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going.” He takes your palm between his warm and gently calloused ones. He smooths the large bandage over the raging scrape below your thumb with an impossibly delicate touch. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Again.”

“It was my fault,” you murmur, gaze averted to the boy’s kind hands — at the six tiny bats tattoed in the junction of his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s just a scrape, anyway, I can handle it.”

“Agree to disagree,” the boy says with a lopsided smile, brushing his thumb over the bandage to smooth it out. He gives your fingers a small squeeze before he parts from you. “There you good. Good as new.”

Your hands buzz with the longing to feel him again. You bring both of them to your lap, wrenching your fingers into a knot and hoping your face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. “Thank you…” you murmur, trailing off when you realize you don’t know the kind stranger’s name.

“Eddie,” he finishes for you.

“…Eddie.”

“You can stay in here with me if you want,” he offers with a nonchalant shrug — trying to be cool despite his thundering heart. “Third period’ll be over in, like, twenty minutes. I can walk you to your next class— you know, make sure all the freaks leave you alone.”

You purse your lips to the side of your mouth in attempts to hide the beam tugging there. It only halfway works. “That’d be great,” you tell him in a mousy voice. “Thank you…”

Eddie swallows hard and leans forward again. You can smell the nicotine on his breath and the musky cologne on his neck. His face hardens into a gently solemn look. 

“And don’t… Don’t hang around Jason Carver and his goons anymore, okay?” he tells you, sounding like he’s half-pleading. “Those assholes that fucked with your schedule? They’re bad news.”

Feeling like he must know this better than anyone else, you nod firmly in response. “Okay,” you answer, though it comes out in a whisper when the word gets caught in your throat. Something about having Eddie to you is making your body go all funny. It’s weird.

“Stick with me, okay?” the boy smiles, pink and pretty and petaled, as he slouches back onto his throne again. “I’ll take care of you.”

[luvfy0dor]

“His Hands are in my Hair, His Clothes are in my Room ♡⁠˖” BSD x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Osamu Dazai, Chuuya Nakahara, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol

Warnings; Nikolais and Chuuyas are hardly proofread, Nikolais was rushed, Nikolais nearly got scrapped, I don't like Nikolais, maybe a little ooc

Description; sharing clothing w the BSD boys

A/n; GUYS OH MY GOD I GOT A 5 ON MY FIRST AP EXAM IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF AHHHHHH IM GONNA CRY also I'm sorry posts are so few and far between. It's so hot and hard to function. I know I said the exact same thing to excuse minimal posts in winter but like. its literally hot as balls and all I got is a puny ass 8yro fan and the occasional sip of iced water.

Osamu Dazai ★

• Dazai likes to take your old T-shirts to sleep in when you lend them to him for the night. After a few nights of having Dazai at your house, you wonder why your sleep-shirt collection has nearly cut in half.

ೃ⁀➷

You unlocked the door of your apartment and pushed it open with your unoccupied hand. The other arm held a large brown paper bag filled with gas station food and snacks for you and your boyfriend, who followed you inside. Once you set the bag down on the coffee table, you retrieved your keys from the door and closed it. When you came back to the kitchen, Dazai had already dumped everything out and was sifting through all the options. "The walk back from the gas station was hardly five minutes and I've already forgotten everything we got." He says with a grin, opening a bag of chips and eating a couple. He offered you some, holding the bag out to you. "Want some?' He mumbled.

"Yeah, let me just change into pajamas first, I don't wanna do anything until I'm comfortable." You said, shrugging off your jacket and starting to undo your belt before you even make it back to your room. Dazai followed suit, bag of chips still in hand. "Can I borrow some?" You nodded before taking off your shirt and tossing it in the laundry hamper, going through your closet to find a shirt for your boyfriend and yourself. "Thank youuu~" He plops down onto your bed, keeping the chip bag upwards so he doesn't get any crumbs or dust on your nice blankets. He watches you pull one of your band shirts over your head, admiring your body from his position on your mattress. He's snapped out of his daze when black fabric comes flying at him, but he catches it before it can smack him in the face. "Thanks, babe, you're so kind."

He switches his work clothes for your old ones, the big shirt nearly swallowing his scrawny torso comfortably. "Alright, I want snacks, come on." You gesture for him to follow you back out to the kitchen where the array of snacks was waiting for the two of you on the counter. There were numerous kinds of chocolate, and Dazai had grabbed a couple bags of gummies for himself. There were a few more bags of chips for variety, and you scooped everything up in your arms to bring to the living room. You dropped them all on the coffee table and grabbed the remote. "Alright, what movie are we feeling?" You ask, turning to the brunette man. "Uhhhhh, how about an action movie. Somethin' that looks exciting." He says, slinging his arm over your shoulder while he munches on sour gummy worms. Eventually, the two of you decide on a Godzilla movie, slumped against the couch with chocolate residue on the tips of your fingers from your candies. Dazai let out a long sigh as the movie came to a close, leaning into you and resting his head on your shoulder.

You ran your fingers through Dazais messy and slightly greasy hair, scratching his scalp and listening to his pleased, quiet hum. "Are you falling asleep or are you up for another movie?" You ask him, watching the credits roll on the TV. "I'm up for another movie, I just think I might be having a sugar crash." He says, groaning as he sits back up. You nod and grab the remote again, browsing through all the film options. Every now and again, your eyes involuntarily flickered over to your boyfriend, and you couldnt help but smile. He looked really cute in your shirt, and it almost made you wanna treat the movie like chopped liver and cuddle up to him.

"You look really cute." You say, playing whatever movie you absent-mindedly started in your daze. "Oh, I know, right?" He grins running his hand over his body. "As a matter of fact, I've never felt sexier." He teases, moving his eyebrows up and down with a smirk. You can't help but laugh at him. "Let's get you on a playboy cover." Before you know it, he's standing up in front of the TV. "Scrap the movie, you have me for entertainment instead." He puts his hands on his hips and strikes a pose, making you laugh some more. "You want some attention? I mean, I guess since you asked so politely." You stand up with an eye roll and pull him in, kissing him and running a hand down his side. He keeps one hand on your chin, tilting your head to meet his lips, sighing quietly each time your lips part for a quick moment. Soon, you both need more air then small gasps and have to pull away. He smiles and messes with the fabric of your own shirt. "How about we ditch this mess for now and go to bed, yeah? We can continue comfortably there?" He offers, You glance back over at the piles of snacks, opened or not, scattered acrossed the floor. Normally you'd make him help you clean up before doing anything else, but tonight you really couldn't be bothered and just wanted to follow Dazai wherever he'd take you. "Alright, let's go."

Chuuya Nakahara ★

• Everyone knows that Chuuya adores his hat, but not everyone knows he's got a decently sized collection of fancy hats on top of his closet. One day while rummaging around and trying to find one of Chuuyas button downs for him, you notice them all on the top rack.

ೃ⁀➷

"Chuuya, you didn't tell me you had so many hats!" You called out to him, standing back and staring at them all. Chuuya was currently in the bathroom, shaving his peach fuzz to keep his smooth face. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I've got a ton." He calls back, washing the shaving cream off of his skin. "They're pretty..can I try some of 'em on?" You ask, reaching to grab the one on the top of the stack. "Go ahead." He walks out of the bathroom with his towel around his waist, leaning against the doorframe to watch the little fashion show you were about to put on. The first one you grabbed was adorned with flowers of various colors. You placed it on your head and turned around, posing with your hands on your hips.

"What do you think? Vogue worthy?" You ask him. He smiles at you and nods, his arms crossed over his chest. "One hundred percent, that's peak fashion." He says genuinely, standing up straight and walking over to the closet. He reaches up and grabs another hat for you to try, switching it out for the flowers one. This one is a dark, reddish brown color. "This one's cute too." You giggle and head over to the bathroom to see for yourself. "Ooo, I'm not sure this kinda hat is necessarily for me." You giggle. "What do you mean? It looks great on you!" He says, following you in and hugging you from behind. "You only say that because they're your hats." You say, grinning.

"I mean, I guess not everyone is destined to look good in them like me." He says, squeezing your hip. "I gotta actually get ready for work now, I'm probably runnin' late." He says, turning around and dropping his towel. He tossed it into the hamper before getting dressed in his usual attire, spotting the button down that you had forgotten about in favor of his hat collection. "Okayyyy." You yawn, stretching your arms over your head and treading through the bedroom to start your own morning routine. You didn't have to leave for another hour, but Chuuya had to get to work within the next 30 minutes. After brushing your teeth, you notice Chuuya searching the bedroom for his usual hat.

"The nightstand." You point out to him. He sees it and lets out a sigh of relief, grabbing it and plopping it on his head. "Thanks, doll. I gotta get going' now, but I'll see ya tonight, okay?" He says, pulling you in by your waist for his daily goodbye kiss. "Yeah, got it." You smile before kissing him sweetly for a quick moment before he backs away. "Alright, I love you, see ya later." He playfully smacks your ass before letting go of you and heading out to the door. "Bye Chuuya, I love you, I'll see you later!" Once you heard him leave, you smiled to yourself and headed right back to the closet. You didn't necessarily have to get dressed just yet, so that gave you some time to try on a couple more hats on your own.

Fyodor Dostoevsky ★

• Fyodor doesn't mind letting you borrow his cape if you seem cold, or he'll simply wrap it around you and pull you into his side. He prefers the latter, considering it doesn't take much for him to get chilly.

ೃ⁀➷

Fyodor held your gloved hand in his as you both walked down the snowy streets of Yokohama. It was the winter solstice and you both decided to take a walk down one of the most popular roads and do some window shopping. By the end of the evening, the hand that wasn't occupied with holding Fyodors held a warm cup of hot chocolate that you sipped on periodically. "Have you enjoyed yourself tonight, Myshka?" He asks you, adjusting his ushanka and gazing up at the sky, noticing some snow start to fall. "I did. Thanks for coming with me, I know you have a lot of stuff to do." You respond, bringing the cup to your lips for another sip. He waves his hand dismissively. "That doesn't mean I can't accompany you." His thumb rubs over your knuckles as snow starts landing on his hat and your head, the street lamps illuminating the darkness with a tangerine-colored glow. You nod at his words, leaning into his shoulder and shivering.

"It's so cold, Fedya." You say, your head on his shoulder and your hand squeezing his tightly. He lets go in order to put his arm around your waist, pulling his long cape over your shoulder. "I know, the walk home isn't much further, don't worry." You smile and hold onto the old, worn material to keep it in place. "You're right, thanks." You say, feeling butterflies in your stomach. It never mattered how long you and Fyodor had been together, every affectionate action made you feel like you had just got together. He held you close with his cape still shielding you from the cold and adding a layer of warmth to your jacket. He would peer over at you every now and again, laughing under his breath at all the snow that was getting into your hair. "What's so funny?" You ask him, a smile spread acrossed your face. "You've got a whole bunch of snow on your head." He tells you. "It looks like dandruff."

You roll your eyes and yank the ushanka off of his head, placing it on yours instead. "There, now you won't have to look at it." You hold the fluffy hat on top of your head and try to prevent him from taking it back when he tugs on it. "No, you can get your own, my ears are cold." He says with a smile, eventually pulling it back into his own possession and patting it off. "I will say though, you look better in my hat than Dazai did." You give a proud smirk and rest your head on his shoulder. "I'd hope you'd think so." Your street comes into view and you pull him along as you speed up, wanting to get into the warm, cozy house as soon as possible. "I know running isn't exactly your thing but pick up the pace a little, I wanna get under the covers and cuddle." You tell him, getting closer to home with each passing second.

He picks up speed for you and listens to the sound of your feet hitting the pavement. It's not long before you've pulled him all the way home and you're unlocking the door, nearly spilling inside to get into the warm living room. Fyodor follows suit, unlacing his shoes and hanging up his cape and ushanka. You wait for him in the open doorway that connects the living room and the hallway, ready to curl up in bed away from the harsh cold. "Alright, I'm coming." He says, treading through the hall with you and opening the bedroom door. His hand rested on your lower back as you both walked to the comfortable mattress, crawling under the covers and pulling each other close. "Your cape is really warm and comfortable. You should wrap me in it more often." You say, scooching closer to him and letting his arm drape over your waist.

"Hmm, I guess that wouldn't hurt. You really like it?" He peers down at you, his head propped up on his fist. "Yeah, I might have to steal it, actually." You say seriously, making him click his tongue. "You're welcome to steal it if I'm not wearing it." He says, chewing on the inside of his cheek habitually. "Then expect it to be off the hanger more often then not." He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead, laying his head down on the pillow. "Okay, that's fine, but right now you have me and the blanket to keep you warm." He murmurs, closing his eyes. "Well you're not contributing to that as much as the blanket, but whatever you say." You kiss his cheek and brush his bangs out of his face. "G'night Fedya, I love you." You say, resting your head on his chest, ready for sleep. "I love you too, y/n, sleep well."

Nikolai Gogol ★

• You always loved Nikolais outfit and couldn't help but wanna put it in one day. You were sure he wouldn't mind, after all, sharing attire was nothing foreign to your relationship.

ೃ⁀➷

It started with you trying on his blouse for fun, but then you decided the blouse wasn't complete without the vest, pants, gloves, collar, shoes, or hat. Everything fit you a little differently than it fit Nikolai, but it didn't matter, because when you walked over to the nearest reflective surface, you found yourself cute, and you almost couldn't wait for Nikolai to get out of the shower to show him. You just needed one more thing, his cape. You ran out to the coat rack by the door and swung it behind you and then over your shoulders excitedly, grabbing it by the edges and moving it around. You felt really fancy with his cape, swaying your body just to feel the fabric move with you. As a matter of fact, you were so caught up in how good the cape made you feel that you didn't even realize the bathroom door open.

"Oh, wow, dove! My outfit looks so good on you! I've never noticed how much the red gloves pop until now." You turned around so fast, as if you were sitting in silence and all of a sudden a full file cabinet tipped over and crashed onto a linoleum floor. "Wah-! When'd you get out? I mean, thank you, but you scared me!" You say with a nervous laugh. "I thought it looked cute." You murmur, starting to pull off the gloves, but he stops you. "Hey, wait, you should stay in it for a moment, I'm not done admiring you yet!" He tells you, walking over and grabbing your hands gently. He leans in to kiss you, his smile palpable on his lips. You hand falls on his shoulder, rubbing it up and down affectionately before pulling away. "You really like it that much, huh?"

He nods. "Ofcourse! Oh, I'd love to show everyone how wonderful you look. Would you let me?" He asks, squeezing your hands tightly. "Sure, Kolya, go ahead." He quickly skitters off to fetch his cellphone, returning with the camera app already open. "Pose." He says, watching you place your hands on your waist and cock your hip a little bit. "Ah, gorgeous." He says, spamming the capture button. "Okay, I think that's enough." He says, his cheeks a bit pinker than before. He tossed his phone onto one of the side tables and embraced you once again, resting his head on top of yours. "Come on, y/n, I'd like to see you in my whole wardrobe now!" He says excitedly, pulling you along back to the bedroom. You don't necessarily know what you ignited in him, but it was certainly something, and now you were preparing yourself for a god-knows-how-long fashion show for your boyfriend. Not that you really minded, ofcourse.

A/n; another post that was supposed to have sigma and then didn't have sigma because I wanted to watch Jersey shore instead of write. ALSO I WENT TO THE DENTIST YESTERDAY terrible experience I cried but don't tell anyone I said that

[xitsensunmoon]

I know Valentine's Day has passed and I'm not even a fan but hear me out

We all know that in Help Wanted 2 Sun quite literally states that everything made in Pizzaplex is a property of Fazco, right? So he can do whatever he wants with it.

...You clean up with Sun after hours, like you always do, but today is a little bit different.

Today the daycare is covered in red and pink paper scraps, the leftovers of a few hours of Sun lecturing the kids on how to properly make Valentine cards. You could tell he wasn't in the mood because of something, but you couldn't catch why exactly without talking to him first and truly, your own mind wasn't at ease either so you left him be.

You still help him out of course, as you always do, handing him all of the kid's drawings in a pack and watching him go through them all, sorting, but then shred some. Not all of them, but quite a big chunk doesn't make it.

Probably because of how badly some of the kids tested his nerves today, part of you thinks.

But your mind leaves that thought abandoned very quickly, as you notice that he's almost done with his little routine. You wait patiently, holding one last card behind your back and when he turns back to you, clapping his hands in excitement at being done, you offer him another heart-shaped card. He snatches it with an overstretched smile plastered across his face and your heart sinks when it ends with the same fate as the ones which Sun deemed unworthy of keeping.

"No extras, told them — no extras! Faz.co is already generous enough to give those brats free paper to do their little silly confessions, I can't believe some child made two. Like they have so many loved ones?! Ha! Unacceptable, unacceptable."

He shakes his head in disapproval and dusts his hands, and it almost feels like the last card in his mind was filthy, as it was created by breaking his rules.

You look down at the brightly coloured pile of paper strips on the cushioned floor, feeling your chest tightening, but deciding against saying a thing.

A glitter pen writing in blue and yellow traces one single word, on the strip that has fallen the last.

Your name.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddie-week.

Reach Out and Touch Someone

Day #7 - Prompt: Free Space | Word Count: 1500 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Alcohol | POV: Steve | Tags: AU, Wrong Number, Right Person Trope, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Meet-Cute

Steve dials the number messily scrawled on the scrap of paper. He’s nervous. He’s always nervous when he has to stick his neck out and make a move on a girl these days. 

Yeah, he did the first bit of legwork and got her number out at the bar last night. But he's fumbled the ball and failed enough times, Robin's loving, but accurate, "you suck" burned in his brain, that he's always leery to try again. He should be used to it by now, but it’s still uncomfortable and awkward, every goddamn time. If his friends weren't all fretting about his emotional well-being from being so terminally alone, he wouldn’t put forth half the effort anymore. 

He has Robin. He has his cat. He's happy. 

It rings three times before he hears it connect, “Hello?”

It’s a man’s voice, and he hesitates for just a moment, “I’m looking for, uh, Lyla?”

“Sorry, man. Wrong number.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have misdialed,” Steve says, a different kind of embarrassment. But this is one he can handle easier, for sure. So he pushed the wrong button somewhere along the way. His eyesight isn't the best thing he's got going for him.

“No worries, man,” the other guy laughs, seemingly carefree about being bothered.

They each disconnect and then Steve reads, and re-reads, the number before dialing again. More carefully this time.

It rings only once before it’s connected.

“Still me, dude,” the familiar voice relays, still light and friendly.

“Wow. I’m so sorry. Clearly, I was given a fake number. That's embarrassing,” Steve laughs, because this is more embarrassing than misdialing. He's uncomfortable and mortified to admit that this girl just didn't want him to call her. Even if he's only admitting it to a stranger.

She should have just told him no. He hates that she didn't, for her sake, too.

“Shitty move,” the other guy answers.

“Yeah, well. I'm sorry I bothered you. Again. I promise to cross-check any future numbers against yours before dialing, just in case.”

The guy laughs, "Well, now. Don't go to any trouble for my sake. Honestly,” and he doesn't sound put-out at all, “don’t worry about it. She clearly didn’t have the balls to just, be, like, honest. That sucks.”

Steve laughs, maybe if she'd had balls this wouldn't have happened at all. Most men feel more comfortable just saying no, he thinks, which is sad but true. He swings both ways, and maybe he should take this as a sign to lean the other way for a while. See if that works out any better for him. 

It probably won't, but he could try.

“There goes my big weekend plans,” Steve teases, uncertain why he does it, even as the words tumble out of his mouth. He needs to hang up the phone and let this guy get back to his own life.

“Dude. That's a problem I can solve. I’m gigging tonight. You have to come. Let me entertain you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Whatever. I want to. Just show up. It’ll be a great story, will it not?”

It would be a great story. One he could even tell Robin to convince her he’s living a little, “I don’t even know your name. What if you’re a serial killer or something?”

“Yep, that’s me. Vicious killer,” the guy laughs, “I’m Eddie, man. And I’m a fucking ball to be around. You’ll want to take me up on this awesome offer. We’ll all be down at Hellfire Club around eight. Show up. If you think we’re murderous, you don’t have to follow us to any secondary, secluded locations.”

Hellfire Club is literally two blocks from Steve’s apartment. He's been past it countless times, but never inside. It's always dark. Like it's not even open, making him unsure about what kind of bar it is, it's so nondescript from the outside. Not to mention the name is a little intimidating. He'd half-convinced himself it's a BDSM club. 

But, now that he's been invited, he could just walk down and see what’s the what, “How will I know which guy you are?”

Eddie laughs, “You’ll know. Trust me.”

Steve has a hard time trusting anyone new these days, but Eddie seems friendly enough. 

Steve realizes he must have been quiet for too long, because Eddie starts talking again.

“I’ll have on a badass battle vest. Look for that. You'll see me. It's impossible not to. I promise.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, even if he’s not sure what a battle vest even is.

“Now, are you going to tell me your name, or will that just be a surprise?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs, “Steve. I’m Steve.”

“Well, I’ll see you later, Steve.”

Steve stands in front of his closet for far too long, trying to find something to wear that doesn’t look too nerdy. He assumes Eddie's cool. He sounded cool, and Steve may have been cool in high school, but these days he just keeps his head down and goes through life, content to be fairly unnoticed. He finally settles on a black t-shirt. Basic, classic. Timeless.

Boring. 

But that's a risk he's willing to take.

He walks down the street slowly and arrives around eight-thirty. The windows are still all blacked out, tinted to the point he can't see anything inside. There's just the neon sign with the Hellfire Club over the door.

When he pulls open the door, he's in a hallway that's painted all black, with a bouncer at the end, stationed at a door. Steve kind of wants to turn around, flee, but he doesn't. He's already here. He might as well at least see. Robin will kill him if he chickens out.

He gives his ID to the bouncer, and is directed down a staircase. He really hopes this isn't a sex club. 

It's not.

And as soon as he crosses the threshold into the bar, yes, he knows Eddie instantly. He’s gotta be the one on the bar, pouring shots directly into various mouths. Steve knows he could turn around right now and this adventure could end. But watching Eddie laughing and prancing up and down the bar with flourish, clearly having fun, makes Steve want to go up and meet this guy.

Steve takes an open seat at the end of the bar, kind of out of the way, and just watches Eddie work the crowd.

The bar is blaring It's Raining Men and Eddie is playing up the song, big time. He's not a stripper, at least Steve doesn't think he is, but he's working the crowd for tips, absolutely. He keeps handing them down to a curly-headed guy, who keeps stuffing them into an overflowing jar.

Steve's pretty sure this is a gay club, or at least queer friendly. Maybe he has found a place for himself, something that's been right here under his nose, all this time.

When Eddie finally jumps down off the bar, Steve watches him work the rest of the room.

The other guy comes over and takes Steve's order, and he doesn't quite have the same flourish, but he's efficient and confident with a bottle and jigger.

"Name for the tab?" he asks, shaking the drink Steve had picked from the list.

"Steve," Steve says, and the guy looks up and meets his eyes.

Surely not. This doesn't feel like this is Eddie. He is wearing a vest, a red plaid one, but the other guy also has a denim vest on, full of patches.

"Eddie?" Steve questions, needing to make sure.

"Gareth," the guy says, "that's Eddie," he clarifies, pointing at the one Steve had correctly clocked as Eddie to begin with. "You're his wrong number guy, right?"

Steve nods. He supposes that's what he is, "Yeah. That's me. Loser in love."

Gareth laughs, and it makes Steve smile.

"That's our specialty here, you'll feel right at home," Gareth teases.

"Glad to hear it."

"I'll tell him you're here," Gareth assures, "he wasn't sure you'd come."

"That makes two of us," Steve admits, and Gareth smiles as he finishes shaking Steve's drink, putting it down in front of him.

"On the house. First-timers to Hellfire drink free," Gareth says, and then he's walking away. 

Steve's eyes follow Gareth across the bar, watching as he taps Eddie on the shoulder, leaning close to his ear, pointing right at Steve.

Eddie looks, meets his eyes, and Steve raises his hand, giving him a small, little wiggle of his fingers.

A huge smile spreads across Eddie's face as he bounds in Steve's direction.

Eddie's quickly right in his personal space, squeezing both of Steve's shoulders, greeting him with a smile, "Welcome to Hellfire."

Steve smiles, liking the feeling of Eddie's hands bleeding through his t-shirt, warming him.

Eddie lets go, and Steve misses the feeling already, but Eddie stays. Sliding onto the stool next to Steve, "I'm glad you came."

And Steve's completely honest as he answers, "Me too."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!

Notes: If you're too young to remember it, reach out and touch someone was the slogan/jingle for Bell System telephone company back in the day. So, that's where the title comes from, as a play on the wrong number phone call trope.

[whatever-imagines]

“Princess”

Fem! Butch! Wolverine x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of y/n; some mention of Origins, Scott and reader are low key besties; repressed EVERYONE; drinking; lemme know what I missed; the fan art and everything has got me.

Did you know Logan can be a girls name? That’s why it’s unchanged.

Rated: T

——————

“Watch it, bub.” Was the first thing she ever said to you; growled out and annoyed, wearing clothes that weren’t hers, barefoot stomping through the halls of the mansion to follow Professor Xavier to the infirmary.

You were just in the way. The stranger was already irritated by the looks of things and you were too dumbstruck on how handsome you thought she looked to get out of the way in enough time. The proximity, the raspiness of her voice, it made your breath hitched and you stared unblinkingly at her retreating form and you knew; you were fucked.

You were told by a calm Scott that her name was Logan. He had put a comforting hand on your shoulder, mistaking your sudden infatuation for fear or discomfort. Scott tells you they found her after a fight with another mutant the team had been hunting down and found her, rapidly healing and unconscious next to the corpse of the dangerous mutant they were looking for. So they brought her to the mansion, to study her and ask questions.

You hear about the fights Logan has with Scott all the time, and how she always flirts with Jean and Ororo, you see her wander the halls in the school portion of the mansion, and you always give her a wide berth. Half because, in a sense, she does intimidate you; she has a powerful mutation and fierce attitude, she could easily destroy you in any kind of fight. And the other reason you avoid her is-

“Jesus, watch it, squirt!”

“I’m so sorry!” You breath out, leaning down to gather the papers that went flying after you literally ran into Logan. They were mission reports that Scott’s been demanding to see, and in your haste to bring them to the team leader, you ran into the school’s resident loner.

You steadfastly refuse to make eye contact, focusing solely on picking up the papers that were spilled. You could feel the intense brown eyes of the other woman bearing down at you, but still you refuse to look up as you sputter apologies. you felt like you could cry from how embarrassed you were but you kept a stiff upper lip.

This is why you avoid her. For this exact reason.

You don’t have an impressive mutation, a very mild healing one that only extends to saving cuts and scraps; and you spent most of that time with your mutation healing yourself because you were so clumsy. What an embarrassment to your kind, you often think. Compared to Logan, you have no real use to the team; you don’t even go out to fight, you just help organize the paperwork and manage the little things so everyone can focus on keeping others safe and bettering themselves. You’re not nearly as impressive as the woman before you.

Once most of the papers are collected, a pair of brown cowboy boots enter your field of vision, and the clearing of a throat makes you slowly raise your gaze up to Logan, the fearsome Wolverine.

At this angle, she looked gorgeous, and curious.

“I’ve seen you around.” She drawls lazily, whatever bite she had earlier gone. “You’re Scott’s secretary.”

You wince in slight annoyance. “I’m the team’s assistant. I just-“ you gesture to the papers around you. “I handle the boring stuff. Help out when I’m needed.” Grabbing the last paper you awkwardly stand up. “Heal scraped knees and alike.”

Her large hand shoots out and grabs your shoulder to steady your wobbling self. Her hand was burning hot, and you could almost feel the callouses from years of fighting and doing god knows what through the cardigan you wore. You swore you felt your stomach literally flip at the contact.

She gave you a weird look, like she couldn’t believe you were this helpless. You quickly schooled your flustered expression and made some excuse up, how Scott would be more annoying if you put off giving him these papers any longer, and you scuttle down the hall, regretfully leaving the warm hand of Logan behind.

Scott also gave you a questioning look when you slammed the door to his room shut after all but running to where he was.

“… you okay, pal?” He asked, half bemused but you could tell by his tone he was ready to be serious if needed.

You sigh, and throw the paper files at him. He caught them easily. “I’m fine I’m just-“ you sigh again. “I’m just a mess.”

—-

The third time Logan speaks to you, it’s when you’re sneaking back into the mansion after a lukewarm date. It’s not like it was a secret, but still the only people you told were the Professor, so you could get permission to leave, and Ororo, who helped you get ready while you panicked.

You quietly meander into the kitchen, just to grab a soda in the dark, when the light suddenly gets flicked on.

“You look nice.” A raspy drawl says, surprising you so bad you slam the fridge door shut.

Your head snaps to the source of the sound, and there you see Logan, face half obscured in shadows.

“Oh!” You gasp. “Thank you…” you tamper off, half ready to explain yourself but deciding it better to keep your trap shut.

The Wolverine’s head cocks sideways before speaking again. “Any particular reason for the get up?” It felt more like a question in an interrogation.

You swallow thickly, suddenly feeling very self conscious. “I had a date.”

Finally pushing herself from the wall, Logan makes her way to where you stand. “Oh?” she inquires. there’s something in her eyes that make your stomach swoop but you couldn’t put a name to it. It almost looks like jealousy, but that wouldn’t make any sense in this situation. She just must be angry you got to leave the mansion and she’s still on probation. “Have fun with him?”

Him.

The insulation leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“She was quite boring actually.” You gently correct, pulling the tab off your soda can to open it. “An accountant or something. Kept telling me all the formulas she knew.” You mumble, bringing the drink to your lips and ignoring the way Logan’s eye bore into you.

“… don’t like the studious type?” She asks, tone playful but in the edge of something.

You’re sure to stew on your answer for a second, for whatever reason it feels like you should reply carefully. “I like reliable but not dull, if that makes sense.”

She digest your words, her eyes still staring, and you still ignoring the stare.

“You don’t look at me a lot.” Her sentence was quick and only added tension to the air. “Everyone stares-“ a hand grasps your shoulder and forces you to face her; her brown eyes leering at you, dry lips pressed into a thin line, the width of her nose scrunching slightly in irritation- “… except you.”

There’s a beat of silence. You can hear the fridge thrum with electricity, your heart thrum with anxiety.

“… it’s rude to stare.” Is all you can offer.

Logan snorts, amused or angry you don’t know, but her hot hand lets go of your shoulder and she heavily steps away.

“Smart-ass.” She chuckles, and disappears back into the shadow, the should have the keys she wears on her belt jingling away with her departure.

You breathe out slowly to calm your nerves, and sip your soda.

—-

It’s a party; a celebration of surviving another year at the school. Your anniversary. Scott makes it a big deal for you every year, as it’s his anniversary too, you and a handful of others.

“Xavier’s First Class Alumni” the banner proudly proclaims. You smile wistfully at it, happy to be where you are now but pushing the memory of how you got here out of your mind.

The cages, endless rows of cages. Scientists and doctors constantly doing rounds and taking samples like you were a computer giving off results instead of a person made of flesh and blood. There was a fight outside, something tremulous, but you had passed out from blood loss easily in the first few minutes of the commotion. You awoke to Scott cradling you as carrying you onto some extraordinary aircraft where a bald man awaited with a patient smile.

Scott was blinded by an impressive mask for safety then, not even he could tell you what had happened. Only a few who went on the ship stay with the professor, at the school. Many went back home to their families; but you stayed. And nobody could really recall how exactly they were all freed from Three Mile Island.

You’re leaning against a wall in the basement as the streamers hand low in the pulsing light of the party, deep bass music playing loudly enough to drown out most thought but not wake the children upstairs. You look to your left to see Scott and Jean laughing merrily with Kurt and Ororo and you smile.

The scent of musk fills your senses. You’re warm, incredibly warm, and the pressure of another weight against your right side. You quickly look to see Wolverine staring down at you, a beer bottle in her hand resting against her leg and the other arm propping herself over you against the wall.

“Enjoying the party?” She rasps, the bottle coming to her lips for a swig.

You watch carefully as the amber liquid passes into her mouth and she swallows, and you lick your bottom lip without realizing it.

She watches it though.

“It’s a fun thing for everyone.” You settle on saying.

She scoffs. “So you were one of the originals? Chuck’s first students?”

You shrug. “It was infinitely better than where I was.” Her bushy eyebrow quirked up in interest but you soldier on. “I’m very grateful to Professor Xavier for all he’s done to keep us safe.”

She rolls her eyes, a touch of a wild smile teases the corner of her mouth; Logan seems to be in an arguing mood and couldn’t get to Scott, so she settled on you.

“Safe, sure. Cooped up and all.” She bemoans.

And for the first time since you’ve encountered Logan, you’re… irritated with her. You pout and cross your arms, not unlike a child.

“Xavier’s done endless things to make everything better for us here.” You argue.

Your sudden passion seems to intrigue Logan. She straightens up more, once again reminding you of how small you exactly are compared to her. “How so, princess?” She growls out.

The tone was sardonic but you filed the nick name away to fantasize about later.

“Well, no one’s gabbed a needle into me without my consent since I got here 15 years ago, so that’s one thing.” You spit out, annoyed.

Logan’s face contorts ever so slightly, suddenly closed off but still watching you raptly.

“I haven’t had to hear direct death threats from everyone around me; I get to see future generations of mutats learn and grow-“ you gasp to continue your rant. “and be raised in a safe enviro-“

“Sorry.”

The singular word was delivered almost bashfully, if Logan could do anything bashful. She still staring down at you, hand in her pocket, next to her keys. The beer bottle taps her thigh absently.

No one was watching you, everyone wrapped up in their own bubbles and conversations. You vaguely hear the limbo song start playing.

You uncross your arms and tuck your chin down. “I’m sorry.” You usher out quickly.

“Don’t-“

“I got heated and I’m sorry.” You reiterate, a little more purpose behind your words.

Logan keeps staring at you, waiting. And your mouth just keeps moving.

“Everyone sees this day as a great day because the Professor found us, but to me it’s always gonna mark the day the experiments stopped. It means that something awful happened to me and it ended but it still happened and…” you trail off, one arm crossing your body to curl into yourself.

“… I know something about being experimented on.” Logan gravely states. “I’m sorry for pissing you off.” She amends.

You look up at her again, and nod. “Thanks.” You timidly respond.

She nods back.

Scott calls to you and you turn to look at him. He gestures for you to come over, and when you look back at Logan to say goodbye, she was already gone.

—-

Logan was gone for about a week after that. When she came back, everyone acted like she never left at all.

You still give her room; she’s complained before about the others “suffocating” her. But now she enters your space.

She sits as close to you as she can turn team meeting while you take the notes. She’s always in the halls you frequently use as short cuts. She always has to talk to Xavier right after you and you constantly bump into her as you leave his office.

And she always says the same thing.

“Hey, princess.”

It almost makes you crumble sometimes. But you straighten yourself out mentally and greet her back politely, and quickly rush away in fear you might make a fool of yourself again.

It eventually comes to head at some point. You mention to Ororo that you might try dating again. Maybe sign up for an online dating service if you could find a queer friendly one on the deep web. Sometime later that same day you get cornered by Wolverine.

She had just came back from a bike ride; hair wild and leather jacket over jean jacket over a men’s blue button down shirt over wife beater. Jeans still wet from the snow outside along the bottom, boot a darker color than normal.

“Lemme buy you a drink.” She says, so seriously and quickly you almost misunderstood her.

The proximity of her throws you off, you’re in some corridor not far from the garage. “I’m sorry?”

“Let. Me. Buy. You. A. Drink.” She reiterates, enunciating each word clearly enough you could identify the trace amount of her northern accent. Her arm glides up and once again she leans over you, her shadow casted on your form.

“… why?”

Her other hand comes up to your face and, with a gentleness you would not associate with the Wolverine, carefully holds your cheek in her palm, thumb on your bottom lip.

“I like your face. Lemme buy you a drink.” She asks again.

Your stomach swoops again, your ears burns with affection and you’re biting your cheek so hard as not to squeak in victory you taste copper in your mouth.

“Okay.”

She sags minutely, as if in relief.

“Thanks, princess.”

[hotwaterandmilk]

I was recently fortunate enough to win an auction for a piece of Wedding Peach merchandise I've been unsuccessfully trying to win online for years (at this point, literally decades) and it got me thinking about how lucky I am to not be starting my collection today.

Prices for all older, more obscure magical girl items have ballooned over the past ten years but Wedding Peach merchandise is definitely one of the worst offenders. It's not uncommon to see single manga volumes going for 10k yen, 20k yen or more for the picture books, and let's not even touch on the amount the toys go for (literally several thousand dollars a pop).

In an ideal world we'd have better access to the series itself at least (the Japanese release of the DVDs and manga, for example, are in high demand due to the manga being out of print for something like 28 years and the DVDs being a relatively limited run from 25 years ago). I understand it's unlikely that we'll be getting more fun toys or merchandise for the series, but it is truly bleak when people can't even access the series itself.

This isn't some lost media type thing, this is just capitalism and it solidifies why I feel a sense of duty to ruin my own collection in order to archive what I have. If my house burns down or washes away in a flood, I truly don't think I can restart my collection and have a fraction of what I have now ever again. It's too expensive and too time-consuming, I simply don't have another 25 years up my sleeve to dig through every possible website to try and find scraps of 90s Ciao magazine issues.

In that sense I feel like I should share what I have with others while I have the opportunity. Even if a teenager today falls for Wedding Peach like I did as a kid, they would need to be extremely wealthy to get these pieces together and I just don't think your ability to own the core of a series should come down to wealth alone.

Goodness knows I'm not wealthy and I had very little growing up, hence my collection took decades to get where it is now. I don't want people to have to endure all that just to see a picture book from 30 years ago or to see an obscure illustration from a Ciao paper bag given away for free in 1994.

The efforts of fans keep series like this alive long after most companies have dismissed their long term profitability (although I do see you Germany with your beautiful hardback manga editions and I thank you).

Not everyone wants to break down their collection for the benefit of others and I respect that (there are some things in my collection I don't want to pull apart either), but I appreciate the efforts of those who do and aspire to do better with my own archiving as I work to get Weddingpeach.net updated to celebrate 30 years of the manga series.

[yelenasdiary]

The Perfect Surprise

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Pregnant! Reader

Summary: Wanda and Maria surprises you with a baby shower with Nat having an extra surprise

Translations: Detka (baby),

Warnings: Slight Language Warning, Pregnancy Talk | 0.9K

AC: As always, I have used a random generator to pick the baby’s gender! I hope you enjoy this x

Waking up to the gentle soft hand of your wife rubbing your baby bump was something you quickly grew to love, every morning when Natasha would get back from the gym, she would whisper sweet things to your unborn baby which eventually would wake you. You couldn't help but smile softly as you watched her hand move up and down your stomach with care. 

"Good morning darling" Natasha whispered before placing a kiss on your cheek, "Are you ready for today?" she asked. You nodded. Yesterday Maria and Wanda had told you that they planned a baby shower for you and Natasha. "Are you ready for today?" You asked Nat knowing she hated having attention put on her. She chuckled with a nod, "I also have a surprise for you today" she replied.

You tilted your head slightly, "is that so?" You questioned. 

Natasha had this planned for a while, but she wasn't sure how to go about delivering the surprise so when Wanda and Maria came to her four days ago and poked her about the baby shower, she decided to give the women the scrap of torn paper the doctor gave her months ago, she never looked at it no matter how much it tempered her. 

You didn't want to know the gender of your baby unless Nat wanted too so when she said she wanted to wait, you believed her. Little did you know, she had the doctor write the gender down and she's been carrying it in her purse since. She told Wanda and Maria to get creative as the gender would be a surprise for the both of you. 

"What do you have planned?" You questioned when Nat just smirked and placed a kiss on your baby bump. "You'll find out later today" she said softly before pushing herself off the bed and walking into the bathroom. 

----

Everybody from the Avengers to your friends and family were gathered outside at the back of the compound looking over the city of New York. Plenty of laughter and chatter filled the air as you took some time to talk to everybody who had come up to you and Natasha, congratulating you both on the next chapter of your lives. 

The outdoor entertainment area was decorated with plenty of blues, pinks, yellows, greens and other gender-natural-colored items, a large board was placed near the sweet candy treats for guests to write their guesses down for what you and Nat might call the baby, the length, weight and gender and whoever would get the closest to the correct answer would win a $50 online gift card once the baby was born. 

"I sure hope there isn't a knife in that box Yelena" you chucked as you watched Yelena place the gift on the table among the other gifts, "do you think so low of me? To give my niece of nephew a knife to welcome them into this world?" the blonde replied as she came up and gave you a hug. 

"It's debatable" you chuckled. 

"Don't worry, I made sure it wasn't a real knife" Kate inserted herself, reaching in for a hug and congratulating you. Yelena playfully rolled her eyes before listening to the small talk shared between you, Kate and Natasha. 

Wanda came out carrying a rather large cake that caught your eye, watching as she placed it in the center of the table full of finger food. It was rounded, one half blue and the other half pink with a red hourglass symbol in the middle with the words "Super-She or Super-He?" On top. 

"Surprise" Natasha whispered as she gently rubbed your baby bump from behind. 

"I thought you said you wanted to wait" you turned to her. 

"I know but we literally can't set up the nursery without knowing, it's driving you crazy" the redhead admitted. Playfully, you slapped your wife's hand, "I think I've been doing great with all the gender neutral items and colours" you replied but you couldn't deny that you were just as curious and excited to know the gender as much as Nat. 

Natasha just shook her head and placed a kiss on your cheek before the two of you continued to talk with guests until Wanda got everybody's attention. "Nat, Y/n, we hope that this next chapter of your lives is everything you expect and more. Not only is your beautiful baby already so loved by the two of you, but they're loved by everybody here today. I'm not going to drag this on because I know you're eager to know little widow's gender but also because Steve is sweating that he's not giving a speech" Wanda said causing everybody to laugh at her fun at Steve who just shook his head. 

"Both of you take a knife and cut into a side of the cake each" Wanda added. Excitement made your hands slightly shake as you brought the silver knife to the blue side of the cake, Nat's knife hovering over the pink side. 

"Ready?" Nat looked at you with her famous smirk. You nodded, "on 3?" You asked. 

"Always"

On 3 you and Nat cut into the cake, slowly Natasha pulled out her slice to relief the cake's red valet color while you slowly pulled out your slice to a blue color. "Congratulations guys!!!" Kate bursts with joy as Natasha pulls you in for a deep kiss, smiling against your lips, "we're having a boy!" You whispered, letting the news sink in. Everybody applauded and congratulated you both with the news. 

"You owe me $20" Natasha chuckled, reminding you of the bet the two of you made during your second trimester. You rolled your eyes playfully before kissing her once more, "I love you so much" you whispered. Tears of happiness filling your eyes only for Nat to wipe away, "not near as much as I love you detka" she whispered in reply.

Taglist:  @boredandneedfanfics | @music-4ever | @karmasgxrl | @milkeeteaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @swaqcenix | 

If you want to be on the taglist for my work please click HERE.

[alllgator-blood]

I have ten billion WIP sketches I need to finish, but for some reason I stayed up from 9 PM to 4 AM conceptualizing, making patterns, sewing, painting and applying makeup on this stupid fucking felt squid......the detailing needs to be cleaned up cause there's only one coat of paint so far, but he's pretty much done

my neighbors probably think I'm insane because I was running around the yard clenching this toy kallamar in a death grip and flying him around like an airplane/putting him in the barbecue/poking him with a stick. I want to tie him to a string and recreate the opening of napoleon dynamite >:) ALSO I MADE HIM SMOKE OUT OF A STUPID CRYSTAL PIPE BUT PLEASE DON'T ACTUALLY USE THOSE, THEY ARE SUPER TOXIC LMAO MINE IS FOR DECORATION

I don't have any process pics because I had tunnel vision autism style and forgot the rest of the universe existed while I was working on him. BUT if you're curious I'll ramble below the cut

Okay I am not a seamstress by any means. I've sewn my entire life but very, very infrequently. I've done plushies, clothes, cosplays, fursuits, accessories, etc. but I only do one like once a year, so while I planned to make all 5 bishops, I'm not really sure I'll get them all done. The material cost was like 20 bucks tops so I'm not too upset if I don't finish them. I AT LEAST WANT TO GET SHAMURA OR HEKET DONE.

here is the concept sketch ft. heket's toes and shamura's fingers. I decided to do his pre-schism version so I could fit him with jewelry! I did him first because like I said I sew infrequently and don't know wtf I'm doing, everyone else seemed a lot more complicated.

So I basically just traced this drawing on a printer paper-sized canvas in SAI, and guesstimated how everything would look in a 3D space. His head is four pieces, one triangle identical to the one in the picture, two wide triangles that are sewn together in the back, and a circle for his chin. You can't really see it in any of the pics but he's literally like a black cylindrical stick with little tentacles sewn on where his mantle connects to his cloak. The leg tentacles are one piece of felt that look like tassels, where they're connected by a rectangle but branch off into individual pieces. He can't stand up very well, so his cape keeps him up (that's gonna be an issue for every other bishop too except heket cause she's gonna be ROUND). Mostly everything like the crown, cloak, head, etc. are cones so I just had to make a lot of wide triangles.

For the details, I just used acrylic paint that was watered down so he's not especially crunchy, and for the blush tone I used a makeup palette my mom bought me 10 years ago in hopes I'd get in touch with my "feminine side", but I grew up into a nonbinary butch lesbian so OOPS. Kallamar looks better with makeup than me anyway. I'm kinda sad I couldn't get his freckles as lopsided as I draw them but it probably looks better in plush form to have them even anyway....

I could just post the pattern so I don't have to explain this but 1. I am mentally ill about the thought of my kallamar being in someone else's house and 2. the original pattern had to be tweaked while I was working on him so the final pattern straight up doesn't exist, I winged it the whole time

OH and the jewelry is just scrap pieces I had laying around, I might repaint it all to be gold instead of silver + bronze. I used 20g aluminum wire for his armlet thing, jumper rings for his earrings + ring (+ a diamond dot from my mom's kits for the gem) and chain for the bracelet. I made him an amulet as well but it felt like overkill so I took it off. I'm probably gonna make him a plague doctor mask and medicine bag sometime because I think about nurse kallamar more than I probably should :') I've already sewn one as a prop for a toy raven before so it shouldn't be too hard

[wisedelusionalmarshmallow]

@rosekillermicrofic, September 6th - Book, T, Word Count - 721

It was a really regular day today at the bookstore where Barty works.

Like really regular.

Like 'all of his regulars came in today' regular. 

The couple who comes here every two weeks to buy two books. Barty learned that they trade the books once they’re done with them and then have bookclub-style date nights. Which is really cute but totally not his thing.

The old ladies who come here for an actual bookclub. Barty had to stifle a laugh at today's choice, some 'murder mystery’ that was a lot more romance than their usual mystery or horror selection.

The one young boy who spends all his weekly allowance on the newest Batman and Spiderman comic.

Even the young woman with the service dog. Barty always has good conversations with her, even though he can never remember her name, and isn’t too keen on asking for the fourth time.

The entire day, Barty was waiting for the ball to drop. Waiting for a call from his boss telling him a shipment got delayed or that he’ll have to cover for Avery again because somehow he’s always sick the day there’s a concert playing in the city over. Figure that one out.

But none of that happened.

It was half an hour to closing when Barty heard the doorbell chime, signalling someone had just entered the store. 

Now, he doesn’t have the best view of the door from where the counter sits—his manager trying to get more stock shoved on the shelves rather than worrying about the safety of the store—so he doesn’t really see the customers until they ask a question or come to check out some items.

That’s how he found himself leaning over his counter, trying to figure out the new scheduling system on their computer. He'd been putting it off all day and just needs to get it done before the store falls into more chaos than it already is. But he just can’t even get past the sign-in. His manager left a sheet of employee codes, but every time he would input it, nothing would work.

That’s when the stack of computer science textbooks appeared on the counter in front of him. Ah, the customer was ready to pay. But if they’re taking computer science, would it be rude to ask for help? No, right?

Ugh. Whatever. Without even looking up, Barty talks to the customer. “Hey man, I’m gonna guess you have some sort of experience with computers or whatever... Um, this—” he turns the monitor and points to the screen. “—is not letting me sign in, like at all. And I kinda need my schedule.” The customer laughs a little and that causes Barty’s head to shoot up. Holy—

Fuck! Why did he have to be hot? Barty awkwardly smiles at the man; he thought he would look like just another college nerd, not a literal Greek god.

He quickly surveys the issue. “Are you forgetting your password?”

“Nope. I have it right here,” Barty smiles, very nervous and flustered about the situation.

“Hmm.” The customer places his head in his hand, surveying the screen before looking down to the keyboard. “Ah.” He reaches forward and clicks a single key. Caps Lock. Could this day get any more embarrassing?

��Thank you,” Barty sighs. Then turns the monitor towards himself again and enters the password, the little ding coming from the speaker, and the application finally loads. He looks over to the books on the counter before looking up at the man’s face again. “I wish I could give you one of those for free, but my boss didn’t really like it when I did that last time.”

“I’ll just take your number instead then,” he says casually.

Barty’s ears go red. Oh my god, did he just ask for my number? Ohmygodohmygod. “Uh–I. Sure.” Barty grabs out a new roll of receipt paper, the closest thing to scrap paper that he has right now, and rips off a piece, quickly scribbling out his number, praying he remembers all ten digits correctly.

He hands the paper off and smiles at him, waiting for the customer to say something and then leave. Except they just stand there in silence. Staring at each other.

That is, of course, until the ball drops. 

“...you gonna ring me up?”