#ALSO SOMEONE ASK ME ABOUT MY SPACE WALL I LOOOOVE MY SPACE WALL

[jauniegal]

Thanks again Axel for letting me print out your art! Here's the promised photo of it on my wall :D

I wanted to do this days ago but I ran out of sticky tac (sad)

Anyway swarm of my millions of followers everyone go check out @scourgadow 's jdate art it is very cool and swag

[mrs-dynamight]

Be Nice To Me 4

Part 3

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Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!Reader, Denki Kaminari x fem!Reader

Warnings: Eventual mature content, angst, hurt/comfort, love triangle, the reader is lowkey toxic, everything will be adressed in every episode (:

Chapter warning: Just a single curse word.

Chapter: 4/? I'm sorry, this is going to be long :c but I just loooove writing it

Synopsis: You're in love with your best friend Bakugou, and you're cofessing to him but things get a lot more complicated when Denki starts to treat you different *wink wink*

Word count: 1.6k

Author's note: This is a little bit shorter, but it's pure fluff, and the next one is going to be so long they will compensate eachother, hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 4 Bloom- The Paper Kites

I was floating in cloud nine, everything I have ever dreamt of suddenly became true, there he was, the boy of my dreams liking me back, what else could’ve I asked for? Maybe a little more time together before he’s gone.

The doubts in my heart were getting more difficult to ignore with every passing minute, we came back to the dorms like two hours ago but I was incapable of going to bed, let alone trying to sleep, there was so much to think about, were we a couple? I’ve never had a boyfriend, I don’t know how these things are supposed to work, we like each other, that’s all that it takes right? A long-distance relationship? I’ve heard that those never work, or should we wait for him to come back to make it official? Aren’t we already official? We’ve kissed, like a lot, there was even some tongue; ugh those thoughts made me feel so embarrassed.

The light of my home screen lightly illuminated the room, and with my blushed cheeks I went to check who was messaging me, it was Kaminari, I opened the text that reads “R u awake? I had a nightmare and I really could use a hug from my bestie rn” followed by five crying emojis; “See you in the place” said my reply, the place was this empty service room in the rooftop of the dorms, nobody ever used it for anything so it is completely empty, we made a copy of the key one day that we had to clean the entire dorms because a certain yellow-haired guy decide to play “potions” in chemistry class, and since then it’s been our hiding place, it had everything that we needed, a lot of junk food, fairy lights, a portable speaker, blankets and an Opossum holding a cigarette poster in one wall; whenever one of us needed a break from the outside world we came here, this is our safe space.

I opened the door to the place and saw Denki standing there, he looked so tiny and vulnerable, I hugged him instantly, the dim fairy lights in the opossum wall made his facial features even prettier, it was obvious he had been crying, I didn’t asked any question and he didn’t said anything, we just hugged for what it seemed like hours, with a heavy sight he pulled apart and give me smile

-Thanks Y/N I really needed that- Said Denki with his hand in my cheek and his eyes fixed in some point between us

-They’re back, aren’t they? - I asked with concern

He nodded and lied in one of our blankets in the floor, I did the same, we both were looking at the glow in the dark stars glued to the celling not saying a single word, he held my hand and started to cry

-Why do they keep coming back? I don’t wanna be afraid anymore- I knew exactly what he meant, he had a recurrent nightmare, a big fight against villains, every one of us dying in awful ways, he is always the last one to die, and before that there is always someone telling him that he is the weakest of us, that this was all his fault for not being enough.

-Your mind is playing tricks on you, you are not weak, I know I’ve told you that a gazillion times, but I’m willing to do it a million more, all the times you need it, I’m here, we are all safe and sound, you have nothing to worry about- Anytime the nightmares come back I make sure Denki knows he’s just as strong as any of our other classmates, that he’s smart and capable of being a great hero.

-I want to be able to protect you, I don’t want you to die- Said Denki facing me and locking his eyes with my own.

-I promise you, I’m not going to die in the hands of a villain, I’m going to die being the coolest grandma in the neighbourhood, doing a sick backflip and daring Satan himself to come for my soul- I said to make Denki laugh, and apparently it worked

-You’re my best friend Y/N, I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here, please never stop being like that-

-Being how? -

-I don’t know, funny, smart, a real pain in the ass to the villains and the teachers, a stubborn whiney stuff-

-Are you sure you aren’t describing yourself? –

-Nah, I didn’t said the most handsome man who ever walked the earth, but you’re not bad looking-

We both laughed, I really enjoyed being around Denki, his presence always felt comforting, like coming back home after a long trip, or eating your favourite homemade dish after a rough day, like a cool late summer breeze, he makes my heart warm and my troubles go away, I never feel more like myself than when I’m around him. That’s what friendship feels like, right?

-Could you do me one last favour Y/N? – Denkis voice took me out of my own mind -I don’t want to go back to my room and have another nightmare, I don’t wanna make you unconformable or anything, but could I sleep with you? -

It definitely took me by surprise, we had a lot of sleepovers over the years, but never just the two of us

-I understand if you say no, but I promise I just want to sleep, and having you around makes me feel safe-

-I have an idea, let’s have a sleepover here in the place, I’ll put one of those white noise videos that last hours, so you don’t have to think about anything-

-I’ll set the alarm to get up early and go to our dorms before anyone sees us, thank you so much Y/N, I’ll make it up to you, I promise-

-You don’t have to; I know you’ll do the same for me-

-You’re an angel but with no wings-

-So, like a person? –

-Shut up Aubrey Plaza-

We were both lying in the blankets on the floor, our heads at the same level (look at the reference above) and I was slowly falling asleep, all I could hear was the white noise and Denkis soft breathing, I closed my eyes and just before I completely lost my consciousness and succumb to the tiredness of my body I heard it, Denkis soft voice, “I love you Y/N”. I turned my head to look at him with my heart racing miles, but he was deeply asleep. Maybe I just imagined the whole thing, it probably was my tired mind, I took one last look to the boy next to me, sleeping so peacefully and with a little smile in his lips feeling the same familiar warmth in my soul, is this really what friendship feels like?

The alarm went off exactly at 5 am, I woke up and it took me a moment to realize that I wasn’t in my dorm room, then I remembered Denkis nightmare, our sleepover, and that thing I thought I heard. I had to wake Denki up so we could go to our respective rooms without Aizawa founding out we were out of our rooms at night, or even worse that we had the keys of the place. I sat there and moved Denki to wake him up. He opened one eye and whined

-But moooooom, it’s Saturday, I don’t have to go to school-

-Come on Denki we have to go to our rooms-

-Five more minutes- He said and hugged my leg

-Do you want Iida to found out we didn’t sleep in our rooms and telling Aizawa? -

And just like that he got up and started heading to the door

-Shit, you’re right, come on, you know that guy wakes up hella early-

We were in the stairs heading to our rooms, and although we were on Denkis floor, he kept climbing down the stairs with me.

-You don’t have to escort me to my room Denki-

-Oh but I want to- Replied the yellow haired guy

When we were in front of my door he leaned down and planted a chaste kiss in my forehead.

-Thank you for being there for me, I will remember this night for the rest of my life- And he turned around without waiting for a response disappeared heading towards the stairs.

I stepped into my room with a heavy cloud around my mind, there was so many feelings inside me that I couldn’t even tell them apart, where do I draw the line between friendship and love? Between admiration and affection? Between what I feel for Bakugo and what I feel for Denki?

I closed my eyes and remembered everything that happened yesterday, Bakugos confession, our shared kisses, the promise we made, six months apart now sounded a lot more crucial, after all the things that could happen in the matter of a few hours. Did I just said that because the heat of the moment? The words Bakugo said to me sounded so mature and logical, not like my own thoughts right now, am I just a slave of my own feelings? How would he react if he were me? What about Denki? Was he aware of all those years after his friend? And what if he knew and that is the reason why he hasn’t told me anything yet? Maybe I was just overthinking the situation, nothing was written in stone, neither my relationship with Katsuki nor Denkis feelings for me. I was getting tired of my own thoughts running in circles and not coming to an end, so I wrapped myself in the sheets of my bed and prayed for my mind to shut down so I could get some rest.

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Part 5

Heeeey I just wanted to thank all of you who read my work, LY, the next few chapters will be like an episode of skins UK, soo be warned, also there is going to be some thirst but nothing too explicit because I'm a shy motherfucker. Enjoy the last chapter free from Mrs-Dynamight Drama™

Taglist: @mikasalt

[middleofnowhere92]

Toko for my Valentine’s Day ATLA Rarepair One shots for @definitelynotaclod @ljf613

Just a Friend

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Toph Beifong/Zuko

Additional Tags: My boy lee with the great cup of tea is firelord, Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon

Summary: Toph gets pissed that she's stuck in the friend zone with Zuko. Her frustrations finally boil over.

Read below the cut or on ao3

Toph could feel Zuko intentionally slowing his steps to walk in line with her. They walked down the seemingly endless stairs of the palace in Ba Sing Se.

He asked, "So what are we doing tonight?"  She explained, "It's Black Day, an Earth Kingdom thing."

As they descended down the steps, she started to hear the bustle of the Upper Ring. Zuko’s voice rose above the noise, "It's like the opposite of the Day of Two Lovers, right?"

"Right! Instead of being all gross and in love, today we get to celebrate being single." Zuko chuckled, "Cool, cool. I heard a couple people talk about it at the tea shop."

Toph wrapped her hand on Zuko's elbow. She could mostly feel where passersby were walking, but it was comforting to have Zuko by her side.

After they walked for awhile, she smelled the noodle shop and pulled him into it. It sounded crowded, lots of people excitedly talking over each other.

They jostled their way to a corner table. Zuko’s long legs stretched underneath Toph’s chair, while her’s dangled, the pads of her feet barely touching the floor.

Toph felt a set of footsteps coming towards them, must be the waitress. The steps stopped not too far from their table and then they approached. Toph wondered why the girl was so nervous.

The waitresses’ soft voice asked, “Lee?” Toph’s brow furrowed, the fuck was this bitch talking about? She asked, “Who the fuck is Lee?”

Zuko’s heart rate was picking up as he cleared his throat, “Uh, hi Jin.. My name is actually Zuko. Lee was a name I was going by when I was here.” The waitress cleared her throat, “Oh, well, it’s nice to see you again Zuko .” Toph didn’t like the way Zuko’s name rolled off her tongue, like it was a sticky candy that she liked more than she should.

The Earthbender cleared her throat, “Well, I’m ready to order. We’ll have some jasmine tea and two orders of jajangmyeon.” The air was awkward for a moment, before the other girl answered, “Oh, of course. I’ll get that right out for you.” Her feet were light as she scurried away from the table.

Toph looked in Zuko’s general direction, “The Spirits was that Sparky?” Zuko’s heart rate was still all over the place, “It-it was nothing.” Toph rolled her eyes and he sighed, “Fine. Uncle made me go on a date with her when we were refugees here.”

Toph snorted, because it was exactly the type of thing Iroh would do. But the thought of Zuko on a date with another girl was well...unsettling. As Sokka and Suki started dating and Katara and Aang were all over each other all the time, her and Zuko stuck it out together.

The soft footsteps came back, the girl setting down the tea. Her gentle voice asked, “So Zuko, you’re celebrating Black Day?” “Uh, yeah, with my friend Toph,” he answered. “Oh just a friend ?” Toph also didn’t like how this girl said friend, as if it was an insult. She didn’t like the way this girl talked at all, maybe she just didn’t like her.

The Earthbender decided she had had enough of this. She didn’t need to listen to yet another girl throwing herself at Zuko. She shoved back from the table and marched out of the restaurant.

Stupid Sparky. Why did she care so much about him anyway? It’s not like he would ever like her, not the same way she liked him. Toph had no idea what she looked like, or what other girls looked like, but she had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t pretty in the same way that other girls were.

As she felt the tears spill onto her face, it only made her more annoyed. She was so pissed she felt like crumbling all the walls in the stupid city to the ground.

Toph sat on the edge of the fountain of Two Lovers. She swung her feet and kicked them in the fountain. The cool water relaxed her slightly and she let out a sigh.

Suddenly, someone invaded her space, a shoulder bumping into hers. They smelled like cinnamon and citrus. She scoffed at Zuko, “What do you want?”

His pinky bumped into her’s on the fountain’s edge, “What’s wrong?”

She turned her head the other way and grumbled, “Nothing.” His shoulder bumped hers again, “I’m dumb, but I know when you’re pissed. Just talk to me.” She sulked, “Everywhere we go girls just loooove you.” Zuko took a minute before he answered, “Jin was just being nice.” Toph blew a piece of hair out of her face, “Sure. Whatever Sparky.”

The quiet stayed between them. Toph swirled her feet in the fountain.

Zuko’s warm hand rested on top of her smaller one, “Toph, I value you and the time we spend together.” “Yeah, as a friend.”  “Toph-” She stood in the fountain and cut him off, “No Zuko! You know what? I get it! I totally get it! I’m not like all the other girls that fawn after you, but you know what it’s fine ! Go back to whatever her name is and enjoy your night.”

She took in a breath to come down from her outburst. Zuko asked, “Wait, Toph are you jealous? Do you like me?” Toph dragged her hands down the side of her face, “Of course I like you, you giant dummy! Isn’t it obvious?”

Her stomach flipped against her will when he chuckled, “I guess it is now.” She mumbled, “That’s fine, laugh at me.” He grabbed her fingers and pulled her towards him. He could almost hear him smile, “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at me, always a little slow to pick stuff up.”

He took both her hands, in his larger warm ones and asked, “It’s still early in the night. Wanna pick up where we left off? We’ll go on a proper date another night.”

Date..another night… the words buzzed in her mind on repeat as her and Zuko strolled through the streets looking for some trouble to get into.

[unforth]

Hi there! I absolutely loooove the destiel fic collection and think that it's a genius way to expose fans to fics that might not always get as much attention on fic recs and when searching on ao3. I was thinking of trying to create a similar collection for another fandom and was wondering if you have any tips? Or if there's anything that you wish you knew when you started it? Thank you!

Hi!! Just for openers, sorry I didn’t reply to this yesterday, my mom’s basement flooded and took with it all my writing time, sigh. ANYWAY. On to the topic at hand. How to make a “faves survey” for another fandom, and have it resemble what I’ve made for Destiel? Well, here’s what I’ve done, hopefully some of it will be applicable to you...

1. This is the most important part: Do NOT let it become or be perceived as a popularity contest. Never release the raw stats (except perhaps to a small number of people who you trust to help you). Never announce a “winner.” Never share a ranked list. Never act as if more votes equals better. Never ever suggest in anyway that your purpose to find “the best.” Treat people and fics who get one vote with just as much fanfare as people and fics who get 50 votes. I do release a “top 20″ list just because so many people asked, but even then, it’s in alphabetical order, and meant more as a snapshot. Encourage people to vote for their favorites that aren’t already in whatever collection you end up making, and encourage people to vote for things they don’t usually see on rec lists. Aim for an expansive range of types of fics being voted for, and make it clear - no ship shaming (or secondary ship shaming, if yours is ship-based like mine, rather than being general to a given fandom) or kink shaming. 

2. Keep the survey super simple. People don’t read complex instructions, and they’re not going to want to rank lists or anything like that. You can see the one I use here. Feel free to emulate it, copy it, modify it for your own purposes. I used to just do boxes but people would routinely put in way more than 5/10, and while I didn’t really mind the extras, it greatly increased the amount of work I had to do, and since the survey routinely gets a couple hundred replies that I go through, I decided to make it a little harder for people to go over the limits. Don’t bother asking for people’s names or trying to validate the results. I’ve tried. People don’t want to put their names, and validation encourages people not to submit...AND doesn’t prevent cheating...so is really pointless. Just keep it anonymous, after four rounds I can say...that works best.

3. And, speaking of people going over the limits, and cheating...people will cheat. No matter how clear you are that number of votes don’t matter, no matter how much you insist that whatever data you’re collecting will only be used in so-and-so a way...you will spot people “cheating,” for various definitions of the word cheating. People who vote for their own works. People will submit multiple surveys. People will “ballot box stuff” for their favorite(s). People will list more than the maximums you’ve asked them to. People will submit works from other ships, and - though it’s never happened to me - if you make it fandom-general I’ll lay heavy odds at least one dumbass will submit for some other fandom entirely. It happens in different permutations every time, some more obvious than others, but it happens. And the conclusion I reached is...so fucking what? In the end, since the idea is to highlight as many different great works as possible...screw it. Let people vote for themselves. Let people ballot box stuff. Let people submit multiple surveys, or list more than whatever maximums you’ve set. In the end, since every work is treated as equal and one vote is worth as much as a hundred...if they’re cheating to up the vote count, it’s irrelevant, and if they’re cheating to vote for more works, then yay! more works to include! and basically the only thing I’ve found that reduces cheating is to make it absolutely clear to people that I’d really rather they not but ultimately I can’t stop them, so do their thing I guess? And it does help. I got less cheating each time I do it, or at least less that I’m able to catch lol. (as a side note - the one exceptions is the “works for others ships.” Those you can see listed on the “INELIGIBLE” sheet of the spreadsheet I link below, but I don’t add them to the AO3 collection.)

4. Spreadsheets are your best friend. You’re going to want some way to organize the data you’re collecting. I’ve got a public version of the sheet I use that you can see here. It’s pretty similar to my “private” version, except the private version includes actual vote counts, separated by which time(s) I did the survey that the work in question got votes. I mostly use that data so I can do comparisons over the years (“this year X works were added to the collection that were never in it before!”) and because I like numbers. However, depending on how exactly you plan to use the data, you may not even need to tally vote counts, and you could do one that’s more similar to my public version. Also, if you make an AO3 collection, you’re going to want some way to track which works you’ve invited, which have been added, etc., cause otherwise it’s just a nightmare to keep track of. (a little more on this later).

5. Decide how and where you’re going to share your data - as an AO3 collection? As a public spreadsheet? On social media? Maybe you want to make a side Tumblr just for it? Or a Discord server? etc. etc. Like, I’ve got a pillowfort group (though I hardly use it) and a channel in a Discord server (thanks again to the PB folks for making space for me!) with the AO3 collection being the main portal. You want to make sure that it’s advertised enough that people know it exists, and also be prepared that short term you’ll hear basically no feedback on whether people use it, and even long term it’ll be once in a blue moon and suddenly eight people will be like WAIT YOU’RE THE PERSON BEHIND THAT THING I LOVE THAT THING. In that respect it can feel a little thankless but I’ve definitely found that people do use it, it’s just that there’s no real way for people to let YOU know they’re using it (and, honestly...good? This isn’t really about us, after all, it’s about all these fic writers, the goal is to bring attention to them, not ourselves, we’re just a go-between for the writers and the readers.)

6. For making an AO3 collection, you’ll have to invite every single work individually. Some people have their accounts set to auto-accept invites, but otherwise whether the work actually gets added will depend on the authors. Some people will never accept the invite. Some people won’t know how to accept the invite. Some people will accept the invite and then subsequently remove their work. Some people have left these parts completely and will never even see the invite. That’s why it’s important to track who has added and who hasn’t, and periodically double check it (I double check every six months or so). For the people who don’t accept the invites for whatever reason, you can bookmark the item to the collection. HOWEVER, if you do this with your personal account, every single one of those bookmarks will be listed under your personal AO3, which is why I ultimately made the Faves survey its own account - it’s entirely to facilitate bookmarking. You can also use the “Bookmark External Work” feature to link to works that aren’t on AO3, and to tag them to whatever extent you want to. Here’s some examples of how I chose to bookmark external works.

7. Things will inevitably get complicated. Authors will change their names. People who do the survey will use shorthand you’ve never heard of for some fic you don’t know. People will misspell things and you’ll either recognize it even with the typo...or you won’t. People will vote for things that list eight different ships and you’ll have no idea which one is endgame. People will vote for things that have been deleted, or they’ll tell you it’s definitely on AO3 when it’s not, it’s on some other platform. The list of random things I’ve had to deal with is stupidly long and I’ve probably forgotten even more. Just...roll with it. Do your best. Ask for help (“Someone nominated a fic abbreviated as ABC to the collection and didn’t give the author and I have no idea what it is, help me Tumblr!”). And in the end, if you’ve done everything you can think of and you still don’t know...let it go. It’s just not that worth worrying about. And sometimes if you step away and look again in a few days you’ll figure out another way to search and it’ll pop up. But honestly I’ve got a handful of works I still haven’t been able to track down, and that one work that someone submitted that’s only available in Finnish and is explicit and behind a log-in wall on a small independent Finnish-only fic archive...well, I spoke to the author and confirmed the work exists, but otherwise...whelp, it’s not linked, and I did my best. That’s all you can do.

8. No matter what you do, someone somewhere will probably get upset about it. The first time I did the survey, when it got the most traction, I actually got a little hate, and I got some anons who were like “oooooo did you know that ~x~ is cheating” and I had a little “HOW DARE YOU NOT PLAY FAVORITES WHAT ABOUT MY PERSONAL FAVE?” and just...decide how you’re approaching the survey, and stick to your guns, and if anyone is a douche, hit the block button. And, related...

9. Transparency is most important imo. Not transparency for vote counts obviously, but transparency for what you’re doing, and why you’re doing it, and what you hope to accomplish. Make sure your goals are clear from the start (mine weren’t that first time, hence some of the problems I encountered) - if it’s to highlight as wide a range of works as possible, say that. If it IS to pick a favorite, say that too. Just be clear, and honest, and above board, and it should work out okay.

10. Side note...one of the saddest things about all this is that if you do it over an extended period you’ll see authors deleting their works. As such, I personally chose to download every work that gets a vote, that way it’s at least preserved. I then expanded that into a much larger archive that I’m still adding to all the time, trying to save as much Destiel as possible. But then, I’m an archivist at heart, whether you want to branch out in that kind of direction is up to you.

...okay, that’s everything I can think of. Hopefully I didn’t scare you too bad. I don’t know what fandom/ship you’re looking at but for perspective...first time I did the survey I got about 400 replies, and then the next two times it got about 200, and this most recent time it got about 300. I chose to do mine annually, on the assumption that gives some time for people to come and go for fandom and a lot of new works to get created, and I deliberately timed it for about a month after the biggest fandom event (the DCBB) that generates fics, to give people time to read those fics and consider them in their voting. For me, that means I happen to run the survey starting on January 1st, and I keep it limited to 15 days, since usually it tapers off anyway. But you could try experimenting with different schedules, or leaving it open all the time, etc., it just depends how much time you want to devote to monitoring and updating it. For me, I mostly want to do a big burst of work and then not have to think about it most of the rest of the time, lol.

So...questions? comments? thoughts? wanna tell me I’m dead wrong? I’m all ears, lemme know how I can help!

[foxtophat]

(still trying to figure out how i link these but whatever)

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!! i decided to just sit down and hammer out the last edits for this lil one-shot so i could get it out today!

i’m gonna be real with you: the only reason i wrote this fic is because i couldn’t get the idea out of my head.  you weren’t supposed to see mercyverse for another month, honestly!!! but it’s been cold as fuck here and it’s made me fantasize about classic bed-sharing tropes, and so here we are!

this is a bit of a slice of life, to sort of give an idea of how day-to-day these guys all interact, especially now that carmina doesn’t have to pretend john doesn’t exist.  plus, i’m starting to see how the caches might be involved in the overarching plot???? awesome!!!

as usual, the full text is below the cut for my friends who don’t wanna leave tumblr.  i hope you enjoy -- feel free to leave a comment, i loooove hearing from readers. likes and reblogs are also great! kudos are fantastic! adding to the hit counter is just fine by me!!! anything you do to show support for fanfic is a good thing imo.  i hope y’all have a happy wintereenmas or whatever and i will see you guys in 2021 with more mercyverse :)

The best thing Nick can say about the blizzard currently sweeping the county is that he could see that it was coming. They'd gotten almost a foot of snow the night before, which gets him worried about getting snowed in, and as the day progresses, the sky grows an ominous gray that Nick recognizes from a lifetime of living in the area. He knows that they probably only have a few hours left before they're going to want to get inside and avoid the worst a winter storm has to offer.

Nick and John spend the entire morning hauling wood into the house, while Kim does her best to clean out the broken chimney and ensure they won't die of smoke inhalation. They also pull in some pre-made stock that Kim had left in the freezer after it had gotten cold enough to use, as well as a few smaller pieces for miscellaneous projects. But with the storm rolling in overhead, they don't have long; they end up leaving a lot of things for later as the wind whips up around them and turns the snow sideways.

By two in the afternoon, they've closed the doors to officially bunker down for the rest of the blizzard. They have enough wood to last them three days, plus their military rations and plenty of coffee, so Nick isn't particularly concerned about their safety. The only thing he's really got to contend with is boredom, which is easier to stave off in the first few hours of captivity than it is later in the evening.

For the most part, Nick passes the time by sharpening their knives, cleaning their guns, and checking the radio every hour for any emergencies. The blizzard ensures that not many people are on, but at least he gets to check in with Jerome and make sure that Grace is safely in her bunker. It's unlikely they'll get in contact with the trailer park until after the worst passes, but that just means Nick's gonna worry about those jackasses all night.

Kim is probably the only one comfortable with the downtime, making the most of things as she chews on the radio's instructions. When the technical jargon gets to be too much, she switches to entertaining Carmina, who gets bored quick when her only job is to keep the fire going. The easiest distraction comes from card games; the deck they'd had in the bunker had shrunk to only 32 cards, but now that they've got a full deck to work with, Carmina is eager to relearn and master games like Go Fish and Old Maid. Nick doubts Jacob planned to be entertaining kids with his survival gear, but it's not like the guy's gonna complain.

Carmina isn't the only one that Jacob is keeping busy beyond the grave. Ever since they found that cache of his, John has been borderline obsessed with figuring out what the point of it could be. He'll go all day without mentioning the puzzle plaguing him, but any available downtime has him staring at the map and its coordinates. Nick and Kim have both been keeping an eye on it, just in case it turns into something worse than his usual tunnel-vision, but so far it hasn't gotten out of hand. If anything, John seems more aware and alert now that he has something to focus on, and now Nick can even pretend he's a normal guy for conversations at a time before being reminded otherwise.

Of course, the blizzard's making it impossible to find alternate distractions. John does spend part of the afternoon in his room, but eventually, he can't help but come downstairs to mull over the map. There's only one problem with that — they've hung the map up in the radio room, so there's about ten minutes every hour where Nick has no choice but to sit in John's presence. It probably wouldn't bother him so much if there was somewhere else either of them could be, but they're stuck for the foreseeable future. John's looming is just going to be part of Nick's life until the storm passes.

In the interest of keeping the peace, Nick reluctantly tries to have the same level of interest in the random dots that John shows. His attention, however, is distracted by the penciled-in changes that he, Kim and John have all been making to the landscape. The river's wider in some places now, and there are doodles of trees in spaces that were once open fields. A few X's mark places where bridges have collapsed, and Kim's circled anywhere they've made radio contact with. Their notations have scattered across the valley, and have even spread over to the river region thanks to Hurk and his raider gang, but they still don't know anything about the mountains, or even the spaces that are supposedly occupied by bow-wielding religious nutjobs. It's going to be a while before any of them get the nerve to go poking that particular hornet's nest.

John has his little notebook open, but he's not writing anything down. Nick's not sure what he would even put down, since they haven't gotten any more leads since early autumn, but he's always got the thing tucked in a pocket nowadays. Maybe Nick should be mad he outright stole that resource from the rest of them, but — well, come on. He can't yell at the man for taking up journaling, not without flying in the face of every therapist Nick had pretended not to listen to. It's just... well, what the hell is there for him to write down?

"Are you staring for any particular reason?" John asks, because of course he does.

"That's rich, coming from the guy lurking over my shoulder all day." Nick flips off the static-ridden radio frequency, leaning back in his chair so that he can get a better look at the map push-pinned to the wall. "I hear if you look at it just right, you can see a sailboat."

John's clearly not much of a Kevin Smith fan, because he only sighs heavily at Nick's flat joke. "If you have something better for me to be doing, I'm all ears," he says, revealing to Nick at last just how bored he really is. Weirdly enough, being in the same boat as John is somehow reassuring.

"Okay, fine. At least tell me what you're staring at, so I know what to fake interest in."

Even though it's mostly a joke, it lands softly enough that John doesn't take offense. Stuffing the notebook in his back pocket, he shakes his head, gesturing at the map. Getting John to explain himself is usually like pulling teeth, but right now he seems relieved to have someone to bounce his thoughts off of. It's a long way away from the guy Nick remembers saving, enough so that it almost catches his full interest.

"It's nothing in particular, really. I've already spent hours staring at this thing, but I'm... still looking for a pattern, I guess. Jacob was paranoid and secretive, but if there's a hidden code buried in these coordinates, it's beyond me to see it. And the snow was already keeping us from traveling too far — now with this blizzard, we're likely stuck with no new information until spring ..."

John sighs, rubbing his forehead as the pretense finally abandons him. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do until then."

That's certainly a feeling that Nick can relate to. Nick is less of a workaholic than John might be, but that doesn't mean he won't go stir-crazy without his own set of chores. Hell, that's why he's been hanging around the radio in between games of cards with the girls and cleaning whatever he can get his hands on. It must suck extra for John; the guy's been spinning his tires in the dirt for years, probably, and being this close to having a purpose beyond doing whatever chores Nick sets him to must be irritating.

Nick props one leg up against the wall, tapping his boot against the wood as he ponders the dots scattered around the map. There are a few still in the valley, but there's no driving until they thaw out. The points in the mountains are probably inaccessible to anybody, and who knows when they'll get to investigate the old vet center or find the Wolf's Den. There are a couple points nearer the trailer park, though, and not for the first time Nick tries to measure the distance from Hurk to the various red dots. There's one near the lumber mill, and one near where that godawful statue was, and of course one right smack dab in the middle of the original Peggy compound.

Nick can't imagine his truck making it all the way there and back, not without more information about the roads. Hurk might not have the same trouble. "I could send the trailer park a couple coordinates," he points out. "They might get to search before us, and it could cut the work in half."

Despite John's scowl, he only sounds tired as he replies, "I've considered it, but I don't trust them. Then again, I hardly trust myself, so who knows."

"I guess you're shit outta luck, then," Nick says. John takes obvious offense at Nick brushing him off, but hey, what else is Nick supposed to do? "God's giving you a freebie with this blizzard. Maybe you should try catching up on your sleep, or something."

"And ruin the precarious schedule I'm keeping?"

"Jesus, then go read a book! Just — you know, quit hovering over me all day. Don't you know how to entertain yourself?"

John seems unphased by Nick's half-hearted outburst. "This is how I entertain myself. Maps, resources, legal documents — that's probably the only decent outlet I've ever had." He stares at Nick's boot, unwilling to meet his eyes. "At least, it's the only one healthy enough to keep."

That is probably a safe bet, Nick realizes, quickly trying to backpedal away from the open scab that is John's history. "Uh, well, what about before the cult?"

John surprises them both with a brief laugh. "If I could source some coke, then yes, I would be entertained."

"Jesus, John."

"I'm not known for my healthy self-care habits," John points out, a little too smug to be truly self-deprecating. At least he seems to understand what Nick had been getting at originally, deferring with a vague hand-wave. "Is my loitering in the kitchen going to be too smothering for you, too, or is that okay?"

Nick rolls his eyes, flipping the radio back on to scan the channels once again. "It's fine, whatever. Just as long as you've got something better to entertain yourself than snaking the whiskey Jacob left."

"I'm more of a gin guy," John admits.

"Of course you are."

It's still a relief, though, knowing they aren't keeping an alcoholic too near his fix. On top of that, John's relaxed disregard for his past vices settles nerves Nick hadn't even realized were rattled. Sure, there's probably a whole other box of American Psycho- esque worms waiting to be opened up from John's time before Eden's Gate, but at least he seems to have comfortably packed that part of his life away for now. Unlike talking about the cult, John has no trouble dropping the conversation, just as casually as he'd brought it up. He retreats into the kitchen to mull over whatever he's written down already, leaving behind no traumatic story or sad-eyed stare — just the casual admission that he would really like to do some drugs.

Weirdly enough, that is probably the most respectable thing about John to date.

Nick spends another fifteen minutes checking the radio, scanning the channels he knows people use most. He winds up with nothing to show for it — either the storm is making radio communication impossible, or everybody else has given up on their radios. It's only after he's cleared the range twice that he flips the radio off and escapes back to Kim and Carmina, leaving John in the kitchen with a broad, somehow-sarcastic gesture towards the now unoccupied radio nook.

Carmina ropes Nick into a game of Go Fish, which Kim seems keen on losing. Nick isn't surprised — Carmina is a wily player, which is to say that she tries to bluff her way through hands with all the grace of a sledgehammer. Kim's not as willing to put up with cheating as Nick is, but neither of them are capable of even pretending to believe Carmina's poker face. It's going to be a problem one day, but Nick isn't exactly ready to teach his daughter how to lie to his face.

Well, that is until she and Nick are on their third round of Go Fish, and Nick has had to pretend not to see through all of Carmina's gambits.

He asks her if she has any threes, and she scrunches her nose up as she glances meaningfully at her cards. "Go fish," she says, making Nick regret not having Kim sit right behind their daughter as a referee.

"Fine," he grumbles, "If you say so."

Kim blinks skeptically at the pants she's fixing, but she doesn't offer Nick any out. If it weren't for his clumsy hands, maybe he could use darning socks and patching shirts as an excuse to quit playing, but as it stands, the only thing he has other than getting trounced is staring at the map with John. And since he already tried that and found it to be mildly aggravating at best...

"You know, this would be more fun with more people," Nick says, desperately glancing at Kim.

Kim, of course, gives him no quarter. "Why don't you ask John," she suggests rhetorically.

"John," Carmina calls out, "Do you wanna play Go Fish?"

Nick opens his mouth to chastise Carmina, but he realizes there's nothing to discipline her for. Especially not when John flippantly replies, "I think your father's looking to play with fewer cheaters, not more."

"I'm not cheating!" Carmina exclaims, not-so-surreptitiously pressing her cards into her lap to ensure nobody's looking at them. Between that and her guiltily furrowed brow, there's no hiding it. Her poker face needs a lot of work.

"Go Fish isn't even worth cheating at," Nick sighs, gesturing for her cards. "If that's the way you wanna play, at least do it the right way. Here, gimme your cards — John, come over here so I can teach my daughter how to lie to your face."

As if playing a game of cards with John wasn't enough to excite Carmina, she's doubly over the moon when he tells her the rules. After all, a ten-year-old girl is the prime demographic for the game Bullshit, especially when she's given carte blanche to shout cuss words at her dad. On top of that, it seems like bluffing really is half of the fun for his daughter — which is a little intimidating, sure, but at least he knows she's smart enough to understand the utility of lying.

John is... unenthusiastic, to say the least, but that only makes the prospect of humiliating him that much better. A few weeks ago, Nick would've thought John was too fragile to be messed with, but now there's a bounce in his step that will make taking him down easier. He's got to do something to remind himself that this nearly-tolerable man is usually a miserable sonofabitch.

Unfortunately, John has a fantastic poker face. Nick figured that from the get-go, but it's still daunting to play against a bored, uninterested party. That's probably why Carmina avoids John in favor of hounding Nick, calling out "bullshit!" with delightful glee whenever she thinks Nick has dropped the wrong face card or played a nine instead of a King. On the one hand, Nick appreciates that he can read her as well as she can, but on the other hand, he'd really like a chance to beat John. So far, he's the only one who's called John out, and all he has to show for it is the extra six cards in his hand.

Although Kim is on standby for this round, she keeps flashing Nick amused grins whenever Carmina calls bullshit. Nick almost hopes John can hold it together to be mundane for two entire rounds of cards because he wouldn't stand a chance against Kim.

Case in point, John lays down two cards that are meant to be threes, and Kim clicks her tongue disapprovingly. Carmina frowns up at her mom, who only shrugs and suggests, "I would call him out, if I were you."

John's neutral frown doesn't change. "Last I checked, you weren't playing," he says.

Kim only shrugs in response. Nick furrows his brow at Kim while Carmina squints suspiciously from the discard pile to John and then back again. Of course, encouraging a ten-year-old to swear is always going to win out, and so Carmina wrinkles her nose and calls John out with a slightly uncertain, "Okay, bullshit."

Without so much as a grimace of defeat, John lets Carmina flip his played cards — one three, and one dirty, rotten, lying, bullshit seven .

"That's what I thought," Kim says, flippantly triumphant. "Guess you're not as hard to read as you thought."

Nick sure can't tell what John's thinking as he lifts one shoulder noncommittally. "I stand corrected."

"Wait," Nick asks, "What gave it away?"

"I'm not helping you too , Nick," Kim laughs. "That wouldn't be fair."

"It's not exactly fair to help Carmina," John points out. Nick bets he's just as interested in what tell Kim noticed, although he manages to be less obvious about it. At least he can't crack Kim's smug smile any better than Nick, which is some small compensation.

Nick manages to win this hand, if only because his play strategy involves lying as little as possible. That seems to work against Carmina no problem, but Nick suspects John threw the game out of personal disinterest. If it weren't for the howling winds whistling through the roof and second story, John would probably excuse himself from another hand by retreating upstairs, but as it is he manages to sit through one more round of cards, this time with Kim joining in.

Carmina's poker-face doesn't improve by leaps and bounds, exactly, but she manages to fool Nick into picking up a fat stack of cards, so that's something. Too bad he'd been trying to teach her to lie to John , not her parents. Well — at least she's a nice enough kid to only do it for fun. He hopes, anyway.

Kim makes John's loss look more organic, at least, and she doesn't rub it in too badly when she wins. It's extra kind of her considering Nick is the one who called her last play bullshit, leaving him to rot in miserable third place after both his girls. Well, fine . At least Carmina seemed to have fun, even if Nick is now sitting with nearly half a deck in his hands. If the blizzard keeps up for too long, they might have to graduate to poker.

Before they can play any more card games, though, they take time out for dinner. It's almost normal, sitting around the fireplace with their military rations and some hot broth — if they were eating Marie Calendar pot-pies and watching Christmas movies, Nick would even be able to ignore John's presence sticking out like a sore thumb.

The next best thing to watching movies is talking about them, which has become something of a tradition between the Ryes. It all started in the bunker, where Kim and Nick ran out of normal Christmas stories and began taking turns narrating whatever holiday movies they could remember. They've run through all the memorable Rankin & Bass flicks, as well as a couple more contemporary ones, so they're starting to reach for their personal favorites or the very bottom of the barrel plots.

Nick intends to be paying Jingle All the Way a tribute tonight, but as soon as he mentions that the Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle is one of his favorites, he's interrupted by John snorting derisively.

"Let me guess," Nick snaps, "You're one of those jackasses who pretends Die Hard is a legitimate Christmas movie just so he doesn't have to watch good, family-friendly content."

"It is a legitimate Christmas movie," John responds, just petulantly enough to tell Nick he hit the nail on the head.

"Look, Kim and I have already had this discussion — just because it takes place during Christmas doesn't make it a Christmas movie . Set dressing alone isn't enough!"

John raises his eyes towards the ceiling, which is as subtle as his eyerolls can get. "Whatever you say, Nick."

"What's Die Hard about?" Carmina asks, excitedly guessing, "Does Santa get to shoot people in it?"

"That would be a good Christmas movie," Nick replies. "No, it's just about some guy who has to fight bad guys in a building."

"During Christmas," Kim points out.

"Okay, fine during Christmas. But nobody's dressed up like Santa, nobody sings any carols, and there sure as hell isn't any Christmas magic that saves the day, so it doesn't count!"

"So what does happen?" Carmina asks.

Damn it — Nick should have known that talking about an action flick would immediately disinterest her towards any sloppy story about consumerism. She doesn't even know what a mall is — but she knows how to shoot a handgun, and now that Nick's thinking about it, she might need to use the duct-tape shoulder holster trick one day. It would be pretty bad-ass if she knew how, anyway.

"Okay, fine, I'll do it real quick. I don't remember all the parts, so Kim, you gotta help."

Real quick turns out to take almost as much time as the movie itself had. Kim interjects whenever Nick forgets a plot point, but at least he remembers the core conflict. Sort of, anyway — by the time he's done recounting John McClane's tale, John looks visibly dissatisfied, and Kim has a "well, sort of" expression on her face that implies he didn't quite nail the execution. Well, who cares what they think? All that matters is that Carmina is entertained, and of course she is. After all, narrated or not, it's still Die Hard . Just so long as she doesn't ask about the sequels, they should be okay.

The wind is still whipping overhead, and Nick can see nothing beyond the windows. There's no telling how late it's gotten. Although his internal clock insists it can't have been that long since sundown, Carmina has been yawning for a while now, and the fire's gone down again. It looks like sleeping through the storm is the only pastime left for Nick to try.

Carmina takes over stoking the fire for the final time before bed, while Kim makes her way upstairs to gather as much of their bedding as she can carry. John follows reluctantly behind, clearly unhappy with the prospect of facing his own cold room, but Nick figures he can deal for five damn minutes. For his part, Nick busies himself checking the radio one last time, just in case there's an emergency. He doesn't know what they'd be able to do if there was one, but that doesn't stop him from checking anyway.

With the radio situated just under the stairs, it's easy to listen in to Kim stomping around in the room above, desperate to keep her temperature up. Nick had put off too many attic repairs before this winter — he's going to have to make up for that in spring, when he and John can worm their way into the rafters and ensure that their next winter won't turn the bedrooms into a cold wasteland. Of course, even if they did patch up the gaps in the floorboards and do their best to insulate the attic, not much can beat a genuine fire in the middle of a snowstorm.

Nick isn't even paying attention to the radio, so he flips it off and trusts that everyone can keep themselves safe for another night. He hears the whump of fabric as Kim tosses their two biggest, least moldy blankets down for Carmina to start with, and the creak of footsteps on the landing overhead. Kim's voice isn't raised, but it carries down to Nick clear as a bell.

"John, you'll freeze if you stay up here," she says. "Get your stuff and come downstairs."

"It's not that cold," John says, attempting to deflect from one weak excuse with another. "I doubt Nick approved that suggestion."

Well, not technically, no, but Nick had sort of assumed they were already all on the same page. What does John think Nick's gonna do, force him to freeze upstairs so he can hog the fireplace all to himself?

Kim doesn't give the excuses a chance to breathe, replying with parental exasperation. "He and I both agree it's too cold to sleep upstairs." Nick can hear the teasing plain as day when she adds, "Just don't be weird about it."

Sure enough, suggesting John might be making things awkward is enough to get him to shut up and follow orders. Nick briefly longs for the days when John would mutely nod and do as told without any additional goading, but only for a second. Even that is long enough retrospection to remind Nick of how creepy and genuinely alarming it had been. Sure, John might get argumentative or exasperated now, but at least there's an actual person to communicate with. Nick might want to kick his ass more now than before, but he absolutely hated dealing with the hollow-eyed monster John had been.

Besides, it's way more satisfying being a dick to him now that he actually gets offended.

Despite John's furrowed-brow glares, Nick doesn't comment whatsoever on him trailing downstairs after Kim, clutching two actual blankets and a tarp that's weather-worn enough to pass muster. He stands and waits for someone to point him in the right direction as Kim and Carmina do their best to bundle together a soft place on the floor, but Nick studiously ignores him until he makes a decision himself. John takes a spot close to the fireplace, off to the right of where the girls are setting up. It's still plenty removed enough, so that nobody will get the wrong idea and think John is supposed to be welcome down here. Nick wonders who he's trying to convince, but there are so many damn demons in the man's head, it's anybody's guess.

With the fire roaring for the last time that night, all the blankets arranged and everybody looking exhausted despite not doing anything all day, Nick finally gets to crawl into bed and put this whole goddamn blizzard behind him. Hopefully, the weather has the common sense to clear up tomorrow — for now, it's time to shut out the cold entirely.

He must be tired. Nick barely stays conscious as Kim and Carmina climb under the blankets, the cool air rapidly warming as they begin to shift around and get comfortable. He rouses a few times at first as Carmina kicks his leg and Kim bumps into him, but eventually, he finds himself dozing in the silence of a quiet house. Far above them, the wind is whipping through the attic, but from down here, it sounds like a generic white-noise machine; coupled with the crackling fire, Nick is lulled to sleep by the sounds of peaceful normalcy.

Who knows how long it is before Nick finds himself conscious again. Even then, he only wakes enough to hear the dying fire popping by his feet. Maybe he should stoke it. But that would mean moving, and Nick is weighted down on either side beneath warm blankets, so that's a hard no. He tries first to roll towards Kim and Carmina, ready to curl into a ball and conserve even more heat, but his right arm is stuck. It takes a few bleary-eyed blinks to realize what's pinned him down, but he's barely coherent enough to make sense of it.

Sometime in the night, John must've migrated from the no-man's-land he'd made for himself towards the Rye's pile of blankets. Unsurprising, really — but more than a little awkward, given how he's pressed into Nick's side, pinning Nick's arm in place. Worse yet, half of his blankets have been absorbed into the mess that Nick's been using to keep warm, which is going to make extracting himself tricky if not impossible.

While he tries to figure out how to avoid making this mortifying situation worse, Nick watches John for any signs of consciousness. The guy usually sleeps light, but Nick watches his breathing for a solid minute and doesn't catch anything. Either his poker-face is just that good, or John is actually asleep. Deeply, peacefully asleep. Nick had assumed that was impossible.

If Nick were a better person, he'd probably be thankful to see it. Glad to know that John's insomnia might finally be coming to an end. But Nick is mostly just an exhausted, anxious mess, and now he's just wondering how to get out of the situation he's found himself in.

John shifts, and like a guilty ten-year-old, Nick immediately closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. If he's lucky, John will roll away of his own volition, or at least move enough to let Nick roll over himself. If only he'd decided to sleep on Kim's side — she wouldn't have the same trouble Nick has. She'd just kick him away and be done with it.

Slowly, John moves away from Nick. The relief is short-lived as John pulls back the covers enough to send a cold chill down Nick's side; it's a split-second decision that John immediately regrets, hissing under his breath and letting the blankets fall back into place as he recoils from the freezing temperatures.

Nick can't help his quiet huff of amusement — which is enough to break the illusion that he'd been asleep in the first place. He could probably still fake it, but if he does, John will definitely try to move his blankets, and that is going to be a much bigger problem than tolerating John in his personal space.

"Quit squirming so much," Nick mutters. "Gonna let in the cold."

John is silent and tense beside him, but he does stop squirming. It's like lying near a tense bar of iron. After a brief struggle to figure out what to say, John's embarrassment catches in his voice as he apologizes. "I'm sorry," he rasps. "I — must have been tired."

Nick sighs. "Just don't crush my arm again."

Even though John moves as though Nick threatened him, he stops short of retreating from the blankets entirely. Nick can only imagine how cold it must be — every breath of his that makes it above the blanket-line comes with a faint puff of visible air. No matter how humiliating it might be to cuddle up to Nick, it doesn't seem like John had much of a choice in the matter.

Before John can decide to try escaping again, Nick repeats, "Whatever you do, don't let in the cold."

In for a penny, Nick decides, worming deeper into the makeshift bed so that John can have more room. Rolling over is the easiest way to avoid the mortifying process of finding a comfortable sleeping arrangement. Eventually, they wind up back-to-back; Nick normally wouldn't be able to stand John touching him, but the additional body-heat does a lot to soothe Nick's reservations. Who knew all he needed to tolerate John's physical presence would be cold weather and exhaustion?

The Deputy, probably, which only makes Nick grin in tired relief. At least they would be glad to know that Nick's grown as a person. They'd probably be glad to learn he's finally gotten on-board with not murdering the Seeds in cold blood — even if it took an apocalypse to get there. If they could see the shit he's gotten himself into now, they'd probably...

He sighs. It must be a heavier sound than he imagined, because John whispers, "What?"

"Nothing," Nick says immediately, as default an answer as John's yeses are. But that's not fair, he doesn't think, because they never let John get away with his obvious deflections. As late as it is, it's easy to blame his guilt on his exhaustion. "Just thinking about Rook," he admits.

"Oh."

John is clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but he doesn't react when Nick continues sleepily, "They'd get a kick outta this, is all."

John hums. It's a quiet noise, but Nick can feel it vibrate through John's shirt. If there are two people Nick hates bringing Rook up around, it's Sharky and John. Sure, Sharky's crush was the one that was reciprocated, but Dep had always treated John's flat-footed overtures like creepy compliments instead of outright threats. They'd probably figured John's crush was superficial, whereas Sharky's had been more real than probably anything else Nick had seen the poor sap go through. John's infatuation had been about power, control, and Joseph goddamn Seed. Still, Nick can't help but wonder just how much of it might've been real to John at the time.

"They had a bad sense of humor," John finally responds, quietly enough that Nick almost misses the hurt.

"Terrible," Nick agrees.

When John sighs, Nick recognizes it as a sign of defeat. Whatever he's debating with himself, he's clearly lost. Although he doesn't speak up again, Nick isn't sure he's gone back to sleep. He sure hopes he didn't just instill another restless night in the guy, but that's John's burden to bear. Maybe he can use it to finally find some common ground with Sharky.

Nick isn't even sure that he can fall back asleep, but that doesn't seem to matter. Before he knows it, he's being woken up once more — this time by a glance of sunlight coming in through the upper part of the windows. It's just enough light to wake him, but he spends an exhausted minute staring at the wall over Kim's shoulder as he debates whether or not he's really committing this time. He's going to need to use the bathroom sooner or later — and just thinking that is enough to tell Nick that he's not getting back to sleep again.

John's back is still facing Nick, and Kim rolls away as soon as Nick starts to squirm, which leaves his path to escape much more open than it was a few hours ago. He manages to pull himself free without waking anyone else, but as soon as he does, John worms into the warm spot left behind. Nick should probably be upset, but mostly he just needs to pee. He can kick John out of his spot after he takes care of himself.

Nick leaves the rest of them to sleep as he tiptoes across the living room to the front door. Unfortunately, the door only wedges open an inch before it hits a wall of snow. Unwilling to wake anyone else up with catastrophic noise, Nick heads upstairs, going for the broken window in John's room. It's freezing up here, cold enough to keep meat until spring, and Nick pulls his flannel closer as he crosses the room, trying not to take too much stock of his surroundings. He doesn't care about the tallies John used to carve in the wall by his bed, and he definitely doesn't care to snoop through the pile of clothes that John's been growing in the corner. What he does care about is how easy it is to crawl out onto the roof from the window — after all, this isn't the first time Nick's been snowed in, and he's made escaping his childhood home an art-form.

There's a good three and a half feet of snow on the ground below, blocking any exit from the first floor. At least the gray sky above is calm, and the weather seems to have calmed down some. They'll have to prepare for another couple of inches before the week's out, but Nick bets the worst of it is over. Now he can think about breakfast — more specifically, coffee — and debate the best way to clear the doorways. They need a path out to the hangar, although they can wait another day or two before they'll need to press the matter. Nick's still convinced there's a set of tire chains hiding away in there, but it's not like the roads will be in any condition to drive on for a while yet...

Nick spends so much time thinking about what he's got to do, he forgets to consider how willing the rest of the house will be to pitch in. The top-of-the-snow sunlight isn't enough heat to make up for the lack of a fire, and getting Kim out from under the blankets is gonna be like pulling teeth until he does something about it. Worse yet, John's rolled into the spot Nick had occupied — not exactly sprawled out, or anything, but the guy is irritatingly close to Kim's sleeping back. If he decided to roll one more time, he'd probably end up smacking his face into her shoulder.

Nick considers throwing a fit on principle, but honestly, that's too much work. It's much easier to sulk, glowering at the bed he's definitely not getting back into before getting some logs to stack in the fire. He drops them noisily by John's feet, although he makes every effort not to accidentally pull a Misery on the guy.

The sound of hollow wood clattering on the ground is enough to stir John, who wakes with a sharp inhale, and cause Carmina to groan and turn away from the noise. Kim has probably been awake for a while now, but it won't make a lick of difference until the fire's on.

He turns away to toss the logs semi-haphazardly into the fireplace, then remembers the kindling and turns to get it. John has propped himself on his elbows, but his half-waking confusion causes him to overlook Nick entirely as he stares around the room. Seeing Kim and Carmina asleep next to him is initially met with confusion. He barely seems to recognize the shapes bundled in the blankets, but when he does he recoils in shock. All the nasty comments Nick had thought up take an abrupt backseat as he stops to marvel at the physical repulsion John shows. He's not sure if he should be offended or not. Probably not, but this apocalypse has got Nick wired all wrong.

"She's not gonna bite," Nick says. John whips his attention back to Nick the moment he raises his voice, only for Nick to realize that looming over the guy with a thick block of wood in hand might send the wrong message.

Sure enough, John catches sight of him, jerking back with a startled hiss. " Jesus !"

"Shit, sorry." Nick turns and drops the log, wincing at the noise that he'd moments ago been deliberately making. "Well, judging from that reaction, looks like this isn't the first time a man's caught you in bed with his wife."

John's withering glare is enough to lift Nick's mood right up. He turns his attention back to starting the fire, listening as John slowly shifts his way free of the blankets. Part of him wants to make a few more jokes at John's expense, but that can wait until John's coherent enough to be snide in return.

Nick gets the fire going and turns to follow John, who's made his way into the kitchen to peer out the window. "Completely snowed in," Nick tells him as he gets the instant coffee and the beat-up kettle. "But it looks like the worst of it's over."

"Seems to be," John agrees, adding, "We forgot the shovels in the truck. It's going to be difficult digging them out now."

"Not a lot of other options, unless you wanna stay inside until the big thaw. Don't worry, I'm sure Carmina will be excited to help us dig."

John hums in assent, although his mind seems to be somewhere else. Nick can't help but notice that John's pensive states seem damned near reasonable nowadays. He has plenty to think about, and he seems to be keeping one foot in the here-and-now. He's aware enough of his surroundings that he stops Nick before he can leave John to it.

He tries to stare Nick down, but he can't quite manage it. "Thank you for not..."

John gestures vaguely as the rest of the sentence fails to generate. Nick could probably wait it out, but he's just as embarrassed as John apparently is, and he would rather move past the whole thing.

"Don't worry about it," Nick says. "Just don't get too comfortable cuddling up to me."

Rolling his eyes doesn't hide John's faint smile, but he turns away before Nick can see if it lasts. "That won't be a problem, trust me."

Nick is surprised that he does, even for something as small and inconsequential as a joke. "Grab the mugs when you're done looking for Santa," he says, turning back for the warmth of the fire. A few months ago, Nick might've resented how eroded the line has become between John and his own family, but it's honestly too much work to keep up. At a certain point, they're just going to have to include John in their daily routines — Nick just hadn't expected that point to be made by sharing blankets during a blizzard.

Well, there's one good thing about that, Nick supposes — it means that somewhere up there, the Deputy is watching over them. After all, there's no way in hell random chance has the same shitty sense of humor as Rook had.

[remywrites5]

Hey sup I LOOOOVE spideypool and was wondering if you could do a soulmark spideypool fic cause you're the best writer I know it's ok if you dint want to tho🙂

            It should have been a comfort after Vanessa died that Wade still had someone else’s name on his wrist. It wasn’t. Her name was still there like an ugly reminder of just what he’d lost when she’d been killed. He’d trace it sometimes, the curly lettering of the N swooping into the E. It felt almost like it was mocking him.

           The two names on his wrist had been the only thing that hadn’t been fucked up by his skin. It was like not even Weapon X could destroy that one part of him. While the skin around it matched the rest there was one perfect circle of skin that remained un-uglied. A circle with two names.

           Vanessa and Peter.

           While Vanessa’s name on his wrist was all loopy and pretty, Peter’s name looked like chicken scratch. Messy and jagged like it was written in a hurry. Wade had spent a lot of time very deliberately not thinking about Peter. Vanessa had known right from the beginning that Wade had two names on his arm. She’d never really said anything about it, just making the occasional joke about threesomes. But Vanessa didn’t have Peter’s name on her wrist, she only had Wade’s.

           Now Wade knew why and that was so fucked up.

           A part of him hoped he’d never meet Peter. For one, it felt shitty to move on from Vanessa no matter how many times he touched other people’s butts. Also it wasn’t like he was in the mood to meet another soulmate just to lose them. People around Wade had a tendency to die and he didn’t think he could handle it if he found Peter just to be the reason he got killed too.

           (But he’ll be perfect for us! Just like Vanessa was!)

           {Besides, all this moping is getting pathetic.}

           (I bet Peter’s hot.)

           {Not too hot or he won’t want anything to do with our fucked up face.}

           (He will because he’s our soulmate!)

                                                           ***

           Peter sighed restlessly and turned over in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He’d gotten all of two hours of sleep and his eyes felt heavy. Patrol had kept him out later than usual when he’d found some arms dealer selling in Central Park. He’d managed followed them back to their base of operations all the way down in the Bronx. He’d spent the rest of his night fighting bad guys and webbing them up. Of course it would have taken him half the time if Deadpool hadn’t shown up.

           They’d spent almost the entire time passing quips back and forth and arguing. Peter hadn’t been sure if Deadpool had been there to buy weapons or to stop them. That was the problem with Deadpool, you never really knew who his allegiance was to. It was why even though Peter liked Deadpool, purely for his sense of humor, he really couldn’t trust him. And maybethe way Deadpool was always complimenting him was flattering.

           He’d ended up leaving Deadpool webbed with all the other bad guys because he hadn’t really known what else to do. Deadpool was dangerous and a mercenary. He couldn’t just let him go.

           Peter turned on his side and slid the sleeve of his hoodie down. He traced Gwen’s name for what felt like the millionth time, ignoring the name beneath it. He had never thought he’d lose his soulmate when he was only seventeen and he wondered if it was why the universe had given him two names. But even though it had been three years since Gwen had died, it still felt weird to think about being with someone else. He’d tried with MJ and that hadn’t exactly worked out and not just because they didn’t have each other’s names on their arms.

           Peter didn’t like having to keep secrets but that was the nature of being Spider-man. Not being each other’s soulmates basically meant that MJ had very little reason to put up with Peter’s bullshit for very long. Being Spider-man meant that Peter had a lot of bullshit to carry around.

           Even though there was a second name on his wrist, Peter couldn’t imagine anyone putting up with his lifestyle for long. Whoever Wade was, Peter almost felt bad for him.

                                                           ***

           “Hi baby boy!” Deadpool cooed, skipping over to Spider-man and putting his head on his shoulder. It was the sixth time they had met – yes, Wade was keeping count – and Wade hoped this time would end better than the time when he’d been left webbed to a wall with a bunch of scumbags. It would have been a great Saturday night if it was just been the two of them.

           “Deadpool,” Spider-man said, shoving Wade away. “I’m surprised they called you in for this.”

           Wade shrugged. “Guess it’s an all hands on deck kind of situation. Speaking of, I’ve got dos manos if you ever need them.” Wade did spirit fingers at Spidey. “You know, for backrubs, holding your spider-purse, anything you need I’ve got two thumbs, eight other varying digits and I’m your guy.”

           “Thanks, I’ll, um, keep that in mind?”

           Wade snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t miss the way Spidey seemed to be checking out his biceps. “So is this alien invasion of the cuter variety? Because I’ve got to say I don’t think I have the heart to shoot E.T. Alf maybe and that Mac and Me fucker definitely but not E.T.”

           “So you’ll kill people no problem but you draw the line at lovable aliens?” Spider-man asked, putting his hands on his hips disapprovingly.

           “You’re not an alien are you?” Wade asked, worrying he might have offended Spidey. “Don’t worry, baby boy, even if you were an alien you’d definitely be of the cute variety. I could never shoot you even if you had antennae and like eight eyes. Do you? I mean you could have anything under that mask.”

           “No, I’m not an alien,” Spider-man said with an amused huff of breath. “And just the two eyes.”

           “Oh good,” Wade said, wiping his brow in relief. “Not that I’m above fucking an alien. If it was good enough for Captain Kirk it’s good enough for me. I would have fucked Worf any day of the week.”

           “That was next Gen.”

           “Oh my god,” Wade said, squealing slightly. “I think I just got an erection.” He glanced down at his crotch and yup that was definitely half a chode at least.

           “And on that note…” Spider-man said, walking away from Wade. Wade cocked his head to the side and watched him walk away, blatantly staring at his ass because damn!

           (break us off a piece of that!)

           {Spidey is such a babe. Bet he’s got someone amazing on his arm!}

           (Maybe it’s Black Widow. Arachnid buddies!)

           Wade followed after Spidey, keeping an eye on his booty as he walked, singing Bootylicious under his breath, unable to help himself. That spandex was hugging Spidey in all the right places. When they got to where the rest of the heroes were huddled up he finally looked away or it was going to go from a half to a whole. “Ooh first day of superhero camp! If we’re doing team games I call anyone with that maximum power level. I want to be team captain so I get to pick first! Thor, buddy, you’re with me. Brawn and beauty, the perfect combo!”

           “Wilson, if you don’t mind,” Nick Fury said with a heavy sigh. “I’d like to start the debriefing.”

           “I call dibs on debriefing Spidey!” Wade called out, putting his arm around Spider-man. Spidey turned and scowled at Wade. He couldn’t tell for sure with the mask on but it definitely felt like a scowl. For his part, Fury was also scowling at Wade. “Oops, sorry Mace Windu, master. The floor is yours.”

           Fury continued to glare for a moment and then looked around at the other heroes. “According to Danvers the aliens have just entered our atmosphere and are headed this way.”

           Wade kind of spaced out for the rest of the explanation. He wasn’t much of a team player anyway and was going to do his own thing. When everyone started to break away, Wade pulled his katanas from their holsters and flipped them once. He glanced up at the sky just as a few large ships appeared. “We’re going to live on! We’re going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence day!”

           “Easy for you to say, man,” Clint said over the coms. “Of course you’re going to survive.”

           “Yo bird man!” Wade exclaimed happily. “Didn’t see you earlier. How’s the wifey and kids?”

           “Not bad,” Clint responded. “Good to see you out here with us.”

           “Clear the coms, please,” Fury said, clearing his throat pointedly.

           Wade rolled his eyes and got ready for the action. A few nasty alien bastards landed near him and he grinned with excitement. “Let’s get ready to rumble!” he shouted, running towards them at full speed.

                                          ��                ***

           Peter had just barely missed being shot by a laser gun thanks to his Spidey sense. He did a leap in the air to get out of the way and then shot a web to the gun, yanking it out of the alien’s hand and sending it flying towards another one’s head. He was just about to shoot a web towards its foot to knock it off its feet when he heard something in his earpiece.

           “Wade!” Hawkeye shouted. Peter was so caught off guard that he missed and ended up webbing the space next to the alien he’d been aiming at. He quickly shot out a few more webs to contain them and then went to the edge of the building he was standing on to get a good look down below. His eyes narrowed on Clint who was kneeling down besides Deadpool. “Hey Wade, man, you okay?”

           Peter’s feet stumbled underneath him as he shot out a web and swung down to where Wade was laying in the alley. “Oh hey, baby boy, you didn’t have to come down here. I’ll be fine. Honestly you two make such a fuss over me, it’s embarrassing.”

           “Your name is Wade?” Peter asked, blinking slowly, his mind still processing.

           “Yeah,” Wade said, coughing slightly as he sat up. “I thought everyone knew that. Not like I have a secret identity like you, pookie.”

           Clint seemed to think Wade was in good hands because he got gracefully back to his feet and took off running back to the fray. Wade’s suit was torn slightly from where he’d been blasted by their laser guns and he had a rip right by his wrist. Peter couldn’t help rolling his eyes at that. Fate or some such nonsense was clearly intervening.

           “You doing okay, Spidey?” Wade asked when Peter didn’t say anything. Peter reached out and pushed Wade’s suit up his arm to reveal his name – or names – as it turned out.

           Peter swallowed, his throat suddenly thick with emotion. “Hi,” he said softly. “I’m Peter.”

           Wade’s jaw dropped. “No way. You can’t be serious… but you wouldn’t joke about something like that, would you baby?”

           Peter shook his head just as an explosion happened above their heads. “Shit, this is the worst fucking time. But you heal and I’ll go and help and we’ll talk later, right?”

           “Of course.”

           Peter nodded and shot out a web, crawling up the wall on the outside of the building to get back into the thick of it. It felt wrong leaving his soulmate injured in an alleyway but he didn’t have much choice. Sometimes saving the world could be so inconvenient.

                                                           ***

           Wade was swooning, actual honest to God swooning for real. Not only was Spider-man (Peter!) his soulmate, but he was also carrying Wade home like a damsel in distress. It was the greatest moment of Wade’s life. “Fucking laser guns!” Wade said, looking down at his charred suit. “They seem so fun in the Goldeneye game. Not so much in real life.”

           Peter set Wade down by the front door and then unlocked his apartment. Wade couldn’t believe he was actually going to get to see where Spidey lived!

           (This is the best day of our life like ten times over!)

           {We got to play with the Avengers, Spidey is our soulmate and we get to see the Bat Cave. So cool!}

           “So…” Peter said, pulling off his mask and throwing it onto the couch. He turned and Wade got the first good look at his soulmate.

           “Oh fuck!” Wade said, putting his hand over his mouth.

           “What?” Peter asked, blushing like a damn cartoon prince.

           “You’re fucking hot!” Wade said, throwing his hands up in the air over his head in exasperation. “How is that possible?”

           Peter chuckled and shook his head. “Shut up. We should probably talk about some stuff, don’t you think?”

           “Or we could skip right to the kissing part,” Wade offered with a shrug. He really didn’t want to relive his whole tragic backstory but he knew Peter wasn’t going to just let it go, especially now that he’d seen the other name on Wade’s wrist. “I’m guessing you want to know about Vanessa, right? Ex-girlfriend, love of my life, all that jazz. Knew her before I got cancer, left to go join Weapon X, got a whole heap of fuckery for my trouble, saved her life when the baddies got her, didn’t save her the second time when some chucklefucks showed up at our apartment. Tried to kill myself. Tried to kill myself some more. Saved a kid. Went to TGI Fridays. I think that about catches you up to speed.”

           “I’m sorry,” Peter said, shuffling awkwardly. “Uh my turn, I guess? Bitten by a radioactive spider on a school trip to Oscorp. My uncle got shot and I became obsessed with trying to find the guy that did it. Became Spider-man. Fought some baddies. One was a giant lizard man.” Peter pulled one of his gloves off and walked over, showing Wade his wrist with two names, just like Wade’s. “Fell in love with my classmate Gwen. Turned out she was my soulmate, or at least one of them. She was killed and I couldn’t save her. That was about three years ago. Haven’t been to a TGI Fridays in years though.”

           “This is going to be a disaster, Peter, you know that, right?” Wade said, gently wrapping his hand around Peter’s wrist.

           Peter laughed softly. “There’s not much in my life that isn’t a disaster, honestly.”

           “Sounds like we’re perfect for each other then,” Wade managed to joke. He felt overwhelmed being faced with his name on Peter’s wrist. All the time he’d spent hoping he’d never find Peter and keep whoever it was safe from him. Now it turned out it was a fucking superhero.

           “Can I see your face?” Peter asked, taking a step closer to Wade.

           “I don’t know…”

           “Please?” Peter begged, his big eyes like a god damn anime character. Wade didn’t have the strength to say no to him. With his free hand, he pulled the mask off in one go like a bandaid, getting it over with as soon as possible. He stood there uncomfortably as Peter stared up at him, his eyes roving all over Wade’s face, taking it in. “Does it hurt?”

           “Yeah,” Wade responded, unable to lie about it. He wanted Peter to know the truth. He wanted Peter to know everything. Just the small point of contact of his hand on Peter’s wrist was sending little shivers up and down Wade’s arm. “But I’ve learned to live with it.”

           Peter nodded. “I guess we’ve both kind of learned to live with a lot of things.”

           “I guess so,” Wade concurred, taking a step closer to Peter because it seemed like the thing to do. “Maybe we should start a dead girlfriends club.”

           “Sounds depressing,” Peter said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. He sighed heavily and dropped his head onto Wade’s chest. “I miss Gwen a lot but I’m so tired of feeling like this. I want something good, you know? Something that doesn’t make me feel like shit all the time.”

           “Yeah, that’s how I feel,” Wade said, bringing his hand up and running his fingers through Peter’s hair. “That sounds good. Not sure I know how to do that though.”

           “Mm,” Peter hummed, lifting his head up slightly until it was buried in Wade’s neck. ”Well this is nice. We could just keep doing this.”

           “I think I could handle that, baby boy,” Wade said, bringing his other arm around Peter and holding him. He felt Peter melt against him with their suits pressed together. Peter was a good head shorter than him and it made him look so small and precious. Wade couldn’t believe this kid actually went out and fought crime on a regular basis.

           Peter lifted his chin up and stared at Wade. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I’d really like to get out of my suit.”

           Wade smirked. “And what wrong way would that be?”

           Peter snorted. “We’re not having sex, Wade. But I believe someone mentioned a backrub.” Peter grabbed Wade’s arm and slowly began to back them up towards what Wade could only assume was the bedroom.

           “Sorry, all I heard was having sex,” Wade joked, following after Spidey willingly. Already he couldn’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for him. Christ, he’d forgotten what this felt like, the crazy blissful happiness of falling for someone new. He’d thought he was done with all that mushy bullshit but here he as turning back into a marshmallow.

           Peter stopped in the door way and tugged Wade forward. “Behave yourself,” Peter said, pushing up onto his tiptoes and kissing Wade sweetly on the lips. Wade’s eyes widened in surprise at the contact.

           “What fun would that be?” Wade quipped, ducking his head down and kissing Peter again, those same shivers now surging through his entire body and the name on his wrist tingling. As much as he had been dreading finding his second soulmate, he had to admit this had turned out better than he’d ever dared to hope for. He kissed Peter again, just because he could, wishing that against the odds he could keep this one good thing.

[cherryrogers]

Drunk.

Loki x Fem!Reader

Contains: Fluff, minor cat-calling.

Synopsis: The best part of being drunk? Being taken care of by the Norse god you’re lucky enough to call your boyfriend.

__________________________________________

It wasn’t often that you drank alcohol, but when you did, you didn’t waste any time getting completely hammered. Feeling the beat of the music in your chest at a nightclub and watching your friends have a good time just got you so pumped up. And soon enough, you were the one having the good time.

However, even in the midst of stupidly downing another shot and trying to dance in your unstable state, you couldn’t help but miss your boyfriend back at home. Loki didn’t like when you went out partying - and he made it very obvious. He’d childishly hide your makeup brushes and ‘accidentally’ misplace your shoes. It was the same thing every time - you’d get extremely irritated at him, and all he’d respond with was that frustratingly hot smirk. At this point, it’d kind of became your thing to be late to parties because of Loki’s antics.

The night always tended to end the same as well. A drunken text or call would inevitably find its way to Loki, and he’d be there in a flash to pick you up. Having you back home was the only thought on his mind the whole time you were out, and such a large relief for him as soon as you stepped through the front door.

And so, the point in the night came where your jittery fingers tapped aimlessly on the blurred keyboard of your phone, hoping that you could form something coherent to indicate to Loki that you wanted brought home. You swore you felt your phone vibrate after shoving it back into your bra, but you could barely lift your arms after being hit with a wave of exhaustion. Dizzily, you stumbled over to a bar stool and forced yourself upon it. Without a second thought, you rest your head in your arms against the cold surface of the bar, barely resisting the urge to shut your eyes.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out, but someone was shaking your shoulder gently and saying your name, and you reluctantly lifted your head up. Blinking repeatedly, your eyes adjusted as best as they could to the person standing over you, and an involuntary smile formed on your lips - it was Loki. Honestly, it was probably the best part of the night, when your boyfriend would show up and wrap his arms around you, taking you back to where you longed to be after a night of partying.

“Come on, gorgeous. Let’s get you home.” His soothing voice caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach, as you nodded lazily and attempted to push yourself off the bar stool.

Loki’s arm enveloped your waist, holding most of your weight as you made no effort to keep yourself upright. However, you were quick to wrap your arms around Loki’s neck and sloppily kiss his cheek.

“So happy to s-see you, Loki.” You slurred.

He let out a laugh, guiding you through the doors of the club. “Really? I can’t tell by the way you are practically strangling me.”

“Strangling you with loooove.” Your hand reached up to cup his face, turning him to look at you. For a moment, you literally got lost in his beautiful blue eyes, almost forgetting that you were going in to kiss him. Almost. Once you’d processed how insanely perfect your boyfriend was, it just made you want to kiss him harder; which you did.

Loki was about to question why you were staring at him for so long, until he felt your lips press against his. A familiar warm feeling coursed through his typically cold body as he held you close to him. He could taste the alcohol on your tongue, and was suddenly reminded of where you were - making out outside of a club at one in the morning.

The sound of whistling caused Loki to pull away from you, making you pout in disappointment. Your boyfriend’s eyes were directed towards a group men standing a couple of metres away, leaning drunkly against the wall of the club. He followed their lustful gazes, which were set on you. Your dress had ridden up your thighs, barely even covering the parts of you that definitely shouldn’t be on show.

While you rested your head in the crook of his neck obliviously, Loki shot the group of guys a menacing glare. He tended to come off as intimidating to, well, everyone. Everyone except you, obviously. The men noticed the threatening stare from your protective boyfriend, and the smirks that were playing in their lips instantly disappeared. They turned away from the direction of you both, and you tapped Loki’s chest impatiently, asking him to take you to the car.

Before he obliged, Loki reached to pull down your dress to an appropriate length, and then proceeded to lead you over to the car. He debated whether to sit you in the front or let you lie down in the backseat. However, the choice wasn’t really his as you yanked open the door to the backseat, climbing inside ungracefully. As soon as your head hit the fabric of the seat, you were ready to drift back to sleep again. That was until you caught Loki about to close the door, after moving your legs so that they weren’t hanging outside the car.

“Wait! Loki, don’t go.” You furrowed your brows sadly as Loki tried to suppress a chuckle.

Reassuringly, he placed his hand on your calf, leaning inside the car. “I will just be in the front seat, love. I have to drive.”

“But it’s cold as frick back here.” Loki rolled his eyes at you dramatically sticking your bottom lip out, but didn’t hesitate to take off his leather jacket and rest it over your body. You grinned, pulling the large jacket up to your chin and sighing contently at Loki’s scent being prominent on the material.

You didn’t even realise where you were when the car pulled up outside your apartment building. The sound of the car door opening again didn’t phase you, and you felt a hand softly pushing strands of your hair out of your face.

“We’re almost home, (Y/N), then you are free to sleep for as long as you would like.”

“Imma sleep in here. Don’t wanna move.” Your voice was muffled under the leather jacket and you hadn’t even reopened your eyes.

“Darling, you just have to make it to the elevator. I will even carry you if it makes the process quicker.” It was hard to say no to being carried back to your apartment by your boyfriend, and that’s why you instantly made your best efforts to sit up, still clutching on tightly to his jacket.

Loki went to put his hands under your knees when you pushed them away, making him raise his brows at you questioningly. “Piggyback?Pleeeaaase?”

Of course, Loki couldn’t deny you of a piggyback when you were staring up innocently at him, your arms reaching out in front of you like a child. “If it means you will leave the car, then fine.”

Grabbing his outstretched hand, you pushed yourself to stand on the pavement and slammed the car door shut behind you. As you looked at Loki expectantly, he reluctantly turned away from you, crouching down slightly. Without warning, you launched yourself onto his back, causing him to grunt and fall forward before he managed to steady himself. He hoisted you higher on his back, gripping your thighs securely.

You rested your head on his shoulder, occasionally turning to the side to peck his cheek as he carried you to the elevator. Once you were inside and Loki pressed your floor button, he turned to look up at you. “You’re lucky that I am utterly smitten with you, (Y/N). This may be a comfortable experience for you, but I can not necessarily say the same for myself.”

“I’ll give you a piggyback tomorrow, Loki. Then we’re even stevens.” You twirled one of his black locks with your finger absentmindedly while he laughed.

“I’m not sure that you would be physically capable of that, love. I appreciate the offer, though.”

“Maybe not, but I’m physically capable of doing some other things, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down.” You erupted with giggles, and Loki sighed, blushing slightly.

The elevator doors opened with a ding and both of you exited the small space. “I hope by that you mean climbing off my back and going to bed.”

Loki struggled to unlock your apartment door as you stayed clinging to his body, only holding you up with one hand. “Naaaah, I mean suck-”

“Don’t... finish that sentence. I know what you meant.”

Giggling uncontrollably again, you just wrapped your arms tighter around your boyfriend as he managed to open the door, taking you both inside and locking it again. He carried you through to your bedroom and stood facing away from the bed, waiting for you to detach yourself from him and fall back, but you don’t.

“Remember what we said about climbing off my back and going to bed? Could you... do that, darling?” Loki tapped your thigh, but you shook your head against his neck.

Pointing towards the bathroom, you groaned. “Need to do my skincare routine.”

“You are not being serious, are you?”

“Uh, I’m being deadass serious. Bathroom, please.”

“About three minutes ago you were literally asleep.”

“Well now I’m not!” You exclaimed. “Gonna get an acne attack if I go to sleep like this.”

With a deep sigh, Loki gave in. He knew it was useless trying to convince you otherwise, and he also knew how conscious you were of your skin. Skipping out on your skin routine was never an option for you, even when you were drunk.

A few minutes later, you were sat on the counter in the bathroom, watching Loki as he pulled everything out of your skincare bag and laid them next to you. He insisted on helping you out with your routine, because in your state, it’d take you until sunrise to finish it. “Okay, what’s first?”

“Wipes.” You picked up the pink packet next to you and handed it to Loki, who pulled out a wipe and put the packet back down. His hand rested on the side of your neck, pressing his thumb against your jaw and wiping off your makeup.

While he focused on the task, you couldn’t help but admire him. His bottom lip was bitten between his teeth in concentration, and his dark brows were knitted together slightly. Strands of his hair were stuck up out of place from you playing with it, and the jet black colour of his locks contrasted with his pale skin. Everything about him was beautiful in your eyes.

“You’re so pretty, do you know that?” You broke the comfortable silence with your sudden urge to compliment your boyfriend, who attempted to suppress a smirk.

“I’m not entirely sure pretty is an adjective I’d associate with myself.” Loki motioned for you to close your eyes so he could remove your eye makeup.

Shutting your eyes, you kept speaking. “You’re a pretty boy, Loki. My pretty boy.”

With your eyes closed, you couldn’t see Loki’s cheeks reddening and the involuntary smile on his face. “Always yours, my love.”

Once the pressure on your eyes had disappeared, you opened them again. You reached forward to wrap your arms around Loki, but he put his hands against your shoulders.

“No hugs until we are finished here. You demanded that this be done, and we are doing it as quick as possible, alright?”

Leaning back against the mirror, you sighed, leading Loki through the rest of your skin regime until it was finally done. As soon as all of your products were packed back into their bag, you threw your arms around Loki and squeezed him tightly. How many other gods would do their drunk, mortal girlfriend’s skincare routine for them at nearly two in the morning? Probably not a lot. You hoped Loki knew how much you appreciated him, if he couldn’t tell by the fact you were clinging to him like a koala.

After the both of you stripped off and were too lazy to put on proper pyjamas, you got into bed with just your underwear on and clung back onto your boyfriend. Nuzzling your head into Loki’s bare chest, you exhaled a breath of content.

“You know, for being the God of Mischief, you sure are a sweetheart.” You muttered, earning a quiet chuckle from Loki.

“Only for you, darling.”

“Oh, I see...” You smirked. “God of Mischief on the streets, God of Softness in the sheets.”

“Because you are intoxicated, I am going to act like those words did not just come out of your mouth.”

“Hmm... you do you, softie.”

-

Sequel: You’re Hungover, Darling.

[saintheartwing]

Invader Zim: The Pigshit Troll, Part One

Dib didn't like Zim's creative writing stories, and he made that clear to everyone. Now everyone is sure he's the troll going around blasting other people's work and writing horrible, awful things. With his reputation cratered and people despising him...what's to be done? 

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Creative writing! One of the best, easiest ways to express yourself in the school setting. It would be a nice and simple way to boost one's grade point average, too.

But it also told people a lot about the sort of person you were, and that was as clear as could be when it came to the "student" called Zim. Dib was very well aware of that. He scowled a bit as he looked through some of the stories Zim had written, all of them were made available on the school's website just like his was or Zita or Sara or his own sister Gaz's, and there were distinct personalities shining through. Dib had spent a long time reading them in his room, his black, scythe-like hair slicked back a little, adjusting his glasses, wearing his usual black jacket as he looked the stories over.

Gretchen had a lot in common with him. She too liked to write mysteries or science fiction tales. Stories of the fantastic. One particular story had a distinct "Carrie" esque influence, a rather homely-looking girl finding out she had psychic powers and was trying to learn "how to blow shit up with my MIND" as she kept saying to her friends and family around her. It actually ended up working, a Poop cola can shaking about on the table to a pineapple and a watermelon getting blown apart to, at long last, the principal's car going up in a glorious bang right before his eyes, thereby ensuring that she would never, ever again get sent to detention or his office for anything.

Sara's stories showed her strict Catholic upbringing, there was much emphasis on guilt, forgiveness, redemption and religion. She had, however, also shown a clear talent in action schlock, FUN action schlock. Dib was surprised to find himself enjoying her tales of the Saints that she'd adapted into stories for others to read, Saint Sebastian taking more arrows than Boromir in Lord of the Rings, Peter racing for his life to escape a hostile city that wanted to kill him, ducking down every grimy alley he could find, and, of course, her magnum opus was on Saint George, the famous "dragon slayer". Not only did she detail a fantastic fight, but George's refusal to renounce his faith, terrible torture sessions, being sliced and diced on a wheel of swords that STILL didn't kill him before finally being decapitated on a city wall. Sara had clear talent for gripping your attention.

Gaz however, loooooved to write horror stories. One particular story stood out. He was in it. Investigating a haunted house, Gaz had written that Dib had heard a grandfather clock chime when the house had been abandoned for over a hundred years, and the clock couldn't still be working. All of the parts were long since rusted and broken down. Then, he was chased by an axe wielding ghost, cracking through the floor, down into a big dungeon…where even more axe wielding ghosts laid in wait! The ending was a horrible twist one too. He woke up in his bed, all of it had clearly been a dream…until you saw the "OR HAD IT?" at the end, with a special illustration she'd made of Dib holding his own severed head up above his body.

But then it came time to Zim's stories. And were he not wearing that black fake hair and fake contacts, Dib knew the little alien invader would be grinning his zipper-toothed grin with a dark, smug light in his ruby/maroon eyes. That little green-skinned piece of crap.

Zim's stories had serious grammatical errors. Zim's stories had him winning all the time. Zim's stories had him doing disgusting, horrible things to humans and especially to Dib, and to his family. Zim seemed to relish in getting to write all of this down and he LOOOOVED seeing the look on Dib's face when Dib was looking at his smartphone, because he knew, he could tell when Dib was reading one of HIS tales. Dib had a unique mixture of disgust, anger, irritation and revulsion that blended together like a bad smoothie, and Zim was drinking it aaaaaaall in…and loving every second of it.

"This doesn't even begin to make sense!" Dib proclaimed, reading the latest story Zim had written. "Why would I ever, EVER help you…YOU…conquer the galaxy? I've spent my whole life trying to keep you from conquering Earth! Literally, years of my life! You expect me to just do a personality 180 and be like "Irken tyranny is fine"!?" He remarked aloud at Zim, giving him a dark glower. "Oh, and then there's this one, this one here…" He pointed at his smartphone screen. "This one just comes off like a torture porn. How did the teacher let you get away with it? It's just you torturing me for no good reason and rubbing your face in winning. And THIS one expects me to be HAPPY that you're conquering the universe using demonic artifacts so the Irken empire reigns supreme! And then you...kidnap my sister? And you murder people in front of her yet expect us to overlook all that awful stuff because you had a sad past? My childhood has sucked, I didn't grow up to be a megalomaniacal sociopath like you!"

"Bully for you." Gaz remarked with a grunt. "Dib, it's just some fanfics and stories, it ain't a big deal."

"Yeah well maybe not, but it's still gross to me, okay? And if he wants to write about it, I get to complain about it. That's my freedom of speech." He grunted back as Zim smirked and stuck his tongue out at Dib. He had a nice, easy way to get under the human's skin and there wasn't anything he could do.

Nobody had any idea how bad it was going to get.

The next day, their English teacher Nick called the students to pay attention at the front of his class as he walked in, his expression solemn, quiet and disturbed. "I found some…very insulting, horrible reviews put up on the school website, reviewing the stories. I would like whoever wrote them to come forward." He intoned, the rather hairy-armed and hairy-chested young man sighing as he folded his arms over his green t-shirt, Dib looking from him to Zim, then to the rest of the class as they immediately took out their phones to check.

Sure enough, the reviews were astoundingly cruel. They weren't even competently put together.

"THIS STORY IS PIG SHIT! THIS STORY IS PIGSHIT!"

"PIGSHIT FUCK YOUR PIGSHIT NARDS YOU DERPIN PAN!"

"THIS STORY IS PIGSHIT!"

"REVIEW MY STORIEZ! u/3211346 REVIEW MY STORIES OR I WILL FIND YOU IN REAL LIFE AND FORCE YOU!"

"Sheesh." Dib frowned. What the heck was all this? It was all in caps. And it had been left not only on stories done by his classmates, but on other classes too. It was odd…nothing linked them at all. After all, the classmates in the grade older than him were super focused on that silly show "Moon Sailor". And Gaz's class, except for her, had all written tales about "Nakuro the Ninja", they were reeeeaaally into anime and manga lately.

"I don't want to believe anyone in my class wrote these reviews but all of the English teachers are asking their students. So…whomever may be behind these? Step forward."

And that's when some of the kids looked right at Dib, murmuring and muttering amongst themselves as Dib glanced back.

"Why are you all looking at me?" He wanted to know, frowning.

"Your stories didn't get that many bad reviews." Sara remarked.

"I still got some, though!" Dib protested. "Besides, that's not a good enough reason to think I did it!"

"But you're always complaining about ZIM'S stories really furiously and being all pissy." Said Zita.

"Why would I leave an anonymous review complaining about his stories when I've always been open about the fact I hate him?" Dib inquired. "I'm gonna all of a sudden decide after years of complaining about him to hide my complaining behind a mask because…why?" He wanted to know. "Furthermore, all of the "pig shit" reviews are advertising someone ELSE'S stories, not mine! That's not my account he linked! And I'm not even interested at all in those ninja stories or those silly Moon Sailor tales, look at the ones I favorited or left signed reviews on, none of them are in those fandoms. I'm not interested in them, so why would I leave any kind of review, even a raging, hateful one on them? Wouldn't I leave one on something I actually care about enough to get angry or furious over?"

"Yeaaaah, but there's a LOT of hatred in these reviews, and you're the only one in class who gets THAT mad about Zim stories." Gretchen confessed. "It does look kinda bad."

"But whenever I complained about Zim's stories, it was because they were so mean and cruel and misanthropic and Zim was just getting away with being a jerk! I laid out all my points well. And I sure didn't just write in all caps and with bad grammar!" Dib added. "You can't just assume I did it!"

But the kids murmured and muttered amongst themselves as Dib frowned, turning away, Zim sniggering at his misfortune. "Yeah, real funny, Zim. Real funny."

The rumor spread through the school. Poor Dib kept getting really insulting messages left for him on all of his work. Even when none of it even MENTIONED Zim, he got the horrible reviews, accusing him of being a troll, of being "Pig Shit".

"Look at this!" He told the guidance counselor, Mr. Thildari….before he remembered the man with soft white hair and a soft yet dark voice was literally blind and couldn't see it. He wore a white long-sleeve shirt and white pants and sat next to Dib on bean bag chairs in the nice "safe space" he'd set up in his office.

"Could you read it aloud?" The man softly inquired.

"Yeah…sure." Dib sighed. "Heh-hem. "you bash stories all time about Zim, tbh and you bully authors here. you are just as bad as any villain you're bitching about so get the fuck over yoself you preachy hypocrite. if i see more writers quit their storys because you a sneaky, evil person karma will come for you. i hope you believe in Jesus because yo gnna need him and the good Lord to save your sorry ass from going to hell".

"My, my, how very rude of them."

"It gets worse. Some garbled nonsense here too. "nvkdfjsl:Derpin pig shittin h*** humpin nards suckin pan!" And THEN there's " You big fat white nasty smelling fat b*** why you took me off the m*** schedule with your trifling dirty white racist a** you big fat b*** oompa loompa body a** b*** I'm coming outside and I'm going to beat the f*** out of you b***". I mean really?! Oompa Loompa body?! Racist?! Where's all this coming from? And then this guy calls me the q word! What is WRONG with these people?!"

"There has to be some way to stop it." Mr. Thildari remarked softly.

"I don't know HOW. How am I supposed to convince them it isn't me?" Dib groaned, burying his face in his hands as Mr. Thildari gently stroked over his back, and quietly sighed. "What could possibly be good enough for them?"

"I wish I could tell you." The guidance counselor told him. "All I can do is promise you, I'll be here to talk to you. To be as a shoulder to cry on."

"I'm glad you're so good at it." Dib confessed softly as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, sniffling a bit, trying to fight back tears. "People don't realize how…how fuckin' SHITTY it is. It's this daily grind, waking up every day to see nothing but shit flung at you just for having an opinion they don't like, for trying to make the world a better place, for trying to hold people accountable for the awful things they say and do."

"Well Dib, remember, Zim has the right to write stories, even if you think they're awful or dark or cruel."

"Yeah…sure. Doesn't mean I don't get to complain about them!" Dib muttered. "Everyone forgets that. They just want to be free to post anything up with no critique. But this? This isn't critique I'm getting, this isn't like me pointing out character inconsistencies or how meanspirited a story feels, this is just bashing, this is just trolling, this is just swears and vulgar crap and yelling. That's not free speech, that's like…HATE speech. So what am I gonna do…" He murmured, burying his face in his hands. "…what am I gonna do…"

…what indeed.

Author's Note: Every single review you see from "Pig Shit" and quoted by Dib is literally word for word either what I've received, or what I've been accused of writing. And Dib's views are my own. And that's all I will say for now.

[mythicalbeyotch]

hey!! do you have any stucky fic recs? like your faves, the ones that warm your heart

omg yesss!!! thank you so much for asking, i’m both so honored someone values my opinion and also so blessed to be able to talk about myself and my otp for a hot sec

gonna add a break because this is going to get long probably yolo

Longer fics:

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side i just read this one yesterday and i am truly obsessed and would love to talk to someone about it!!! so steve’s captain america still but it’s modern bucky who is a ufc+ (ufc but for superhumans basically) boxer, and there’s some angst, some fluff, some sad lonely men finding each other, and it’s incredible! you need an ao3 account to read it btw. 

Spaces On The Wall this one is so lovely!!! it’s an au with steve and bucky as single dads, and steve’s like the all-american hot-shot beefcake lawyer while bucky is new to town and has hella ptsd from being a pow and is really only holding it together for his gorgina daughter, and they obviously find each other and it’s beautiful. 

Dishonor On Your Cow okay this one over 100,000 words which i rarely read but it’s so worth it. it’s captain america and modern day bucky with his best friend sam wilson and i loooove a sambucky dynamic. it starts as enemies to lovers because bucky is like soooo unimpressed by captain america’s whole shtick. for this one i’ll just add the actual little excerpt summary because it describes their dynamic at the beginning so well. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” “Oh, hell no, don’t call him that, man,” Sam warned. 

“Captain Fuck Off!” Barnes shouted over him. “Fight me!”

Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or just slink away. He managed to combine the two by pacing two steps and snorting instead. Like a bull.

“I’m gonna need you to calm your ass, Barnes,” Sam said as he went limp again, obstructing Barnes’s struggling under him. “This is so undignified. That is Captain goddamn America.”

“Captain goddamn America!” Barnes repeated, louder. And angrier.Steve cleared his throat again. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” he told Barnes.

“I hope you brought lube this time!” Barnes shouted.

The Memory of Us okay this one is definitely very angsty but has a happy ending don’t worry! so after steve and bucky have been reunited and are doing alright, steve gets taken by hydra and made into a replacement for the winter soldier. and so bucky has to go save him and deal with his own guilt and trauma. 

i’m guilty of treason (i’ve abandoned control)  okay i am like probably one of the most diehard bottom steve stans out there, but this fic was worth delving into sub bucky because it’s soooo good. steve is super daddy as like middle-aged, silver-fox, rogue captain america, and bucky is the young SHIELD agent who gets captured by steve’s team when SHIELD sends him to infiltrate steve’s team (don’t worry, neither of them are bad guys in this, they’re just idealistically on opposing sides for the time being). bucky is like super slutty and super thirsty for steve, and steve is just so big and dominant, and normally i would be like ???? at those dynamics, but somehow they work so well here idk just read it

despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained)  okay this one is literally going to destroy your entire soul and i’m sorry for that but also not. this guy is colloquially referred to as “the mask fic” because what happens is that the winter soldier’s mask is screwed into his face so it doesn’t come off on the bridge while fighting steve. it absolutely is not a warm, fluffy fic, but it’s beautiful and has a happy ending and is definitely worth a read. 

The Right Partner i’m ending this section with this fic because i looooooooooove it and it won’t break your heart. it’s just really fun. captain america meets a new rival, the winter soldier, right around the same time as steve rogers meets the most beautiful man (you already know) named bucky barnes. it’s kind of a mr. and mrs. smith au type deal

one shots (pwp): 

It’s Been a Long, Long Time steve’s tits appreciation

a desert in my heart and nowhere to hide this is just a good old classic daddy bucky fic

Chasing Every Breaking Wave this is a sam/steve/bucky but it’s just bucky and sam feeling competitive about who can make steve come the most

if the bad times are coming let ‘em come this is one of my favorite all time fics, but it’s very bittersweet. basically the winter soldier somehow accidentally time travels backs to the 40s and meets scrawny badass steve rogers, and while neither of them really know the other, they know the other, you know? it’s basically tiny fiesty steve taking care of big, broken, touch-starved winter soldier and it’s absolutely gorgeous

hopefully i didn’t include too many angsty fics. HAPPY READING!!!

[spideyblogger]

For anon!

I’m sorry this isn’t any good. EDIT: I’ve added a little bit more, all these months later. I hope it’s better!

ps4 Peter x Reader

You were lying in your bed, lazily reading your favorite story when your phone went off, screaming a set tone in your ear, reminding you that you had to get your wisdom teeth ripped out today. A groan slipped slowly from your throat as you reached over to shut your phone up, your eyes staring at the screen. You had four hours to get ready. Sitting up, you dialed Peter’s number and pressed the cold object to your ear, listening to it ring. And ring. And ring. And ring. Peter’s voicemail greeting reached your ear, another groan slipping out of your mouth.

“Hey, Pete. I’m getting my wisdom teeth out today, call me back when you can. I need you there with me so you can take me back home. Thanks.” A shower. You needed a shower and clean clothes. You rose, shoving your phone into your back pocket.

The phone rang while you were drying your hair, Peter’s custom ringtone he set bouncing off the walls of your small bathroom. You picked up, pressing speakerphone so you could pull on your clothes while you talked.

“Hey (y/n)! Sorry it took me so long to call you back. I’d be happy to take you to the dentist, when do you need to go?”

“Hey, Peter. It’s all good, I still have about two and a half hours, I figure that’s long enough to get through traffic.”

“Alright, I’ll be right over. See you in a few.”

“See you, Peter.” He didn’t take long to come over, and was knocking on your door within twenty minutes of your call. You picked up your purse and your keys, taking long strides to get over to the door faster. You opened it and stepped out with a smile, turning to close and lock it. “Ready?”

He smiled back and nodded, his eyes shining. “For sure. Where’s your car?”

“The third floor of the parking garage.”

“Alrighty. Let’s get going.” The two of you walked down the corridor side-by-side silently, the chipped and peeling walls of your apartment building seeming brighter, if not for just a moment. You walked down the stairs together, the sounds of your heels clicking on the cold cement echoed against the bare walls.

Eventually, the two of you had reached your car and climbed in, buckling up and driving away. “Hey, Pete, will you record me all high on painkillers? I see all sorts of funny videos of people swearing up and down that they’re Batman or married to celebrities.” He laughed, loud and bright in the way that took hold of your heart and made you feel light and warm.

“Sure, (y/n). I’ll do that.” You swallowed hard and focused on the road, your hands tightening on the wheel.

“Thanks.”

You zoned out the entire drive to the dentist, the cogs in your head turning slowly as you tried not to think about Peter’s smile and his laugh. And before you knew it, you were in the parking lot. You pulled into a space and parked, handing Pete the keys as the two of you slipped out of the car, locking it as you entered the building. Nerves bundled up tight in the pit of your stomach as you approached the check-in desk. “H-Hi, (y/f/n) for Payne at noon?” The woman nodded with a smile, motioning at the seats.

“He’ll be right with you. Take a seat while you wait.” You turned and walked over, sitting down next to Peter.

“You nervous?”

“A little.”

“Well, don’t be. You’ll be okay.” You nodded, breathing deeply and slowly. He was right. Nothing to worry about.

The minutes ticked by slower than you thought was possible— you just wanted to get this over with.

“(y/f/n)?” Startled out of your thoughts, you shot up to face the woman who called out to you.

“That’s me.”

“Right this way. Do you have someone to drive you home?”

“Yeah, this is my friend Peter.” The assistant smiled, motioning for the two of you to follow her.

“Okay, Peter. Are you prepared to take care of your friend for a few hours after her surgery?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Very good.”

You followed her in silence, walking into the room she led you to.

“Go ahead and sit down in the chair. Dr. Payne will be right with you.” Nodding, you went over and sat, folding your hands in your lap. Peter took a seat in the corner, folding his arms against his chest as he watched you.

The doctor almost instantly walked in the door, flanked by assistants.

“Hey, (y/n)! How’re you feeling today?”

“A little nervous...” He laughed, walking over to you with a clipboard.

“Well, that’s normal. But don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you. Just a few things before we start. First, we’re gonna give you some local anesthetic, and when you start to get sleepy we’ll numb your gums and get started. When you wake up, we’ll give you something for the pain, as well as some gauze to change frequently as they get bloody. We’ll re-brief you and your friend when you wake up.”

“Okay. That sounds good.”

“Good. Ready to start?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright. Peter, would you mind going out to the waiting room?”

“Sure.” He got up and left, closing the door behind him. The assistants approached with a mask, placing it near her face.

“Count backwards from ten.”

“Ten, nine, eight... Seven...... Six.... Five.....” And then darkness. Darkness that seemed to last forever. It surrounded you, and there seemed to be no escape. Then you woke up. You saw the masked face of your doctor, eyes smiling down at you.

“Hey, welcome back to the waking world, (y/n). Did you sleep well?” You nodded numbly, finding it hard to speak. “That’s good. Look who’s here.” You turned your head slowly, eyes narrowed sleepily, until you found Peter. Your eyes widened, and you let out a squeak, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes.

“ ‘Pider-man!” Peter’s eyes widened, surprised that you just let out his deepest secret. The doctor and assistants only laughed lightly. His hands shook around his recording camera, relieved that they dismissed it as a drugged hallucination.

“No, it’s your friend Peter. He’s here to help you get home.” A great big frown fell upon your face, the tears only growing bigger.

“No, ithh my friend ‘pider-man!” The dentist ignored you and turned to Peter, catching his eyes.

“You understand what to do, yeah?” He nodded and stood, making his way over to you.

“Okay, (y/n). Let’s get you home.” You gasped loudly as his face came into view, your bleary eyes getting clearer.

“Peter! Where did ‘pider-man go??” You sounded so sad and confused, he couldn’t help but laugh as he helped you up.

“He has to go stop the Green Goblin. He’ll stop by your apartment to say hi when he’s done, okay?”

“Okay...” You were silent for a moment as he helped you walk, but suddenly gasped again.

“Hey! Hey, guess what!”

“What?”

“My friend Peter is a s... he’s a scientist!”

“(y/n), I’m Peter.” Your face scrunched up in confusion, shaking your head slowly.

“No. No. Peter’s getting me a mil-hake. A milkshake. I love him. He’s the best.” Peter laughed, nodding to the receptionist as the two of you passed, heading out the door.

“Well, Peter loves you too.” You stopped and looked at him, your eyes wide and fierce.

“No! I loooove him!” You started crying, hiccups tumbling out of your cottony mouth. “I love him! Shhhhh. Don’t tell nobody. It’s a secret.” You turned away as if nothing happened, resuming your slow walk back to the car. Peter was stunned into silence at the drugged confession, his cheeks dusted light pink. He helped you get into the car, sliding into the drivers seat and pushing the keys into the ignition, securing his camera to the dashboard to focus on you.

“What... What else?” He found himself asking, eyes focused on the road.

“What??” You asked, confused.

“Do you have anything else to say?”

“I’m gonna ask Peter to marry me. We’re gonna have three kids and two cats and two dogs.” An appalled laugh escaped his throat, tearing his eyes away from the road for a moment to glance at you.

“W... What will their names be?” The question left his mouth without his permission, his brain screaming at him to change the subject, but his heart whispering that it needed to know more.

“The cats will be Binx and Salem, the dogs will be Scamp and Angel. The kids will be twin boys and a girl named Fred and George, and Joanna Leah.”

“You’ve..... Really thought about this a lot, huh?” You turned to look at him, seeming to actually see him.

“Peter! When did you get here?? Where did the nice angel man go??”

“Oh, he, uh.... He stepped out for a minute. He told me to keep you safe. We’re almost to Pinkberry. Do you know what you want?” You pouted for a moment before you turned to look out the side window to think.

You were silent almost the whole way there, shooting upright in your seat and screaming once you’ve figured out what you wanted. Peter swerved, a cacophony of horns protesting. He waved a hand as an apology, turning to you, slightly peeved. “You didn’t have to scream your order, (y/n). They can’t hear you yet.”

After a few more minutes he pulled into the drive thru, stopping at the speaker. He told the employee his and your orders, nodding at the total and pulled through to the window. He handed over his money, leaning out a bit to grab the milkshakes and spoons from the pimple-y teenager. He handed you yours, making deep eye contact.

“Now, be careful, okay? Make sure you have the straw at the back of your mouth so it doesn’t hit your teeth, but also, don’t choke.” You nodded, opening your mouth and moving your head towards the cup, instead of moving the cup towards your mouth. Your lips close around the straw, nearly touching the lip. Peter watches as your cheeks hollow with the effort of trying to take a sip of the thick milkshake, a soft smile gracing his features.

“Okay. How about we park, and I’ll feed you?” You sat up and nodded, resting the cup in your lap. He pulled into a parking space, pressing the brakes and pulling the gear into park. He set his own shake into the cup holder and took yours from your hands, taking off the lid. Pressing the spoon into the thick mixture, he picked up a little blob before pulling the spoon out and put it near your mouth. “Open.”

He spent the next hour feeding you slowly, taking care not to get ice cream on your gauze or gums. When you were both done with your ice cream, he pulled out of the parking space and took you home.

He took off your shoes, and laid you down on the couch and laid a blanket over you. You fell asleep almost immediately, and after some consideration, Peter pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“Sleep well, (y/n).”

After an hour, you woke up to Peter gently shaking your shoulder.

“Ugh, what?”

“We gotta change your gauze.” He held up a package for emphasis, a nervous smile on his lips.

“Oh. ‘kay.” You opened your mouth, and Peter reached in with a gloved hand to pull out the bloody cotton. He placed it into a trash can he had brought over, then pulled off the glove and dropped that in as well. He opened the package of gauze and dropped the trash in the bin, beginning to roll up the gauze.

“Open wide.” As soon as you had obeyed, he stuck the fresh cotton on each side of your mouth, making sure to be gentle. Peter removed his hand and you closed your mouth, biting down on the gauze. “How do you feel? Need more meds?”

“I feel hungover and drowsy.” He chuckled, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Hey, uh. We gotta talk about some stuff you said while you were on anesthesia.” Your eyes immediately widened and tears built up, your hands flying to your face.

“Please tell me that all was a dream. Please tell me I didn’t actually say all of that.” He bit his lip and shook his head.

“I can’t. You told me you loved me. But now, what happens next depends on whether you actually do have romantic feelings for me or not. Please tell the truth.” You closed your eyes and sighed shakily.

“I love you Peter. I do. I want to be with you.” The next thing you knew, his arms were around you. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, his hands fists in your shirt.

“I love you too. So much.”

And that was the beginning of your happily ever after.

[lygerastia]

cheiloproclitic (Klance)

Summary: Pining Keith just looooves Lance's lips.

Warnings: none.

Chapters: 1 [completed] 

Words: 3,459

READ IT ON AO3. 

**

Lance is rambling again, much to everyone’s annoyance. Something about uh…their last mission, when the team fought Lotor’s crew and got their ass handed to them. Keith has no idea what he’s talking about—words seem to pass over his head as he toys with his blade, twirling it distractedly. Shiro probably would’ve scolded him if he saw how careless Keith was with the knife; but Shiro was in the room, resting. Keith was glad he had the man back in the team; at least he wasn’t going to be forced to lead again, despite getting slightly used to it. He was going to miss that—but his feelings need to be pushed aside for the moment. He still had the Black Lion to learn to live with. And that was no easy feat. It was different from Red, who he has formed a bond with over time. He still couldn’t believe that he has been chosen as the leader—was he up for it? He wanted to believe so. He wanted to think that he was capable of leading the team and earn their trust.

He wanted to prove himself.

“…”

Keith stares blankly at the knife: another one of his problems. His own identity, the Galra blood that was a part of him…He didn’t want to think about that right now. He didn’t want to think about all of these problems at all. He wanted to be as relaxed as the others, as charming and goofy as Lance. Thinking of Lance, his hues focus on the tall, lanky boy who was still gesticulating and making laser sound effects. Playful, as always. Keith knew better. After that private moment between them, when Lance sought out reassurance from him, things changed. The Red paladin never expected that to happen; it…shook something inside of Keith. No one ever came to him for advice; and yet Lance did. The one that hated his guts a while ago.

Keith…admired Lance. Sometimes, he even wanted to tell him that. But he was afraid of his reaction. Was Keith in the position of praising Lance? He had no idea how to react and, in consequence, his own feelings continued to bloom. He didn’t mind getting closer to the ex-Blue paladin. How many times has he wished for that to happen, to learn what it is to have a friend there for you, to let someone in behind his walls and not fear that they’ll leave him. He wanted to trust someone; he didn’t want to be lonely anymore.

Keith craved for affection and desired to feel more..

He shivers and wipes his eyes, trying to hide the incoming of his tears. He said he wouldn’t cry. And that’s what he’s going to do. He has to focus here. The dark haired boy puts his knife away and sinks back into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t wanted to sulk, so he gives an attempt to listen to what Lance was talking about, although he has heard it countless times before. Lance liked bragging about how he shot all of the guards back there with deadly accuracy—Keith had to admit that that was impressive. Saved his life even. There was no doubt that shooting was Lance’s forte, though it seems the boy in question never seems to acknowledge that. He always sought out validation, a thing Keith couldn’t really understand. Lance should know he was good. Extraordinary. Sometimes, Keith wanted to be as skilled as Lance was. And it was a darn shame Lance couldn’t see himself through Keith’s blue ones.

Lance was handsome. Lance was funny as well as incredibly annoying when he shouldn’t be. But the times when he was serious clearly showed how dedicated and loyal he was for the cause. How he would set aside his pride for the greater good; and how much of a fool he was for not believing that he was a valuable asset for the team. Involuntarily, he cheered everyone up—Keith can’t see the castle without Lance’s loud mouth and arrogant attitude that hid his true character inside.

Keith noticed a lot of things about Lance lately…How, when he was upset with a decision, he kept his opinion for himself and stuffed his hands in his pockets. How smart and clever he could be when it came to strategy and thinking of what the team needs best. No one really seems to appreciate that—maybe Keith had those moments too, but…he learned the truth. How Lance was Keith’s impulse control and how he managed to make him change his mind when it came to jeopardizing the team’s safety. Lance was the perfect right hand for Keith—and Keith, to a certain degree, trusted him. They made a good team. They…

When did this started...?

When did the broody and aloof currently Black Paladin started to think of his teammate like this? He stared at him countless times but only recently he noticed how handsome Lance was. How fluffy his brown hair was and how often did he wanted to ruffle it, to touch it. He never had that impulse before, but now it was more obvious. Keith found out that whenever Lancey Lance smiled, he’d involuntarily smile to himself; a little one, barely visible, but it was there. Without a doubt. And Keith also noticed that his gaze softened when he was looking at the aforementioned boy. And how his pulse quickened. How his cheeks reddened when Lance ‘flirted’ with him or addressed him some words. How good Lance looked in his costume, at that tight ass, or how he peeked at his naked torso when he was changing. That was his secret—observing has become a habit, and he prayed to God that Lance didn’t notice. But oh, so many dirty thoughts crossed his mind in that moment, a thing he didn’t personally think he’d be capable of. It was… a new experience that Keith carefully examined and threaded on with extra caution. He didn’t want to fall too hard into Lance’s trap. What if he read all these signs wrongly?

What happened to him? Feelings weren't his forte.

Keith did not want to think too deeply about what he was feeling towards the other. Maybe it was wrong, but it felt so right.

It was undeniable that Keith had a crush on the sharpshooter. He could figure that out by himself.

Those beautiful blue orbs of Lance’s suddenly stop onto Keith’s and Keith jumps in surprise. Maybe he was too focused onto his internal battles and was too obvious about his attraction. He hoped not. He really did not want everyone to know. Although his heart kept telling him that it was ok to be expressive, that it wasn’t wrong. But damn, how could Keith do that without accidentally fucking things up? He had no idea. He decided to just wait it out and works things out. Because he has been pining on Lance for a long time without really realizing what he was feeling. Those constant jabs at him; he now knew why.

It was all clear—and oh boy he was in deep.

Lance smiles in Keith’s direction; and his heart skips a beat. “Are you listening to me, Keith?” he asks in that goofy tone of voice of his, that was very endearing to Keith’s ears.

“Mmmhhm..” Keith is only capable of letting out a hum, not trusting his voice. He felt too many emotions to believe his voice wouldn’t crack.

It makes Lance grin brightly and he completely turns his body towards Keith. His body tenses immediately and he straightens a little since he had Lance’s full attention on him. He was going to start babbling again and Keith had the task to listen.

“I’m at that part where I so brilliantly shot the enemy that was about to overwhelm you, Keith!” Keith remembered that moment. Ok, he was slightly frustrated by that. Maybe he wanted to impress Lance this time around. But oh well, he had to live like this.

“Yeah, thanks for having my back out there,” Keith compliments Lance and he’s pleased to see how he visibly flusters and tries to keep his smile in control. He glances to the side, acting nonchalant about it. At least Keith was a good actor when it was needed.

“Uhh yeah, no problem, buddy!” he says, kind of proud. “But have you seen it, guys?” he suddenly addresses the others, though his body was still focused on Keith.

“No, not re—“ Hunk starts to answer, but it is interrupted by Lance.

“Then let me recapitulate!” And he starts on talking and talking, again, gesticulating and making cute sounds. Keith sighs dreamily, but he quickly hides it under that cool ‘I’m a bad boy’ façade. He keeps his eyes trained on Lance’s face, though his attention was captured by Lance’s lips.

Oh, Keith learned the hard way that he liked Lance’s lips the most. They were attractive and had a rosy hue to them that seemed to glisten in the light, attracting him. When did he start wanting to kiss Lance? Since forever, maybe. I mean, his lips moved so darn much that it was impossible to focus on something else.

Keith only noticed on a mission when they had to infiltrate a Galra base. While they fucked up the stealthy mission and riled the guards up, Keith knew that they had to hide somewhere. When he saw the opportunity, when he saw that crack, he reacted immediately and, grabbing Lance’s arm, he pulled him in the confines of that gap. They barely fit—Keith has no idea how he could think that they’d actually squeeze in there. But they did; they were pretty skinny after all. It was the perfect hideout: dark and deep enough—luckily for Keith, Lance did not hesitate on following his lead, without questioning it.

“Keep quiet,” Keith hissed in a whisper at Lance, confused as to whether he liked the position they were in or not. It was a necessary yet compromising if one of their teammates were to discover that; which was highly unlikely. They were somehow sitting face to face, their chest barely touching one another. Lance was taller than Keith (not by much, mind you! Tell Keith he’s short and he’ll flip you over) and the small space had him lean above Keith, resting his palms on the wall above Keith’s head. In that moment, the dark haired boy hoped that Lance wouldn’t hear his booming heart flutters or feel the heat radiating off his face at the sudden closeness. Even if he planned this, it wouldn’t have ended so perfectly like this. It made Keith self-conscious of his feelings but at the same time, he liked being able to feel Lance like this. He tried hard to avoid looking directly into Lance’s eyes and glanced to the side, pretending he was listening to the footsteps outside. He could hear them, faintly in the distance—but it slipped out of his mind the moment he noticed Lance’s hot breath above his face. He flushed, he couldn’t help himself. And clenched his fists that were to his side, trying hard to control himself to not put his palms onto Lance’s chest.

His breathing started to grow erratic—this was bad. This was very bad. He wouldn’t be able to control his impulses.

“Are they gone?” Lance whispers close to his ear and Keith’s breath hitches in his throat. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Really, this was fucked up.

“Shh, listen,” Keith snaps, hiding his nervousness. Lance sighs and glances to where they came from. And suddenly, they both hear it. The heavy footsteps of the Galra soldiers running, their voices shouting ‘Look for the two paladins! Capture them!’ Keith’s hand was on his knife, ready to fight were to be discovered. He felt sweat forming on his brow from both the tension of the chase and the hot atmosphere he felt around the Blue paladin. They waited, tensed and poised to attack—but the group of soldiers passed alongside the crack without even paying attention to their hideout. When the sounds faded away, they let out a breath of relief and their bodies visibly relaxed.

“Ok, I think we can go out—“ Keith started but stopped as soon as he turned his head towards Lance. “—n-now…” He hated himself for letting his voice falter. But could you blame him? Lance relaxed too quickly and he was now resting above Keith on his elbows, gradually getting even closer to Keith’s face. If Keith craned his neck a little bit more and stood on his tiptoes, he could easily kiss Lance. They were basically…Keith couldn’t explain this feeling. “I—I uh..”

Lance only looked at him confused, even daring to cock his head to the side cutely. “They’re gone, Keith.” He states, matter-of-factly. But Keith’s mind was not processing facts any longer. His eyes stared into Lance’s blue ones, getting lost in them. It felt as if he was swimming in them and he was getting lost in the ocean of them; more like drowning. It was a dreadful feeling—he was remaining without air at the sight. Dammit, Kogane, compose yourself. “Keith…? Buddy?” Lance’s voice was worried yet dangerously low. “Are you ok?”

Keith’s face was redder than his suit. What should he say?

“Why are you staring at me like that…?” Lance was self-conscious of the staring and a light blush painted his tanned cheeks. And he had a very sexy voice… “Keith…” This time, it sounded like a moan and Keith reacted accordingly.

Without remorse, he grabbed Lance’s collar and held him there, frowning at what he was about to do. His eyes kept darting towards the Cuban’s lips: it was the first time he actually saw them. In the dim light of the ship, they glowed with intense temptation, so healthy and well-kept. As opposed to Keith’s own lips, which were naturally soft yet his uncaring attitude left them chapped and unattractive. He licked them to make them more appealing, although the main attraction was Lance’s mouth. Slightly parted from the surprise and trembling with desire, Keith hoped. Lance looked scared, yet oddly into it. Keith’s heart beat even faster as he started to get on his tiptoes, closing his eyes. Was he really going to do this?! Was he really going to kiss the Lance McLain? He couldn’t possibly…And yet he felt Lance’s hands going down to his hair, resting there and petting his head. What the hell was Lance doing anyway? He was reacting to Keith—did that mean he also felt the same way he did?

No way..

But the wish was there, floating between them. In the way Lance’s fingers brushed against Keith’s dark lush locks and how, during the initial relaxation, Lance’s knee was in between Keith’s legs, almost touching him. Keith felt like grinding against it, just to feel Lance closer, to observe what his reaction would be to that. Would it feel right? Or would it be extremely wrong? Keith was tempted. There was nothing he could do to quench his thirst and feed the hunger he felt in that moment for the tanned Blue paladin. His eyes shone so beautifully…What did Keith do to deserve this? Just a little thrust of his hips, a bit of rotation of his lower half and he’d be…

“K-Keith…” the way Lance said his name, Keith would never forget. How soft it sounded and how vulnerable it made Lance look. It made Keith’s blood boil and his instincts kicked in: he simply wanted to ravage the boy senseless. It should be illegal to be this adorable and sexy at the same time.

He leaned in closer, taking the lead. Lance slowly closed his eyes, wearing a deeply conflicted expression but at the same time—

“Urghhh…” Keith moaned in his palms, covering his face at the memory. They didn’t kiss, though—but the thought was now vivid in his mind. They were interrupted at the right time and parted as if they were about to do something forbidden. It took a while before they could look into each other’s eyes again without feeling ashamed about what they were about to do back then. Other things took their mind off of it and now they forgot about it. At least Lance did. Keith couldn’t. Lance’s mouth was constantly attracting his attention, no matter what. When they curled into that mischievous and perverted grin; whenever he ate something and some crumbs remained latched there—he wanted to lick them off. Lance was so clumsy and oblivious. Keith liked that, sort of. He wondered more often than not how his lips tasted. And it killed him…

This was so fruitless…

“Keith, buddy?” He feels Lance’s hand on his shoulder and he quickly lifts his head, almost bumping into Lance’s big forehead. They were in the exact same position as before and both their faces flare up in embarrassment. But neither moves from their spot, assuming their position. Lance clears his throat, trying hard to keep eye contact. “You—You feeling alright? You were kinda spacing out there…”

Keith wants to die. To disappear off this planet because he’s feeling the urge to kiss Lance right then and there, in front of everyone. But he can’t afford to do that. His lips were so close; not much separated them and hot breath was tantalizing against his own mouth. Just a bit more and..

“Keith, you’re all red.” Lance puts his hand on the other boy’s forehead and Keith flinches. “You’re burning and—wait, why are you staring at my mouth like that?” The sentence makes Keith gulp: he was caught. “Do I have something on it?” Again, clueless Lance strikes again. Fortunately for the Red paladin. How could he explain what he was feeling? He couldn’t. He himself had no idea what he was feeling. All that he knew was…that he was disastrously attracted to that pair of lips.

“I—I—Lance, I was just th-thinking.” And so, the boy pushes Lance’s hand away, averting his gaze. “It’s nothing.”

“Thinking about what?” And, as always, the inquisitive and curious Lance came out in the open. “Keith, don’t avoid me!”

Red in the face, Keith couldn’t contain his feelings any longer and he stood up, bursting “K-Kissing! I was thinking about kissing, ok?! Now leave me!”

Lance only blinked in confusion. “Kiss who?”

“Y-Y…” Keith gulped. He couldn’t say it. He wanted to. But he couldn’t. he lifted his head and pleaded Lance with his eyes to get the picture. Lance softly gasped, taken by surprise by Keith’s expression—and he involuntarily blushed.

“K-Keith…?” Lance mumbled in that deep low voice of his. “Who.” He was serious; he really wanted to know now.

“Yo—Lips.” Keith blurted out, at a loss. What the fuck was he saying?

“Lips?”

“Yours—uhhh, you have umm, nice…lips?” Lance barely heard him and he leaned towards him. Keith only seemed to shrunk under the gaze.

“My…what?”

It was now or never. “I am attracted to lips, ok?!” And, with that statement, he pushes past the taller boy and runs out of there. “I’m going to train!”

“Wait, Keith—He’s gone…” Lance calls after the boy then sighs in frustration, running a hand through his locks. “What’s with that guy?” Lance had no idea what Keith referred to, but it bothered him. What was all the tension he felt whenever he was around Keith? It was weird. It felt as if Keith wanted to do something to him, but he had no idea what. Yet he felt as if, without him really wanting to, his mouth gravitated towards Keith’s on its own. What was this sentiment…? He couldn’t be attracted to that bastard. What the hell was wrong with him? “Do you guys have any idea what he was talking about?” he turns to Hunk and Pidge, the ones who have been present to the encounter this whole time, amusing themselves.

Pidge snickers and gives Lance a shit-eating grin. “From my calculations, Keith sounds as if he’s attracted to your lips.” Pidge’s glasses glints with mischief. “I think he reaaaaallly wants to kiss you, Lance.”

Lance takes a while to process that in his mind; and when he does, his brain completely explodes. As well as his face, which is red as a tomato. “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!” he cries out in despair, but entirely pleased by this information. “I—I need to cool down a little bit…” And he wobbles out of there, feeling faint.

What is he going to do with this information now?

–

[masterlist]

[dracosollicitus]

I love love loooove your Hunger Games AU update today! tbh I love everything you post but that’s beside the point. I was a little surprised when I saw it in the tag just because it seems like you’ve been in a Stucky mood lately lol. Out of curiosity, have their been any other ships (from any other shows/movies) that you’ve considered writing about?

Hi!

So, thank you first of all! Now, this is going to be long winded: 

I do love writing Damerey because Damerey as a ship makes me happy. Regretfully, Damerey as a fandom space has not been making me happy the last few months. Some strangeness has been happening in the fandom, and I really don’t feel welcome there anymore; there are, of course, about fifteen/twenty people in it who are just absolutely the loveliest, sweetest people who are beyond supportive, and I could never thank any of them enough. My update yesterday was for them, as well as for myself because I do like writing Damerey, I just feel like it’s shouting into a void at this point, as I said in the end notes. 

I got a load of unpleasant anonymous messages about two months back, right when the strangeness in the fandom started, and I’m not a stupid person, so I can put two and two together/read the writing on the wall, and I know that I’m not necessarily what the fandom wants right now, outside of those (again) lovely and wonderful people who have been so kind since day one of my Damerey writing.

Stucky is - admittedly - a much larger fandom. The hits are roughly equal, though, as I am but a small fish in that massive pond, and in a lot of ways, that takes some stress off of the writing because I don’t quite notice as much when the ‘hits’ don’t go up the way they ‘should’ or the kudos don’t rack up the way they ‘should.’ Also, given that there’s a wider variety of writers, I don’t think people are as negative when they don’t like what I write, as it’s that much easier to hit the back button and find something they do like. 

This far too long response has been a long way of saying that I haven’t been out of a Damerey writing mood, more heavily discouraged and tired. I have plenty of Damerey written, things that haven’t been published or posted – for instance, I finished the next chapter of the Hogwarts AU over the weekend – but now at this point I have pretty high anxiety about posting to Damerey, which is very sad.

I love Stucky, it’s honestly my biggest OTP, and it has been since I was a teenager reading Brubaker’s series. 

Other ships that I’d write for/have written for:

Other Star Wars:

RebelCaptain (Jyn Erso/Cassian Andor)

Finn/Rey

Finn/Poe

Han/Leia

Obi-Wan/Padme

Poe/Muran

Harry Potter:

 Jilly (James Potter/Lily Evans)

Romione (Ron/Hermione)

Harry/Ginny

Ginny/Happiness

The Hunger Games

Finnick/Annie (I mean….eyes THG/Star Wars Crossover)

Peeta/Katniss

Johanna/Gale

Johanna/Katniss

Other Marvel

Frank Castle/Karen Page

Clint/Natasha

Tony/Pepper

Valkyrie/Loki

Valkyrie/Carol

Carol/Maria

(Also, if it’s possible to negative ship someone with anything, I negative ship Matt Murdock with any of the lovely women he’s encountered in his life. I ship Matt Murdock with a long, healthy round of therapy and then potentially he can become a priest and help people without hurting them)

TV Ships

Sawyer/Kate (Lost)

Emma Swan/Captain Hook (OUAT)

Jake/Amy (B99)

Ben/Leslie (P&R)

Chidi/Eleanor (TGP)

Bellamy/Clarke (The 100)

Korrasami (Best ‘called it’ moment ever)

Ed/Winry (FMA)

Not a full list, but probably a solid idea of ships. 

Thanks again for the ask, and sorry for the overload of information! I hope you have a great Sunday.

[spectrumscribe]

hey idk if u take requests but i freaking loooove your writing and when i was scrolling through your blog the other day i saw ur marvel/avengers au and i was wondering if you could write a ficlet for it maybe????? once again, i enjoy ur writing so much, keep doing what you're doing

*softly screams bc someone remembers this AU still*

AU info here i guess??? can’t believe anyone wanted more of it. under the cut bc it ended up longer than the other ficlets, ‘cause i love this au a lot actually.

“What’s ‘valentine’s day’?”

Hank looks up from the papers he’s grading. Or rather, looksdown from them, since he’s clinging to the ceiling of his lab with his feet.

Below him sits one of his more devoted pupils, if an unofficialone since he’s so young. Previously quietly occupied with the tablet he’dconnected himself with, now looking up with cautiously questioning eyes. Donnietilts the tablet’s screen towards Hank, and a notification about the school’s Valentine’sDay dance is shown on it.

“It’s a holiday,” Hank informs the adolescent mutant. Technicalmutant. A mutant created rather than born still counts, in his opinion. “Tocelebrate love. With chocolates and flowers, and occasionally stuffed animals. Thoughoriginally, it was called Saint Valentine’s or the Feast of Saint Valentine.”

“Oh,” Donnie says quietly. He worries his lip for a moment,and then asks, “Who’s that?”

“A symbolic figure in the culture of a church.”

“Why’re they so important they got a whole day tothemselves?”

Hank hums. “That question I cannot answer, it would bebetter asked of Mr. Wagner.”

“Oh… okay.”

Hank watches the boy go back to scrolling through his tablet’snewsfeed, and sees a question being unasked in the fidgeting of his posture. Hank really should focus ongrading his advanced technological studies class’s theory papers, but Donnie’scuriosity shouldn’t be allowed to discourage his own curiosity like so. They’vecome so far with his anxiety management and helping him branch out socially.

Hank climbs carefully along the ceiling and drops down farenough away from his student Donnie won’t startle. Hank goes to kneel in frontof the adolescent mutant, making sure to be slow and obvious with hismovements.

“Do you have any more questions, Donnie?” Hank promptsgently.

Donnie’s red eyes under his thick fringe of black bangs dartup from his tablet, and then back down to it. After a moment’s hesitation, hepulls out the jack plugged into his neck and the tablet and hands it over. Hanktakes it, examining the Google images search for Valentine’s Day people.

“Why are they all doing that?” Donnie asks, a littlenervously.

“Kissing?” Hank questions, scrolling through the search withone clawed finger.

“Yes, that. Is it… a holiday you’re supposed to kisssomeone?” Donnie doesn’t look comfortable with the idea of that, at all.

Hank laughs kindly, returning the tablet to the boy. “No, it’sjust something lots of people do on the day. Mostly people who are dating oneanother, or are married. You don’t have to kiss anyone if you don’t want to, Donnie.”

“Um, okay. Good,” he mumbles, clutching the tablet tohimself. “So it’s a holiday about a saint that’s important for some reason, andpeople kiss a lot on it…” He purses his lips. “And that’s it?”

“Well, it’s a time to celebrate how much you love anyone inyour life,” Hank explains. “Not just people you’re dating, but people you’rerelated to, or are just friends with. I and my colleagues will be having ateachers only party tonight, because we’re all very good friends.”

“Principal Wolverine kisses Ms. Storm sometimes, though,” Donniepoints out. Hank bites back a chuckle about his old friends not being quite assubtle as they think they are.

“Yes, they sometimes do that, don’t they?” Hank says, amusedthat Donnie, and likely his brothers too, have already found out thatparticular secret. Donnie nods jerkily.

“We saw them on the roof just last week!” Donnie says, thendropping his voice in a whisper. “They were moving around weirdly, really closetogether and stuff.”

Hank laughs awkwardly, and vows to give his fellowseducators a little talk about intimate meetups on school grounds.

“Yes, uh, anyway,” Hank moves things along quickly. “It can be a kissing holiday, but really youcan celebrate with anyone you care about. Do you have someone you’d like tocelebrate today with, Donnie? A friend, your family…?”

“…my brothers? And April and Casey?” Donnie suggeststentatively, searching Hank’s face to see if he’s gotten something wrong. Hanksmiles encouragingly, and pats his pupil’s shoulder.

“Sharing Valentine ’s Day with your friends and familysounds like an excellent plan, my boy,” Hank enthuses gently. “Why don’t you gotalk to Ms. Pryde? Kitty is handling the refreshments for the dance today, I’msure she’ll have extra candies for you all. Or will you be attending, too?”

Donnie bites his lip, letting little electric sparks flyaround his shoulders. “It’s the whole school, right? That’s… a lot of people. Imean, I could, if I- if we need to be there-”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Donnie,” Hankreminds. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to anymore, remember?”

“Right, I know, I know,” Donnie mumbles. He fidgets a littleas Hank continues to look at him, and Hank decides it’s time to give his studentspace once again. As he returns to his work of grading papers, he hears faintfootsteps dart out of the lab while his back is turned. Hank pretends he doesn’tnotice, and smiles to himself.

—

Donnie does not goto the dance, even though Ms. Pryde says it could be fun. None of his siblingsgo either, or April, or even Casey, even though their normal human friendglances at the semi-decorated room with vague interest. In the end, they justget candies and go hide away.

“What a great holiday,” Mikey remarks to Donnie later on,while they’re all sprawled in their shared room and enjoying their treats. “Awhole day for candies? Love it.”

“And kissing,” Raph reminds as he tears open a new chocolatewrapper. He pops the little candy into his mouth and speaks while he chews. “Whichis gross, ugh. Why do they even?”

“It’s a normal people thing, I guess?” Leo offers as anexplanation. He steals Raph’s next treat before he can eat it, starting a shortwrestle fight between them on the floor.

“Candy’s good by me,” April says, taking from the bowl ofcrunchy pastel candies in Donnie’s lap. “Dancing and kissing and stuff sounds…too touchy feely. And with people you don’t know? Weird.”

“You guys are the weird ones,” Casey says, tossing an emptywrapper at Mikey’s overgrown buzz cut and smirking when it sticks. “Everyone atmy old school was totally obsessed with this stuff.”

“Ew,” remarks Donnieand his brothers, as well as April.

Casey shrugs, and reaches for another of the candies Ms.Pryde gave them. “It’s not so bad. I think. Never actually kissed anyone who I wasn’trelated to…”

“Pass,” April says, echoed by everyone else. Casey rolls hiseyes at them.

“I wasn’t askin’you guys to. That’d be weird.”

“Weirder than us in general?” Donnie questions.

“Uh, yeah? Definitely. You’re not even that weird. There’s aguy here who’s from space, and he’s analien prince! He punches through walls and stuff, ‘s totally metal.”

“Didn’t he also get himself stuck in a wall last month?” Mikey asks. He gestures with stickyfingers. “Like, he was going wooshthrough the air, and then there was awall suddenly ‘cause the Danger Room decided there’d be, and then wham he’s in it ‘cause he couldn’t slowdown? Lame.”

“He’s still cool,shut up.”

“I’m faster than him, andI wouldn’t get stuck in a wall,” Leo says proudly, finally getting free of Raph’sstranglehold on him.

“Maybe, but then you’d faint somewhere ‘cause you overdidyourself,” Raph says snidely. Leo elbows him in the ribs.

“Almost out of the crunchy ones,” Donnie says, holding upthe plastic container of inaccurately shaped candy hearts. “Who wants some?”

“Me,” is thechorused response, and a shove fight for the last pastel candies ensues.

[lukerhill]

Nearly free mini foyer makeover!

Hello all! How is your week going? After a few weeks of organizing, I'm feeling settled and ready to tackle some DIY projects. All of the sudden I want to start on 20 different things and I'm having to slow my roll a bit. ;) 

This little makeover is something that snowballed from one small project to a bunch of little ones. I've been wanting to paint the ceiling in our foyer for some time now. I loooove a pretty, light blue ceiling. It adds some beautiful contrast against the crown and is a nice way to add a bit of interest and character to a space. 

I ended up using a color called Upward (lightened 50 percent) -- the same color I used in our son's old bedroom. I painted the ceiling and backs of his built ins with this color and loved it:

That was the cookie that caused the mouse (ME) to start changing other things. ;) I've wanted to try our long Everett hall table (affiliate) in the foyer for awhile. We had it in our family room in the old house, then we moved it to the basement family room in this house. I love the piece and thought it would look great in the foyer. 

I really love the blue dresser we've had there, but over the past year I've realized when we moved into this house I placed things where I had them in the old house...and that it's OK not to keep things the same house to house. 

The blue dresser is lovely but I wanted something longer to fill the space, and something with a slightly more modern look. The Everett table fit the bill. After I convinced the hubs to lug it back upstairs (his comment -- "Didn't we just take this down here?" Yes...yes we did) we all LOVED it in the foyer. 

Then everything snowballed more from there. The wood tone on the mirror didn't work with the table...so I taped it off and spray painted it black. Taping it off takes longer than painting it!: 

You can easily scrape paint off of a mirror with a razor, but trust me...cover as much as you can. You'll be scraping for hours if you don't cover most of it. 

Then I switched out some lamp shades from some other lamps -- these are bigger and just look better here. I used items from around the house for the decor, so I didn't spend a dime on that: 

I kept the decor pretty simple. The cloche has a faux corral piece underneath. The lanterns used to sit next to the dresser -- we've already have had them lit more often now because I don't worry about someone knocking into them anymore: 

The basket was in my office, the books were Goodwill finds years ago. And the lamps were brass thrift finds that I spray painted years back. They got a bit scuffed up in the move so I still need to touch them up. 

The only money I spent was on the rug -- but even that I got for a steal because I had an At Home gift card from Christmas. (Thanks Dad and LA!) It was $60 and I only had to pay $20 of that: 

I LOVE the darker rug here! The one we had here before was also from At Home as well (even cheaper for $40), but it's pretty worn out. (It's in the laundry room now.) 

The rug is MUCH darker in person than it is in these pics. I had to edit because it's a super dark, gloomy day here. It's a very dark gray with a very light blue mixed in. That lighter color ties in beautifully with the new light blue ceiling: 

I love how the black pendant now plays off of the mirror and other dark accents. It came together so well! 

It's still a bright space, but modernized just a tick. And it has a touch of moody with the dark rug that I just love: 

I always get asked about the lamp cords when I write about this table. I wrote about my loathing for cords and the way I hide them. You can see my trick when you see the back:

Those covers work great!

I kept the decor pretty simple. I'm definitely much more of a "less is more" person in this house!:

It all started with the pretty blue ceiling -- I'll use that paint for more projects too. It spiraled into a few more projects but considering I only spent $20 on all of those, I'm thrilled! 

I'm not done in this area just yet -- I'm pretty sure I'm going to go ahead and paint the rest of the walls white in here to go with the $15 accent wall. I also have a couple more trim projects I'm going to work on -- I'm excited to get working on those! I'll be sharing it all soon:

I loved the before. :) The after just fits in much better with the rest of this house. It's taking some trial and error to figure out all of these newish spaces (but it's been tons of fun)! I'll be figuring it out for years to come I'm sure. 

I've always been a little jealous of people that can move furniture around a lot. Both of our houses have had layouts that don't really allow for that. So when I can switch something up for free, it always makes me happy! 

Do you move furniture around often? It's such an easy way to change up a space! 

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[better-than-sleeping]

A Friend in the Walls

Uh, where was my body hidden again? ...The basement? Or was it attic? One of those two, but I avoid going in either, for obvious reasons. I mean, very few people want to see their own corpse and I definitely don’t fall into that category.

It’s fun to drop in on people, see how they’re doing. It keeps me from getting bored and I think I’m kind of lucky in a way, that I exist somewhere with lots of people. Don’t worry though! I know what you’re probably thinking- “hey, if ghosts are real then what if they’ve seen me naked? Or taking a dump!?” Or maybe that’s just what I’d be thinking if I were in your situation. I try my best to give everyone their privacy when it comes to stuff like pooping or getting changed, though I can’t vouch for ALL ghosts, so you should probably stay on your toes. You might have some kind of toilet voyeur with you.

Anyway, when you’re a spirit your whole existence is kinda bitter sweet, with most of that sweetness coming from the people around you. Which is why I want to tell you about them. My residents.

On the top floor is Mr Archman who’s in his thirties (or forties maybe) and all I’d ever hear from his apartment was bang, bang, bang like some loud-ass metronome. I don’t know how long I’ve been gone for, but he still hasn’t stopped his constant hammering, so of course that’s the first place I check out when I realised I could go just about anywhere in the building. And you know what he was doing? Putting up pictures. The walls are almost completely covered with framed photographs and the main theme seems to be “old”. Every one of them is a black and white picture of people; people standing in groups, on the beach, in singles, pairs, any combination or place really. But there’s always people. They don’t have to be smiling or looking at the camera- so long as there’s a person, it seems to be good enough for Mr Archmans’ wall. None of the pictures are of his family.

I wonder what he’ll do when he runs out of space?

Honestly, whenever he’s putting another nail in the wall, a part of me hopes the next picture will be a new one. One of him at a party or something. Sometimes his mouth makes this small straight line, the hammering gets harder- bang, BANG, BANG – and then it all leaves him at once. He’s just left with a blank look in his eyes.

This was why I started to make tea for him, I mean, I can’t get my hands corporeal for long enough to actually MAKE the tea yet, but I get out his favourite mug and put the kettle on. The sound of it turning off snaps him out of it and nowadays he isn’t even confused about whether he switched it on or not. I feel a bit better about myself when I see the calm look on his face.

Today I just watch him for a while like a creep, then when he’s done putting up another frame he vanishes into his bedroom before reappearing briefly on his way out the door. And so I’m left alone without really feeling alone. Being in his flat is kind of like standing in front of a crowd of people, most of whom are silently staring at you. So basically a nightmare, huh?  

I leave pretty quickly.

*

Next floor down is Ms Ward and her baby Matthew. She argues with Mr Archman about the noise a lot, since it wakes up the baby who’ll cry and cry without stopping. Poor thing. Both of them. She must drop the baby off somewhere then pick him up after work and its gone 8pm by the time they get back and her nails aren’t even there anymore, she’s bitten them into dust.

Despite the fog of worry that seems to hang around the place, I do enjoy this floor. Matthew- he’s the only one who’s looked at me since I left, the only person who can see me. Granted, when I first came to visit I think I frightened him a bit, I don’t really know what I look like to him, so maybe I’m all dark and ghosty and child-frightening now. After a few visits he was more comfortable around me though, which is why I started to take the liberty of calming him down when he has one of his cry-a-thons. Ol’ Matty can’t be picked up by me since he’s alive, the most I can do is rock his cradle a bit. Ms Ward walked in on me doing it once which must have looked like some real horror movie shit. I almost found it funny, but couldn’t really bring myself to do a ghost laugh with her making that face. She’s one of the two who’re certain the place is haunted. Ha. Now I feel kinda guilty remembering how on edge she must feel with me around. I wanted to disappear when I saw that look on her face… but that was a while ago now. I think that it’s worth being here if I can make peoples’ lives a bit easier.

No good ideas on getting her to think I’m friendly so far- I had the terrible idea of drawing a smiley face on the mirror while she was in the shower, but the condensation made it look like it was crying and bleeding from the mouth, so I rather hastily wiped it off before she could be traumatised any further.

She actually has more in common with Mr Archman than they know because her place is packed with books on every possible surface. They’re stacked all over the floor too, so they make a mini woodland pathway through her home, and I can’t wait to start hacking my way into them! Slowly I’m getting better at holding things, so once I can start reading that’ll be an instant tonic for boredom. Sleep isn’t really a thing for me, so it gets super tedious once everyone’s gone to bed. Ms Ward has a bunch of different genres, but her collection is mostly what I’m assuming is her favourite- thriller mysteries.

Wait, shouldn’t she be a bit more desensitised to creepy stuff if that’s what she’s always got her nose in? Or maybe that’s WHY she’s so tense- most of the books have some frankly unsettling covers. You can’t shift your gaze without it landing on a detective being garrotted or something.

When I drop in today they aren’t at home, so instead I spend about half an hour trying to pick up a book and turn the page. “Why did you take half an hour for something so simple” you may ask. Well have you ever tried to pick up something that’s just COVERED in butter? It’s kinda like that, but your hands keep shifting through planes of existence. If I still had blood vessels, I’d have a headache right now. Ugh.

Next floor!

*

Oooo, this ones Ada’s apartment, I can’t wait to tell you about her! She’s pretty old, constantly playing records of Nat King Cole, Etta James and the like. It gives quite a relaxing atmosphere really, and her place is a mix of standard old people furnishings- (she has textured wallpaper! My grandparents had some before they modernised their house, it reminds me of them)- and new age religious stuff. When I say new age I mean, like, tarot cards and crystals ‘n’ stuff so I guess she’s not that typical of an old person. More of a 50/50 split. So, Ada has these two cats (who never seem to get any more comfortable around me but whatever) that I feed whenever she forgets to. I could never leave a kitty to go hungry, even if it hisses and puffs up at me because I’m an abomination. I won’t give up on them though! Bertie only hissed at me twice when I last visited!

The majority of the time I’m down here, she’ll be chatting on the phone to a friend about her day or laughing along with the telly, and it’s good to know at least someone in this building has a social life. I get jealous, and then I just get sad because I think “is that what I could have been like?” God knows I wasn’t a social butterfly before, but what if they’d just given me time to grow into my skin? Why was that so hard?

Um, yeah… anyway. She spoke to me. One day I was standing next to her chair, she had a cat on her lap, watching tv and she goes “do you want me to change the channel?” At first I think, Ada, cats don’t care about what’s on tv, they just want to sleep and nock things off your counter.  But then she says “I know someone’s there, you come here often don’t you?” I couldn’t reply, so just waited for her to continue. “You can watch tv here whenever you like, ok?” And from then on she’s never turned off the tv when she leaves the house and when I’m standing next to her chair she says random stuff, telling me about what’s gone on in the news, how she’s feeling. It’s nice. I hadn’t felt that kind of calm belonging for a while and I desperately needed it.

Quite a while goes by as I watch tv, or more accurately, stare at the screen while I think about what I’ve been wanting to do for some time now. The cats get fed their bi weekly ‘stop hating me’ treat and I stare at the fridge magnets for the tenth time. How cliché it would be…to leave a message.

Surely she remembered talking to me when we would run into each other? Surely.

Maybe I could’ve been found by now. But no one came.

Let’s move on.

*

This one’s my old place, recently housing a new couple. Dear Sadie and Margot, I can’t really hold it against ya. It’s probably the least cockroach infested flat they have at such a low cost, so enjoy I guess. Well maybe I am a bit annoyed, but I know it’s not realistic that it should stay empty forever just because I used to live there. That’s dumb. It’s like I’m expecting the world to feel sorry for me when really it’s the world who did this to me in the first place. Not their fault. The couple that is. I’m more than happy to fling my petty feelings at some vague representation of the forces that cause things to happen.

They haven’t been here for long, so I don’t know much about them yet, except they’re loud and probably students, and they loooove each other! Also, they’re constantly jawing about something; how do they find SO much shit to talk about!? The room is sparsely furnished, but two thirds of it is filled with their noise. I suppose it’s kinda sweet though, the way they look at each other.

There isn’t anything I do for them. They have each other.

When it’s night time and they’re finally quiet, sneaking glances at each other, or when Ada says something kind and quiet, when Matthew smiles at me, when Mr Archman drinks his tea with a look of peace- that’s the closest to feeling alive I can get. But the feeling of living isn’t an entirely good one. There’s this awful burning that comes with it- I’m lovesick, in the sense that I am sick of their love. I’m sick of everything that keeps me from rest.

I don’t stay long on this floor and my presence isn’t felt by them.

*

The ground floor is another place I don’t tend to stay long in. The woman who owns it is in her 40s and lives by herself. I didn’t know anything about her while I was alive, we never talked, and I only know slightly more than nothing now I have unlimited access to the flat. She leaves early, comes home late, makes dinner, watches tv, goes to sleep…and that’s all. Her standard Ikea furniture gives away nothing. She receives no phone calls. The only thing I can guess about her life outside the apartment is that she has a daughter. On her bedside table is the only framed picture she has, one of her standing with a young woman holding a diploma. The picture itself is an odd length and stops abruptly to the right so it doesn’t quite fill the frame. Like I said, there’s usually no reason to come down here most of the time, but today I heard something out of the ordinary- a woman’s voice. I could tell that she was on the phone since she was the only person I could hear and my interest was piqued (I’m nosy).

The moment I decided to drop down into the room was where it all started to go wrong.

“What are you talking about?...No…I’m afraid I don’t…but she’s only 25! She CAN’T be…” and then, without ceremony, she ended the call. And so her face began to crack. Slowly at first, her eyes were fixed on the middle distance and that seemed to hold it back, like she needed to be fully present in the moment before she could cry. And the crying wasn’t loud and open like Matthews, she hunched over on the sofa and pressed two white-knuckled fists to her eyes, breath stuttering awkwardly through her nose. That was what really made me sad, she couldn’t even cry shamelessly in her own flat.

I know she couldn’t tell I was watching, but I’m very aware that my presence now counts as a violation of privacy by definition and that had me torn between staying or leaving. If it were me, I’d be horrified to find out someone had been watching me cry, I’d just hate that shit! But on the other hand… watching her cry made me feel sadder than I’ve been capable of feeling in a long time. The expression on her face was so raw I felt almost embarrassed to look and each shudder of her shoulders was a punch to the gut. It’s selfish to think this way, but was that how my mother looked when she found out? Did your face crumble in the same way? Could you even cry at all mum?

It was starting to get unbearable, our feelings building in a loop of positive feedback until she was howling and I was ready to break apart. I felt I had to do this now, I had to comfort her the way I wanted to comfort my own mother, tell her it’s alright. That it doesn’t hurt because I don’t remember. Before I know it I’m sitting on the sofa, my hand is solid and resting on her shoulder.

“What the fuck?” She looks around, confused but distracted in the way people get when interrupted from trying to cry out all their feelings. My hand doesn’t move and neither does she. Tentatively her own hand reaches up, and stops when it reaches my own. “Oh my god…oh my god, Hayley?”

I squeeze her shoulder.

“Hayley…Hayley…” A few more times she repeats the name between sobs, sliding off the sofa and onto her knees.

I try my best to remain corporeal as she rests her head on my lap.

“I’m sorry!” Is the last thing she says before she’s crying too hard to talk.

My form only lasts a few minutes before her head passes through me onto the sofa cushion.

I make my way toward the door, unable to comfort her any longer.

*

Times like these, I feel like I should be taking a pull on a hipflask or something, y’know? But then again, I was always real careful to not be a problem drinker when I was alive, if only to spite family tradition. Not like it’s even possible anymore either.

I’ve been thinking about Ada and using my words for a while, but I didn’t want to burden her with any... unpleasant thoughts. For a while I had myself convinced that this might be enough- but it isn’t- and that they need me- but they don’t.

Losing the big things that come with being alive hurts the most, like eating or being with friends, but do you know how weird it is- to stand close to a window on a cold day and notice the glass doesn’t fog up? Or to have the perfect joke for the tv program you’re watching, but you can’t share it? It’s a sneaky kind of loss. Not only have the small privileges that come with being alive been taken away, but their absence reminds you that you’re DEAD, over and over so you can’t forget. Bastards.

The only upside to being a ghost is you can afford to just sit in a grimy, tin can stairwell and let yourself feel. I’ve had plenty of time to feel contemplative without really thinking. “Thinking can come later” I told myself, but the thoughts have already been and gone.

I stand and make my way to Ada’s kitchen.

I push the colourful alphabet magnets into a recognisable order.

“It’s Alice” they say.