#i miss working in a dispensary sometimes

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

The blissful feeling of realizing the weed man definitely overweighed these eighths 💚

[theoceanoasis]

Drift and Ratchet finding Hot Rod cute and wanting to court him but someone stops them, warning them that his carrier, Perceptor, is a scary mech who won't let anyone court his creation. The two try anyway because they genuinely love Hot Rod and want to be with him.

The three of them were having a fun time flirting and dancing with Hot Rod, after inviting him out for drinks. Only for it to be interrupted when Hot Rod got a comm pulling him away.

The two watched him go with a sigh. Although they hated seeing him go. They loved to watch him leave.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"What?"

They both gave the femm a confused look.

"Flirting with Hot Rod will only end in tragedy... For you."

"Why's that?"

Ratchet crossed his arms giving her an unimpressed look.

"His carrier Perceptor can be... Possessive. He won't let anyone court his sparkling because he doesn't think anyone is worthy."

"We'll show him."

Drift gave her a determined look, knowing they'd be amazing mates to Hot Rod.

The femm sighed.

"I tried to warn you. Many have tried and many have payed the price."

Neither of them listened already coming up with a plan to court him. They started by leaving him little gifts. Which always ended up in the trash right outside the medbay or the gym where Drift frequently trained.

The two of them looked concerned wondering if Hot Rod was rejecting them. When they tried subtly asking him about it. He seemed confused because he'd never gotten anything.

Looking at each other they realized it must have been his carriers idea. If he thought they'd back off that easy, he had another thing coming.

They began inviting him out. Wanting to hangout together and go on dates.

Only for Hot Rods carrier to call him while they were out, or right before their date. Claiming he needed Hot Rod and that it was an emergency.

Hot Rod of course always went. Worried that his carrier needed help.

They weren't officially dating or anything so they couldn't complain. Even if his carrier ruined their dates.

The two of them wouldn't give up though. Perceptor wasn't going to win and they took this as a challenge. They found ways to surprise him and keep Perceptor distracted, much to his annoyance.

The scientist finally had enough doing things in the background and decided to be upfront. Telling them that he didn't like them and didn't want them around his sparkling.

When they refused to back off. Perceptor threatened to kill them if they hurt his sparkling and that if they didn't stop, he'd make their lives miserable.

They didn't believe him determined to have Hot Rod for themselves. They though if Perceptor realized how serious they were, he'd back off. Realizing they wanted to have a relationship with Hot Rod and weren't just trying to sleep with him. Besides what was the worst he could do.

Perceptor saw it as defiance against his authority and hated them even more. He knew they would hurt his bitty if he didn't stop him. They loved each other and were only using Hot Rod. He knew that once they had him they'd be bored of him and that their pathetic attempts to get his attention were laughable.

Drift and Ratchet started noticing things going missing, energon dispensaries we're tampered with. Whenever they put in their code a disgusting concoction would come out. Sometimes there code would stop working causing them to be trapped in a room until someone found them.

When Drift went to train the equipment he usually used either wasn't there of moved.

Although Ratchets stuff in the medbay was never moved. Things would be shifted slightly just enough to bother him as he tried putting it back.

They also noticed that stuff in their room would be lost and then found in a random spot. Things would be moved around and messed with.

When Drift came home one day and noticed his crystals were in the wrong places, causing them to give off a harsh vibe. He couldn't rest until they were put back in order.

Then there were the random annoying noises and the weird smells that would keep them up all night.

Both of them were being driven crazy and finally they broke.

First they told Optimus who couldn't do anything, because they had no proof it was Perceptor. Although he did tell them. That all of it would stop if they left Hot Rod alone which made them suspicious.

They lasted a few more days until something happened. It wasn't enough to hurt them, but it was enough to show what could happen if they didn't stop.

Frustrated. Both of them went to Perceptor demanding he stop.

The scientist pretended to be innocent as though he wasn't driving them crazy.

"Maybe this would all go away if you left my bitty alone."

"Hot Rod is an adult he can be with whoever he wants."

Ratchet grouched looking annoyed.

"He doesn't know what he wants. Which is why it's my job to keep people like you away from him."

"We love him."

Drift defended and Perceptor glared.

"You're only trying to use him now back off from my sparkling or next time it will be worse."

He glared. Grabbing his gun and they both backed away quickly escaping.

When they were far enough away they turned to each other and realized they couldn't keep doing this. As much as it pained them Perceptor won at least for now.

[swiftfootedachilles]

hiiii achilles!!!!!!! how are you today? i miss your gallavich hot takes so do you have something in mind? have a good day 🌷

well apparently my big gallavich hot take is them having a jewish wedding 😭

okay. hmmm, actual unpopular hot takes? i gotchu

i want more intersex headcanons (that are well-researched and not fetishizing intersex people!). i want more t4t mlm gallavich. and i DEFINITELY want more t4t trans!mickey nonbinary!ian gallavich. because amab people are just as transgender as anyone else even if they dont take hormones or drastically change their appearance or change their name. nonbinary people arent women lite and men lite, theyre nonbinary. and i think nonbinary!ian is so slay

ian does not enjoy bottoming. even when he consented to doing it with trevor, he didnt actually like it. he simply tolerated it

when staying with the gallaghers, ian and mickey are very brazen about their sex life and dont try to stay quiet or even close their door sometimes, BUT they wont fuck in common areas like the kitchen and living room unless it was on the couch and they were 1000% sure there was NO chance of any of the kids walking in on them. they wouldnt traumatize liam or franny like that (stfu s5 doesnt count bc they knew liam was too young to have memories yet 😭 (speaking of, why does nobody ever talk about the fact that liam was 2 years old for like 3 whole years 😭😭))

their "security" business as it is in the finale isnt very sustainable. it literally started as money laundering, and ian didnt know. i think he eventually finds out by accident thru kev or vee what mickeys original "security business" plan was, and he gets super pissed. but i think they could very easily turn it into a legal business. we see them starting to do that, by working with real dispensaries instead of the shady illegal one kev and vee have in the bar. nevertheless, id like to read more future fics where they grow or adapt the business, and even move on to a new business altogether! theyre not exactly the career-having type. i think change over time actually helps stabilize them

THEY NEED TO PAINT THAT FUCKING AMBULANCE. ITS STOLEN. WHY DONT THEY EVER PAINT IT ALL BLACK OR SOMETHING?? WHERE DID THEY GET THE NEW PLATES. DID THEY EVEN CHANGE THE PLATES?? the s4 writers would never let a scam have so many plot holes 😔 they wouldve SHOWED us mickey and his brothers getting new plates for the truck

ian gets a tattoo for mickey. youre telling me that after the surprise anniversary party, you think ian WOULDNT get mickey somehow immortalized on his body? WRONG. he definitely does. i dont think its his name over his heart. maybe something small on his wrist? or M on his ring finger💜 thats a fav headcanon of mine

they dont start a family until close to 40. the longer theyre married, the more they realize they have to catch up on. learning to live together long-term, paying off debts and bills, moving, vacations, reconnecting with old friends and family, being there for liam where theu couldnt for their other siblings when they were liam's age, watching their nieces and nephews often to gain more caretaking and parenting skills, medical issues, family emergencies. theres just a lot that takes up their time, and they become very comfortable being two before they ever try to become three

they nonseriously say shit like "i want a divorce" but they NEVER mean it. even when one says it as a joke or like in s11e3, the other will ask "did you really mean that? do you really want a divorce? do you think we'll ever get one?" and they end up having a rare super serious heart-to-heart about it. about what they think the future might hold - or at least, what they want it to hold. the longer they are with each other the more stable their relationship becomes. bickering is less common, big fights are less explosive and violent, and they learn to become comfortable with silence

[drdemonprince]

Regarding your “informed consent for all drugs” essay, I have a burning question I haven’t seen you address (if you have and I missed it, sorry!) What about things like antibiotics? IMO if you’re taking drugs that only affect you that’s one thing. I’m willing to give it consideration. But I honestly do think there should be some gatekeeping of community resources like abx, where use where it’s not warranted decreases the efficacy for the entire community. And I’ve heard way too many stories of people demanding abx for viral illnesses to expect that the general public will be informed enough to steward those resources wisely—a small number of people can genuinely ruin it for everybody, including very vulnerable people.

True

Informed

Consent !!!

Guided

Decision-Making

With the Help of a Doctor!

The leading cause of antibiotic overprescription is sloppy, overly 'efficient' work on the part of prescribers. I once went to an urgicare clinic with a months-long bout of laryngitis that I knew for a fact was caused by teaching 8 hours per day, not by a bacterial infection, yet the nurse practicioner prescribed me antibiotics anyway.

Because the clinic was trying to maximize profits and it was understaffed and each provider only had about fifteen minutes with each patient, if that. The provider didn't listen to me when I told him there was no way I had a bacterial infection, and he took absolutely no time to inform me about the effects of antibiotics and the massive risks of taking them when you don't need them.

Today, the average patient seeking healthcare is sorely ill informed about just about everything. Doctors disdain them for being self diagnosed on web MD and for seeking out information about their desired medications online, but what other options do they have? It takes weeks if not months to see a doctor sometimes, and they barely stop moving and interrogating you for one second to answer your questions or explain complex concepts to you once you get in their office.

Within this environment, is it any surprise that patients don't stick to their course of antibiotic treatments all the way through, hoard pills, take them for the wrong conditions, and request antibiotics when they don't need them? And considering that antibiotics are among the cheapest medications available, and most patients can't afford alternate treatments for other conditions on their own, is it any surprise they keep requesting these meds?

In order to move forward, we need a true informed consent model of accessing all drugs. Exactly like a dispensary for weed or Mexican-model pharmacy. You report to the pharmacist, explain your condition and what kind of help you are seeking, and an educated, patient, compassionate provider explains to you exactly the effects you can anticipate from the substances you are seeking -- as well as the risks and use cases.

If it were possible for people to access not only antibiotics in this fashion, but also weed, painkillers, tamiflu, and paxlovid, we would not have the scale of antibiotic overprescription and misuse that we see today.

People tend to glance over the "informed" part of the "informed consent" model that I am advancing, and that's really unfortunate. But I think it's understandable, because many of us have never experience actual informed consent basically any time in our lives. Imagine what it would be like to actually have the authority to make good decisions about what goes into your body, with a doctor seeing themselves as a support person for you, rather than an authority over you.

Imagine what it would be like to have a doctor who listens to you, who has time for you, who sits down with you and breaks down complicated topics and trusts you to make your own decisions once you've been educated and given their support.

[grymmdark]

yall ever have a person whose fine, like theyre not a bad person or anything, but just who they are is someone who is just a fundamentally annoying person to you. like everything about who they are as a person just annoys and frustrates you, but not in any moral or ethical or political ways, just purely personality ones.

theres this dude i share multiple classes with whose like this for me. like hes kinda self centered and entitled and unaware of the people around him, and he sometimes shares random shit with the class very loudly and in a way where you cant really tell him to shut up. he also shows up late to school everyday and misses his first class, which i share with him, so he hasnt gotten his work for that class done at all. he wears clothes with various weed and stoner related shit on them, but like the gentrified stoner stuff, like the typa stoner who goes to those apple-store-aesthetic dispensaries.

and hes not like. a bad person. hes just really fuckin annoying. which is almost worse than if he was a bad person cus theres not really a way to say that you dont like someone but dont have anything against them

[nightcall99]

Dreams from 22.4.24

I was with my ex and we were talking. I think we were breaking up. At first he was being polite and listening to me but then he got up and left with a fake smile on his face. I thought it was rude but I accepted it and then I had to go somewhere, like to a gathering. I walked into a huge building which was empty and bit eerie and sterile-feeling. One of the rooms was set up like a bar, and I saw my ex's friends sitting there on a table. I realised this was the gathering I was going to, for some reason I was supposed to meet them. Then I saw my ex approaching, heading toward his friends. I walked away since I didn't want to be hang out with them, with him there as well.

A scene where my vape stopped working. There was one puff left and I could taste the chemicals in it, as you do when you get toward the end. It didn't do anything for me. Then I went to the train station to go home.

Then I had this dream which I don't know how to explain properly. I was at work and someone, presumably my manager, had printed off a report from our dispensing software. It was a list of names of the staff members in the dispensary, showing everyone who had ever made a data entry for a medical certificate. To the right of each person's name, was a horizontal percentage bar showing the amount of 'errors', signified by part of the bar being in 'bold'. SM was the worst one, he had done so many errors but I don't know what was actually wrong about it exactly. GK did a lot that were wrong too, even thought he doesn't work here anymore. AL's name was at the top of the chart and she had dispensed the most sick notes out of everyone but no percentage was in error, she had done them all correctly. As we looked at the page, she said, Look at what SM did, someone has to tell him. Her tone seemed to hint that it should be me.

This report felt like it was something that was brought to our attention and now we have to fix it. It is reminiscent of the scan check reports that we do irl at work sometimes, that lets people know they need to improve. Basically the barcode on a box gets scanned and needs to match up with what says on the script. It's just a way to minimise errors but sometimes this gets missed. So ideally the higher your scan rate, the better it is. I dunno what this dream means yet.

[midwestdiscontent24]

The great depression

I think im depressed. Yesterday i had the day off and what did i do with my time? I had my breakfast and coffee, wrote an entry on here, masturbated to fill time, then spent the rest of the day in bed, on my phone, playing crossy roads. The only reason i even walked out my front door yesterday was to walk a block and a half up the street to buy a painting from facebook marketplace. Its a section from the painting "birth of venus" and it looks really nice hanging over my desk.

I honestly do think i might need to get back on anti depressants. Or anti anxiety meds. Something to make me feel more normal. Maybe i should start smoking weed, that might chill me out. Theres a dispensary one town over and a weed bakery. I might try those. They can really put weed into anything these days. ive even thought about asking my mom if she wants to get stuff from the bakery and eat them together; i honestly dont think shes ever been high.

I cracked last night and snapped jordan. It was a moment of depressive weakness but i dont really regret it. We snapped back and forth for about 3 hours. Im glad he was at work, otherwise i would have cracked even more and asked him to come over. I shouldnt even be messaging him. He rips my heart out every single time i get my hopes up. I want to be with him so bad and he just wants to fuck. I want to be loved and cherished and seen.

Sometimes i miss my last ex, because it was just easy being with him. I never had doubts about him cheating on me or breaking up with me (at least not until the very very end) It was like a fairy tale. I even drove 3,000 miles to meet his entire extended family. Then he broke up with me a week later to "see what else was out there." I still think that reason is complete bullshit and just a cover up for something else. But dating him was 4 months of bliss. I was happy and i want to feel that kind of love again. I deserve to have that kind of love again.

Sometimes i feel like im meant to be alone. Theres a certain level of comfort i feel in lonliness, i wont deny that. But when im 90 years old and i look back on my life, i dont want to remember endless days where i sat inside and did nothing but go on my phone and watch tv. A house full of my friends is literally a mile down the road and i have yet to call any of them. Granted, its summer so its still miserable being outside, so maybe i'll wait until fall. Plus walking down the main road gives me anxiety. I really do miss them though. For the brief time i was homeless in 2022, i stayed in that house. Theyre nice people, and i love them all so much. I feel bad for not calling them sooner, but i cant fix the past. I dont even know if Kayla is still in town. She likes to travel.

The last time i lived on this side of town i got super depressed too. I talked about it a little bit when i talked about rosy views of the past. I would sit in the shower with the water running for hours, just curled up in a ball or standing away from the shower head, just letting the warm water wash over me.

One time at my last apartment, i was so depressed and unhappy i would watch the same movie twice in a row after work every night before going to bed.

I wish i could just stay curled up in bed all night and not have to go to work or get up to use the bathroom or get up to eat and drink water. I just want to stay in bed with the fan pointed on me while im wrapped up in my comforter.

[arrowflier]

Hi I don't have tumblr, so not sure how this works. Came across your blog though, and spent three days just reading everything you've written and reblogged. Such a fun three days! I have so many ideas for prompts, but the one I'm most curious about is what happens when Ian has a rough patch of mania maybe a couple years into their marriage and what kind of plans do Mickey and Ian have for either an upswing or a downswing of his bipolar? Thanks so much excited to see what you come up with!

Hi there! It's such a compliment that you went through my rambles, glad you're enjoying.💖 Standard disclaimer: everything I know about bipolar disorder comes from the internet. It's an important part of Ian that I want to be respectful of, so as always please let me know if I miss the mark.

Caring for your partner, Rule 1: Be There

When Mickey woke up, Ian wasn’t in bed.

That wasn’t terribly unusual in and of itself. What was unusual was that it was only 3AM, on a Saturday, and Mickey could already hear his husband moving outside their room. The footsteps outside the door were soft, restrained, like Ian didn’t want to wake him. But the following clatter in the kitchen was alarmingly loud as Ian opened the drawer under the oven to pull out a pan, and Mickey groaned.

He wanted to roll over, pull a pillow over his head, and block out whatever this was so he could go back to sleep. They’d been working long days, and sometimes longer nights as the dispensaries were all pulling overtime with increasing demand. They’d only made it to bed like two hours ago, for fuck’s sake, and Mickey was tired.

But Ian should have been tired too, and it was never a good sign when he wasn’t. So Mickey sat up with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and swung his legs out of bed.

He winced when his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. They had been here for almost a year already, and they still hadn’t gotten ‘round to buying a fucking rug for the bedroom.

Mickey shivered as he hopped awkwardly toward the closed bedroom door, grabbing his robe from a hook there and tugging it on over his thin shirt and the boxers he was pretty sure started out on Ian’s side of the dresser. Wrapping it closed, he slipped out the door and into the brightly lit hallway, squinting blearily as he followed the sound of pots and pans to the kitchen.

Ian had half their crockery out on the counter already. His red hair gleamed under the sharp light of the long fluorescent bulbs overhead as he stirred batter in a large bowl they had borrowed from Debbie last week and never given back, wooden spoon clanking against the sides erratically.

Erratically. That was a good word for it, Mickey thought. The mindless clink clink clink of wood on metal in no discernible pattern, just like the route Ian took around their table, to the counter, to the fridge, and back to the oven again. Mindless, pacing, random.

Mickey leaned against the wall, and watched.

They had talked about this, since the last time. At least, since the last time Mickey had been worried. When Ian was down, when he didn’t want to get up. When Mickey dragged him out on his first run and they talked afterward in the kitchen, when Mickey made clear that his worry was just one more face of what they had together.

He’d come down the next morning to Ian at the kitchen table, the whole place eerily quiet for a place they still shared with too many fucking people. There had been coffee in the pot, toast on the table, and Ian, picking at his cuticles and not meeting Mickey’s eyes.

“We need to talk,” he’d said, and Mickey’s heart had dropped into his stomach.

“Can I wake the fuck up first?” he’d asked, but Ian had just kicked a chair out for him and waited, not meeting his eyes, until Mickey sat down.

They’d sat silently for a long moment, Mickey unwilling to ask what it was about. Finally, Ian had sighed, and reached out for Mickey’s hand across the table.

“It’s about the bipolar,” he’d said, and Mickey had been so relieved he could feel it in his fucking toes, bare and cold against the tile floor.

“Oh. Okay.”

Ian had been startled by his easy acceptance of the topic, he could tell.

“That’s it?” He’d sounded almost confused.

Mickey had shrugged.

“I mean, yeah?” He’d rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes with the hand no holding Ian’s. “You had me worried, man, with the we need to talk thing. But this is just normal shit.”

Ian had just stared at him, then released his hand to lean back against his chair.

“Normal?” He’d asked disbelievingly. “There’s nothing normal about planning for my imminent mental break, Mickey.

Mickey had snorted at the irony of it. “You kidding me?” he’d said. “It’s the most normal fucking thing about us.”

As he watched Ian in the kitchen now, making pancakes at 3AM on a Saturday morning, Mickey thought that was probably still true.

“Hey, Martha Stewart,” he said softly from his position against the wall, still leaning there as Ian spun around with surprise painted over his face. His eyes were off, the light not quite there, but they still warmed when he saw Mickey.

“Hey,” Ian said back, voice high and too chipper. “I’m making pancakes, you want some? I’ve got banana, your favorite, and chocolate chips, and strawberries…”

He went on to list more ingredients, but Mickey wasn’t really listening. He could see it all anyway, spread out over the kitchen like so many half-made decisions, half-baked ideas that kept giving way to something else.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, and he snapped out of it.

“Yeah,” he answered with a smile. “Yeah, I’d love some pancakes. Why don’t you let me stir for a awhile?”

—

They had their pancakes standing up next to the counter, nowhere left to rest their plates on the crowded surfaces of the kitchen. Ian talked about the merits of each ingredient as they ate, and Mickey listened, and nodded along as best he could.

This was okay. It was pancakes in their boxers at 3AM with no sleep in a kitchen that looked like it was hit by a tornado, but Ian was eating, and Ian was smiling, and Ian was there.

And when Ian stopped and tried to set his plate down, distress on his face as he was confronted with the mess he had made, Mickey took the dish from him with easy hands.

“You want to sit down awhile?” he tried, nudging Ian gently out of the disaster-zone. “Bet you’re tired after eating all that.”

He knew Ian wasn’t, but he kept a hand on his back anyway until they were out in the living room, next to the sofa. Mickey let go to sit down himself with a groan, tired muscles aching at being used for too long without rest. He kept his eyes off Ian, just standing there, looking at him in that too-present, too-absent way of his, and leaned back against the cushions, eyes falling closed.

After a moment, the sofa dipped as Ian settled in beside him.

“Mickey?” Ian asked. The cushions bounced as he tapped his heel repeatedly on the floor.

“Yeah?” Mickey responded, squinting his eyes back open.

“Can I touch you?”

Mickey repressed the urge to sit up, to take Ian into his arms. Ian sounded too hesitant, a shift from moments before as he playfully shoved bites of overcooked batter into Mickey’s mouth.

But Ian didn’t like to be held like this.

“Of course you can, you moron,” Mickey said instead, and watched as Ian’s leg stopped moving. The other man drew closer, reaching a hand out to card through Mickey’s hair and drag down the side of his face, a touch too shaky and a touch too firm.

Ian had once said that touching Mickey grounded him, and Mickey hadn’t known if Ian thought that was a good thing or not. In the midst of hypomania, Ian didn’t always take kindly to being grounded.

But tonight—well, this morning—it seemed to be a good thing. Mickey was grateful for that.

Grateful, because it meant that Ian looked like himself as he moved to lay against him, and not like some over-saturated facsimile painted with too much water on the canvas, always shifting, always running. Grateful, because it meant that Ian pulled Mickey’s arms around him and settled into his side like they always did, even if his body never quite stilled at the contact.

Grateful, because it meant they wouldn’t fight tonight. That Mickey wouldn’t have to worry as much about what Ian might say, might do, if he stepped out of line. If he went off the script they had planned on a good day for dealing with bad ones to come.

He wouldn’t have to call Lip for backup. He wouldn’t have to tail Ian as he left the apartment to make sure he stayed safe. He wouldn’t have hide the knives, or their wallets, or anything else.

Not that he would have complained if he did. It was what it was. Ian was who he was. And Mickey would always see him through it. Love him through it.

They lay there, mostly quiet, except for the mindless tune Ian hummed against his neck, and the tap tap tap of his fingers on Mickey’s collarbone.

Eventually, the song cut off.

“Do I need to call the doctor?” Ian asked quietly into the echoing room, and Mickey nodded, rubbing a gentle hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think so.”

He'd get everything together in the morning. Ian's journals, their schedule, their meal plan. The little notebook where he kept track of Ian's prescriptions, how they worked, how long they lasted.

Something had obviously slipped, either in their methods or in Ian himself. But Mickey was well past dwelling on what they could have done differently, and focused on what to do next.

Things happened. Things changed. They would adapt.

At Mickey's confirmation, Ian just nodded against him, fidgeting until their legs were too entwined to separate.

“Sleep first, if you can,” Mickey told him, settling in for a long rest of the night. “We’ll do it together when you wake up.”

Together. They’d do it together. Again and again and again, as much as they needed to. Because Ian was his husband, and this was their normal.

And their normal was still pretty damn good.

[psalm22-6]

[1] Jean Valjean in the process of winning mercy, leaving prison [2] The convey of convicts

All I can say about this article is of course there have been people since 1933 (and earlier) complaining about kids these days and how they haven’t read the book. Those darn jazz dancers and hockey players! 

Source: Image Magazine, 1933 

The public confronted with Les Miserables

I will quote the preface to Ruy Blas just to say this: “There are three types of publics…” All the while, It is good to remember that times have not changed much. 1830 bears a frightening resemblance to 1934 and we still have thinkers, impassioned women, and a public that loves action. Let’s be frank. Is it not public opinion that holds the upper hand in matters concerning the cinema? Let’s take this to the extreme, can undesirable productions from across the Rhine and across the sea appeal to Parisian sensibilities? The work that escaped from the dispensary of Hollywood is worrying because it is an instrument of snobbery. So, if you please, let’s leave snobbery aside and consider the reaction of the masses to France’s latest great film. 

We had to wait. The premier of “A storm beneath a skull” was heavy with emotion. That’s very natural. Young people today have read Hugo’s novel imperfectly. I am volunteering to stay silent on the representatives of the less immediate generation. 

Because it's sensible to keep yourself up to date, this jazz dancer (whose brother is a champion hockey player) didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see a French film…in order to then go cry out that Americans are king. An opinion which, in other places, may be the opinion of many people. Everything depends on what point of view you take. 

Oh well! This young girls just made a valuable amendment. That’s doesn’t mean that she’ll read Les Misérables; still she can claim to, alas!, because the film is truly the reflection of the novel in its entirety. 

If you walk down the boulevards, in front of the establishments that are showing the first to parts of Les Misérables, you will see people forming a line. Exactly as they did at the Comédie-Française, in the days when Sorel sometimes played Sappho. It’s moving. 

In the theater, every chair, even the meager folding chairs, have a human counterpart. And once the film starts, the silence is religious. Because each person senses obscurely that this isn’t just another supplementary edition of a Viennese operetta or a police film. Les Misérables... Jean Valjean, Fantine, Mgr Myriel...the audience holds their breath from beginning to end. 

Our jazz dancer senses a terrible battle rumbling within her. Who will win? The film of Raymond Bernard or Mae West’s hips? Fantine’s sorrow or Clara Bow?

Her brother, who was not delivered to the game, is there too. With one lifeless eye he watches the news stories.  When the film starts, a scream escapes from him: Garbo isn’t in it! Oh well! He also has made a valuable amendment. Even better, he will undertake the project of visiting his grandmother, who has a wonderful illustrated copy of Les Misérables. 

The public? There’s the upper class sitting on silk, the workers from la rue de la Paix, the athlete from Molitor pool, the little one from Montmartre, the surrealist poet from Montparnasse, the bank employee, the renter from the Marais, the Russian…

You can understand easily that I did not come here to interview this whole crowd. It’s regrettable. However let’s not wallow in pity for in this crowd, the face is a mirror of the brain. 

What more is there to say? The same people went to see the film about the Thénardiers, then went to see the one about the barricades. I think I can confirm that there was not one viewer of the first film who did not wait impatiently for the moment where they could go shiver and cry and laugh at the following films. Isn’t that a criterium? 

And to all those admirers, permit me to give you some advice. Open or re-open the novel and compare the Jean Valjean of the book to the Jean Valjean of the screen and and do the same operation with each character and if you feel the same emotion for each, then you’ll know that Harry Baur and his co-stars…they won a beautiful battle. And because this advice is free, I’m not risking much by adding in my opinion. Harry Baur and his co-stars did win. Incontestably. 

[glacialmaples-pkmn]

so i was going through my list of things i would like to see added/improved in genshin, and i wanted to know what other people think. if i should re-word some things and/or what else i should add. 

i always copy+paste this list to every survey we have (sometimes excluding things lower down in the list, if i think it’s too long and it would be ignored or something). im putting it under a read more, so if it doesnt work im sorry and please let me know!

- Have previous event-only weapons and event weapon refinement materials available to purchase in each nations respective specialty store. Similar to how you can purchase the Windsong Lyre, Wind-Blessed Harpastum, and Windblume Festival Commemorative Balloon from Marjorie in Mondstadt.

- Add more Mystic Offering Artifact Strongboxes to the Crafting Bench.

- Make certain Daily Commissions that reward an achievement (i.e. Stone Harbor's Nostalgia Series) and their prerequisite Commissions have an increased chance of appearing if you haven't obtained the corresponding achievement.

- When during a text-only cut scene (like the ones in "The Sun Wheel and Mt. Kanna" quest), have a "Click to continue" option. The text doesn't stay on screen long enough and is difficult to read everything before its gone and becomes frustrating when the player misses important lines from the story.

- Each character have a 'Artifact Preset' where you can apply a custom saved artifact set.

- Have the ability to change the keybinding for Elemental Sight from middle mouse button (PC)

- Show how much Friendship EXP a Character has and how much is needed to level up (similar to a Characters level)

- Have a Food Buff screen/menu showing which buffs are active and how long the effects last

- Have a 4 star or 5 star character that shows the location of resources unique to Mondstadt added to the Permanent Banner. Currently the only character that has this Exploration Talent is the limited 5 star character Klee.

- Have the ability to rewatch cutscenes and/or play through completed story quests (no rewards can be gained). Using Story Quest Keys to unlock specific chapters to rewatch/play through can give them another use.

- Increase the Resin limit.

- Permanently decrease amount of resin all weekly bosses take.

- Increase the drop chance for Northlander Billets from weekly bosses and/or have another way to obtain them.

- Increase held Condensed Resin limit.

- Map/Mini Map: Have a Dark Mode/change the colour of pins on map. Some waypoints/pins are hard to see in lighter coloured areas like Dragonspine.

- Dialogue/Text: Dialogue text is difficult to read when in lighter coloured areas. Having a darker background behind the dialogue box text will help greatly.

- Dialogue/Text: Have the option to increase text size.

- Taking a photo (Paimon Menu): Add more poses and expressions and ability to adjust character position slightly

- Serenitea Pot: Have some furniture be both indoor and outdoor. Have reusable/unbreakable targets with very high HP/unlimited HP to test characters damage numbers. Be able to place characters underneath and behind some structures like tents, sheds, counters, etc. Have an outdoor cooking cauldron and/or add the cooking function to the current item "Four-Quadrant Cooking Cauldron".

- Serenitea Pot/Seed Dispensary: Have the ability to collect and plant the seeds of Wolfhook, Philanemo Mushrooms, Dandelion Seeds, Bamboo Shoots, Dendrobium, Fluorescent Fungus. Increase the number of seeds you can hold.

- Serenitea Pot/Alchemists Crafting Bench: Have a search bar function when in the crafting screen.

- Ability to have Paimon follow us around like the Mini Seelie, Endora, and Shiki Koshou.

[lilbabycee]

Taking care of Steve and his wild thots after he accidentally eats some pot brownies u made for urself

brownies // steve rogers

↳ pairing: steve rogers x reader 

(not my gif - credit to the creator!)

love it!:

it’s not often that you get the opportunity to bake for yourself because being an avenger is tiring work

but you, clint and natasha like to indulge in a little bit of fun every now and then

(you don’t even wanna talk about what happened that one night in budapest)

so you all take turns procuring a variety of edibles, whether it be cookies or gummy worms

today, it’s your turn and you decide that you wanna bake instead of buy them and so you do, leaving your brownies to cool on the rack on the counter as you go to the gym to spar with clint

everyone on the team knows what you three do every other wednesday, so when bucky, wanda and sam are drawn to the wonderful smell emanating from the kitchen, they know to walk right past the baked goods because they are most definitely not regular brownies

but it seems like your sometimes oblivious boyfriend - bless his heart - still hasn’t gotten the message

the blonde supersoldier walks into the kitchen after a long late afternoon run (something you’ll never understand because he literally went on one this morning too), fresh out of the shower and starving when he sees nine abandoned brownies just laying there

so naturally, he eats them all - and quickly, too - because he’s like a human waste disposal sometimes and the brownies are really good

the only thing that’s been getting you through this sparring session with clint has been the thought of how much fun you’re going to have later

so imagine your disappointment when you come out of the shower in a pair of steve’s grey sweatpants and one of his hoodies, chatting to both clint and natasha animatedly only to find that all of your hard work has been... eaten?

“oh for fuck’s sake,” clint groans, throwing his hands up in the air exasperatedly

“y/n, i thought you said you were gonna save them for us-”

“i was! i literally left them right here!”

you spin around frantically, not wanting to believe that every single one of those huge brownies has just disappeared

“friday,” you call on the a.i to help you solve this mystery, “did you see who ate our food?”

“captain rogers is outside,” is all she replies and you want to scream because how does he still not know that those are for you?

“y/n, go get your man,” clint rolls his eyes and walks towards the elevator. “nat and i can go to the dispensary and we can do it tomorrow instead, hmm?”

“why not tonight?” you whine, pouting because you’re so upset with your boyfriend for ruining your plans

nat snorts and points out the window: “i feel like you might have your hands full tonight,” she walks over to give you a one-armed hug. “see you later, solnyshka.”

as she leaves, you turn around to look at what she’s gesturing to and your anger dissipates immediately at the sight of your boyfriend lying face up on the grass, arms spread out and eyes closed serenely

after you head downstairs and go outside, you’re literally standing in front of steve and he doesn’t even realize that you’re there, a stark contrast to how perceptive and alert he usually is

you clear your throat and school your face into a disapproving expression to hide how amused you are, placing your hands on your hips for the extra effect

gradually, his eyes peel open and you can’t stop yourself from laughing at the dopey grin that spreads on his face as he makes grabby hands for you

“baby,” he sings, clumsily pulling you down on top of his chest and booping your nose with his index finger before circling his arms around your body and holding you close to him. “i missed you.”

“baby,” you mock him, running a thumb along the curve of his bearded jaw, “you saw me this morning... and you ate all my brownies.”

“i did,” he drawls, still beaming at you. “they were so good and i was so hungry, babe. so hungry. but you made those brownies... and now i’m not hungry anymore.”

he attacks your face with a flurry of kisses that make you giggle and squirm on top of him

“they weren’t for you, stevie!” you still complain, narrowing your eyes at him. “and now you ruined my fun with nat and clint-”

“mmm,” he hums, leaning up to nip the skin of your neck, “you look so good in my clothes-”

“you’re not even listening to me,” your voice is breathy as he slides his hands underneath your shirt to play with your nipples and pushes your hips down into his so that you can feel how turned on he is already

“sorry, darlin’,” he doesn’t sound very sorry as he sucks and bites a trail of bruises up the column of your neck, his soft lips brushing against your jaw as he speaks. “we could still have some fun right here...”

“you’re high,” you deadpan, pulling away so that you can hold his furry face between your hands. you’re surprised that it’s gotten to him like this, especially since he can’t get drunk off of regular alcohol, but he did eat a lot of brownies

“it’s fun,” he murmurs, placing his hands over yours and pressing a kiss to your palms. “now take your clothes off, i wanna fuck.”

you choke out a laugh at how blunt he is but shake your head regardless, dodging his grip so that you can crawl to sit behind him instead

he leans his entire body weight on you as he rests between your legs, rubbing at his eyes

“maybe later, steve - you look tired.”

“i am,” he yawns as you rake your fingers through his long hair. “if i fall asleep, will you stay here?”

your heart melts because he’s so sweet 

“i’ll be here.”

“good,” his speech is slurred but you can still faintly make out what he’s saying. “when i wake up, we’re still fuckin’ though... right baby?”

“sure,” you snort, blinking at your hilarious half-asleep boyfriend because even in this state, he’s still as horny as ever

“okay,” he nods, obviously satisfied as he lays in your lap

it goes quiet for a while and you continue combing through his hair, thinking that he’s fallen asleep until he says:

“will you sit on my face too?”

“oh my god, steve.”

this is my new favorite thing thank you

[snowdice]

Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 19)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil, Virgil & Janus, Logan & Patton, Emile & Remy, Roman & Remus & Janus

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Janus, Remus, Roman, Logan, Emile, Remy

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping, murder mentioned, guns mentioned, pepper spray, blood mentioned, drugs mentioned, explosions, car crashes (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 My Master Post

“…Huh?” Patton said in response to the clearly fuming man that had just come into the room. At first, Virgil had assumed that he was talking to Virgil, but his eyes were on Patton. “What’d I do?”

Angry Guy took a moment to pause, his fingers twitching like he wanted to squeeze Patton’s neck. “Do you know why I called you?”

Patton opened his mouth.

“Of course, you don’t!” Angry Guy continued. “Because the only communication I’ve gotten from you in the past 5 hours is a phone call where you hung up before I could explain anything and an unintelligible string of emojis!”

“Well, what did you need to talk to me about?” Patton asked.

“There was a missing child,” Angry Guy said.

“Oh no!” Patton replied.

Angry Guy stared at him for a moment. “Him, Patton,” he said pointing at Virgil. “The missing child was him!”

“Oh,” Patton said. “I guess it all worked out then!”

“NO.”

“Wait, wait,” Virgil said. “Unintelligible string of emojis? You’re his brother?”

“Now, honey, don’t get skittish,” Patton said, which was when Virgil realized he had taken a step back.

“No, no,” Virgil said. “What’s going on? He’s your brother and he’s here.”

“Well, how exactly did you think I knew where the abandoned factory that happened to be a cover for a secret agency was?” Patton asked.

“It’s a what?” Virgil asked.

“Patton.”

Patton waved Angry Man off. “He already basically knew.”

“Wait,” Virgil said. “My dad is… was a secret agent?”

Angry Man looked a little less angry when he glanced away from Patton to meet Virgil’s eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Your father worked for me for a lot of years, which is why I sent my agents after you. I thought of him as a friend, and I am well aware that your mother is unfit,” his tone darkened considerable, “for a variety of reasons.”

“She killed dad,” Virgil said.

“I know,” Angry Man replied. “Though… I am unsure how you learned that information.”

Virgil didn’t feel like answering; instead he turned to Patton with an accusing look. “You knew!”

“Well, I didn’t know everything.”

“You knew enough! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well at first you had a knife,” Patton said.

“He what?” Angry Man asked.

“Then you were asleep. Then you were panicking. By that point I was worried that trying to tell you anything would make you panic more especially because you obviously didn’t want me to know anything about you. So, I decided it was better just to let you lead and figure stuff out when we got here.”

Virgil glared at him. “This is just like the cows,” he grumbled.

“So, the cows were a part of it?” Angry Man asked.

“No, no,” said Patton. “We were already off the interstate when that accident happened.”

“But he just said…”

“It was the cow game. We went past the cemetery near Hudson.”

“Why did you go the back way?”

“He had an active tracker on him,” Patton answered. “He threw it out of the window, but we thought it was best to get off the interstate.”

Angry Man turned to Virgil. “If you had one tracker on you, we should probably check you for more just to be safe. I wouldn’t trust your mother.” His nose scrunched up just a touch and his mouth turned down when he mentioned Virgil’s mom. At least Virgil and Angry Man seemed to be on the same page when it came to how much Mom sucked.

“So, you’re going to help me?” Virgil asked.

“Of course,” Angry Man replied. “I will make sure you are cared for.”

“And I won’t have to go with mom.”

“I would much prefer that you did not, and I am sure that would align with your father’s wishes. Particularly because he had in the past discussed such a theoretical circumstance with me and had threatened to “haunt me” if I ever let you near “that bitch.”

Virgil couldn’t help but chuckle at that even if it came out strained. “Sounds like dad,” he said and then shifted nervously. “So, what’s going to happen now?”

“For now, I’ll take you downstairs and find you a place to rest. Usually, I’d offer you food, but knowing Patton that has likely been taken care of.” Virgil nodded. “We’ll figure out exactly what’s going to happen next once I have figured out all of the other complications of tonight.”

“What other complications?” Patton asked.

Angry Man turned to him. “Well if you’d answer your phone,” he said, irritation coloring his tone once again, “you would be aware that everyone is missing.”

“What do you mean by ‘everyone’?”

“I mean, I haven’t heard from Roman since he checked the bus station near his house,” he gestured at Virgil, “hours ago. Remus has sent me exactly one very unhelpful text. His partner, my double agent, opened the last mission request but hasn’t responded in any way. Having known the man for the last two years, I am certain he is being completely irrational over his worry and doing god knows what. That is assuming he wasn’t found out and captured. I sent Fredrick and Darlene out investigate what was going on, but the last I knew, they were in a car chase and their communication devices cut out. I can’t even get ahold of his uncle after our phone call was cut off while the man was screaming.”

That made Virgil’s stomach clench in worry. “He was screaming?” Angry Man seemed to realize his mistake and grimaced. He glanced over at Patton as though for help. Patton stepped up next to Virgil and carefully put an arm around his shoulder. Virgil curled into the half-hug and allowed himself to be comforted even though he planned to return to being miffed at Patton for keeping secrets later.

“We’ll figure everything out and no matter what happens, I promise you’ll be okay. Logan knows what he’s doing and I’m going to help.” He looked up at his brother. “For now, let’s go downstairs.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“Maybe I’ll even get a full name out of you yet.”

“What?” Logan asked. “You don’t even know who he is? Did you just kidnap a random child?”

“Of course, I do. He’s Bob,” Patton said immediately. Virgil couldn’t help it, he laughed. Patton send him a wink. “Also, I’d say he kidnapped me.”

“I don’t care to know what you mean by that at the moment,” Logan said with a sigh, “but that isn’t ‘Bob.’ He’s Virgil Gates.”

“Remy’s kid?” Patton asked.

“You know my dad?” Virgil asked.

“Remy’s dead?!” Patton asked which was when the front doors opened suddenly.

“Quit telling everyone I’m dead!”

There was a beat of silence. “Sometimes I can still hear his voice,” said Patton cheerfully.

“Dad?” Virgil asked.

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 20

[that-freaky-mysterious-one]

Roll Some Mo'

Summary: Bucky Barnes x Black! Fem! Reader, When you and Sam learn of Bucky's night terrors, you two come up with a solution to his problem. What you two don't know, however, is that will create more problems than initially meant.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, and your beautiful self! <3

A/N: mentions and use of marijuana, slight swearing, this is my first fanfic, let me know your thoughts! :D

It was a little known fact that you smoked weed. The earthy, floral scent when it was fresh out the bag? You loved it. Tricks such as the Ghost and French Inhale? Mastered with ease. Not to mention all the afternoons spent bonding with Sam over funny stories about each other's lives. That's wasn't the main reason why you smoked it, though.

You had really bad menstrual cramps. You'd always had painful cramps, but as you got older, they seemed to get worse. So bad, you got sick and had to miss out on some missions, and there was no time for that. So when your best friend Sam took you to a doctor to get a weed card and to a dispensary one day, you had finally found a solution that worked. Though you used medical marijuana with CBD in it, you'd occassionally buy goodies with THC in it, so y'all got high and did all the fun stuff.

It was just you, Sam, and some cannabis against the world.

That's when Bucky crash landed into your lives. He was a bit rough around the edges and closed off to most, but once you sat down with him and got to know him, he revealed himself to be shy and sweet. He was so adorable!

You two had hit it off right away! He was such a sweetheart, and you just adored his innocence and sense of humor.

Then, he told you about his anxiety, and how Hydra had abused him. He told you about the night terrors he'd have, and how he'd never get a good night's rest.

That's when you got the idea to add him to your, as Sam called it, "Avengers Weed Fanclub," circle. You figured this would give him a chance to open up to you and Sam, and hopefully, sleep better at night. You wanted to let him know you truly were there for him.

So that night, after getting him a card and buying various products at your favorite dispensary, you sat him and Sam down on your bedroom floor, and taught him all you knew about cannabis, from how to roll a joint to how much of an edible to eat at a time.

"So, do you want to try some tonight before you go to sleep?" you asked Bucky, hoping he'd be open to this.

"Hell yeah," he exclaimed, making all three of us laugh at his enthusiasm. "Can I try the THC stuff, though? Just to know how it feels."

"My man," Sam said, giving Bucky a high five. "(Y/N), can you open some RAWs real quick while I grind these for Buck?"

"Of course," you say, as Bucky looks between you two, watching Sam open a bag of flowers and load the grinder with them, then to you folding your papers, then back to Sam twisting the cap back and forth, and finally, to him handing you the grinded buds to pack into the paper. He was totally lost.

He watched intently as you used your fingertips to pack the paper. You were tedious with your work, just to make sure every joint you made hit just right.

"Bruh, hurry up, it doesn't take that long to roll a joint." Sam said, obviously joking, but wanting to start smoking.

"Don't rush me, I'm not about to have an ugly lookin' joint that doesn't hit. My joint always look cute and always hit." You responded, earning an eyeroll from Sam and a chuckle from Bucky.

Finally, you added a filter and began to twist the paper closed in between your fingers. When you concentrated really hard, your eyebrows furrowed, your nostrils flared a little, and your lips did the cutest little pout. Bucky was intrigued by this, and he didn't know why, but he was just so drawn to your lips. Maybe it was the way your lip gloss made your lips pop.

But you were just friends. It was just a little crush, and he enjoyed being you friend. He didn't wanna ruin that.

It was after you pulled the final piece of paper closed and exclaimed "Alright, looks good," with that genuine smile that he loved that he snapped out of these thoughts and reached for the joint , careful not to ruin your "masterpiece".

"Have you ever smoked a cigarette before?" Sam asked him, wondering if he had to teach another person how inhale without them coughing a lung up.

"Yeah, I used to all the time," he said, putting the joint between his lips. "Mind giving me a light?"

You put a towel under the door, flicked the lighter with your thumb, and brought the flame up to his joint. You looked up and locked eyes with him, both of you holding each other's gaze. You weren't gonna lie, he was handsome. It was just so easy to love him.

You were just friends, though, and you didn't want to ruin that. You enjoyed his company, and you didn't want to scare him off with your feelings.

He inhaled deep, held the smoke in his mouth, and exhaled forcefully, coughing a little as he did so. All you and Sam could was give each other a look and chuckle to yourselves.

After a couple more hits, all he could muster up was, "Delicious," in a low, husky voice with a smirk on his face. You and Sam bust out laughing, because you knew it was already starting to kick in.

-------------------------------------------------------

After a couple of hours of smoking more joints, talking about Steve's hilarious past behind his back, playing UNO, and having a genuinely good time, Bucky said "I'm tired,", followed by him yawning.

"Yeah, it is pretty late," said Sam, yawning as well. "We should probably go to sleep."

You got high, but you never really had the symptoms of it. The red eyes, poor muscle coordination, none of it. You just became goofy as hell. You did get the munchies sometimes, though.

These two, however, looked burnt as hell. Both of them were slumped up against your bed, with red and droopy eyes. They were fighting sleep and were currently sharing their third bag of chips.

"Alright, well, 'night guys," you said to both of them, getting up to light a Nag Champa. You loved how fresh weed smelled, but after it was burnt, totally different story. So you used the incense to rid your room of the smell.

"'Night," they said in unison, both tripping over each other a couple of times before actually making it out your room, leaving you rolling around on the floor laughing.

Finally, you gathered the strength to get back up. After a couple of minutes of watching T.V., you blew out your incense, changed into a t-shirt, and climbed into bed, letting sleep consume you.

---------------------4 hours later-------------------

Your eyes blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to the darkness of your room. Usually, when you woke up in the middle of the night, you had a certain gut feeling, and it was never good. Something just told you to check on Bucky. Just to make sure he was okay and still asleep.

So, you got up, put on a robe and some slippers, and walked to Bucky's room.

"Bucky," you whispered into the dark room, earning no response. "Bucky, you okay?"

You pushed the door open a crack, just to look in to see if he was asleep, but you saw nothing.

"Bucky?" you called out, walking into his room, turning on his lamp, and looking around, only to find nothing.

"Damn it," you whispered to yourself. Now you had a man who had never been high before running around the Avengers Facility.

"Bucky," you called out softly. You were starting to worry where Bucky was. He was supposed to be asleep, not be wandering around the facility. What if he left the facility? What if he hurt himself? "Bucky," you called out a little louder. "Bucky, where are you?"

"Dude, shut up. I'm trying to sleep," Sam said groggily, rubbing his eyes as he left his room to see what you were up for. "What are you going on about, anyway?"

"Bucky's missing."

"WHAT?"

"Shhhhh, I don't want to wake anyone else."

"Oh, so you can wake me up at 3 a.m., but everyone else is supposed to be able to sleep?"

"Can you help me find him?"

"No, I'm goin' back to sleep."

"Please?"

"Uh-uh."

"Sam, I'm begging you," you said, tears starting to prick your eyes from the worry taking over you. "Please."

He took a long look at you, rolled his eyes, released a dramatic sigh, and muttered a "Fine." This earned him a tight hug and multiple rushed "thank you's" from you.

"Yeah, yeah whatever," he said, patting you on the back. "Okay, you can stop now. If we don't find him, I'm takin' my black ass back to bed."

You guys looked everywhere. Well, maybe not everywhere. The facility was big as hell, and there was no way in hell you were going to search the whole base. You did, however, look everywhere you two thought he would be.

You searched the gym, the firing range, the lounge, etc. It wasn't until you went into the kitchen that found quite an interesting sight.

Did you find Bucky? Yes. How you'd found him? Well, let's just say when you two found him, surprised was an understatement.

Bucky was sitting on top of the refrigerator, eyes bloodshot, with the most blank expression, eating Sam's box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He was so fried!

" Oh, hey guys," Bucky slurred out. "How you doin'?"

"Bucky, how the hell did you get on top of the refrigerator?" Sam asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

"It's kinda complicated."

"AND ARE YOU EATING MY CINNAMON TOAST CRUNCH?"

"Dude, chill. I'll buy you more in the morning."

"Sam, can you just help me get him down?" you somewhat whined back at Sam. You just wanted to get Bucky back to sleep so that you could do the same.

"Please come down, Bucky" you said, reaching your hands out for him like an infant wanting to be picked up.

"NO!" he shouted, frowning like a toddler and folding his arms over his chest in pure childishness.

It took awhile for you to get him down. With Sam arguing with Bucky on whether he should take his weed, and Bucky just being plain stubborn at this point, you didn't make any progress for awhile. You decided to insert yourself, telling Sam you'd take care of it and to just go back to sleep.

"Don't have to tell me twice. Good luck," with that, Sam was gone, allowing you to focus on getting Bucky down.

"Bucky, it's 3 a.m., how and why are you on top of the refridgerator?"

"I woke up in the middle of the night hungry, so I came down here and Sam's cereal was the one thing in sight, so I used the counter as a stepping stool to get to the top of the fridge, and since then, I've just been chillin' up here."

"Okay, can you please just come down, now?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he said with a smirk. "Yes, yes I will."

Bucky proceeds to somehow hop off the fridge, onto the counter, and finally, onto the ground before almost tripping. If you hadn't been there to catch him, he would've fallen on his face.

"Thank you," he mumbled into your shoulder.

"No problem. Now, let's get you back to bed."

Once you finally got back to the sleeping quarters, you bring Bucky back to his room, make sure he's situated, and then leave to return to your to room. You then notice as your walking down the hallway, you hear footsteps that don't quite match your own.

"Bucky, you have to STAY in bed to go back to sleep," you said not even turning around. You didn't even have to turn around to know it was him. He was the only still up aside from yourself, not to mention he was the only one still high.

"But I'm not tired."

"But I am, so you have to go to sleep."

"But I'm lonesome."

"When you're asleep, you won't have to worry about that."

"But I-"

"No more 'buts', just go to sleep."

"Can I just hang out in you room? Just until I get sleepy."

"Yeah, fine, whatever, just don't try to stay up all night, because I want to go to sleep."

"Yea! Thank you," he exclaimed, hugging you from behind and shaking his hair in your face.

"Shhhhh, you ain't about to be hollerin' all night, especially in my room."

"Okay, sorry"

You walked him by the arm back to your room, hoping he'd fall asleep as soon as you got him in.

"Okay Bucky, just, you know, fall asleep," you said, easing him onto the foot of the bed.

"Okay," he responded in a small, sheepish voice.

You leave to go use the bathroom one more time and get comfortable before you go back to bed, come back, and find him going through your edibles.

"Bucky, no!"

"Why do you have food on a shelf?"

"Those are edibles, and to hide them from nosey-roseys like you!"

"You should share these, man. They're delicious."

You paused for a good minute, inhaled deeply, approached Bucky, and said "Bucky, did you eat any of those?"

"Just a little piece, about a pinch." He said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Okay, just go lay down while I clean this up," you said, slightly agitated.

As you're cleaning, you hear Bucky whisper a husky "Damn, doll" under his breath. You forgot you had taken off your robe, leaving you in nothing but your panties and a t-shirt.

"Bucky, you're supposed to be sleeping, or at least trying to, not watching me."

"But you're so beautiful, especially without all that clunky junk you wear on missions."

"You think so," you say, laying on your stomach next to where he was sitting.

"I know so," he says, looking you in the eyes with his blood-shot, blue eyes.

"Nah, I think you're just high," you say laughing his "compliment" off.

"No, I mean it, really. You're a very beautiful woman," he says leaning back, laying his head on your butt.

"You just like looking at my booty!"

"Maybe I do. It is quite nice. It's like a pillow," he said chuckling under his breath.

"Are you gonna fall asleep like this?"

"Only if you'll let me," he says, looking up at you with his chin still on your butt.

"Bucky....get under the covers, you silly goose."

"Okay," he said as you both giggled at his actions.

You and Bucky got under the covers together and watched "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" reruns all night, or morning, long until you felt something laying on your bosom and you heard light snoring. You looked down to see Bucky had fallen asleep, and you were happy to see him finally sleeping, peacefully at that.

With that, you turned off the T.V., cradled Bucky's head to your chest, kissed his forehead, and whispered, "Goodnight, Bucky," to him, only earning a low rumble in return. Though Bucky may not remember it, this was one of the best nights of your life.

[samwrights]

Elixir - Punk!AU mini-series

Hi guys! So I wanted to write something a little different. Not necessarily a “choose your own adventure” but something along those lines. This mini series will be a Punk!AU where the reader is in a band where your story depends on the person you choose! While no place is actually mentioned, I’m thinking Chicago (home sweet home) for setting. I’ve been working on this between requests and, while the requests keep coming, I’m trying to get the routes going. For now, I present to you the prologue.

Thank you quarantine, necessary drives to my Starbucks, Halestorm, Neck Deep, Pierce the Veil, and Paramore for inspiring these babies. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: there will be swearing, smoking of cigarettes and weed, consumption of edibles and alcohol, cheating and possibly be NSFW. I haven’t decided on the last one yet. Everyone will be of legal US age for consumption of nicotine, marijuana, and alcohol in the present day (18+ in some states for tobacco, 21+ in for everything else). However, there are mentions of underage consumption/distribution of alcohol. These are genuinely mature themes! If you are unable to understand that these themes are not encouraged to be re-enacted, specifically cheating and underage consumption/distribution of nicotine, alcohol, or marijuana, please do not read for your own safety.

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

Photocredit by @scandeniall​

Word Count: 3504

Prologue is below the cut!

You had been trying to ignore the gnawing thrum of discomfort that had worked its way into your intuition the last few weeks, but today the dull throb had transcended into an alarm blaring at the back of your consciousness. Like your body was trying to tell you something that should have been painstakingly obvious, yet when you attempted to pinpoint the cause, you fell short with an answer.

Period? Nah, too early for that.

Food poisoning? That wouldn’t last multiple weeks.

Pulled a muscle at the gym? That was a joke, considering you hadn’t gone to a gym since your senior year of college.

Anxiety? Well that was a given, considering you had a nasty gut feeling about something.

Stress? Stress was nothing new. In fact, stress was a very familiar friend to you.

What the fuck was it?

Even meditating on the thought for the last three hours, an answer had yet to come to you. Without ever finding one, you reluctantly pull the plush covers off of your queen sized bed and push yourself up to sit on the edge before checking your phone’s lock screen for the time. 1:23pm. You still had quite some time before you needed to leave for band practice, but you knew full well that laying in bed any further would encourage your current laziness. Making your way around the clothes that haphazardly littered your disheveled bedroom floor, you entered your bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

The warmth of the water did little to quell the unsettling feeling that emanated from your gut. You even attempted to center your with old therapy tactics such as identifying all of your surroundings, such as which muscles of your body the shower was raining upon or the different notes in your voice that reverberated off the shower walls as you subconsciously sang. When that had failed, you allowed your mind to wander through the metaphorical meadow that resided in your brain.

At first, your mind focused on whatever lyrics fell from your lips, recognizing the prose as one of your band’s songs. Connecting the words that were committed to memory with people, your mind began to wander to your friends—the three boys you were thankful enough to call your best friends of a decade and members of your band, Elixir—Tetsurō Kuroo, Takahiro Hanamaki, and Yūji Terushima.

Kuroo, or Tetsu as you sometimes called him, was the guitarist of Elixir and the “mastermind” behind the name of your little group. Mastermind being a relatively loose term, as at the time, you all had felt indifferent to the name. But as nobody had come with any better alternatives, you all had stuck to it until it had grown on you. Kuroo was a year younger than you and, outside of the band, was a chemist for a small time company at the ripe age of twenty six. As you thought of him, you let out a soft snort that nobody but you could hear, thinking of his disheveled raven haired locks that framed his face; thinking of his earlobe holes that had been stretched out to nearly half an inch in diameter; thinking of the myriad of tattoos that littered his body from neck to toe. Sometimes, it did seem a little funny that this man had to wear a lab coat on the daily. You were so proud of him and of his accomplishments. He was ambitious and driven, focused on his goal of succeeding in both his field and with his band. Whether that meant recording an album and touring or just continuing to have fun was unknown, since really he would be fine with either or both.

Entertaining your analytical thoughts about Kuroo brought you to the bassist of your band, Takahiro Hanamaki, as you had met them both at your high school jobs in a local cafe. Makki, though he initially seemed profoundly reserved, had a relaxed sense of humor that typically came at the expense of others. At the time, he was a distinct contrast to Kuroo’s loud, antagonistic nature. Now, the two of them began to take bits and pieces of each other’s personalities. While Makki’s cool, composed self remained, he also was not one to avoid baiting someone just to crack a joke or tease them, an attribute he had adopted over the years of exposure to you and the guitarist. However, his laidback attitude was almost never immediately acknowledged by strangers, as his lanky build and harrowing, deep set eyes typically intimidate those who don’t know the light hearted bassist. And while he wasn’t the most “modified” member of the band, many saw the two eyebrow rings that rested above the right brow and, in conjunction with his natural features, immediately assumed the impression that Makki was unapproachable. You always had a soft spot for Makki and his slightly misunderstood ways.

Speaking of misunderstood brought your mind to the youngest member of your quartet—Yūji Terushima, or Teru as you affectionately called him. While he was only a year younger than the boys, two years in comparison to you, he was the life energy of the squad. When he had entered the cafe in which you, Kuroo, and Makki worked at for his first day, it felt that the final missing piece of the puzzle had been found, though you didn’t know it yet. It had been a year later, with you officially accepting the role of supervisor instead of trainer and Kuroo being your replacement. The two hit it off swimmingly and, while Makki didn’t necessarily match his energy, he compensated with humor. Terushima was, and still is, a wild thing. He breathes life into the rest of you by offering up crazy adventures that varied from a simple 2am Walmart trip to breaking into forest preserves at the dead of night to swim in a creek even though you had finals to attend to the following morning. In a sense, Terushima was the very reason Elixir had been born. After all, he was the one who encouraged each you to learn covers of songs until the interest had been sparked enough to learn how to properly play everyone’s respected instruments.

Backtracking your thoughts—finals. Finals meant university, and university was probably the most wild time of your life. As the friendship between the four of you continued to blossom with years passing, you all had made a pact to attend the same university. At one point, it had been tricky, trying to decide on where you were going to go and if you wanted to wait for Teru to catch up due to the age gap or if you, as the eldest, were going to pave the way for your juniors. It came as a surprise to the boys when you announced that you would wait, taking a two year gap in order to save money to lessen the blow of tuition in your bank account. Even more surprisingly, Kuroo and Makki had agreed with each other to do the same—what was the point in you staying behind and waiting for Yūji if they weren’t going to as well?

Waiting for Terushima turned out to be the absolute best idea ever. While you were initially hesitant to be rooming with three boys, friendship be damned, the four of you getting an apartment together for your university years was the best chaotic good moment you had ever been involved in. In a way, you all had gotten to celebrate many firsts together because of it. Did it bother you that you were a slightly older freshman? Sure, a little bit. Did it matter? Not at all, considering you were able to start buying liquor and beer as a sophomore in college and, as soon as your younger peers found out, you had turned it into a business to help pay rent for your shared apartment. Oddly enough, Terushima was the one who handled all of the expenses and calculated what you should be charging for your, ahem, “services”. Go figure, the youngest of you all was a math whiz. There was one unwritten rule for the apartment—no parties. Period. You could use your services to grab whatever supplies needed, whether it be alcohol, weed from a dispensary, or cigarettes, they were for your guys’ personal use only. Home was meant to home, and that was that.

Home; probably the single most important word in the entirety of your personal dictionary. While home was most often defined as a place in which a person or family resides, it meant something entirely different to you. Being home meant being with your best friends, your family. It meant being free to be yourself, unapologetically and unabashedly. And, maybe after rummaging through every single thought and analyzing each one through a metaphorical microscope, maybe that was where the disturbance in your intuition—that nasty gut feeling residing in the pit of your stomach—was coming from. There was something that you could not quite place that was disturbing your freedom, your home. Coming to the realization that your hot water had now gone cold, prompting you to shut it off and seek refuge and warmth in a fluffy towel and robe. Had it gone cold in that moment—the moment you realized why you had been on edge? Or had it been running cold out of irony that you had been in meditation for so long you hadn’t even realized it? You would never know the answer.

2:07pm. You still had plenty of time before band practice, considering both Makki and Tetsu would still be at work for another hour. To give them ample time to unwind from their work day, practice always started at five in the evening. In an attempt to kill time, you opted to make yourself a small lunch before sitting down to do your hair and makeup so as that you felt more comfortable being in public. Not that the boys cared—they lived with you for four years in university, they knew what you looked like at your absolute worst. Perhaps it became a habit to do so when you re-entered the working world as a full fledged adult three years ago.

2:29pm. After having your lunch, even taking the time to do all the dishes before moving into your next task—getting ready. While you didn’t feel the need to go overboard on your appearance, since it was just practice after all, you still had a solid hour and a half before Elixir was supposed to meet. Having plenty of time to kill allowed you to take your time to forego some self-care as well; maybe giving your locks a little extra tender love and care if you felt you needed it; plucking stray eyebrow hairs that had grown just a bit further outside of your desired shape. You checked the time on your phone again after you felt your look was complete, hair, makeup, and all. How the fuck had only an hour gone by? That was way more effort than you normally put in, or so you claim, yet time seemed to be mocking you.

3:36pm. If you could magically waste time picking out an outfit to wear to practice, you were doing so now. One part of you almost wanted to chuck on the leather pants you would potentially be sporting for tomorrow evening so as to give them a slight stretch and make them more comfortable while you performed. Another said to just keep it simple, and stick to leggings and a nice loose tee to keep you at ease. The last option that your mind entertained was wearing shorts and a tank because it always got so hot in Terushima’s basement during practice. You even went so far as to try on multiple shirts and tops that were essentially the same, swapping out different preferred accessories to see if you liked the look, if only to make the minutes tick by. Hell, you even tried multiple pairs of shoes, lacing each foot individually before the clock had passed four in the afternoon. Eventually, you tied on your typical, everyday combat boots despite the wasted minutes trying to do a wardrobe check. Now that there was only an hour left for Elixir to begin arriving the at the drummer’s family home, you decide to give yourself ample time to stop by and grab coffee for everyone.

4:13pm. You send a text message out to your mates, waiting for them to reply with what you knew would be their typical orders. Well, as typical as it could be considering Terushima was always trying out crazy concoctions. One by one they responded and of course, your assumptions were correct when Teru sent in his drink that took up four rows of text. “What in the actual fuck?” You grumbled out, squinting at your phone while simultaneously trying to enter your car. Following your typical routine of turning on whatever guilty pleasure playlist you were feeling in that moment and lighting a cigarette, you glanced at your friends order one more time before ultimately deciding to place the order online. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself ordering Yūji’s stupid drink. After placing the order, you made your way to a Starbucks closest to the aforementioned boy’s family home.

The drive to Terushima’s wasn’t a particularly long, even with the coffee run. Traveling between two suburban towns typically only took about twenty minutes regardless of the direction you were coming from, though you hadn’t taken into account the long line wrapping around the Starbucks Drive-thru. Not that it mattered—you were still on time for practice. Even if it seemed all of your friends were already here. Cautiously exiting your car with the tray of drinks in one hand while you let yourself into the Terushima residence.

His parents greeted you warmly as you always did before you made your way down to the basement. “Ayeeee, there’s momma.” Makki greets, taking the tray from your hands and distributing everyone’s respective drinks. Small talk place between band members, distracting you from the other three people in the basement—your bandmates’ girlfriends. When you did finally acknowledge their presence, you gave them a tight lipped smile, so as not to be rude, though they only gave a blank stare before bringing their attention back to the phones in their hands. You gave a roll of your eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, per se. It was more along the lines of you were the only female in the band and they automatically assumed that you were out to steal their mans. Not the case, especially considering you all formed the band before any of them were even in the picture, but go off.

Having already finished your beverage from earlier, you began plugging in the microphone into the amplifier and tuning the guitar you used for a small number of songs. Everyone else seemed to be ready to go except for you, who was strapping on the aforementioned guitar to prepare for the insanity of an opening that is Kuroo’s masterpiece. Besitos, he called it. Spanish for little kisses, you often wondered where the romantic title had come from considering the narrative was less than pleasant, even foreshadowing murder in the final verse. When you asked him about the inspiration for the lyrics and the title, Kuroo did nothing but laugh, adding in, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

The second song was a project curated by your drummer, Terushima. Brick by Boring Brick was a song that he claimed was inspired by his girlfriend, which was an endearing gesture if that were the truth. But from what you and the rest of Elixir had known of his girlfriend, she didn’t come off as a person plagued with baggage. Not that you could base it solely off of appearance, but with her and Yūji’s short lived relationship, it was a bit unbelievable that he had unlocked her tragic backstory in a matter of three months. Then again, what did you know? You didn’t even remember her name.

The title of the third song, Growing Pains, always made you laugh at the irony considering that Makki’s tall ass wrote the song. While a romantic, upbeat love song from Teru didn’t strike you as a shock, it certainly did coming from the bassist. Emotions that danced in the “love” category didn’t really sway him often. Maybe his girlfriend was just that special to him? You weren’t sure, because once again, you knew none of their names. But you knew for a fact that the song seemed to call for something more stable, endearing growth together and support for each other, which had you questioning how long had you been apart from your friends.

After the third song, you were winded and uncomfortable and no amount of water you chugged was helping you with sweat and dehydration. “I’m gonna die tomorrow.” You joked after setting your water bottle down by your microphone stand.

“We’re only a third of the way through the set, headass.” Terushima joked, pulling down his lower left eyelid and sticking his tongue out to you.

“For real, it’s only been like twenty minutes since we started practice.” Kuroo chided.

“Yeah, but can we smoke instead? I think there were a few things we should tune up before moving onto the next third of the set.” You looked to your guitarist with pleading eyes, holding a cigarette and lighter between your fingers. Makki, without saying anything else, pulled out a small bowl and packed it. He knew that any form of pleading made Kuroo a weak man, which inevitably meant a smoke break was up next rather than continuing on with work.

“Fine.” Despite the mock defeat in his tone, Kuroo is already gliding up the stairs, taking two steps at a time with you in tow. More steps could be heard, but they were lighter than the boys you had come know so well, meaning the three stooges were most likely following suit, despite them not being smokers themselves.

You and Kuroo were currently seated on a stone barricade as you lit your cigarettes, the rest of the crew picking at sporadic seats along the wall. Teru and Makki were next to each other to share their bowl while their girlfriends sat on the outside of them, just to your right. Kuroo’s girlfriend had taken up occupying the space between you and your guitarist and, maybe for a moment, you were wondering they were deliberately arranged this way.

The worst part of the girlfriends accompanying practice, in your eyes, was not their presence, but rather the fact that you felt like you couldn’t even talk to your best friends, your bandmates at band practice, because they were too busy comforting them so that they “didn’t feel out of place”. Regardless, you respected your friends enough to not make the situation more difficult for them—if you needed to say something, you could say it in the basement where spectator talk was not welcome. Out of the corner of your eye while you were internally monologuing, you see the lanky arm of Makki offering you the bowl, a few cinders of his hot still lit. With poor timing, he grabbed your attention while you were exhaling the smoke in your lungs, unintentionally doing so onto his girlfriend. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She rolled her eyes, though you know you didn’t do it on purpose. Whatever, she had her truths. You held up your hand that squeezed the filter of your cigarette between your index and ring finger. “I’ll get it on the next turn,” making Makki shrug and pass the small glass bowl back to the drummer.

A couple more drags of your cigarette soothes your craving for nicotine and when the paper had finally burned all the way to the end of the filter, you tossed the butt into the dead fire pit that acted as the center for your gathering. Terushima stands up real quick to hand you the bowl that had been nearing its end—giving you the last couple hits before it was cashed. When it came to marijuana, you didn’t smoke very often, but today you were grateful for the offering. Maybe the high would take the edge off of your...anxiety? No, that wasn’t it. Irritation seemed to be a better fit.

The seven of you shuffle back into the basement, rearranging yourselves, and knocking back a beer. “Okay, so before we move on, is there any song that you guys think we should work on before moving to the next third of the set?” You asked, your back towards your audience while you looked at your bandmates in earnest. They looked at each other, before locking eyes with you.

“Is there anything you want to work on? You’re the one who’s switching around with instruments and you’re the one who runs around on stage so we’ll leave it up to you.” Kuroo says evenly. You pursed your lips in uncertainty, think back to how each song sounded.

“Ya know what, let’s work on...........”

[ Besitos ] » Kuroo’s Route

[ Brick By Boring Brick ] » Terushima’s Route

[ Growing Pains ] » Makki’s Route.

BONUS: Terushima’s Starbucks order.

[levyfiles]

Can we all appreciate the bugsy post mortem where Shane wasn’t there so Ryan proceeded to happily talk about him the whole time

How on earth did I miss this ask? You know what, I decided to go rewatch that episode to see how quickly into the video he brings up Shane. Now of course, I wanted to play fair and discount his mentioning that his guest host isn’t Shane so I skipped that which occurred 

roughly 26-28 seconds in. Then of course he needed to talk about why Shane wasn’t in and that’s normal so

Ok, roughly a minute in. So he’s spent 1 min of a 16 min video explaining that his regular cohost isn’t here and of course like any regular host, he goes

Despite the glimmer of delight in his eyes, let’s take him at his word. He’s explained the situation, so we move on. 

BUT THEN (we get a read more because if you think this situation is an anti-climax, boy are you in for a surprise under the cut...)

At rougjy the 4 minute mark while Andrew is patiently trying to explain that in his opinion, the mafia is an environment of violence so sometimes threats can be taken too seriously when they’re just an expression and Ryan cuts him off, talking about blowing off steam in a situation where your feelings need to be contained to which were, he says, for no gd reason

Andrew didn’t ask, my guy, but OK. And honestly, I imagine that’s it. They move on and start to talk more about the case. Andrew’s warmed to the subject and they start answering questions again. One question demands to know whether Ryan wants his death to be a mystery and Andrew launches into this imaginative scenario where everyone he loves knows he’s somehow faked his death; he’s all right but to everyone else, he’s a missing person kidnapped under unsolved circumstances and Ryan--

COUNT THE PEOPLE IN THE ROOM WHO ASKED, MY GUY!  What the fuck?!. 

Anyway, yeah that’s it though. I mean that’s pretty well into the video; we get it, cohost isn’t here. Andrew is making you nervous and Adam sitting behind you for strange intervals is weird. You get through it and--Oh wait, he’s not done talking about Shane.

ARE YOU EVEN TALKING TO ANYONE ELSE RIGHT NOW??

I’m just. I was really trying to play this off as normal. I even included the timestamps to show this isn’t that weird but, this should have been called the The Mysterious Reason Shane Madej is The Most Interesting Person Ryan Knows Q+A where none of your questions matter because only Ryan knows the questions and the answers. But seriously though, Ok, it’s obvious. He knows Shane’s gonna watch this back and maybe he’s just giving Shane a little audience nod--

NOT EVEN TEN SECONDS, DUDE????? YO OK OK mob nicknames. It’s bound to happen. We’re like 9 minutes in, move it along. Ask Andrew what his mob nickname would be. Silent J?  Because of his last name Ilnychyj? Oh yeah that’s--

LMAO look at the damn shock on his face as if the Sallie House just reopened as a popcorn dispensary. But listen, this is fine. Andrew made the connection too. No beef here--

RYAN?! WHAT THE SHIT. ANDREW IS A GUEST IN THIS HOUSE

LET ME JUST GET THIS SHIT STRAIGHT IN CASE I MISSED SOMETHING HERE. YOU INVITE ANDREW TO STAND IN AS YOUR GUEST COHOST AND HE AGREES TO SIT THERE WITH YOU WHILE YOU DERAIL EVERY CONVERSATION STARTED BY QUESTIONS ASKED JUST TO TALK ABOUT HOW SHANE’S ANSWER WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER AND YOU FINALLY ASK ANDREW A QUESTION TO WHICH HE ANSWERS IN HIS USUAL CREATIVE MANNER AND YOU TAKE HIS ANSWER AND GIVE IT TO YOUR COHOST WHO NEED I REMIND YOU ALL ISN’T EVEN THERE?!!

Our mans really clowned Andrew like that for 10 min out of a 16 min video. I mean surely that’s it? That little climax of a tense moment alleviated by plans to make a Motown band together must have put it all to rest, right?

Oh. Let me just state for the record that I am making the same face as Andrew here. 

Uh huh. 

Yeah OK, but you ever just...?

...you ever just talk to that one coworker you never work with one on one and you realise very slowly 

That something about him is just

Not quite right?

Sometimes you just gotta laugh and smile politely and get through your shift because the only thing scarier than knowing someone has an obsession with something is them knowing that you know. 

At least they ended on a good note, but DAAAAAAAMN was that a journey to watch. Shane all the way up until the very end of the postmortem I mean except for this and can we just actually examine this for a sec in an unrelated to our present concern sort of way

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED THEN?? BUT SERIOUSLY THO, YOU EVER TALK YOUR COWORKER’S EAR OFF ABOUT THE DUDE YOU HANG OUT WITH UNTIL THEY AVOID YOU AT WORK?

[keatsblue]

Want a Piece of Me?! - a Kiribaku Baking AU fic, pre-slash.

*** 

It was something he’d picked up from his mother, before she’d gotten too sick.

She’d let him roll out flour-dusted dough into thinned sheets, let him taste a batter mix or two on the tip of her spoon. Whenever he was tasked with packing the buttercream, he’d unerringly return to her with a dollop of icing on the end of his nose. She’d let out a laugh like windchimes as she wiped his face off with a multi-stained washcloth, would murmur, warm against the skin of his cheek as she kissed it—did my little dragon get greedy for some sugar again? Well, here’s some sugar!

Kirishima was her little dragon, and she’d made sure his early life was filled with candied nights and warm bellies, gingerbread castles with marshmallow spires.

After she passed, he kept it up to feel close to her.

He was far from an expert baker, but he knew his way around an oven. His hands were large and not the most suited to handling delicate fondant, but he managed. His arms were strong, good for hefting bags of fresh ingredients.

Pineapple upside-down. Triple-tiered, Italian wedding crème. Chocolate lavender truffles, topping his signature cherry cordial mousse. Delicate macaroons and finicky meringues, mirror glazes so seamless he could see his reflection. Kirishima baked his way through the entire grieving process, inviting his closest friends over for tastings, and he won.

I’m okay, mom.

He wasn’t certain when it had really started, this online business. Mina had actually made the first post, snapped the first photo. He hadn’t expected it to get a single comment.

It got hundreds. Then thousands.

People contacted him, wanting to know how they could make their own cakes look like that.

Kirishima obliged, of course. How could he not? He was going to bake anyway. Might as well help a few other amateur chefs while he was at it!

Mina helped him film. “I discovered you, so I’m your manager for life,” she’d say, with a wink. “Don’t forget about me when you make it big and become a world-famous baker, somewhere.”

World-famous, my ass, he always thought, whenever she’d suggest such a thing. He still made far too many mistakes, for that.

It was okay, most of the time. Many of the people who followed his little baking ‘show’ were more than understanding, and incredibly supportive. When he read their kind comments, it gave him a warm, fluttery kind of feeling—almost like one of his mother’s secure hugs.

There were always those few, though.

He was just getting off the rickety bus that stopped near his neighborhood when he saw it. He almost missed the last step on his way down, stumbling for a few paces as the telltale sound of a screen door sliding shut behind him signaled the bus’s departure.

However, Kirishima wasn’t paying attention to any of that. Instead, his eyes were glued to the screen of his phone, where he’d just called up his latest baking stream.

xxxx: ur cakes suck a**

He frowned down at the comment, checking the timestamp. So, it was just posted a few minutes ago.

Huh.

It was obviously a troll, no doubt about it. They didn’t even have a profile picture to go with the nondescript name. And usually, usually, Kirishima would just let comments like that slide right off his shoulders.

But he’d had a bad day. And it was funny, how something so small could pierce his heart sometimes, a sharp spear to the mighty dragon’s soft underbelly.

It was safe to say, making his way up the rusted-out stairwell to his college-budget apartment took a little more energy than usual. He jammed his key into the lock with punishing force, twisted.

The door swung upon under his palms, and the familiar scent of his home wafted toward him, riding along the sudden gust of warm air escaping. Kirishima was careful to shut the door quickly, before too much of the heat was let out. Breathed in the fruit-sweet smell from his kitchen, so if nothing else, the familiarity of it could ease his scattered mind.

His phone chimed, before he could get too relaxed. When he checked the message ID, though, he couldn’t help but smile.

alienqueen: ughhhhh I hate this asshole already

alienqueen: obviously, he’s never tasted 1 of kiri’s cakes

ducktapes: kiri’s cakes <3 ahhhh my heart

sparksmcgee: dude same, want me 2 get sweet vengeance?

As soon as Kirishima’s smile had appeared, it vanished. He frantically opened the chat, his thumbs too large to type with the speed he needed.

There was no way to tell if Denki was serious. And his friend could do it, too—every day, Kirishima thanked his lucky stars he was on the excitable hacker’s good side.

kiricakes: no need!! it’s just a troll, guys

kiricakes: super manly of you to think of me, though

sparksmcgee: ur too nice, fams

sparkmcgee: guess the troll lives… for now

ducktapes: TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! THERE’S A-

alienqueen: aksnfkasnof

kiricakes: lolllllll

Before long, he was able to lose himself in mindless chatter. The antics of his friends never failed to bring his spirits up. He plugged his phone into one of the few outlets in his crummy apartment, embedded into the wall just over the kitchen counter, so he could continue the conversation even as his battery started to wane.

The hours grew long, though, and time was scarce mid-week for exhausted, assignment-laden college kids. It wasn’t a surprise when Denki soon begged off on some coding or another that he had to re-run, or when Sero and Mina similarly slipped away (they were researching something together for Comparative Physiology, it was all very much over Kirishima’s head). In the end, he was left with only his thoughts, and an empty kitchen.

He locked his phone, and the screen went dark. He could see his reflection in it, baggy eyes and downturned lips. A shock of red hair, which had once been midnight-black.

Like his mother’s.

Kirishima turned his head. In the low light, his appliances gleamed from their shelves. Almost mocking, in a way.

“My cakes don’t suck,” he said, to no one. His grin stretched wide, and he could tell from the burn of it that he was showing far too many of his sharpened teeth. “I’ll prove it to you.”

He set his phone to record, and made another cake. It was triple-tiered, funfetti, because that was the batter mix he had on-hand. He watched the batter rise within his dented iron pans with all the patience of a general considering the battlements—or perhaps, a dragon considering its’ hoard.

Any spare buttercream was packed into a dispensary, silken and primed to hold his creation together. He spliced it evenly between his cakes with a practiced ease, layer after layer.

Then, the whipped frosting. It was a simple recipe, one of the first he’d learned. He worked the whipping cream within a chilled bowl, adding scoop upon scoop of powdered sugar until the mixture obediently began to rise, forming soft peaks.

He made several batches, and then added some orange food coloring to each.

Fuck it. I’m in an orange sort of mood.

His second favorite color, after red.

All that remained was assembly.

… throughout the process, he talked.

Kirishima didn’t typically make a habit of speaking while he baked. He certainly didn’t speak while he recorded, but this—this was a special occasion. Soon, he found himself opening up in front of the camera like never before. He spoke of his mother, briefly. Of his love of baking, and how much he didn’t want to lose that little piece of her he had left.

It was all he had left.

The whipped frosting went on like a dream for him, a smooth and even ombre that when he finished, reminded Kirishima just a bit of an orange sunset. It was soothing, and right, and exactly what he needed.

He didn’t think much of posting the video, largely unedited, to his public account. His was still a small corner of the internet, after all—a solitary baking channel in a sea of thousands. Maybe even millions. How many people would even see it, really?

“Oh, and by the way, can you guys stop saying my cakes look like shit?”

It was only one cake.

With great effort, Kirishima stumbled his way to his bedroom. He hadn’t realized how tired he was, how much all that time in the kitchen had taken out of him.

Before his head even hit the pillow, he was out.

He dreamed of his mother’s sweets, and orange.

***

sparksmcgee: dude wake up

sparksmcgee: wake uppppp

sparksmcgee: KIRI

sparksmcgee: KIRI U GOTTA SEE THIS

sparksmcgee: KIRIIIII

sparksmcgee: fine, ignore me, Mr. Internet Sensation

sparksmcgee: wait I was joking, I was joking!

sparksmcgee: I’ll call u! I’ll do it!!

sparksmcgee: damn it kiri

sparksmcgee: just watch the fuckin’ video

sparksmcgee: https://twitter.com/Simplemachines_/status/1297739774795509761

***

Kirishima groaned, slamming a fist down on top of the source of that incessant beeping. It was too early in the morning for such ear-splitting noise.

But what was done couldn’t be undone. He was awake now, for better or worse.

He cracked one eye open, squinting against the bright blue light of his phone screen. Still bleary-eyed, he scrolled through all of Denki’s messages (seriously, man?) and pressed a thumb over the hyperlink his friend sent. It was probably just some dumb meme—

Wait. Wait.

That was his cake video from last night. And… that wasn’t all.

Some blond guy with an angry face took up the other half of the split screen, but he wasn’t doing anything. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Kirishima blinked. A… reaction video…?

He heard himself begin to speak, to layer the buttercream. Internally, he cringed.

Well. In his defense, he had been having one of those days—

He almost dropped his phone when the blond guy yelled at the top of his lungs.

“WHO WAS MEAN TO YOU?!”

Huh? Was this guy speaking… in Kirishima’s defense?

“WHO SAID YOUR CAKES LOOK LIKE SHIT?! POINT ‘EM OUT!”

Slathering on his nice, ombre whipped frosting, now. The blond guy (who was kinda cute, actually, even with his angry face) continued to watch and listen with rapt attention, occasionally letting out another unholy screech.

The video progressed to the part where Kirishima had begun describing his day, and really, he could’ve kicked himself. It’d just been a math test. He’d been excited at the time, because he’d gotten his grade back and hadn’t completely failed it, but now, he wondered. Who would want to listen to such inane, boring—

“YES! I’M SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU, SHITTY HAIR!”

Shitty hair? Inadvertently, he felt the hand that wasn’t currently occupied supporting his phone drift up toward his hairline. He knew he applied a lot of gel, spiked it up on purpose. Surely it didn’t look that bad.

But even with that last comment, the guy had said a lot of nice things. And how manly, to post such a wholesome reaction video, where all the world could see?

His phone beeped again as a message banner flashed across the top of the screen. He opened it with a flick of his finger.

It seemed this time, Denki had messaged in the group chat. He didn’t have long to wonder whether his other friends had seen the video, either, messages were fired at rapid speed.

sparksmcgee: did you see it?!?? I found the guy! Your dream man!

sparksmcgee: his name is **drumroll**

kiricakes: denki, no

ducktapes: denki, YES

sparksmcgee: BAKUGOU KATSUKI, HE’S FROM JAPAN

alienqueen: Kiri go get your mans!!

sparksmcgee: if you want I can also get his credit card

kiricakes: DENKI NO

Bakugou Katsuki. Huh.

As his friends continued to bicker amongst themselves, Kirishima stretched out his limbs. He let out a soft sigh when his shoulders popped, already considering what he would bake himself for breakfast.

Maybe he’d have a slice of orange funfetti. And perhaps as he did, his mind would drift to an angry fan.

One he hoped to meet, someday.