#''Hey isn't this a fire hazard?''

[bonefall]

Question: what’s your source on the phytoestrogens? Bc the only times I’ve ever heard that claim, they all source back to this one study on sheep in like the 40s, which… well it’s not very well supported

(Although maybe you don’t care about that, which would be fair. These are fictional cats after all not clinical studies)

You're probably coming from Hbomberguy when he was specifically addressing lunkhead chuds, who pass around the claim that phytoestrogens lower human fertility and sex drive. The "soyboy" claim.

Human studies on the effects of phytoestrogens are pretty lacking overall, but what does exist doesn't back up that claim-- because humans don't graze on red clover in west australia like a sheep. What that means is that it doesn't impact human fertility the way a terrified conservative brain stem thinks it does.

(ESPECIALLY not in a plate of soybeans, which has significantly lower levels of phytoestrogen than red clover.)

But what it DOES do is bind to the estrogen receptors in your body (and acts as a really good antioxidant but that's neither here nor there) which can mean it can act AS estrogen... or as an antagonist.

If you want to know more (especially if you have a background in chemistry, this source talks a lot about the structural similarities between estrogen and phytoestrogen and the mechanism of action) then go dive into PHYTOESTROGENS IN FUNCTIONAL FOOD by Fatih Yildiz, which collects together many of the studies that we do have on the matter and omits controversial ones.

(Plus it's an easy read for such a science-heavy publication imo)

Though I have to stress that my HRT guide is, y'know, fake cats! Nothing in nature replaces modern medicine***, but I wanted to make a good resource for WC fans with trans cats who wanted a little bit of scientific accuracy, wanted to cut herbs that cast Liver Failure 1000 on felines, and could reasonably be found in a temperate environment

***= Except medicinal maggots. Medicinal maggots are literally magical. Nothing debrides necrotic tissue like green bottlefly larvae and as far as I'm concerned they're the closest thing to divinity we have on this earth. And medicinal leeches I love you leeches im so sorry that anyone has ever called you a pest you're cherubic angels and she doesnt deserve this </3

#Herb guide #Bone babble #Phytoestrogens #Btw I have wanted to remake that guide for a while since it actually predates most of my other work #That was like... the first research project I did for this blog #And in the next draft I'm cutting comfrey root entirely because I got more comfortable with speaking over the erins #The fact I get questioned on the phytoestrogen thing is a good sign for the site culture btw because #It shows that people are both a little educated on a conservative pseudoscience claim #And that they're questioning the information even in a for-fun cat project. After all I like. DO also care about scientific literacy #But it is funny to me that no one questions the comfrey LMAO #For context it's kind of like standing next to a nuclear reactor and then the audience points at a heavy object blocking a window and says- #''Hey isn't this a fire hazard?'' #Like. Good that you're familiar with fire code! There is something even worse in the room with us <3

[david-watts]

my deodorant got knocked off of the bedside table because it is a constant avalanche of crap and everything on it keeps going missing which I suspect is falling off the table into what happens to actually be a gap between the chest-of-drawers and a fucking mountain of rubbish. like actual rubbish. food waste that’s mouldering. discarded needles. old water bottles. all intermingled with my m*ther’s shoes. she’s not ‘just got the ocd hoarding gene teehee’ she’s actively going to kill me her and the dog this way. I feel like I’m going to grow mould now and if I do I will die because ‘oh it’s only white/green mould that’s fine just rinse it with bleach’ like she said when she refused to wash the spacer for my inhaler (which belonged to ME btw) and let it grow mould and she keeps insisting it was fine it just needed a rinse. like NO. that’s going in my lungs!!

between this and the fucking excruciating wait between now and when we finally start actually doing something about my room I’m starting to spiral back into wanting to Die every five fucking minutes

#maybe I just smell bad. maybe that's enough to ruin my entire fucking state of self #and I might also be in too much pain and hungry. after all I did just do something that hurts my back and would trigger the (likely) pots #and I also don't have anything I can eat for tea. so there's that #and I don't have enough money to get anything. so there's THAT too #but. oh my god. this pile keeps shifting slowly towards me every day. #it's sorta contained under a chair which is there for a few reasons including makeshift table reasons #and that chair is moving towards me. it is shoving old tissues and other discarded needles/food wrappers right where I used to put my feet #to get out of bed. #oh hey did I mention I can't get out of bed in an easy manner anymore! no! I have to sorta aim myself towards the biggest space of floor #which isn't big enough to sit in btw #and do this. shunting. sliding motion off of the bed so that I land on my feet in the space #it pulls the covers off my bed which is Great! #anyway aside from the literal health hazard there's the powerboard. which is what everything plugs into #yes it's a fire hazard. yes it has sparked recently. yes it's covered in dust because I can't clean it. #so I can't put my feet there anyway! #maybe I'm not over him going. it has been a month after all. maybe that's making everything seem So Much Worse

[vagabond-umlaut]

it's easy to ferry souls, not carry them

deep down in the realm of the netherworlds, there exists a rower who transports deceased souls from the land of living to the land of dead-

and occasionally lends an ear and a hand, in the event of yet another collision between their weary queen and her just as cheery suitor...

[uraume deserves a raise.]

▸gojo satoru x fem!reader; the tale of kore!gojo & hades!reader w a guest appearance by charon!uraume; uraume is a very nice parental figure to you [ooc!uraume but ehh]; the reader is honestly so sweet and hot-tempered...; the cutest doggy cerberus too is there!!!!; gojo satoru must be his own warning...; uraume does not like gojo [no parent [blood-related or not] actually wld]; fire hazards; 2k wc

▸ i've nvr read percy jackson and wtv i wrote here is based on my shaky knowledge of greek myths and stuff 😁😁 anyways, this header's from pinterest, these dividers are by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls do not plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ belongs to series 'wreaths of asphodel' – same universe as the work 'hey, where is the pomegranate tree?' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

"why is kore so set on marrying me, uraume?"

it isn't the ask itself which causes the rower to nearly lose grip of their oar– but the way it is spoken: soft, solemn and faintly tense. they look away from the endless expanse of the styx before, to find you staring at your reflection in the inky waters, features unnaturally crumpled.

uraume holds back a frown. "has her majesty considered asking the god the same?"

"i have asked him," you mumble, "but i did not receive any conclusive answer in return. the imp was being too vague– must be a trait learnt from those shifty nymphs always sticking to his side."

if your faithful follower detects anything except dislike in your words, they make no mention of it. merely humming as they continue to row the boat, "and may this servant know the question her majesty asked the god?"

"two," you mumble even more clumsily now; they take a beat to grasp it, too concerned by the way you drape yourself over the edge, nearly falling into the water as you say, "i asked him two questions— one, if he loves me; two, if he wants to have children should we get married."

shock must not be uraume's first reaction to these queries, yet it is— and for a moment, it isn't you sitting there anymore.

instead, it is a little girl, no older than seven or eight years, cherubic face fixed in a look of deep concentration and fascination while the rower narrates to her stories from times millennia ago–

only for the child to morph into a young lady– no, goddess– the very next beat... slouched under a regal cloak too heavy for her shoulders, under a royal crown too large for her head... that sweet innocence of childhood nothing but traces now, having been withered by the foul, dirty politics of those damned deities high up on that mountain—

"what answers did the olympian offer her majesty?"

"he said he would love me and sire my children if that is what i want— i asked if he wished anything out of our union— he said all he wanted is to be my husband–"

something between a frustrated sigh and an exhausted scoff erupts from you, becoming an opaque fog the moment it hits the frigid air of the underworld. uraume plucks the oar out the water to come sit next to you, letting the boat be driven by magic.

"you're worried," they state, forgoing all formalities in favour of giving you some much-needed comfort. you never much cared for stations anyways, quite unlike your elder brother, the former king.

"an unfamiliar friend poses more risk than a familiar enemy, uraume," you mutter, resting your head on their shoulder, "why do you think kore wishes to marry me so much, if not out of love or the prospect of the powerful offsprings we might beget?"

"marriage is not solely for love or for procreation," the rower starts to explain, mildly amused before it grows into sympathy at your baffled expression.

ah, they muse fondly, not unlike a parent watching their child witness the world seemingly the first time ever since they learnt to walk, you who presides over something as profound as death yet knows not of the trivialities of life...

"it can also be for many other reasons like–"

the remainder of the words skitter away from uraume— cerberus is playing with gojo.

the fierce guard of the netherworlds, the three-headed hound, loyal and dutiful to a fault: hades' dearest canine companion is frolicking with the god of life in a green meadow, that most certainly was not there so close to the stygian marsh, when they last—

"gojo is laughing," your remark draws them away from their musings, only to find a changed shadow over your countenance— pensive yet not thinking at all; almost as if you too are floating in the stale air of your kingdom akin the soft flower petals...

another ring of raucous laughter pierces the silence, mingled with a delighted series of barks— cerberus is busy licking gojo's face now, the olympian reduced to a puddle of giggles as he scratches behind the dog's ears.

his happiness so clear in the stretch of his grin and the crinkle of his eyes, very much the jarring contrast to the last time—

oh. oh, oh, oh–

"escape," the word leaves uraume in a sudden moment of realisation, as quiet as a breath but loud enough for you to whip your head back to face them, confusion engraved into your scowl. "escape?? what is that supposed to mean, eh?"

the rower feels their lips lift into an infrequent smile. "the god of life wishes to marry you to escape— from his mother, or from his many suitors, or perhaps from mount olympus itself."

"wha– how– hah," you breathe out a disbelieving little huff, "that is simply ridiculous. have you even heard yourself? that is ridiculous."

used to such resistance from yourself, even more from your brother, they move to state their points, only to beaten by you as you persist to speak.

"no one in their right mind will decide to come live in the underworld, no matter how overbearing their mother or insistent their suitors are. have you seen this place? it's too, too unlike the lushness of the earth or the grandeur of the heavens he has experienced. and–" you add, a harsh laugh accompanying it. "gojo satoru is a god. a fish might leave the water— but a god never steps a voluntary foot down that horrible mountain. never."

"but the olympian never truly lived on mount olympus," uraume says once they're sure you've completed your tirade, "and you are a goddess as well. why do you speak so ill of the heavens then?"

"why?" you echo the word. they nod, hoping you take the bait they've intended for you. you do.

"why, because that place is nothing but a shining apple with a rotten core!! everything is polished marble and glittering gold there. people constantly wave at each other, lavishing smiles and praises like there is no tomorrow. everything is so warm and bright— what a bunch of lies and liars!"

familiar fire burns in your aura, the immense heat making the waters erupt into boiling— uraume uses their powers to cool the river down, lest anything disturbs you.

you're too far gone in your rage to be shaken, however, continuing:

"but it never can hide the grime and dirt accrued beneath such shine and sheen. nor the vicious minds and crooked hearts of those deities up above– what lame excuses of gods and goddesses, hah. and you might think me to prefer the light and warmth up there— you will be sorely wrong, my dear uraume!! i much prefer the genuine darkness and frigidity of my beloved kingdom to the faux comfort of the awful mount olympus—"

"is there no possibility the god of life too despises mount olympus for these same reasons, milady?"

you open your mouth and close it, then open it again to let out a very aggrieved whine– momentarily transporting uraume to your younger days. the rower merely chuckles when you punch their arm lightly.

"you're the worst, uraume," you cry, getting up and moving to sit on the other end of the boat. the rower too rises but only to resume rowing the boat by the oar.

"you never spoke this way when sukuna was the ruler— only because his baby sister is the ruler now, and you think she is very stupid—"

"as much as i respect and revere lord sukuna, he wasn't one to listen to anyone else," uraume interrupts gently, "you do, though– which is why i spent so much time telling you this. i hope you did not mind."

"hey, no," you immediately wave away their concern with a wide grin, eliciting a smaller one from the latter, "i could never..."

another peal of laughter and barks rings through the otherwise-quiet. you abruptly trail off, the same conflicting expression from before on your face yet again. though not without a spark in your eyes, uraume notes, almost as if you're slowly learning how to solve the puzzle who is repeatedly offering himself to you.

uraume keeps the silence you initiate, choosing to row the boat while you keep staring at the assortment of hues near the stygian marsh...

until you call their name and declare, an odd firmness in your smile, "well then, it is decided. i shall allow gojo to stay here for as long as the god so wishes to, escaping whatever or whoever he is escaping. and i shall protect him from the latter, should it ever come for him."

a beat. your smile falls into something graver. "would it be better if i swore by the dread water of styx, uraume?"

"uh, um," the rower finds themselves at a loss of words, the first time in seemingly forever, and they have been around since titanomachy– but before they can recover themselves enough to formulate a proper reply, a giggly voice joins in—

"well, if my rose does that, i would consider myself the most blessed amongst all mortals and immortals!"

— and the waters surrounding the boat shoot upwards in a scathing geyser-like jet and steam— the ferocious queen of the netherworlds visibly torn between remorse and terror, as they offer uraume a stiff nod and gojo a horrified look, before vanishing in a wisp of fog.

the boiling waters of the river styx calm down only after a twenty-minute-long struggle by uraume, joined at the very end by gojo.

the latter looks positively delighted, when the former collapses to the bottom of the boat, exhausted beyond belief. "hey, charon. was that a result of your queen getting flustered by me, huh?"

yes, it was. it very much was, the sentences nearly slip past the tired rower's crumbling defences... until it hits them– who they serve, and who they don't.

uraume decides to throw back a glare and a lie. "her majesty was not flustered, lord kore. she was enraged at how you invaded the privacy of her weekly boat ride, intended to make her relax."

"oh, puh-lease," the god makes a face. the rower is certain he would have been punished in the pits of tartarus for all eternity, then some more were he to pursue you this way during your brother's reign, let alone disrespect you thus.

ignorant and insolent, he continues, "in few days time, i'll be allowed into the privacy of her living quarters; what is the privacy of her boat th—"

"you're lucky you did not make such outrageous remarks in front of the queen," uraume cuts him off, none too kindly nor gently, "if you did, her majesty would have certainly burnt you along with the boat to a crisp–"

"i know," comes the defeated reply within the instant. and while gojo is still not in uraume's good graces, the latter decides to notch him a level higher, considering the god of life accepts their queen's powers.

not many do.

he strikes a pathetically pitiful figure, uraume reckons, seeing him sit then slouch on the bench. "was she serious when she said she would protect me?"

your loyal subject nods, certain and solemn. "yes, she was. the queen is never careless when it comes to making promises."

"oh, that's reassuring," gojo says quietly— only to recline even further in the very next beat– an anguished, grating wail tearing from him to the stifling silence looming near the stygian marsh. uraume wonders if it is worth it to steer the boat towards acheron... then push him into its waters of woe...

they decide against it on catching the desperation worn by the god.

for all it is, it might nothing more than a ploy. yet something tugs at their mind to pause and listen when gojo howls, "why does my rose always scurry away after tilting my world on its axis? why does your queen always torment me like this, charon?"

uraume stares pensively at their face in the sacred waters of styx for a while. then heaves a mighty sigh.

certain, this exchange between the goddess of the dead and the god of life will impact not only your and gojo's respective worlds— but the general world and everyone else in it, as well.

did you know, in the actual greek myths, persephone was never called so before her marriage to hades? she got it only after, w the name meaning "bringer of death". her initial name was kore, referring to her being a maiden & the spring goddess.

the river styx was called the "dread river of oath" by homer– in both the iliad and the odyssey [greek epic poems], swearing by its waters is the "greatest and most dread oath for the blessed gods" -> this shows how serious the reader is towards ensuring gojo's safety and freedom, and how deeply this affects gojo as well [source: wiki 😇]

also: the reader is totally ready to jump into the water to swim away when she realises gojo was listening in on her conversations- but then she remembers she can js vanish away and so she does js tht— the queen of the underworld, and of escaping, hehe

also also: the reader is slightly jealous when she is talking of the shifty nymphs always sticking to gojo's side. [uraume identifies it; you think it is js your usual dislike to such frivolous things and ppl as flowers and nymphs etc.] [hades is emo imho 😊]

▸ masterlist

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #kit posts 📝

[thefreakandthehair]

@steddiemas day 1: deck the halls | wc: 1.2k | rated: m

Robin Buckley loves Christmas.

Like, really loves Christmas. If she could convince Steve to put the tree up in their little shitbox apartment the day after Halloween, she would. In fact, she'd tried last year but Steve reminded her that a live tree would be a needleless fire hazard by Christmas Day and she refuses to entertain the idea of a fake tree.

Absolutely not. Live tree or bust.

And this is how Steve ends up at the Christmas Tree Farm the day after Thanksgiving, dragged around with a fond if not tired smile as she checks tree after tree, pulling their branches, checking their strength and health.

"It has to be a Blue Spruce to hold those heavy ornaments from my parents, and none of these are Blue Spruces!" She bemoans, whipping her head around to glare at Steve. "Are you even helping?"

He rolls his eyes and sips the hot chocolate that warms him from the inside. "I'm here as moral support and to cut the thing down when you find it." Steve wiggles the little saw he'd been handed and nods her on.

Robin scoffs and marches back towards him. "I think there are some Blue Spruces in the lot towards the back."

Without a question, he turns on his heel and follows her. This isn't their first Christmas Tree Hunt so he knows the drill. No matter how much he actually hates Blue Spruces because the needles are sharp and stick him when they hang the lights, he'll never say a word. Not when it makes his best friend this happy.

Eventually, they make the trek through muddy grass and Robin does, in fact, find a Blue Spruce that makes her eyes light up in the hidden away lot.

"This is it," she beams. "This is the one."

"Perfect, here, hold this--" Steve hands her his mug and starts to lean down, only for the tree to start shaking.

A man in ripped jeans and Reeboks lies beneath the tree, his own saw just beginning to make its mark in the stump of the spiky, healthy Spruce.

"Hey! Hey, what are you doing? This is our tree." Robin says, reaching through branches to hold it steady. "We were just about to cut it down, back off."

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. It's not that he won't defend Robin's honor and get into a fight in a Christmas Tree Farm for her, he'd just really rather not.

The mystery man pokes his head out from under the tree with furrowed brows and two needles sticking out from the top of his head, dirt on his denim jacket that protects what looks like a red and black flannel. Steve's definitely been watching way too many Hallmark movies with Robin lately because holy shit, he's cute.

"Listen, my best friend wants this tree, and I don't even wanna be under here but if she doesn't get this Blue Whatever-The-Fuck, someone's halls are getting decked and it'll probably be mine. So, sorry." He shrugs and returns to his place under the tree. 

Robin looks at Steve, bewildered and frazzled simultaneously. Do something, she mouths. 

Like what? He mouths back, scrunching his face and contorting his mouth. 

She widens her eyes and jerks her head to the side, desperate. 

He should’ve known Robin would be responsible for his demise. 

“C’mon, man, we’ve been here for two hours looking for a tree.” Steve gets no response, just a few grunts that shouldn’t go straight to his crotch but what can he say? It’s been awhile.

He steps forward and lies down beneath the tree with the Tree Thief. “Is she here with you? Your best friend who seems as fucking rabid as mine is here about these trees?” 

Steve watches as the man focuses on the tree stump, rhythmic back and forth motions of the saw moving his torso along the ground with his tongue poking out between his lips. “Maybe I can talk to her? Or send Robin? She’s… convincing?” 

“Chrissy wants this one, dude. Hate to break it to you.” 

“Ah, okay. Robin and Chrissy. Well, I’m Steve, and you’re…?” 

The sawing stops as he catches his breath. “Eddie. I’m Eddie. And unless you’re gonna help under here, you might wanna move. I don’t wanna drop this on you.” 

Steve pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and takes a chance. Reaching out, he places one hand on top of Eddie’s. “Can I make you a deal?” 

Eddie startles, eyes flickering back and forth from the space where their hands touch on the rough bark of the tree up to Steve’s gaze. 

“Depends on the deal, I suppose.” Maybe Steve imagines the flush to his cheeks and the playful grin that blossoms across his lips. All he knows about Eddie is that his best friend’s name is Chrissy and that he has the most beautiful brown eyes Steve’s maybe ever seen. 

Not maybe. Definitely. 

“Uh,” he shakes his head, trying to pull himself out of whatever Christmas romcom he thinks he’s living in. “What if we help you and Chrissy find another tree and I help you cut it down? I’ll even carry it to the car for you.” 

“What are you, some sort of lumberjack?”

“Nope,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, joking as he leans closer, like an idiot. “Just desperate not to get my halls decked.” It earns him a genuine smile and surprised laugh punched from Eddie’s lungs. 

“Alright,” he taps the saw on the trunk and smirks over at Steve, mere inches apart beneath a Christmas tree. Close enough for the faint scent of Eddie’s cigarettes and Old Spice cologne to permeate the strength of the resinous spruce. “You help us find another tree, lug it to the car, and then meet me for coffee after? Seems like the least you can do, all things considered.” 

Trading numbers with the guy he met while bargaining for Robin’s dream Christmas tree isn’t the weirdest moment of his life, but it’s certainly on the shortlist. As is plucking rogue needles out of his hair when they come up from beneath the tree.

He ends up lugging two Blue Spruces to the parking lot an hour later in two trips— Robin chatting with Chrissy in front of them and Eddie at his side, gravitating closer and closer until their arms nearly touch. 

“You know, you didn’t actually have to do this,” Eddie says, moving away from Steve and to the other side of Chrissy's sedan to help tie the tree to the roof. “You’re not like, actually obligated or whatever.” 

Steve finishes tying his end of the knot and looks across at Eddie, finding him standing with hopeful eyes and a piece of hair drawn in front of his face. 

“Oh, I know.” He smiles and shrugs. “But I want to. Especially the coffee-with-you-after part.” 

“Not until we get this thing up and decked, Munson!” Chrissy pops up next to Eddie at the same time Robin appears next to Steve, both of them practically bouncing on their heels and grinning ear to ear. 

Robin nudges Steve in the side and he looks down to see her phone held out, Chrissy’s number typed into her contacts with a tiny pink heart to it. He gives her a subtle, excited thumbs up from below Eddie and Chrissy’s view beneath the car. 

Eddie slings an arm across Chrissy’s shoulders and ruffles her hair before she fixes her ponytail, indignant. 

“Alright, alright,” Steve laughs. “I’ll uh, I’ll text you?” 

Eddie nods and turns himself and Chrissy towards the front of the car. As he gets in the passenger seat, he looks back at Steve with a mischievous wink most likely emboldened by Steve’s brash flirtation. 

“The sooner, the better.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #st fic #myblurbs #stobin #buckingham #steddiemas #does this become a steddiemas series? who knows! i'm unhinged and know no bounds!

[obeythebutler]

Hey so I see you said your prompt requests are open. I love your writing! I was wondering if you could maybe do Satan with the prompt: spontaneously deciding to paint their spare room on a Sunday. No pressure, you don't have to write it if you don't want to! Love ya byyyee

Sundays are meant for indulging yourself in the House of Lamentation.

In yours and Satan's case, it means coming to his room to read that one book you've been waiting for all week.

"All set?" Is the first thing you say when you step into his room with two cups of tea. The rare blend which you'd procured from Barbatos after helping him get rid of rats in the castle.

His room is set in darkness, unlike that of his brothers.

You have come to the conclusion that it must be a demon thing. You know, eyes meant for navigating in the darkness and all that jazz. While in the human world, you had gifted a pair of sunglasses to the blonde demon after his incessant complaining about the human world being too bright.

And even if his room is suited to his tastes and nature, even if he has a formidable knowledge of all things in the three realms, who in the nine layers of hell keeps candles on top of precious books?

Your Satan.

"Your room is a fire hazard," You state after having finished half your tea, his arm snaked around your waist. "Plus how do you even know where which book of which topic is?"

Satan shrugs. "I've got it all in my mind, so it's organised to me."

"To you."

"I tried 'organising' stuff once," He mutters, eyes scanning the text in front of him, book in hand as you both read. "Made different columns of books. The first toppled over after three hours. One week later and it returned to its usual state."

"There are many spare rooms in this house. One behind the Planetarium hasn't been discovered by the others yet. Why don't you try keeping some of your collection there?"

"That room isn't exactly suited to my taste." Satan turns the page. "Plus there's a dire need of renovation. I'll have to put some curses to ensure no one can steal those manuscripts."

You say nothing for a few minutes.

Enough time to finish reading the last three pages of the third chapter, and rest your head on his shoulder.

When you flip to the fourth one, the words spill past your lips without thought.

"Want to paint that room with me?"

The book slams shut.

Hours later, after having scrounged Devilkea, there's a color that you both agree upon. When the clock strikes three, you and Satan are armed with paintbrushes and rollers, ready to attack.

"That corner needs more paint," You say, turning your head towards where Satan works.

"That looks alright to me," He furrows his brows. "Does it look different from there?"

"Yeah, just a bit more."

Thirty minutes pass by like a breeze. Your arm hurts at the end, though, and since an idle mind brews mischief you decide that Satan needs a pop of colour.

You wait for the demon to get engrossed in his work, and then execute your move. It was wisely decided to wear old clothes for this activity, given that you were wearing your favourite shirt today.

An undignified squeak spills past the demon's lips.

"What was that?" He hisses. There's paint all over his behind now.

"Paint."

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

You grin at him, all teeth. "When everything has dried, we can shift some of your books here. Place some charms on this room, have a little corner all to ourselves." Satan smiles at that.

"Add your stuff too," He tells you, stepping down from the ladder since that part of the wall is completed. "One of your cushions, maybe? You've got too many."

"Never too many."

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me fluff #obey me imagines #omswd

[sprite-writes]

failed romantics

Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Reader (original female character)

Summary: Secrets can’t be kept forever, and what better time to reveal them than the Enterprise night shift.

Word Count: 5,902

A/N: yay another chapter!! I have been so excited to write this one since I started this series, I hope you all like it. As always very special thanks to @lightning-writes without them these chapters would literally never get finished LOL immediately after finishing this plz go check out their bucky series; good heart (faulty machine of a man) it kills me in the best way. anyways, thank you for reading plz like + comment if you enjoyed :)

Leonard can only barely make out Kirk’s face under the dim bulb, but he is pissed enough that Jim’s mug is the last thing he wants to see. The music is loud, so goddamn loud , loud enough that the whiskey did nothing for his headache. 

“This is not what I had in mind when you said you knew a place,” he yells over the music, staring down the side of Kirk's face. 

“What?” the captain calls back, still oblivious to Leonard's scowl. Kirk is absent, completely distracted by the crowd, more specifically the women . His gaze filters from person to person as they pass by the table, a dumb smile on his face the entire time. If steam could come out of Leonard’s ears, it would. 

“I said this isn't what I had in mind for tonight.” He reaches across the table and firmly flicks his friend’s temple. 

“Hey! What's your problem?” Kirk whines. Leonard is satisfied to have gotten his attention—finally. 

“You said you knew a nice place– you said it was a bar!” 

“Yeah and? This is both of those things!” 

“This is a goddamned petri dish!” 

It is. Leonard has refused to even allow his bare skin to touch the tabletop, weary of the unknown sticky substances covering it. There are so many bodies— human and otherwise— packed into the space, it's suffocating, and certainly a fire hazard. It's gross, downright unsanitary, and fucking loud.  

“You’re dramatic, Bones, it's nice enough. Loosen up! Maybe try to meet somebody. We’re only in Yorktown for a day, y’know?” 

Tipsy Kirk is a fucking idiot. 

Leonard recoils at the idea. The captain has gained this…habit lately. This advice-giving habit where he tells Leonard to relax, to get out there, to get laid, and every time it passes through Kirk's lips, Leonard becomes nauseous. He abhors this subject, he really does. The only thing he hates talking about more than his dating life is why he doesn’t have one. Sure, he hasn't had much of one since the divorce anyway, but whatever he did have quickly reduced to nothing after meeting Sunshine. He feels so childish even mulling his thoughts over, and how it feels pointless to consider any other woman interesting since he has already met Sunshine, who is the most interesting. Interesting and pretty. Interesting and pretty and kind. He shakes his head before he starts down his mental list (again). Somedays, it feels like his feelings will swallow him whole. It has been so long since he felt it, the wanting . Wanting to talk to her all the time, or hold her hand, or just be around her. It all makes him feel so juvenile, like he’s a lovesick teenager. She makes him feel like a lovesick teenager. It is the single most frustrating thing he’d ever experienced.

“I don't wanna associate with anyone who willingly steps foot inside this shithole,” he snaps, “C’mon man, let's go.” Kirk protests, of course, even more so as Leonard grabs him by the ear and pulls him up from the chair. He tells himself he’s doing Kirk a favor, that the last thing he needs is a hookup— that he’s certainly not taking out his frustrations on his friend. 

The pair weave through the bodies, with Kirk stumbling after his friend and out the door. The cool breeze hits them like a breath of fresh air, and Leonard takes it in. Kirk, on the other hand, furiously rubs his reddened ear. 

“What the hell was that for? Are you out to get me tonight?” 

Leonard feels a quick pang of sympathy, regretting lashing out. 

“Look, I’m sorry, but that place had me sweating like a damn sinner in church, there’s other bars, and it's getting late anyways–”

Kirk would usually push it, and Leonard could tell he wants to, which makes him all the more thankful he doesn’t.  

“Fine, fine, whatever but we are drinking when we get back to the ship,” he settles, leading the way home. 

Yorktown is cold and downright industrial. Leonard hates it. He would usually be thankful for a pit stop if it means he can feel non-artificial gravity, but, between the dirty club and Kirk’s antagonizing, he’s ready to be spacebound again. Both the Enterprise and the USS Endeavor are in Yorktown for the night, in the process of a personnel transfer. The streets are crawling with Starfleet members.

They walk in silence for most of the way, observing the larger-than-life city and the star crafts buzzing overhead. Leonard would be lying if he said he doesn’t feel a bit empty.  Perhaps the low-lit, music-blaring monstrosity would have felt more tolerable if a certain lieutenant was with him and not stuck with the enterprise night crew. 

“You know, I wouldn’t have even known that place existed if it wasn’t for Sunny,” Kirk laughs. Leonard scrunches his nose. 

“She recommended that barnyard?” he scoffs. 

“Oh god no, she told me to stay away from it. Said it was the grimiest place on this side of the universe. I just thought it sounded like a good time, y’know?” 

Leonard stares, really stares, and wonders why he keeps expecting better of Kirk. 

“You’re an idiot, and an ass. The woman gives you stellar advice, and you ignore it, and stick her with the skeleton crew.” 

Kirk stops so abruptly, that Leonard stumbles over him. 

“ I didn’t put her on the skeleton crew, she requested to be. You think I would make her work more than she already does? I’m not a tyrant, Bones.” 

What?  

“What?” Leonard says out loud. “Why would she ask to be holed up on the enterprise all leave?” 

“I mean, I would too if the alternative was running into my ex and all his coworkers.” 

Kirk laughs, Leonard’s head spins. 

“Her ex?” 

“Yeah her— she didn’t tell you any of this?” 

“She said she wanted Jameson to oversee the transfer, give him more experience or something, so you put her on his night shift.” 

“No? She wanted Jameson to do it because she used to be engaged to the Endeavors head of security.” 

Leonard blinks. And blinks again. 

“Dude, I don’t even know how to change the schedule,” Kirk adds. 

 Suddenly, despite talking to her everyday for close to a year, she feels unfamiliar. Engaged? He can hardly imagine it, nor does he want to. Pictures of Sunshine flash through his mind, and he clenches his fist. 

“Didn’t know she had been engaged,” he feigns a casual tone.

Kirk furrows his brows. 

“ You didn’t know? You of all people?” Leonard shrugs, as his stomach forms a knot. “She tells you everything, and she’s never mentioned Ryder?”

“Christ, his name is Ryder ?”

“I know! Douchebag name, right?” 

He doesn’t respond for a beat, which turns into several beats. The gears in his head turn and turn. Engaged . He doesn’t understand why the idea eats at him. He himself had been married for years. So what if she was engaged? There is no reason for him to be upset that his friend—a coworker–had an ex. 

He feels nauseous. 

Kirk clears his throat, derailing Leonard's train of thought.

“You’re right, it’s late, we should head back,” he says, offering a reassuring smile. Leonard follows him, hands in his pockets.

“Do y’know what happened?” he asks finally. Kirk casts him a sideways glance.

“What, between them? Not a clue,” Kirk says with sincerity enough for Leonard to believe it. “She wasn’t really keen on discussing it.” He pauses and looks at the ground as they walk. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it though, Bones, I think everyone sees she’s only really got eyes for one person these days.” 

“Don't start, Jim,” Leonard warns hotly, clenching his jaw. 

“Start what? I’m not starting anything. I’m just laying out the facts.” Jim hiccups. “She adores you, man, like adores -”

“Sunshine ‘adores’ everyone she meets. We’re friends—good friends, but that's all.” His patience shrinks as his annoyance grows.

Jim laughs mirthlessly.

“No, Sunshine and I are good friends. Whatever you two are is something else entirely-” 

“Anyone ever tell you you don't know when to shut up?” His tone is as cold as the night air, and Jim shuts up.

Leonard wishes Kirk would drop the subject, trip over a rock, or whatever it took to never have this conversation again. Really—what he truly wants is for everyone to stop dangling this hope in front of his face like a carrot. He’s not an idiot, he knows he spends more time with the lieutenant than his colleagues, hears her laugh more often, and knows her habits better.

 He knows what it looks like. He also knows that he's a bitter emotionally closed-off divorcee— 

He tells Jim that Sunshine is his friend because she is—and he denies wanting anything more because It's stupid to want things out of his reach. 

Frustration heats his cheeks and begins to bloom into a headache. He knows Kirk means well, but that fact does little to comfort him. 

“Alright, I’ll drop it,” Kirk surrenders, his voice soft. “But there is one last thing you should know,” He pauses at the crosswalk and turns to Leonard. Eerily stoic, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Leonard's breath hitched. 

“Ryder’s got nothing on you in terms of looks, okay? Seriously he's like, 5’7, and his face isn't at all symmetrical-”

Leonard revs up and smacks Kirk in the back of the head harder than he ever had and feels no regret. Not even after Kirk's high-pitched “ Ouch!”

“Would you quit it! You gossip like a damn schoolgirl!”

The sign blinks at them to walk, and Leonard drags Kirk across the street, fingers digging into his arm. 

“Ow, ow, I was just saying-“

“Wait a minute,” Leonard lets his friend go and smooths down his sleeve. “How do you know what he looks like anyway?” 

Kirk puts himself at a safe distance from the Doctor, cradling his arm. “Well, the operations manager would usually talk to the department heads during a transfer, but Sunshine passed him off to me. I said no at first, obviously, because I hate managing, but then she finally told me she was almost Mrs. Ryder Denver. So yeah, I spoke with him a few times, just business. Have to say though, I couldn't imagine them together. He comes off as a bit of a douche.” 

Leonard breathes deeply, reigning in the emotions that he doesn’t need Kirk to pick up on. The idea of Sunshine being engaged does enough to unsettle him without knowing that the man in question “ came off as a douche” . He feels something boil under the surface. 

“Yeah?” is all he can strangle out. 

“Yeah—He’s like a classic douchey security buff,” Kirk continues, unaware of his friend's white knuckles. “You know the kind– uptight, condescending, has one earring and thinks it's edgy-”

“Wears their uniform a size too small? Yeah, I know the type.” 

“Exactly, and Sunshine is so…so-”

“Heart-of-gold?” 

“Yeah! Opposites attract I guess, but I don't know, something was off.” 

To Leonard, the entire thing is off. All of it. Everything . He doesn’t understand why Sunshine decided he doesn’t get to know, why it is a secret in the first place, why she almost married a douche, why he cares so damn much . 

The enterprise comes into view like the sun on the horizon, and Leonard is relieved . 

“Your arm’s all right?” Leonard asks, an apology without apologizing. Jim knows this and breathes a laugh. 

“Yup, the ear’s fine too.” 

The Doctor nods, but his eyes remain trained in front of him. Through the glass window panes, he eyes the ship, eager to hide away in the familiar place. He would have opened the door for Kirk, as a gesture, but of course, the Yorktown Federation Port has to have automatic doors. He huffs, and the artificial lights illuminate his red cheeks. They approach their home in silent tandem, their shoes clinking against the hard floors. 

“You should talk to her, Bones,” Kirk breaks the quiet, head down while he taps the access code to the enterprise hull. “Ask her why she didn't mention the ex. I’m sure she has a good reason, probably one you'll wanna hear.” 

Leonard wants to be mean. He wants to shake Kirk's words off with an insult and go to bed. But he swallows his pride, and it goes down like nails.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Hope. It bubbles up within his chest, and he pushes it down. Finally, the stark white enterprise interior greets him. He breathes a little easier. 

Kirk stumbles over the first step— “ Woah ”-- and Leonard steadies him with a raised eyebrow. “Andorian ale finally catching up with you?” 

“Pfft,” Kirk scoffs. “Couldn’t catch me if it tried.” 

Leonard pauses, then laughs, the first genuine one all night, and it has Kirk grinning back. 

The enterprise is empty, its residents still on the streets they just returned from. So, without restraint, they laugh, and Kirk stumbles, and Leonard forgets for a moment about the unsaid feelings under his skin. 

Kirk is an idiot, and he’s a good friend.  

He’s happy to banter about whatever comes out of Kirk's drunk mouth and to correct him when he takes a wrong turn in his own ship. Leonard claps his hand on his shoulder and drawls, “It’s this way, captain .”

“Uhh, no , Chekov keeps the good whiskey in his locker, this way,” Kirk insists with a point down the hallway, and Leonard is amazed at his eagerness to get blacked out the night before embarking. 

“Are you out of your mind? No way. You can drink like a fish when you don't need to fly a starship in the morning.” 

“What are you, my mom ?” 

Christ.

“No, but I pity the poor woman,” he huffs and gestures down the hallway leading to his quarters. Kirk frowns and scrunches his nose.

“Raincheck, Kirk, c’mon.” 

He begrudgingly obliges, having given his friend a hard enough time tonight anyway. The yawn that crawls out of his mouth a moment later corroborates Leonard's decision. He is tired, and Kirk shouldn't drink anymore, but he’d be lying if he said those were his only motives to end the night early.

“You win this one, Bones, but next time I swear we'll be out till sunrise,” he says between another yawn and a hiccup. 

“Uh-huh. Try not to trip.” Leonard reminds himself of the virtue of patience and keeps walking. 

Kirk manages to type in his room's access code all by himself, with only a moment of squinting, and a break to roll up the black sleeves of his turtleneck. Leonard is impressed, and the bar is low. 

“Drink a bottle of water, and get some sleep, We’ll talk tomorrow.” he crosses his arms over his chest and waits for protest. 

Kirk only hums. “You headed to your room?”

 The doctor's fingers drum against the doorframe. “Was thinking I’d check in on Sunshine,” he says, blinks, and rushes out, “and the rest of the Skeleton crew, of course.  Maybe medbay too, then I’ll hit the hay.” He fleetingly wonders if that sounds believable, or at least casual. 

 Kirk smiles a genuine smile. “Sounds like a good plan, Bones. See ya in the morning, and tell her I said hi .” Before he can react, his friend waves, and the door slides shut. Then, he’s alone in the hallways, and he has to put his money where his mouth is. 

Shit . 

The way to the bridge feels daunting now, like climbing Everest. Like climbing Everest with the shittiest rope ever. Like climbing Everest with the shittiest rope ever, several pounds of emotional baggage, and a Starfleet captain breathing down his neck.  He considers just going to bed, pretending he never even mentioned the whole thing. Maybe even pretend he doesn't care to get answers. He can just leave it be. 

The desire to see her trumps all of it. 

The halls are deserted, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t need anyone around to watch him squirm in the elevator. A deep breath, a punch of the open elevator button and—

“I told you I don't have any threes! Go fish, again .” 

He sees the back of the captain's chair first, then Starfleet-issued black boots hanging off of it. The whoosh of the door draws the attention of the room to him. Eyes sweep through the vaguely familiar faces of the night crew, all six staring at him like they are waiting for an explanation, which he doesn’t really have. The heeled black boots plant themselves on the ground, the captain's seat swivels around. His heart works double time. 

“ Leonard ? Hi! What are you doing here?” 

Sunshine’s got a hand of cards between her pointer and her thumb, and a sweatshirt pulled over her uniform dress, and it distracts Leonard for longer than it should. He clears his throat, and it shakes loose the feelings stuck there. 

“Just thought I'd check in on our hard working night crew, who is surely on task.” He descends the bridge steps. 

“Well, then, you'll be happy to hear that I am, in fact, glancing at my station every 20 minutes, and I’m the undefeated go-fish champion.” 

She waves the cards at herself like a fan, legs crossed and smile wide. 

“Undefeated, huh? Glad to see your talents going to good use.” Her smile gets a bit brighter, and she does a quick breathy laugh with her nose. For a moment there's quiet, and Leonard begins scrambling for a way to ask her the thing he wants to ask her. The bridge is crowded, for a skeleton crew, he thinks. The redshirt to Sunshine’s left breaks the silence before he can. 

“I’m not sure if I’d call it talent…I’m pretty sure she's cheating,” they grumble, and Sunshine doesn't spare a moment, whipping the chair around. He can almost see the panic fill her eyes, like she’s just been accused of a heinous crime. 

“I’m not! Are you still thinking about that last round? Because that was—”  

Even Leonard winces a bit at her shrill tone, and he’s pretty sure she just woke the navigator who had fallen asleep at his station, so he claps his hands on her shoulders. 

“Sounds to me like this card game has you wound like a spring,” he interrupts her before her voice jostles anyone else awake. 

She pouts, lip jutted out and everything. 

“Let's go for a walk,” he suggests. He doesn’t even let his nerves talk him out of it. She looks at him curiously, her eyebrows drawn. 

“I dunno, I probably shouldn’t leave…” 

“I’m sure someone else can deal cards while you’re gone,” he tells her, already offering his arm. 

The Ensign, Leonard still doesn’t know their name, waves her off. “Go, Lieutenant, It's fine. I’m sure we can handle a few minutes without you.” 

She bites her lip and cautiously loops her arm around his, leaving the captain's chair to her subordinate. 

“Alright, but don’t start a new game without me,” she warns lightly. 

Leonard doesn’t get nervous with her arm looped around his, really he doesn’t. He’s headfirst into this thing now, no room for nerves. 

She drinks her whiskey neat, he learns, and it surprises him. Surprises him even more when she downs it like a shot. 

The walk there had been quiet mostly, except for when Sunshine regaled the stories of her card game wins. 

“Did you have a nice time with Kirk?” she asks politely.

“I dunno if I’d say that, but maybe Jim would disagree.” 

She laughs lightly, and her finger traces the lip of the whiskey glass. He doesn’t know if it’s the best idea, but he refills her cup. 

There is a beat of silence, and the conversation with Kirk pushes to the front of his thoughts. There's a heaviness on the tip of his tongue, the desire to ask why . Without really knowing how to. 

“Wish I could’ve gone with you guys,” she says, her gaze downcast. There's a rare melancholy to her tone, something vulnerable woven into it. 

“You could’ve,” he tells her, and her eyes pull from the table.

“I had--”

“Yeah, I know what you– I just mean–I’m sure Kirk would have given you the night off if you asked… God knows he owes you enough favors.” 

“I guess,” she shrugs, “it wasn’t really the best night for it, though.” 

He could go along with her lame excuse, vaguely agreeing that, yeah, there will be other nights. But the ache to know what exactly goes on in her pretty head has words tumbling out of his mouth. 

“Yeah, Kirk mentioned somethin’ like that,” he mumbles, nerves permeating the sentence. 

“...what?” 

Shit.

“I mean, he may have-”

“What exactly did he mention?” Her tone holds a sharp undercurrent of something rare for Sunshine– anger.

Leonard runs a hand down his face, suddenly thinking of all the much more tactful ways he could have begun this. The gentle buzz of alcohol still in his bloodstream keeps him from panicking. 

“Nothing terrible, just that there was someone in town you wouldn’t wanna see.”

“As if ,” she scoffs. “Kirk’s never been that vague in his life.” 

“…fair enough.” 

She groans miserably, fitfully pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands and burying her face in the fabric. 

“You were not supposed to find out like this,” she says, muffled. 

“And how was I supposed to find out?” He asks quietly, like the question will frighten her away. 

A sniffle comes from behind her hands–the sound tugs at his heart. 

“ I don't know. Maybe someone could have told you when I’m dead and then we’d never have to have this conversation.” 

He reaches for her slowly, taking her wrists in a gentle hold and pulling them away from her face, revealing her reddened nose and watery eyes. Her hands are cold, and grow stiff under his touch. 

“Sunshine. It's an ex , not a damn intergalactic scandal. There are worse conversations to have,” he reasons. 

“You don't get it,” she tells him matter-of-factly, pulling her hands from his touch. Embarrassment quickly heats his body, and he wipes his palms on his pants. 

“I’d get it a lot more if you talked about it.” He flexes his jaw, frustration bleeding into his voice. 

She narrows her eyes, punctuating her glare with a sniffle. 

“If I wanted to talk about it, I would’ve.”

“With Kirk? Because he seems to get it.” 

“Why are you acting so—”

“Concerned? Oh, I dunno because you’re my friend?” Exasperation colors his tone.

“I was gonna say entitled,” she grits out. Her anger comes out half-heartedly, sounding more like watery sadness than anything. “I don't tell you everything, and I don't have to. You’re not my-” She sighs. “Why does it matter? I was engaged for like, a year, and now, I’m not.” 

You’re not my–

Her half sentence sticks in his mind and sends blood rushing to his head. He thinks of all the things that he is to her: a colleague, a doctor, a friend. All the things he isn’t feels like a gaping hole. 

He watches her clench her fists and force her tears back. 

“It matters because it upsets you enough to work the night shift,” he sighs, the anger he’s been holding seeps out of his hands like water. “I’m not pressing you for the latest gossip, Sunny. I’m asking because it would be lousy of me not to.” 

She says nothing, taking in his words. 

“I’m no stranger to this stuff, y’know,” he prods her gently. “My ex-wife sent me running all the way to space .” He says lightly, and the corners of her mouth twitch up briefly.

“He didn't send me running, I sent him,” she confesses, shaking her head. 

“ You ?” 

“Me. The thing is,” she shrugs, “it should have worked, y’know? Like on paper, it was perfect. Ryder and I were academy sweethearts, liked all the same shit, were top of our classes, blah, blah, blah.” She rolls her eyes. “Our friends used to tease us, say that it wasn't fair, and we were too in love.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she says, sighing. Her eyes drift nowhere in particular. “It didn’t feel nice after a while though. It felt suffocating. I was half a person with him, we were Ryder and Sunshine–and that was one entity.” Her tears dry on her lashes, as she becomes entrenched in the memory. 

“But the person we were wasn’t me . Because he never thought my jokes were funny, or my hobbies were interesting or my friends were cool, so I was willing to throw them all out. Eventually all that was left was him. His ideas, his wants, his needs. I was backed into a corner. I should’ve left when I realized but I loved him… and I was really scared of being alone.” 

She pushes her hair behind her ears and lets out a shaky breath. 

“I was a coward, and I couldn’t leave. I wanted to try and fix it, figure out who I was, and then maybe Ryder could love that person,” She shakes her head. “I was naive. Ryder always wanted someone I couldn’t be. Someone quieter or someone better at being a person. I’m always so all over the place you know? Too much for him.”

“You’re not–”

“It's okay, Len, you don't have to say anything.” she says, meeting his eyes again, taming the budding fire in his heart. 

The idea of Sunshine being anything but completely herself unnerves him. Her jokes are funny, he can’t recall ever laughing as much before she boarded the enterprise. Her ramblings about xenobotany and classic earth songs never fail to catch his attention, even when he barely knows what she's talking about. Being around Sunshine is as easy as breathing, and he’s starting to need it as much too. 

“Anyways, he proposed our senior year, like we weren’t a sinking ship, and I said yes and pretended like the ring wasn’t a last-ditch attempt to bring us back to life.” 

Her teeth sink into her lip, her eyes dragging to her lap.

“I don't know what it was, but one night I just…broke. I couldn’t keep pretending to be someone I wasn’t, or beg to be loved.”

A few tears slide down her cheeks, she scrubs them away with her sleeve.

Leonard wants to tell her that she should never have to beg for anything in the first place, least of all love; he wants to tell her that she's worthy just the way she is. His fingers twitch with the desire to take her by the shoulders and tell her over and over that she’s perfect, that she couldn’t be too much if she tried. Sunshine has always had a magnetic pull to her, drawing in everyone she meets with her warmth. The idea of anyone taking that away from her pulls his heartstrings tight enough to snap. He holds back his anger, refraining from telling her that Ryder is an asshole who didn’t deserve a second of her time. 

The wiser part of him knows that's not what he needs.

“We had planned to be on the USS Endeavor together, but I rescinded my application. I signed up to do on-planet research instead. I wrote a long letter, left it on our bed, packed up my things, and left.” 

She coughs in a way that he knows is covering up a sob and takes a deep breath. The sound sends a pang of emotion through him.

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. We were engaged, for Christ's sake, and I couldn’t even look him in the eye when I left him. And don’t even get me started on the fallout. We had all the same friends, and our families were so close… it was all so humiliating . Everyone expected us to live happily ever after, and then, there I was, giving him back his ring in a coffee shop.”  

She knocks back the rest of her drink, like a consolation prize for getting all the words out. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Len. I never wanted you to think of me like that, as someone who would do that.” 

“ Sweetheart ,” he says like a plea, calling her attention. “No one in their right mind would think differently of you for leaving something that wasn’t good for you– or at least they shouldn’t.” 

She's shaking her head before he finishes his sentence. 

“But I–”

“I know. You didn’t go about it the way you maybe should’ve– or the way you wanted to. It doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t make you any less… good.”

She hiccups, her chest rising and falling rapidly as another stream of tears drips down her cheeks. He can't help himself – and even if he could, he doesn’t want to – he brings both hands to her cheeks, wiping away the salty tears. 

“It's alright,” he says gently, swiping his thumb under her eye again. “You’re alright.”

She nods, breaths finally evening out, and his hands reluctantly fall back onto his lap. 

He remembers well the storm of feelings his divorce left him with. The gulit, the lonliness, feeling like the world was ending. 

“I get it, y’know. The shitty relationship, becoming somebody you don't wanna be,” the barstool squeaks as he leans on the counter. He hasn't talked about his marriage since he told the story to Kirk years ago. It feels odd to tell it again. 

“My ex and I met in college, fell head over heels, and I proposed a year later. I thought… well, we both thought we were soulmates. There was this connection between us that I’d never felt before, and I thought this must be it.” 

“After a year ?” she gawks. He casts her a sideways glance and chuckles. 

“A perfect year, mind you. Not a single disagreement, not a bad date– every day was straight out of a damn love story or something. Until we got hitched, that is. Then it was all disagreements.”

 He anxiously taps a rhythm on the bar top. The memory still burns him now, of the fiery conflict, of the sleepless nights. 

“We were the same in all the worst ways, stubborn, headstrong, prideful. We couldn't settle an argument to save our lives. It probably didn't help that I was in the middle of residency and pulling 100-hour weeks. It was miserable. I hardly recognized myself… I know I don’t have the best temper, but I never wanted to be an angry person.” 

He lets out a slow breath, “I was mad as hell when she called it quits, said a lot of stuff I regret. But she was right to do it. We brought out the worst in each other, I was just too narrow-minded to see it. All this to say, I’m sure I would have taken the night shift to avoid her too.” 

Sunshine rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, her thumb pressing circles into the muscle. 

“I’m sorry, Len.”

He leans into her touch without thinking about it. “These things happen,” he tells her decidedly. “When something’s not right, there's nothing you can do to change that. You do the best you can with where you’re at, that's all.” He pictures himself, young and full of fire, holding onto something that had already slipped away. “Which you did, Sunshine. I know it’s hard to see now, but I promise it gets easier.”

When he drags his gaze from the mahogany bar top back to Sunshine, she's watching him curiously. 

“What am I supposed to see?”

“That you were young, and scared, and you did what you needed to for yourself. Even if it's not shit you’re proud of, it makes you who you are. You learn, and it makes you better.” 

She says nothing, silently considering his words for several moments. “Well, it better get easier soon, because it sucks .” 

He chuckles, “That it does.” 

 She reaches right past him and grabs the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

“We should toast,” she says, the melancholy in her voice fading away, probably tucked back behind a wall. “To failed marriages.” 

She’s already refilling their glasses and lifting hers to bump with his. 

“Thought you ducked out on the whole wedding thing?” he teases. 

“Fine then, to failed romantics,” she impatiently shakes the ice in her glass, “Just do it.” 

He knocks his glass with hers and agrees, “To failed romantics, and night shifts, and all the other shitty stuff.”

Her face pinches as she finishes her drink. Gingerly, she takes both of their glasses and stacks them behind the bar. 

Like ripping a bandage off and letting the wound breathe, Leonard feels lighter. As Sunshine hops off the bar stool and straightens her uniform skirt, he can see on her face that she does too. 

“Thank you for the drink, and the talk, Len,” she says, and he waves her off. 

“Don't mention it.” 

“ Totally gonna mention it,” she grins, “and when the schedule suddenly gives you two days off in a row, you’ll know why.” 

He laughs, and shakes his head, “I don’t think that's allowed, Lieutenant.” 

“I have my ways,” she says innocently, as she saunters to the door. 

He watches her go, everything she’s told him still buzzing in his head. He can hardly make sense of everything he’s feeling at once, but there's one thought that sticks out among the rest, that sits on his chest, demanding to be heard. 

“Sunshine?” he calls before she’s gone, giving into his relentless mind.

“Yeah?”

When she turns around, he’s flooded with everything he’s ever wanted to tell her. How she has seeped into every part of his life since he met her, despite his once armored heart. How she doesn’t see it, but she's changed the entire atmosphere of the bridge, pouring life into it with her energy. How she's taught him how to be a better friend, a better man, even a better doctor. How she’s not too much, she's everything. 

 “You should know, you’re never too much, that's ridiculous. Anyone on this ship would agree in a heartbeat. Don’t know what I’d– what we’d do without you,” he rushes out. “I hope you never think you need to be anything other than who you are.”

She goes still in the door frame and observes him for a moment. He flounders in her silence, wondering if he should have just kept his mouth shut. She suddenly moves from the doorway, quickly striding towards him, the sound of her boots clacking on the floor. He has no time to react before she gently places her hand on his chest. She wastes no time, leaning down and pressing a warm kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you,” she says meaningfully, searching his eyes for a brief moment before she turns heel again. She’s out the door without him even mustering up a word to say. 

His skin heats where her lips had touched him, a crackling feeling left in their place. He lifts his fingers to the skin, ghosting over the sticky remnants of her lipgloss. 

He sits, dumbfounded, knowing he’s gone somewhere there's no coming back from.     

#guys new chapter whaaattt #theyre so close to kissing I swear #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy x you #bones x reader #leonard bones mccoy #star trek imagine #star trek alternate original series #star trek #on a cloudy day #leonard mccoy #james t kirk #star trek aos #star trek fanfiction #karl urban #chris pine

[sanguineterrain]

Lampshade - s.h.

Based on this request. This ended up way longer than a blurb so I decided to post it on its own. I got a little teary writing this one---hit close to home for me. Hopefully I did your request justice anon

Summary: After an encounter with your high school bully, you're reminded that you don't have to be alone with your insecurities.

Word count: 2.2k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!plus-size!reader

Warnings: fatphobia, insecurities, self-doubt, bullying, arguing (happy ending!) Steve is the sweetest angel baby mkay?

MAIN MASTERLIST | Follow my notification blog @sanguine-stranger for fic updates!

****

You feel like a lampshade.

It's been a long time since you've dared to set foot at a party. The last one had been Eliza Meyer's eleventh birthday party at her house. A kid had eaten too much ice cream and threw up on the carpet.

Tonight's party isn't much different. Whoever's house it is, it's already trashed.

Maybe you should've fought harder to do literally anything else this weekend, except Steve's puppy eyes are brutal. And you can't deny the guilt you feel already, forcing him into trips to craft stores and the bookstore instead. Steve deserves a girl who can have fun. It's only been a year since Steve was King Steve. You know you're part of his fall from grace. You know that. You never fucking forget it, frankly.

But you feel like a lampshade. Dimmed light, hidden. As insignificant as wallpaper. As tiny as a fly.

You're used to taking up space; used to telling yourself that it's okay you take up space. That you deserve to exist just the same as anybody else.

But this is not your place to take up space. You don't belong here.

Steve is getting drinks. You'd opted to stay in the living room, not wanting to attempt navigating a kitchen full of drunk young people. Steve had kissed your cheek and promised a swift return.

"Hey!"

You turn. French manicured nails curl around a red plastic Solo cup. Andrea Burgess has the same big hair you remember from high school, hairsprayed and teased to the heavens. She will probably marry some schmuck and pop out three or four viper babies who have her fire hazard hair. Poor kids.

Andrea is all smiles, razors hidden beneath pearly whites. You remember how she'd dumped pudding over some poor band kid's uniform in junior year. How she'd terrorized girls in the locker room. How she'd terrorized you.

Maybe she doesn't remember you.

"Didn't think this was your scene, Y/N."

No such luck.

You nod tightly, praying she'll leave you be.

"Aw, c'mon. Nothing to say? I know your mouth is big enough for extra cafeteria pie. Surely you can spare a hello."

"Leave me alone, Andrea," you say.

Her eyes light up. She loves when her victims beg.

"Heard you're going out with Steve Harrington now. Like, I knew you were pathetic, but I didn't know you were a liar."

"It's not a lie. Steve's my boyfriend."

That only fuels the fire. You've seen the bitter jealousy before. Girls have no idea what the hell Steve is doing with someone like you. They're confused, then angry, hurling daggers with their eyes. You never mention it to Steve. You can't bear to see realization in his own eyes. He'll wake up from a fog. They're right. What am I doing with you?

Andrea laughs. "What, as like, charity work?"

Your eyes begin to burn. Where are you, Steve?

"Leave me alone, Andrea." Your voice is weaker now and sounds more like a plea.

"What're you gonna do? Chase me down?"

You are a lampshade. You are a feather floating in the wind. High school is past you. Andrea means nothing.

Oh, but her words hurt. You've always been sensitive, too soft. Steve thinks you're a dream. You feel like a raw nerve.

"You know, Steve used to make fun of you too."

Your blood runs cold. Andrea clocks your reaction and keeps going.

"You think he was above that? Look at who he dated. I mean, God, Nancy Wheeler's not winning any prizes, but she's tiny."

Nancy is beautiful. She's also incredibly smart and has become something of a friend. But that voice has always been there, sounding suspiciously like Andrea Burgess. A reminder that Nancy had Steve first for a reason.

"S-Steve would never do that."

Your voice wobbles. You're trying to be strong but you can't. You'd hoped all these years would've toughened you up but you can't do it. The Andreas of the world will break you every time.

"Called you every name in the book," Andrea informs you keenly. "Big girl and built like a linebacker. He was real creative. You're a joke to him, Y/N. He'll get you out of his system and move on."

Steve has never mentioned your weight or appearance. Kindly, he calls you beautiful, gorgeous, pretty, sweet, lovely. He akins you to a shrinking violet, a flower that just needs a little coaxing to bloom. He asks for you to let him take you shopping. You never seem to want to go shopping with him. Baby, how come we don't go to the mall? I have style, I swear!

You don't mention your weight to him in fear he'll notice. Steve will notice, and then he'll realize what a huge mistake he's made. So you keep quiet. Maybe he won't know. Maybe you'll get to keep him. Steve is a patch of golden sunshine in this hellhole.

You love him. The thought, however frightening, is there, real and true. You don't want to mess this up. You'll suck in your stomach and cover all the mirrors if that's what it takes.

"He's already ditched you," Andrea continues cruelly. "Probably glad to be rid of the dead weight."

You can't take anymore. You run.

Andrea doesn't follow you. There's too many people in the hallway and your vision is blurring fast. You go upstairs, blindly checking doors. Your hand hovers over a knob to a bedroom. The thought that Steve is inside with someone else briefly crosses your mind. You sprint down the hall, away from that thought.

You find the bathroom and lock the door. Then you sit on the toilet lid. And you cry.

You try to keep quiet. The bass from the speakers thumps below, but still. You can't risk anybody finding you. Least of all Steve. Steve would ask you about what happened. Steve would want to fix it, because Steve always wants to make things better.

You can't be fixed. He can't know.

Your nose is snotty, tears clumping in your lashes. You grab the edge of the window sill and cry harder. Your chest aches from lack of air but you can't stop.

You have to calm down if you want Steve to take you home. You'll need an excuse, though. Sick, you feel sick. You threw up. Steve won't question that. He'll touch your forehead and coo and you'll never have to talk about tonight.

You scrub your face with cold water. Your eyes are puffy from crying and you can't smooth your frown no matter how hard you try. You wipe your face with toilet paper.

You can't look in the mirror too long or you'll break and start crying again. So you spin on your heel and unlock the door, slipping out. The hallway is still empty. All of the noise is downstairs. Your secret is safe.

Steve will likely be searching for you. Hopefully, you haven't been gone too long. You can say you got lost, or caught up with an old friend. You're a terrible liar, especially to Steve.

Andrea's words creep back in. Maybe you're lying to yourself too.

You wipe your nose with a knuckle and swallow. You just need to keep it together for another hour. Then you're home free.

Steve looks like he belongs here. Two cups in hand, coolly perched on the edge of the armchair, Steve Harrington is certainly somebody's king.

Andrea touches his arm and giggles. Steve's barely looking at her. A wave of nausea turns your stomach.

He sees you and stands, shaking her off. But it's too late. You're out of Steve's system.

"Y/N? Baby, where are you g—"

You barrel through the crowd by the front door. You don't care about your jacket in Steve's car. You'll walk home if that's what it takes. Anything to get away.

It's more than chilly tonight. But the air feels good on your face, hot tears having returned. You scrub furiously at them.

You should've known. Why hadn't you seen it? You know better than to let your guard down around somebody like Steve Harrington. To think he could want you. Who are you? You're never making that mistake again.

"Y/N!"

Steve is running. Of course you had to go and fall in love with a guy who's athletically inclined.

You pick up your pace.

"Go 'way, Steve!" you hiccup.

Your voice is hoarse and raw from crying. You know Steve can hear it.

"Y/N, honey—"

"I'm walking home," you shout, voice cracking. You ache so bad. You want to stop and break right there on the sidewalk.

He catches your elbow. You wrench your arm away. When you turn, Steve looks like he's been slapped.

You keep wiping your eyes but the tears are coming too fast now.

"Y/N, what happened? Tell me what happened," he begs.

You cry harder and bend, holding your arms. Steve steps forward, hands fluttering over you.

"Baby, baby. Please, I need you to breathe, please. What hurts? Tell me what hurts."

"I'm your joke," you grit through tears. "You've got me out of your system."

"What?" Steve gasps. "What are you talking about?"

"Look at me!" You're too loud. You've never been this loud with Steve. "Look at the fucking big girl! Did you have fun?"

"Y/N." Steve looks like he's close to breaking. His eyes are glassy. "Please stop. Please. Don't call yourself that. Was it her in the chair? I pushed her away. I don't even know her name, I—"

"Her name is Andrea Burgess. And you're all the same. You lie," you grit. "I love you and you love girls like Nancy. You would’ve laughed at me back then and you—you—"

Your hands ball into fists. Steve gently takes your wrists. You want to fight, want to push. But you can't. You're not strong enough. So you collapse.

Steve holds you like you might float away if he doesn't. You cry into his shirt, clutching fistfuls of fabric. Steve folds over you, shielding you from it all. He rubs your back in slow circles.

"I'm sorry," you sob. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Baby, stop. Y/N. Sweetheart. Stop, stop it."

Steve takes your face in his hands, thumbs wiping your cheeks. He kisses your forehead ever so gently. More tears spill.

"I'm not strong enough for her," you choke. "She got in my head. I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Y/N, hey, hey, no. I should've been there. God, I'm so sorry. You don't have to face this alone. Whatever she said isn't true. You're not a–a joke."

Steve looks like the word makes him sick. Your arms curl around his neck. He cradles you like you're something precious.

"I don't want to lose you," you whisper. "I'm sorry I said those things. You've only been good. You deserve better."

"Baby, you're not gonna lose me," Steve replies brokenly. "Is that what you think? That I'll leave?"

"I wouldn't blame you," you sniff. "You could have anybody. I couldn't even go to one party without ruining it."

"You did not ruin anything. Okay? She said those terrible things. None of it is true. You are not a joke or something to get out of my system or any other horrible shit she said. I don't—I'm not like that. I would never hurt you."

"I know you wouldn't," you say shakily. "I know, I know. She said you teased me and I know you didn't, I know that."

"But there were people like me who did," Steve says quietly.

You sag. "You're not like them."

"I could've been. If I hadn't gotten some sense knocked into me..."

Steve shudders and tightens his grip.

"Is that why you didn't tell me?" he asks.

"I... no, I know you're a good guy, Steve. I just—I was scared. I am scared. You might wake up one morning and decide you can do better than me."

"Hey. Listen to me." Steve backs up slightly so you can see his face. "You are the most incredible person I have ever met. Nothing is going to change that. Okay? You're beautiful and I love you. I love you. Not despite anything. I love you for you."

Your eyes burn again. You bury your face in Steve's arm.

"I didn't mean that stuff."

"I know," he murmurs, cheek on your head. "It's okay. I can't—I don't know what that kind of hurt feels like. But I know I'd never want you to feel it. So will you do me a favor?"

"Hmm?"

"Promise me you'll tell me if you’re feeling like this?"

The wind cuts through with a whistle. You don't feel it with Steve around you. He rubs your arms.

"I promise," you nod.

"Thank you," he says and gently tilts your chin. "D'you want me to pull the car around?"

You shake your head. "That's okay. I wanna walk with you."

Steve takes your hand.

"Next time we'll go to the bookstore," he promises.

"I don't wanna force you to go," you sigh. "You like these parties."

He shrugs, kisses your temple.

"Nah. Party Steve was a long time ago. 'Long as I'm with you, I'm good. I've got you."

You smile and kiss him, bumping your nose with his. Eventually you pull away. Steve clears his throat, suddenly bashful.

"So back there... you, uh, love me?"

Your eyes widen, heart pounding. Don't back down. You're safe here.

"Yeah," you say softly. "I do. I meant to tell you in a far nicer way, I swear."

"You could... say it again?"

You grin. "I love you."

Steve is sunshine. No more hiding in the dark for you.

"I love you too, baby. So much."

And your insecurities won't disappear overnight, true. But you won't face them alone. Not anymore.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #accidentally deleted it kdhgkjfdgk #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x plus size reader #steve harrington x female reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

[moongothic]

So we all remember this moment from Jaya

It's an iconic moment for a reason, people love it so much so you see people make fanart of it or even get it tattooed on themselves, and it's understandable 'cause what Teech says here is kind... hopeful, inspirational even

Which is why the scene always felt so wrong to me, in a way I could not like put into words or explain why?? Like I wanted to be like "hey this guy isn't that bad, I agree with him!" and yet what Blackbeard says here didn't quite sit right with me?

But now, in-hindsight, I understand why

It's because Blackbeard is wrong

Like, from the begining, from when we're introduced to Blackbeard, he and Luffy are explicitly shown to be the polar opposites of each other in many ways (their taste in food being just one easy way to summarize it), including in ideals and beliefs

And while it would be so easy to think this scene was about showing that despite their differences Luffy and Blackbeard actually have one thing they agree on, one common ground

They don't

Luffy's dream has an end

And it's not just that, that's not the only reason he's the opposite of Blackbeard in this sense. If Luffy just keeps on dreaming of doing things, he will never achieve them, because achieving your dreams means the end of them

And think about how that reflects on the rest of the story

If people keep on dreaming of freedom, they will never be free

Nami's village would remain in Arlong's hands, rain would never fall in Alabasta again, the fire of Shandra would never be lit again, Water 7 will sink into the ocean, the kids on Punk Hazard would never see their parents again, the families of Dressrosa would never be reunited, Wano would remain under Kaidou's oppression, everyone on Fishman Island will remain at the bottom of the ocean and never see the true sun

The dream must end or the people can not go free

The darkness of night will break away The dream will end and the sun will rise

#And One Piece will end #Moon posting #OP Spoilers #OP Meta

[lesbianambulon]

Hey girlie pop I'm back with another super cool Magnus ask. How do you think this man would react to snow or the winter?

Note: bro I am from like the carribean I have limited experience with snow but I'll try my best.

• Winter. He’s somewhere in the middle. Doesn’t hate it, doesn’t particularly love it. 

• He admits snow can be quite pleasing to look at, but dislikes the hazards it imposes.

• He doesn’t mind the cold, such a big frame like his, he tends to conserve heat well, but doesn’t take any chances with being in subzero temperatures for too long. He knows what happened to Optimus and Arcee.

• Appreciates the Aurora Borealis. The first time he saw it, he was mesmerized. It reminded him of some of the colorful nebulas he’d seen in deep space during his interstellar travels. 

• Hates deep snow or snow drifts. He was on a mission once with the other bots when he walked right into one and fell helm-first into it, misgauging the depth. It was embarrassing and Wheeljack wouldn’t stop laughing. He was irritated the rest of the mission.

• Has personal beef with ice. Like actually hates it. Since he's huge, he slips easily and breaks through the ice layers on frozen lakes. He skids on iced out roads. If he could, he'd have ice arrested and banned. Black ice? Illegal. Diabolical. Evil.

• Gets snow chains for his tires. Bro isn't messing around anymore.

• He has a tendency to only repair and touch up his frame when absolutely necessary. He’s not the greatest at self-maintenance, as he rather have those resources given to another bot more in need than him. He’s particularly bad at oiling up his joints often. The bitter cold makes his joints stiffen and hurt with the friction. Ratchet has to scold him to take better care of himself (hypocrite lmao). 

• Understands why humans consider winter a time of reflection, as the barrenness of it all makes one look inwards. This notion makes him sort of uncomfortable. He tends to get lost in thought while among a snowy landscape. He rather not dwell on his thoughts.

• Dislikes greatly how things can easily fall into chaos from the cold. Hypothermia, blackouts, roof damage, vehicle accidents, fires, exploding pipes. Thinks humans could be better at preparation.

• Started keeping space heaters in the base. Modified his ship to now have antifreeze. Hates flying in snowstorms. Visiblity is awful, the wind rattles his ship, ice coats the windows. By Primus, he rather fucking die.

• Gets a bit annoyed when the roads are covered with snow and he has to wait for human crews to remove it. If he's alone, he just transforms and walks around it, but if there's humans nearby, he's stuck behind a snowplow. May consider blasting the snow to melt it.

• Definitely is writing new chapter in the Autobot Code about weather hazards on Earth at this point. What's going on on this planet.

• Wonders HOW humans, that need heat, have survived in the most frigid of places on Earth. Is kind of impressed at their ability to adapt to harsh cold environments.

• Bro glistens when the snow hits him and melts on his frame. He looks so pretty and doesn’t even realize it smh.

Short fic underneath the cut because I was ✨ inspired ✨

He was out on a routine patrol early one morning. The streets of Jasper were mostly deserted, and it was more apparent than usual that the few remaining folks out and about wanted to get inside as quickly as possible. He didn’t understand why. The sky above was ashen gray. The clouds churned alongside the frigid air that blasted the landscape that came with the approaching cold front. He forged ahead, noting it as peculiar but not threatening. 

As he came to a stop at a red light near a residential area, he noticed two humans walking briskly. One was a woman and the other was a child. The woman held the girls’ hand firmly as they walked with haste towards an unknown destination. The girl shivered slightly, purple scarf raised to cover her mouth and nose. The mother’s face bore an expression of subtle concern, eyebrows furrowed. They crossed the street in front of him. The mother spoke to the girl as they traversed the crosswalk. “Come on, the storm will start any second now.” she said and muttered something else in a language he did not recognize. Something about their demeanor struck the commander as unusual, and he didn’t notice his light had turned green for a few seconds. He proceeded onwards, senses now heightened, unaware of what was happening but sensing a shift in the environment around him. He’s been through enough in his experience to recognize when something is even slightly off. 

He decided to pull over into a parking lot of a commercial building complex, which was empty minus a few cargo trucks here and there. He blended right in. Nearby was a short walking path lined with various trees. The already sparsely populated town seemed emptier than usual. To him, it seemed that whatever was brewing on the horizon was driving people to seek shelter indoors. A sudden icy gust of wind made his frame rattle for a second. The temperature was dropping faster than he anticipated. The sky continued to darken, blocking out the sun’s rays and covering the town in a washed-out darkness. It was quiet, minus the occasional sounds of the wind rustling the trees. He had grown accustomed to being in dynamic environments where a myriad of sounds emanated constantly, so this rare silence was almost…unnerving. 

He began to feel something hit his armor plating. It felt…wet, and cold. He noticed white particles falling around him slowly. He had experienced liquid rain on this planet, but this was new. These particles fell slower than rain did, and they almost drifted downwards instead of the violent pelting that accompanied rain. These particles also seemed to pile up and cover whatever surface they landed on. He adjusted his side mirrors to get a better look at the substance. It was beginning to cover his vehicle mode’s exterior. He concluded it had to be water-based, or something similar. He remained there for a few more minutes, observing, before pulling out of the parking lot. He set course back to the Autobot base. For once, he activated his radio, searching the airwaves for possible information. After flicking through a few channels, he came upon one that piqued his interest. A man’s voice spoke over the speakers.

“...The National Weather Service has declared a winter storm warning in effect for the following counties: Clark, Lincoln, Nye, White Pine from 8 AM to 12 PM Pacific Standard Time. 9 to 10 inches of snow are predicted…folks if you’re listening…avoid driving on roads if possible. If you have to travel, drive slow and be wary of iced roads. Temperatures will drop below zero. Remain indoors and prepare for possible power outages. Stay tuned to WZ2519 for further updates. Stay safe.”

The commander tuned back out once the message ended and it returned to the show that was previously airing. A sense of unease briefly sparked in him for a second, then extinguished. Since this was a situation he had no knowledge about, he couldn’t help but run through the scenarios in his mind of all  the things that could go wrong.

He pulled into an empty field near some large rocks, and transformed to his robot mode. He gazed upon the landscape before him. The fervid scarlet and orange of the desert rock contrasted with the stark white of the fresh snow, now beginning to accumulate on the ground. Cacti and sagebrush were sprinkled with the powder. He couldn’t help but somewhat admire the barrage of colors in his view, something about it had an almost ethereal quality. He discovered something unique with each passing day he spent upon this unfamiliar world. He appreciated the novel stimuli of something new that wasn’t trying to actively kill him. He held out a servo, feeling the snow fall graciously into his palm. He noticed the way it would dissipate upon making contact with his frame. He stood there wordlessly for a few minutes, taking in the sounds of the howling wind and the snow hitting the ground. 

The snow was coming down harder around him now, visibility now diminishing. He transformed back into his vehicle mode and drove in the direction of the base. He recalled the human’s words over the radio, and decelerated his speed to avoid causing a collision. For a second, he felt himself skid side to side on the ice as he hit the brakes. He corrected himself, noting this new hazard.

He didn’t have time to ponder any longer about the strange weather phenomenon he had experienced, as Optimus had contacted him via his comm to inquire about his availability for a new mission. The snow would have to wait.

#ultra magnus #ask #tfp #fic #headcanons #uhhhhhh #writing #transformers #transformers prime #tfp ultra magnus #it's the way i did research to write this #long post

[ddejavvu]

hello!! kinda holiday request i guess??? but like reader and eddie baking cookies together and reader having to like hold eddie's hand through it so he doesn't burn down the house??? and just like really fluffy and maybe when the cookies are done, wayne comes home and is like "wow these cookies are good!" and eddie's all proud like "I helped make them!" and wayne's like wide eyes, scared but you make eye contact w him behind eddie and like reassure him that it wasn't JUST eddie, you helped (or practically did it all yourself but didn't wanna take any pride and joy away from the poor sweet baby angel)

Overall, you'd consider your cookie baking day a success. You'd been plenty apprehensive at first, when Eddie had tried setting the oven to 800 degrees, so that the cookies would bake twice as fast. But with supervision (and a few close calls), the sheet tray that comes out of the oven holds a dozen beautiful soft sugar cookies. There's christmas tree designs in the dough, a green cutout that had come in the tube. One on the bottom left is misshapen, and Eddie peels it off of the tray.

"Quality control," He mumbles through a mouth of searing hot cookie, "Fuck! 'Burnt my tongue."

You bite back an 'i told you so', letting him take a swig of water from a cup on the counter.

"These," You section off four of the cookies, "Are for Wayne." Then you split up the other seven into halves, three for Eddie and four for you, "And these are for us."

"Wayne doesn't need four," Eddie insists, reaching for two from his pile, "I need six."

"Eddie Munson," You reach out with your spatula, smacking his hand away from his uncle's treats, "Don't you dare! I promised Wayne he'd get his fair share because it was the only way he'd let me use your oven."

"It's the only way he'd let me use our oven," Eddie reminds you, and although it's derogatory towards him, he says it like a boast, "I had to call the fire department last time."

Wayne had told the same story to you when you'd proposed baking, fire in his eyes as he recounted the one that Eddie had lit on their stovetop. How he'd charred onions, you'd never know.

"You're a hazard in the kitchen," You bump Eddie away from the stove with your hip, "Your hair gets in everything and you touch all of the hot surfaces."

There's a band-aid on his hand to prove it.

"Hey," He scoffs, "At least the cookies are good."

You test out that theory for yourself, munching on the soft dough. It's melting in your mouth as soon as it hits your tongue, and you hum in satisfaction just as the door opens.

"Hey dad," Eddie glances over his shoulder at Wayne, "There's cookies here for you."

"So the danger has passed?" He raises an eyebrow, reaching for a christmas tree from the sheet pan, "She must not have let you in the kitchen, boy."

"Actually," Eddie scarfs down the last of his own cookie, crumbs flying from his lips to his shirt as he speaks, "I made 'em. All by myself."

Wayne's halfway through his first bite, and after Eddie's bragging, isn't sure he wants it anymore. His eyes widen and his jaw goes slack, but before he can spit the cookie out into the sink you pop up behind Eddie, swiping frantically with a hand perpendicular to your neck. His eyes flit to your own and you hold up the spatula, then point vigorously to yourself.

Wayne seems to get the message: I helped. They're not poison.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson one-shot #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hc #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson dialogue #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fanfiction

[xxfillerxx]

MC: Hey idia, is your hair flammable? Can it burns through stuff?

Idia: Considering my room isn't burning up right now, I'd say it's not automatically a fire hazard.

MC: Alright... so it doesn't burn you?

Idia: Do I look like I'm being burned right now?

MC: Alright, so does that mean you're fireproof? Wanna test it out?

Idia: Why would I wanna test it-

Idia:

Idia: Is. Is that a lighter? Why are you carrying around a lighter? On second thought- don't answer.

#This is my first time writing idia i dont wanna do it again 😔 #“Zoinks! This rpg level irl is sooo poggers what a GOATed route!” #Whats a good mix of gamer talk to sarcastic speech #idia shroud #Twst #Twisted wonderland #Twst meme #Twisted wonderland meme

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Would A Tepig Be A Good Pet?

It should surprise no one at this point that a fire-type starter pokémon, no matter how cute and friendly, would receive a low score in my ranking system due to the fire hazard they represent. I wanna make it really clear that I don't have a bias against fire-type starters! In the interest of full transparency: yes, I'm a grass or water kinda person almost every time. But this project is objective! I have no ill will towards the little hazards, I swear! But hey, tepig got a B ranking; that's pretty good! A tepig would be a good pet for pet owners who are interested in a fire-type pet and who can handle the challenges that come with one.

There honestly isn't a lot of information about tepig behavior in the pokédex, unfortunately. We know that they are capable of shooting fireballs out of their nose and use them to roast berries before they eat them (Black). Unfortunately, we also know that tepigs aren't always the best at controlling the intensity of the fireballs they produce when they get excited (Black 2/White 2). These fireballs are a sign of a tepig's health (White) and happiness, so as long as your tepig is happy and healthy they may become an issue. If you are going to take in a tepig, it would be important to fire-proof their eating area to prevent accidental fires at mealtime.

Whether or not tepigs would use their flame abilities in play is unclear, but we know that they use them to attack in battle, so there's every possibility that they might. Tepigs have a pretty standard set of moves for a fire-type starter pokémon, which includes some high-risk moves like Flamethrower that could cause tremendous harm to you and your home. A pet tepig would need to be extensively trained in when and where it is ok to use their fire in spaces that are specially prepared for that purpose, in order to mitigate the potentially lethal accidental risk they may present. Thankfully, being common starter pokémon in the Unova Region, tepigs are known for being loyal and receptive to training, so there's every chance you would be successful in preparing them for home life.

Tepigs, like all fire-types, have an unavoidable risk factor tied to their biology that prevents them from getting a perfect recommendation for pet-hood. That being said, they are a good first option for someone interested in the type who is prepared to handle their needs and isn't too attached to their more flammable furniture.

#pokémon #pokemon #tepig #pkmn irl #PR-B

[spiderh0rse]

freeman's mind notes pt8, e36-40 (plus secret e0)

e36

delighted to put his hands on a gun again even if there's blood on it

he wants more things to shoot

doesn't think he's fired a gun before (second assertion of this fact) but it does feel familiar

has had a reoccurring dream of being Snoop Dogg

thinks the barnacles were made by the biology department

someone in Biology named Heather than Gordon tries to hit on sometimes. She is supposedly stone cold

calls himself The Freeman again

everyone was proud of the pollen that killed people

"goat cheese massacre"

return of the Fall Damage. Bemoans the lack of shock absorbers and drugs

confused at why he's wearing the HEV suit

vaguely remembers the ResCas proper

would not drink neon hi c ecto cooler

he doesn't like liars

black mesa is NOT a tourist trap

he is right tbh. Trespassers literally do have rights. You're supposed to make any unreasonable dangers clear and obvious. Warn with signage or some shit

aims to think like a squirrel that has anger problems

the nation of Freeman

yeah this sequence of events is normal and leads to promotions

e37

had some job interviews in grad school. Never knew how to answer their questions

thinks of the building as alive AGAIN

oh hey we're in the part of the facility that Physics of the Crowbar did astoundingly well

gotta avoid the blood shower :(

this gunk BETTER not get in his hair

he doesn't want to smell like mcdonalds

GROWLS

meat chunks in his hairrrrrrr

he no longer likes orange

he's 80% sure cheetos aren't made like this

undertow fuckin with him

his values have sunk since he woke up

prepared for when he gets Alzheimer's. He'll escape room his way out of the retirement home easy

wants a sword cane when he's old

you just shot a SNOT MONSTER, sir.

he remembers everything? (he does not) (he thinks the string theory crowd got into AnMat)

plans to sell the satchel charges to Eddie

yes the magnum does grant godlike ego

he isn't an optimist

this is NOT a democracy he has a GUN

"BLAH!!!"

freeman have you butchered animals before or

would love to land in a ballpit

naptime :>

bat JUMPSCARE he CANCELLED THE CREDITS. SHOCK. AWE.

e0

new intro. Tram ride to some vending machines.

attempts to flirt with the hazard course hologram

doesn't comment on the HEV suit's voice this time!

he's not coming back to the hazard course

only getting HEV suit training because he's capable of physical activity

derides the game-based language of the tutorial

"hup! hoo! hah!"

i WISH there was rubber padding around the knees of the suit

fatphobia,,

he always wanted to be a hamster man

finds the long jump module cool

"nreeeeeeoooow"

could press buttons all day!

Slur count: five.

e38

back to cafeteria intro

he can't sleep :(

HATES the room's vibes

self hypnotizes again. Lmao

TANK OF ACID! SUPERB!

he is a CAT

his faux-southern accent sucks so bad. hillbilly but worse

no come on you can dodge an incinerator

liked the Addams Family. Identified with the Thing, he says.

concrete corridor agnostic

double dead end!

he feels like strangling something.

feels like he wouldn't mind the nickname Dr. Stranglelove

growls again

backup backup gun dependency does rely on state yeah

he wanted a banana milkshake

he's talkin specbio,,,

he remembers lasers are BAD

limbos on by that awful tripmine

"BLLLAAAAAAHHHHHHH"

e39

[incoherent raging] followed by "wait! I have satchel charges!"

deeply comforted by having this amount of explosives. Wants to draw a smiley face on one

welllll the radiation sign is a bit off the requirement but that's a half life note not a freeman's mind note. He should know though

claims his geiger counter is trendy and fashionable

we have reached the non OSHA compliant location

he is clearly being sarcastic here but he does talk about seeing what was probably a mall santa

jello knees..... He's in painnnnn

this isn't even a SPA

he feels like he's in a sub in the cramped metal halls

back to the classroom analogy

it IS the amps that kill you yessirre

part of the opposable thumbs club!

takes the time to study the trapped alien grunt. Says it could get a management job

he hates biolabs :(

goes through the Atom Experience

incoherent babbling

he Remembers that everyone wants him dead. Shoots a probably innocent guard

now plans to kill the whole world

he's a gun farmer :>

usually when stuff goes long he concludes that everyone wants him dead

he's honestly a little relieved that he doesn't have to guess if people want him dead or not

doesn't recognize the vox

GRAPPLING HOOK MENTION

e40

new intro, shotgun-elevator shaft

the eternal issue of understaffing: doing weird bullshit always

"superbus" w/e well superbia is pride so I'd imagine this is "greatness" followed by whatever words he isn't reading

he isn't reading them because he doesn't know latin

human body staircase,,

door conspiracy!

actually thinks before he pushes a button

"woah-hoho-oh..."

hiccups :(

he gets really nervous after killing people

oh the subtitles have suddenly cut out

his normal work was in quantum mechanics and general relativity

stumbles over his saying "I don't know"

"there's no actual right to privacy but it's implied by the rest of the constitution. And this gun,"

prototype cheese slicer or pita cutter- you decide

HE CAN'T HELP ANYONE IF THEY'RE NOT CALM

RELAX AND FOLLOW THE SOUND OF HIS VOICE

back to hitting any button he sees

he is never going to ask for yellow space maggots jumping at his face

a list of things that makes freeman happy: lasers, food, painkillers, bed rest, not being persecuted, getting his life back on track. Lasers may be listed first here but it is below the rest of these

avoids the gauss gun

seeing body parts lying around used to bother him

wants to sprinkle cloned body parts lying places and tape people finding em

big laser? Badass.

gonna shoot down a satellite with that baby

#freeman's mind #gordon freemind #mindverse #rmanotes

[clownery-and-fuckery]

Here's a little wip while I finish up the last few chapters of OOT- and by extension the fourth chapter of Project Failsafe, which has already reached around 10 thousand words.... I am going a little insane over it rn

Over the explosion, it was a miracle anyone heard anything.

Echo was panting, the sound loud in his hears while the muffled warfare raged around him. His helmet was the only reason he hadn't gone deaf yet.

"You still with me, Echo?" Fives yelled from beside him. "You're lagging!"

If Echo's free hand had not been replaced with a scomp, he would have jabbed his twin for that jibe. "Never better!" He responded easily. "Slowing down so you can keep up!"

Fives laughed, a manic sound as they skidded to a stop at a break in the corridor. "Whoever's flying this heap of junk needs a raise," He commented lowly as the ship jolted with another hit. "This things fallin' apart!"

If Echo knew anything, which he did, he could hazard a guess as to who was flying the remains of the ship.

Still, he reached for his comm. "Hunter?" He yelled into his comm. "What's the word? Have you and the others evacuated safely?"

"All accounted for." Hunter's voice replied, cool as ever. "We're just waiting for Tech to get us level to join us."

Of course they were. "I'll get him." He assured. "Don't wait for us."

He looked around, eyes settled on his twin before they were jolted roughly. The ship lost control for a moment, Echo could feel it as the twins were sent sprawling.

"Hold on!" Fives cried, grabbing Echo's arm. "I've got you!"

They levelled out again, much slower than they normally would have if Tech was really the one flying. Echo frowned.

"Tech!" He called into his comm once he had righted himself. "Tech, what's your status?"

There was no answer. "Tech!"

"Uhm.." A new voice answered, one that decidedly was not his younger brother. "Sorry, he's bus–"

"Who is this?!" Echo yelled. "Where's Tech!?"

The voice on the other end of the comm sounded panicked. "My name is Tup, sir–" He started. "We're trapped in the control room, sir. Tech isn't responding."

Echo's eyes were wide. "Stay put, Tup!" Fives had grabbed Echo's wrist. "We're on the way!"

"Fives?" Tup asked, before the comm cut to static. Fives was already running, dragging Echo with him.

"You know this Tup?" He asked. Fives nodded. "We met on Umbara," He explained. "Remember when I told you about Krell?"

Echo wouldn't soon forget. "He was the shiny that caught him," Fives continued. "Real brave kid. I've been watching him, since his brother Dogma got arrested."

Echo felt a pang of sympathy. "I'm assuming you're close?" He asked. Fives nodded firmly.

"As close as you and that techie kid you don't shut up about." He answered with a grin. Echo laughed, ducking his head.

"Pretty close, then." He said quietly. A string of regret shot through him, thinking about how much he had missed.

"Hey!" Fives called. "I need you here, Echo."

He shook his head. "Right," He answered shortly. "I'm here."

"–down.. wh- hey, hey! Wake up!"

Tech groaned, forcing his eyes open. He looked around, confused for a moment. He smelt fuel, felt the heat from a fire, and his ears were ringing.

"You with me?" A voice asked. "'Cause I really hate being here alone, flying isn't my strong suit."

"Hun'er doesn' let you fly 'nyway.." He slurred, assuming it was Wrecker shaking him awake. When he saw it wasn't, he shot up.

They were in space. They were rapidly approaching a planet. There was fighting all around them, and he was just laying there—

"Easy!" The voice that wasn't Wrecker yelped, helping him regain his balance. "You took a nasty hit to your head, I tried to keep it level like you had, but–"

They weren't stable, in a near free fall. Tech jumped to his feet.

"Move!" Tech didn't have the energy to be polite. He took over, trembling hands clutching the yoke as he pulled, keeping her stable as they cruised. "What happened?"

"We're meant to be sending aid down on the surface," The clone replied smoothly, pointing. "But we got ambushed. It's only because of your quick thinking this whole ship hasn't blown up."

Tech nodded shortly, missing the compliment. "And the other troopers?" He asked, glancing around for his brothers.

"They're safe," The other clone assured. "They jumped ship once the shields failed, the rest of the cargo went with them, now we're just trying not to crash into Republic ships."

Tech nodded again. "I'm Tup, by the way." The clone said, sheepish. He glanced over, eyebrow raised. "Tech." He responded slowly. His tongue felt oddly heavy in his mouth.

"Sorry," He muttered. "You just- you look tired. I'm trying to keep you awake after you hit your head."

Tech paused. "I hit my head?"

Tup nodded furiously. "Real hard, you've got a shiner, and it's gushing. Mind if I take a look?"

Tech shrugged minutely, not enjoying the sensation of hands that he knew weren't his brothers pulling his helmet off his head. He hissed when Tup cleaned the wound, apologising quietly.

The patch was cool as it was pressed to his head. "There." He said softly. "That should do for now, let me know if you get a headache or anything."

Tech nodded. "Thank you," He mumbled. Tup waved him away with a grin.

They watched the chaos outside, Tup wincing whenever the fighters got too close. Thankfully, from the destruction the ship had already suffered, they seemed to be ignored as they were slowly inching towards the planet.

"Once we are caught in the gravitational pull," Tech told him quietly. "You should leave, as well. I can control the direction as best as I can and buy you time."

"Buy me time?" Tup echoed, shaking his head. "I'm not leaving without you, Tech."

"You don't have much choice," Tech said simply. "I will not be far behind you."

Tup didn't look convinced, a frown on his face. "We should stick together." He said quietly, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to the entrance.

The entrance that had been sealed off, preemptively upon word that separatist battle droids had boarded.

He frowned, noticing something. "Tech," He called over his shoulder. "Are we alone?"

"For the most part," Tech replied easily, attention focused on something else. "On the assumption that the battle droids have all been delt with, why?"

"Well–" Tup squinted at the monitors that still worked. "–those don't look like normal clankers to me."

Tech glanced over and froze. "That is because they aren't." He said. "Those are assassin droids."

"Assassin droids that are headed right for us!" Tup whirled around. "There's like ten of them, Tech. And one of us is concussed."

Tech seemed to realise their situation, as well. They watched the droids get closer as Tech scrambled his muddled head to find a solution.

Definitely uploading a pt. 2 to this, might even add it into that other wip I have about shuk'yc..... hmm lmk what you think!!!!

#sw the bad batch #tbb tech #tbb echo #sw tcw #arc trooper fives #clone trooper tup #i love them all <3

[musashi]

the day has ended and i have run out of tears to cry but i am still too depressed to sleep and feeling like i have no one. so i am going to vent here and maybe, maybe it will humanize me that someone, anyone will want to talk to me and help me feel better, now and in the future.

yesterday my boss replaced my computer mouse.

inconsequential. minuscule. a mere annoyance.

yesterday my boss replaced my computer mouse.

but the thing is i'm autistic. and usually it's manageable. usually it's not even something i feel the need to manage. people are kind. people are understanding. as an adult, i control my environment. it isn't really an issue, much.

but they took my headphones. they took the headphones i've been wearing for 5 years on the job, citing safety hazards. i asked for the ADA. they told me to get the paperwork. it turns out it's impossible to navigate healthcare, even with insurance. i don't know who to call. the names that pull up on my insurance make no sense. the numbers are outdated. the information isn't on google. nowhere is accepting new patients. i've never had a doctor, my family wouldn't let me. every website wants you to make appointments online and all their websites are broken. i call. no one calls me back.

i run out of time.

i can't get my ADA. it can be reopened, if i figure it out. no one will help me figure it out. i ask. no one answers. i have to figure it out. i can't figure it out. they take my headphones.

work is loud, now. i can't focus. i'm inefficient when before i was quick and effective. i feel like shit about the work i'm doing, work i love, work i take pride in. but it's loud. and the people keep changing. there is no structure. people keep getting fired. people keep leaving because it's getting worse. i'm only staying because i'm about to get promoted, and once i am promoted, i will be shipped off to a new store with new opportunities.

so... yesterday my boss replaced my computer mouse.

it's got a bad, scratchy, hard texture on the side. i can't touch it. i could touch it if i had my headphones. i can't touch it without. i plug in the old mouse and put the new one to the side. he throws the old one away. he refuses to tell me why it's necessary. i leave the store in tears.

(i formulate a plan, immediately, to bring my own mouse from home. i am a problem solver. but i still need to cry.)

yesterday my boss replaced my computer mouse. and this is what breaks me. i am sobbing on the train. though i have a solution, the pain is not something i can solve on my own. i need to talk to someone.

i need to talk to someone.

five minutes. i need five minutes of someone's time, to say,

hey.

today my boss replaced my computer mouse.

i'm really upset about it.

isn't that funny?

how when everything piles up, it's always just one silly little thing that ends up making us break. humans are such silly creatures, and hearts and brains such fickle things.

five minutes. that's all it'll take.

so i go to my discord servers.

is anyone around?

is anyone around?

can anyone help?

i wait.

i cry.

i think about the computer mouse. thought after thought invades my mind of days i will have to sit there, in my loud building, running my fingertips across its--no. i have a plan.

but i still feel it beneath my skin.

is anyone around?

is anyone around?

no answer.

and then i think, why no answer?

count the server members in each. statistically, there has to be someone.

i think about the computer mouse. my fingers hurt.

an hour passes. no one answers. i go to tumblr.

is anyone around?

can anyone help?

is anyone around?

five minutes. i need five minutes of someone's time, to say

today my boss replaced my computer mouse.

isn't it so funny? to cry about that?

another hour

isn't it so funny? to cry about a computer mouse?

to cry about...

no one answers. no one responds. no one DMs. no one reaches out.

that makes me think.

when was the last time anyone responded to me asking for help? when was the last time i had someone around who would hit me up when they saw i was sad or needed a shoulder to cry on?

i look at discord. i refresh tumblr.

is anyone there?

can anyone help?

i can't remember. i can't remember when i last had someone willing to do that. who am i waiting for? what am i waiting for?

who will come along? slide into my DMs, and ask me what's wrong, so i can say,

it's hilarious

my boss replaced my computer mouse.

but that's not what i want to say anymore, while i am sitting there alone in my apartment in tears. that's not what i'm crying about, anymore.

i'm alone.

not alone in the way people are supposed to be alone. when people are alone they do not have people. i have people. people who love me. people who know me. i think i do, i think so. people who send me posts, tag me in things, memorize the shape of my heart. people who know everything about me, because i give it willingly, and they choose to remember. i have people. so many. so much more than most people have. i definitely have people, who i love and who love me.

but i don't have anyone who wants to be near me when i am sad, even if what i am sad over is five minutes, and something as simple as,

today my boss replaced my computer mouse.

there aren't stories about that kind of loneliness. about being surrounded in friendship but not support. about feeling this immovable wall between you.

it... must be me, right? something's wrong with me.

i need to solve the problem.

what is wrong with me?

i think about how i am as a friend. my good traits. my bad traits. i count more good than bad. do i offer that emotional vulnerability? of course, i ask for help with it often, and i'm not afraid to talk about rough times and heavy stuff. do i listen to others when they open up? i think so, i try my best, and when i feel ok i offer as often as i can to help talk them through it. i try to always be excited about what others like, and hype them up as enthusiastically as i can when they have projects of their own to share.

i struggle to find the bad. i try, but i can't figure out what it is about me that might stop people from sending 'hey, what's wrong?'

i'm alone.

right before bed DMs start coming in, just a few.

'can i distract you'

no, i want to say, i want to talk about being sad, but they know that. they saw. this is a compromise, no one has to be uncomfortable, and i say, sure.

because if i say anything else, they might disappear.

i go to bed in tears. i wake up in tears. it is march 22nd now. i've been having nightmares for weeks about something that happened in some other distant life. today is the day. it isnt real. it can't hurt me. still, i tremble through my morning routine.

i have one more DM. i don't feel like bothering anyone anymore. even if i could talk to them now, what would i say?

my boss replaced my computer mouse.

i just wanted to laugh about it with someone.

but no one came.

so instead i sat there ruminating on how i can't acquire love in the way i need it most

and i cried myself to sleep

i cried myself to sleep, because my boss replaced my computer mouse

and somehow, that,

that,

made me realize i have no one.

evidenced right now, by you, dear fiend, messaging me.

too late, says the disorder, and i scream back, people have lives.

and the disorder says, all of them? all your circles, all your friends, not one person? not one person was around in the immediate aftermath, when you really needed it, when you begged? you really think that's statistically sound?

i've talked about this analogy before. BPD is a court case in my head. the topic of the trial is that everyone i love hates me in secret and is going to leave me. the prosecutor is a mean bitch and the defense is a snivelling crybaby. i can choose who to help by collecting evidence to or against the contrary. one choice is braver than the other, and it is the correct one. but the prosecutor is dressed like a bad bitch today, she's serving and silver-tongued, and she hasn't won a case in years, but i let her win today.

it's not even 6 am. but i let her win. because my boss replaced my computer mouse.

i mute all my socials. i disappear.

no one DMs me.

i get sent home from work because i break down crying in front of my boss. fucking mortifying.

i break one of my rituals. it gets noticed. no one reaches out, though. no one DMs me, or worries, or makes much note of it. it gets turned into a joke. my name is said over and over. i start getting mod pings about it. still, no one DMs me.

and i think, this is exemplary.

i am noticed. i am missed. and still, i am not supported. this is it, a microcosm of my pain. in this channel, i watch people talk of how they miss me. but yesterday,

yesterday,

my boss replaced my computer mouse.

and they were not there. why?

maybe each of them had a reason. if that's the case, i mostly just want to know why i'm so unlucky. that at the exact, rare moment i got sad (i do not get sad) there was simply no one.

now i am furious. now i am heartbroken. now i am considering deleting all my socials, leaving all my servers, and never making a single friend again.

but i do not get to decide what i mean to people. so i don't.

i wish i meant more, though.

the pings keep coming. "please stop. i can't do this. i can't explain why but this is hurting me."

i try. they stop. i feel incomplete.

"can we talk about this? if i tell you why this is upsetting me, can you tell ME why it's happening? i'm hurting so much, and i don't want to resent you. i love you."

scattered reasons. the conversation dies. no understanding is reached.

we noticed you were gone,

so we wanted to leave you presents for when you got back.

i could be back right now, if five minutes had been given to me so i could say,

hey,

my boss replaced my computer mouse.

but instead it has been 48 hours. i want to scream. i want to cry. i want to yell.

i want to ask why i am so unlovable, i want to ask why i am only loved in certain ways. i cannot.

"you don't like validation, so people probably don't know how to help you," says one anon

but i do like validation. why do you think i don't?

"you don't like problem solving," they say.

but i do. i was begging for it. i love to problem solve. whats the alternative? staying miserable forever?

"i just don't want you to think that i think you need this," says one of the few souls who did DM me.

i do need this. i asked. i begged. i need help.

what is it about me, that when i speak, bluntly and clearly, everyone thinks i am lying? it happens so often. what is it?

after i shut down all the fun in the main channel, my DMs miraculously start popping off with support.

isn't this what i wanted?

yeah. so why am i sad, why am i furious, why am i heartbroken still?

because why is it happening now?

why wasn't it happening yesterday, a five minute conversation instead of a whole event?

five minutes of just one person's time,

to say,

my boss replaced my computer mouse.

i'm not mad at anyone who wasn't there

but i am mad at myself

because i think something is wrong with me, and i don't know what, and i don't know how to fix it, and no one will tell me what it is, so if you figure it out, please help. please tell me. please don't hold back.

i don't want to feel like this ever again. i don't want to be alone like this forever.

i'm really not that bad a burden. i'm mostly independent! i'm happy and bubbly, and i rarely get sad or down on myself. its just every once in a while, when my boss replaces my computer mouse.

once upon a time i was a handful, and people really loved me, then. all of me, all the way through. i'm easier to handle now. logically that should mean greener pastures.

but if you figure out what it is about me that makes people not want to respond to my cries for help, please please please, share it with me however you see fit. i want to fix it, and i will fix it, i will do my best, and i will b happy, and one day i will have at least one friend, maybe two

who can hit me up like, yo, whats wrong?

and i can say, lmao, you will never believe what i am crying about,

my boss replaced my computer mouse!!!!

#wendy writing #wendy rambles #wordy wendy

[stupidlyqueer]

i have a question about that panel in the azula comic, the one where she burns the turtleduck toy.

what's that supposed to be?

one: when they discover she's a firebender?

two: when she bends a substantial amount of fire for the first time?

three: it's a memory, so, the first time she registers that ursa doesn't quite like that she's a firebender but ozai does?

i didn't read the comics, but if i have to guess, i think the option three makes more sense.

i mean...

how old is she there? five, six, seven? not really a toddler. and she's a prodigy, would it take that long for her to firebend like that? because the other firebending prodigy we see as a child is korra and she's already doing a lot as a 4-year-old. sure, avatars are different. but still. or azula isn't that much of a prodigy, just a very, very dedicated person (she can be both, that's not the point i'm making), or korra is a lot more special than what we give her credit for.

also, if that's the first time she bends that much, how fast she progresses?

now, why i think that it being when they discover she's a firebender makes absolute no sense: it's so easy to test if someone's a firebender that they do it in newborns.

if the comics are canon, so are the books.

spoilers for the rise of kyoshi: when they suspect kyoshi is the actual avatar, the first thing they do it test if she can also firebend. now, it can be because fire is the next in the cycle? sure. hei-ran is right there, she's a master firebender, she literally trained the firelord, she was the headmistress for the fire academy for girls or whatever that's called. still, it's such an easy thing to do since all you have to do is breath around.

she kinda says that they do it in newborns. which makes sense, if firebenders can at least heat up a lot as tiny little miniatures of a human being, they're a fire hazard from the day they're born.

meaning: they absolute already know azula is a firebender. because why would they stop testing newborns? especially royal-born ones? especially descendents from the last fire avatar?

so i like to think it's just the first time she registers the difference in the way her parents see her bending, not the first time she actually bends.

#azula in the spirit temple #atla azula #a pet peeve i have in fanfic is “oh they've known she's a firebender since she's x year-old!” #no #they know she's a firebender since birth because they test newborns #y'know #so you don't leave them unsupervised and they set fire to the nursery because they can't control their bending