i cannot even begin to fathom
just what i did
to be lucky enough
to not only exist in the same universe
at the same time
to have the stars align
so you and i could meet
sometimes i think that you and i came from the same star
that science or fate or god made it possible
for our atoms to be together when the universe was made
and those atoms joined together in creation of hot gasses and twinkling lights
there truly is a red string of fate
and we didn’t have to be lovers in order for us to be bonded together
no matter how badly our strings have gotten tangled or knotted or frayed
they never broke
never tore apart
maybe i don’t know
maybe i don’t have the answers
maybe there are no answers
maybe you and i were just meant to be in each other’s lives
and it’s just as simple as that
whatever the reasoning is
i just know that i am so
that you and i
you and i
Anonymous said: I was wondering if you could write something for me? Based on a friendship. My bestfriend and I need a poem. Like we’ve been through a lot. So I was hoping you could help me out with it?
…y’know, you might not be coming after me directly anymore because you’ve realized it’s a futile endeavor liable to get you burned, and whatever, I really don’t care what lies you choose to believe and spread at this point.
But if I ever find out again that you are attacking innocent bystanders to this whole fiasco you’ve created to enable your personal victim fantasies, using slurs—you manipulative, abusive, lying, hypocrites—you will soon find that there’s more at the end of my rope than a frayed knot.
Now, I will say this nicely, one last time. Leave. My. Friends. Alone.
“And you’re sure it’s okay?” Marinette asked, following Adrien out of the car toward the tents in the park.
He slowed down and caught her hand. "Yeah. I asked the photographer and the coordinator. They both said it would be fine, as long as you stay out of the way.“ He smiled. Just shadow me for my prep and you’ll get to see all the basics. Then you can sit back and watch the shoot itself.”
“Okay.” She grinned. "I’m just a little excited. And I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble.“
The coordinator was a well-dressed woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun. "Adrien, love, it’s so good to see you.”
“It’s always nice to shoot with you, Camile,” he said, that bright happy smile on his face.
She glanced down at their joined hands and looked at Marinette. "Ahh. And you must be Miss Dupain-Cheng.“
Marinette let go of Adrien to extend her hand. "It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You can call me Camile,” the woman said, shaking Marinette’s hand warmly. "I hear you’re a designer.“
Adrien snorted. "She’s won a couple of my father’s contests. She’s not your typical amateur.”
“I really appreciate you letting me watch today,” Marinette said, hoping her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. "I think I could learn a lot from seeing this side of the process.“
Camile smiled. "If you have questions, please let me know. It’s always nice to help someone who’s really interested in the field.” She looked at Adrien. "Your clothes are in your tent. Do you want an assistant or…?“ She gestured to Marinette.
"Oh. I’d be happy to help,” she said quickly.
Camile nodded. "Perfect.“ She threw Adrien a wink before turning back to talk to the photographer.
Fandom: SKAM Ship: Chris x Eva Summary: Chris deals with regret. ao3
skam month, fanfiction week, day 2: angst
Chris didn’t so much believe in regret.
Fuck-ups, yes. Mistakes, sure. But regret and shame and the whole nine, brooding yards—that just seemed like a waste of thought. Life happened. Fuck-ups ensued. Laugh it off, take a shot, move on. If you burned a bridge, you found a bag of marshmallows and toasted a s’more on the flames.
But, as he stood against the Halloween decorations hanging on Noora’s living room wall—William’s too, now—with his best friend, Chris couldn’t untie the knots fraying in his stomach, no matter how many beers he drank.
He had a half-empty bottle sweating in his hand. Across the room, Jonas had his hand on the bare sliver of skin at Eva’s waist. Chris might not put much stock in regret, but he did believe in winners and losers.
Part 1Part 2Part 4 Part 5Part 6End Word count: 2,373 Warnings: a couple of swear words, mention and brief description of a panic attack (Tags at the end)
Bucky had been standing at the head of the bench press spotting Steve for the past twenty minutes, only half concentrating on his friend. Steve could handle dropping the weight on himself, probably. His mind was still reeling from the conversation he had had with you last night on the balcony. He had woken up at two in the morning and had ran into you in the kitchen when he got up to make himself some green tea to calm himself down.
He figured Sam had been exaggerating, but dammit the tea actually helped.
Bucky knew that as much as you liked to talk, you also treasured your peace and so he hadn’t expected for your eyes to widen momentarily as you took in his panic-stricken form. You had been in the compound for … almost a month? And yet it was so easy to open up to you.
‘What are you thinking so hard about?’ Steve panted.
Bucky blinked, losing his staring contest with the wall opposite. ‘Nothing,’
‘If you wanted to ask her out, she’d say yes.’
Bucky snapped out of his daze, looking down at his friend, but stayed calm. Steve was a dork but he was also observant, especially when it came to his teammates. Bucky wasn’t surprised that Steve picked up on his crush.
‘I don’t think so,’ Bucky replied, abandoning Steve on the bench and hooking up a punching bag at the opposite end of the room. ‘She’s just being friendly.’
Steve smirked. ‘She doesn’t take the time to coax everyone back to sleep, Buck.’
Bucky blushed furiously.
‘How’d you know about that? And she doesn’t do it all the time, just happened like twice.’
‘Still, that’s more than enough.’
Bucky tried to suppress his broad smile. ‘You know she told me to screw Hydra,’ he chuckled.
‘What?’ Steve laughed breathlessly, resting the bar in place and sitting up.
‘No seriously, it was awesome,’ Bucky said. ‘I mean, I appreciate everyone’s patience but I think I needed to hear that.’
‘You’re only proving my point,’ Steve said knowingly.
Bucky made a face and shook his head. ‘We’re friends, Steve, but I don’t think she’d want someone with so much baggage. Relationships are different.’
‘You’re just talking hypothetically,’ Steve argued.
‘Steve, she -’ Bucky scowled. ‘She’s like the sun, y’know? She’s so good at everything I’m terrible at and she’s so smart and she’s gonna graduate from college and have this fancy high-tech job and fucking live this life that I can’t be a part of because I’m still trying to learn what the fuck this century even is!’
Steve surveyed his friend as he voiced all his thoughts that had been accumulating for the past few weeks; maybe longer, maybe since he had come out of cryo in Wakanda. It wasn’t news to Bucky that his experience under Hydra was an unfortunate, horrific chain of events that were never a result of his own doing, and although Bucky was still healing from his past he didn’t quite need to be comforted as much on the issue. It was that Bucky felt like he was falling behind; it was combination of his PTSD and his frustration with his PTSD, and the incredibly rational fear of his captors and the organisation they were part of. Bucky was just scared.
‘I really like her but I like being her friend and I don’t … I don’t want to push my luck.’
After three weeks of living in the compound, the butterflies in your stomach were getting increasingly harder to ignore. Around you, Bucky completely eased into this charming, dorky, guy whose smile could reverse climate change and outshine the sun.
The worst part was that there was a completely rational part of you that was content with being Bucky’s friend - not only that, but that part of you knew that it was the best thing for him. The man was only just starting to adjust to life here after seventy years spent as a weapon, two spent alone trying to salvage bits and pieces of himself to construct a new level of normalcy, and then ending up in the middle of a crisis resulting in being sent back into cryo. Bucky didn’t need a love life, he needed a friend (besides mum-friend Steve) and you were more than happy to fill in the blanks.
And then there was the irrational, irritating part of you that wanted nothing more than for Bucky to grab you and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe. You wanted everything you had with him now - the times when you taught him basic mechanics, binge-watching Parks and Recreation after everyone had gone to sleep, midnight pizzas, and drag races (him in one of Stark’s flashy cars, you on your first born child-slash-motorcycle) … You just wanted to kiss him while you did all of that.
And of course there was the one most poignant worst moment of your life where you and Bucky were driving together just to get some time away from the bustle of the compound; the sun was setting, highlighting the sky with brilliant fiery oranges and golden hues and the light kissed his skin and made his eyes glow like stars or water when the moonlight hit it just right. There was a comfortable silence in the car, save for the music coming from your phone which you had plugged into the speaker system. You were passing through the older, more crooked part of Brooklyn when Bucky knitted his eyebrows and said -
‘I think I used to live here.’
You turned in the passenger’s seat to face him. ‘Really? How can you tell?’
Bucky turned the car back around, circling around the block. ‘There’s gotta be a street sign somewhere,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Yeah, look!’
Bucky ended up parking the car on the pavement. You both got out and he lead you down between two decrepit apartment buildings; the fire escapes were rusting, black paint chipped, and the brickwork was starting to crumble. Still, with the way the setting sun was hitting the buildings and casting long shadows from the window panes across the walls, it was picturesque.
Bucky made a point of walking next to you, so close that your arms brushed together. He had his hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket.
‘It used to be kinda sketchy,’ he admitted by means of explanation. ‘But Steve and I lived close to each other and there was this lady who lived with her niece next door and they were always real nice to us. Steve and I used to babysit her niece in the summer while she was at work …’
You smiled at him as he spoke endlessly about his days here. It was the first time he had told you memories of his past before Bucharest, before Hydra, before that period of time where his lifeline knotted and frayed and unraveled. You knew that Steve must have been aiding Bucky in regaining his memories and that there was a time where Bucky held no emotion for the things that he remembered while he tried to place himself back in some sort of timeline, but right here you sensed that Bucky knew he had reasons to be happy. It was all you could ever really ask for, all you realised you wanted for him.
Bucky broke off his sentence, looking at you and realising you had been staring at him. ‘And, yeah, that’s - that’s how we …’
You smirked at his blush and looked away.
‘What?’ Bucky ducked his head down, smiling nervously, that animated glint still prevalent in his eyes.
You shook your head lightly unable to stifle your smile. ‘Your Brooklyn accent was getting really strong there.’
Living in the compound also meant picking up on the habits of your housemates, meaning you soon found that your window of solidarity rested between one and five o’clock in the morning. No one slept before eleven; people would start to wake at five; no one slept after nine a.m. (except Wanda who, like you, appreciated the art of sleeping until the sun was high in the sky sometimes. You really liked Wanda); Between eleven at night and one in the morning, Sam, Natasha, and Bucky would be playing video games and binge-eating. You loved the team but you also loved being alone sometimes.
Which was why you were surprised to see Steve in the kitchen at two in the morning. If not asleep, he should have been in the gym.
‘Shouldn’t you be beating the living sand out of a punching bag, Cap?’ you asked as you dug around in the fridge looking for last night’s leftovers. You’d be damned if Sam got to the vegetable lo mein before you did.
‘I wanted to talk to you,’ he replied.
‘How’d you know I’d be awake?’
‘FRIDAY monitors our activity,’ said Steve smiling somewhat tauntingly; his arms were folded over his chest. ‘I figured a genius such as yourself would know that over a hundred year old man.’
You rolled your eyes. ‘What do you want, Steve?’
‘What’s going on between you and Bucky?’
You choked on the mouthful of noodles, eyes streaming as you took several sips of water to calm yourself down.
‘What?’ you coughed.
Steve seemed completely unphased by your shock. He didn’t say anything.
‘Me … Bucky and I - no, there’s nothing,’ you said trying to sound calm.
Steve stayed quiet.
‘I’m serious,’ you emphasised.
You scoffed. ‘I think Barnes is a little too old for me, Cap, no thanks. We’re just friends, I’m catching him up on something called the twenty-first century, mother, so - I don’t think so.’
There was another beat of silence where your heartbeat pounded in your ears and blood crept up your neck, a blush colouring your cheeks.
Steve quirked an eyebrow and smiled. ‘He’s the same way.’
You paused. ‘What?’
‘He likes you.’
You shook your head and smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘I know that relationships work a little differently now but you’re reading too much into this, Cap. Bucky and I are friends.’
‘I haven’t seen him like this - ever,’ Steve added. ‘Even when we were in high school, Bucky was never this carefree.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Steve,’ you said firmly. ‘I don’t even like him, I have the emotional range of a grape.’
‘That’s not true.’ The bastard didn’t even acknowledge your grape comment.
‘Steve, I’m not some saving grace that’s gonna get Bucky out of whatever pit he’s in.’
‘That’s the point though, that’s why he likes you,’ Steve implored. ‘Bucky’s been through hell and all he wants is to move on from that. Stark and Natasha thought it best to throw him into missions to get his mind focused but you’re grounding him. I don’t wanna sound dramatic -’
‘You are dramatic, Captain I-Don’t-Need-A-Parachute,’ you grumbled.
‘But you’re basically giving Bucky a reason to be happy here.’
‘Anyone who makes that guy a new arm would,’ you muttered. ‘And that doesn’t mean that he feels anything for me.’
‘You don’t see the way he looks at you,’ Steve argued, ‘and he’s too shy to say anything.’
You stared at him, speechless, with your arms folded, your snack abandoned on the kitchen counter. How does he look at me? The question was on the tip of your tongue but …
‘Bucky’s nice and all, Steve, but I don’t think he’s interested,’ you mumbled. ‘Now,’ you cleared your throat, ‘if you aren’t going to damage Tony’s gym equipment, then I will.’
On your way out, you passed through the dead silent corridor, pausing when you noticed that Bucky’s door was ajar. Approaching cautiously, with a stealth Natasha would be proud of, you peered through the gap.
Bucky was sitting on the edge of his bed hunched forward with his head in his hands breathing raggedly; Natasha was sitting next to him, close but not touching. You could hear her murmuring words you couldn’t understand - she was speaking in Russian. You remembered Natasha once saying that she wanted to give Bucky some positive affiliation with fragments of his past, including the language of Bucky’s days as the Winter Soldier.
Bucky was rubbing his hand harshly over his heart.His eyes were screwed shut.
Natasha must have sensed you were there because she looked up and beckoned you closer; as if pulled by an invisible string, you complied and sat by Bucky’s left side.
‘Barnes, you okay?’ you breathed, brow creasing when he nodded without looking up.
‘Breathe through your nose,’ you said in the same tone. ‘Nice and slow.’ You did the motions with him. ‘In … and out …’
Bucky repeated your instructions and you could tell by the gradual ease in his shoulders that his breathing was starting to regulate.
‘What happened?’ you murmured to Natasha.
She bit her lip. ‘Panic attack,’ she replied almost silently.
You looked briefly around you, eyes falling on a glass of water, full to the brim.
‘Is this …?’
‘Yeah,’ Nat replied. ‘I’ll leave you guys alone.’
You knelt down in front of him, one hand cupping the back of his neck and rubbing it gently with your thumb, and the other squeezing his knee. Keeping one hand on his neck, you brought the other to his chin, prompting him to look at you. His eyes were circled with darkening shadows and were streaming with fatigue. You smiled softly at him, brushing the hair at the nape of his neck soothingly.
‘I-it was -’
‘You’re fine,’ you hushed. ‘Breathe now, tell me later, yeah? We’ve got all the time in the world,’ you smirked gently.
It was like clockwork the way you were with him.
‘C’mon,’ you prompted, handing him the glass. ‘Small sips.’
You could feel another set of eyes boring into you and you shifted your eyes past Bucky’s figure and saw Steve watching you with a raised brow and a knowing smirk - past the despondency he felt for his friend - and then retreating to his room.
You ignored him, pushing his words to the back of your mind. You didn’t need his assumptions that Bucky felt anything non-platonic towards you; right now you just wanted Bucky to get his breathing back to normal and get some sleep.
All episodes and worldbuilding details are as canon as possible except:
“The Fairy Beginning” - There is literally no helping this one. I cannot in good conscience let the Fairy Academy be such a Harry Potter reference in my works. Why is it such a Harry Potter reference all of a sudden when up until now it’s been portrayed as more of a military academy? Why does Cosmo act like this is the first time he’s ever seen Wanda? (Okay, that one I can actually forgive, because it’s Cosmo). Why is Jorgen the same age as Cosmo when he was way older in “This Is Your Wish”? Why does the principal act like everyone at the Academy is there to become a godparent? If they are, then why is Cupid there? Why do the teachers act like their students have never learned to grant wishes or shapeshift or otherwise use magic in their entire lives until reaching the Academy when Poof can do all those things as a child? Why does that one fairy disguise himself as Timmy when Timmy won’t be born for millennia? (Again, I can excuse that as a silly joke, but it’s still worth scratching your head over when we’re supposedly watching Cosmo’s exact memories). Speaking of which, how did Cosmo manage to hang onto the same wand with his memory chip in it all the way since his Academy days? Why is Juandissimo so out of character? Why does Wanda reject him for Cosmo if this is the first time they’ve met when we know she dated him when they were younger? Especially because she still sort of has a crush on him nowadays. Why do godparents attend only one year of schooling before they supposedly learn all they know to be a godparent? Why are Poof’s classmates attending the Academy with Cosmo and Wanda’s age group? I don’t even know where to start fixing these issues.
“Let Sleeper Dogs Lie” - As referenced in “Blame”, I let Crocker keep Sparky as a kid, although I aged him up from puppyhood to keep him in line with Fairy aging abilities. The problem I had with this episode was Crocker losing Cosmo and Wanda in a different way than stated in the much better known episode, “The Secret Origins of Denzel Crocker”. None of the events of this episode with the tracking chip are canon.
“Wishology” - Reluctantly accepted as canon, except I ignore all the stuff I don’t like. Mostly nitpicky stuff like “Star Wars” references and tons of characters being OOC in my eyes. It doesn’t really matter, because everyone’s memory got erased anyway. I actually just finished rewatching “Wishology” because I wanted to make some references to it in “This Is Halloween” and I had to make sure everything was in order. Fun times ahead. Fun times.
Uh… I talked about other least favorite episodes of mine HERE.
Some episodes have to be more tweaked than others to fit in with my writing style (We turn a blind eye to a few instances of cartoon craziness). I try to balance between keeping as close to canon as possible while still being realistic to the constraints of real world logic where I can be.
Basically, if there’s some sort of error or inconsistency in the show, I do my best to account for it and find any way to fit it into my worldbuilding. Only if I truly can find no way to make it work and have to give up do I wave it away. I don’t like doing that, but sometimes it’s necessary.
It’s also worth pointing out that despite the fact that Chester wished at the end of “Fairy Idol” for everything to go back to the way it was before he found Norm’s lamp, I considered Fairy Idol a huge event, especially for writing Norm. Timmy and all the Fairies / Pixies / Anti-Fairies / Norm still remember it. Humans forgot.
.01% canon. Ain’t nothing there worth touching except that I turned Abracabrium into the power source that gives us magical batteries.
At the end of that comic, Vicky ended up serving dinner to all the Learnatorium kids, which I thought had awesome potential. I like the idea that Flappy ruled the world for several days before Timmy managed to take him and the Pixies down.
There’s no real reason not to consider “Cower Hour!” canon if we assume Jimmy and Timmy remain good friends after parting ways at the end of Power Hour. One detail I did steal from it was the annual Fairy Reunion-
It just cracks me up that Wanda specifically mentions sprites, pixies, and brownies all show up. Of all the magical creatures I could have chosen to make the scapegoat lower class, I picked brownies and only later found Wanda going out of her way to mention them in this comic. Hilarious. We’ll actually see a Fairy Reunion very soon in Origin of the Pixies. Come on, they have to go! Wanda implied they’re regulars, and we can’t make a liar out of her now.
As for the rest of the comics, I don’t necessarily consider them canon, but sometimes I reference them. For example, I drew some ideas about Anti-Fairies from “Will the Real Cosmo Please Stand Up?”
- even though I don’t consider the actual events of the comic canon, because Anti-Cosmo being Timmy’s godparent (even temporarily) is just a messy subject.
I’ve read a lot (if not all) of them, and sometimes I make one-line throwback jokes to them in my works, but… yep. I would suggest you don’t assume the comics are canon with my works. I just refer to them for ideas sometimes.
Events aren’t canon, but some ideas are. Really the only game I’m at all familiar with is “Clash With the Anti-World”, where I got the anti-pixies and the fact that there’s a cave of gingerbread between Pixie World and part of Fairy World.
Look at them they fight with party blowers I love them.
Before I go further, I’d like to claim the soil that I stand on, so I can dig as deep as I can down into it. I am not a representative for a specific kind of experience; I am presentative of it. That is, I’m doing it right now, in front of you, and in front of myself. I am a proponent of aporia: thinking with holes in it, thinking that contradicts itself, that circles back, that reveals the knotting and fraying and re-weaving of an argument so that it contains all of its mistakes, so that you can see them, and so that I won’t forget how I got here. My address is from an affirmation of messiness, a testimony of and to disorder, an honouring of incomplete-ness. Anne Boyer writes: “It’s not just our errors we become brave about, but our projects’—and our own—incompleteness.” So here I am, in transit.
You opened your eyes and instantly noticed the pain, it was everywhere. Every limb ached, every scratch was crimson and dried, every bruise was black and you couldn’t remember how you’d got there. You looked about to your surroundings, you were in what seemed to be some abandoned warehouse. It was quite small and empty, with one long table in the corner. On it was a towel with three bloodied blades wrapped up neatly inside. That was all. It was dark, but not so dark you couldn’t see to the other end. No one was there with you, not close anyway.
You untied your hands from the fraying knot and reached in your trouser pocket for your phone. You went straight to Sam’s number and called your brother. He picked up immediately.
“Y/N?! Y/N are you there?” He spoke straight away, his voice rich with worry.
“Sammy?” You wince, almost coughing as you realised how hoarse your voice sounded.
“Y/N, are you okay? Sweetie, what happened?”
“I don’t know, Sam. I can’t remember anything.” You bring your hand up to your mouth as you choke back a sob, suddenly overcome with fright.
“Okay, don’t worry me and Dean are coming, do you know where you are?” He spoke calmly but his voice was shaking.
“I think I’m in an old warehouse, I can hear a lot of cars, it’s along a main road-” You stop quickly as a sudden jolt of pain surged through your arm and almost drop the phone.
“Okay, I think I know where you are. Stay strong for me, bug. Can you do that?” He reassured you, big brother mode kicking in.
“Yeah, okay.” You manage before a loud bleep sounded and your phone hung up, followed by a blank screen and the words Low Battery.
You groaned and heaved yourself up from the floor, you were a Winchester after all, you weren’t gonna wait around. You limped over to the table and took a closer look at the blades. All three of them had demonic markings covering the side, half covered by the blood that was yet to completely dry. It seeped onto your fingertips and you sighed at the addition of blood.
A loud noise sounded followed by a crash and you froze, reaching for one of the knives, you armed yourself and edged towards the source of the noise. Grimacing silently in pain as not to cry out. You turned the corner in one swift motion, holding the knife in front of yourself stiffly. You were greeted with a similar looking person, only they had a gun. You dropped the weapon to your side, realising it was Dean, your eldest brother. He did the same and brought you into a hug, resting his chin on your head and holding you close. “Thank God.” He mumbled to himself.
You looked past his shoulder to see Sam, he arrived in a similar poise to Dean and also lowered his gun at the sight of you. When Dean let you go it was Sam’s turn to hug you, he was much more gentle than usual and let go to examine your wounds. “You okay?” He asked.
You hesitated before changing the subject “Do you guys know what happened?”
Sam frowned at your avoidance of the question but answered none the less: “Not a clue, you went missing for a week and then I got your call.”
“Demons.” Dean declared, he then looked you up and down as though you were about to smash to pieces any second. Which wasn’t far from the truth. With all the blood loss you lost your balance and nearly passed out, the room swaying momentarily. Sam rushed to your side and held your shoulders firmly, keeping you upright, he looked straight at you with concern.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He frowned.
“Yeah, I’m- I’m fine.” You lied, changing the subject again.
“They left these blades, there’s two more at the table.” You offered, holding up the knife. Dean took the knife from your grasp and inspected it before speaking.
“Well then, let’s track these bastards and give them what they deserve.”
Requested by anon
Hey! Can I make a request, where the reader is the youngest winchester and she randomly goes missing. A few days pass and she finally calls the boys not knowing where she is or what happened? They find her and she’s all bloody and banged up! Thanks:p
Np ;) Thanks for requesting!
A piece of yarn walks into a bar and
orders a beer, but the bartender snarls, “We don’t serve your kind
here!”. The yarn is forced to leave. While sitting on the curb feeling
sorry for himself, the yarn is suddenly hit with a brilliant idea.
Working quickly, he ties himself into a knot and unravels his ends.
Taking a deep breath, the yarn marches back into the bar and orders a
beer.“Hey!” says the bartender. “Ain’t you that piece of yarn I just
threw outta here?”“Nope,” replies the yarn, “I’m a frayed knot.”