#i got rum drunk and wrote this garbage last night

[the-cookie-of-doom]

The Birds and the Bees (Gets Kim On His Knees)

Summary: Sex pollen AU Kim is getting POLLINATED. Bee boy Chay thinks he’s the prettiest flower in the bunch and he’s getting all up in his vase. (sober note: Chay is not actually a bee boy)

It starts out perfectly innocently, okay? Chay had a plan, and that plan was to woo Kim, because after his delightfully sweet confusion upon receiving the guitar pick from Chay was any indication, he’s never been romanced before, and Chay is going to romance him so fucking hard. There’s going to be chocolate and dates and flowers. 

The flowers are the important part. Chay went into the florist with a polite request for something special, bc his honey only deserves the best, and he can’t remember the name of the flowers that were neatly wrapped into a big, fluffy bouquet, but it was pretty, and it sounded expensive, and Chay didn’t even bother checking the price tag before his handed over his credit card. Worrying about the price of things? That’s a Before Chay problem. Now Chay has mafia money, and he’s going to spend it on flowers to make his boyfriend blush, and no one is going to stop him. 

The flowers make Chay blush a little bit, too. He gets all shivery and warm under the collar as he carries them out of the shop, little white flecks dusting all over him. 

“Have fun,” the florist tells him on his way out the door, waving and laughing. “Don’t forget plenty of water.”

Duh. Chay knows how to keep flowers alive. Or, keep them from wilting, at least for a few days, bc technically they’re dead now that they’re cut. He’s giving Kim a dead gift. But that’s okay bc Kim gave him a bar fullof dead gifts, and these ones are prettier. They smell better, too, and they may be snowing bits of white fluff everywhere, but they aren’t going to leave so much of a mess. (Poor Yok had to close the bar for a month.) 

Back at the apartment that Chay does not share with Kim, even though hes there more often than he isn’t, because kim hasn’t offered, and chay hasn’t asked, and besires, hia would probably kill him, anyway. Say something rude about a love nest, which is absolutely not what it is. (It’s exactly what it is.) 

Without the use of his hands, given the *massive* bouquet, Chay has to settle for knocking his feet and elbows against the door until Kim gets the hint and opens it for him. 

“Chay?” he asks, peering around the flowers, and oh, right, he probably can’t actually *see* chay like this. He ducks his head around the side and grins, then thrusts the flowers into Kim’s arms. He’s getting tired, and he needs a glass of water. Carrying those things has been making him sweat. Who knows flowers could weight so mich? 

“Hi, honey,” CHay greets cheergully. “I’m home!” 

Kim’s fae goes from confused to preciously warm and soft and chay wants to kiss him, bc he’s *so* cute, he actually can’t take it. Who said his boyfriend could be so cute? Kim is supposed to be hot and sexy and intimidating. Cute is cay’s thing. But Kim, bc he isn’t fair, bc he’s blessed, is everything. He’s so good and sweet and he’s watching chay with eyes so fond and warm they could melt chocolate, and Chay has to kiss him about it. Right? Kim’s his boyfriend now—it’s their 1 month anniversary—which means he gets to do that now. 

The flowers are in the way, though. 

Chay takes them back. Says, “These are for you, by the way,” as he carts them over to the table, and Kim closes the door, and follows after him with an indulgent smile. 

“What’s the occasion?” he asks. 

“You, duh. I just.” Chay puts the flowers down. He arranges them carefully, fluffing out the thick white buds. ROcks back and forth on his teeth. Twists his hands in his sweater. He loves Kim so much and he has no idea how to hake his boyfriend understand. “I’m just—y9ou make me so happy. And I’m really lucky to be with you. So, yeah. Flowers. For you. Bc you deserve nice things.”

“Chay…” 

Kim comes up behind him, because Chay, flushed from the tip of his nose to the tip of his ears, does *not* look at him. He wraps his arms around CHay’s middle and nuzzles into the back of his hot neck, planting a soft kiss there. 

“I love you,” he murmurs into the sensitive space behind Chay’s ear, making him shudder. “Thank you, love, they’re really pretty.”

“You’re pretty.” Chay ducks his head down but he lets Kim spin him and kiss the top of his head. “I need some water.” He’s still burning up, and now he’s certain it’s the embarrassment more than the thirst, but if he doesn’t drink something cold now he’s going to melt into a puddle on the ground. So he darts away and Kim lets him go with a laugh. 

It gives him the opportunity to look at the flowers closer, leaning down to take a deep inhale. The fluff flaking off from the fleshy pink middles must egt vaught in his nose bc he starts sneezing, and chay giggles from the kitchen. 

“SOrry they’re getting pollen, like, everywhere.” Like dandelions, almost. Except these flowers are more than balls of white, tufty seeds. The petals are thick and full, white around the edges, then peachy pink in the middle, and at the very center of them, where the petals are folded together the thickest, they turn a lurid, dusky purple. And those white tufts of pollen drip out from that tight furl of petals. 

Kim straightens back up from his fit, and has pollen all in his hair and dotting his cheeks. Chay coos at him. He looks like he went frolicking in a daisy field. 

[commercial break for porn]

“Chay—Chay, those flowers—”

“I know,” Chay groans, dragging Kim into a fevered kiss. Fuck, what was wrong with those flowers? He should have—he should have realized something was off, as soon as he started getting warm, and they florist—telling him to remember plenty of water for them, him and Kim, not the flowers, of fucking course. God, how could he have been so blind. 

“Chay.”  And Kim—Kim is whining. That was definitely a whine. High and plaintive and pleading, and Chay has to take a deep breath before he comes on the spot. 

This is fine, everything is fine, he’s in control here. He’s barely affected. See? Look, P’Kim, he can walk in a straight line, straight to their bedroom, because he’s fine. Chay isn’t the one that decided to inhale a lungfull of sex pollen. 

Kim looks out of his fucking mind with it, though, little white flecks speckled through his hair, his pupils completely blown. Like a cat when it sees something in wants. Kim is looking at Chay like he’s never wanted anything more in his life, and it’s a heady feeling, to be on the receiving end of that gaze. For all Kim has become a whimpering limpet, he looks like he’s going to each Chay alive as Chay pushes him down onto the bed. 

“Are you okay?” Chay asks, on top of him, kissing his throat, because he’s a gentleman. Porsche raised him to be very considerate of his partners, and dammit, he’s going to make sure Kim is comfortable and taken care of!

“Yes, Chay, yes, I’m so okay, fuck, are you—” Kim tugs at Chay’s shirt, seemingly forgetting how buttons work in his desperation to get it off of CHay. he settles for digging his fingers into the spaces between the buttons and yanking, ripping it apart. 

Once again Chay is taking several deep breaths. 

Do not come. Do NOT come, he tells himself. 

Unfortunately his inhale led to a little tuft of pollen going right up his nose, and he snuffles a few times, trying to get rid of the tickling feeling. Now that he knows what he’s looking for he can feel it as the warmth spreads through him, spreading from his nose to his face and down his neck, and then it reaches his heard and flows through all of him, coalescing at his dick. 

Which Kim is determinedly trying to free from the confines of Chay’s slacks. 

Why did he decide to give up his usual uniform of tshirts and sweatpants, again? Dressing up for his boyfriend is overrated when he could be undressing for his boyfriend instead, and that’s a lot harder to do wrapped up in said boyfriend the way he is when he isn’t wearing something with a forgiving degree of stretch. He tries very hard to wiggle out of the stiff slacks while also palming Kim’s ass, which isn’t helpful at all, but it is nice. 

“Chay,” Kim complains, and there’s that whine again. God, it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. It really shouldn’t. Except for the fact that it means Kim is utterly and relentlessl desperate for him, which means it’s approximately the hottest thing he’s ever heard. 

“I’m trying,” Chay says, except he isn’t actually trying at all. He manages to pull his hands away from Kim long enough that he can open up his pants and kick them down his legs, while also trying to divest Kim of his own clothes, and somehow that ends up with both of them in a tangled the floor. Chay isn’t sure how that happened but there’s a dull ache in his shoulder and hip telling him that gravity was involved. 

Kim, straddling Chay’s thighs in an instant, doesn’t seem to mind the position change. In fact he takes full advantage, throwing himself on top of Chay and kissing him absolutely breathless. CHay isn’t complaining, that’s for damn sure. 

“I need you ti fuck me right now,” Kim demands. 

“Yes. Yes yes yes.”  Chay scrabbles on the floor, hoping for lube to magically appear when he needs it most. Unfortunately it does not. He makes a mental not to hide lube fucking everywhere later, just likekim has guns and knives hidden in all the nooks and crannies around his apartment, that way they can both be prepared for anything. Bc chay wants nothing more than to fuck kim on every available surface, please and thank you. 

Today that apparently includes the floor, and honestly? Chay isn’t hating it.

“Lube, P’Kim, we need lube.” No way he’s going to fuck him dry. Because again. Gentleman. COnsiderate lover. All of that. 

Except Kim makes a noise like—like—chay doesn’t know what it’s like. It’s high pitched and maybe kind of worried? And he’s reaching back between his legs, and his brows are drawn together as he scrunches his nose up in that cute way he does, and lips are parted so sweetly, and—

Before CHy can kiss him about it, Kim pulls his hand back, his fingers glistening with something that looks a hell of a lot like lube, except for the fact that they have no lube, as previously established. 

“I think maybe we don’t?” he says. His voice, normally rough and deep, goes somewhere high and unfamiliar. 

What the fuck, Chay thinks. 

“What the fuck,” he says out loud. Kim’s eyes are wide and wild and is laugh is a little bit hysterical. Chay should probably worry about that. Try to calm him down maybe. Except he’s also read about this? “Let me just—” he wiggles his hand beneath Kim, brushes his fingers against his hole, and—yep, he’s definitely slick with something. 

“What the fuck,” Kim echoes, still staring at his fingers. 

He suddenly remembers the florist telling him, Don’t forget plenty of water. He’s going to die, actually. They’ve been sex pollened. Pollinated? Yeah, that. And fuck, she knew, she had to know, that’swhy she smirked and laughed and told him to drink water, because she knew things were going to get wet and fucking messy. 

God, Chay can’t even be mad about it because—because it’s Kim, and he is wet, and Chay desperately wants to make a mess of both of them. 

Kim shouts when Chay throws him back onto the ground, pinning him on his back. He made sure to pull a blanket down first (Gentleman!!) so Kim wouldn’t be bare on the cold wood floor. Then he grabs Kim’s legs behind his knees and forces his thighs to his chest, he’s vaguely aware of Kim’s hands slapping the ground, but then he’s thoroughly distracted by burying his tongue in the nectar-sweet slick dripping from Kim’s hole. 

“Chay!” Kim cries, equal parts indignant and hopelessly turned on. HIs thighs clamp down around Chay’s head and do absolutely nothing to deter him. In fact, Chay elects to ignore him entirely, digging his fingers into Kim’s thighs and licking into him with fervor. 

Deliriously, he thinks, finally, all those smut fics are good for something. He’s never been more prepared for something in his life. 

“You taste so sweet, P’Kim,” Chay says when he finally comes up for air, what could be minutes or hours later. 

“You’re so fucking weird,” kim pants. His face is flushed, all the way down his chest, and his eyes are glassy. It’s the most beautiful CHay has ever seen him, and all Chay can think is, I did that. 

Well, the flowers—the fucking sex pollen—did that, but Chay helped! 

Chay shoves Kim’s legs open again, because they’re still crushing him a little bit, and crawls his way backup Kim’s body, where he greets him with a deep, wet kiss. Chay is covered in that sweet slick from nose to chin and Kim makes a face at it, mumbling, “Gross,” but does nothing to resist Chay’s kiss. Sucks on his glistening bottom lip, even, and his tongue, chasing the sweet taste of himself. It’s probably just because of the pollen clouding his judgment. Probably. 

“I could eat you out for days, P’Kim,” Chay says, just to be sure, “So sweet for me.”

“Fuck.” That’s all Kim says. No agreement or refusal, absolutely not aligning himself with either side of that spectrum, and refusing to meet Chay’s eyes for fear he’ll see an answer there. That’s okay. Chay knows they’re definitely going to do it again, if only so Kim can have the chance to… properly decide for himself whether he likes it, or not, without the pollen making his brain fuzzy. 

“Can I still fuck you, P’Kim?” Chay asks, sweet as anything. (Gentle. Man.)

“Finally, yes, please, if you’re done teasing me.”

“I’m not.” Not even close. Teasing Kim into a shuddering, pathetic mess is going to become one of the greatest achievements of Chay’s life, up there with Getting His Idol to Tutor Him, and Getting Into University. “I’ll make it good for you, though, promise.” 

Really, it’s more of a threat. Chay makes himself comfortable in their little nest on the floor—he blindly reaches up and pulls a few pillows off the bed, one for him to sit on and another to shove under Kim’s hips, popping him up and putting him on display even more than he already is—and gets to work. Circles his thumb around Kim’s glistening rim, lightly at first, waiting until Kim’s breaths stop hitching and he takes a deep inhale, and then Chay dips the digit into him. Up to the first knuckle, nice and slow, and then deeper, until it’s all the way inside and the rest of his fingers lay flat against his cheek. Chay pulses it in and out a few times, nice and shallow, before he pulls all the way out and replaces it with his foreigner. A minute later he slides in the middle one, as well, and Kim keens sweetly for him. 

[thepulta]

A/N: Update: Am still garbage so I wrote this backstory thing so my children could yell at each other. Extremely fluffy. Diabetus tag. Additional unnecessary cursing tag because Morgan literally was raised in a bar.

-=-

Westlie turned on the light to see a Morgan-shaped lump already in her bed. She sighed. “Hey.”

No response.

Westlie was too tired to care. Her feet felt like lead bricks. She kicked off her boots and sank into the seat at the vanity, closing her eyes as she undid her hair with quick, practiced movements. Her vest got tossed aside and she eventually pulled over her nightgown, straightening it with a quick slap. The light from the window filtered through the room, a soft irridescent orange-red, as she picked up her miscellaneous things; it had been a soot-filled day. When she was done Westlie shut the curtains tight, finally moving to her side of the bed with the suspicious lump under it.

The fuck am I going to do with you, Morgan? Westlie stood there for a minute, contemplating being nice or being a total ass and pulling her onto the floor. She settled for being a sisterly ass and flicking her finger twice on Morgan’s cheek. There was an angry growl and a shift under the covers; Morgan flipped her off. Mission accomplished.

“Move over. You’re not four anymore.”

She listened the first time, surprisingly. Westlie groaned as she finally laid down and her feet stopped screaming, faxing herself into the disappointingly warm sheets. The house was pleasantly silent now. Some crickets somewhere; the occasional creak of it settling. Westlie sighed and melted into the bed before realizing, almost half-way to sleep, she probably should do her sisterly duty. “Any reason you’re in my bed?”

No response. Morgan was out again.

Westlie kicked her. “Morgan.”

“…stars you’re such an ass.”

“It’s my bed. You have a perfectly good one two doors down.”

“’m haven’t seen you in a week. Thought I’d say hi.”

That was… surprisingly sweet. “Thanks. …It’s been busy at the shop.”

“I know, I know. It’s always busy.” Morgan rolled over to face her with a hint of grumpiness, eyes still shut as she re-huddled under the blankets. “What was it this time?”

Westlie puffed out a breath. “Blemmigans today. 150 of them.”

Morgan opened one eye. “That’s kind of cute.”

“Not when they escape and bite your customers so you have to chase said customer down the street, free them from the clutches of the traumatized blemmigan and apologize.”

Morgan snort-chuckled, closing her eyes again. “Let me guess; this customer was not at all grateful for the rescue.”

“Could not be less grateful. They actually wacked me with their parasol.” Westlie rubbed her middle, testing the ache. It wasn’t bruising yet but it would. It definitely would.

She got both eyes open at that. “They actually hit you?”

“Mmhm.”

“What a cunt.”

Had it really been a week since they’d talked? Westlie could never keep track of time. The days blurred into each other, especially around the end of the month when half her nights were spent in paperwork and the other half was grabbing sleep before fixing whatever the rest of the staff had managed to fuck up within a 12 hour period. She felt vaguely guilty. “What have you been up to?”

“No no, I want to hear more about this bitch with a parasol. Why was she there in the first place?”

Westlie had tried to erase that whole incident from her mind. There had been multiple people on the street staring. It was one of those things you woke up from the memory in a cold sweat twenty years later. “Mm…. candles and squid ink…? And calico? Something like that. Stupid shit. We don’t even have calico.”

“Was she just tall and looking for a fight? That’s so stupid. Paint me a picture of her.”

Westlie groaned. “I don’t really-”

Morgan rolled onto her elbows. “Let me guess, she had brown hair, an evil bitch face, and multiple warts.”

“Brown hair, no warts, some bitch face, yes.”

“Mm, she looked pretty but squeals like a girl when the blemmigan got her.” Westlie tried to hide a smile but Morgan caught it. “… You definitely laughed when it bit her.”

“I did not! I was very concerned for my customer!”

Morgan laughed, flopping on her back in the bed, grinning. “You did!”

Westlie broke and laughed too. “Oh she was such a bitch. I hate her. I think she said her name was… Vennedti? Something like that. She kept throwing it around. ‘How dare you insult the Vennedti name!’ ‘My father will speak to your employer about this!’ ‘A Vennedti treated in this manner!’ Oh she was so dumb.” Westlie burrowed into the blankets and smiled at her sister. Morgan smiled back. “Now what about you?”

“Oh, everyone at our bar is fine. Do you remember that rich asshole Fennigan?”

Westlie tried to remember; there was a vision of handlebar mustache and stovepipe hat, but little else. “… Two whiskeys, one gin and tonic…?”

“Close. Two whiskeys, one cider.” Morgan flopped on her back. “I finally got him banned after he insulted Three-Ciders-Two-Rum’s aunt. I suppose there’s a dramatic scandal somewhere because they - Fennigan and the aunt - were definitely going out, but the aunt rebuffed him after she found a Tackety to run away with. Just up and left! No notes. She was an old maid too; like thirty or so. But anyway.” Morgan flopped on her elbows again. “Fennigan walks in upset; nobody in the bar gives a shit because we’re not nosy assholes. He gets his whiskey and starts whining to John - you know, the barkeep.”

“Right.”

“Like, two hours of this, he’s super drunk; wants to play cards, so he goes into the corner and I’m playing with Three-Ciders-Two-Rum in the corner. Was it whist? No, I think it was loo or something; not important.” She waved the details away. “Fennigan is a little bitch and whines for us to cut him in. He dumped like idk, 50 sovereigns on the table, and obviously he’s drunk as fuck. In the beginning he was holding his cards right but eventually we could just see what he had.”

Westlie smiled a little as Morgan grew more animated, leaning on her side to listen.

“Four rounds in we’re both 25 sovereigns richer and he’s livid. Just tossing in the pot hoping for a full on win. Then I got the bad hand. His cards were basically on the table at that point because he’d had like five drinks too many; only it was better than mine, so I told Three-Ciders-Two-Rum to slip me his queen and a jack since he won the last two rounds, and Fennigan lost his mind. Apparently I look like that skanky aunt to a drunk man. I’ve never liked him anyway, so I told him to fuck off and that she left because his top hat was obviously compensating for such a tiny dick.”

Morgan paused for Westlie’s appreciative snort of laughter.

“Fennigan overturned the table and tried to deck me. Three-Ciders-Two-Rum only needed a little prodding for him to defend his aunt’s honor, and then fifteen minutes later Fennigan was out a top hat and 50 sovereigns, bruised and on the street. I cited the damages and got John to ban him.” Morgan dramatically illustrated a headline in the air. “Local Stovepipe Loses Bride and Loses Pride.” She flopped back on the mattress. “That was a great Thursday. Oh I got all 50 of those sovereigns, by the way. They’re in your drawer.”

Westlie had stopped questioning Morgan’s reasoning 6 years ago so the fact they were in her drawer not Morgan’s was more surprising than their existence. “I thought you said Three-Ciders-Two-Rum won half the rounds.”

“Eh, I made sure he broke even. He was too busy slugging; it’s his fault.”

“I feel like I need to lecture you on the vice of theft.”

Morgan poked the tip of Westlie’s nose, grinning. “Alls fair when it’s sitting on the card table.”

“They overturned the table!”

“Shhh, shh shh shh. Semantics, Wes. We were playing cards, he was very drunk, and now he’s missing 50 sovereigns. No harm in that.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“A pain in your ass,” Morgan corrected. “John appreciates me.”

“He absolutely does not. You cause a fight once a week.”

“And I help clean up after! I’m a dutiful member of my local community.”

“So many fights….” Westlie groaned, rolling over to eye her sister for half a second before grabbing her pillow and pinning it down on Morgan’s face. “Can you win this one?!”

There was a muffled ‘..Fucker!’ before Westlie got kneed right in the stomach and she keeled over. “I’ll beat your ass!”

Westlie ducked the right hook, and tackled Morgan around the stomach, pinning her back down to the bed. “I’ve still got weight on you!”

“You are such a bitch! I was feeling so sorry for you with that Venni cunt.” Morgan twisted her legs around and Westlie felt herself biting the bed with a pillow shoving her head down from behind. “Do feathers taste good? I’ve never bothered to find out.”

Westlie wriggled a shoulder free, holding her breath and betting on Morgan’s vindictive two-hand hold on the pillow to continue while she caught her sister’s wrist and yanked. Morgan tipped, thrown off balance and Westlie scrambled on top to pin her arms and legs down. “Aha!”

Morgan squirmed for a full minute, trying to toss Westlie off before she flopped back and rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright. Uncle.” Westlie grinned as she popped off, collected her pillow and flopped back under the covers. Morgan sulked as she did the same. “If I’d known you’d just lecture and be a dick the whole time I would have stayed in my room.”

Westlie poked the tip of her nose. “But you’re nice.”

“You’re mean.”

“I’m mean,” Westlie agreed. For full sulking aesthetic Westlie sat up and tucked in her little sister on the other side of the bed. Morgan eyed her with the look that said she was annoyed, but equally pleased before yawning.

Westlie caught the yawn as she fell back under the covers and they laid there, sleep catching up with them. There was a long pause until Morgan shifted a little.

“When are you going to come out with me again, Wes?”

“Mm,” Westlie curled under the blankets and shrugged after mentally reviewing her list of to-dos. “Things should die down in a few more days. You know how the end of the month is. And I can handle more things now I’m 18 so there’s that too.”

Morgan sighed quietly, and just like that the house felt big and empty and lonely. “…I miss you.”

They were only two years apart, but Westlie could feel the separation and she was reminded, again, of their estrangement in some ways; and that in many respects, they were each others’ only real family. She rolled on her side and reached over, squeezing Morgan gently with one arm. “Hey, it’s ok. I’ll have a night off soon.”

“You always say that.”

Westlie didn’t know how to respond, hesitating. She finally sighed and squeezed her a little tighter. “…I miss you too.”

Morgan felt very small and Westlie remembered when they were far smaller and fit much better in the same moderately-sized bed. She would come running in during storms or if the soot from the factories nearby made scary shapes in the clouds. Westlie was not good at comforting and it didn’t help that now she couldn’t scoff at the clouds or the thunder and tell Morgan to wait an hour. There was nothing else she could do except hold her. Even that was a bit empty now since Morgan wasn’t quite a child anymore and hadn’t ever really been a child, like Westlie; affection was a poor subsitute for false promises. But she was here, and Westlie genuinely couldn’t give her a date, a tomorrow, a next week. Westlie sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You have your own problems,” Morgan said quietly. “I know.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Morgan rolled back over and gently touched the tip of Westlie’s nose. “I might not like it, but I understand.”

Westlie sighed again and let go of her, curling up tighter in the blankets. “How does you coming in here always make me feel guilty?”

“Because you know I’m right.”

Westlie rolled her eyes. “Says the one who stole 50 sovereigns from some poor stovepipe sap.”

“Stealing and emotional intelligence are not mutually exclusive.”

“Mmph, spare me.” But Westlie couldn’t resist a smile, interrupted by yet another yawn.

She felt Morgan curl up tighter in the blankets, settling in. “Good night, Wes.”

“… If I get those letters written and the cargo done we can go out tomorrow.”

“Sure, Wes.” There was a hopeful lilt in Morgan’s voice, but it stayed tempered. Westlie knew that look and she didn’t open her eyes to check.

“Night, Morgan.”

[alien-bodies]

Oversharing Time!!!

(i just made that title up that’s not the official title I’m just Like That)

Ok so @frogyell​ tagged my main account (I am BLEST) but that’s for Refined Star Trek Content and this one’s for excellent moodboard content and garbage so here’s the garbage!!! I’m putting it under a cut bc it manipulates your brain to want to read through 85 fuckin facts about me more wow I love science

rules: answer these 85 statements about yourself, then tag 20 people.

1. last drink: Water! off to a great start

2. last phone call: my local Hot Topic. I feel like I should also mention I work there. But if you don’t know that and steal my phone you’ll see I have a contact named Hot Topic

3. last text message: Google sent me a verification code, but the last one I sent was to my brother it says “k”

4. last song you listened to: It’s called The Horror Of Your Love by Ludo, if I had to delete all but one song on my 121-song Best Enemies playlist I’d keep this one it’s Peak and kinda has vore but it’s metaphorical. metavoreical, if you will

5. time you cried: during my latest EMDR sesh! I was in Wales and everything it was a Lot I got ice cream after

6. dated someone twice? Big No

7. kissed someone and regretted it? Not really?

8. been cheated on? my ex had 16 anime dating sims downloaded at one point while we were dating does that count

9. lost someone special? yea

10. been depressed? hella

11. gotten drunk and thrown up? I’ve been drunk 1 time and it was when I was playing English handbells at my dad’s church’s wassail night but I did not throw up no

fave colors

12. Black

13. Lavendar

14. Light blue

in the last year have you…

15. made new friends? Hell Yell!!

16. fallen out of love? k i n d a ? ?

17. laughed until you cried? oh absolutely

18. found out someone was talking about you? OH BOY YUP YUP

19. met someone who changed you? yes! she managed to physically alter my hippocampus without touching it how fuckign whack is that

20. found out who your friends are? It’s always the same miraculous group chat

21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list? sure have

general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know irl? I keep it nice and refined so all of them. My old account is another story

23. do you have any pets? one beautiful and talented cat named Moriarty. A good description is she’s got puppy software on cat hardware.

24. do you want to change your name? listen I’ve been through 4.5 of these fuckers, I like Nate, I’m Quite Finished

25. what did you do for your last birthday? invited 2 pals over, I remember one of them suddenly whipped out I Am The Doctor and the Dr Who theme on the piano out of fuckin nowhere and I was like “Daniel what the hell you’re so talented” and then I hardcore dissociated the rest of the day

26. what time did you wake up today? 10:00

27. what were you doing at midnight last night? chatting w @houseofoakdown​ and also editing my monstrosity of a fanfiction

28. what is something you cant wait for? Going back to school! then I can graduate in my pajamas and eat creamed corn in celebration

30. what are you listening to right now? the same goddamn playlist, this one’s called Battle Cry by The Family Crest, i cri erytiem

31. have you ever talked to a person named tom? probably???

32. something thats getting on your nerves? my brother vaping in the bathroom with the fan on at 12:30am

33. most visited website: tungle dot hell

34. hair color: I started out blonde af now I’m less blonde but still blonde.

35. long or short hair: short

36. do you have a crush on someone: :[] yes

37. what do you like about yourself: i’m hella smart, my moodboards are bangin, my writing is cool af, I’m well-hydrated at all times

38. want any piercings? Big No

39. blood type: A+!!!!! thats me!!!!!

40. nicknames: my brother calls me a goon sometimes

41. relationship status: im married to my laptop

42. zodiac: I was born on the last day of Taurus so I’m a definite Taurus/Gemini power combo

43. pronouns: they/them, tho in some places I use he/him bc The Dysphoria got hog wild enough I decided to pretend to be a trans guy so ppl would take me seriously, but I’m moving more towards they/them everywhere now. 

44. fave tv shows: Dr Fuck, Sherlock (I’m armed with a pitchfork and an arsenal of beefed up tv & film knowledge come on fight me), DOWNTON ABBEY

45. tattoos: in August I will get a bee on my right arm and probably a Secret Word in Gallifreyan on my left it’ll say fuck

46. right or left handed: one time I was bored in grade 10 and tried to make myself ambidextrous but that was a hassle so I’m firmly right handed. Except in archery.

47. ever had surgery: got all 4 wisom teeth out not long ago! I still need to squirt water in my gum holes so I get all the mushy food out :{

48. piercings: I used to have my ears pierced but they’re grown tf over now!

49. sport: first of all what the hell is this question looking for second of all I have a red belt (which is 2 below black belt) in Taekwondo. I really need to do that again hhhhhh

50. vacation: i went to England and France in the summer with my family as a “””grad trip”””, it was lots of fun but my collection of sensory issues extended to chomping and I dissociated so intensely in The Louvre my mom told me to go back outside so I wrote fanfiction while listening to 21 Pilots and chatting w my imaginary friends and it took me like 18 hours to process I’d seen The Mona Lisa with mine own 2 eyes. Also the plane was delayed twice bc we used Air Canada for some godforsaken reason and I had 0 hours of sleep when I went to the Sherlock Holmes museum and I started talkin to this bust of Sherlock Holmes and then I hadn’t eaten enough and we were walking to this bookstore and I said “I need food!” and my dad said “We’ll get it AFTER” then I shouted “I’M GONNA DIE” so I got a BLT from Tesco. 

51. trainers: h

more general

52. eating: the last thing I ate was chocolate chips straight out of the bag

53. drinking: I got another cup of water

54. im about to watch: my entire fanfiction to take 3000 notes on consistency. and by watch I mean read

55. waiting for: my brother (not vaping) to get out of the bathroom so I can PEE

56. want: Orphan Black to be on Netflix so I can actually binge watch it then call my grandma about it

57. get married: idk I didn’t think I was a get married person but since realizing I’m a lesbian it seems like a good idea!

58. career: nurse and a writer. I might just move to London and work double time to write enough scripts I have some street cred then pitch a TV adaptation of Faction Paradox to the BBC and win

which is better

59. hugs or kisses: hugs bc it means my friends are in my vicinity not Toronto

60. lips or eyes: uh. eyes???????????

61. shorter or taller: i’m 5′3″ and I would love a tol partner

62. older or younger: i don’t think I care

63. nice arms or stomach: what fresh hell does this mean. I’d like a nice stomach free of gastrointestinal issues and acid reflux. not that I have either of those but just in case

64. hookup or relationship: I have 300 many self-esteem issues so imma say relationship

65. troublemaker or hesitant: AU where I don’t have anxiety and I’m a trouble maker

have you ever

66. kissed a stranger: noop

67. drank hard liquor: I PUT RUM IN THE WASSAIL HELL YEAH also once someone bought me a shot at a queer dance thing bc it was payday and my friend told me to gulp the WHOLE SHOT and then the lemonade so I don’t barf and I was like “brah this is too high-stakes” so I poured the vodka in the lemonade and took sips and everyone stared at me

68. lost glasses: in grade 6 and then my mom threatened to make me wear one of those granny glasses chains so I never lost them again

69. turned someone down: ya this kid Cyrus used to chase me around in grade 5 and I’d run away always he was weird af one time he made out with a folder right in front of me in the middle of class

70. sex on first date: probs not at this point but I’m not opposed to the general idea when I’m less w h a c k e d  u p

71. broken someones heart: Not that I know of?

72. had your heart broken: c o n s i s t e n t l y in the most fricked up ways god

73. been arrested: no but once I booed at the police bc the local nazis (yeah) were gonna have a rally so we had a counter-rally and I dropped in but there were no nazis except one old dude in a MAGA hat showed up 2 hours late lmao

74. cried when someone died: oui

75. fallen for a friend: Big Lesbian Mood

do you believe in

76. yourself: YA BB

77. miracles: not as such

78. love at first sight: nah

79. santa claus: I wasn’t allowed to believe in Santa as a child bc he was “too much like God” sad

80. kiss on a first date: ye!

81. angels: big no

other

82. best friend’s name: I don’t exactly have a proper best friend but I’m goin with Liam

83. eye colour: blue/grey

84. fave movie: either The Force Awakens (bc I love bb8 and I’m gay 4 Rey) or Interstellar shut up

85. fave actor: uh idk let’s go with my brother

WOW THAT WAS LONG JEE🅱️US. I’m tagging @houseofoakdown @spoonietimelordy @gemvictorfromtheponyverse @spockswhales @raesand and that exhausts the ppl I know but you’re all worth quadruple in my heart 💖