#ive been watching one piece non stop for like. a couple of months

[adowashines]

babys first zolu

#one piece #zolu #luffy #monkey d luffy #zoro #sunshine art #ive been watching one piece non stop for like. a couple of months #im at enies lobby :3

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “I Have Seen.”

Wrote something easy and more similar to my original stories today. I hope you like it. 

I have been thinking about taking a couple days off from writing these stories, since I have been working non stop on this and the book for over a year now, so I am considering taking a break for about a week so I don’t burn out. I haven’t decided yet, so we shall see, but I hope you all have a great day.

I have a job no one knows about.

I don’t think anyone would be surprised if they heard about my job. I don’t even think they would care all that much.

None of this explains why my work station is in the basement of a nondescript government bunker on a death planet…. A!36. I can’t explain why I need three codes to get into my office, or why I go through five locked doors, or why I am not allowed to tell anyone what I do on pain of termination and imprisonment. 

You would assume, perhaps that I am a spy, and involved in some covert cloak and dagger espionage against other species and nations: you would be wrong.

You might assume I am a weapons developer, but you would also be wrong.

Perhaps you think I spend my time wire-tapping on important calls between species and recording important information.

None of this is really the case.

In fact, what I do is quite safe and relatively simple, plenty of other non-humans are doing it of their own accord and plenty more humans do it on a regular basis. What I do is not illegal, it is not espionage, it wouldn’t even phase you.

If that is the case.

Why do so many of my coworkers go missing?

Why are there absent desks every few months?

Why can I not make any lasting friends?

Management always give excuses to those of us who are left.

They left for mental health reasons.

THey moved on to a different job.

They are moving up in the company.

They had to be let go.

All things generic and all things that wouldn’t generally raise suspicion… unless they happen so frequently as us.

You may be wondering at this point, what it is I do for a job.

Perhaps, you think, it is very boring and unfulfilling that I would go insane from sheer boredom.

No, I actually find my job quite interesting.

Perhaps you think my job forces me to watch very disturbing and violent things…. And I suppose that could be close to the truth, though no one forces us to watch the videos if we don’t want, and no one makes us read the material if we cannot handle it. In fact, there are those of us who specialize in that sort of thing.

I do.

I am a specialist in historical xenopsychology.

I study human history.

When I say that I study human history, I do not mean as in a passing fancy. I do not simply read their school children’s textbooks and accept everything I see as truth, no, every day , I come into work and it is my job, to learn about everything that has ever happened in human history, to the best of my ability.

It is my job to know the good, the bad, the ugly, and the monstrous.

I work from day to night, cataloguing and filling my brain with all the information I can before recording it as a lecture on aura drives, which are then stored away for future use in a deep backup system under the surface of this planet.

I have followed human history since the beginning of time.

And I have marveled at it.

Much of my research is flawed, I know. Human history has always been biased, history being shaped and molded by the winners of conflict. Much of what else I know stems primarily from scholarly work humans have done on their own species, looking back the centuries and making assumptions about what they were doing.

While this is a good insite -- humans trying to explain the behavior of other humans-- it isn’t necessarily correct.

For this reason, it is my job to study every piece of information that comes across my desk.

Due to a government agreement between the galactic assembly and the United Nations of Earth, I was given access to the rebuilt library of Alexandria and all of its electronic files which include photos and information on the original documents that they keep in sealed vaults below the library.

I have read every account of human history, and every second hand interpretation of human history that I could possibly find in my time working here.

I have read Darwin and his early theory regarding evolution. I have examined his evidence, which include images and diagrams of the human body spanning centuries. My determinations were made just the same as the rest of them. Humanity was a tree-living species that found its evolutionary niche through walking and the use of opposable thumbs.

This ability to walk, in tandem with the use of hands eventually gave rise to the slow swelling of the brain in comparison to other animals. Human evolved primitive tools, and even more primitive religions, societies and rules.

They developed art early on, painting on the walls of their caves, in the darkness of night surrounded by their fires.

I have read about their befriending of animals in that same darkness. Man’s slow molding of the wolf into the dog - a species designed specifically for the needs of man.

I have attempted to read every account of every atrocity ever inflicted on humanity.

I have read of wars, and battles, Marathon, Thermopylae, Kadesh, D-day, Vietnam, Korea, Russo-Japanese, World wars I, II, III,  and IV and the Panasian War. 

I have witnessed in images and first hand accounts the chilling discoveries of natural disasters gone back thousands of years. Pompeii, Mt. St Helens, Katrina, Tsunamis, earthquakes, the fire of london, 1887 yellow river flood, the 3130 California earthquake, and Haiti earthquakes. 

And I have studied and witnessed every atrocity man has ever committed on its own people. The Mongol hordes, the crusades, Mayan and Aztec sacrifices, The Armenian genocide, the Holocaust, mustard gas, 9/11, slavery in the America, the Trail of Tears, The Bataan Death March, the Berlin wall, Civil war, the French revolution, Nanjing, Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

I tore a hole in humanity and looked inside to see your rot. 

I study the maggots that crawl under your skin.

Don’t confuse me with someone who fears you, or is even disgusted by you. You have committed thousands of horrors, yes this is true. But humanity is not a polished gem, it is an uncut stone marred by dirt and debris, but beautiful in a way that can hardly be explained.

You scrub away the rot only to find more underneath, yet you continue to scrub, in a futile attempt to better yourselves.

It is a beautiful thing if not in vain.

I do not judge you for your crimes because I have also seen your achievements. I watched you survive  the dark ages, I learned your philosophy from the greek world which brought the beauty of democracy and equity in later forms. I watched the enlightenment of the Renaissance, and have seen your beautiful artwork from each period of time. 

I have witnessed your great nations and empires rise and fall, Assyria, Byzantine, Rome, Britain, Egypt, Mongole, Aztek, Soviet Union, The chinese Dynasties and the Communist parties. The United States, and the Asian Co-Prosperity Collective

I have seen your bravery and your loss.

I have learned about the good that walks your earth.

Humans who stood up to tyrants.

I have even examined your stories of creation, of deities who molded humans from clay or dust, watched your world come into form in seven days, or ride on the backs of giant animals. I have seen the gods gift you with fire and learned the teaching of your martyrs over the centuries. Men and women slain and stoned or pulled away by spirits. I have learned of crucifixion, death and rebirth as well as reincarnation and a return to the very fabric of the universe itself.

I see everything.

I see everything. I see it all in my dreams laid out before me like a tapestry following each woven thread through the ages. I thought if I looked back, I could know as much as I possibly could. If I dug deep enough, I would be able to see your secrets.

And I have discovered you.

I see you hiding in there.

I know what you are.

Come out, come out.

And I won’t stop until it is all over and your cities crumbled into dust and bone.

…

…

I am being called into my manager’s office. Perhaps I too am ready to go up in the company.

...

I will be back soon…

Deus 

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #HUMANS ARE WERID #humans are space oddities #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

[6rookie-writer0110]

The end has arrived, let the darkness take over you

Frank Castle x Male Reader

Request - Okay good i wanna request for a male reader being punisher's sidekick his backstory is that he came from a poor family single mother 2 siblings and a deadbeat dad he wanted to become a doctor to make money for his family and then family got killed during a crossfire between 2 gangs while going shopping so now he wants revenge he gets a knife buys a gun and starts tracking them down and along the way he comes across frank who's badly injured and unconscious so he drags him away to somewhere safe

All your life you grew up poor. Your mother did everything to have food for you and your two siblings, she worked odd jobs to make sure she can buy clothes and food for everyone. There were moments, that everyone went to bed without eating anything. But your father is a piece of shit, he used to abuse you, mom, and your siblings verbally and physically. You started to fight back. You threw his stuff out then changed the locks. He hasn't come back around for a long time and you want to keep it like that.

You want to be a doctor to help people and provide for your family. Your mom would take you and your siblings to the library, you would start to read medical books old and modern. She knows you want to be a doctor, she wants to help you achieve your dream.

Later, your mother takes you and your sibling's shopping, to buy clothes.

”Y/N, here you can finish reading it at home,” Your mom said.

She gave you the medical book, the library doesn't allow people to check out.

”Mom, you stole it?” You smiled.

”Shh, it's our secret. I know you will be a good doctor and we will always support you. It will be hard but you are strong men and you will make it” She said.

You hugged your mom and she kissed your head. Your siblings hugged you too and you hugged them back.

While walking with them to the store, suddenly there is a shoot out between two gangs on the streets. Bullets start to fly everywhere, people start to run for cover.

You get hit in your arm with a stray bullet, you fall down and hit your head and you passed out.

-At the hospital--

You wake up and your arm is in pain. The IV is in your arm and you look around, the cop walked in.

”Where is my family? My mom-”

”I’m sorry. But you will have to identify your family at the morgue” She said.

Tears start to form and you are stunned.

”W-what happened,” You said.

”There was a shootout between two gang rivals, six people died now we are trying to identify them,” She said.

Your heart starts to race, that's the only thing you can hear is your heart. Later, they take you to the morgue and you see your family. You broke down and start to cry, you kneed down and kept crying.

----

What happened between the two gangs and six people died, the news kept talking about it non-stop. But the cops are taking too long to arrest anyone.

You want revenge, you collected newspapers, booked marked social media talking about the crime, and Google the videos of the crime. You go back to the crime scene during late hours. You searched for clues. You know about the two gangs and no one got arrested, that made you angry. You want to take the law into your own hand and do something about it.

-The next night-

You want to buy a gun and a knife. You know where you go and you bought the items, without any trouble. You start to stalk the first gang The blue reapers, you look at them, and you are filled with rage. Now, you start to think about how you will lure them and kill them.

You really don't have a plan. You are just going in there with a gun and knife against a gang. You are standing across the street watching them. Before you left, you heard a huge sound towards the dumpster. You walked towards the dumpster and you see a guy badly beaten up. He is conscious, you did try to wake up him but it didn't work, you tried to pick him up. You take him back to your place and you start to clean his wounds.

✯ ✫ ✯ ✫

-Next Day-

Frank wakes up and his body is feeling sore. He did struggle to get out of bed, he walked out of the room and he sees you.

”Who are you?” Frank asked.

”I found you unconscious in the alley. I took you here, to stitch you up and you don't need major surgery. My name is Y/N” You said.

”Thank you,” Frank said.

”Don’t worry your gear is fine. It's in the living room... I know who you are” You said.

”You know who I am?” Frank asked.

You nod.

”Help me. Train me, I need to get revenge for those who killed my family. Please train me-”

”I won't train you,” Frank said.

”Why not? I want those two gangs to fall apart. If we don't stop them they will kill winning and kill more people” You said.

”You don't want this lifestyle. The answer is no” Frank said.

”Just give me a chance. I saw you do it before you fight them then kill-”

”I said no!” Frank yelled.

Frank puts back on his gear and left. You sighed and start to think about what to do.

---

A couple of days has passed by, Frank hasbeen thinking about what you said. Frank started to keep an eye on you, but you didn't notice him following you. Later, you found out the first gang’s hideout. You are being reckless, you only have one gun, and there are more than ten people inside the bar.

Frank can see what you are doing. He sighed and called you a dumbass in his mind. Frank moved rapidly, grabbed you by your hoodie, and slammed you hard against the brick wall in the alley.

”What the fuck is wrong with you!?!” Frank growled.

He doesn't let go of you.

”I want them to pay!” You yelled.

”With one gun!? Once you pull out your gun the next you have a bullet in your fucking skull!” Frank growled again.

You and Frank glared at each other.

”Help me stop them. You have the skills and you can be my mentor” You said.

”Go home, before I break your kneecap,” Frank said cold.

He let's go of you and you really want him to train you.

”I work alone,” Frank said.

Frank made sure you walked away. You did go home but the landlord kicked you out because you haven't paid your rent in months. You grabbed your clothes and a family picture and left. You didn't want to go to the homeless shelter so you slept in the park.

---

Frank knows what you're going through and he changed his mind. It wasn't hard for Frank to find you. He did take you to his small apartment which you're grateful. You do sleep on the floor on air a mattress.

Every day Frank showed you how to properly clean a gun, take it apart then put it back together and how to hold a gun. Next Frank would teach you how to pickpocket and it's not easy for you. Because you have to be silent like the wind but you keep messing up. But Frank starts to teach you how to fight but he is not a nice mentor. He hits you hard and he doesn't take it easy.

”Do you think they will go easy on you? Remember, on their mind, they want to kill you either you kill them first or they will kill you” Frank said.

”I won't forget that” You said.

Frank starts to punch you and you start to block his blows. You punched him in the jaw, he almost fell and he is bleeding.

”Not bad, Y/N. Let's keep going” Frank said.

You couldn't help to smirk.

✯ ✫ ✯ ✫

Weeks went by you have been killing gang members one by one from both sides. Frank does go along with you for backup, you didn't feel bad for killing them. They killed your family and they must pay. You finished killing two people on your own, you are covered in blood.

”Sloppy but remember don't leave any evidence that belongs to you on the crime scene. Let's go” Frank said.

You and Frank leave the dive bar. Across the street, there are security cameras and it caught you leaving the bar bloody.

--

The cops found out that you and Frank have been killing gang members. They want to arrest you and Frank, but they can't find your location. Frank has taught you how to live off the grid.

--

You are ready to kill them. You and Frank did set up a trap to have both gangs in one place at the warehouse. They want revenge because you killed their friends.

”Who the fuck are you?” He asked.

”You don't care about my name. But I’m here to kill all of you” You said.

They just laughed at you and you are glaring at them. You take out your gun and shot one of the guys in the head. His body dropped now everyone stopped laughing.

”You fucking asshole!” He yelled.

Everyone took out their guns but Frank is on the rail, he is using his sniper rifle. Now everyone is starting to shoot, you run and hide behind a shipping crate. You hid your weapon and you take out the Submachine gun.

You come out and you start to kill them. You were going to load but the guy hit you and you dropped the gun. You take out the brass knuckles and put it on. Now you start to fight and you punch him in the face. He killed your family, you got on top of him and you snapped. All the rage you locked inside came out, he is bleeding out fast but you broke his face.

You grabbed your gun and the bullets, you loaded your gun. You start to shoot and more bodies start to drop. Frank run towards you

” Let's go now,” Frank said.

You followed him outside and locked the doors. You and Frank blocked every exit earlier and left bombs inside. You and Frank get away from the warehouse, he gave you the remote.

”When you are ready,” Frank said.

You didn't say anything and you pressed the button. You and Frank watched the warehouse explode.

✯ ✫ ✯ ✫

You and Frank go to a small diner to eat. You did burn your clothes because it had blood and put on different clothes. You and Frank don't say anything and just kept eating.

”What is your next move, Y/N,” Frank said.

He takes a huge bite from his burger.

”I have nothing else left for me here. We are wanted so I thought maybe I can tag along” You said.

He starts to think and he drinks his soda and you started to eat again.

”Okay, you can come with me to Canada. I have a friend who can help us” Frank said.

You nod.

--

You met Logan, he has been friends with Frank for years. They trust each other now you're friends with Logan. You told him what happened to your family and he understands the pain and he didn't judge you. Logan told you and Frank that the cops is after you two. But you didn't care, now you want to figure out what you will do with your life.

#frank castle imagine #Frank Castle x male reader #Frank Castle x reader #marvel imagine #x male reader

[katblu42]

The End?

This is something I wrote for a creative writing competition. The challenge was to write something (within a week) starting at the end and working back to the beginning. For some reason the prompt/challenge sparked this little piece, which is pretty much non-fiction. I guess it came at a time when the subject matter was on my mind. I wanted to post it now because a related anniversary is coming up.

There are warnings!!! Please heed the tags. Death, Sickness, Hospitals, Cancer. (If more warnings/tags are needed please let me know so I can make appropriate edits!)

Below the cut for length and warnings.

This was not how their story was supposed to end. There were still so many chapters they had hoped to write together, so many journeys toward possible futures that they had imagined spending side by side. She never anticipated being a childless widow before she had even turned forty-two. She’d never considered being faced with a hopeless situation, or the unenviable decision to allow them to stop treatment and let him slip away. Treatments that could prolong his life a little, but not fix him. Their plans had never included his hand desperately clinging to hers as she tearfully told him it was okay for him to let go and leave her behind.

He had wanted to fight. It broke her heart that there was nothing the combined efforts of all the medical staff could do to support his fight. It was a losing battle. His body was giving up on him, organs shutting down even though his mind was not ready to give up. The three weeks he lasted in the ICU had left him battle-scarred and exhausted, but he had still not wanted to give in, or let her down.

His Forty-second birthday was less than a week before the end. It was spent with family, visiting two by two according to ICU visitor limits. He was barely able to communicate by then, his lips scabbed and bloody, and a ventilator tube in his throat inserted by tracheostomy. The medical team had not wanted the tube to remain in his mouth any longer, but he was too weak to breathe on his own.

He had been off the ventilator for a while, during one of the hopeful moments. They’d been able to remove the breathing tube, and they had been able to reduce the blood pressure medication for a while. His temperature had stabilised and she’d focused on the improvements, encouraging him to think positive. Facing the alternative had been unthinkable.

She had put such hope in the drug she’d had to sign permission for them to administer – one that had to be shipped urgently from interstate, that had approval for use in the US, but not here. They had told her it was possible too much time had passed for the reversal drug to be fully effective. It had been more than five days since the chemo treatment which now needed reversing had ended.

Hope was all she’d had at that point. Seeing him finally settled in Intensive Care with all the monitors and their beeps and alarms, the ventilator with its click and hiss, the hum of the heat pump regulating his temperature, the blood transfusion and IV lines all keeping her unconscious husband alive, she had to cling to every scrap of hope she could. His immune system was so compromised she had to wear the gown and gloves and mask just to sit in the corner of the room and let the silent tears fall.

The ICU waiting room was deserted during the wee hours. She and her Mum stayed until dawn before buzzing the door intercom to enquire about seeing him. His Dad had left after the surgeon had spoken to them all some hours before, explaining that in his current state surgery was not a viable option for the infection in his gut. The previous wait in Emergency had been shorter, and the waiting room slightly more comfortable, but the constant worry and the lack of information had been excruciating.

Two ambulances had attended their tiny unit in answer to her call, such was the seriousness of his condition. Despite having four uniformed people fussing over her husband, she had not been given much information about what was happening. She’d been instructed to get all his medication together to bring with her to the hospital, then left to change out of her pyjamas while they loaded him into an ambulance. All this happened in a blur of action and confusion. Less than 20 minutes before they all headed to the hospital she had been performing chest compressions on him on the tiled floor of their cramped bathroom.

The Emergency Services operator on the other end of the phone had talked her through the CPR procedure. She’d learned it years before in first aid training, but having to actually perform the chest compressions on someone she loved was still horrifyingly daunting. He hadn’t stopped breathing, but the ES operator had assured her CPR was necessary because his gasping breaths had been so far apart.

She had never had to call an ambulance for anyone before, but it didn’t take a genius to see she needed help. His level of responsiveness had decreased so rapidly after she’d found him slumped forward sitting on the toilet, unable to sit up unaided. The yellow tinge to his skin had startled her. He had cried out to her in such a way that instinct had brought her rushing from the loungeroom without taking a moment to process anything more than the feeling that something was very wrong.

He had just wanted to sleep, so she tried to give him space to do that, sitting quietly in the loungeroom while he stayed in the darkened bedroom. He had refused to let her bring him something to eat, which had concerned her. She’d offered to call the hospital for advice, knowing he was uncomfortable and wanting to make sure he was okay, but he had refused to let her, insisting that there was no need to make a fuss. She’d arrived home from work around five, and suspected he had been in bed all day, “just feeling a bit yuck.” Later she would feel so much guilt for not trusting her instinct to get help for him then.

For the first couple of days after his chemo treatment ended he had seemed okay, feeling upbeat, acting normal. He had been in high spirits despite the prospect of months of treatment still ahead. There had been a little grumbling about feeling a little bit off, but that was to be expected, right?

His first (and only) round of chemo had been a five day affair. Three medications, two of which had been administered within a day at the clinic and the third he had carried around in a little pack while it slowly released over the five days. The plan had been laid out by the oncology team, with lots of consultations and discussions during the preceding weeks. He was to have two or three rounds of the chemo drugs, then radiation treatment would begin. Combination therapy to treat the cancers in his mouth and throat.

There had been months of discomfort, reducing his ability to eat properly, or enjoy food. He had lost a considerable amount of weight before she had been able to convince him to finally go and see a doctor and find out what was wrong. He’d always been the type to avoid going to a doctor unless he was literally at death’s door. She knew that part of what had held him back for so long was the fear that it could be something serious.

He didn’t want to ruin their holiday, but he promised he would see someone about the sore throat when they got back from the Gold Coast. It was only a week spent away, but they had visited all their favourite haunts. This was one of their regular holiday spots during their ten year marriage. They always felt like big kids, visiting the theme parks and the beaches, playing mini golf, messing about in the resort pool.

The two of them had been lucky to share many little trips away over the years. They’d had many more days of laughter and smiles than they’d had of tears and troubles. There had been precious gifts exchanged between them – but not many in a physical form she could lay her hands on. Each of them had broadened the other’s horizons, sparking interest in new experiences, sharing the activities and pass-times they loved.

Their wedding day had been filled with fun and friends and family. She had seen then how many people his bright and generous personality drew to him. So many people had wanted to share in their joy, and had told her she would never find a more loyal and loving mate. All the elegance and finery, the colour and music, the celebration of their union had been a wonderful way to begin their journey hand in hand to the future.

His proposal on the beach, early in the morning in a place he had been holidaying with his family every year since he was tiny, had taken her by surprise. He had asked her to come with him for a walk. They had travelled quite a long way up the beach, just watching the waves crash on the shore, listening to the shrieks of the gulls and making small talk. Then he had dropped to one knee and asked the question. She needed a moment to take in what was happening. His heart just about stopped, thinking she was hesitating. She had said yes, and put him out of his nervous agony.

Their first “proper” date was a walk to the local McDonalds for burgers and sundaes. Neither of them had much money, so neither had wanted to go anywhere fancy. She had been happy with the little things – like the way he always walked beside her on the footpath placing himself between her and the busy road. He was not rich, nor did he have impressive style or a brainiac’s intelligence, but he was open and funny and kind and she wanted to spend time with him.

She hadn’t ever been to the trivia night at the local bowling club, so she wasn’t sure what to expect, or how it all worked. The lady who hosted the quiz gave her an answer sheet and steered her towards a table, telling her the young man with the twinkle in his blue eyes, and the dimpled smile would look after her. That was the moment their story had begun.

#creative writing #tw death #tw hospital #tw cancer #tw sickness #two years without him come Sunday

[crohnsawarenessproject]

‘A Bloody Good Time’ July 12th, 2021 #abloodygoodtime © Outhouse Cartoons/C.A.P 2021

I’ve done it, I’ve been on one of the scariest medical adventures of my life to date. I’ve now sat in an ER watching bags of blood being transfused into my body after hitting a scary low red blood cell level due to chronic bleeding issues that snowballed over the last couple of months. Things were a mixed bag at first. Doctors worried the Entyvio wasn't working and instead could be causing my severe bleeding.

Let’s take a step back.

A few months ago, my Entyvio was adjusted from every eight weeks to every four weeks, which was around the same time my temporary GI had switched my standing blood work order from every month to every two months. Shortly after these changes, I started to see blood in my stool.

At first I didn’t think too much of it. A lot of us living with IBD have experienced blood in our stools. It’s not unheard of. A weekend went by, though, where it was just non stop. Everytime I went to the washroom, I would lose a fair amount of blood. Sometimes It would just be blood.

My initial reaction was that it was something I’d eaten. I thought about it, realizing my intake of beef had gone up that week and usually that would cause some issues for me. That had to be it. So I cut back on my beef.

Another week of constant bleeding went by without letting up. I was starting to feel it now. I was getting a bit scared. I reached out to friends and family and someone mentioned that, ‘women lose blood every month so [I] should be fine,’ so I let it slide again.

A few more weeks passed, no changes, I was really starting to feel it now and my blood work was finally in. I could show them what was going on. I had proof. The results show my hemoglobin sitting at 80 points and the rest of my profile being completely out of whack. This should light a fire, and I’d be the one to start it. '

I called the GI office asking for iron (this is all I knew to ask for at the time), stating what I was going through and how I felt. At this point I could barely stand and or walk. My heart felt like it wanted to race out of my chest. I was getting really scared now. I’ve never felt this bad throughout everything I’ve gone through. This was getting to be too much.

This is when they set up an emergency scope. Another week passed before scope day arrived. It was determined that my guts were pretty clean. They mentioned hemorrhoids but an ER doctor clarified that they were only level one which causes minimal issues. This proved a point that I had been trying to make previously, that my health was better than ever, where my Crohn's was considered. This was new. Is new. '

However at that exact moment I wasn’t feeling that great. I was also supposed to receive iron and/or a blood transfusion that day but it never ended up happening. This was a Friday and we all know what would happen over the next couple of days. Absolutely nothing. I knew the numbers everyone was working with were old. Too old. They didn’t have all the current facts nor did they understand how bad I felt.

I tried calling and leaving a message for the doctor just the same. Maybe I could make it to Monday and they could just get me into the IV lab real fast. Well, I barely made it to Monday but thankfully they got back to me first thing in the morning informing me that to get in for IV therapy would take over a week and that I should go to the ER if I believed I needed it sooner. That was an understatement, so we immediately started packing, getting me ready for the ER.

Once we arrived we managed to get through triage pretty quick. I told them what was going on and the moment I noticed a brow begin to furrow I reached into my bag, producing the blood work results from two weeks prior. The moment they saw the numbers things got moving.

Going back through my medical records, I’ve noticed that I’ve never really been in the normal hemoglobin levels but I rarely was under 100 points. When they did my blood work in the ER I was sitting at a cool 40, a number they claimed they hadn’t seen in some time.

Hey, at least I’m shaking things up. Going on new adventures. Like how when they moved me to the trauma ward to give me my IV. Something that normally goes pretty smoothly for me. I have big juicy veins, although they do roll, but as long as I bring this up, it’s usually accounted for. Not this time. No.

First of all, this was the most painful of any IV I’ve ever had, and it started when they accidentally blew a vein in my forearm, causing blood to squirt all over my leg and the floor, they then moved to my hand to put two more in. The pain was almost more than I could take, I wasn’t ready for this when I came in but at least the job was done and they were placed. I thanked my nurse as I always do and I was moved to another section.

I was still pretty chill at this point even though things weren’t the best. I knew why I was there and what I wanted, but there was one thing I wasn’t ready for. A new nurse came in to tell me what was on the docket. I was lined up for a blood transfusion. Three bags worth, but I was going to be admitted and the procedure states that you need to be COVID swabbed. My heart dropped, my smile disappeared and my heart which had slowed a touch since arriving began to pump faster. I had never had a COVID swab. I’ve kept home away from everyone and everything and always wear my mask while I’m out.

Now my thoughts were racing due to the things I had heard or read about in the past regarding people's experiences swabbing. I was so thankful for the fact that I had a very kind and patient nurse who talked me through the entire thing and after everything I had gone through getting the IVs in my arm, it was a piece of cake. It didn’t feel great, that’s for sure. But it was nowhere near as bad as I thought and not even on the same level as what I had gone through with the IVs. Teaching me that my years of experiences have helped me to build a thicker skin. Something younger me wouldn’t have been able to comprehend.

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful. They gave me my first bag of blood, during which the ER doc came to talk to me. They basically wanted a GI doctor to go over everything with me, but they were good after I told them that my Crohn’s was doing pretty good and that I had all of that under control with my GI/GP and that it was my GI’s office that had instructed me to come in for the transfusion.

Shortly after my first bag of blood, I was moved into my own private room in another section of the ER where I received another two bags of blood. I’d end up spending another 8 hours through the night watching my tablet, unable to get any kind of sleep due to the warm temperature of the room. Once the morning shift nurse arrived, I was up, showing how much better I was feeling, ready to go home but it’d be another hour before they’d make it to my room.

Luckily the ER doctor fully agreed with my self-diagnosis, releasing me to be picked up and taken home. We made sure to hit up my favourite diner on the way home, filling me up with a good breakfast after a long night.

The moment I got home I called up my GI office requesting to get the new monocyte iron infusion I was promised the week before as well as to have them revert my standing order back to every month as I was not comfortable with it staying at every two. I was put on Entocort to try and heal some ulcers and it seems that for now it has mostly stopped the bleeding. I’m not entirely convinced that we’ve solved the problem, but for now we’ve put a very good bandaid on it.

Have you ever had serious issues with your hemoglobin before? How’d you and your medical team navigate it? Tell us in the comments below.

#bleeding #blood #health issues #crohn's awareness project #cap #cap funnies #funnies #web comic #original comic #laughter is the best medicine #outhouse cartoons #crohn's disease #IBD #inflamatory bowel disease

[tiffgeorgina]

What are your headcanons and/or feelings about Blair and Harris?

Ahhh first of all thank you for your patience anon! I’ve had a wild (and unfortunately pretty uninspired) couple of weeks but now i have a ton of ideas so here they are. btw these are super unorganized and non-time-centric and pretty much plotless and random lmao anyways let’s get into it:

-harris is a by-default, die-hard back sleeper. sure, he’ll spoon and cuddle, but he won’t fall asleep like that. he’ll just lie awake all night if he’s anywhere but on his back. blair’s also kinda weirded out by being the little spoon just bc he isn’t used to it. he’s been sleeping next to a woman half a foot shorter than him all his life so it’s basically weird all around. harris will roll over like thirty minutes into the night (when he thinks blair is asleep) and they’ll both get comfortable from there.

-blair’s a really tactile person though and he likes knowing that the person next to him in bed is still there if that makes sense? plus hes always waking up freezing so he likes to be close to harris. one night kinda early in their monogamous-ish relationship he wakes up at like 3 in the morning and decides to just. crawl on top of harris. harris is obvs on his back, and blair just hitches his outside leg over harris’s hips, rests his head on his chest, and sort of lies mostly on his stomach and practically on top of harris. he sleeps like the dead for the rest of the night. 

-harris wakes up and he’s like “well fuck i cant move now” not that he wants to and it’s a saturday morning anyways so he just cards his fingers through blair’s hair and harris thinks he could get used to this

-they both tend to leave their wedding rings on when they’re together because once they both lost them and they only had 15 mins until harris needed to meet corky and it was a huge disaster. blair loves to spin harris’s around his finger since he’s almost always holding his hand in some capacity anyways, and harris loves to just stare at blair’s bc godDAMN if that isn’t the most beautiful piece of jewelry he’s ever seen. first, it symbolizes a pretty excellent arrangement between blair and tiff that makes it possible for harris to even be with him. second, it’s set with the biggest stone he’s ever seen. it’s a 12 carat emerald cut emerald and it’s gorgeous in the light ok im done talking about blair’s wedding ring lmao

-once corky walks in on them in the harris house and they’re obv shaken as hell, but she doesn’t even care. she’s like “oh hey guys” and just walks to the kitchen. obviously they’re like “uh what the hell” so they go ask her what her nonchalance is all about and she’s just like “i know. ive known for months. kissing at the country club? subtle” but she’s obviously just teasing and harris is just like “you aren’t pissed?” and she’s like “should i be?” and blair comes out of his shock for a minute to be like “uh yeah kinda?” and harris just elbows him like “why are you looking a gift horse in the mouth” and she’s like “yeah, i don’t think i really care. huh. i don’t really care” and no offense but it’s kind of the best day of harris’s life

-harris has a lot of traumatic memories from conversion therapy (showtime you’re wild asf for writing this in fuk u) and blair’s really good at calming him down if harris is panicking. blair’s been through his fair share of traumatic shit as we all know and tiff made him start going to a therapist, so he knows a bunch of techniques to prevent/stop panic attacks. harris is actually shocked at how quickly blair can calm him down. he’s curious too as to how he knew how to do that, but he figures it’s a question for another day

-that day comes a couple weeks later when they’re lying in bed, blair in what is now his standard sleeping position: outside leg over harris’s waist and his head on harris’s chest, practically draped over harris. harris can’t sleep, so he’s just staring at blair and running his hands over his back when he notices how rough his skin feels. he can’t really see, but he remembers to check in the morning before blair wakes up, and he notices--really notices for the first time--that his back and arms are littered with scars. he asks him the next day at breakfast, and he’s never seen blair freeze up like that. he explains his whole past with his dad (slowly and not without crying) and above all harris is just really glad that he could help blair and that blair trusts him enough to tell him

-MOMENTARY NSFW: this is kind of already canon from 2x02 but blair likes having his hair pulled ok goodbye

-they seem like the type of couple that would be together for years? like YEARS. they come out in like 2010 and get married in 2011 after having divorced tiff and corky in like the mid-90s no i do not take constructive criticism

-again, they’re in bed, standard sleeping position. harris can generally tell when blair’s fallen asleep; he can feel and see when his breathing evens out. he’s running his hands over blair’s back, just watching him, and he just looks so serene and peaceful that he can’t help but whisper “i love you” for the first time. of course this has to be the ONE time harris misjudges blair’s sleep and blair looks up. thankfully blair smiles, kisses him, and says “i love you too” 

-harris’s gay and out friends hear that harris is going steady with this guy he met, and they’re nothing short of shocked. roger harris? monogamous? that’s absurd. so they meet this guy (blair duh dkjfhglkfdjh), and they’re surprised to actually recognize him from all those tabloids and TV spots and shit. (secretly, they had always had the suspicion that blair was gay, but the confirmation is nice). he’s actually pretty likable, and they’re about to feel bad for him (because they know harris is the human manifestation of the word “infidelity”) until they see how they act together. like, harris seems really genuinely into him. his friends have never seen him like this, all lovestruck and shit. his friends are somehow even more shocked and genuinely cannot believe their eyes. they talk to him about his relationship with blair later and he’s like “what can i say? i genuinely like him. i really, really like him” and they’re shocked speechless

-blair is a TOTAL baby gay and harris thinks it’s equal parts adorable and hilarious. harris didn’t realize blair hadn’t been with other men before he blurted it out at the country club, but it makes so much sense that harris is almost embarrassed he didn’t realize it sooner. harris will use any sort of gay slang and blair will just be utterly lost. blair is always super eager to learn though and harris ofc thinks it's adorable how excited he gets to learn and fit in so he’s happy to indulge him. blair’s kinda like a boomer trying to use gen z slang for a while but he eventually gets the hang of it, and sooner than later blair can take off his wedding ring and pass for an out-and-proud gay man to anybody who looks in his direction 

whew i think that’s all ive got in me for rn. these ended up being super harris-centric but irdc dfjhgdfk. again thank you for your patience and thank you for sending this in anon!! def feel free to ask me anything/demand i write anything about anything black monday lol i hope yall liked these!

#black monday #congressman harris #blair pfaff #headcanons #blair pfaff/roger harris #andrew rannells #tuc watkins #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #otp: wait. i'm not gay. // neither am i. #anonymous #slander #open mic night

[thestoryofme13]

Lover

A/N: I heard Taylor Swift’s new song Lover and I thought of Roman. Then just randomly chose his partner so here.

Mostly fluff but we over tag

Warnings: Kissing, singing, food mention, wedding, difficulty sleeping, flustering

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

When Roman’s father had told him that a new equestrian was hired to teach him the proper way to ride a horse, he was skeptical, to say the least. But once Roman was forced out of his chambers to take the lesson he became smitten with the equestrian. It was different from every other person he had liked. This was something more. He wanted to know everything there was to know about the stranger.  Roman had always made it a personal promise to not get involved with those who worked at the palace so as to not fuel the rumors but this person? He had to get to know them.  

Their romance had been a whirlwind. From the moment they met, there was no way to tell if they had known each other for 20 seconds or 20 years. 

After three summers of Roman being hopelessly in love with Logan and the love being reciprocated it was clear that three summers would turn into all. 

                                                    ----------------------------- One beautiful fall day it all became real. Exactly like that in fairy tales that Logan would read to Roman on particularly difficult nights. On nights where the Prince would struggle to sleep Logan made sure to pull him out of his thoughts by reading him from a fairy tale book. Logan would always tease that most of them have a much darker counterpart but Roman didn’t care. The man he loved made it his mission to try and cheer him up with something he had once said in passing. So this is what love was? Having someone pay take note of your likes and dislikes then make sure to keep it in mind to help.  

 The palace was covered in deepest of purples and whites for the wedding ceremony. Purple for the royal wedding and white for the perfection of the match. Roman had spent months planning every minute detail so that this wedding would be his dream as well as make Logan feel like he was part of the family and not a bystander but an equal. 

Logan had wanted a small ceremony but Roman and his dad insisted that it was important to show how much the prince had changed. In an effort to compromise the ceremony was kept small and the reception was open to everyone with a small surprise to show the prince’s change. 

Only close family and friends of both parties were invited to the actual ceremony. It was intimate and traditional the way that Logan had wanted and appreciated. While he was marrying into the royal family he was still adjusting to the publicity and people watching his every move. It was nice that Roman had listened to his concerns about the small ceremony and that he was taken into account at every step even if he didn’t give much input. 

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

Roman smiled brightly at Logan from the dance floor as his now husband was still at the table having just finished his dinner, “I would like to thank everyone for coming as well announce a small surprise.” His loud deep voice filled the ballroom as he looked to Logan, “Now Logan. If you would join me down here on the dance floor,” He said with a mischievous smirk.

Logan looked at Roman warily, worried about what he might be getting into but walked down towards his husband who awaited. Roman’s green eyes sparkling brightly as he got closer, “A surprise?” he asked softly.

A laugh escaped Roman’s lips as he pulled Logan close and put a hand on his hip then twirled him, “While I am aware that we’ve already been wed and said our vows I have a few more things to add.” He waved his hand at the band who started to play a slow song, “I’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you.” He sang softly, putting his hand on Logan’s cheek as he started a slow waltz, “But from now on, everyone knows that you’re my” He paused for effect, “lover.” He whispered reverently. 

As the words flowed to his ears, a bright blush crept on Logan’s face, “Roman.” He whispered softly as they danced slowly.

The Prince smirked, “That’s my name, lover.” He teased gently, then resumed his singing, “Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close?” He emphasized by pulling Logan closer, “Forever and ever?” He whispered against his husband’s lips.

Logan squeaked as he was pulled closer, melting into the kiss, “We are married.” he reminded in a serious tone to Roman’s rhetorical questions. 

Roman broke the kiss with a soft laugh, “You know that is not what I meant.” He teased softly, pausing the dance and looking out to the all the people in the room, “Ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary peoples,” He announced, “Will you please stand as I take the magnetic force of a man.” He paused to look back at Logan, “To be my lover.”  He whispered, “My heart has been borrowed but now it belongs to you.”

The blush that was already on Logan’s face only got deeper as the people in attendance all stood and watched the couple dance happily, “Roman…..” He whined softly. “All’s well that ends well to end up with you.” Roman continued singing, “I swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover.” His singing was interrupted as Logan kissed him slowly. 

Logan blushed as he broke the kiss, “We’ve already done our vows.” He reminded, “And if you continue I’m going to get more flustered and more emotional.” He said gently. 

Roman beamed, “Fine I will stop but only because you are my lover.” he purred softly as the attendees clapped their hands for the couple.

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

Taglist

@fandersfic-logince

@fandomsandanythingelse

@theonlyjelly-iwillput-inmybelly

@ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2

@ilovemygaydad

@justanotherpurplebutterfly

@watergirl13

@allycat31415

@bubblycricket

@nyxwordsmith

@evilmuffin

Logince Taglist

@a-blog-just-for-sanders @ace-v-p-d

@acrobaticcatfeline @actualcactuss @alextheodd @aliferous-ly @allthemetalsoftherainbow @alyssadashrub @angeliclogan @angered-turtle @aph-roma @apologieslogan @artistictaurean @asalwayss @AskolotlQuestions @asliceofuniverse @asterias-confused-writings @baileystarsketches @blaikleethepanagender @candiukas @captain-loki-xavier @cashmeredragon @catsandrandomness @cinquefoilelove @clueingforbeggs @confinesofpersonalknowledge @countessmissyshort @cripplingchips @deadinsidebutliving @deathbyvenusftw @dementeddracon @depressed-alone @do-rey-me @dreamerhowelll @elusivefalsehoods @emovirgil @etherealweekes @evilmuffin @faacethefacts @faithhopefelony @fanatic564 @ffsas-side-account @funsizedgremlin @galacticallynonbinary @grey-lysander @hanramz-the-fander @happypappypatton @happypappypatton @heir-of-the-founders @heythereprincey @hissesssss @runyou-cleverboy-andremember @ispeakhalflies @ive-given-up-on-it @jade-dragon226-fan @johnnyboylaurens @moltengoldenstardust @justmyshitandmoreshit @k9cat @katesattic @kiwibite @kurna-kovite @lacandra @lana–22 @literaturegays @littlesliceofcake @logan-exe @logically-alone @logically-asexual @logically-sided @louisthewarlock @magicmapleleaf @maximum-fander @mercythemermaids-blog @micha-like-you-find-in-rocks @migraine-marathon @milomeepit @minamishipsit @mollycassmith @multi-fandom-trash-x9000 @muontsy2 @musicphanpie-b @musicsavedmefromdeath @neko-ereri @ghostintimelostintime @nottodaylogic @notveryglittery @nymphaedoratonks @nyxwordsmith @ocotopushugs @on-lock-like-attica @out-of-existence @pandagirl0730 @pansexual-cat @pansexual-cat @paxtonlovestea @pearls-of-patton @pieces-of-annedrew @pinkeasteregg @planetsanders @potterlover394 @princelogical @prplzorua @purplepatton @radioactivebread @raisin-oatmeal-cookie @reba-andthesides @redundant-statements-for-400 @robanilla @roman-is-a-gay @romanssippycup @rose-gold-roman @rptheturk @ruuworld @sanders-fam-ily @sanders-sides-things @sanders-trash-4ever @sanderssides-deathangel @saphirestrike @save-dirk-gently @savingshae @shesavampirequeen @shygirl4991 @silversunshine2012 @siriuswhiskers @smokeyrutilequartz @someshinningideas @spacenerrrd @starlightlogan @strangerthings-and-phan @l-i-t-vocabcards @strangerthings-and-phan @superintrovertfangirl @thats-so-crash @the-feels-are-coming @the-optimism-of-the-ostriches @the-prince-and-the-emo @theanxietyofbeinganxious @thecrimsoncodex @theroyalramen @thesilentbluesparrow @thestoryofme13 @theworldismysupernova @theworldismysupernova @thisisshien @thomas-must-get-to-sleep @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @too-random-for-me @toujours-fidele @trash-can-so-do-i @trashfireiplier @trashypansexual @treblesanders @tree4life25 @tsfanart @unknownsandersfan @unknownsandersfan @urtrashhq @violetmcl @virgil-has-a-houseplant @virgil-is-verge @virgils-hoodie @voices-and-stardust @vulnerablevirgil @wingless-siren @XxxxWitlee @yourhappypappypatton @l-i-t-vocabcards @doodlerodoodlez @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @katie-the-noble-fangirl @beetlequail @lemonyellowlogic @analogical-mess @dr-gloom @max-is-tired

#Roman sanders #Logan sanders #sanders sides #logince #thomas sanders #lover #myfics #kissing tw #singing tw #food mention tw #wedding tw #difficulty sleeping tw #flustering tw

[a-splash-of-stucky]

By Morning Light | iv

Pairings: Bucky x Steve x Reader (though technically no Steve in this part)

Summary: Steve leaves for a mission and Bucky doesn’t handle it too well. It’s up to you to take care of him

Warnings: Nightmares, minor angst, Sad!Bucky. Unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), vaginal sex, nipple appreciation (sounds weird, but it’s nothing too kinky). Mention of suicide bombings in passing.  

Word Count: 4.1k

Notes: IT’S HERE!! After many, many long months, it’s here. I got my act together and made myself write this chapter and actually? It’s not what I thought it was gonna be, but I’m still happy with it. Enjoy!

I recognise that the general plot of this story is a bit like some nights (i stay up) and that parts of the description are similar to Steve “Fight Me” Rogers… but I swear I wasn’t trying to copy my own fics, haha.

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | Wanna be on the taglist? See here

~ even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise ~

Though you hate it when both Steve and Bucky have to go on a mission, life is a lot more miserable when only one of them has to leave.

When you’re left on your own, you only have yourself to manage. You’ve taught yourself how to cope with their absence — or, well. Perhaps more accurately, you’ve taught yourself how to get through each day. After being in a relationship with them for so long, you’ve developed a routine, and you know what you need to do to distract yourself from the matter at hand. Yes, it’s difficult, but at least you only have yourself to worry about.

If one of the boys is at home with you, your routine has a tendency to go belly-up.

Steve’s not so bad.

Being left with Steve is akin to being left alone with a very big, very mopey puppy. He follows you around everywhere, and needs to be touched constantly — though he’ll never admit it.

There’s a restlessness about him. He reminds you of a caged bird, aching to be freed. He’ll flit from room to room like a ghost that has lost its way.

When it comes to Steve, the best thing to do is to keep him busy. You take him out for walks (further lending support to the fact that he basically turns into a big puppy) and bring him to any and every exhibition that might be on. That’s how you ended up forking out sixty bucks each to visit a science exhibition about fungi, that one time.

Steve has a hard time sleeping when Bucky’s away, which means that you need to drive his body to the point of exhaustion before you can get him to shut his eyes for anything longer than a ten-minute power nap. You need to push his body to a stage where it physically cannot function without sleep. There are a number of ways of doing this, but you’ve found that marathon sex and super-intense workouts tend to be the most effective methods.

So, if anyone on the team is around, you hand Steve off to that person, with clear instructions for them to tire him out. If it’s Thor, he and Steve will engage in a game of lightning-frisbee that affects the weather across the whole of New York. Natasha will spar with him until she’s got bruises and minor cuts decorating her sides, whilst Sam will do laps with him around some park or other. Or rather, Steve does laps around a park, and Sam whizzes beside him on his motorised scooter.

With Bucky, your life gets a little bit more complicated.

Where Steve might be likened to a needy puppy, you would perhaps describe Bucky as a feral street cat.

The thing with Bucky is that he becomes more unpredictable. One minute, he could be crawling into your lap like a kitten who needs cuddles and attention, but the next minute, he could be holding you at knife point. You can never tell what he’s going to do next.

Life without Steve is mentally and emotionally draining, both for you and for Bucky.

He reverts back to the behaviour that he exhibited when he first started to break his HYDRA programming. Though you weren’t there during that period of his life, you’ve pieced together the details based on what Steve has told you and from the information that you’ve gleaned from reading Bucky’s files. The anxiety, the nightmares, the meek subservience; they all come rushing back at full force.

You’re not sure why Bucky does this. You think that maybe, it’s because he feels more secure whenever Steve is around. There’s always someone there to watch his back, so he feels comfortable enough to let his guard down. Without Steve, even the smallest thud can set him off; he’s on a hair-pin trigger, constantly on high-alert.

Besides the semi-hostile demeanour, he also gets fiercely protective of you. He’s always making sure that you stay well away from any sightlines and is constantly watching you from the shadows, protecting you from...who knows what. You indulge him in his requests, though it does get annoying when he insists that you use the bathroom with the door left slightly ajar.

Whereas Steve never wants to be left alone, Bucky never leaves you alone. He always ensures that you are within his field of vision, even if your attention is not necessarily on him. There’s an overstuffed armchair in the corner of your home office that Bucky likes to sit in when he’s exhibiting this abnormal behaviour. He watches over you like a solitary hawk.

Bucky can’t leave the house when he gets like this. For starters, it’s nearly impossible to coax him into coming out with you. More importantly, that fearsome protectiveness renders him a potential threat to the public. He sticks close to your side and bares his teeth at anyone who so much as looks at you funny. If anyone touches you, Bucky will let loose a threatening growl, like a guard dog. After one fateful incident which involved Bucky nearly decapitating a waiter at a restaurant, you’d made the executive decision to not let Bucky go out in public whenever Steve went away for a mission.

He doesn’t eat unless you tell him to. He will not rest until you order him to strip and get into bed. He becomes non-verbal, answering your questions with  — at most — two-word answers. It’s torture for you to see him like this, but you know that there’s nothing that you can do.

You don’t know why, exactly, he acts like this, but you think it has something to do with him feeling helpless.

Steve is perfectly capable of looking after himself — uh, most of the time, relatively speaking — when he’s away on missions, both of you know this. However, your theory is that there is some part of Bucky’s brain which believes that Steve is safest when Bucky is watching his six and therefore, if Bucky is not watching Steve’s six, Steve must be unsafe.

This time around, it’s Steve that’s gone.

Bucky is not handling his absence very well.

He left for Jakarta two days ago, and is due to return within the next three days. You’re not privy to the exact details of the mission, but you know that it has something to do with a string of recent suicide bombings in the area.

It’s been a rough couple of days for you both.

Today, you’d woken up with a metal hand wrapped around your throat, and things had gone downhill from there. The only real accomplishment you’ve had is that you managed to Bucky to eat some chicken and rice for dinner, which is basically the only proper meal he’s had the entire day. After dinner, you’d bundled him into bed and forced him cuddle with you.

You fall into a restless sleep sometime after ten. You’ve wrapped yourself around Bucky so that he can’t leave the bed. His back is pressed to your chest, your arm is slung over his torso and your cheek is resting on the back of his shoulder. He will never admit it, but he much prefers being the little spoon when he’s not having a great day.

Sometime during the night, your fitful sleep is broken by the sound of quiet whimpers.

You crack open one eye and squint at the world blearily, as your sleep-fogged brain struggles to make sense of the situation. It takes a second for reality to come into focus, but you soon register the fact that the body beside yours is trembling, violently enough for the vibrations to be felt across the entire mattress.

“No,” he’s saying, voice shaky and riddled with fear.  “Please—please, no, not her, please not her.”

Concern floods your system. It breaks your heart to seem him like this. You swallow and swipe your tongue over your lips to get that unpleasant, cottony dryness out of your mouth as you push yourself into a sitting position. A harsh scrub of the back of your hand over your eyes gets rid of the lingering cobwebs of sleep that cling to your mind. Feeling more alert, you cautiously scoot closer to Bucky.

Waking Bucky up from a nightmare is always a bit of a risky endeavour — usually, you leave the job to Steve, as his body is more capable of handling whatever Bucky might do to him. On the few occasions that you’ve tried, you’ve usually ended up either on the floor, or pinned to the bed with Bucky looming over you.

You take a deep breath to summon your courage.

“Bucky?” you say tentatively, as you gently shake his shoulder. “Bucky — sweetie, c’mon, it’s just a dream. Wake up.”

“No,” he moans, “No, no — no, please, don’t—”

“Bucky it’s not real, honey, wake up—”

“No!” he shouts hoarsely, like he’s suffering the worst anguish imaginable. “Please, you can’t—not her, please not her—”

“Bucky,” you say, more firmly this time, “Sweetheart, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up!”

He jolts awake with a heaving gasp, sitting upright so suddenly that he unbalances you, sending you toppling over. You yelp in surprise, landing on the mattress with a muffled oof. The sound of his ragged breathing fills the room.

You scramble to your knees and reach out to comfort him, but stop yourself before you actually make contact with his skin — you don’t know how your touch would be received.

He is backlit by the moonlight streaming in through the windows and his hair forms a dark, shaggy mane that falls around his face. His torso is bare and sweat glimmers on the planes of his chest, making him look like some ethereal being.

“Bucky?” you say cautiously, “Can I hold you?”

He nods tersely. “Please,” he says gruffly.

You knee-walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck in a side-hug. Bucky, clearly not satisfied by that, grasps you by the waist and hoists you into his lap to hold you better. Before you can develop a cramp in your thigh, you arrange your limbs so that your ankles are crossed behind his back, and your arms are looped over his neck. You plaster yourself to his chest and press your foreheads together, giving him as many points of contact as possible.

“S’okay, Buck, I’m here — breathe with me, that’s it.”

With some encouragement, you manage to get Bucky to match your deep, even breaths. Slowly but surely, his raw, harsh pants slow down to something more controlled, less pained. With a final exhale, he slumps into you, tightening his grip around your waist as he presses his forehead to your shoulder.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, his warm breath tickling your skin. “I—I thought you were gone, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t get to you fast enough, and—”

You shush him, threading your fingers through his thick hair and pressing your fingertips into the base of his skull.

“I’m here,” you tell him, “I’m here, I’m right here, with you.”

Bucky presses his lips to your skin and all of a sudden, the air around you changes. It is as if the dust motes swirling around you have been charged with electricity.

He trails his lips over your skin, leaving hot, open-mouth kisses in a meandering path. They travel over your shoulder, past your collarbone, up your neck, over your jaw and finally, find their salvation against your lips. He kisses you fiercely, crushing your lips together like he is drowning man and you are the oxygen that will save him. Bucky clings to you like he’s afraid that he might be swept away by the dark, evil currents that swarm his mind, holding onto you like you’re his lifeline.

The situation is perhaps not the most conventional, but your body is nonetheless responding to Bucky’s touch. A rush of heat darts from your brain to your belly, settling into a pool of lust that is growing hotter by the minute. That same heat floods your cheeks and burns behind your chest. Your nipples tighten in anticipation underneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt.

“I need you,” Bucky whispers brokenly, heatedly. His voice is like the whisper of a breeze, quiet enough that you have to strain your ears to hear it. “Please, please, I need you, I need—”

“Shh, I’m here,” you whisper, “Right here. You do what you need, sweetheart.”

In one smooth, seamless movement, Bucky flips you over so that you’re on your back. He hovers above you, a shadowy figure that dominates your senses. His long hair falls around you like a dark curtain, partitioning you from the rest of the world, cocooning you in this safe haven. Your legs are wrapped around his waist and slowly, your drag your calves up and down the back of his thigh, urging him to do as he pleases.

Bucky peppers hot kisses over your jaw and down your neck, pausing briefly to close his teeth over your pulse point. You gasp, throwing your head back and baring your throat. He rumbles appreciatively, worrying the skin of your neck between his teeth.

“You’re gonna leave a mark,” you say breathily, a hint of a laugh tinging your sentence.

“Good,” he replies, voice rough. “You’re mine.”

You swallow, touched by those two simple words. “Always,” you promise, squeezing his hips with your knees.

He growls possessively, which prompts you to press your hand over your mouth to stifle an irrational giggle. He sounds like a goddamn caveman. Your laughter morphs into a moan as he pulls aside the collar of your shirt and teases his lips over your collarbone, focusing on the spot that makes your curl.

“Bucky,” you groan, biting your lip to hold back a whine.

His fingers are trailing up your sides  — one smooth and cool, the other callused and warm. He’s rucking up your sleep shirt as he goes, leaving the material bunched under your breasts as he slithers down your body. Bucky plants open-mouthed, reverent kisses over your belly, stopping to leave gentle nips wherever he pleases. His stubble scratches your skin, making you shiver in arousal.

“Off,” he says, flicking at the hem of your shirt impatiently.

Hastily, you pull the garment over your head, tossing it to some irrelevant place in the darkness. In an instant, Bucky’s fingers are cupping and squeezing your breasts, savouring the feel and weight of them in his palms. You gasp aloud when his thumbs brush over your stiffened nipples.

“Please,” you whisper, though you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for.

A cry of pleasure leaves your throat as Bucky’s lips close around your left nipple, engulfing it in sudden heat. A spike of want flares in your belly, making you shift your hips restlessly. Your fingers scrabble for purchase in the sheets as he flicks his tongue over your sensitive flesh. Bucky alternates between teasing the hard nub with his tongue and gently scraping over it with his teeth.

He releases your nipple from his lips and shifts to give the same treatment to the other one. The man likes his symmetry, so this doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Bucky switches back and forth between your breasts, taking care to give each one the same level of attention.

His touches eventually lose some of their frenzied intensity, mellowing down to something more lethargic, languid. Bucky allows his weight to settle more heavily on top of you, and rests his chin on your chest. When he takes your nipple between his lips, an expression of contentment settles over his features; you can practically feel the tension bleeding out of his muscles with every second that ticks past.

You leave him be. He’s behaved this way in the past, and if nursing on your breasts seems to bring him some element of comfort, who are you to deny him this small act? You card your fingers through his hair and gently massage his scalp, relishing the pleased moan that rumbles out of his chest.

Whether he realises it or not, the hard line of Bucky’s cock is pressing into your thigh. He’s grinding against you lazily, his movements so small that you don’t think he’s even aware of what he’s doing.

Carefully, so that you don’t accidentally dislodge his mouth, you reach between your bodies until your fingers come into contact with the waistband of his sweats. It’s a bit of a stretch, but you manage to push them down, halfway over his ass, low enough for your fingers to graze the top of his leaking dick.

Bucky jerks in surprise when you palm the head, releasing a shaky moan that is muffled against your skin. His breath skitters over your collarbone.

“Look at you, honey, being so good for me,” you croon softly, tucking a strand of hair over his ear. “You’re hard, Buck — you wanna take care of that? You wanna get inside me?”

He moans in affirmation. You smile benevolently as you continue to stroke his hair.

“C’mon then, get these off,” you say, snapping the elastic.

With great reluctance, he pulls his mouth off your breast to do as he’s been instructed. You take the opportunity to shimmy your shorts and panties down your legs. They too are discarded to some distant corner of the room.

Bucky crawls back on top of you, taking his weight on his forearms, which are planted on either side of your head. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and hook your legs over his waist, pulling him close. He bumps his nose against your chin, tipping your face upwards, so that he can capture your lips in an impassioned kiss.

You moan into his mouth when the head of his cock drags over your folds, sending tingles of arousal dancing through your system. Without breaking the kiss, you wiggle your hand between your bodies and grasp his cock, guiding it to your waiting entrance.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky breathes, his lips brushing against yours.

“Inside, Barnes, c’mon,” you reply.

He slides his hips forward, sinking his cock into your warmth and wetness. You gasp as he penetrates you, arching your back reflexively. Bucky groans, dropping his head and resting his temple against your shoulder. Each of his breaths sends a gust of warm air blowing over your neck. He is still, giving you time to adjust.

When you feel like you’re ready, you urge him on with a word of encouragement and a nudge of your foot. Gradually, he works his entire length into your body, spearing you open in that most wondrous way. His cock is just perfect, filling that emptiness inside you right to the brim. There’s just enough of him for you to feel that pleasurable stretch, but not too much that you’re uncomfortable.

“You feel so good,” you whisper, as you trail your fingers up and down his spine.

Bucky hums, turning his head to mouth wetly at your collarbone. “You too,” he murmurs.

He captures your lips with his own as his hips begin to move in earnest. His movements are slow and unhurried, as neither of you are in a rush to find completion. He rests his weight on top of you, blanketing you with his body, a physical shield against the outside world. This feels right; chest to chest, hip to hip, not even a breath of air between you.

Bucky rocks into you slowly, using miniscule movements of his hips, barely pulling out before he’s sliding back into your core. Your lips find his in the darkness and he latches on, greedily swallowing your sounds of pleasure like they are his ambrosia.

You hook your legs over his waist and cross your ankles at the small of his back, pulling him closer. Though you dig your heels into the top of his ass to spur him on, he continues at the leisurely pace that he’s set.

No words are spoken into the quiet of the night, yet every movement speaks volumes in its own right. Every surge of his hips, every brush of his lips, every caress of his fingers — each touch professes his love for you. Bucky tells you how much he needs you without a single word passing his lips, and you do the same.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the moment. You focus on the roughness of his stubble against your neck, the warmth of his breath over your cheek, the drag of his chest over your nipples, the sparks of pleasure burning between your legs. His cock is brushing against all the sweet spots inside of you, the ones that make your head spin and your thighs tremble. The numerous, complex layers of pleasure sweep you away in their current; you feel like you’re weightless, floating on a cloud.

At some point, animal instincts start to take over. Love-making turns to passionate fucking, and Bucky’s rhythm quickens, his hips snapping forward more vigorously. He widens his knees and anchors them into the bed, giving himself more leverage to thrust. You cry out exultantly as your pleasure soars to new heights, fisting your hands in the sheets above your head.

Bucky slides his palms up your arms, until his hands find yours in the rumpled sheets. He laces your fingers together, pressing your hands into the mattress as he fucks into you.

“You’re so good,” he whispers, “So—god, so good, I love you.”

“I love you too,” you gasp, “Fuck, Bucky — Bucky.”

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart,” he grits out, as his hips drive forward again and again. Your mouth opens on a silent scream as he nails that spot relentlessly, the one that has you screwing your eyes shut so tightly, you’re seeing stars dancing behind your lips.

He’s saying your name under his breath like a prayer, oftentimes praising you and cursing you in the same breath.

“I love you,” he pants, “I love you — please, stay, don’t go—”

“M’not going anywhere,” you promise breathlessly, “I’m right here, Bucky. I love you so much.”

Your orgasm, when it comes, takes you by surprise. It washes over you like a crashing wave, unrelenting in its intensity. It is powerful enough to have you crying out in ecstasy. You dig your nails into the backs of Bucky’s hands as your back arches of its own accord. Your pulse is roaring in your ears and your lungs have seized up; you’re unable to catch your breath. Your climax seems to last forever.

When you come back to your senses, you realise that Bucky is still hard inside of you, still thrusting his cock into your warmth, though his movements are beginning to falter.

“So beautiful,” he praises, as he mouths at your throat. “So goddamn beautiful.”

You’re loose-limbed and pliant, satiated by your release. A pleasant buzz has settled into your bones, and there is a contented smile on your lips. Your limbs are heavy and uncoordinated, but you manage to hook your arms around Bucky’s shoulders and dig your heels into his back more insistently.

“C’mon, Buck,” you breathe, “Come inside me.”

“Fuck,” he swears.

“Mm, you like that? You wanna fill me up? Make me yours?”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky moans, cock driving into you with renewed urgency. “Baby — baby, oh, m’close, I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” you whisper.

There are many beautiful things in this world and among them is the sight of Bucky Barnes when he comes. He is quite the vision.

All the muscles in his body stiffen, save for those kiss-bitten lips, which go slack with pleasure. He thrusts into you one final time, burying his cock as deep inside you as physically possible. You shiver as his warmth spills into your channel, his cock spurting out hot, sticky ribbons of come. He is quiet, save for a single, bitten-back moan.

You roam your hands over his sweaty back, petting him gently as he rides out his climax. When it is over, he is careful to collapse half on you, and half on the bed, so that you’re not crushed under his weight. His softened, spent cock slips out of your pussy, and you whine in disapproval. You hate that feeling.

Blindly, Bucky fumbles around for his discarded sweats, and uses them to clumsily wipe his cock as well as the mess between your legs. He balls the soiled garment in his hand and tosses it onto the floor, to be dealt with in the morning.

The darkness has just started to give way to shades of pink and orange when Bucky rolls over onto his back and pulls you closer. A new dawn brings with it a fresh start and new challenges, but for now, you pillow your cheek on Bucky’s chest and let your heavy eyelids slide shut as sleep pulls you under.

#stucky x reader #steve x bucky x reader #stucky x you #stucky x reader fanfiction #stucky x reader fanfic #stucky x reader smut #bucky x reader smut #stucky x reader angst #bucky x reader angst #my writing #by morning light

[marvelousmarvelimagines]

Need You Now

Part VI (of X) - Like I’m Gonna Lose You (Peter Parker Series) (Part I) (Part II) (Part III) (Part IV) (Part V) 

Pairing - Peter Parker x Reader

Summary - Being Tony Stark’s daughter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. For one, I didn’t want to be in the first place. My normal life was just fine, thank you. Two, there are freaking superheroes all over where I now live. There’s never any privacy. Three, everyone expects me to be this amazing genius and go to this fancy school and do incredible things. I just want to watch Star Wars and write Harry Potter fanfiction. Also, I hate Math.

A/N - I’M SORRY

Warnings - Fluff and then yeah . . . it’s not pretty, and it’s not going to be pretty for a couple of chapters. The angst has arrived, and it’s just the beginning. Also language

I was equally excited and terrified for tonight. Excited because I get to see Peter. It had been weird not going to school and not seeing him today. He had gotten to be such a huge part of my life over the past few months, it didn’t feel . . . right not seeing him, and from the dozens of texts we had exchanged despite seeing each other tonight, it seemed he was feeling the same. 

I was also terrified of how this would go. I knew Tony liked Peter, and Pepper was there to be a buffer, but surprise, surprise, Captain America, Thor and what the actual fuck, the bad guy who had tried to destroy the world, and then helped save it, who was apparently now trying to make amends, Loki, just happened to show up. Tony totally hated the guy, while Thor obviously loved him. It was going to make dinner more stressful than it needed to be. 

Those thoughts flew out of my head as soon as Happy’s SUV pulled into the driveway. I jumped up, smoothing down my floral, black Maxi dress and waited for Peter. I practically gaped at the guy when he got out of the car. He was actually sort of dressed up. I had never seen him outside of his Midtown sweatshirts and goofy science shirts, which I loved him in, but seeing him in some charcoal dress pants and a white button up with his hair slicked perfectly to the side did something to me. Then he smiled at me, and even my heels couldn’t stop me from running to him and throwing my arms around his neck. 

Peter quickly returned my hug, though I did feel his hands freeze for a moment as he felt the bare back of my dress. 

I pulled back slightly with a little smile. “Come on, I want to show you my room.” I told him. 

“Okay,” he said, and I smiled even wider as he took my hand, twisting our fingers together. 

“Y/N, Tony said -”

“Sorry, Happy! I can’t hear you!” I yelled as I dragged Peter along at a run up the stairs and to the elevator. I gave Happy a little wave as the elevator doors closed. Immediately I took Peter’s other hand and pulled him close to me, our bodies gently touching. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” He replied, a smile on his face that could have outshone the sun. Peter made no move to put any space between us, in fact, I think he even leaned a little closer. 

“Thanks for coming.” I told him. 

“You asked me to,” Peter said, looking down at our hands, gently brushing his thumbs against my skin before looking back up at me. 

Oh God he was beautiful. Everything about him was just . . . Everything I never knew I was missing. “Peter . . .” Our noses gently brushed. I liked him, and although he had never said the words, I knew he liked me too. What were we waiting on? 

The elevator dinged, startling us apart. I smiled at him again and pulled him along, this time out the elevator and to my room. “You should have seen how Tony had it decorated when I first got here. It was pink and frills everywhere.” I said, shaking my head while I opened the door. “Pepper helped me redecorate. As you can see, this wall is my library.” I gestured to the wall in front of us that literally was covered completely with bookshelves and books. “This is my vanity where I get ready in the mornings.” Peter’s arms wove around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. I placed my hands on top of his and turned us to the other side of the room. “This is where I sleep. No comments on the Wookie.” I added when I felt him open his mouth. “And here is my desk where -”

“Woah! Is that a tie fighter desk?!” Peter let go of me, hurrying over to it. “This is insane!” He said, admiring it. 

“I know right? Found it online.” I said with a big grin. “I want to make something with the Millennium Falcon, but I don’t know what yet.” 

“Maybe you could do a table or something with a lego model? Ned and I have done one before, we could totally help you.” Peter offered. 

I giggled a little at the thought. “Can you imagine Ned here? It would be like Christmas for him.” 

“Yeah, he’d be like a kid in a candy store.” Peter said, shaking his head. 

I paused for a moment. “We’re definitely going to have to invite him.” I said. 

“Oh yeah,” Peter agreed with a grin. 

I sat down on my bed, my eyes focused on him as he continued to study my desk. Just how excited and interested he was in the piece of furniture had my heart skipping a beat. “My mom would have loved you.” I said finally. 

Peter looked over at me, his eyebrows raised slightly, before joining me on the bed. “You think?” 

“Oh, I know.” I replied, resting my head against his shoulder. 

“Why?” Peter asked quietly. 

I looked up at him, smiling softly. “Because you make me happy.” I answered simply. 

Peter’s arm pulled me closer, and I let out a little sigh of contentment“I don’t remember much about my parents, but I know they’d like you too. May already does.” 

“She does?” I said, pleased with this new information. 

“Almost as much as me.” 

My smile only got wider. “That was actually kind of smooth, Parker.” 

The tips of Peter’s ears went red. “It’ll probably never happen again.” He told me with a little chuckle.

I laughed, loving how adorable he looked and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “That’s why I like you so much. You’re honest.” I said. 

Peter’s eyes got serious, and he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could -

“Jury’s still out on her father though.” 

“Mr. Stark!” 

“Tony!” 

We jumped apart, Peter flushing while I was frustrated. Whatever Peter had been about to say looked important. In the back of my mind I also noted with surprise that Tony had willingly just called himself my father. 

“Mr. Parker, you clean up nice.” Tony said, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared Peter down. 

“T-thanks, sir,” Peter stuttered. 

“Did you want something?” I asked, brushing some hair out of my face. 

“Dinner’s ready. Are you ready to meet some Avengers, kid?” Tony asked, clasping Peter so hard on the shoulder I saw him wince. 

“A-Avengers? Some Avengers are here?” He asked, clearly panicked. 

My hand touched his back gently since Tony was dragging him away from me. “It’s just Steve and Thor. Steve’s pretty nice for an old man, and Thor is literally a big softy.” 

“Thor also brought his homicidal brother.” Tony added unhelpfully. 

“He’s not homicidal . . . anymore.” I added quickly as we stepped into the elevator. 

Peter still looked pretty panicked. 

I subtly reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’ll be fine.” 

The elevator doors opened, and we found ourselves face to face with Cap. He took one look at me, then Peter, and smirked slightly. “So that’s why you took off running.” 

I buried my face in my free hand. 

“Ah, Tony was afraid the two children were having intercourse! How amusing!” Thor boomed. 

“Hey! I’m not a child,” I grumbled while Peter looked equal parts embarrassed and starstruck. 

“That is what all children say,” said a voice, and I turned to see the dark haired god casually seated sideways in the corner, his legs thrown over the side of his chair, flipping through a book. 

My eyes narrowed at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear anyone ask for an opinion from one of Santa’s reindeer.” 

Thor’s hearty laughter filled the room. “Ah, you have your father’s wit.” He said as he pulled me into a hug. 

“Or lack thereof.” Loki pipped up. 

I continued to glare at the man, but chose to ignore him. “Thor, this is -”

“Peter, Peter Parker, sir,” he said, shaking his hand. “W-wow, you’re really strong.” 

“I am the God of Thunder. Of course I am the strongest of the Avengers.” 

“But Tony always said Dr. Banner -” I started before Tony interrupted. 

“And this is our very own centenarian, Captain America.” 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said, shaking Peter’s hand and ignoring Tony’s words. 

“Mr. - Mr. Rogers. It’s - uh - really nice to meet you f-for the first time.” Peter replied awkwardly. 

“And then the least embarrassing of the bunch, Pepper.” I said, nodding my head to the woman. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Peter, and I apologize in advance for Tony’s behavior.” She said while I smiled at her gratefully. 

“You know, I take offense to that -” Tony started, holding his finger up in the air. 

“Can we eat now?” I asked, hoping the sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could spend some non-stressful time with Peter. 

“Great idea! Peter, why don’t you sit -”

“Right by Y/N.” Pepper interrupted, patting a seat that I sat down beside. 

“Thank you,” I mouthed to her as Peter sat down between me and Cap. My nerves were definitely starting to build back up. I had never felt scared bringing the few guys that I had to my Mom before, but Tony? Different story, and while he had told me the other guys just happened to be in town, I wasn’t sure I believed him. I was shaken from my thoughts by a hand sliding into my own. I looked over at Peter to find him smiling reassuringly at me. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. It was then that I realized as long as he was there, it would be okay. 

-----

It turned out, dinner wasn’t so horrible. Peter was still nervous as hell, but Steve and Pepper did their best to make him comfortable. Thor mostly cracked jokes and Loki just sulked. By the time dinner was over, I was almost . . . relaxed, but ready to get away from the slightly threatening tone my father was using when he spoke to Peter. 

“We’re going to enjoy our dessert outside if that’s okay.” I said, grabbing my mug of hot chocolate as I stood and smiling over at Peter. 

“I don’t know if -”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.” Peter said before he could say anything else, following me out the door. 

I led him out to the back patio where there were a couple of benches surrounding a fire pit. “FRIDAY, can you start a fire, please?” I called out. 

Almost immediately, flames burst forward, and I turned back to Peter with a big grin. “Awesome, right?” 

Peter just stared at me though, a slightly dazed look in his eyes. 

“Pete? You okay?” I asked, a little worried with his lack of response. 

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, causing a strand of hair to fall from his slicked locks. “Yeah, sorry, just . . . c’mere.” 

I smiled softly at him, letting him take my hand and pull me into his lap. I leaned back into him as he wrapped his arms securely around me. Even though the fire was warm, Peter was somehow warmer. In fact, I was sure there was never a place more comfortable and that I’d rather be than Peter Parker’s arms. “You’re really cuddly, Parker. Anyone ever tell you that?” 

“Just like having you close.” He replied. “Reminds me that you’re safe.” My breath caught in my throat as I felt his lips barely brush against my shoulder. 

“I know I’m Iron Man’s daughter, but I’m not planning on getting in any danger any time soon.” I assured him a little breathlessly. 

“I-I know.” I turned in his lap so I could look at him, concerned at his conflicted expression. “It’s just . . . when I really - when I really like someone, bad things tend to happen, and I don’t want that to happen to you.” 

I brought my hand up to his cheek, gently brushing my thumb across his skin. I bit my lip as he leaned into my touch, and his eyes closed softly. “I don’t think Tony would let me go anywhere even if I wanted to.” 

He opened his eyes, those brown ones looking into mine as if reading straight into my soul. “You don’t want to?” 

“Peter, you are the only person, since my life went crazy, that I’ve actually felt understood what I’m going through. More than that, you’re the first person I’ve felt . . . back at home with. I like you . . . a lot. Why would I want to be anywhere but right here?” I asked him. 

He smiled at me, reaching up to cup my own face in his hand. My eyes drifted to his lips as he bit down on his bottom one. “I . . . Can I kiss you? I really want - I really want to kiss you.” 

I leaned forward, the scent of hot chocolate mingling in the air as our breath ghosted over each other’s lips. “Please,” I whispered softly. 

He was so close. It made me dizzy to look at him. My eyes closed just as I felt the brush of his lips against mine - 

“Mr. Parker!” 

We jumped, the spell broken as we turned to face Tony who was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and looking very unimpressed. 

“I need to have a word with you. Now.” 

I groaned a little. “Now?” 

His eyes shifted to me as he nodded. 

“Fine. I need to get that book for Peter anyway. I finished Paradise Snare, and you need to read it.” I told him. 

“O-okay.” Peter replied. 

I stood up, already missing his arms and started walking back inside. “Please don’t be mean to him.” I said when I passed Tony. 

He didn’t respond. 

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t say anything as I headed upstairs to grab my book. I made it quick, anxious to get back to Peter, and hopefully that kiss. By the time I got back down though, they were obviously in the middle of an intense discussion. I was about to interrupt when their words caught my ears. 

“Mr. Stark, I just think you should tell her.” 

“It’s not your decision what I do and don’t tell my daughter, kid.” 

“But she needs -”

“Zip it! You shouldn’t even be a part of this conversation. Your job was to look after her and be her friend. I never said to date her!” 

My book dropped to the ground, causing both men to turn to me. We all stared at each other, Tony looking anxious, Peter looking distraught. I . . . I didn’t know how to feel. All this time I had thought that Peter had just wanted to get to know me. That we had just . . . clicked. We had clicked all right. Because of Tony. “You . . . you just talked to me that first day because he told you to?” I spat, betrayal leaking into my tone. “Our whole friendship, all the time we spent together, everything was - everything was put together by him? I . . . Is anything you ever told me even true, or just what he told you to say?!” 

“Y/N, of course it is -!” He reached out to touch my arm, but I snatched it away. 

“And you! It wasn’t enough that you controlled my whole life, made me drop everything and leave it behind, you had to control my friendships too!” I shook my head, unable to believe that something I thought was so great and perfect . . . was just another thing Tony forced to happen. “I can’t - I thought I could trust both of you . . . but you’ve been lying to me this whole time.” I backed away from them, knowing I had to get out of there before I lost it. 

“Kid -”

Before Tony could say anything else, I took off. 

Need You Now Taglist: 

@broadwaytrash101 @obsessedmaggiemay @whatdafricklefrackle

General Taglist: 

@seninjakitey

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader #peter parker fanfiction

[poeticsandaliens]

Miracle

Rating: M because Will curses like a truck driver.

Timeline: Post-MS IV (I know, I know. If you look closely, you can see my middle finger pointing directly at Chris Carter.)

Summary: Six times Dana Scully called Will a miracle and what that word really means. 

Tagging @today-in-fic. This fic has been my pet project for the last two weeks and was interrupted repeatedly by the porn I’ve been writing. If you squint it can be read as the same universe as my other post-finale fics, namely Morning Hour, but that’s not really relevant.

‘Miracle’ is a dirty word, dirtier than ‘fuck’ used to be and much less versatile. When you work miracles, you set a precedent. You promise you can save people the next time.

Reading his own files in a government database, long-dead typists call Jackson Van de Kamp a miracle or a monster, savior of the world or bringer of the apocalypse. It’s a tired Superman story, and he’s read every possible ending in his childhood comic books.

He’s not the government’s mail-order Jesus, here to die for their fucked-up sins.

He can prove it, too. He didn’t forgive his murderers; he popped off their heads. And he didn’t die to absolve anyone of blame; he died for the very thing God didn’t want anyone to get ahold of—Knowledge. The Truth with capital T. He died because he taunted some chain-smoking bastard on a bridge. He didn’t mean to get shot, and he didn’t mean to come back to life.

                                                        * * * * * * *

The first time Dana calls him a miracle, Will leaves. He’s used to the word—which makes it worse but easier to hide. Still, he packs up his duffel and promises he’ll be back. He pretends it has nothing to do with them, everything to do with the itch of the road. It’s not her fault miracles make him sick.

He leaves them the adirondack chair. It’s a derelict piece of shit he picked up from some guy’s garage sale, but it’s his piece of shit. He hammered it back together, painted it the color of the Wyoming sky, and planted it in their yard. He hopes they take it as a sign that he’s making them his home, so he doesn’t have to say it out loud.

He drives South and lets the humidity suck him in. He picks a bucket of figs outside Inman, South Carolina with an ancient African American woman who embroidered the entire solar system into her jean jacket. She is an elm tree of a woman, engraved with all the wrinkles of ninety-two years. Then, he buys a bag of boiled peanuts and three honey-sticks from the ramshackle fuel station next to a railroad overgrown with kudzu. The attendant calls it a miracle that a customer has come ‘round. Then he tells Will that honeysuckle is free.

Southerners, he has noticed, toss around ‘miracles’ like they’re cheaper than cigarettes. He likes it.

Will crawls back to Virginia after a couple weeks spent on the road, where he wasted monsoon nights smoking his head away in the Everglades and keeping an eye on the unborn kid. He’s not an idiot; he knows it’s a high-risk pregnancy. If something goes wrong, he’ll know before Mulder and Dana do. He even knew it was a girl before they did, but he’s good at keeping his mouth shut.

He’ll be around for his sister, and they all know it. He’s attached to the kid, even if he tries to hide it. The baby is something untainted by his death count, his back-from-death count, his bloody miracles.

                                                       * * * * * * *

The second time Dana calls him a miracle, he lets it slide. Slip of the tongue, mumbled in between bites of croissant. He’s laughing for the first time in God knows how long, laughing his way through autumn.

Dana sits cross-legged in the grass, sipping tea. She sits in the grass a lot, he notices. Maybe it’s a side effect of being an ex-city-dweller, the way grass relaxes her and she shushes him to hear the cicadas. Will was always a trail-and-cliff kind of boy, raised in the shadow of Wyoming Rockies, but he can appreciate the rickety solitude of this home.

He pads barefoot through the dying lawn and sits down next to her. He’s been home for a week now, longer than last time. Tomorrow, he will shove two hoodies into a backpack and drive to the Appalachians. He will leave behind a companion to his adirondack and a bucket of pine-green paint. This time when he says ‘itch of the road,’ he means it. But for now, he holds up a paper bag from the bakery. “I brought croissants.”

Dana’s eyebrows shoot up; her face splits into a grin. “Thank you Will,” she says as he passes her the bag. The scent of melted chocolate wafts from its wrapping. She bites into the croissant with a contented sigh as he reaches into the bag for his own, butter and chocolate sticking to his fingers.

“You’re a miracle,” she says through a mouthful of buttery goodness.

Time stops.

Will doesn’t register it until he has swallowed. When he looks at her, she’s bright red, her eyes wide and all of a sudden younger than her face. He smiles as reassuringly as he can and lies back on the lawn. She didn’t mean it like that, and even if she did. It’s not her fault.

                                                         * * * * * * *

The third time doesn’t really count. Spring goes out with drums of thunder, and June bleeds into their lives. One morning, Dana cups a naked, watermelon-pink creature in the palm of her hand and stalks urgently across the patio.

“It’s a baby robin,” she informs him. It lies panting on a paper towel. Before he can protest, she slides it into his hands.

He must have startled at the sight of it, the intersection of hideous and adorable, because Dana apologizes for the lack of warning. Turns out it dropped from its nest, and she’s too short to reach the branch. He is pleasantly surprised by this side of her, the tender side that rescues birds and folds bandannas around her neck on sunny days.

Dana leads him to the birds’ nest, sitting seven feet up a tree and already brimming with hatchlings. An alarmed screech from a nearby tree alerts him to the mother robin. He cradles the baby bird in his hand, admiring it for a moment. But just before he lifts it to the nest, he hears—

thud-thud-thud-thud-thud, the newborn’s rapid heart rate strumming his eardrums. This again.

“Are you okay?” Dana watches him, her brows furrowed.

“Uh-huh,” he assures her. “Just got the bird’s heartbeat stuck in my head for a second.” He smacks his ear as if he’s caught water in it, and the sound fades.

“You can do that?” Amazement sparkles in her eyes. Also, he discerns, maternal pride.

“Yup.” He tries for nonchalant, ends up sheepish, scratching the back of his head and avoiding her eyes. Should he tell her? He studies her—tiny and wound up like a sharp violin, bearing an impressive collection of pantsuits and an even more impressive collection of scars. All taut muscle except where a small-for-now baby bump blossoms beneath her t-shirt.

“You know, I can hear the kid’s heartbeat too,” he says, gesturing to her stomach. He tries to ignore her quick intake of breath.

        She stands up straighter, gaging how much he wants to tell her. “What does it sound like?”

        “Like a metronome.” His short-term memory lobs Miami at him. He’s unsure why he tells her any of this, but he does. “When I was in Florida,” he muses, “I bought this shitty electric keyboard. The kind they have elementary school music classrooms, that takes like ten double A batteries and plays a bunch of out of tune instruments. I wanted a guitar but I didn’t know how to play one; plus, I thought it would be cute for the baby. Make a good first impression, y’know?”

        He doesn’t give Dana a chance to respond. “Anyway, I was camping out in the everglades. Just… stretching out and sleeping in the trunk of the car. At night if it wasn’t raining, I would open the sun roof and look at the sky. And I tried to check up on you guys, in here.” He taps his forehead. “Came up with the heartbeat instead. Sometimes I tried to play the keyboard in time to it. I could play some tunes from Pirates of the Caribbean but not much else.”

        A smile graces her lips. “You said you used to love those movies.”

“I did. That’s what the Everglades reminded me of,” he adds. Pirates, tropical marshes, the monsters that lurk in the deep. He remembers sitting on the roof, going through three different flavors of vape, scared to dangle his feet over the car because a gator had taken up residence beside it. He remembers watching the gator breathe, watching its slick, scaly back dry out in the heat, and its jaw hang wide open. He remembers finally climbing down the car and reaching out to touch it. His rational side was terrified it would snap, but he realized, somehow, that it wouldn’t. Not at him, at any rate. Maybe his alien blood is reptilian. Who knows. He’ll never forget what an alligator’s back feels like.

“What happened to the keyboard?”

“It broke. I tossed it before I came home.” He reaches into the bird’s nest and drops the little creature in. It mewls hungrily.

“Miracle of life from non-life,” says Dana. She gingerly touches his shoulder. He listens for the rhythmic creature unfolding in her womb. Life from non-life, skin from stones, cells from silence.

                                                           * * * * * * *

The fourth time Dana calls him a miracle, it is not Dana at all. Dana is inside, flipping three grilled cheese sandwiches while Mulder hoes a disheveled garden. A heat wave barreled violently into Virginia last week, and Dana won’t show her face outside at midday, especially since the baby made its presence clear.

Will pulls into the driveway with three bags of fertilizer and a greenhouse worth of seeds. He tucks his ice coffee in his elbow and unloads the dirt from his trunk. Already decorated in roots and silver dandelions, Mulder empties them messily into the turned dirt.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says with a grin. A month ago, he might have rejected the nickname, but he’s trying to befriend Mulder. Bridge the gaps he already has with Dana by virtue of telepathy. It’s hard to hide from a woman who can read your mind.

“No problem.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders over to the garden. “Anything I can do?”

“Can you blot out the sun?” Mulder chuckles, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Or, you know, work some human Miracle-Grow on these flowers?”

“Unfortunately,” Will says distractedly, “My talents don’t really extend to peaceable flower-growing. I don’t think that’s what the government had in mind when they cooked up my DNA.” He means it casually. He really does. The same way Mulder means ‘human Miracle-Grow,’ and he was going to let that one go.

Mulder stares at him with those regretful labrador eyes. Shit. One wrong step and he’s swimming in parental guilt. Dana knows why he took the first time. He wonders if she ever told Mulder, or if she let him believe it was wanderlust. Genetic, of course.

“It’s okay,” he assures Mulder. Will doesn’t want his parents’ teary remorse, but he accepts it. They’ve seen Hell, and that’s coming from the kid who’s blown up human heads. So he curbs his annoyance every time they hug him like he’s fine china and doubt him when he says he’ll stay.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder says, “that was insensitive.”

“Naw, it’s fine.” Casually, callously, that’s the only way Will knows how to talk about what he’s been through.

Silence thick with pollen. Mulder shakes sunflower seeds over a haphazard row.

“You were a miracle, you know. Scully wanted you more than anything.”

He knows this. He reads it like newsprint off her brain. And yet—

“I was a weapon,” Will says bluntly. Another comic book cliché to tack onto the list. Not like he’s counting or anything.

“No.” Mulder shakes his head, shoves the hoe into a fresh groove. “They tried to weaponize you, but you wouldn’t have it. Will, you’ve got a choice that Scully and I don’t have—you don’t have to be their experiment. It’s too late in the game for us; we’re old, and we served twenty-five years in the X-files, prodding and being prodded. But those men are dead now, and while the scars may never heal, you don’t have to let them open another wound. You are human, and you’re allowed to have a life. You’re only their weapon if you believe it.”

He says it so forcefully Will almost believes him. Maybe one day he will. Not yet. “I did kill people,” he reminds his father solemnly. He has inherited Mulder’s ability to suck out his own soul.

“It’ll haunt you, and it’s never okay, but sometimes that’s what it comes to.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I killed people. So did Scully.” He was dead when Mulder shot the smoking bastard. He wishes he had seen it for more reasons than one. “Just…” Mulder trails off. “Give yourself a chance. Give Scully a chance. You won’t regret it.”

He wonders if he’ll ever love someone as much as Mulder loves Dana. He wonders if he wants to love someone that much, to bear the everyday risk of losing them. He empties two bags of poppy seeds into the garden.

Mulder has returned to the open car. He lifts a shopping bag out of the trunk and peeks inside. “What’s this?”

“I found it with the sunflower seeds. They were on clearance.” Will shrugs, acts like he didn’t buy it thoughtfully.

The wooden windchimes clink when Mulder examines them—sleeves of birch wood dangling like spiders on a thread. At the top, a cardinal opens its beak to the sky. “It’s beautiful. Your moth—Scully will love this.”

Wisely, neither of them discuss the Freudian slip.

                                                          * * * * * * *

The fifth time Dana says it, they are sitting in the Adirondack chairs, watching the overdue baby struggle against her confines. He comes to rest somewhere between amazed and utterly creeped out at the sight of it, and it probably shows on his face. Things have begun to show on his face recently. Since he pulled his hair into a ponytail and let himself relax, he no longer resembles the drunken guitarist of an out-of-line undergrad rock band. That was how Mulder described the scraggly shape of him when he was on the run. Mulder recognized it in himself, maybe—trying to scare off his enemies, winds up scaring off everybody else.

Scully cocks an eyebrow at him. “You look slightly perturbed.”

“It’s a little freaky looking,” Will concedes, eyeing the bow and flex of her abdomen. Kid’ll be here any day now—tomorrow, he predicts, maybe the day after. His sixth sense will go fucking haywire the second Dana goes into labor.

“It feels even stranger than it looks,” she replies.

He settles into the chair, leaning his head on his hands and stretching his gangly legs in front of him. He listens. Songbirds, wind chimes, the desperate buzz of insects having sex before they die… his sister’s heartbeat thumping frantically against the side of his head. He half smiles.

“It’s miraculous, you know,” she murmurs. “Even if it looks and feels discomfiting, it’s still a miracle.” A weighty pause. “You’re a miracle too.”

This time, the weight of the word ‘miracle’ doesn’t make him ill. His whole life, a catalogue of unexplained events and Sunday mornings in the Presbyterian church, people called him a miracle. On the playground, he healed scraped knees, and kids called him a wizard.

Dana and Mulder, though—they don’t see him as a miracle of Biblical proportion, or a miracle of science, immaculately crafted for a destiny. To them, he’s a miracle of love. His birth is a transcription of amor omnia vincit, and his return is a testament to it. He is a miracle because he was born and because he is a person Dana Scully created with Fox Mulder in a tatty DC apartment. Not because he’s a gritty reboot of a Christ allegory.

He is okay with being this kind of miracle.

He hears a quiet, “oh…” and opens his eyes. Dana scrunches her eyebrows together and squeezes the arm of her chair. “Braxton-Hicks,” she explains. He takes her at her word the way Mulder doesn’t. (Mulder, who suspects the baby is coming every time she so much as grunts; Mulder, who couldn’t be there the three times his son came to life.)

“If she sticks around much longer,” mutters Dana as she shifts in the chair, “she’ll say her first words in the womb.”

“Tomorrow,” he promises. Immediately he regrets telling her, but she looked so uncomfortable just there. She reminded him of his neighbors in Wyoming, a dusty-haired lesbian couple who wore nothing but khakis and hiking boots. Their son must be three or four by now, but he remembers how Lilian taught him to repair his mountain bike in her last month of pregnancy, woeing incessantly about how she couldn’t ride her own. ‘If the baby doesn’t come tomorrow I’m going to lose my goddamn mind,’ she’d told him every day for a week.

Now, Dana gazes at him with ocean-wide eyes. “You know?”

He shrugs self-consciously. “Yeah.”

“How?”

“I dunno. Same way I do all the other shit, I guess.” He wiggles his fingers. “Galaxy magic.”

This time she laughs, and a little bubble of pride wells in him. He can make her laugh through her discomfort, a clear, beautiful sound. He loves her, his mother. She doesn’t feel quite like his mother, but he catches love for her like he caught it for his unborn sister. Or maybe she is something like his mother—not his mom, the titles ‘Mom and Dad’ will forever be reserved for the parents he grieves, and he’s still shaking the nagging guilt that he is somehow replacing them by loving Dana and Mulder.

Maybe this is the kind of love you feel for your parents when you’re thirty, or maybe it’s the kind of love you feel for a step parent who isn’t your mom but who does her best, asks how your day is going and offers what advice she can. Whatever it is, it is keen and familiar, and he clings to it like a lifeline on days the earth swallows him.

Mulder finds them laughing their asses off at the most beautiful sunset in months. Dana glances up at him with an ear-to-ear grin, one hand on her belly and one hand on Will’s shoulder. Weeping tears of laughter, they forget what cracked them up in the first place.

                                                          * * * * * * *

In his eighteen years on this bitch of an Earth, Will has worked two legitimate miracles:

Jerry Abernathy from his eighth grade Algebra class had an allergic reaction to a peanut butter cookie. Somehow, he survived without a single shot of the epi pen he’d left at home that morning.

Alice Mulder-Scully enters the world screaming. The volume of blood on nurses’ uniforms belies the healthy baby. Relieved, haggard doctors struggle to explain the mother’s strong heartbeat. Nothing to see here, tells the look on Will’s face as strangers pass him in the waiting room. He wipes a trickle of blood from his nose and downs an energy drink to stay awake.

                                                          * * * * * * *      

The sixth time Dana calls him a miracle, he is sitting on the porch steps of the Virginia home. Alice’s baby feet kick his knees, and he grins as she struggles from his lap to crawl across the grass. Fireflies light up the gravel drive, flashing and dying, glowing with no particular pattern. They move like stars in space-time, as if he’s witnessing the lifespan of a galaxy in time lapse. Alice giggles as one blinks in front of her nose.

“Bug!” she screams happily.

“Yeah, kiddo, a lot of bugs.” A fox skittered across the property that morning, and Alice pointed at it and called it ‘Dada.’ Mulder was fake-insulted for hours.

Grinning down at her, he begins to rearrange the fireflies. To his behest, insects in mating season are shockingly tenacious, and it takes all his mental effort to control them. It’s worth it as they lazily swirl toward Alice, who bats at them and giggles uncontrollably.

“Bug! Bug!” she pops the word over and over again, snickering as one lands in her tufts of russet hair.

“I assume this is your doing?” Dana appears behind him, and he grins at her over his shoulder. The screen door smacks shut.

“She loves them.”

“More than her actual toys,” Dana snorts. She cocks her eyebrow at him, then lifts her phone and takes a picture. “I never liked fireflies.”

“Not even as a kid?”

“Well,” she chuckles, “maybe. But one of my first cases on the X files ruined them for me.”

“Seems like those files fucked you both over,” he replies.

“Someone had to do our job.” She sits down next to him and wraps her sweater tighter round her frame. “It took a lot from Mulder and I, but it brought us together. And when the ash settled, we gained two miracles.”

Watching Alice clumsily reach for glow worms, Dana wraps her arm around his shoulders. He lets her. Alice’s fireflies scatter and spiral into the stars.

#the x-files #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #msr fanfic #post ms iv #jackson van de kamp #william-centric #stupid midlife miracle baby #todayinfic

[nevermindthewind]

eight days a week, i love you

Or, eight obscure times Amy Santiago fell in love with Jake Peralta all over again.

I

Amy heard the music before she even reached the apartment door.

It was upbeat, sugary. If she had to guess she’d say Taylor Swift, in either her Speak Now or Red era.

On top of the music was a male voice (albeit not a very good one) singing right along with Taylor at the top of his lungs.

A smile crept onto her face as she reached the door, not even bothering to knock. He’d have never heard it anyway.

“Babe?” Amy called as she opened the door, only to be greeted by Mine (album version, obviously) blasting through Jake’s way-too-fancy speakers.  She didn’t know if she should be proud or embarrassed that she knew the exact TSwift song he was playing. She chose to be proud.

Stepping out of her shoes, Amy rounded the corner only to find Jake alone in the kitchen, holding a wooden spoon up to his mouth as he screamed along with the song.

“Do you remember we were sitting there on the water...”

He was turned away from her, jumping up and down and shaking his butt from side to side with each word.  It was quite possibly the most adorable thing Amy had ever seen.

“You put your arm around me...FOR THE FIRST TIME…”

Her hand came up to her mouth, unable to contain her giggles any longer.

“...You made a rebel of a careful man’s careful daughter…”

Amy slid off her purse and coat, setting them on the floor with a thud.  The sound caused Jake to finally turn around.  His eyes lit up, but he didn’t stop dancing or singing. Instead, he jumped over to the counter, grabbed a rogue ladle and handed it to Amy.  She gladly accepted the makeshift microphone as he pulled her to the center of the kitchen and spun her around the room.

“You are the best thing that’s ever been MINEEEEE.”

II

If you had asked Amy what she and Jake would be doing for their six month anniversary, it would most definitely not have included her being blindfolded in the back of a town car.

“Jake, where are you taking me?” she asked for what felt like the millionth time.

“You’ll find out soooon!” Jake sang out to her left.

Amy to let out a frustrated groan.

“I swear to god Peralta if you don’t take this blindfold off of me…”

“‘I swear to god Peralta if you don’t take this blindfold off of me’ title of our sex tape,” Jake interjected, earning him a punch to the shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he said with a laugh. “But seriously, we’re like thirty seconds away.”

And sure enough, Amy felt the car begin to slow before coming to complete stop.

“Can I get out now?”

“Patience, young Padawan.”

She heard the click of his seatbelt, followed by his door opening and shutting.  Amy began to feel around for her own door handle, wanting to take matters into her own hands, but before she could get very far the door was opened for her, causing her to practically fall out the side of the car.

“Easy there, Ames,” said Jake as he took her hand and guided her out the door.  Once she was out, he let go of her hand and began to untie the blindfold. “Ready?”

Amy nodded, and Jake pulled the blindfold away to reveal the front of the New York Public Library.  

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “The library?” Amy asked. “But it’s closed now.”

“To most people, yes,” Jake said. “But tonight, we are not most people.”

“What do you mean?”

Jake smiled as he slipped his hand back into hers.

“I mean tonight, we are Library VIPs who get to spend the night sleeping amongst the finest literary masterpieces the world has to offer.”

Amy’s jaw dropped.

“Shut up,” she exclaimed. “SHUT UP!”

“I will not,” Jake replied, his smile widening at Amy’s response.

Amy was practically vibrating with excitement. “This is AMAZING. Oh my god, we really get to sleep in one of the five most important libraries in the country? Sixteen-year-old Amy would be peeing herself right now! Thirty-three-year-old Amy is pretty close herself.”

“Thirty-three-year-old Amy is also a giant nerd,” said Jake, but he was laughing.

“Yeah she is,” Amy agreed. “But she still managed to find the best boyfriend ever!”

She gave Jake a quick kiss before dragging him up the stairs and into the library, where they spent the night running through the hallowed halls and looking at every artifact and book Amy could get her hands on.

III

Amy woke up from a cramp-induced nap one Saturday to a string of texts from a very distressed Jake.

6:12pm

Help I’m in the tampon aisle and I have no idea what to buy.

6:13pm

Ames. SOS.

6:16pm

Ammmyyyyyyyyyy

6:17pm

Ok people are looking at me. They must think I’m a giant weirdo.

6:18pm

There’s super, light, cardboard, plastic, non-applicator...HOW ARE THERE SO MANY CHOICES?!

6:20pm

If you don’t respond in the next two minutes I’m buying them all.

6:22pm

THESE ARE SO EXPENSIVE OH MY GOD.

6:22pm

This makes zero sense. You literally need them?? Why do you have to pay so much for something that half the population needs?! I don’t understand.

6:23pm

Ah HA there’s a multipack. I’m getting that. If it doesn’t have what you need I’ll return them. Can you return tampons?

6:27pm

I got mint chocolate chip ice cream too. The good kind with brownie bits. Be home in 15. Xoxo

IV

Amy had just finished up her last piece of paperwork and was getting ready slip her coat on and head home.

“Babe, you ready?” she asked Jake, who was playing on his phone with his headphones in.

“Huh?” he said, looking up in surprise. He pulled out one of the earbuds. “What’d you say?”

“I asked if you were ready to go,” Amy repeated.  She stood up swiftly and went to look at Jake’s phone. “Whatcha playing?”

But rather than showing her the screen, Jake yanked the phone out away from her.

“Nothing,” he said quickly.

Amy raised her eyebrows. “For being a detective you sure are a crappy liar. Show me the screen.”

She lunged for the phone, but Jake once again moved it out of her reach.

“No can do,” said Jake, dangling the phone above Amy’s head.

“Come on, Peralta. Show it to me!”

“Nope.”

He stood up, holding the phone even higher out of her reach.

“Ha HA!” You’ll never get it now,” he said with a cackle.

“That’s what you think,” Amy said as she lunged for his sides and squeezed.  Jake let out a very high pitched scream and immediately dropped the phone into Amy’s outreached hand.

“HA!” she cried triumphantly. “Now let’s see what you were --”

Amy’s voice trailed off the moment she clicked open the phone.  On the screen were a variety of household objects each with the matching Spanish word underneath them.  She looked up to see Jake with hand on his head, clearly embarrassed.

“What is this?” Amy asked, the corner of her mouth twitching up into a smile.

“It’s a language app,” he explained. “Rosa told me about it a couple of weeks ago.”

“I see that,” she said as she looked through the app. “Why do you have it?”

“Because,” Jake said with a shrug. “You speak Spanish. And I know how much you miss speaking it when you’re not at home. I figured I might as well learn a bit. I was kinda going to surprise you on our anniversary,” he added with a sheepish grin.

“Jake…” she started. Her smile widened as she stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure I did,” he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. “It’s important to you so it’s important to me, too.”

“You’re amazing,” she sighed, her heart swelling as she gave him a gentle kiss. “Can I hear some of it?”

“Ah…” Jake gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not very good yet.”

“That’s okay!” Amy gave him an encouraging smile. “I won’t judge.”

Jake thought for a moment before returning her smile.

“Te quiero tanto.”

Amy’s heart swelled at his effort, at the sound of her first language tumbling out of his mouth. It was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.

“Te quiero tanto también.”

V

“Her kid saw the whole thing. We’re waiting for a social worker to come get him, but until then we’ve got him set up over there.”

The beat cop nodded to a corner of the apartment-turned-crime scene.

Amy’s heart broke at the sight of the little boy huddled against the wall, his body covered in a standard issue medical blanket that absolutely dwarfed him.  There were tear tracks running down his dirt covered cheeks, and he had a smaller threadbare blanket clutched in the crook of his elbow.  

“Has he told you anything?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the boy. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jake bring a hand up to his face.

The cop shook his head.

“Nothing. We were hoping one of you would have better luck.”

Amy tore her eyes off the boy long enough to look up at Jake.  His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes hardened with a mix of concern and a deep-rooted anger Amy knew he harbored for any parent who hurt their kid.

“You want me to talk to him?” she asked quietly.  

“No,” he replied with a small shake of the head. “I’ve got this.”

His eyes softened as he slowly made his way to where the child sat with his knees pulled up to his chest.  Amy watched as Jake crouched down to the boy’s level, being careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Hey buddy,” Jake said kindly. “Mind if I sit down?”

The boy just stared at him. Jake carefully leaned back against the wall and sat down, crossing his legs.

“That’s a cool blanket.  You must really like dinosaurs, huh?”

If Amy hadn’t been looking right at him, she’d have thought it was a trick of the light. But no, the child had, in fact, given Jake a tiny nod.  Jake smiled.

“So do I.  My favorite was always the T-Rex. In fact, when I was five I told my friend Gina I wanted to be a T-Rex when I grow up.”

One corner of the boy’s mouth flicked up, almost into a smile.

“My name’s Jake,” he told the boy. “I’m here to help you, okay?”

Again the boy nodded.

“Me and my friend Amy,” Jake pointed at Amy, who waved and gave him a kind smile, “We want to help you, but to do that we need to know your name. Can you tell me your name?”

“Charlie,” the boy whispered.  His voice was tiny, petrified.

“Thank you so much,” Jake said, his eyes not leaving the boy’s gaze. “Now Charlie, can you tell me how old you are?”

“Four.”

“Great, Charlie. You’re doing great,” Jake repeated. He gave the boy another warm grin.

An hour later Charlie was asleep in Jake’s lap, one hand clutching the dinosaur blanket while the other clung to Jake’s shirt.

Amy offered to take over so he could stand and stretch, but Jake shook his head.

“I’m fine right here.”

VI

“AMY!”

Amy woke with a start, immediately on high alert at the sound of panic in Jake’s voice.

“What is it?” she asked.  Terror filled every part of her body, as she looked around the room to find the source of Jake’s fear.  Figgis was supposed to be in jail. They’d made sure of that. So what was going on?

She couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything other than Jake’s continued screams.

It wasn’t until he accidentally hit her leg that Amy realized Jake was still in bed beside her, dead asleep but having a nightmare that was very real to him.

“No, not Amy!” Jake shouted again, tossing from side to side. “Leave her alone!”

At once her heart rate began to decrease, the adrenaline receding as she slid back into bed.

“Jake?” she said softly. “Jake, I’m right here. I’m okay.”

Somewhere deep inside Jake must have heard her, because the thrashing stopped almost immediately.

“Amy! Where are you?” he yelled.  Amy could feel tears threatening to form as she slowly reached out and rubbed his shoulder.

“I’m right here, babe. We’re safe, okay? I’m right here and I love you so much.”

“Amy?” he asked, his voice bordering on a whimper.  

“Yeah, Jake, it’s me,” she replied, scooting closer so her body was just inches away from his. “I’m okay. You’re okay. Just go to sleep.”

She continued to talk to him in low, hushed tones, repeating the same words over and over until he was no longer talking at all, until his body was calm enough for her to wrap him in her arms and hold him as tight as she could.

Until he knew he was safe.

VII

Jake and Amy were spending Christmas with the entire Santiago clan.  Over the span of 48 hours, Jake had met all seven brothers, their wives, and the twenty nieces and nephews they’d bought gifts for. He had to be overwhelmed, but if he was he didn’t show it.

Christmas morning was spent at the family home, with everyone crowded into the living room sitting on every surface that wasn’t taken up by presents.  Amy and Jake, for instance, were seated on the floor, their backs up against the coffee table for a bit of added support.  In Amy’s lap sat Manny, her two year old nephew who was not in the mood to wait to open his presents. To pass the time, Amy and Manny were playing a little game.

“Manny, what’s my name?” Amy asked, pointing to herself. “What’s my name?”

“Ti Amy,” he said, poking Amy in the chest to emphasize his point.

“Good job!” she exclaimed. She pointed at her niece who was sitting to her left.

“Who’s this?”

“Nessa!”

“Yep, that’s Vanessa,” Amy replied with a smile.  Next she pointed to Jake.

“How ‘bout this guy? Who’s this, Manny?”

Manny stared blankly back at her.

“Manny, who am I?” Jake asked, pointing at himself.

Still nothing.

“Silly Manny,” piped up Vanessa. “That’s Tio Jake! Can you say Tio Jake?”

“Tio Ake,” repeated Manny.  Amy saw Jake’s eyes light up. They’d never called him Tio before.

“That’s me,” he replied. He looked over at Amy and gave her a giant smile. “Tio Jake.”

Amy’s heart melted.

VIII

The morning after he proposed Jake had purposefully gotten both of them the day off.  So rather than waking up to their usual three alarms, Amy woke up on her own to the sun coming in through their bedroom window.  For a brief moment it felt like any other morning, until she brought her hand up and saw the ring sparkle in the morning light. A smile immediately formed on her face, just as it had the night before.  She couldn’t help it; she’d never been this happy, this content in her entire life.

She pulled her arm fully out of the covers and held it out in front of her, admiring how each slight turn of the hand brought out a different element of the ring.

Amy was so captivated by her hand that she didn’t notice how Jake had taken resident in the doorway and was now watching her with an equally giant smile.

“Good morning, fiancé,” he said, snapping Amy out of her trance.

“Hi fiancé,” she said, dropping her hand and peering up at him with a sheepish grin. “What are you doing up so early?”

Jake took an exaggerated step towards her, keeping his hands behind his back.

“I’ve got something for you,” he replied.

“You know you just got me a ring, right?” Amy asked, giving him a look. “I think you’ve done your share of gift giving for a while.”

“Yeah but I think you’ll like this,” Jake said as he approached the bed. “I actually made it myself.”

“You made it?” she asked tentatively. Jake wasn’t exactly known for his crafting ability.

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “Close your eyes.”

Amy narrowed her eyes.

“Come on, trust me,” Jake said, prodding her along.  Amy rolled her eyes but obeyed.

“Okay, now hold out your hands.”

Amy obliged, placing her arms out in front of her.  She felt Jake’s weight on the bed as he sat beside her and set something large and rectangular in her hands. It was light, but sturdy, made of some sort of stiff plastic.  The material was familiar, like something she’d felt a thousand times before.  Actually it kind of felt like…

“Is this a binder?” she asked, excitement seeping into her voice.

“Open your eyes and find out.”

Amy did as she was told and immediately felt her jaw drop.

It was in fact, a binder, but it was clearly so much more than that. It was two inches, maybe two and a half, and bright white. Inserted in the front cover was paper (the nice kind from her favorite craft store) decorated with at least a hundred wedding-themed stickers that included a tuxedo, champagne glasses, and multiple flower bouquets.  Mixed in with the stickers were also pictures of the two of them from various stages in their relationship, including a picture they had just taken the night before.  At the center of the paper was the title in Jake’s lopsided cursive: Jake, Amy, and the Best Wedding Ever.

“Oh my god…” Amy whispered. She ran her hand over the cover before finally looking up to see Jake watching her, his eyes full of nerves.

“You like it?” he asked her. “I thought you could use it to plan the wedding.  Originally I was going to put some tabs or dividers inside, but I didn’t know which kinds you would want. And if you want a bigger size I can get that, or a different color, but white usually goes with weddings, right? So --”

“Jake,” she said, cutting him off.

“What?”

She grinned, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears that had formed in her eyes.

“It’s absolutely perfect.”

#peraltiago #peraltiago fanfiction #peraltiago fic #jake x amy #jake peralta #amy santiago #b99 #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99

[iamsoneurotic]

Enter, Levi: The Final Chapter Part II

8 Months later is better than never I guess.

I had intended to write a second post about Levi’s birth (as I did with both Milo and Noli), but as it turns out, free time isn’t really a thing when you have 3 kids. Go figure. Anyway, where did I leave off… The boy was born.

The C-section left Rachael bedridden for the duration of our stay at the hospital, which is pretty typical. From what I’ve been told, it’s not so bad - the doctors load you up with pain meds and you’re out the door in a couple of days, ready to take on the world with a baby in one hand and a bottle full of pills in the other. Well, due to an allergy to Ibuprofen, Rach was denied the good drugs and had to settle for a less effective Tylenol substitute which may have been less effective than somebody flicking her in the ear to distract her from the pain in her healing wound. To make matters even worse, she was fighting a horrible cough and every hack of the lung made her feel like she was being gutted like a fish.

As sort of an icing on the crap cake, her IV slipped out of her vein at some point during the first night and caused her arm to swell and rash. Her stay was divine to say the least.

Speaking of crap cakes, guess who was on diaper duty by default! Well that’s nothing new, I’m usually on diaper duty just because my lovely wife secretly loathes me (we have a dog now, by the way. Guess who gets the honor of cleaning up his little backyard nuggets). This particular series of diaper changes, however, stands out more than the others because Levi pooped a mountain’s worth over the next few weeks. Not exaggerating. He went through every phase on the newborn poo color wheel in a matter of hours. Something was clearly afoot, I’ve been around this whole breastfeeding business for a while now and I know for a fact he was exporting more than he was taking in. Pretty sure milk doesn’t have corn in it either.

There’s a video of his first changing… I can’t even post it. It’s just that awful. I don’t even know why we would have filmed something like that in the first place.

One last poo item to discuss - there was one nurse who was a complete POS. Her shift consisted of coldly telling Rachael to suck it up and walk so they could discharge us and berating her about everything she did ranging from how she breastfed Levi to, I don’t know, the way she wore her hair that day. She was a real piece of work. Not sure if there’s a polite way to wish Ebola on somebody, but I’m all ears.

There was a bright side to Rachael being confined to her bed, it meant I got more time to hold Levi. Given the stress of his birth, I had no desire to ever put him down - thank goodness he only weighed a little over 6lbs, our lightest one yet!

I noticed while holding him that he bore a striking resemblance to Don Rickles.

Leading up to the birth, I had “joked” that I was looking forward to the time away from the kids while we stayed at the hospital. I was wrong, I missed my babies. Before we had left, Noli was really upset that we were leaving him - that image of him sitting on the steps broken hearted was burned into my brain the whole visit. Milo didn’t seem to care much, he gets away with more when daddy’s not home (Noli was yet to figure this out). So after 2 days of not showering, Rachael approved of my release so I could go home, see the boys, scrub the thin layer of Italian grease off of my flesh, and let her mom see the baby for a while.

It was a nice little visit. The boys and I wrestled, built Legos, and I showed them pictures of the baby. Noli was needier than usual and didn’t like that I had to leave again to go back to the hospital, luckily my mom stopped by to take the boys to her place so I could catch a break for a few… For the record, however, I didn’t take a break for fear that Rachael would sense my relaxation and unleash the hordes of hell upon me.

Advice for any new dads out there: NEVER enjoy yourself while your wife is in pain or holding a child. Don’t close your eyes, don’t smile, don’t sit comfortably in a chair, and if you absolutely HAVE to eat, make sure the food gives you indigestion… But not diarrhea, because woman have figured out that bathrooms are a man’s place of peace. There can be no peace.

…

I’m literally not kidding.

Long story short - she thought I was gone too long and as penance, I bought her Pei Wei and she reluctantly showed mercy.

I screwed a number of things up with this birth. First was posting Levi’s picture to Facebook before Rachael had even seen him, second was having the audacity to take a shower at our house, and the third thing happened after being discharged from the hospital. When we got home, I rushed the baby into the house so he wouldn’t get cold. Inside the house my parents were waiting with cameras to film the boys’ reaction to the new addition. Well, in my haste, I failed to wait for Rachael (who was hobbling up the sidewalk in excruciating c-section pain) - depriving her of the opportunity to see the boys’ reaction live. I’m currently serving a life sentence in the doghouse for my foolish ways.

All screw-ups aside, the evening went well. Noli, who we were most nervous about adjusting to a newborn, held the baby in his lap (with heavy amounts of assistance). It was a giant relief. Milo loved the kid at first sight, 8 months later he’s still in love with the little guy… I’m a proud dad. My parents went home, Rach attempted sleep, and late that evening I wrote  “Enter, Levi: The Final Chapter Part I”. A masterpiece in biographical storytelling.

For the next few days Rachael was stuck sleeping on the couch until her incision healed more; getting out of bed was too painful. So we spent our evenings watching the Winter Olympics while Levi slept on our chests. In the mornings my mother-in-law would treat us to fresh grapefruit & oatmeal breakfasts and I would grab us Starbucks on the way back from dropping the boys off at school. It was a really nice couple of days… I even finally buckled down and got my Texas Driver’s License! Only took me 3 years to make the effort.

We nicknamed Levi “Popeye” because he would always wink his one eye and make scrunchy faces. In retrospect, I should have thought to tape a little pipe to his pacifier. Dangit! During this time, I discovered that the sound of a crying baby isn’t as horrific sounding as it had been in the past. Milo’s cries would send me into a panic, and Noli’s would just irritate me… I find Levi’s cries on the adorable end of the spectrum. It’s probably because this will be our last kid (assuming all goes according to plan). I’m taking in the infancy more, trying to make it last and enjoy every moment. Sure, I still get frustrated - that’s what babies do to you, but I’m enjoying the ride more… I know I’ll miss it. I still wish I could pull baby Milo out of the photos on my phone and hold him.

If I’m not writing a ton about Levi in this post, it’s because the kid was just so darn chill as a newborn. He didn’t give me much more material than “Awww, how cute”... And he was definitely cute (still is - all my babies are).

While both boys were great with Levi, Noli had gotten increasingly needy. I’m not going to lie, it was downright infuriating sometimes to deal with it. I took him out one day to give him some one on one time, the plan was to buy him a ‘gift from Levi’. I told him Levi gave me money to buy him a toy (kids are so gullible!)... I should have specified how much money Levi actually gave me because $60 later we had a brand new Lego Spiderman play set which took me an hour to build and only 10 seconds for Noli to destroy. 10 glorious seconds of him leaving me alone.

The nightmare was only beginning.

Rachael’s mom had stuck around for a few weeks to help out around the house while we got acclimated to all the changes. The hope was that anything that could have gone wrong would have gone wrong while she was here and we’d have the extra hands… But Murphy’s Law is real, kids. Thanks to the joys of school, Noli came down with the flu a day or two before my mother-in-law was leaving. Just the thing you want around a newborn! And there would be no extra hands. Before we even got home from the hospital, Rach began packing her bags to stay with my folks until our house was no longer contaminated with disgusting little boy germs (Milo was beginning to run a fever as well).

Rachael and Levi staying with my parents didn’t ease my worries, however. The boys are constantly sticking their grubby little fingers all over my face (why their fingers are always moist I’ll never understand). The fingers occasionally go in my mouth because kids are weird and have no boundaries. That mouth is incapable of not being on baby Levi’s face… Because those cheeks. All I could think was that I had given my newborn baby boy the flu and it was an awful feeling. I had shown no signs of having the flu, but it takes a few days before symptoms even start, so everything was up in the air… Just like the flu running rampant in my house. It was a waiting game and I hate waiting.

So it was me, the boys and my mother-in-law, and I only had her help for about two days before she had to go back home. Thank God for moms is all I have to say. She made sure we all took everything we needed, when we needed to take it, and I’m pretty sure she kept me flu-free, because (spoiler) I never caught it and luckily neither did Rach or Levi.

Those few days, however, were difficult for an entirely non-flu-related reason… Needy Noli. By this point he had already been driving me nuts with the constant need for attention, but the flu just made it worse. Today I was looking through the texts Rachael and I were sending each other and every other message was me going out of my mind while Noli stalked me around the house. It was like one of those dreams where you’re being chased by some unknown entity and it always finds you no matter where you hide. You’d think the flu would have destroyed his sense of smell, but somehow it was heightened. There was no escape.

All he wanted was to play legos… Legos which by now were CRAWLING with flu germs. Every click those blocks made when I connected them was like the empty click of a revolver in a deadly game of Russian Roulette. Sitting in that pool of Legos (we have a LOT of Legos) was like swimming in a pool of flu-juice. I swear some of them were wet.

Then my mother-in-law flew home… and it was just me and the flu-zombies.

Thank goodness for my Dad. He took one for the team and later that evening risked his good health to save me from the inevitable misery that awaited me with those kids. The man is fearless. My memory of that week is a little hazy, but I’m 80% sure he arrived via horse. When he got to the house, he told me to get out and enjoy myself for a few while he spent time with the little petri dishes. Even Noli let me leave the house! So I grabbed my iPad and booked it to Starbucks where I spent the next 2 hours sipping Lattes, drawing, and watching videos of Levi that Rach would send me.

The week was no doubt hard - dodging sneezes, dealing with neediness and the usual parenting frustrations… But the hardest part was being away from Levi. I spent 9 months waiting for the little stinker and barely got to know him before he left me for a week. There was a constant stream of videos and photos coming from Rach, but it only made it harder. There was one evening when Rach stopped by with some food and I snuck out to see her. She had Levi in the van and I had to just stare at him from the window (as I was still unsure if I was sick or not). It was torture.

Rach on the other hand was living the good life at Hotel De’Marianelli with my mom. Pampering, baby assistance, hot meals… and a Boxer who quickly became a therapy dog. When Rach arrived at the house that first night, she was a nervous wreck. She started crying when she came in the door and Roxy (the Boxer) ran up to her, put her head on Rachael’s chest and just stared at her. She’d lick the baby’s feet constantly and anytime Levi woke up from a nap crying, Roxy would book it into the room to check on him.

Dogs are the best. Not to speak ill of the dead, but our cat would have just pee’d on the crib.

Fast forwarding ahead, the boys started feeling better, I never got sick, and seeing as my dad’s work was finished, he went back home… I seem to remember him riding off on a chariot of fire. The details are hazy.

One last thing remained… The disinfecting of the Legos.

20% of them ended up down the drain. I hope they never return.

Finally my baby came home. I refused to let him go that night… Or the next night. If I could lactate, Rach would have never gotten him back.

I make good babies. ~ M.

#parenting #parenthood #dad #daddy #daddyblog #newborn #humor #baby #fatherhood #kids

[bites-kms]

Southwest Roadtrip - Episode 1: Viva las Vegas

When it comes to discovering the US, Johnny Cash kept it simple and straight to the point: 

“I've been everywhere, man. Crossed the desert's bare, man. I've breathed the mountain air, man. Of travel I've had my share, man. I've been everywhere.“

And what a journey it was! Who knew a failed attempt to fly to Hawaii would result in such a fun adventure? We packed our stuff and jumped on a plane, destination Southwest of America. Starting by Vegas, passing through Arizona, stopping by Utah, resting in Colorado. Only my friend Belu would be as kamikaze to propose such thing and found in me such a blind partner-in-crime. It was September 4th, and we were rushing in a taxi from Hoboken to Newark to board our first flight during a global sanitary emergency, looking like Darth Vader’s close cousins with our masks and face shields. 

After an approximately 6-hour flight, we landed in the middle of literally nowhere. We were able to see the pyramid and some other iconic architecture which I currently do not remember because it was about only for 5 seconds before landing. On arrival, on a mostly empty airport, we were surprised by the amount of slot machines that were there, welcoming everyone to place their bets. For sure, ours was to have fun and contrary to common belief, the house didn't win this one: we had a blast!

Followed by a surprise “SIN CITY, WOOO HOOO!” shout from someone who obviously has been living inside a thermos for the last past months, we cracked up and went to fetch a car. This very nice gentleman took us to the Bellagio (yeap, we went full on cliche mode, with what was originally a non-existent promo) while DJ Dani blasted her best records to kick off this adventure with the right feet: Viva Las Vegas by Elvis Presley and Just a Gigolo by Louis Prima Success. 

DAY 1: 

First things first: check in and adventure. Hotel, amenities and surroundings. Vegas spins around two main areas: the famous Strip, 6.8kms of the brightest place on earth seen from outer space full of hotels, restaurants, shops and of course, casinos. Pretty much Disneyworld for adults. The Bellagio is the iconic hotel which hosts some of the greatest restaurants and also the famous dancing fountains. Also, is one that is pretty centrally located, in between Caesars Palace (Roman Empire themed), The Cosmopolitan (which imitates boheme life from France) Aria and Park MGM Las Vegas (New York City represent!), Excalibur (Middle Ages) Luxor (Cleopatra’s Egypt) and The Venetian (of course, Venice). Everything is within walking distance but beware of the heat: a normal day in the desert is around 42C (107F), if not more, with a melting down thermal sensation of 1000 in any scale. This is why is also a city that is enjoyable during night time. So, do not feel bad about sleeping in a bit: you can always chill by the pool in the morning, have a little something for lunch and sleep (or remove the hangover) during the afternoon when the sun is unbearable. OR, the casino is always open so that could be an option. We chose to walk around a bit (big mistake) but luckily once you enter to the casinos, they are all connected with escalators, shade and AC, so we were mesmerized by this grown up themed park, where is so easy to lose track of time. 

After an Italian lunch on a french bistro in a corner of Paris (? yes.. I know..) we went back and rest by the pool. Once the sun was already getting ready to bet some chips at night, we did too: we changed into our most shinny and glamorous outfit and won exactly 27 dollars! We checked out Venice, and some of the night shows that were happening on the streets (like naked promoters, the massive PM lines, and the crazy long-ass “juice” towers flowing around the more energetic covid-prone crowds) right before we headed up to Yellowtail, the Japanese and Michelin Starred restaurant at the Bellagio. We had their famous tuna pizza (it sounds terrible but it is more of a tostada or sashimi-style like) and got disappointed that they run out of the short ribs, but instead had some amazing sushi rolls and some tempura bites. When we found out about the beautiful, sigh-seeing windows that displayed all the fountain show we left our high-end attires aside and run to the windows, interrupting some other people’s dinner while leaving the waiters behind. We decided to go for dessert somewhere else and went to the piano bar located at the reception for a delicious espresso and a chocolate diamond cake. We did some neon-gazing and loved the fountain show to the beat of Believe by Cher, while being overwhelmed by a surreal feeling of actually being there, having so much fun and appreciating our friendship (and of course, avoided a high/drunk fellow who tried to take our pics and phone with them - she didnt know we were from New York and from Rio de la Plata, so the scam was on her!) 

DAY 2

Repeat. (and pretty much that’s all we did). We kicked it off with a fake breakfast by the pool, and some piñas coladas in between facemasks. We also had a light lunch by the pool (a greek salad with some much needed water) and then, around 6:15 we took a cab to the Neon Museum - yeap, for those who think there is only light fun in Vegas, nope, think again, there are worthy museums, too! ( I even made a joke here! damn I’m inspired!). The Neon Museum is a scrap dealer cemetery, where all the old and somehow “broken” -even thou most of them have been repaired and are currently working!- neon signs from Old time Vegas rest. It is very fun to see old hotels, random letters, icons and logos being laid there, creating a wonderful mess in the middle of, again, you guess right, the desert. It was very fun and beautiful to be honest. 

Another short taxi drive later (I was too naif thinking we could walk in short heels under the killer heat more than a block!) we drove thru what is known as “Old Vegas” or “Downtown Vegas”. This used to be the place where the magic happened before the creation of the Strip, but nowadays it only hosts what lingers of once a glamorous and kitschy past. The center of this action can be found throughout Freemont Street, a pedestrian long avenue that gathers classic neon signs, all-time Vegas characters (we still missed out on Elvis, so watch out impersonator, we will be back just for you!), stripers, street sellers, all you can eat venues, dodgy bars, and more and more neons.  According to Las Vegas Tourism Board>> “Fun people, crazy people, partying, gambling, drinking, street performers, free music and light shows, zip lining and just having a good time... that's what you expect at Freemont.”

We had some pizza, talked to this Montana guy who for a second thought he was able to have a threesome with us on his dirty van, were voluntary abused by these hot, ripped stripers who made us laugh with their pick up line: “You can leave your face mask here, right by your underwear too, please.” The guys were a “sample” - since the show is canceled due to the pandemic- of Chippendales, something a fine woman needs to experience once in their lifetime. Belu felt in love with her boy, but given the current times and protocols, this love couldn't prosper as we all wished it had. No worries amiga, next time!

But the most striking part of this decadent place was witnessing this surreal restaurant called Heart Attack Grill, where people who weight more than 350lbs (almost 160kgs) eat for free. The biggest burger consist on 8 patties, and as an FYI, only the 4 patty burger is marked on the Guinness World Records Book as the “Quadruple Bypass Burger” with almost 10.000 calories, all the beverages consists on massive soft drinks, milkshakes, beers and wine, (full bottles, of course, served from an IV drip bag) and it is not allowed to share food. The place is cash only, you gotta weight yourself before entering, each patty is made of half pound each, everybody must wear hospital gowns and if you dare not to finish your meal, you get three spanks by the horny yet not so sexy waitress dressed as nurses. As a nice little detail, on the biggest burger you can pump it up with 40 slices of bacon by only $7.99 more!  And, to wrap up this majestic hospital parlor, I recently researched that the legal owner of Heart Attack Grill is hilarious – Diet Center LLC. The founder is Jon Basso, who strives to provide “nutritional pornography” in his food. For a better comprehension (for a lack of a better word) of this place, you can check out this recap of Showtime’s series: Deadly Sins. 

So, we were mesmerized, we were educated, we bet, we ate, we drunk and we touched some sweaty strippers, so there was only one thing left to do: crush a weeding. So there we went. There were multiple chapels around the area, but I dont know whether it was the time (it was around, 9, 9 and coins) so it may have been a little bit too late or due to COVID, but no weddings were in place. We finally arrived to the Little White Chapel, the original, unique one that has the Elvis sign, the drive-thru and the proud sign that states how Michael Jordan and Joan Collins got married there. We were so bummed to found only a very young, very dull couple getting married (she was wearing black, hence, that is all you need to know) and there was not a very jolly, merry spirit. Still, we managed to hang out with the best men and got a picture of two to remember this fail attempt to crush this very much lame wedding. Up we went to the Bellagio, checking out what was missing from Sin City: the Wynn Hotel, Route 515, 51 and the Famous Welcome to Las Vegas Sign. 

We wrapped this unique experience witnessing an amazing, full moon in the middle of the desert, with a massive and delicious full on breakfast at Sadelle’s, a little piece of home in our far-away-from home hotel.  Till next time, Vegas! You were great fun! 

#vegas #elvis #fun #gamble #nevada #food #restaurant #casinos #covid

[jemmafitzsimmons]

Now complete! Read it from the beginning here!

Written for @leopoldjamesfitzs, @jewishfitz, and @agent-hayley who requested FS + I think you’re beautiful.

Thanks again to @consoledacup for the beta!

Synopsis: Fitz is a jazz pianist hung up on keeping old traditions alive. Jemma wants to make it as an actress in Los Angeles, but wonders if all the pain along the way is worth it. When their paths cross unexpectedly, they’ll form a connection that will inspire them to strive for their dreams.

Read the FINAL CHAPTER below or on AO3!

iv. a dance

The small bench wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed since the last time they were on the top of the hill. When they first walked up this hill late on a Friday night years ago, nearly strangers but with the thrilling feeling of maybe something more, Jemma never anticipated where their relationship would go.

Jemma sat impatiently glancing every few moments to see if he’d arrived, and a small sliver of fear in her gut told her he wouldn’t show up. But that fear quickly washed away because there he was, strolling up the hill as if it were something he did every day.

Jemma let out a heavy sigh as a wide smile filled her face. “You kept your promise.”

“Of course, I did. It wasn’t like I had a choice as you kept reminding me every day for the last month.”

“I know. I just didn’t want you to forget.”

Fitz stopped then directly in front of her and shook his head. “Jemma, I would never forget.”

Smiling sheepishly, she curled her hair behind her ear and looked down at her feet.

“I’m still not used to it,” he muttered while stepping towards her, his shoes clicking on the concrete. These shoes didn’t have the old familiar scuffs; instead, they shined brightly against the sun, just as his smile radiated up to his eyes.

Jemma grinned cheerfully. “What? And you think I am?”

He chuckled softly before pulling her up from the bench and wrapping his hands around her waist.

It was an odd thing to think of him going to the same movie theater from their first date and seeing her on screen rather than any other actress. She was about to go into pre-production on her third film – a drama shot in Los Angeles. After talking with the casting director from her audition and taking a role in a different project, she spent the last six months shooting in New York, and then another three in Vancouver for another part. With her non-stop work schedule, she was happy to be back on familiar ground.

And it was strange to see him in person after so long. Yes, they video chatted nearly every day, and he came to visit her when he could, but there was nothing like seeing him in the flesh when neither of them had anywhere to be other than with each other.

Jemma dropped her chin. “I still look like me, right? I mean, I think I do.”

“I think you’re beautiful. Same dress and heels, I see.”

Of course, he remembered – the yellow dress and blue heels she wore when they finally agreed to give a relationship a shot. Even if her hair was lighter, her walk more confident, she still felt like herself – even more so, if that were possible.

“So, what now?” he asked, his eyebrow raised as he pulled on her hand to guide her back down the hill.

“Now? I believe I have a date tonight with a particular club owner.”

“Oh, that’s right. But you might have to get there early. I hear it gets pretty packed on a Friday night. Someone might take your spot.”

“Ha!” she exclaimed, swinging his hand back and forth. “Well, they’ll have to go through me if they think they can steal the best seat in the house.”

“Right by the piano?”

“Exactly.”

Letting go of her hand, he placed his arm across her shoulders and pulled her in close to his side. “I’ll save it for you just in case. I’ve got something special planned, anyway.”

~

That night, she let him leave early so he could get the club running before she arrived. And when she did, wearing a sleek black dress she’d saved just for the occasion, she found the club a sight to behold.

The small club he had taken her to so long ago to share his love of jazz music was now transformed into a spectacle of light and color. The club’s name –  FitzSimmons – glowed around every corner in neon blue lights. Countless couples shared drinks and smiles as they watched the band play endless jazz melodies, the place nearly bursting with energy. Somehow, he had transformed it to become even more inviting with a touch of charm only he could provide. No other club in LA stood a chance.

Jemma took her time taking in everything around her, recognizing small details that used to be mere wishes scribbled haphazardly on napkins in their old apartment. Now, the flashing music notes above the bar, the glowing blue light on every surface, everything was in its rightful place – just as they had imagined it.

She couldn’t find Fitz at first glance, but without fail, she found a reserved sign placed at a small round table with a single seat directly at the center of the crowd, her name hand-written in fancy script. She picked up the small card and flipped it over, finding a short message.

The best seat in the house for the best actress in town.

Jemma chuckled quietly while taking her seat just as a server came out of nowhere to serve her a drink. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a few people looking her way, clearly aware of her presence. Her face was now recognizable by anyone who frequented the movie theater. She couldn’t go to many places in public anymore without being spotted by fans or paparazzi, but she didn’t mind being spotted here. Because this was their spot, and she would be here every night if that were possible.

Finally, as the band brought their current song to a close, Fitz appeared from backstage – happy as ever. When he found Jemma in her seat, he mouthed a hello as his smile widened. After introducing the members of the band and thanking the crowd for their attendance that evening, she could sense a nervous energy brewing within him as he took his seat at the piano, the band members clearing the stage. The club went quiet, and Jemma was suddenly aware of her racing heart as she anticipated hearing him play for the first time in months.

He didn’t meet her eyes, but from the half smile creeping on his face, she knew exactly what he would play. And then that seven note melody began to fill the space just as it did so long again in a different club. But this time, he was playing it just for her.

She knew the piece by heart – the rise and fall of each measure – each note sending a thrill down her spine. As she watched his fingers dance effortlessly across the keys, she let her mind wander. The music seeped its way into her thoughts and conjured up memories of so long ago.

The astonishment of hearing him play for the first time.

The mystery of what it would have been like to kiss him that very night.

The thrill of finding one another again by chance.

The universe urging their story to begin.

The weightless feeling of dancing in the clouds and kissing for the first time.

The joy of learning to truly listen to the music that filled their lives.

The pain of falling apart and struggling to put their pieces back together.

The love that swelled within her when her encouraged her to give her dream a shot one last time.

The bliss of watching him stroll up that hill.

And then for a moment, she thought about how things could have been different – if he had stayed on tour, if she had not gone to that audition. It flashed through her mind like a supercut of scenes that could have been: different jobs, different dreams, different outcomes.

In one scene, he makes it to her play. The audience is packed full, and when the house lights go up at the end of her performance, the applause is thundering. She can barely believe her eyes.

In another scene, they’re in Paris walking the streets at night with the glow of the romantic city filling their eyes with wonder.

In this scene, she is living her dream – her original dream. The part in the film is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and she is thrilled to have him by her side.

But also in this scene, that is all he gets to be – by her side while she dances through her playground of a job. He is happy, but he doesn’t get to play as much. His jazz club is a lost memory.

In another scene, they’re on tour together. She watches him every night from the side of the stage in awe as he soaks in the crowd’s energy. It’s not the music he dreamt of playing for the rest of his life, but they grow to love it as they grow in love.

In the same scene, they live in hotel rooms, a never-ending cycle of packing suitcases and experiencing new places for only a few spare moments.  It’s a whirlwind of days going by too quickly and moments pass in the blink of an eye.

  But in this scene, she doesn’t admit that she misses the stage and dreams of the screen.

Once these scenes wash away, they transform into a montage of moments that may come – of dreams still left to pursue.

In one moment, she’s on-screen once again, but this time, it’s his music that fills the theater with wonder. His melodies cascade down the rows and rows of filled seats as the audience takes in the magic of music and the cinema.

In another moment, they’re in a new home – a family home where he sits at the piano and plays scales as their two-year-old son looks on in awe. His small hands barely stretch over two keys, and he gasps in surprise when he plays a note all by himself.

In another moment, they watch their daughter put on plays in their backyard on the small stage. He built it for her the moment she decided she wanted to be a star just like her mother, and the show is a story they all wrote together – of dreaming big and staying true to herself.

And in another moment, it’s just the two of them. Their children have grown up and moved on. They lay together in their bedroom as the morning comes and goes, most of their worries now long forgotten. The lines on their faces tell stories of the years they spent in a whirlwind of opportunities and dreams fulfilled. But now they are content to let others dream as they let time take the lead.

At the sound of the final note of his song – a soft gentle one barely audible – Jemma returned to herself to find the rest of the audience sitting on the edges of their seats, just as captivated as she. When Fitz moved his hand into his lap, the club ignited into thunderous applause. He waved them off with his hand, but then turned to find her eyes in the crowd.

The look on his face was one Jemma had never seen before. Sure, she’d seen him happy – giddy, even. But this was something else. The soft blue eyes that found hers for the first time in a different club, capturing her completely, were now filled with something beyond joy. And as his smile widened beyond belief, she knew he was seeing something similar behind her own eyes.

As the band returned to the stage and brought the crowd to their feet with the start of an upbeat number, Fitz stepped down the short set of stairs, his eyes never leaving Jemma’s. Springing from her chair, she met him halfway, pushing past a few guests in the crowd and flinging her arms around his neck. Despite the fast tempo of the melody and the roar of the crowd, everything seemed to melt away as they took each other in. Wrapping themselves in each other’s warmth, all they could do was slowly sway, too overcome by the relief of finally being together once again and the comfort of knowing there was so much more of their story to come.

For Jemma, there would always be fantasies – dreams to pursue and countless what if’s. But how she felt in her fantasies was nothing compared to what she felt right now – the joy of standing next to the person she couldn’t see herself without, her partner and best friend. They were two people who dreamt of a life barely reachable. The club was magnificent, her acting roles were life-changing, but this.

This is what she lived for.

Moments like this were far from perfect. But those moments – in all of their complexities and imperfections – belonged only to the two of them.

And that was enough to send them soaring.

#fitzsimmons #thefitzsimmonsnetwork #engineering vs biochem #fsfic #aosficnet #team engineering #agents of shield #leo fitz #jemma simmons #fic #mine #Mel writes #multichapter* #La La Land AU #if you're worried about the film's ending... #I clearly changed it ;-)

[scriptmedic]

Scripty Saturday #3 (Part 2): Everything NOT Mrs. Scripty

Whew! You guys sure did like to send questions this week!

Let’s keep it rolling on in.....

Dog Questions

princessofharte said: HI AUNT SCRIPTY! I JUST WANTED TO SAY THANK YOU AND ASK YOUR OPINION ON SHIH TZUS. What is your opinion on shih tzus?            

My opinion of Shih Tzus is that they, like most dogs, are Good Dogs and deserve Pets and Treats.

And you are most welcome for whatever it is I did!!!

pomrania said: Scripty Saturday: re dogs, do you prefer floof or curls or short coat? Large enough to hug, or small enough to fit in your lap? Affectionate or standoffish?

I tend to like bigger, sweeter, affectionate dogs, though coat doesn’t matter so much to me. My ideal dog would be a hypoallergenic pibble, because they’re SO CUTE AND SWEET, but I have the immune system of the Devil himself, so I’m allergic to pretty much everypuppy. I would also love to have a mastiff who thinks she’s a lapdog and just glompfs on me, because that is basically my idea of heaven.

Scripty and Mrs. Scripty and Pupper make 3. Except between my allergies and my landlord, pupper has to be an imaginary pupper.

(By the way, Mrs. Scripty is OBSESSED with the name Steve for a dog. Any dog. Doesn’t matter what type, what sex, she will name our first dog Steve or die trying.)

Anonymous said: What's the silliest thing your dog has ever done? Have you ever considered getting a different pet (fish, cat, bird, turtle, lizard)?

Sorry to say, anon, Steve the Pibble is only in our imagination. (See? She’s even got ME calling it Steve!!).

I grew up with cats and dogs--my first resuscitation attempt was on a dog I considered my brother, and I only recently had to put down my other (feline) brother, a cat who lived to be old enough to drink.

But the dog, when he was around, was named Pirate, because he would anchor himself in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room in order to trip his humans and acquire Noms(TM), which are basically a dog’s sole purpose in life. So that was pretty cute.

Lizards and birds just don’t do it for me, I’m afraid, I think I’m a mammals kind of girl. Though the trend towards cute sneks on Tumblr is making me pretty happy.

Miscellaneous Questions

pomrania said:   Scripty Saturday questions: What superpower do you think would be the most useful for particularly your work? (Like, not medics in general, but you with the particular stuff you get frustrated with or whatnot.) What superpower would you like to have, unrelated to work?

Oooooh, this is a good one, Pomrania!

I think for work something akin to X-ray (really closer to CT) vision would be very helpful when it comes to making diagnoses, but if we can step away from the superhero archetype ones for just a moment, I’d really like the ability to lay on hands and heal. I think that would be stupendous.

As for non-work related ones... I’m not entirely sure. I’ve learned in life that doing anything different, and particularly if you do something especially well, it automatically makes a kind of loneliness, which is something I already feel too much of.

I really wish that I had more friends, and had basically anything in the way of social skills at all. To me, people who can socially adapt and fit in and not push all the time are the equivalent of superheroes, so I’ll go with that one.

starlightswitch said: This might be a Scripty Saturday question? It's definitely not a consult. The question is: In your answer to the bloody cough question, you referenced "the most estoteric medical show ever written" as if you had a particular show in mind. If so, what was it?

I was indeed referencing House MD. Because it’s the most esoteric, randomly.... medically strange show going. It’s so far past the level of comprehension of even most medical providers (in terms of the medicine) that I’m not entirely sure how on or off accuracy most of it is. So I can still watch it, shrug my shoulders and go “sure, magic medicine” while still actually enjoying the show, especially the first couple of seasons.

But it is indeed the most esoteric medical show that possibly will ever air.

firecoloredwater said: For Scripty Saturday: what's your favorite place/time to write?  And when/where do you actually do most of your writing?

It’s interesting, because I don’t have a solid answer for this. I haven’t yet found my optimal workflow. (Even when I was answering a dozen asks a day, I hadn’t found it yet).

I work at the endcaps of the day--either in the morning or at night after Mrs. Scripty has gone to bed. It makes it easy for me to be alone with my thoughts. So for example, I’m writing this at 4am (I got up about 9 today, and will again tomorrow).

Mornings are hard because the ScriptX Family Discord chat is always very active, and it makes it hard to get work done, because there’s constantly something going on: something to celebrate, a troll to roll our eyes at, a Bucky to d’awww over. But when I can shut that out I get a TON of work done.

I definitely do not ever write in an ambulance. NOPE. Neverrrr. (Actually this is basically true; it’s been so godsdamned busy I barely get time to think let alone write...)

Anonymous said: For the Saturday thing: What are some life experiences that you're glad you learned/lived through?

Ooooooof. This is such a hard question. It’s a very worthy one, but it’s hard.

My first real relationship came at a truly vital time in me figuring myself out, and I’ll always love and cherish my ex for supporting me in that timeframe. He’s a great guy, and I’m so excited because he’s getting married soon! (He was at my wedding too, so relax, Mrs. Scripty likes him also). I’m  glad I lived through our relationship.

I.... so much of my life has been bad, in a way that I don’t know how to justify? So I can’t say I’m glad I lived most of my life.

I’ve had a lot of depression, lots of suicidal ideation, some really rough patches with my family life,... Each individual piece of it is hard to swallow as “glad”, but together they’ve made me strong and resilient. And I’ve achieved a lot of what I’ve achieved in spite of them.

I’m really proud of my mom for the way she reacted when I came out, and I love her a lot. And I’m glad I came out, and chose to be myself and love who I love. It took so much time to get to that point, but that’s how I feel.

I’m glad I took a chance on a girl from across the country and let myself fall in love.

I’m really, truly glad that I dropped out of college. Both times, actually. Because it wasn’t right for me, because I wasn’t right for it, because it was deleterious to my mental health. Because I’ve done better than most of my friends who did finish college.

Here I am, a college dropout, but I’ve got the top certification in my field, I’m doing a fellowship no other paramedic has ever done before, I’ve got a good income and a wonderful, happy marriage, and a blog that’s taking off well beyond what I could have imagined or hoped for.

And in all that time, in all those nights of fear and loneliness... I’m glad I chose to live. Life has been so interesting these past.... 20+ years since the first time I mentioned suicide.

pomrania said: Scripty Saturday: what type of flower do you think looks the best, and what type of flower do you think smells the best?

The flowers that look best are the red and white roses my wife and I wore as pins on our wedding day (she wore a shirt and pants, I wore a dress), and the flowers that smell the best aren’t flowers at all, but the crook of her neck when we hugged for the first time as lady and wife.

I will always cherish that day.

Anonymous said: What's your favorite book? What do you like to write? Thank you for answering so many questions!            

My very absolute all-time favorite book is American Gods by @neil-gaiman.

As for writing... I write a lot of things.

Apparently I write, and am successful at, nonfiction work.

But in my original dreams of making it as a writer, it was always with fantasy and science fiction. Typically it’s lesbian urban fantasy (I wonder why), but I’ve experimented with crime/thriller type writing, sci-fi, and angel noir.

Then there’s culinary fairy tales for children, of which I wrote one story (which is really really good, actually, I’m proud of it, except I need to cut like 20% of it).

Blog and Writing Questions

Anonymous said: Scripty Saturday question: do you ever resent that the ScriptX family blew up and a whole bunch of others came from it? I remember at one point you said something like people making new ScriptX blogs was "fucking awful" or something, but now you guys all seem to be okay. I just am super grateful that you all exist, but I'm wondering if you ever don't like it?

First of all, I went back and checked. I never used the words “fucking awful”. I never even came close--I didn’t even use the word “awful”. This is a very open post about my feelings in the moment: http://scriptmedic.tumblr.com/post/154336495611/for-the-first-time-ever-ive-let-my-queue-run

So some of you are new to this blog, and won’t understand the question. I actually had someone tell me they wish they’d found the ScriptX blogs when they were younger, which made my heart go all twitterpated, because I’ve only been around for 3 months, and most of the other family members, for less than two.

For those who don’t know the story, the ScriptX Family did not spring out of the ground fully formed and cohesive and happy. When it started, it was kind of a mess.

Once upon a time it was just me. I started ScriptMedic, I answered questions, I was happy, I was healthy, I was fine.

Then about a month and a half in, along came Jess from @scriptlawyer​, who asked (very nicely) if she could start her blog with that naming convention. We talked, I was excited! My blog was having a baby! And so I said yes.

And then... came another. And another, and another, and they stopped asking first. By this time I had a couple thousand followers, almost a thousand posts, and I had busted my ass to get where I was.

So all of these blogs, cropping up, naming themselves after me, was... hard. It was complicated. They were nice, and wanted to do a good thing. But it was also my name, a thing I had built. They wouldn’t be naming themselves that if it wasn’t for me. And there was a lot of pride there--imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and I was inspiring all these people to help writers with everything.

But also it felt really disrespectful to piggyback on my name and not even drop me a line, in a lot of cases. It hurt.

I still call this time the Blitz, because I think there were something like 30 blogs in about 72 hours that cropped up before I finally started broadcasting PLEASE STOP MAKING SCRIPTX BLOGS all over the place.

And then I went back and organized. I talked to the bloggers. Some changed their names; many stay and are the family we know and love today. Some blogs were asked not to use the ScriptX moniker. Some changed for other reasons, and we miss them, like @sciencefic-to-fact (formerly ScriptPhysics) and ScriptGambling.

But out of this.... this chaos, this madness, rose the ScriptX Family. And it really is a family. Most of the blogs are involved in a BIG group chat on Discord (though some choose not to join in; we miss you in there, guys!!).

And I’m really proud of that family. We have content guidelines. We have ethics guidelines. We do cite sources and check facts, we don’t reblog fandom or give real-world advice. We do try to distill huge concepts in our fields down to what writers need, we don’t judge or yell at our audience (though sometimes we get trolls, and it gets hard not to).

We built an application process, and we’ve been able to be pretty strict about it. We’ve even started implementing a mentoring program to make sure that new blogs are up to snuff on quality and technical prowess.

And that means that the blogs we do approve have been really high quality, solid, writer-oriented information blogs.

So there was a period where I felt super stressed by them, bombarded and overwhelmed and scared and angry, but what’s come of it is this tremendous resource for all of us. And it’s just... it’s amazing. And I’m so, so proud of all of them!

If the word resent comes up now, I think it’s only about people who have the audacity to just go “I’m Script.... Whatever!” without talking to us first, and I can only think of only a couple of blogs that have started up without talking to us. In those cases we’ve reached out and been like “hey, there’s a system in place for this if you want to be a part of the family”.

Because the truth is, a lot of people want to start these blogs because they’re trendy, not because they have a passion for educating  writers. And behind the scenes we’ve bounced some blogs that weren’t there, or were obviously there to poach our audience and not for actual writing advice. We’ve had some near-misses on things that could have been disasters.

But as for the Family? I love them. I’m glad I met them, and I’m so, so proud to call them my second family.

Whew! That’s it for January’s Scripty Saturday!!

Thanks so much to everyone who wrote in!! We’ll see you back here in February!

Do you want to see this again every Saturday? Did you have a follow-up question? Throw them in the comments or drop me an ask!

xoxo, Aunt Scripty