and here's all the wonderful things

I Can’t Remember (Part 3)

Summary: A frat!calum fic about frat boy Calum and sorority girl Y/N who are bitter rivals but end up waking up next to each other one morning after a drunken night of shenanigans and have to figure out what happened before anyone finds out.

Okay so y'all did a really magical and wonderful thing and got part 2 to 100 notes in less than 12 hours (how idk) so here’s part 3 for y'all! 

You can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here!

Once again, the 4th and final part will be posted when this post reaches 100 notes! Hope you guys like it! I think this was my favorite section to write btw 

Words: 2414

Warnings: just language!

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“So you’re positive this is the right place?” you asked Calum. You had received a text from him saying he knew where you guys went after the party so you had rushed to meet up with him and were now standing in front of Uncle Bob’s Family Diner.

“For the hundredth time, yes Y/N.” Calum replied annoyed.

“Well, I’m just checking.” you countered.

“This isn’t the only diner downtown you know.” you said.

“I know, but it is the only diner that the fraternity ever goes to so it would only make sense if this is the one we went to last night.” Calum explained as he walked through the diner doors, walking in first and letting the door partially close in front of your face. You scoffed at his actions and followed him in. You were immediately greeted by the amazing smell of burgers being grilled and a friendly waitress behind the counter.

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paranormal--prince  asked:

As I am fairly new to divination and such I was wondering if there were any tips you could offer to make learning easier? Such as what to research, ect. If thats alright.. Thank you! 🔮🃏✌🏻🃏🔮

Sure thing! I suggest researching all the types of divination there are and finding which one you’d like to try first. Pendulums are super easy since they’re simple yes/no questions and you can use anything tied on a string as a pendulum, so I suggest starting off with that.

Find what calls to you most and give it a go. Here’s some info for ya!

[Types of Divination]

[Types of Divination]

[Stone Divination]

[Divination: Pendulum]

[Pendulum: How To]

an update

I took a hiatus from this account due to many things such as mental health and my past partner and I ending things, it affected me heavily and I haven’t been able to age regress. Today is the first day I allowed myself to, and I feel more in touch with myself finally. I’m sorry for being non existent, but I’m going to post regularly again.

Side note, Thank you so much for almost 9k, I would’ve never dreamed of it! 💕 You all are wonderful individuals and I’m always here if any of you need it. You are incredible and you matter. 💖

anonymous asked:

Do you take requests at all? I'm kind of new here and your comissions aren’t open so I was just wondering if you do. (I apologize if this has already been asked before, or if this is something you get a lot. It's not my intention to annoy you or say your art isn't worth paying for.) Sorry for the verbal diarrhea as well, I'm not the best at talking to people ;u;

It’s alright! i take suggestions for things i like(o/verwatch, ocs, d/oroheodoro, etc), but there’s no guarantee i’ll do it! Depends on the inspiration/ complexity/ free time i have! i’ll be opening commissions again in late november/ december

Godtier Equius Who Misses His Nepeta Playlist

Gone Away - Safetysuit:

I think about you / And all of the times that we shared / And oh what a wonderful pair 

Woke Up Faded - Alan Walker + Jon Bellion Mashup:

Last night I woke the fuck up / I realized I need you here, as desperate as that sounds

Quiet - Lights:

I’m not yours, and you’re not mine / But we can sit and pass the time / No fighting wars, no ringing chimes / We’re just feeling fine

Where Did You Go? - Ashley Parker Angel:

I wish I could go back, / And be with you again. / ‘Cos there’s so many things I should have said, / When I had you listening.

Run to You - Pentatonix:

But your heart drifted off, like the land split by sea. / I tried to go, to follow, to kneel down at your feet.

I Wouldn’t Mind - He is We:

Carefully we’re placed for our destiny / You came and you took this heart, and set it free

[@tomsteapot, art found here]

I’ve never been high before and now that I am all I wanna do is sit here and eat my marshamllows and I am still wondering if okay so listen like thoughts and it sounds like thinking right? But thoughts are thinking is what I mean

then thinking is just thing-king

the king of things

so does that make ideas and thoughts lil baby princes and princesses and stuff?? Cuase thoughts are kings of things??

hakunayotatas  asked:

Hello Darling! May I be tagged into this wonderful world of crotch shots? 😄😄. I've republished/reposted, whatever the sharing thing is called for a couple of the posts, and I love this account. I was so excited to share them, I forgot to ask if it was okay to do so, and for that, I do apologize ❤❤.

Welcome darling and have all the fun you can carry!

-

On a more serious note…

I’ve come across quite a few new bloggers in the past couple of months, so here’s a little Tumblr guidance and a word of advice…

The sharing thing on Tumblr is called reblogging and that’s completely okay to do, the more the better! It’s just like the sharing option on Facebook, and it credits the source of the post and the person you reblogged it from.

Resposting is a very ugly thing on Tumblr, it’s when you steal other people’s content and post it as your own, taking the credit for it. 

Whatever it is that you did, you are forgiven, as it seemed to me you weren’t aware of what you were doing - if, indeed, what you did was reposting. But now that you know, I’d ask that you please avoid reposting, as it’s a very impolite thing to do, not only on Tumblr but on the internet as a whole. If you must take someone’s creation and post them somewhere else, a disclaimer is always nice, either crediting the content to the original poster (OP) or saying you it’s not yours and you don’t take credit for them.

If anyone needs any help to understand how Tumblr works or how to be a nice little blogger, feel welcome to send asks and clear their doubts. I might not know everything, but I have been here for over 6 years so…

9

February 9, 1981

Happy 36th Birthday precious snowflake !

how did red skull tie his shoesies?

with little nazis

why some teens believe everything the light of their internet-capable device touches is their kingdom

(‘what about that shadowy place over there?’

‘that’s pornhub, simba. you must never go there.’)

we all see plenty of posts about how adults on the internet need to remember that ‘kids’ (read: teens) are around and we must bear that in mind. and these posts are not entirely without merit. It’s important to keep conversations being held with teens carefully teen-friendly and appropriately distant. but the entirety of tumblr and twitter aren’t designed to cater to the safety of minors, and all the adult self-policing in the world won’t make all the kid-unfriendly content go away.

not all teens believe the internet should have gutter bumpers for them, either. but those that do have mystified me for a while … until I started to understand just how pervasive ‘helicopter parenting’ is in parts of American (and UK) culture, and how that affects the adolescents and young adults of today.

anonymous asked:

a thing worth noting re anyone who pulls the ‘you can’t blacklist on mobile, minors can still see it’ thing to say even tagged content isn’t okay: even if washboard didn’t exist, the tumblr app is rated 17/18+ in app stores. if people under that age get on the app and see things they shouldn’t, that’s on them and their parents/guardians, because they shouldn’t actually have been using the app in the first place.

agreed.

Honestly, though, the argument has moved past this in some ways. It’s not so much about whether or not teenagers are allowed to see this thing or that thing; it’s a well-known fact that most teenagers will break rules if it suits them and they can get away with it, and internet time is a prime space wherein they can do so.

What’s happened is that some adolescents - teens with parents that are overly protective and crowd their schedules with supervised activities, usually - have been taught by their life experience that:

  • all adults in their vicinity are there to protect them. and no wonder: the large majority of their contact with adults will have been as supervisors. Teachers, teacher assistants, instructors, daycare employees, and coaches are all adults who are paid to watch their activity and will be held responsible for the teen’s wellbeing by their guardians. when have they ever spent time with adults who aren’t in charge of making sure they’re safe?
  • any space they are in will be designed and maintained with their safety and comfort in mind (no matter how they obtained access). all spaces they enter are specifically meant to revolve around them: schools, sports, playgrounds, etc. The few occasions that they have to enter spaces not meant specifically for them (stores, etc) they are closely watched by adults and any harm they experience will be blamed on adults as a result.
  • if they can get access, it must be a space that’s safe for them. Having spent very little of their lives unsupervised, they have always been actively prevented from entering spaces that are not meant for them. They’ve never had to learn to set boundaries for themselves, so they naturally reason that if a boundary is not actively enforced, it must actually be a space they’re meant to enter.
  • they are not responsible for themselves. adults around them are responsible for them. if they come to harm, it’s because an adult wasn’t doing their job properly.

for teens of this mindset, ‘18+ ONLY’ warnings are merely a suggestion. Nobody is stopping them, after all, and it has never been their job to stop themselves. and if they can get access, the space is now theirs - because all spaces they are in are theirs. they couldn’t get there unless it was meant for them; that’s how it works, right?

This is why some teens are utterly flabbergasted by the idea that adults on the internet want to interact with fellow adults on an adult level in a space the teen can access. They’re here! That means the space is specifically meant to cater to them! The adults are automatically tasked with their safety! If teens do get into trouble, it’s because the adults weren’t responsible enough! that’s how this has always worked.

And when adults say ‘no, I do not take responsibility for your actions, the internet is full of things that may frighten or harm you and you must set your own boundaries,’ it’s distressing and scary all at once.

(no wonder so many people in their late teens/early 20′s want to still be considered as children.)

EDIT (10/9/2017, 4 days after originally posting): if you’re seeing this post in its original form, I hope you’ll read some of the excellent reblogs disagreeing with it. I think that this post kind of misses the point, which is: some of it may be emotionally invaded teens, but some is just that teens who grew up around this kind of behavior from their parents and adults have learned that they can use their minor status as a kind of power play and thus stand up to demand coddling in fandom spaces.

the culprit that I still maintain is the heart of the problem is the structure of sites like tumblr and twitter, which knocked down all barriers and moderation in fandom and made fandom feel chaotic and uncontrollable. we’re all looking for ways to control our experience in an environment of this kind; some find it by demanding others change what they produce, and others do it by curating what what they see of the production of others. this post doesn’t reflect that well, however, and I apologize for talking down to teenagers who have the agency to think for themselves no matter how their parents behaved. 

10

I wonder how much of the shadows under his eyes is from being emaciated and how much is from those nightmares…

Exploring a headcanon that Toshinori Yagi gets nightmares about multiple things… mostly Nana’s death. Thanks to @nymbix,  @shloominaty​, and @eatshitmineta for fabulous ideas <3

some pick-me-up prompts
  • “Hey, nerd! …go kick their butt.”
  • “You are loved.”
  • “Morning, lovely. I see you got out of bed… I’m proud of you.”
  • “You’re like fall… I love fall.”
  • “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy.”
  • “Picture yourself as a cat. Are you fluffy, hairless, big, small? What color are you? Well, no matter how you are, I got news buddy, all cats are cute. You’re cute. Your flaws are cute. Your personality is cute. Your mistakes? You guessed it, cute. Now, you wouldn’t treat a cat badly, right? You’d feed it, love it, support it, right? …‘cause if you wouldn’t then I’d whoop your ass, so you better love yourself no matter what, cutie.“ 
  • “Someone, someday, is going to write a sappy poem about you. And even though it’s super cliche, you will love it to pieces. You’re so adorable.”
  • “I hope you have a wonderful day.”
  • “You are your worst criticizer, seriously, all those things you’re worried about, they are absolutely fine.”
  • “Have you eaten in the last hours? Drank enough water? If not, do it now or I will… fight you… with my love…. yeah!”
  • “Keep going, love.”
  • “Look at you, god… you’re amazing.”
  • “It’s okay, you’re allowed to cry, just let it all out.”
  • “You’re strong and I care about you.”
  • “I love and support you.”
  • "You’re numb. You’re tired. You can’t seem to do anything. You want to give up. Well, I’m here to say, please. Just one more push, just one shower, one tiny task, one more day of looking after yourself. It’s hard, but I’ll be here on the other end, I’ll be there when you close your eyes tonight and you picture me, with the biggest smile on my face. One more, for me, for you.”

A voice told him where to go, and he went.

Maybe there was a time when the word of a disembodied voice would not have been enough. He doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t remember a lot of things. He remembers a lot of things. He remembers the wrong things.

He is slow. Maybe he wasn’t always slow, but he is slow now. There is no straight line between points. He considers every tree and every flower. He picks apples and catches lizards. He stares at the sky, and chases the stars.

He doesn’t speak much. He’s told he never did. He wonders if it was then what it is now, the way the words taste wrong and never fit on his tongue. Hylian and Hylian and Hylian but it never sounds right to the points of his ears. His first language is foreign and his accent is nowhere. He doesn’t sound like a hero. He doesn’t know what he sounds like, but he knows he doesn’t like it. It grates the way any wrong thing grates. He says nothing, and no one seems to mind.

He catches beetles, and stops to take pictures of fish.

In the burnt husk of a home, he finds a rusted shield. It didn’t do them much good, whoever they had been. He finds them all over, these floors without ceilings, these roofs without walls. He wonders, always: have I been here before? Did I know them, once? This house on the mountain, this cabin in the woods, would they have recognized me? Was this a name that fit on my tongue?

He learns to bake a cake, breaks rock salt and rubies from veins of ore in the earth.

He moves the sails of a raft with a Korok leaf, and he thinks: this should be easier. He wills the wind to move, but there is nothing. He looks out at the ocean and thinks: what might we find there? His raft is dead wood. He is alone.

He catches fairies in his hands, pink light and warmth and a faint ringing in his skin. They never complain. They never speak. He opens his hands to let them go, and they are the wrong color. The Great Fairy laughs, and it’s so much prettier than it used to be. Than it never was. He rolls glass bottles in his hands, but he doesn’t take them with him.

There is something restful in this. He can’t explain it, even if he had words to try. In his long slumber something inside him came unmoored, and he knows things he must not. He is tired. He knows this most of all. There is work to be done. There has always been work to be done.

He lights a fire, roasts a fish, picks at the flaky meat while it’s still hot enough to burn his fingertips.

He thinks of a sister he never had. He thinks of a grandmother he never had. Did he know his grandmother? In the Lost Woods he stares at the Deku Tree, and knows this is not home. There is a green-haired girl on the backs of his eyelids, and she sounds like three notes repeating.

He finds an ocarina made of wood, and runs his fingers over the holes. Three notes, repeating. He plays them, and nothing happens. He checks the shape of the moon and his reflection in the water. He plays three notes, different this time. There is nothing but an ache.

It sounds more like his voice than his voice ever did, and that hurts worse than silence.

He tries to remember Mipha. He wants to remember her most of all. They were friends, he is told. Close, he is told. He has nothing but fragments and a shirt that fits too well. When he tries to remember, he sees blue scales instead of red.

Zelda is Zelda is Zelda. She is the reference point around which the world turns. She is always Zelda, even when she isn’t. Her face is always her face. He is grateful and resentful in turns. There are so many people he would remember, if he could. Instead there is Zelda.

Ganon is not Ganon is not Ganon. He doesn’t know if Ganon has a face. He’s had so many faces. Was this ever a man, this manifestation of malice? He remembers eyes of gold, he remembers snouts. He recognizes the smell of him in burnt cloves and blood.

Fear is red lights and a blue glow. He knows these things were hope, once. He can’t remember it. He can’t remember seeing six metal legs and believing they would save him. Did he always know that it was helpless? It feels like he should have known.

The words are different, but the meaning is the same. He is procrastinating. If he needed an excuse, he would call it training. He would say they need every advantage. He would say they will only have one chance. No one asks for excuses. He says nothing.

Zelda has waited a hundred years. She waits, still.

She remembers a boy who never rushed her. She remembers, the way he does not, his silent patience while she found herself. While she took too long to find herself. She will wait for him to find himself, even if he takes too long. They may doom the world with their patience, but does the world not owe them this? There are so many worlds, and so few of them are kind. What could this world have been, if it had been kind? What might she have saved if it had not demanded saving?

She did not save the world. She will not save the world. She saved a single point of kindness who did not ask it from her. She will not ask it from him, but he may save her all the same. He is courageous. He is kind. Please, be careful.

He catches Koroks in durian trees, and chases dragons through canyons.

He jumps off a cliff to land in a stable, and no one there sees the hero he should be. He is no one, he is nothing. He is halfway to a beast, but they’re grateful for his help, when he offers it. He always offers it. He doesn’t know how not to.

His hands are calloused. Sometimes they bleed. He ties up his hair every morning, and does not stop. Swords fit so neatly in his hand. Sometimes he uses them to light fires or carve birds. It’s just easier. A sword is all he knows. He’s trying to be more. This might be beyond him.

Sometimes he growls when he’s angry. Sometimes he rips things apart with his teeth. Sometimes dogs follow him, but sometimes they whine. The shadows aren’t always unfriendly, and he feels them like fingers in his hair. There are eyes like fire in the mirrors at night, but he can only see them in the corners of his eyes.

The first time the Gerudo catch him, it was because he tried to scale their walls. Why did he think that would work? Urbosa would laugh if she knew.

He catches horses, but they’re never the right one. The hooves are wrong, the gait is wrong. They are never a part of him, an extension of his own legs. He rides across fields and they hesitate the way she never did. He whistles three notes, sometimes, but it never works.

He finds it, eventually. The place the voice told him about. Walls without a roof. Has he been here before? Surely he has. It’s night when he arrives. His footsteps make no sound. This is how he navigates the world, now, quiet as the sky. It’s easier this way. He kneels down to catch the latch on the chest, and when it opens, he cannot breathe.

He stares at it for a long time.

The moon is only the moon. His skin is still his own. Eventually, he breathes again.

He almost laughs.

He slides the mask onto his face.

heartbeat

a/n: this is just soft boys being soft tbh. i needed it so here it is- soft richie for the win! fluff/a little bit of angst

warnings: homophobia (very brief)

september

Eddie is in love. Richie is staring down him, dark curls enveloping his freckled face, thin lips pressed into a tight smile, adoration in his eyes, and Eddie is in love. Eddie wants to mumble something along the lines of:  “Get off me, trashmouth,” but the words cannot surpass his love-struck mouth. There is a certain look in Richie’s eyes that wills Eddie to stay quiet, hands pressed to hands, bodies flushed. He has never known a love like this before.

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shirabuwu  asked:

Letter - Mother Mother/victuuri for the ficlet prompt!!

i like this song omg! so cute 💖 have something related to the colours soulmate au that @witchfell and i came up with a while back!


Dear Soulmate,

My name is Viktor Nikiforov, and I am six years old. Your colours are blue in my head. I wonder if you are a baby. My teacher Miss Irina hepled me with my spelling. I wish you were older so we can play together. Do you like ice skating? I like ice skating. We can ice skate together when you get older!

Love,
Viktor (age 6, Russia)


Dear Soulmate,

I wonder what colour I am in your head. You are such a beautiful blue in mine, pulsing gently with all of your emotions. We have to meet in order to start hearing each other’s thoughts, so I can’t wait for us to meet so that we can talk secretly through our thoughts too. There’s so many things I’d like to tell you that I can’t tell my parents or Yakov. I would tell my dog, but he can’t talk back like you could. I bet you would like my dog. He is a puppy named Makkachin. I got him for my ninth birthday after I won a skating competition! It wasn’t much, just a regional competition. I want to be good enough for Nationals soon, though!

Love,
Viktor (age 9, Russia)


Dear Soulmate,

Are you skating, too? I can feel you flying in my head somehow. Maybe you are doing something else, but it’s the same feeling I get out on the ice, so I hope it’s because you’re learning how to skate. I was getting a bit scared to have a soulmate who didn’t skate, or who hated skating. I mean, I would still love you even if you hated everything about the ice, but it’s a lot easier this way! I’m preparing for the Junior Grand Prix now. I wanna win gold in the Junior Grand Prix and then move up to Seniors next year and eventually become the world’s best skater. It would be amazing if we could skate on the same ice together, so I hope you work hard at it, too!

I know in my previous letters I don’t talk about much else. But then again I guess there isn’t that much in my life besides skating and my dog Makkachin. My family is nice I guess but my parents are never home, so I spend all the time at the rink with Yakov anyway. My rinkmates are friendly but I can tell they think I’m weird because I’m so focused on becoming the best figure skater. I wish I had you to talk to. You never respond to these, but then I don’t expect you to. 

I wonder where you are, my soulmate, and what you do, and what your family’s like, and if you like dogs. I want to know everything about you. All of your likes and dislikes, all of your hopes and fears. I guess we’re supposed to love each other already, but I don’t know if you will. I’m kinda weird. But maybe you’re a little weird, too. I’d like that, if we were a little weird together.

I tend to ramble these days, so I think I’ll shut up now. 

Love,
Viktor (age 12, Russia)

P.S. My coach and my ballet teacher are soulmates too. And they’re married. I wouldn’t expect you to want to marry me, though! But it’s a thought!

P.P.S. Please say you like dogs! 

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2

first official Critical Role art, here we go!

if you aren’t following my personal blog, you probably don’t know that I’ve been mildly obsessing over watching this show since may 2016 (and have been “almost caught up” since like december, but they keep airing new episodes). it just took me this long to post art of it because headcanons are hard, man :0 these are still subject to change, and I may have forgotten some canon details, but it felt good to be able to do some art again!

2

“You are a disgrace! An absolute disgrace! I cannot believe you let your daughter see you in this condition, Theodore. She was so worried about you! I wish I could say that I’m surprised right now, but honest to god the only thing that surprises me about this is that you’re not in here with some peroxide blonde tramp!”

Theodore rolls his eyes, wincing as his sister-in-law’s shrill screams penetrate his throbbing skull. “Is she still here?” he mumbles, glancing over at the pink haired doll lying crumpled on the floor beside him.

Arabella scowls at him. “Yes. I had planned to take her and Hazel to school early this morning, but she insisted that I come up here to check on you first.”

He nods, and pulling himself up off the ground Theodore silently breezes past Bella and strides down the hallway toward his daughter and her cousin.

“Lila Grace,” Theo forces himself to smile through the piercing pain in his temples. “Go change out of your uniform, sweetheart. You’re not going to school today.”

“What?” the child frowns. “Why not?”

“Because I’m taking the entire day off work so you and I can spend some long overdue father-daughter time together.”

“What?!” three distinct voices reverberate around the corridor.

“No school! No school!” Lila Grace sings over and over again as she dances around her dad’s legs.

“Do I have to go to school, Mom?” Hazel whines.

“Theodore, I really don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Bella hisses, ignoring her daughter’s repeated tugs on the sleeve of her shirt.

“I just have one quick errand to run this morning, Gracie, but after that I promise I am yours for the rest of day. Does that sound like a plan?”

“Yes!” she exclaims. “I love you so much, Dad!”

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thegrumpiestunicorn  asked:

I don't normally do these prompt things, but “I don’t mean to sound paranoid but I’m pretty sure you’re a serial killer" sounds really interesting. No pressure!

Bucky watches from his window as the guy who lives in C107 climbs up the fire escape in about five steps. He pauses when he sees Bucky and gives him a little smile and a salute. Bucky forces a smile back.

Because, despite the guy from C107’s blond hair, charming smile, and generally pleasant demeanor, Bucky’s pretty sure that he’s a serial killer.

— —

C107 moved in three weeks ago during the middle of the night, because that’s what serial killers do. They come in the middle of the night, murder everyone on their floor, and leave before anyone can find their bodies. It doesn’t matter that C107 smiles shyly at him in the mailroom or helps the old lady in E202 with her groceries; Bucky knows what’s up. He knows that C107 sneaks out almost every night and doesn’t come back until morning, and never through the front door. Once or twice, Bucky’s seen him covered with blood.

So the guy’s a serial killer, and Bucky’s not sure what to do about that.

— —

There’s a knock on Bucky’s door.

Bucky texts Darcy: It’s the serial killer and I’m going to die.

Darcy texts back: have fun!

It’s not a helpful answer.

Bucky takes a deep breath and walks towards the door. It’s better that he just opens it up and accepts his fate. It’ll be hard enough for the landlord to rent out his apartment again after everyone finds out that a murder took place; he may as well not make any messy clean-up bills by having the serial killer knock down the door or something like that. Makes things simpler in the long run.

He opens it.

C107 is standing there, shirt covered in blood. “Hi,” he says with a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Oh,” Bucky says, then promptly passes out, because if there’s one thing that Bucky isn’t good with, it’s blood.

— —

He wakes up on his couch, underneath a blanket, and with the fluffiest pillow in his apartment beneath his bed. He does not wake up in Heaven (or Hell, if all of those fire and brimstone ‘homosexuals are killing America’ preachers are to be believed) because C107 killed him.

Bucky blinks a few times, then hears C107 on the phone. “No, that’s not… I don’t care if he knows who I am! That’s the point!”

Bucky closes his eyes again. It’s not worth it. He’s going to die.

“Well, what was I supposed to do, Tony? March into his apartment in my Cap uniform and commandeer his laundry machine?”

That’s… kinky.

“No, no, I’ll… I don’t want to wake him up! I’ll talk to you later, Tony.”

Bucky opens his eyes again, just to be a little sneaky, but of course C107 is already looking at him. “Hi there!” he says, far too perky for someone with a shirt covered in blood.

“Uh, hey,” Bucky says, pushing himself up.

“Easy now,” C107 says, rushing over to the couch. “Don’t force yourself,” he says.

“Why would you care?” Bucky asks, a bit hysterical as C107 reaches out to touch Bucky’s forehead with the back of his hand. “Since you’re here to murder me, and all.”

C107 drops his hand. “What?” he asks, incredulous.

“I’ve seen you! Crawling through the window at night! You’re going to kill me and honestly? I’m not prepared for it. I have… four things to live for. At least. Maybe five.”

C107 just stares.

“Six?” Bucky offers. “I’m not sure I can list more than six, to tell the truth.”

“I’m… I’m not going to kill you,” he says.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I have a hard time believing that.”

“No, no! I’m… I needed to borrow someone’s laundry machine and I saw you were up. That’s all.”

Bucky blinks. “You have your own in your unit.”

“It’s busted,” C107 says.

“Because you put bloody things in it all the time?” Bucky asks.

C107 snorts. “No, because the last resident and their partner had relations on it and busted it.”

“Go Kevin,” Bucky says.

C107 laughs. “Anyhow,” he says when he’s done, “I’m not here to kill you.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I mean, I have killed people before,” Bucky’s eyes go wide then C107 says in a rush, “but most of them were Nazis.”

“I’m not following here,” Bucky says, throat dry.

C107 sighs. “Okay, it’s. I’m. Captain America?” he says, wincing. “And I was just wondering if I could borrow your washing machine.”

Bucky nods. “Alright, okay, that’s…”

And it’s a good thing he’s already on the couch, because he passes out again.