#hippo(griff)

don't watch fleabag

the stars want me and billy to never speak again and the stars want us to gay kiss <3

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

that's too many words and depends entirely on the vibe because sometimes i look like i'm on my way to an mcr concert and other times i look like i'm going to a rodeo and then there's also times where i look like a dad but like a young single dad who's trying too hard to be cool

9. favorite smell in the summer?

bonfires and charcoal bbqs

73. favorite weird flavor or combo?

drinking mango juice through a veggie straw

im excited for people to read "strangled by the red string of fate" because you are all insane and seem to like when i write angst. the general premise: soulmate au, eddie doesn't believe in soulmates, but buck does. where's the angst, you ask? they're not each other's soulmates <3 whole thing was inspired by this one post that said "what are soulmates if not a very special kind of mutually tightening noose?"

here's an excerpt:

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

Eddie sets down his book and sighs into his cup of coffee, black, slightly cold but he can’t be bothered to microwave it. “I believe Cap asked you to do the dishes.”

“I’m being serious,” he says. “You asked me first.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

“I didn’t ask, you told me. Unprompted.” He continues to dodge. “The dishwasher is full, you’ll have to do it by hand.”

Buck leans against the counter, towel hanging from his hand. “Just. Humor me.”

A sigh. “Fine.” He holds his book against his chest and sits up. “I believe Chris when he says there’s a monster in his closet, I believe my sister who swears on her life that there’s a ghost in her apartment, but I also believe my niece, who says my sister is crazy. And I believe this—” he waves his hand for emphasis, showing off the red band “—doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

“Harsh,” is all he says.

Eddie lets out a breath. “It wasn’t supposed to be,” he shakes his head, resigned. “It’s just—how can a tattoo on my finger tell me who to love?”

“It’s not all bad,” Buck shrugs. “It’s like, definitive proof that someone will love you. It’s comforting.”

“It’s horrifying,” he counters.

“It’s good to have something to believe in.”

Eddie laughs at the nightmare of it all. “Yeah, but this? You never get a choice. You don’t choose your soulmate, it’s just—it’s something that’s forced on you. We’re all being strangled by the red string of fate.”

Buck nods at his dramatics, hesitant to comment. “To each their own,” he says, staring at the mark on his own hand for a moment before turning back to the dishes, “but I like knowing someone could love me.”

“I’m not trying to crush your beliefs,” he says, a little guilty, “but you met your soulmate. And she didn’t seem to care that you were it.”

He returns to his book, something sci-fi, something dystopian. With all the noise, he couldn’t give a summary to save his life, but he thinks he understands what it means to live in a doomed society.