#I’ve only been here for a day but I think I’m getting cabin fever

[calibrationneeded]

Twitter? No thanks, I’ll get my mental illness the old fashioned way; from chemical imbalance and my father

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath au: Red Letter Day

Barney gets a call that Gordon Freeman had been found after ten years of being missing in action.

Word count: 4382

Notes: Another fic for my au "Aftermath" because I think its neat. I'm not sure what else to put here, enjoy the fic

Barney was beginning to remember how much he hated Winter as he stared through the warehouse window in front of him. Despite it being the beginning of March, spring was yet to come, meaning the snow was still falling with the temperature following suit. Barney had always hated the season, and as much as he tried, he could never come up with a proper reason. Maybe it was the fact it was cold, wet, and dreary, making any trip outside miserable, or perhaps it was the fact he was mainly cooped up inside all day, leaving him to get cabin fever. Or maybe it was a mixture of those two at the same time, along with the loneliness that came from them. No matter the reason, Barney kept quiet about it, realizing he had no ability to change the weather. All he could do was drink his hot coffee and put on a few more layers than usual. 

Barney took a sip from his mug as he looked away from the window, instead focusing his attention back into the room he was in. It was a storage room, full of random junk and scientific doodads Barney had no knowledge of. Boxes and crates were stacked up in piles taller than he was, stacked in such a way that it made Barney nervous even being near them in the case of them toppling over. Due to the lack of a radiator in that room, it was even chillier than the rest of the refurbished warehouse, making Barney glad he was wearing the warmest sweatpants he could find in his closet, along with a worn out grey hoodie, with the logo on the front being so faded that it was hard to make out as Black Mesa’s logo.

As he looked around, he was startled by the sound of a box slamming against the concrete floor, along with a short exclamation. “Oh, blast it!” “You alright, Doc?” Barney asked the other man in the room, watching as he bent over to pick up the fallen crate.

“I’m fine, just…hoping whatever was in here isn’t fragile…” 

Dr. Isaac Kleiner, or “Doc” as Barney referred to him as, was wearing a white lab coat over a robin-egg-blue dress-shirt and black tie, trading warmth for safety at his place of work. His glasses were slipping off his face as he moved boxes and rummaged through everything in the storage room, making it even more of a mess than it was before. 

“Where on earth could she have gone?” Kleiner asked, not necessarily expecting an answer. “There aren’t any vents she could have crawled in, are there?”

“I hope not,” Barney stated. “Last thing I want is that thing to fall on someone.” As Kleiner looked under a table, Barney spoke up again. “You think it ran off or something?”

“Oh no, I don’t believe so,” Kleiner stood up straight, “I’m sure she wouldn’t. After all, she needs to get fed eventually, so I imagine she’ll come out for that.” “If the thing didn’t eat someone's cat or something.”

“Hush!” Kleiner held a finger up to his mouth, causing both he and Barney to become silent as he listened closely. Barney attempted to hear what Kleiner was listening for, but to no avail, hearing nothing but silence. “Fie! I could’ve sworn I heard her moving around…”

Barney let out an exhausted sigh, “Doc, please, there’s plenty of those pests out there–”

“But there’s only ONE Lamar!”

“...Right.”

“Now, are you going to help me look?” Kleiner adjusted his crooked glasses, “Or are you going to simply stand there, doing nothing?”

“Uh…” Barney glanced away, thinking for a moment. “...No thanks.”

“Oh, you act like she’s some kind of wild animal.”

“It kinda is.”

“She’s been de-beaked and trained, and you know this!” Kleiner stated as he walked towards a filing cabinet near the corner of the room.

“‘Trained;’ I don’t think that thing is really…trained. My dog is trained, and I know you can train cats, but I don’t think you can train a literal parasite–”

“Oh! I think I’ve got something!” Kleiner said excitedly, “Help me move this cabinet, would you please?”

Barney reluctantly approached the metal cabinet as Kleiner positioned himself to the side of it, ready to move it as soon as Barney was. As soon as Barney placed his free hand against the side of it, he pushed, with Kleiner on the other side pulling it towards him.

Barney let out a loud yelp when something leaped at him from behind the cabinet, causing him to fall on his back and drop his mug on the floor. It was Lamar, the “Pet” headcrab that Kleiner had lost, and it was even uglier up close. As it laid on Barney’s chest, its six small, beady eyes stared back at him as he remained absolutely still, afraid of it trying to attack him. Its teeth on its stomach prodded at his stomach, along with its chipped, large front claws, which had colorful duct-tape covering the tips of them to prevent them from being too sharp. After a few moments of tense silence, Kleiner came to the rescue, picking up Lamar from where it rested on Barney’s torso, allowing him to take a breath.

“LAMAR!” Kleiner exclaimed, looking at his pet with relief in his eyes, “Oh, delightful! I’m so happy to see you weren’t left out in the cold somewhere…”

“Mm-hm…” Barney lifted himself off the ground, looking at his feet to see his knocked over coffee cup, with its contents spilled over. “Ugh…” 

Barney picked up his cup from the floor as Kleiner let Lamar go, watching as it waddled across the floor before jumping up onto one of the tables. Barney stared at it with contempt, the opposite reaction to Lamar’s rediscovery compared to Kleiner’s joy. 

“Do you even have a license for that thing?” Barney questioned as Lamar sat down on top of some loose documents. “If you don’t and animal control finds it, they’ll kill it–”

“I’m…in the process of getting one,” Kleiner stated, voice stumbling slightly. “And I hope no one finds her, cause if they do…I’m afraid of what you said coming true. I’m sure it will be fine regardless, at least she knows to stay inside.”

“...Sure.”

“Is everyone safe?”

Barney and Kleiner turned towards the doorway that led to the rest of the warehouse, seeing a lone, albino Vortigaunt staring back at them with her four maroon eyes. She was wearing a similar lab coat to Kleiner’s, with a borrowed pair of black dress pants, along with a fitted light brown sweater, with a hole in the middle of her chest for her third pseudo arm. She stared at Kleiner and Barney for a little while before Barney answered her question. 

“Yeah, we’re fine…” Barney sighed, glancing towards Lamar, “We just found Kleiner’s…pet.”

“Everything’s under control, Violet, you can get back to work!” Kleiner added.

“I see.” Violet’s gravelly voice seemed quieter than usual, making Barney’s brows furrow a bit.

“You alright?” He asked.

Violet seemed puzzled. “Hm?”

“Are you doing alright? I have noticed you’ve been a bit…closed off for the past few hours.” Kleiner inquired.

“We have been…distracted…” Violet responded. “I imagine it will be cleared up soon.”

“We?” Barney asked.

Violet didn’t answer. “I must get back to helping the others…the teleporter is nearly ready for its first test...”

“Oh! Wonderful. I’ll be there in a little bit.” Kleiner stated as Violet left the room. Barney remained puzzled, looking back at Kleiner with a feeling of unease in his chest.

“She said ‘we’.” Barney stated.

“I’m aware,” Kleiner responded. “You see, the Vortigaunts are able to tap into something they refer to as the ‘Vortessence’, and are thus all conne–”

“I know, Doc, I just…” Barney paused for a second. “If she’s talking about all the Vortigaunts, then wouldn’t that be a bit worrying?”

“...Maybe, but I'm not sure.” Kleiner stated. “Though, one of the members of the survey team we sent earlier today was a Vortigaunt, and that team hasn’t returned yet so…maybe there is a connection there.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I believe i’ll go and speak with her, just to make sure everything’s alri–”

Barney’s phone ringing from his pocket interrupted their thoughts, and when Barney pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, he saw the number was from one of his coworkers at the hospital. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

“You’re fine, you go ahead and I’ll go check in with the others.”

Barney nodded, watching Kleiner leave the room before he answered the call and put his phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

Barney listened closely to the person on the other end of the phone, barely processing what they were saying. 

“What’s going on? 

Not going to believe what? 

So what, why are you telling me this?”

Barney listened closely, all before he felt his heart skip a beat. The sinking feeling in his chest was enough to render him silent, all before he let out a meek “I’ll call you later.”

Barney rushed out of the room, running past Kleiner in the process, nearly pushing him over as he approached the exit. “Barney? What’s going on, are you alright–” “They found him.” Barney’s voice shook as he spoke, with him barely being able to make out the words from how tight his throat was.

“Found who?”

Barney was already out of the building by the time Kleiner asked the question, leaving it unanswered.

Barney saw his own breath clouding in front of his face as he sprinted across the parking lot of the warehouse, nearly slipping on ice multiple times but not giving any time to care. When he reached his car, he swung the door open and crawled inside, starting the engine and speeding off without a single word. His thoughts ran through his head faster than his car was capable of going, slurring together without a single cohesive thought coming through. He didn’t care if he was a few miles above the speed limit; he needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. He needed to see if what his coworker said was right.

If it was truly Gordon Freeman that was brought into the ER, he needed to be there.

When Barney made it to the hospital lot, he rushed through the front doors, looking around before approaching the front desk, out of breath from both the physical and mental strain that was put on him. Through harsh breaths, he asked, “Is Gordon Freeman here?”, with pleading eyes focused on the woman behind the desk.

“Oh, hello Mr. Calhoun, I can look through the system for a ‘Gordon Freeman’, if you’ll sit tight for a moment.” She looked towards the computer in front of her, typing in something and looking through files as Barney waited, his impatience building up inside of him.

“Fuck this.” He pushed himself away from the desk, storming down one of the hallways despite the woman at the front desk telling him he wasn’t allowed to as he was off duty. Barney rushed past hospital workers, asking them if they knew where Gordon was, only to be met with worried and frightened looks along with no answers. Barney’s frustration only grew as he ran through the hospital halls, with the familiar building beginning to feel like a maze meant to confuse him. As he ran further into the hospital wing, he slammed against one of the doctors in the hall, causing him to topple to the ground as Barney tripped over his own feet.

“Sorry, I just have to–”

“Barney? What the hell are you doing back here?” The man questioned as Barney sped past him.

“I’m looking for Gordon Freeman,” Barney answered, turning around. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s in the ER right now,” The man snapped back as he slowly stood up. “You can’t see him until he’s out of surgery.”

“Surgery? Is he safe? Is he alright?” Barney questioned, walking closer to the doctor. 

“Yes, he’ll be fine, just…” The doctor let out a tired sigh. “Get out of here, you’re off duty and risking your job with a stunt like this.”

“I need to see Gordon, alright?” Barney explained. “He’s been gone for a fucking DECADE, and he’s been found again, I can’t just leave him–”

“Calhoun.” The man raised his voice as he glared at Barney with a look of both contempt and pity. “...Listen, just wait until he’s out and I’ll see what I can do, do you understand?”

Barney remained silent for a moment, letting out a sharp breath before nodding. “Alright,” He stated, defeated. “But he better be getting the best treatment in there.”

“I’m sure they’re doing all they can, they understand his reputation–”

“I don’t care about his reputation, if i’m right, that’s my goddamn friend in there.” Barney spat. “...Let me know when he’s out. I need to at least…make sure it’s…the right guy.”

“I’m sure someone will let you know.” The doctor stated. “...Now please go back to the waiting room before I call security.”

Barney did as he was told, reluctantly walking across the hospital premises and back into the waiting room, where he will stay for another few hours. He paced around the room, bounced his foot up and down, fidgeted with his hands; anything to try and pass the time as the minutes passed by agonizingly slow. After he had already been there for what felt like days within the timespan of a few hours, he saw a nurse walk towards him. “Mr. Calhoun?”

Barney’s head lifted up, looking towards the nurse before following her down a hallway. After a couple-minutes walk, they stopped in front of a door leading to a recovery room. “He’s in there,” The nurse stated. “He’s currently sleeping, so I ask you to be quiet and not attempt to wake him up.”

“...Yeah.” Barney hesitated before walking through the door, stepping into the room, seeing a curtain blocking his view of the bed. He paused, standing in place for a moment as he wondered if the face he was about to see was truly Gordon, or simply someone mistaken as him. He wondered if he wanted the answer, or if he’d rather live in ignorance, avoiding the crippling disappointment if it wasn’t the man he thought it was, but as he walked past the curtain, every worry in his mind ceased and his thoughts became silent as he looked at the man on the bed.

Sure, his body was covered with blood-soaked bandages, his right leg was in a cast, he had medical equipment around him, and he was missing his glasses, but his face was painfully recognizable. Barney choked back a sob, covering his mouth when he saw Gordon’s face again.

“Are you alright?” The nurse behind him asked, noticing Barney’s teary-eyed look.

“I’m fine.” Barney whispered before letting out a short chuckle and a forced smile. “It’s just…he didn’t change a damn bit.”

Barney hadn’t even noticed it had been an hour since he entered the room, being surprised when he glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing 10 PM. He sat on a chair beside Gordon’s bed, having moved it from the corner of the room to right beside it. His leg bounced up and down as he looked at Gordon, all before lowering his head and letting out a deep sigh. He wished to speak to him but he was out of words he could possibly say at that very moment, not to mention the wish to stay quiet so Gordon could recover without being woken up. He wanted to tell Gordon everything that had happened in his absence; how Kleiner started up another lab to continue Black Mesa’s studies, how Eli also set up one on the other side of the city, and how Barney had finished college and was able to become a nurse. Gordon missed so much, and even though Barney wished to dump every piece of information onto him, he realized that even the realization that it had been ten years would be overwhelming enough. Thus, Barney figured to start simple, and just talk, like friends, for the first time since the Black Mesa incident.

As Barney leaned back into his seat he felt the back of his head hit something that wasn’t there before, feeling bitter cold yet organic at the same time, like a corpse’s fingers curling around the top of the backrest. He swung around, half expecting someone to be there, yet he saw nothing of the sort, seeing only the beige wall behind him. Barney let out his breath, looking back at Gordon before realizing he should head back; his stress and emotional state must have made him paranoid, not to mention the feeling of his hair standing on end. He stood up, walking towards the door out of the room before taking one last look back at Gordon before he finally left.

Later that night, Barney paced around his living room, being watched by his pet rottweiler as he talked on the phone. “The Survey team were the ones that found him?” he asked.

“That’s what they said,” Kleiner stated from the other side of the line. “The Vortigaunt was apparently the one that found him, specifically.”

“I see.”

“Quite Miraculous,” Kleiner continued, “The fact that Gordon had survived there for ten years before being found.”

“Yeah…” Barney unsurely stated under his breath.

“Nevermind that, what are you planning now?” Kleiner asked. “Should we have some kind of party? A celebration should be in order for him being back, I’d say–”

“I think he needs rest, he’s…been through a lot.” Barney stated. “I’ve thought of him staying over at my place until he can find a place of his own or until he recovers, but we’ll see how he’s feeling.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure we can find a spare room in the lab for him.”

“I dunno if he’d wanna live in a loud lab with a headcrab, doc.”

“...I suppose you have a fair point.”

“It was just so…strange.” Barney stated. “They say it was a ten year coma, but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it at all.” “What makes you believe that?” 

“The fact he was bleeding. The fact he had fresh wounds from Black Mesa,” Barney elaborated, brows furrowed and his free arm crossing over his chest. “Not to mention the fact he was found with that…suit on.” “What kind of suit?” Kleiner questioned. “Oh, do you mean the Hazardous Environment Suit?”

“Yeah. Why would he be wearing it ten years after the incident was already over?”

“Who knows,” Kleiner sighed, “I’m sure I can talk with Eli to see if he has any ideas on–” Kleiner was interrupted by a loud crash and squeaking coming from behind him, audible through Barney’s phone. “Goodness gracious, LAMAR, NO–”

“You alright Doc?” 

“I’ll have to speak with you later, Lamar got in the vents again–Lamar get DOWN from there, that’s not safe!” After that, the call ended, and Barney was left to himself once again. Barney sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket before he heard a deep ruff coming from his dog, who was laying next to the couch in the living room, with its white patches of fur on its snout showing its age.

“You hear that, Gordon?” Barney said. “You might get a new roommate…a…different Gordon.”

The dog yawned and rested his head on his paws as Barney walked towards the living room couch, sitting on it and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of it. He leaned over the armrest, scratching the top of the dog’s head. “Guess I’ll have to explain to him why you’re also named Gordon, huh bud?”

Gordon didn’t respond, instead just letting out a soft ruff again. Barney leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling before folding his hands on top of his stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining why his pet was named after his friend, he realized. After all, it’s not very easy to tell someone you thought they were dead for years.

As soon as Barney received the call that Gordon was awake the following evening, Barney rushed back to the hospital to visit him once again. As he drove across the city, worries he didn’t think about before began to creep up inside his brain. Even though he didn’t necessarily believe the coma theory the doctors had, nor did he believe even they believed it fully, he thought of the possibility of it being true, and if Gordon would even remember who Barney was after a full decade of sleep. It would be a surprise if Gordon remembered anything after that amount of time, but Barney pushed down his pessimism, trying to be optimistic just this once.

After making his way down the hospital hallway once again, he found himself back in front of the door to Gordon’s room, with a nervous feeling deep in his gut as he prepared to walk inside. He took in a breath and stepped inside, looking towards the bed in which Gordon was laying on, only to have his gaze met by two bright green eyes, ones Barney hadn't seen since ten years prior. Barney froze in place, staring back at Gordon, who appeared to be surprised to see him. As Barney sat down in the chair beside the bed, he swallowed hard, wondering what he could possibly say now that Gordon was awake. As he thought to himself, a question left his mouth that he wasn’t initially planning on asking:

“Where were you?”

The question lingered in the air like a foul odor, with Gordon’s brows furrowing lip quivering slightly, all while he curled his hands into fists. He turned away from Barney, looking down at his feet, thinking of something to say, though his hands didn’t once lift up to sign a single word.

“You…disappear for 10 years without warning,” Barney continued. “Leaving everyone to believe you were dead.”

Gordon didn’t make eye contact with Barney as he spoke.

“I thought you were dead and buried somewhere, Gordon,” Barney choked. “But…You’re here in front of me now.”

Gordon glanced at Barney before he felt arms being wrapped around his shoulders, tight, but not too tight to make it hurt.

“I fucking missed you, Gordon.” Barney said as he hugged Gordon, feeling the gesture being returned to him. Gordon’s hands shook, feeling weak and cold, yet he didn’t want to let go of the single shred of kindness he had felt since what felt like eternity. After a few moments Barney let go, sitting back down with red, tear-filled eyes. 

“...You…missed a lot.” Barney stated; Gordon nodded knowingly in response. “I’d tell ya’ everything, but…I don’t even know how to start.”

“Are they safe?” Gordon’s hands were shaking, but Barney could make out the message regardless.

“Who, like…Kleiner? Eli?”

Gordon nodded slightly, lips pursed in anticipation. 

“They’re alright,” Barney assured, allowing Gordon to let out a breath. “In fact…they’re excited to see you again. Kleiner especially, he’s hoping to get you back into his lab…don’t know if you want to do that, but the offer’s there.”

Gordon appeared to have had a weight lifted off his shoulders at the news, but the cold yet somber gaze didn’t leave his eyes. Barney planned to tell Gordon that they were among the few survivors of the Black Mesa incident, but he bit his tongue for the time being.

“...Never thought you’d be in the history books, did ya?” Barney let out a lighthearted chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re a hero in everyone’s eyes, now.”

Gordon shook his head, looking down and away from Barney’s gaze as he clasped his hands together on his lap. Barney stared at him with a look of confusion and worry, all before forcefully clearing his throat. 

“I’m just…happy to see you alive, Gordon.” Barney stated. “After…a few years I began to…to lose hope.” Barney paused for a second, realizing Gordon was still not meeting his gaze. “...Should’ve known you were a tougher son of a bitch than that, I guess.”

Gordon scoffed slightly before shaking his head again, still staring at his feet. Silence fell as Barney attempted to think of something else to say to ease the tense atmosphere, though his thoughts were blank and void of any ideas. Barney looked towards Gordon yet again, seeing he was raising his hands up to sign something:

“Missed you too.”

Barney smiled slightly, despite feeling as if he wanted to cry right then and there. He never anticipated he’d be this emotional in his life, yet here he was; about to cry for the second time that day. Seeing his legally dead friend after ten years of being missing in action was enough to warrant it, he supposed.

“I’m sure the others will be happy to show you everything they’ve been working on,” Barney said, with Gordon finally looking back up at him, before looking directly behind him, “They’ve been working on a new telepor–”

Gordon flinched, staring at something behind Barney before attempting to crawl backwards, nearly ripping off his IV in the process. Barney looked behind him, seeing nothing but the wall before he heard a loud thud coming from the bed. He turned, seeing Gordon had fallen off of the bed and onto the cold linoleum floor. “Gordon!” Barney quickly ran to his aid, holding out an arm for Gordon to grab, lifting him off of the floor. When weight was put onto his right leg, Gordon grimaced, using Barney as leverage as he was put back onto the bed. “Jeez Gordon, what got you freaked out so ba–”

Barney was silenced when Gordon hugged him without warning. Barney could hear him quietly sobbing into his shoulder, and as he returned the hug, he wondered if he had ever seen Gordon so touchy before; It was as if he hadn’t had human contact in days. This time however, Barney wasn’t quick to let go. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his best friend behind again.

Not this time.

[dharmasharks]

I read so many neat fics this summer thanks to the @ficreadingchallenge and managed to black out my bingo card! Not only did I finally get to stories that had been languishing in my TBR for literal years, but I discovered tons of delightful fics in genres I wouldn't have sought out otherwise.

Thank you mods for organizing this, I’m already itching to do it again. Bingo card below the cut, plus my unhinged ramblings about the 24 fics I got to read. (Mostly Stucky, but also a smattering of Sambucky, MattFoggy, a Winterhawk, a Captive Prince, and a Catwin.) 

WIP: on the shore of the wild world by verger_de_pommiers

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 19k | Civil War AU

In which a fierce little Steve shelters wounded union soldier Bucky in his remote cabin. Gorgeous prose, immersive historical detail, and tender protectiveness. I lucked into finding this as it was posting (it’s now complete!) and felt like the author had been reading my dream fic journal because it ticked so many of my very specific boxes!

No powers AU: Broken But Mending by Lissadiane

MCU | Bucky x Clint | M | 15k | Modern AU

Bucky is a recovering war vet who starts rebuilding his life one instagram post, coffee, and plant at a time with some motivation from Clint Barton’s weekly sex advice column. Spoiler: the advice isn’t so much about sex as it is about trying again, and accepting that we’re all scared and scarred and worthy of love anyway. Read this on a day where your heart needs a big hug of happiness. 

Secret relationship: Don't Ask by AnnaFugazzi

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 21k | WW2 

I’ve seen this fic recced a lot for wartime stucky but was admittedly apprehensive because it’s canon-compliant and we all know where that train gets off, ya know? This is not a lighthearted premise either: Steve and Bucky get outed and because they’re a propaganda machine, the Howlies are ordered to keep their relationship a secret, despite their intense discomfort—all told in a devastatingly effective outsider perspective from Gabe. I appreciate that the author didn’t shy away from depicting unflattering (and hard to read!) period-typical attitudes, including those Gabe and Morita would have faced in the service.

Newest fic in the tag of your choice: Cabin Fever by missbeizy

MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 5k | Cabin PWP

Missbeizy never fails to deliver on beautifully written stucky smut that caters to my tastes, so when I got that notification you better believe I jumped on it stat. Even in their shorter fics, they always build up a lovely setting and tension, which makes the eventual hot, hot sexy times feel even sexier. (All their stucky fics are *chefs kiss* — Foothold and Number of Years are my favorites.)

Mission fic: (With eyes shut) it's you I'm thinking of by Yavannie

MCU | Sam x Bucky | E | 3k | Partners with Benefits

Gosh only knows I enjoy a dynamic where it’s easier for two closed-off people to communicate physically than to actually talk! About their feelings! Good stuff!

Found family: Only the Good Die Young by ZenaidaMacroura / @zenaidamacrouras1

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 23K | Shrunkyclunks

There’s banter both awkward and charming, sweet sweet crushing, and a whole cast of wonderful characters who care so much (even when it’s hard). I love the dynamics between everyone in paramedic!Bucky’s crew and the way they look out for each other.

Pets: no years of silence in the shadow of regret by Ginny_Potter / @hipsterdiva

MCU | Steve x Bucky | G | 9k | De-serumed Steve

I don’t usually have the strength for post-EG fic, but look at me now, I read three this summer! Here, Steve is irrevocably changed by everything he’s endured, and he suffers for it in the most perfectly Steve-ish way: very, very quietly. Such a satisfying balance of grief and hope as Bucky tries to bridge the distance Steve’s put between them (and his acquired pet, The Dog) in order to protect himself from the possibility of loss. 

Mythical creature AU: all this and heaven too by spinawren

Captive Prince | Laurent x Damen | M | 15k | Selkie AU

I may never get over how perfect a Lighthouse keeper / selkie AU is for these characters. There’s Laurent, whose sense of self-preservation is so integral to his sense of self that giving love feels like giving a part of himself away—because it means giving up your armor. And Damon: unwaveringly devoted, who knows that love isn’t taken, it’s a choice you both keep making. I want to live in the lush world of this fic forever. 

Oldest fic in the fandom: Genie In A Bottle bykupcake_goddess

Dead Boy Detectives | Cat King x Edwin | E | 2K | Missing Scene

Edwin was hot for that hot cat guy and they should have kissed about it. Fanfic is great.

Fake dating: The Constellation of Touch by what_alchemy

Daredevil | Matt x Foggy | E | 19k | Pretend Relationship

What’s juicier than fake dating your best friend? Fake dating your best friend while actually going through a messy (law partnership) divorce! Featuring: wonderful Nelson family dynamics, a singular bed, and the intimacy of getting to know the person you thought you knew best all over again. I’ve read a lot of gorgeous depictions of the way Matt experiences the world, but these might be some of my favorites. 

Author’s oldest fic: the wrote and the writ by stewyonmolly

MCU | Steve x Bucky | G | 10k | everybody lives, nobody gets serumed

You know when you read the first paragraph of a fic and go, “yes ha ha ha YES,” like a sicko, but what you’re really sick over is the author’s style? That’s how I feel about this fic. I would eat the dialogue if I could! While it includes one of my favorite soft premises (everyone home safe in post-war Brooklyn, the end), Bucky doesn’t come back unscathed. But Steve–and this is a wonderful, wonderful Steve–never dances around Bucky’s amputation and Bucky never coddles him back.

Parallel universe: Except it Abide in the Vine by spitandvinegar

MCU | Steve x Bucky x Sam | M | 27k | Multiverse Shenanigans 

If you’re afraid of the summary just know that there is a place for every Steve and every Steve in its place, which is with a Bucky (and/or a Sam)!!! And by golly are there a lot of Buckys to love in this one, including a scrappy 616!bucky with the most pockets and everyone’s favorite cannibal, Sweetpea. There are plenty of melty exchanges (and breathtaking art!) but my favorite multiverse moments are always when a WS!bucky gets to see a small Steve again. I could read it a million times and it would never be enough. 

Free space: When I Put Away Childish Things by hansbekhart

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 14k | Prewar

One of the most vivid and immersive prewar settings I’ve had the pleasure of reading, which is saying something, because I have read a [redacted] quantity of prewar stucky. The narrative structure is so powerful and effective, even if you already know what we’re building toward. The author also has my new favorite take on Bucky’s enlistment status, which felt nicely refreshing (and this is a 10 year old fic!) given the otherwise ubiquitous fanon.

Space AU: We'll meet again in Brooklyn by Gfawkes / @gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes

MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 33k | Scifi AU

Amazing dystopian premise and world building featuring the bravest small nurse Steve and a devoted and self-sacrificing soldier Bucky. They’re both so loyal to each other but also to their separate friends and teammates.

Werewolf AU: you touch me within and so i (know i could be human once again) by notcaycepollard

MCU | Sam x Bucky | E | 12k | werewolf!bucky

In this canon-adjacent-verse, Bucky is freed from Hydra’s clutches, but they turned him into a (very soft and sweet) werewolf who just needs to be cuddled and petted and maybe bossed around a little bit. Sam is understandably beside himself…and also up to the task. 

Vampire AU: the blood is the life by obsessivereader

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 3K | vampire!bucky

When Bucky keeps sneaking off to bite a lot of strange young men, Steve’s biggest concern is, “Why not me????” I love the trope that the super soldier healing factor makes them great vampire companions.

Short fic: give up on trying to save us by returnsandreturns

Daredevil | Matt x Foggy | E | <1000 | Hate Sex

They’re rival lawyers, they banter, they are not going to have sex with each other again except that oh no, yes they are! What’s not to love!?

Slow burn: Steve Rogers, PA by sparkagrace / @sparkagrace

MCU | Steve x Bucky | T | WIP | Hunkyclinks

Hopefully you all are reading this one already because it’s a freakin delight all around. The premise is incredible and very funny, but there is also action and wound tending and my favorite thing ever, which is Steve and Bucky always managing to know each other better than anyone.

Holiday fic: Teshuva by JHSC

MCU | Steve x Bucky | T | 6K | Recovering Bucky

I could not find it in me to read a holiday (lbr: Christmas) fic over the summer, but ‘tis the season for atonement, y’all! That’s right, Yom Kippur is upon us, and this was a really lovely read on Bucky coming to terms with his memories, his relationship to his mother, and what it means to seek forgiveness. 

Medieval AU: The Tale of the Silver-Armed Knight by BeaArthurPendragon

MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 5K | medieval AU

I had never come across a medieval fic in my journeys before, so this was a fun scavenger hunt. I managed to stumble my way into some sexy, sexy treasure by way of smithy!Steve measuring knight!Bucky for a special suit of armor. Amazing historical detail including—and I am very serious—D/S dynamics that felt so period appropriate. 

Video edit: Evidence by @bromcommie / vivelarevolution

MCU | Bucky Barnes

Why are you reading this rec list (or whatever this is) when you could be watching and reblogging this fucking edit! Are you watching it yet? Are you??? OP’s perfectly matched dialogue, parallels, and transitions will destroy you and you WILL thank them for it. (Thank you, Max.) The build up from the quiet of Bucky’s therapy session to the blurred violence between Bucky, the Soldier, and everyone he’s been in between is beautifully gutting.

Inspired by another fanwork: [Podfic] If They Haven't Learned Your Name by quietnight

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | Post-CATWS

I’m far from the first to praise quietnight’s incredible voicework and podfic production, but holy heck, I’ll do it anyway. I have a hard time getting into audiobooks, and have never had a problem feeling fully immersed in their works. Silentwalrus’s story deserves all the praise it gets, too. A lovely balance of humor and heart, action and character work. 

Fluff: Invisible Ink by ctimene

Daredevil | Matt x Foggy | E | 16K | Tattoo Parlor AU

Hard to write a rec that isn’t just keysmashing and squealing sounds but OKAY FINE I’ll try. This ‘verse manages to parallel canon in ways that are both delightful and heart twisting, with all of Foggy’s heart, kindness, and snark translated to tattooing instead of lawyering. And they were still avocados! And also: sexy. Really, extremely sexy.

Time travel: Some legends are told by chaosmanor, rufferto

MCU | Steve x Bucky | E | 26K | Neolithic Wanderings 

In which Steve will go to any length to find Bucky, including 4 thousand years into the past (while wearing a very short tunic). I absolutely devoured this and was beside myself with delight over its uniqueness and all around nerdery—so many amazing and specific historical details.

Domestic: t'aimer sur les bords du lac by burning_brighter / @burnin-brighter

MCU | Steve x Bucky | M | 17k | Post-EG

Lovely and soft wish fulfillment: put those boys in a cabin until they can get the rest they deserve…and also talk about their feelings! I loved how careful they were with each other until they slowly found their footing again.

[blackberrysummerblog]

Happy Easter to all of you who celebrate! After a rotten Friday at the animal shelter where I work, I got a very pleasant surprise yesterday when a pregnant stray who came in gave birth to five live and healthy kittens! I might share some pics later on :) In the meantime, thank you @forabeatofadrum and @you-remind-me-of-the-babe for the tags this morning, as well as everyone else who’s continued to tag me on other days. I’ve been pretty slow writing lately, but I do have some shares this week!

First, a bit of kid!Baz POV from my COBB:

In the afternoons, I do my homework as soon as we get home and sometimes call my father. He never has much to say. I’ll offer to help Dev with his work and then water the herbs in the conservatory, reminding myself of the names and uses of each one. Dogtooth violet to stop gossip, bay leaves for wish making and prophetic dreams. Tarragon for confidence, St. John’s Wort to stave off colds and fevers. Basil can drive off dark spirits. I rub the leaves between my fingers, remembering Ebb’s lessons as the fresh summer scent breaks across my skin. “Basil can dispel confusion, boys. It turns back fear and weakness, and is used in exorcisms. Carry it with you to protect yourselves from danger, or spread it on the ground to keep away evil. It’s also sometimes used to bring lovers together.” Dev had elbowed me and sniggered, because of course we both associate the herb with my name. I don’t see how any of it relates to me, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s just what I’m called.

And the next is from a sequel I suddenly started writing to Field Trip of Dreams (god I still hate that that’s the title I gave it). I wouldn’t say it’s necessary to read the first fic, although it gives context for the fact that Baz and Simon are dating in eighth year, and everyone but the Mage knows it. It’s a longish share, but I’m enjoying writing so have it:

“Isolation Cabin?” Basilton is repeating in disbelief. His eyes narrow. “But Sir, whatever will we do if we get to talking and discover we were separated at birth?”

Simon understandably pales, but Davy merely snorts and waves a dismissive hand. “Unlikely, Mr. Pitch. Now, both of you grab your rucksacks while I conjure a bird to lead you to the cabin. It’s…out of the way.”

The rest of the students are in fits, but of course Davy doesn’t notice. He pays attention to nothing and nobody when he thinks he’s in the right. Simon has shouldered his own pack and is staring into the middle distance, refusing to look at anyone. Of course, Natasha Pitch’s son has to get in one last dig: “What’s next, a get-along shirt?”

Basilton’s unimpressed expression is fooling no one—I know blessed well that he’d only love that. “Davy,” I try one last time. “This weekend is supposed to be providing these students with a chance to learn how to get along as a community of mages. Splitting two of them off will deprive them of the chance—”

“Miss Possibelf.” I suppose it’s amusing that after all these years Davy doesn’t dare use my first name. “I know what I’m doing. Boys this age need a firm hand—” How does he not hear the sniggering going on behind him? “—and I’ve had just about enough.” After seven years. Seven years, and he’s had enough? Davy finally acknowledges me enough to turn and lower his voice. “Quite frankly, one of them has nothing to learn about survival, while the other doesn’t need to.” This last part is said in a hushed whisper, even though from the way Basilton’s eyebrow lifts, I’m certain he heard it.

I share his disdain for the sentiment, however, I’m not particularly concerned about his chances—here, or anywhere else. “Fine,” I snap, throwing my hands up. It’s not as though this trip isn’t always an annual excuse for all kinds of unsanctioned…exploration. Simon and Basilton aren’t likely to get up to anything they haven’t already, and I have bigger fish to fry given the amount of alcohol students traditionally smuggle on this fool’s exercise. David Cadwallader can be as blind as he likes, but some of us are left nursing the hangovers.

No pressure holiday tags: @rimeswithpurple, @artsyunderstudy, @cutestkilla, @c0nsumemy5oul, @tender-ministrations, @nausikaaa, @thewholelemon, @orange-peony, @youarenevertooold, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @letraspal, @bookish-bogwitch, @nightimedreamersghost, @aristocratic-otter, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @hushed-chorus, @prettygoododds, @supercutedinosaurs, @shutup-andletme-go, @aceumbrellaheroes, @asocialpessimist, @wellbelesbian, @ic3-que3n, @raenestee , @larkral, @facewithoutheart, @papierhaikuphoto, @cows4247, @stitchy-queerista, @carry-on-big-bang, @imagineacoolusername, @ileadacharmedlife, @confused-bi-queer, @j-nipper-95, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @iamamythologicalcreature, @bazzybelle, @valeffelees

[cellarfulofnose]

poison headache

The story of Maggie’s Farm comes to life in a series of diary entries from the mid-’60s. Twenty-nothing poet Bob Dylan works on the McCawell farm under the iron fist of Joseph “Pa” McCawell, his pious wife “Ma” Edith, and their harebrained son Willie. Maggie McCawell, the boss’ coarse daughter, seems to have her sights on Bob, but he only has eyes for Joan, a lovely servant girl. 

March 4, 1965

They moved me from the cabin into Danny’s old room. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t know till today it’s been sitting empty all this time. It was around Christmastime that he went and got married or ran away or something. I’d marry the first girl who passed by if I thought it’d get me out of here. It’s supposed to be sowing season, but the rain’s so bad the fields are mud. I lost both boots in the north field and walked back in my socks. My only hope is that a boot bush’ll spring up in the summer. With my luck they’ll all be two sizes too big. I guess I better start saving newspaper now.

Danny’s room is nothing fancy. There’s a desk by the window and a big wardrobe. It’s small, but it’s better than six guys in five cots and one hammock, rolling over three people every time you toss and turn. They said Danny packed up and left. The room smells like he might’ve died in it. Or something did, anyway. I haven’t had the guts to open the wardrobe.

We can’t plow without compacting the soil, so I’ve been doing inventory. Started two days ago and I haven’t even finished with the cans. There’s walls of them. Pa McCawell is always going on about the Reds and making the servant girls duck and cover. I guess if there really was an atomic blast we’d be all right, food-wise. I wear a can opener clipped to my belt now. Willie said it makes me look like I’m fixing to kill a man, and if I ever try anything funny he’ll be on me like ugly on an ape. Didn’t make me take it off though. I think it scared him pretty good. I lost my knife in a tree when I first got here, so this is the next best thing.

I hope I'm sick. My throat itches and my nose is running, and now this cough won't go away. It comes in spells, I can't breathe for a couple minutes at a time. I hope it's a good old rollicking case of influenza. Or bronchitis or pneumonia or any of your old standards. You start spitting green around here and you get the day off—if you're lucky. I couldn't have been luckier the last time I had a fever. McCawell didn't want to pay the doctor so they gave me to Joan. I talked about her last week and probably a month before that. The half-Mexican kitchen girl. She’s always singing. You hear everybody say that if she’s got breath to sing, she must not be working hard enough, but she gets her work done just as well as anybody else. When I was laid up, she got my fever down and kept me on mullein tea that knocked all the crap right out of my lungs. It was like having Clara Barton nurse you, she was so good, and her black hair parted in the middle.

Joan’s something else. She’s pretty but I don’t know how to describe it. She looks old fashioned, from another time. I got here maybe a year after she did, and I feel we used to know each other before that. Before time. Like we were twin stars, or two little twin girls in the Levant. I think she knows it. She let me pick her guitar once.

Joan got sick too the last time she was taking care of me. I must’ve given it to her. She stopped singing for days, and when she started again, her voice sounded different. I don’t suppose she ever forgave me. If Pa hands me over to her again, I don’t think she’ll be too happy to nurse me, and I don’t blame her. Well, I hope it’s just a little cold or something that’ll go away in a day or two. No sense in bothering her about it.

March 5, 1965

The rain’s stopped. Willie got into a heated debate with Charlie and a couple field hands over the sowing. We’re so behind on planting, he said they better start to plow, but Charlie said they’d never get the tractor out of the mud if they started before it dried out a little. Willie blew his top and climbed up in the tractor himself. It took him fifteen minutes to figure out how to get it moving and all four mules to haul it out of the mud. You never saw his Ma so mad. I heard her tan his hide when they got back to the house, but she didn’t mention the tractor once. She was yelling at him for swearing like a sea dog in front of Maggie and the servant girls. I’ve heard Maggie say worse on a Sunday in Lent.

Willie’s lucky McCawell weren’t home. He left before dawn to make the stock auction in town, otherwise he would have made a jacket out of that boy. Ma is gonna raise hell to Pa when he gets back. Last time Willie got in hot water, he had to advance Danny two weeks' pay to keep him from running and telling McCawell. I guess Charlie gets the payout now, and he'll distribute it as he sees fit. 

I don't care about money if I can't sleep. I was up half the night last night sneezing. I didn't even get a break from the cough. If this is a cold, it's unlike any I ever had. No aches, chills, nothing. Just this feeling like the air’s heavy with dandelion wisps and they're all trying to take root and bloom in my nose. 

There were a couple hours in the middle of the day where it wasn’t too bad. Don’t ask me how I managed to get out of bed, but once I made it through the cans and started inventorying the boxes, I wasn’t sneezing anymore. Better for Joan, I thought, we’d both get off easy. But then right after supper it started again, just as bad as it ever was. I have to pause in my writing just to catch my breath. The cough is ugly but it’s not deep, just stubborn. No point in trying to get a day off out of it. McCawell would say I sounded fine in the house and that he ought to put me to work after supper too, since it seems to cure what’s ailing me.

There’s more to say but I can’t go on writing. This sneezing is taking it out of me. Not much to be done but to sleep it off, though I don’t know how I’ll get to sleep tonight. I was sleeping standing up today, lock-legged, like a horse, from not catching any the night before. I know where Efren keeps the horse pills, if it comes to that. Last time I took those, they woke me up with cold water. Right now that sounds like a vacation. Joan hasn’t noticed how I'm doing, and Ma won’t bless me.

March 6, 1965

It was Ma who called the doctor. Whatever it is, it got bad enough that I came down with a bloody nose. When I started in to sneeze, it wasn't pretty. I was in the barn at the time, so I came in the house looking for something to clean myself up. She saw me with blood all over my face and shirt and about started crying. I must have been coughing then, you couldn't tell her it wasn't consumption. A couple of girls hung around to calm her down. I thought I'd better leave. 

The blood stopped by the time the doctor got here. He took my temperature and listened to my chest and told me I wasn't sick with anything contagious. That meant back to work, but it also meant that Joan was in the clear.  I know it was ridiculous to imagine she might still end up taking care of me. Anyway, it’s better this way.

Then again, who’s to say the doctor knows what he’s talking about? He said “hayfever” and a couple eavesdroppers and I told him it’s not even haying season, and I don’t have any problem when it is. But his advice was that it must be environmental, so I should try and fix my environment. He said to change my bedding to get rid of the built-up dust, then I should stick my head in a steam bath and see if that helps. He’d been anticipating TB, so he didn’t have anything for me to take. Pa said in that case he wasn’t paying. I left when they started arguing, to go strip the bed in Danny’s room.

It was dusty all right. Set me off again pretty good. I gave up halfway through—I didn’t want my nose to start bleeding again. I got the window partway open, and I was just sitting on the half-empty bed when Maggie came in. She heard I wasn’t feeling good and wanted to come see how I was doing. I took out my harmonica because I didn’t want to talk to her. But between the coughs and sneezes, I had to give it up. It’s not that Maggie isn’t a great girl. She’s got a head full of bouncy red curls and freckles all over her body, and she wears tied-off shirts and denim shorts to prove it. I think it’s her eyes that put me off. They’re so big and round and she lines them black. She looks like an owl. Cute, I guess, but I wouldn’t be alone with her in the same room if I could help it.

Maggie said the room smelled like a swamp. That’s one good thing about all this; I can’t smell anymore, so it doesn’t bother me. She got real friendly when I told her that, saying she knew how to clear my head. Maggie likes to fixate on how all the functions of the body are linked to orgasm. She once told me an orgasm is equivalent to eight sneezes. I don’t know how she figured that, but I’d be a lot happier and a lot looser by now if she’d been telling the truth.

She didn’t try to take my pants off. She seemed to want to do it with them on. I told her if she really wanted to help me she’d boil me a pot of water and get me a towel to trap the steam. Most of the guys wish they could lay Maggie, but they’re terrified of incurring McCawell’s wrath. Some of them she flirts with just to piss her daddy off. He threatened Efren with a 12-gauge and now no one wants to look at her. It’s not McCawell I’m scared of. Something about Maggie tells me she’s not satisfied until she sees the white of bone.

I touched her up till she came, the fastest I’ve ever seen her do it. It seemed easier than trying to talk her out of it. Maggie’s not a bad girl. She’s just stuck here like the rest of us, and sex starved. It can’t be good for a girl her age. Once she calmed down, she said Pa had agreed to pay the doctor but he was taking it out of my check. She promised she’d get him to change his mind. I kept telling her she didn’t have to, but she gave me one of her nice handkerchiefs as collateral, with the little MM stitched on the border. I sneezed fresh blood into it within minutes of her leaving. Pa and Maggie and the doctor were all arguing in the kitchen, so I couldn’t boil water for a steam bath, and the bed was still unmade. I ended up just going to the shed for the horse stuff. Taking half a tablet doesn’t knock me out, and they last longer that way besides.

March 8, 1965

A lot has happened so I’ll try to tell the short version.

Danny’s room is growing mold. It’s more mold than room. I don’t know how it didn’t collapse on me. On Sunday I was picking at the wallpaper and a section of it crumbled away. The wall was black. I thought it was ants. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I ran outside and coughed until I lost my breakfast. It was Sunday, so we couldn’t get the doctor, but he couldn’t have told me anything I didn’t know by then. It was the mold that was making me sick. The dust couldn’t have helped either.

Pa won’t get the room repaired. I wasn’t even the one to tell him about the mold. It must have been Maggie or one of the girls. Still, he wouldn’t swallow it. I found out Maggie volunteered to let me stay in her room until they fix Danny’s. Now whenever Pa looks at me he gets all red with fury and can’t speak. I don’t hold it against her. He’d only take it out of my check, anyways.

Willie jumped out of his skin when he saw me. Somehow the news had warped as it traveled, and he’d heard I was dead. I didn’t have any evidence to the contrary, so I let him be.

The real mess happened after I got a few doses of horse pills down. I went to go sleep in the loft when I ran into Joan. She was stealing some wine and said half was mine if I wouldn’t tell. I’d never say no, but horse stuff and booze are like fire and gasoline. We drank the whole jug. I got sloppy. I remember I wanted to kiss her—I don’t know if I did it. I told her I was in love with her and she started crying, saying Maggie was gonna fire her when she found out. She’s jealous that way. I told her again and again I wouldn’t let that happen. Joan kissed my head, and when I woke up it was dark. I waited until dawn, then I marched into the house and told McCawell I quit. He laughed and kept on eating. Even Maggie didn’t say anything. 

I slept in the loft last night, and I haven’t been back in Danny’s room but for a minute to grab a few things. Already, it feels like it’s getting better. I only sneezed once after I woke up this morning. Mostly no cough either. There’s a weird sort of pounding feeling behind my eyes any time that I do cough. Could be nothing, I never know. I was out in the rain a lot yesterday before I ripped up the wallpaper; maybe that’s got something to do with it.

This is my second night sleeping in the loft. It’s supposed to rain again tomorrow. No one knows when it’ll end. Danny’s room is empty again and it looks like it’ll stay that way, but I found another jug of wine squirreled away up here in the hay. Whatever’s coming, I might not end up weathering it alone.

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2023 PRESHOW - Part 4: Acts I can Respect, I guess.

Some songs aren’t for me. But they still bring something new or different to the table and I can respect that. Here are five songs on the cusp between almost good and almost meh.

25. GEORGIA Iru - “Echo” Semi 2, #slot11

Iru set a weird new standard for eurofandom cabin fever when they concluded that Georgia were GIVING OFF WINNER vibes based A FUCKING PHOTOGRAPH.

OMG SO FIERCE SHE’S GONNA SLAY -- really stupid people. 

Fortunately, “Echo” soon released and instantly erased this nonsense 🙂. And let “nonsense” be the ideal word to describe “Echo” with. Dear Georgia, the fuck’s this chorus?

Days in a row I'm thinking, I know I've got a big faith My love is my crown Will be better way Will be better day now It is not a secret

Eurovision is no stranger to word salads, especially from Georgia, but “Echo” is a word casserole. It follows the Barkerian approach of throwing logic out of the window and treating words as merely another layer of sound. You cannot PRETEND to have meaning and also do this, sorry that doesn’t work! Come back when ur sober...x. 

But what about the rest of the song? I suppose there is an interesting structure here where “Echo” just discards a beginning and ending, and just jumps into three minutes of straight action. Breaking conventional norms! The interest is fully academic though because it just doesn’t work. If you’re thrust into the action immediately and unprepared as a first time viewer, nothing is going to fucking stick, innit?

Like yeah, I know. This is Georgia and they’re a bit different than most other countries and we’re expect to believe they’re MASTERING the avant garde genre after delighting us with “Midnight Gold” and “Visionary Dream”... and yet I’m not buying into it this year. “Echo” is no less of a sham than “Jezinky” or “Secreto del Aqua” (or, dare I say, that other Blanca Paloma song?) in that it just showboats baseline artistry + power vocals while neglecting to deliver the base product of a good song - and they get away with ALL of it because Iru is a woman!

In terms of personal enjoyment, Georgia probably should have been a part of the last update (Iru’s virtually tied with Alika), but eh. “Echo” is a lot of things (at once.), but it’s not BORING. It tries to bring something different to the table and I can respect the attempt. The result’s just... kinda stupid and nonsensical, that’s all. 🤷‍♀️

Odds at Eurovision - Georgia

“Echo” is one of several borderlines in semi 2, so it really depends on how well Georgia stage it and how awful the other BLs are. 

The main hurdle they face is general appeal. “Echo” lacks a clear beginning or end, let alone a base fucking narrative which makes it very difficult to get into. The only trump card Georgia have are Iru’s vocals, but what advantage would this screaming woman have over an Alika or a Diljá? a draw in the middle of the favourite (and directly after the criminally underrated Slovene entry) won’t do them much favours either. 

It all boils down to how well Georgia get their artistic vision across and this has been tried and ruled to be televote repellent for the past seven contests. 

If Georgia do qualify, it would be a good indicator that there is some mass appeal there and, I could see “Echo” getting a midtable result with moderately positive acclaim from both vote bases. 

I do NOT believe Georgia are coming top 10 though. 🙂 12th is their celing, sorry to disappoint you now BUT IT’ S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD TO GET USED TO DISAPPOINTMENT ONCE SHE DOES WORSE THAN THAT IN LIVERPOOL. 

Qualifier Tier: C Projected placement: 7th-14th (Semi), 

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

24. DENMARK Reiley - “Breaking my heart” Semi 2, slot #01

This lil’ fucker is twenty-five.

Weeerq? 

This seems like a good point to eliminate Reiley. You know my taste by now, and are fully aware that “K-pop loving twink” is NOT a flavour I particularly like or care for, in any medium or universe.

However, I don’t really mind Reiley at all oops. Should I? I know people loved that uncanny valley rock song and that awkward marriage duet, but when I heard the Danish hopefuls (only once, I assure you) I was surprised to like the TikTok twink the most. And then he won, HOORAY!

Unfortunately we’re sort of in the ReDDI zone here where I liked Reiley the most at DMGP and wanted him to win... but DMGP is always kinda shit, so once he won and one has to compare “Breaking my heart” to songs that are actually, you know, better than “just okay”, he immediately dropped to upper yellow and stayed there forevermore.

For me personally the big dealbreaker isn’t so much the K-pop inspired music or the twinkishness or the fact that he’s a fucking INFLUENCER with a clearly fake follower count - it’s the fucking aggro autotune. the “IF WE COULD GO BACK TO THE START”s of “Breaking my heart”  should have been THE slope I could have slid down into embracing a Danish entry just this once (in a similar way to how allowing “Ciutoooo tuuuuto” to dwell rent-free in my brain made me enjoy “Stay” way more than I should), but the robot voice ruins it for me. You sir, are no Olson brother. 😌

Odds at Eurovision - Denmark

Another one of those Semi 2 borderline qualifiers, eh? Well, I’m tempted to say Denmark make it through in their usual 10th place since at Eurovision there’s always a place for upbeat bouncy pop (and also, semi 2 is generally just kinda miserable) and Reiley does have a (clearly fake but still) large enough follower count. 

However, Denmark are on first and this may be just my wrong impression, but I think “Breaking my heart” is a shittttt opener. Semi 2 doesn’t exactly have good opening material in its first half, but i would have let Belgium kick it off, surely?  Semi 2 has a slow start and by being a fairly meh first act Reiley is in part responsible FOR the early show lethargy. 

If Denmark do qualify, I think they’ll get a lowish result in the Grand Final. Unless they get massive traction from juries in a Lake Malawi sort of way (which I doubt because “Breakin’ my heart” is sadly, not very catchy), I’d guesstimate they’ll come crashing into a bottom 5 position. 

Qualifier Tier: C+ Projected placement: 8th-12th (semi), 23rd-26th (Grand Final)

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

23. SPAIN Blanca Paloma - “Eaea”  Autoqualifier

I am going to regret this, am I not? 🙄😣

So yeah, Spain’s entry is fine. I HATED that Blanca won with such overwhelming force, beating Nochentera and Arcadia (two of the best, if not the two best acts of the NF season), but w/e I’m over it. I don’t think anyone can deny that Blanca Paloma is a visionary artist with a clear understanding of both visual spectacle and musical fusion. She manages to really NAIL a flamenco punk vocal (arguably one of the three best vocalists in the year, the other two being Gustaph and Andrejs from Sudden Lights) and supports it with an act that is a feast for the eyes.

In sum,  Everything about “Eaea” is great!

Except for the fucking song. 

Ya see, Spain’s really in the same ballpark as Georgia for me: Their song is basically a bunch of nonsense that should be deemed unviable on the spot through sheer logic, but is revered by the fandom through a combination of latent misandry and stockholm syndrome. “Eaea is at least more of a song than than “Echo” is - its lyrics make sense and the song follows a clear narrative. Hence the Reiley-sized gap between them on the ranking. 

However, “Eaea” has a different Big Problem in that it builds promise right at the start, and then seemingly devolves into a two-minute vocal masturbation exercise, and that’s where it loses me.  I LIKE the flamenco vocals, but I don’t like the way it is used in the song. It’s exhausting. The music plays second fiddle to the vocals and I feel like it should be the other way around! I really don’t fucking CARE about the Where I Ams of this world, sorry, never have, never shall!

So what do I fucking do with an act that I enjoy looking at and DON’T enjoy listening to? I suppose I use them as the dividing line between what I like and what I don’t like, I guess? Everything else about Spain is great this year, so idk, maybe I’ll like it at the end? 

Basically, I need more time to ruminate over where I like “Eaea” or not, and in what capacity. I don’t fucking know right now, and thinking about it (and the reaction of the Spaintard when they stumble across this post) ages me. I’ve decded that I’ll give an answer after Blanca’s ESC journey has been completed, so I’ll just dump her here and you’ll just have to deal. :-) 

Which brings me to:

Odds at Eurovision - SPAIN

To be fair, when Eaea first won I thought it would be the usual overrated Spanish entry that would flop at ESC. Like genuinely, mid-table? Honestly, I feel like that could have been the result in a competitive year.

However, I have to retract my words here. As more entries poured in and the year became  progressively less competitive, it also became clear to me that Spain will indeed do very well in Liverpool. For the gripes that I have about her song, Blanca has consistently been excellent live in both vocals and acting. As the days pass, the more convinced I am she will be able to bluff her way into the hearts of juries and televoters and eke out another top five for Spain. 

I doubt she wins though, which is what the Blancaheads would like you to believe. On paper, Spain is a dark horse contender, the most likely winner after Finland and Sweden, but let’s be fair, it really just is Sweden or Finland, with zero chance of anyone else? It’s looking more and more like a Loreen coronation to a point I want to vomit one could even argue Käärijä is a Dark Horse to win it now.

But yeah, I no longer believe she’s midtable anymore, and I will be very angry with myself if she does flop (she won’t) for not sticking to my first impression. 🙂

Cool electric guitar though. 🙂

Projected Placement: 2nd-5th (prediction: 3rd)

22. GERMANY Lord of the Lost - “Blood and glitter” Autoqualifier

Okay, so Lord of the Lost are the first act on this ranking that I will say I ~like~, but only just. 🙂

Let’s start with the good bits. CAMPY SCHLAGER METAL YESSSS  😍 INSTANTLY MEMORABLE VISUAL SPECTACLE YESSSS  😍 ENERGY SPIKES DURING A BORINGDULL LIVE SHOW YESSSS 😍

Added bonus: Germany FINALLY selecting something entertaining and non-conformist in forever. Bag that safe and insipid era!!!

Now, the not good bits. Which us honestly  just one big thing: “Blood and glitter” is not very exciting. DESPITE BEING WHAT IT IS. 

I feel like there are several smaller reasons why it doesn’t excite me as much: The cadence of the verses is arrhythmic and disturbs the flow they’re going for, and while Lord of the Lost went far enough on their campy gore for a shitshow like Unser Lied, I don’t think they go far enough for Eurovision (at least not yet). I’m taking about both music AND staging btw.

The biggest killer for me though is that I feel like “Blood and glitter” just lasts too fucking long. Around the halfway point Lord of the Lost just start to repeat the chorus in different music styles and that makes the second half tedious and, dare I say it, kinda boring? It’s like the end of Return of the King, except the Fellowship are all Orcs.

Overall though, I do feel like Germany show promise and I like them... but they have a long road ahead if they want to rise on this ranking come May. 😶

Odds at Eurovision - Germany

This one’s easy: midtable result at best, probably in the third quadrant of the scoreboard. If the Unser Lied vote was any indicator, we’re in for a very low jury and high-ish televote. 

I do NOT buy that the televote by itself will be enough to carry Germany into the top 10, which is a take I’ve heard from others. Like, they’ll get points, enough to avoid the bottom five, but surely we should realize by now that Käärijâ will receive the bulk of the metalheads’ votes, followed distantly by Voyager. Lord of the Lost’s tally will be whatever crumbs those two didn’t eat. (like Finland’s TV for instance).

Germany need to make Blood and Glitter more exciting through its staging, but I also don’t trust ARD at all. Germany have had too many outright failures as of late. Which may be Germany’s biggest hurdle overall. When most people expect you to be bad, it’s a LOT of work to convince them you’re worthy of being given a chance, regardless of whether you are or not. 

And a song with six final choruses may not be the best at achieving that lofty goal.

Projected placement: 14th-20th

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

21. AZERBAIJAN TuralTuranX - “Tell me more” Semi 1, slot #12

WEIRDO TWINBEASTS <3333

After last year’s Nadir debacle I promised myself to hate  Azerbaijan’s crap no matter what!! 

Once they announced their act, a pair emaciated gremlin twinks with a stage name straight from MySpace, I convinced myself they would be shit and I would HATE them! 

And yet, “Tell me more” released and against every impulse, I liked it almost immediately! Socially awkward and yet touchingly naive, it’s a song that lights up like Napolean Dynamite. It feels like a very fitting choice for a contest set in the same city that produced The Beatles. 😁

Out of the many things you can say about Azerbaijan at ESC, their most prominent trait has always been the steady stream of Swedish McSongs performed by jazz singers who clearly despised the experience. 

It is refreshing to have that very same country send an awkward, unpretentious self-composed Britrock song by two young men that actually seem to embrace the experience for once. Tural and Turan not only attended a few of the preparties (which the Azerbaijani NEVER do), they actually joined the afterparty in Amsterdam as well, where they -to my delight- appeared to deliberately avoid Ell -who was also present :/ - before mingling with the fans. Clearly Tural and Turan are guys willing to live their best live, and I support it.

So why rank them only 21st in spite of the praise? Well, BECAUSE I HAVE SMELLED BLOOD. 😈😈😈😈

Odds at Eurovision - AZERBAIJAN

We’re finally getting it: The rare Azerbaijani NQ, and I’m SO excited for it. Yes, it of course is going to happen when Azer are sending their most risky, quirky and authentic entry in years, that’s just how the universe works. It is unfortunate whenever daring and originality are rewarded with failure, but guess what - recompense for last year, bitches. 

The Nadir tomfoolery was inexcusable (Andrea was ROBBED!) and we’re owned payment in the form of a cold hard NQ. 

In that regard, I absolutely believe Tural and Turan will deliver because (1) awkward twinbeasts (2) “Tell Me More” is already strange and unvoteable in itself (3) they’re up right after Loreen. Three strikes and ur OWT. 

Like realistically, I could see Azer finish ahead Ireland and Netherlands... and maybe Shitzerland in the televote. But who is going to pick up their phone for a despised jury pet? The Brits who cannot vote in semi 1 anyway? Latvia?

The cherry on the sundae: I honestly do believe “Tell Me More” would be Q with juries, or even Q *thanks to* the juries, if juries were to play a part in the semfinal. But they won’t, so OOPS can’t resort to your old tactics this time around Azer! Too bad! So sad! 🙂

Projected placement: 11th-15th (Semifinal)

THE RANKING:

Part 1: The BAD entries   (Switzerland / Croatia / Israel / Greece) Part 2: the IRRELEVANT entries  (Ireland / Albania / Netherlands / San Marino) Part 3: The Borewhores (Estonia / Ukraine / Cyprus / Italy) next up, entries I enjoy! Hooray!

[waiting-on-a-dream]

My Milgram ocs as long palette names because making the twst version was fun

Based on this post from @.fivepointpalettes + later palettes. Let's go!!

Just Friends But We Kiss Sometimes - LITERALLY DAISUKE AND RYUTO I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY

Let Me Be Your Unreliable Narrator, Baby! - Every prisoner lmao

Focus On Me (Ignore The Blood) - Suzume, Haku

I Touch You And My Hands Burn My Hands Burn My Hands Burn (What Have You Done) - Daisuke, Suzume

Well First Of All I Am Positive What You Did Is A Criminal Offense / And Second Of All Why Didn’t You Invite Me - Suzume (She seems like the kind of girl who would feel left out when it comes to activities like this)

What’s A Little Murder Between Friends - Rin (This is kind of mean but its funny 💀)

I’m Sorry I Chewed Through Your Walls But You Must Understand I’m Calcium Deficient / Please Be Mindful Of The Evil Yoghurt Demon In The Freezer - I don't know why but these reminded me of Ichiro

Being In Love And How It Sucks Sometimes - Daisuke, Suzume, Rin, Noa (Sad little meow meows)

Do You Remember When You Told Me That You Love Me When You Told Me That You Love Me When You Told Me That You - Suzume

I Loved You I Did So How Did We End Up Like This - Daisuke, Rin, Noa

This Will Hurt You More Than It’ll Hurt Me - And That’s Okay! - Akane, Daisuke, Haruto (They're vibing guys)

I Need You To Understand That I Really Do Want What’s Best For You - And That Simply Isn’t Me - Noa

I’m Always At Least A Little Bit Scared Hopeless And Frustrated - Akane, Yui, Noa, Mayumi (This is the opposite of girlboss)

Can You Help Me Find What’s Wrong With Me / An Unhealthy Relationship With One’s Own Identity - Ichiro, Daisuke, Suzume, Yui, Rin, Noa (They are not having fun)

Biting Into A Rubber Ball Like An Apple While Maintaining Full Eye Contact - Haruto (I think he would do this just to spite someone)

I’m Just A Normal Functioning Member Of The Human Race And There Is No Way Anyone Can Prove Otherwise - Kiyoshi, Mayumi

The Magical Princess’s Strawberry-Scented Battle Axe Of Infinite Bloodshed - Suzume

I Hate Citations Why Can’t You Just Trust Me - Suzume, Noa

Doctors Say You Need A Consistent Amount Of Sleep To Be Healthy So I Consistently Sleep For 4 Hours A Night / Too Cool To Sleep At A Reasonable Hour / I’m Sick But The Bags Under My Eyes Are Sicker / Who Needs Sleep When I Can Just Drop Dead For A Rest - Haruto (I can't- Giving him these palettes are so funny 💀💀💀)

Lonely Sewer Cryptid Looking For Love - Ichiro

The Privilege Of Being Born Somebody Else - Ichiro, Suzume, Yui, Kiyoshi (I don't like what this says about them)

Look At Her Go Biting Everyone Who Comes Near Her Like A Champ - Akane, Mayumi (One day they're gonna snap)

I Apologize If You Found Finding This Place Difficult But You Must Understand I Am Currently Evading Detection And Arrest For Crimes Undisclosed - Daisuke

And If You Thought It Was A Threat It Might Have Been - Daisuke, Suzume, Haku, Mayumi, Haruto

Putting On A Show To Seem Alive / When I Don’t Feel Alive - Daisuke

Time Has Stopped Passing A Long Time Ago - Everyone in Milgram should be getting cabin fever by now, right?

Once Again A Cold Rainy Winter Gives Way To A Cold Rainy Spring - Rin (Him and his seasons theme)

Here’s Cheers To The Man Who Stole My Heart Away - Suzume, Noa

The Sort Of Love You Only Feel When Drunk - Daisuke (Yes another 'On love' reference I can't stop)

It’s Past My Bedtime And I’m Thinking Of You - Rin

Oh Baby Don’t You Know Our Sort Is Locked Out Of Heaven - Haku, Mayumi (I REALLY don't like what this says about them)

You Have To Stop Making So Many Enemies - Haruto @ most of the prisoners (Its actually just the guilty prisoners lmao)

Keep All Body Parts On The Inside Of The Vehicle At All Times As Failure To Comply May Result In Having Them Unwillingly Removed - Haruto (This sounds like something he'd say)

Drowning In A Coffee Cup (What An Awful Way To Go) - Noa

My Overconfidence Is Astounding And It’s A Surprise I’ve Never Been Killed - Haruto (He's lucky my prisoners are all so chill)

I Understand Where You’re Coming From But Where Did You Get The Gun - Daisuke

Well That Was A Little Unnecessarily Brutal Don’t You Think? - Sender: Daisuke (He said he wasn't cut out for his work), Receiver: Akane, Suzume, Haku, Kiyoshi

Tender Words And Hellish Screams - The entirety of Milgram

You Smell Like Nonsense With A Hint Of Melancholy - Noa

I Live In A Room With No Windows / I Haven’t Left The House In Months - People are getting depression from being cooped up in Milgram for so long, right?

Forever Dizzy In This Lonely World - Ichiro, Akane, Suzume, Rin, Noa

Summer Lasts A Week At Best But My Dedication To Sweater Vests Is Eternal So Look Me In The Eye Little Teacup And Melt If It Bothers You So Much - Mayumi

You Can’t Just Ask A Guy Why He’s In Love - Daisuke

Can’t Let It Slip That There’s More To Me Than Little Old I - Kiyoshi

I Know I May Look Like A Real Person But I Am Actually Not A Real Person At All - Ichiro (I don't know what kind of mental illness he has but he sure has one or a few)

You Know How Sometimes An Unwanted Guest Comes Over And You Do All You Can To Make Them Leave While Remaining Polite / Fizzy Brained Children Are So Troublesome - Mayumi (They both apply to her so I'll put it like this even though the palettes have nothing in common)

You’re The First Descendant In A Line Of Workaholics Utterly Convinced Your Willingness To Sacrifice Your Own Health Determines Your Worth As A Human Being And Promptly Working Yourself To Death To Provide Unto Others What You Never Had A Chance To Understand You Deserved Yourself - Kiyoshi, Mayumi

I Am The Mirror In Which You Can See All The Evil In The World - Ahaha, everyone in Milgram

My Brain Operates On Frequencies You’ve Never Even Heard Of - Again, whatever Ichiro has going on /pos

Being Told I’m Allowed To Make My Final Class Project About Any Topic I Want Awakens A Demon Inside Me That Makes Me Subject My Classmates To Only The Finest Of My Obscure Interests - Noa

The Only Thing Greater Than My Ego Is My Impostor Syndrome - Daisuke, Haruto

The Cons Of Being My Friend Greatly Outweigh The Pros - Rin

You Are Who We Say You Are Because Public Opinion Beats Self Worth Every Time - Kiyoshi

Murder And Other Expressions Of Love - Daisuke, Suzume, Haku, Rin

You Locked Me In A Cage And Threw Away The Key And When You Found Someone Better I Was Left To Gnaw On The Bars For My Freedom - Suzume, Rin

What Do You MEAN There Was A Fire - Haruto (Poor warden-san)

A Little Weirdo Driven By Consumption - Ichiro

Your Love Has Brought Me To The Point Of No Returning - Suzume

Go To Sleep In The Morning And Wake Up At Noon Only To Go Back To Sleep Till Evening And Wake Up Full Of Regret And With A Headache - All that sleep deprivation finally caught up to Haruto

A Toast To Our Special Little Brand Of Sin - Milgram~!

The Man Of Wine And Cigarette Smoke / You And All Your Money That You’ve Stolen From The Poor / Thank You For Your Loss - Daisuke (His mafia side makes an appearance!)

Learn To Forgive Yourself - Noa (The only true innocent prisoner here /j)

I Don't Know What's In Your Head Why Are You Asking Me - Haruto (I can imagine the prisoners asking him what went down in their MVs and him going: does it look like I know?)

[adzeisval]

Don't go where I can't follow

Some younger Ed and Izzy today. Also on AO3.

“I’m fine Izzy,” Ed said and Izzy knew that he was lying. Ed looked pale and no one could ignore his coughing and sniffling. Edward was getting sick and he was trying to push through things. 

Izzy knew inevitably Ed would go down and be in bed for a few days. It had happened before but things were different now. Before Izzy would take time to take care of Ed and protect him from their shipmates and the like. But now Edward was Captain and a Captain couldn’t be seen to be weak. 

“If you get feeling any worse, you should go to the cabin,” Izzy said, hoping Ed would catch his meaning. 

“Don’t worry so much Iz,” Ed said. But Izzy did worry. Edward hadn’t been Captain very long and there was still quite a lot of jockeying for position and power on the ship. Izzy didn’t put it past a few to try to mutiny or try to harm Ed. He couldn’t trust anyone on the ship. 

Ed wasn’t up the next morning and Izzy knew why. He told the crew to get back to work and went to the Captain’s Cabin and found Ed in bed.

“Iz…” 

“I knew you were getting sick, Captain.” 

“Mmmm.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you Ed.” 

Izzy brought Ed food and drink and medicine and kept guard. From what he knew the sickness was likely to last a few days. 

A few days passed and Ed only got sicker and Izzy got very, very worried. Ed burned with fever, he was delirious most of the time and he was having trouble breathing. Izzy made sure Ed was propped up in bed but still he was fighting for air. 

Izzy did what he could. He gave Ed herbs and made him drink and put a cool cloth on his head. He didn’t know what else to do and as Ed lingered Izzy knew he would have to get help. 

The doctor he managed to find wanted a ridiculous amount of money to  treat a pirate and keep quiet but Izzy paid him. 

“He has pneumonia, and it’s bad.” 

“What can I do?” 

“I have some medicine but he’ll likely die.” 

Izzy paid the man even though he wanted to run him through and throw him overboard for even thinking that Edward would die. Edward couldn’t die. They had…they had fought so hard for what they had…they had so much more to do and Izzy couldn’t do it alone. 

“Iz?” 

“I’m here Ed.” 

“Can’t breathe…”

“I know Ed, you just need to rest and keep trying.” 

“Feel like I’m dying.” 

“You’re not,” Izzy said, maybe a little too fast and Ed looked at him until he continued, “Not yet.” 

Izzy wasn’t going to give up on Edward. He was going to fight and hopefully that would make Edward want to fight. 

Izzy slept in the Captain’s cabin to make sure he could jump to Edward’s every need. He was there to protect and take care of him. Every time he woke he got up and checked to make sure Edward was alright. He could often hear Edward breathing before he saw him.

“I’m here Ed,” Izzy said as she changed the cloth on his forehead. 

Izzy woke a few hours later to Edward having a coughing fit. Izzy jumped up and lifted Edward’s chest and sat behind him. Edward continued to cough violently. He was barely able to get any air into his lungs. He was trembling and pale. Izzy could feel how fast Ed’s heart was beating.

“Ed,” Izzy said trying to keep his own voice steady, “Just stay calm and try to breathe, you can do this.” 

Edward continued to cough and fight for air and there was nothing Izzy could do but hold him and encourage him. 

The coughing fit ebbed and Edward slumped back against Izzy. Ed moaned. Ed wheezed and his breathing slowed far too much. Ed’s pulse was unsteady and weak. Ed seemed to not want to breathe at all.

Ed took a breathe and let it out. He didn’t take another. 

“Edward please breathe, please,” Izzy pleaded. Edward took a breath. He would take a few breaths and then pause and Izzy would plead for him to breathe again. Izzy didn’t know how long Edward could keep it up. 

Izzy started to come to terms with the fact that Edward might die in his arms, and soon. Izzy didn’t know what to do, there really wasn’t anything he could do. He would stay with Edward until he was gone or until he was well enough to be on his own. 

“Please don’t go where I can’t follow,” Izzy said. He and Edward had been together for a decade already and Izzy thought they had their whole lives ahead of them to carve a place out for themselves in the world. They had just started building up a legend for Edward, a way to keep them safe or at least safer in an unsafe world and profession. Edward was…he was everything to Izzy and Izzy didn’t know how he was going to go on if Edward didn’t make it. 

Izzy spent the rest of the night urging Edward to keep breathing and fearing that any one of the labored breaths might be Edward last. He didn’t know how much longer Edward could live and though he didn’t want Edward to suffer he couldn’t bring himself to let Edward go. 

Izzy was exhausted by morning but Edward was still breathing. Izzy was dazed as he ordered the crew around and got some water and medicine for Edward. He paused at the cabin door. Edward might have passed while he was doing his duty. Izzy took a deep breath and entered. 

Edward was still alive, and Izzy thought he might be going crazy but maybe, just maybe his breathing was a little better. 

Izzy slept beside Edward that night, just in case. He fell asleep hoping that Edward was getting stronger like Izzy thought. 

Izzy wasn’t crazy. Over the next few days Edward started to improve slowly. The coughing slowed down, his breathing eased a little bit. When Edward’s fever broke Izzy thought he might cry with joy. 

When Edward woke up Izzy did cry.

“Iz?” 

“I thought you were going to die,” Izzy sniffled, “I was so scared.” 

“I’m sorry Iz, I think I’m going to be alright.” 

“You fucking better,” Izzy said. 

Ed chuckled, “I’m fine Izzy.”

[twistsandtwizzles]

Stars on Mars: Episode 3

Welcome back to the Red Planet, AKA Australia somewhere. I am assuming if you’re reading this you do not need me to write a recap of the recap that Shatner gives us of what has happened so far, so I’ll just dive into the morning of “Sol Day 5.”

We open on Ariel and Adam washing dishes. Adam asks how Ariel slept. She reports that Porsha was hallucinating about a dog being in their room in the middle of the night.

“We’ve been here in the hab for awhile,” Adam says to the camera, explaining that some people are getting cabin fever. “Is this place driving me crazy? Yeah, of course. The only good thing is that I was crazy before I got here.”

Back in the kitchen, Porsha is explaining her dog-related hallucination to the crew in great detail. She is swearing that one of the girls in the bunk room must have barked, they insist that no one did. “I’m losing my damn mind,” Porsha says.

Ronda facetimes her adorable child, and wipes away tears after hanging up. Richard is also struggling a bit, and misses his family and kids. He says he hadn’t heard of space madness before but he thinks he might be experiencing it. And I sympathize with being homesick but . . . these people do realize that they are not actually in space, right?

Lady Hab Voice alerts the crew about a new arrival: a robot dog! Most of the cast react to this arrival by screaming and running away and frankly I cannot blame them; the”dog” is four spindly robot legs with a cell phone screen for a face and it makes weird clicking noises when it walks.

Porsha gamely names it “Maresha, ‘cause we’re on Mars” and then immediately gives a talking head about how the dog was aggressive and chased her around. “I didn’t like that dog,” she says, as the footage shows her hiding behind Adam. “I’ve got you,” Adam says, laughing.

The robot dog clunks over to Tinashe who tells it to sit. It does. Tinashe grins and gives it a pat. Lady Hab Voice assigns Lance and Tinasha to go walk the dog which apparently they have to do outside?? It’s a robot?? Whatever. They put on their suits and try to get it to play fetch (which it doesn’t do), and they make small talk about who the next Base Commander will be. Lance says he’s not interested because he "likes to go outside" and that he thinks "it’s lame to sit there and read directions.”

Tinashe tells Lance she thinks she would be a pretty strong option for Base Commander; Lance says he agrees. Tinashe gives a talking head about how she thinks people underestimate her but she knows that she’s strong and could do the job. For those playing Reality TV Bingo at home, she also gives us a, “I’m a competitive person, and I didn’t come here for any reason but to win.” It’s not exactly “I’m not here to make friends” but it’s pretty darn close!

Tinashe promises Lance that if she’s Base Commander she’ll do everything she can to make sure he stays on the show. Sorry, "in the experiment." He promises her the same.

Back inside, Schwartz sits with Natasha and Adam and asks if either of them have a phobia about people making loud noises when they eat. “No,” Adam says, then asks the question everyone's thinking: “But what are you about to do?”

Schwartz holds up a piece of celery, dips it in something, and starts chewing. “Oh my god,” Adam says. “Is that just tabasco sauce?”

“Yeah,” Schwartz replies. “It’s hot.”

“Uh, yeah,” Adam says, looking appalled. “Is your ass going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Schwartz says again, unruffled. I’m not really sure if he’s all that bright.

Tinashe and Lance return to the hab, seemingly without the dog?? Did they just leave it outside?? Lance gives a talking head where he puts his money on Tinashe making it to the end of the show: “She’s highly competitive, ambitious, and she’s very likable,” he says.

Meanwhile Tinashe has found Adam. “I want to know what your thoughts are,” she tells him, and they squirrel away for a private conversation.

“What are you thinking?” he asks her, once they are situated on the couch. Tinashe explains that the biggest problems with their missions have involved communication, and that while she thinks she has the knowledge and the leadership to be Base Commander she also feels like she struggles to get people to actually listen to her. Adam agrees with all of this, telling the camera that he thinks Tinashe would be great but is too soft spoken, and that he thinks that Ariel would actually have a voice that could cut through the chaos.

He goes to find the redhead. “You need to be the base commander on the next mission,” he tells her, point blank. “You need to step up.” 

“Okay,” Ariel replies immediately, slightly taken aback. I feel like this moment is a small taste of what having Adam as your figure skating coach would be like. 

“I’m going to be your campaign manager,” he tells Ariel, who laughs a little nervously. But you can tell she likes the idea. She gives a talking head about declining being Base Commander on Day 1 because she was scared, and says she needs to have confidence in herself.

We get a shot of the robot dog wandering around outside alone as the crew is informed it’s time to pick a new Base Commander. Tinashe throws her hat in the ring; Adam says that he wants to be base commander one day but he thinks that Ariel should have the job this time around. The group votes via secret ballot; Tinashe wins and is our new Base Commander. She’s thrilled. Ariel is a little disappointed.

After all of Marshawn’s posturing in episodes one and two about not wanting to leave the Base Commander suite, literally all Tinashe has to do is ask him to move out and he does. However the rest of the cast is amazed and impressed: “Tinashe is not fucking around!” Adam says in delight. 

After commercials, we return to footage of the robot dog pooping nuts and bolts. I wish I was kidding.

Inside, Tinashe assigns daily duties. Clean up crew: Schwartz, Ariel, and Adam. (Adam: “Yes!”) Biodome vegetable duties: Ronda and Natasha. Running the daily workout: Marshawn and Richard. 

Lady Hab Voice alerts the crew that “lower gravity on Mars can cause muscle waste” and so they must exercise. The way this show haphazardly decides what things are like space and which things aren’t makes my head hurt.

We see a short montage of Ronda, Marshawn, Richard, and Adam easily blowing through their ab series (bicycle crunches and planks) while Natasha struggles next to them. Her VO tells us that working out next to Olympians and pro athletes is pretty intimidating. 

Richard gives a talking head about how much he enjoyed running the workout, and also how much he’s enjoying spending time with Ronda and Marshawn.

Schwartz enters the workout room and attempts to do the agility drill that Marshawn and Richard have set up. Lance and Ronda heckle, but Richard takes pity on him and coaches Schwartz through the drill. I think Richard seems like a sweet dude.

Schwartz notes that Richard/Marshawn/Ronda have clearly formed an alliance. He also says he’s tired of being in the bottom three and is determined to step it up.

Elsewhere Adam is wiping down the hab. “God, I love cleaning so much,” he says, and he is not being sarcastic in any way, shape, or form. Truly do not relate.

Natasha and Ronda are in the biolab as Lady Hab Voice talks about how important fresh food is to health and morale on Mars. Ronda talks a lot about how much she loves working in the biodome and that it is keeping her sane, and I don’t want to spoil anything about where the site of the crisis might be in the back half of this episode, but you’ve watched tv before, yes? 

The crew heads to bed (we get a quick shot of Adam’s evening skincare routine, don’t worry everyone he’s still moisturizing on Mars) and then, of course . . . disaster! A spark in the biodome starts a fire! Alarms blare, and Tinashe starts waking everyone up. “You guys aren’t moving fast enough, there’s a fire!!” she says as Lance strolls slowly behind her, sipping on a canned beverage. 

“Evacuate!” Tinashe yells, as Lady Hab Voice says, “Explosion is imminent.” The group puts on their space suits and head outside - Tinashe sprinting for her life, others moving more slowly. As soon as the last one of them is out of the hab, something explodes and everyone screams.

Back from the commercial, Adam is trying to be serious but is actually laughing; Ronda and Schwartz look legitimately horrified. “It better not be the plants,” Ronda says. She has definitely watched television before.

The fire has been magically put out in .5 seconds, so they are all allowed to go back in the hab pretty much right away. Once inside the group is instructed to go to bed and await further instructions in the morning. 

Richard says he’s over this experiment: “I have had enough.”

Morning comes bright and early, with a message from Shatner. There has indeed been an explosion in the biodome, and they need to repair the structure and replant their crops “before it’s too late.” I have to say these arbitrary time restrictions make me laugh.

The mission in a nutshell: use some duct tape to repair the hole the “explosion” made on the outside of the dome, and then replant all the crops. Tinashe picks Ariel as her mission specialist because “she likes to boss people around,” but also because Tinashe is a smart cookie and knows that is a surefire way to win Ariel over.

Also, I don’t want to alarm anyone, but there has been no sign of the robot dog since the explosion. Did they blow that thing up?? Is there really no one in that hab curious about where their emotional support robot went?

Anyway, Ariel and Tinashe send Porsha, Marshawn, Richard, and Lance outside to repair the hole in the dome. This, much like the initial satellite mission, is lacking in any kind of drama. It’s not a very exciting job, to be fair - Marshawn and Richard are literally just required to hold ladders while Porsha and Lance tape up the dome.

Once the dome is fixed, everyone else is able to go into the biodome, where all the plants have been (fake) burned to a crisp. Schwartz, Adam, Ronda, and Natasha are tasked with cleaning out all the destroyed veggies and then transferring “94 cups of human biowaste” from the septic tank to the planter boxes so that they can replant. Everyone is rightfully disgusted by the solution in the septic tank that is basically muddy water with some cut-up hot dogs and corn floating in it that has also been scented to smell like an outhouse. Fun!

“I was expecting it to be a bit more solid,” Adam says when he gets a look at it. 

If you have read Adam’s book, which ends with a long poop anecdote, you will not be surprised that he is absolutely unphased by this challenge. He totally rocks it, only stopping at one point to say, “Oh god, I am splashing diarrhea on myself.” Which yes, this fake poop is gross, but also, Adam, your hazmat suit is partially unzipped and you didn’t put on gloves so who exactly are we kidding here.

Meanwhile, Natasha has started to gag, and can’t stop. She has to remove herself from the room, only returning when Adam has spread the faux-poop water into all the planter boxes by himself. The group completes the mission with 23 seconds to spare, and everyone celebrates.

Now, of course, it’s time to figure out who goes home. The crew gets sent outside while Ariel and Tinashe discuss who is mission critical and who is not. 

Ariel notes that Adam was “not afraid of anything” today. “Not only was he unafraid,” Tinashe agrees, “But he had a great attitude, he made it feel a little more lighthearted.” Go Adam!

Tinashe continues that Richard and Marshawn felt the most unessential. This is true, but to be fair to them both, they were literally assigned to stand in place and hold a ladder and that’s it. They did what they were told! This is basically what Marshawn says in his talking head.

The crew gets called inside, one by one, to get their patches. When Adam enters Ariel gets down on one knee and asks, Bachelorette-style, “Will you accept this patch?” Adam says, “I will!” and it’s cute.

Eventually it’s Schwartz, Natasha, Richard, and Marshawn left upstairs. Schwartz is relieved when he gets called inside and doesn’t have to be in the bottom three again. “I think I’m a future dark horse,” he says. I am not so convinced but I wish him the best of luck.

The crew huddles to decide who goes home. Ronda is brutally honest: she does not want to send home Richard or Marshawn. “I’d send any of you home first,” she tells them.

Natasha, Marshawn, and Richard are asked to make their case why they should stay. Natasha says that she doesn’t eat much so she’s really not a drain on the rations, and she thinks she can still contribute in new ways. Adam advocates for Nastasha down in the hab, which is nice of him considering she literally ran away gagging and made him fertilize potting soil with fake diarrhea all by himself.

Ariel says that Marshawn has consistently done the least, and Tinashe echoes this. Ronda says that Marshawn and Richard are a duo, and if one of them goes the other is likely close behind. “And then I’m going to be close behind,” she says.

But then - twist. Richard basically quits, saying, “You have a strong team with Natasha and Marshawn. I think I’ve already done my part.”

You can tell how popular Richard is, though, because even though he is quite literally asking to be kicked off, the group immediately starts trying to think of ways to keep him there. “Maybe if we can boost his morale,” Porsha says desperately. But it’s pretty obvious that you don’t keep a guy around who actively no longer wants to be there.

So Richard goes home. “I’m so mad at you,” Ronda tells him. Richard says that he feels like he set out what he wanted to accomplish, and that he’s excited to get home and see his kids.

Tinashe’s final talking head of the night says that after the elimination, things in the hab were tense. “Maybe this is becoming more of a social game,” she says, “which is a wakeup call.”

Ariel, Porsha, and Tinashe huddle in a hallway. Ariel says that she’s surprised this has become this kind of game, and that she thought it was supposed to be about the mission.

“I just didn’t know alliances were forming that hard,” Tinashe says. 

“Well, we should be careful,” Ariel replies. “Or we’ll be next.”

And with that, we’re out.

Next week: lots of running, "oxygen depletion", and Ronda behind the comms screaming that someone is going to die (I’m going to guess probably no one is actually in mortal peril). Also Marshawn with a blow torch!

[jodilin65]

If you think whites are “privileged” you’re deluding yourself. It’s just that I keep hearing the term and I assure you we have to play by the same rules as everyone else. We’re no more or less special let alone privileged.

To clarify what I was saying about Trump the other day, this doesn’t mean it still doesn’t piss the shit out of me that a known criminal who incited a riot and has done God only knows how many other illegal things can be reelected, as I believe he will, without paying the consequences whatsoever. Meanwhile, I lost my freedom and thousands of dollars because I spoke out against being victimized two decades and three states ago.

I was shocked to learn that same-sex relationships were illegal in the US up until 2003. I thought they were decriminalized decades before that! To think that I could have been arrested for being with Kacey and then later with Brenda is kind of mind-boggling.

But then how did so many gay bars exist before 2003 without being raided and shut down?

Sometimes I’ve wondered what it would be like to live in certain times and I imagine either way back in the past or if I was young today, like in my 20s or 30s. I’d say it’s probably a good thing the internet didn’t exist when I was young because I was a naive idiot who might have gotten into all kinds of trouble.

I wonder if it would have been easier to meet women. Back when I was young all you had was word of mouth or going to bars. If something isn’t meant to be whether it’s by design or not, it won’t be no matter how available it may be in general or how hard you work for it, so I don’t know that it would have made a difference. I think I still would have been met with the same rejection I got from the gay community years ago due to being very feminine. I simply had no desire to follow the so-called lesbian dress code that to this day I have never understood. Why should I have had to cut my hair off, ditch makeup, skirts, dresses, and heels, and walk and talk like a guy simply because I was attracted to women? I never understood the connection.

I know people can’t always help how they look and while they certainly do have a right to do what they want, can it be a coincidence that so many of them have short hair and are boyish in appearance? It really at least seems to be some kind of dress code just like it’s the opposite with gay guys appearing feminine. Again, it never made much sense to me to want to look like what you’re not supposedly attracted to but eh, whatever floats your boat.

I finally finished the Cabin Fever challenge I would have finished over a week ago had I not gotten sick. I’m back in Indiana with 1299 miles to go.

Having a thunderstorm tonight which is always nice.

I always used to say that when we moved from Auburn to Citrus Heights we traded in money issues for health problems for me. I asked Tom yesterday if I was imagining it or if we’ve been doing the best we’ve done financially since being here and he said yes, we are. Funny that it’s at a time when I get sicker than I’ve ever been. I don’t see it ever happening but if we were suddenly millionaires I can just imagine what my health would be like!

I haven’t been sick but I still have a bit of nausea and acid reflux at times. I also have moments where I wonder if I’m infected but I’m guessing I’m not. If I am, it’s mild.

My fatigue is kind of bad today. I was going to nap but couldn’t sleep. I think that’s a good thing, though, because napping yesterday may have done more harm in the end than good because it meant staying up later than usual and not sleeping as long. If I don’t sleep seven or eight hours at once, I’m more likely to be tired.

My appetite is still down as well and I’m down another half a pound. I still expect that to return, though. I’ve kind of got mixed emotions about that one. It’s good for me to lose weight but I also miss enjoying food. It’s not like I’m starving, though. I just can’t eat as much. I’ve been averaging around 1000 calories give or take a couple hundred. I’m actually getting hungry right now just talking about it, lol, so I’m going to go make something to eat.

[steveskafte]

WHO WAS CLYDE GOLDIE? I've felt a rising cabin fever these past couple years, an attraction to the oldest and most perilous structures that the forest has to offer. This one holds a particular attraction, having been so utterly swallowed by nature that you'd never find it if not for knowing where to look. This strange portal that we're staring through is the only clear passage, cut by me on a long afternoon last autumn. When I first arrived at a few years back, the scrubby evergreens made a high and blinding barrier. Mask for the past to hide behind, and memories long misplaced behind walls just barely standing. I caught the hint of geometric angles, sparking like some sharp angel out of naturally bending branches. Ghost of humanity in the edge of my cornered eyes. I read every inscription scrawled inside, with spraypaint, pen, or by the tip of a knife. I worked my way to the very oldest, a series of signatures from what looks like Clyde Goldie – unless I read the cursive writing wrong. He signed and dated for a short span of time, from 1961 to '65. Other notes of travellers passing tell me what they think I should know. SDC and JLV passed through here in January 1984. They say: "Station wagon all the way, '76 Dodge, 8 inches of snow or more." Impressive achievement on the battered logging road to get here. They left that day for McDonalds in New Minas, a decent drive back then. Signs of life seem to leave here with the 80s, or at least, I found no dates beyond then. Seems this place faded around the time I was born, so here I am to offer an overdue eulogy. To whoever raised these walls – did you ever imagine they'd last this long? A simple shack or shelter to stay warm in the woods, dry from the hunt or safe from the insects. I hope you'll be happy to hear, she saved me from the haze of blackflies today. As for whoever nailed that metal to the roof, well, that's the only reason time hasn't entirely overtaken yet. Gravity is stubborn, rust rushes on, and rot has her own hurry. We're getting heavy in the best kind of way, with gathered-up tales in this weather-beaten time capsule. Each of them could float in equal measure, but they have their grams of tales to carry. Rocks in the pockets to keep what was from floating away. Every time I'm here, I feel my feet more solidly planted. May 16, 2023 Perotte, Nova Scotia Year 16, Day 5665 of my daily journal.

[jazwritesalot]

Shaken, Not Stirred - Chapter 3: Vegas Bomb

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi/Kaminari Denki, ShinKami Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia, My Hero Academia Rating: Teen & Up Audiences Total Word Count: 22,634 Tags: Aged Up Characters, AU - College/University, AU - No Quirks, AU - Coffee Shops & Cafes, Barista/Electrician/DJ Kaminari, Waiter/Bartender/Psych Student Shinsou, Bakusquad Shenanigans, brief one-sided KamiJirou, side KiriBaku, background EraserMic, background CamieJirou, comedy, alcohol consumption, drinking, house parties, bar scene, implications of depression, cat cafes

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Written for the ShinKami Big Bang 2020

Things seemed to only be going up for Denki since the night at Lurkers. He was pretty sure that things had been going good between him and Shinsou, too. After getting his number at the bar, they had been texting pretty frequently. Today’s text consisted of a picture of his cat standing on top of the table by his door, paws wrapped around the doorknob as she attempted to twist it.  

I feel like Fen is one evolution away from having thumbs. I shudder to think of the day that happens. 

His phone lit up moments after sending the message and he snorted when he saw the response. 

...there’s too much there to unpack this early in the morning 

??? it’s 3pm?!?

I’m a creature of the night, what can I say?

Lol you sound just like Tokoyami

Wait...is your cat named Fen. Like Fennec fox?

Nope! Fen as in Fenrir! :D

...you...you named your cat after a mythological dog…

OH! YOU KNOW NORSE MYTHOLOGY TOO?!?!?

/too early for this/

When Denki walked into the kitchen, Sero was sprawled out on the couch with his laptop open on his lap, grumbling to himself as he chomped down viciously on an apple. Kirishima was sitting at the table shoveling food into his mouth as his foot tapped out a beat on the tile. 

“Who pissed in your Cheerios, Hanta?” Denki asked after fetching a bottle of soda out of the fridge. 

“Just stressing because Tsuchikawa called to let us know that Wild, Wild Pussycats won’t be able to play tonight because Sosaki came down with a fever. Need to figure out a third act for tonight and update the social media pages.” 

“Having any luck?” Denki asked between gulps of the drink. 

“I wish. Most people I’ve contacted about it have said it’s too last minute. The holiday isn’t making it any better either.”

“Why don’t you play?” Kirishima asked around a mouthful of food. 

“Oh my God yeah! It’s been forever since you’ve played last, Sero. It would be like old times—you and me performing on the same night. Only, you know, we aren’t playing in the same set,” Denki grinned, pushing Sero’s foot to the side so he could plop down on the couch next to him. 

“I don’t know about that guys. I’m not sure that I can be prepared enough before tonight. Besides, it wouldn’t be any fun performing if Kirishima isn’t here to encourage me and my reckless behavior.” Kirishima snorted at Sero’s grin around another bite of food. 

“Sorry man, but this trip with Katsuki is really important, you know? It’s not like I can reschedule it, with the press tours starting after the New Year.” 

“You and Blasty aren’t any fun,” Denki pouted. “Where are you going anyway?” 

“I was able to reserve us a cabin in Hokkaido for the weekend. When we aren’t chilling there, we’ll be out hiking and enjoying nature.” Huh. Well that explained the unusually large backpack that was by the door. “But I really think you should play tonight, Sero. You know I will be cheering you on no matter where I am.” Kirishima’s grin was infectious—a small smile crossed Sero’s face. 

“I’ll think about it. I just might, if I can’t find anyone else to agree to it.”

“Speaking of the show, who else is playing tonight besides Yours Truly?” Denki asked. The smile on Sero’s face strained as he glanced at Kaminari out of the corner of his eye and mumbled a name under his breath. 

“Dude, I couldn’t even hear you. You gotta speak up,” Kirishima laughed while Denki snorted, taking a sip of his soda once again. 

“I said, first act up is Dark Shadow,” Sero ground out and Denki choked on his drink, soda spraying out of his nose. Sero went to whack him on the back, but Denki quickly moved out of his way, glaring daggers at him. 

“Dude? What the fuck? You invited Jirou’s band to play?” Denki croaked out, tears stinging his eyes from the residual soda-spray. 

“What? You know Dark Shadow is a staple band for any show here!” Sero shot back. 

“But you know she’s not talking to me! So why would you go and invite her into our house, Hanta?!” 

“Bro, that’s not very manly of you to do that,” Kirishima quipped.

“I know,” Sero sighed, running a hand down his face. “She asked once she heard through the grapevine that we were having a holiday show, and I agreed to it without thinking. It’s a little too late to tell her nevermind.”

“Traitor,” Denki hissed from his end of the couch as he pulled his knees up to rest under his chin. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this. “Are you sure you can’t stay here and keep the peace, Kiri?”

“I wish I could. But I’m not going to do that to ‘Tsuki, and you know that, Denks. And I’m really sorry, but I gotta get going so I can get him and get to the station in time,” he announced, slipping his feet into his shoes and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Have fun with Bakugou,” Sero waved halfheartedly, already focused back on his laptop. 

“Thanks guys. Chin up, Denki. I’m sure it will all work out. And have fun tonight for me, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll try. Give Blasty my love,” Denki teased, trying to force himself to think of anything but the sinking feeling in his gut. He quickly fished his phone out, sending off a series of texts to Shinsou in a flurry of panic. 

RED ALERT! My traitor of a roommate invited Jirou’s band to play at the show tonight

(that’s the girl I told you about the other day)

I’m losing my mind. Why did he do this???

ANYWAY! The invitation to the show tonight still stands. I would love if you could be here TwT

He also sent Shinsou his address and had to force himself to put his phone back in his pocket before he continued to panic-text him. Denki groaned, pushing himself to his feet and heading back toward his room to start working on finalizing his mixes and setlist for his performance. 

“You know I didn’t say yes to her to be malicious to you, right?” Sero quietly asked as Denki got to the doorway, a nervous lilt to his voice. 

“I know man,” Denki sighed, the small amount of anger he was harboring deflating. “I just wish I would have had a little more of a warning that she was going to be here than six hours.”

“I should have said something sooner. That’s my bad. I was just worried how you would take it,” Sero admitted as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Did I live up to your expectations?” Denki joked.

“Well, considering you didn’t cuss me out and threaten to not play, I say you’re doing much better than my worst fears,” he laughed. “If it’s any consolation, Jirou seemed genuinely excited to hear that you would be playing tonight.”

“Wait, really?” Denki asked. That didn’t make any sense to him. She was still actively avoiding him, so why would she be happy to hear he was performing?

“Yeah. Maybe she’s ready to make amends? You know her better than we do—she has to do things at her own pace.” Denki thought this over. Ever since he met Jirou the summer between senior year of high school and his first year of trade school, she had always been more of a thinker rather than one who acts impulsively. It’s what made their friendship so strange, them being opposites. But they both wore their hearts on their sleeves, and it definitely took them both a long time to forgive any indiscretions that came their way. And that’s what made them such good friends. 

“You’re right,” he admitted after a few minutes. “I’ll try not to worry about it too much.” He knew that was easier said than done, of course, but as he left the kitchen and immersed himself in his music with Fenrir curled up next to him, he was pretty sure that he could do this. 

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

Denki was most definitely wrong—he could not do this. Working on his setlist didn’t take him as long as he anticipated it would, so he soon found himself lying on his bed, periodically checking his phone to see if Shinsou had responded. Each time his phone showed no new messages, he felt his heart sink a little lower and his thoughts start to spiral. Not only was he going to have to spend the night around someone who, as far as he was convinced, hated his guts, but now he also was dealing with the worry that he had (once again) gone too far in his messaging/subtle flirting with someone, Shinsou being the latest victim. 

Time passed by quicker than he realized too. One minute it was 4pm and he was settling in to work on his newest mix, the next, it was inching closer to 8:30pm and he was frantically pulling apart his room to find an outfit to wear to the show. Fenrir’s screams of discontent put a pause to Hurricane Denki’s closet ravaging so he could feed her, but soon enough, he was back at it. None of the shirts he had tried on seemed to fit into the aesthetic he was wanting to go with tonight. His go-to Rage Against the Machine shirt was nowhere to be found, and all of the alternatives just weren’t good enough. He was contemplating just going shirtless when he finally stumbled upon the gag-gift sweater that Sero and Kirishima had gotten him last year for the holidays. The sweater was a galaxy print one that at the hems had flames shooting up the material. A Christmas tree was in the center, and surrounding it were many cats decked out in Santa hats who were pawing at the tree. It was ugly—it was perfect. He paired it with a pair of acid-washed, distressed, skinny jeans and his purple high tops. He knew he was going to be hotter than hell in that cramped basement, but he couldn’t care less. 

He took one last look at his phone, swallowing down the disappointment that there still was no response from Shinsou, and steeled himself to leave his room. He knew Jirou and company would be arriving soon enough to get the equipment brought in and begin the soundcheck, and he wanted to have a decent buzz going before that happened. He gave Fenrir a few good scritches on her head and some treats before shutting her in the room for the next few hours (since he didn’t want to risk her getting out). 

There was a small buzz of activity happening in the kitchen, and Denki found himself drawn there, rather than the living room where he was going to set up the pre-show music, when he heard a familiar, yet unexpected voice speaking. 

“My, my. What do we have here? Didn’t expect to see the Funky Little Firework Man here tonight,” Denki teased as he entered the kitchen, spying both Kirishima and Bakugou seated on the couch. 

“The hell you just call me, Pikachu wannabe?” Bakugou spat out, crossing his arms over his chest. His face was in a weird mixture of a pout and a scowl, which just made Kirishima laugh and pull him close. 

“We weren’t planning on being here either, but as we were on our way to Hokkaido, we got a call from the rental company. Because of a severe snowstorm they are having, the roads from the station to the cabin were blocked off and they had to cancel the reservation,” Kirishima explained, and Katsuki’s frown deepened. 

“We still coulda hiked through the snow. They were just being lame, cancelling on us like that.” Denki laughed at Bakugou’s sour expression and was rewarded with Bakugou flipping him the bird. 

“I’m just surprised you both decided to come here. I thought you were wanting a weekend away together,” Sero added, sipping from his beer as he threw one Kaminari’s way. “Nice shirt, by the way,” he added, nodding in his direction. 

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you kept that thing!” Kirishima laughed, catching the beers that Sero threw his way too. 

“You look like the rejected Ghost of Christmas Past,” Bakugou grumbled as he took a drink. 

“I resent that statement. The Ghost of Christmas Past only wished he looked as good as I do! Anyway, I’m with Sero on this one. Didn’t think you guys would be here.”

“Well, Bakugou here didn’t get to have the full Tape Deck experience last time he was here.”

“And whose fault was that?” Bakugou bit back, but the smile on his face betrayed his anger. “There’s also the fact that Deku has Round Cheeks over at the apartment this weekend, and I don’t want to be anywhere near that mushy gushy crap,” he grimaced, taking another swig from his can. 

“You say that as if you and Kirishima aren’t all mushy gushy yourselves,” Denki teased and dodged the crushed, empty can that Bakugou threw at him. He finished his own beer and fetched the can thrown at him off the floor, dropping it into the recycling bin they had. He went to get himself another beer when the case of energy drinks caught his attention. He spun around in almost manic glee as he grinned at the couple—Kirishima was looking at him with amusement and Bakugou looked wary. 

“Clearly you’re plotting something, Denks. So out with it,” Kirishima laughed, crushing the can and tossing it past Denki to the recycling bin. 

“How do you guys feel about doing some Vegas Bombs?” 

“Why in the hell would we do that, Sparky?” Bakugou scoffed. “I’d actually like to enjoy tonight, not be too trashed to function because of some shitty round of shots.” 

“What? Afraid you’re gonna lose?” Kaminari asked and he could see Bakugou rising to the bait, his jaw clenching and face flushing. 

“The hell I’ll lose. Get the drinks ready and prepare to get your ass kicked,” he growled, cracking his knuckles. 

“Count me in. I can’t wait to beat both of you.” Denki leaned over and gave Kirishima a fist bump; he knew he could count on him to join in the fun. 

“Gonna have to pass, sorry guys,” Sero chimed in, but Denki sort of expected this. Sero didn’t tend to get as hammered as him or Kirishima at the shows. Said that one of them had to be the responsible one, and it might as well be him. He did tend to loosen up a little on nights he played, but it seemed that tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights. 

“Suit yourself! Three Vegas Bombs, coming up!” This would be perfect—rounds of these drinks would get him to that comfortable buzz that he desired. Denki quickly fetched out the energy drinks and other liquor before flitting over to the cabinet to get the cups and shot glasses. He might not be as good at mixing drinks as Shinsou was, but he definitely knew his way around this one. The three pint glasses were quickly filled with the energy drinks and left to let the fizz settle. The rum, whiskey, and schnapps were all eyeballed into the shot glasses, and if Denki made a mess of the counter, that was for him to deal with later. He topped each shot off with the cranberry juice and moved the glasses from the counter to the kitchen table, a triumphant grin on his face. 

“Alright boys, who’s ready to lose?” he announced with his hands on his hips. 

“You're going down bro,” Kirishima laughed, pushing himself up from the couch and pulling Bakugou, who was grinning evilly, along with him.

“Okay! Sero, you gotta be the judge! Let us know when to start. And make sure neither of them cheat, got it?” Denki laughed and dodged the shove that Bakugou sent his way. 

“Sounds good. Hands on the glasses,” Sero instructed, and all three of them grabbed their pint and the shot. “On three. One. Two. Three.” As soon as the last number left his lips, the three of them dropped the royal flush shots into the pint glass and they chugged. The mixture of fruity liquor and energy drink burned at Denki’s throat and he had to fight back a cough as he continued to chug. He jumped slightly when Bakugou slammed his glass on the table, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, a wide grin splitting his face. 

“Told you losers I would kick your asses,” he laughed. Kirishima and Denki slammed their own glasses down at the same time, a pout crossing Denki’s face. 

“Dude no fair! How were you able to just down that with a straight face?” 

“Don’t you work with him, Denks? I’ve seen the insane amounts of caffeine that he consumes on a daily basis—a little Red Bull is nothing.” The proud grin that Kirishima wore as he clapped a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder made his heart hurt in ways that he didn’t want to think about right now.

“Oh yeah? Then how about we go again? Bet he can���t win a second round.” That was enough to get them fired up; Denki dished out another round of the drinks and they continued to compete, with Kirishima claiming victory this round. They were about to go again when the door slammed open, TetsuTetsu’s booming voice filling the room. 

“Happy Holigays, my homo-bromos!” he greeted. 

“Bro!” Kirishima cried, clapping their hands together and pulling him in for a one-armed, side hug. 

“Feels like forever since we’ve seen ya! How you been, man?” TetsuTetsu grinned as he pulled away from the embrace and leaned over to give Denki a high five. 

“Not bad! Fly out after the first for this press tour. Not looking forward to that.” Denki tuned out of the conversation as Kirishima continued talking with T, introducing Bakugou before excusing himself to go to his room to change into something more appropriate for the night. Tokoyami was the next to enter the house, a black backpack slung over his shoulder while the other hand was full of his guitar case. He nodded sagely at Denki before turning toward the basement, rat tail whipping behind him. It always came as such a shock to Denki when he saw Tokoyami without his signature mask. For the longest time he thought that it was glued to his face. Denki knew they wouldn’t see any sign of him until the show started, for the man liked to hide in the darkness of the basement as much as he could. Said it helped his ‘creative process.’ As the door to the basement clicked shut behind Tokoyami, Denki could feel the nervousness setting in. He tried to not stare at the back door, but it was in vain—he knew it was a matter of minutes before Jirou would walk in, and he certainly wasn’t prepared. 

“Oi! Dunce Face! Tin Can here said he would finish this round of drinks with us. Get your ass over here,” Bakugou grunted, pulling Denki back into the conversation, and he was thankful for the distraction. The third round of Vegas Bombs ended with Denki finally winning a round, which was surprising given the iron stomach that TetsuTetsu had. He felt a tad floaty, which made him pleased. Right as Sero left the kitchen to go start up the music in the living room and greet some of the other guests that had filtered in, the door opened again and in walked Jirou. The anxiety Kaminari was feeling was quickly replaced with confusion as he noted that she wasn’t alone; a tall and buxom blonde had Jirou tucked under her arm and they both wore soft smiles as they whispered to one another. 

“Finally you two get here,” Tetsu barked out a laugh as he shoved the pint away. “Worried for a moment that you two ran off and eloped.” Eloped? Eloped? Was Denki that drunk that he was hearing things? 

“As if I’d get married without a grand ceremony. Besides, not like Kyoka here has popped the question,” the mystery blonde joked, and Denki continued to blink in confusion. 

“You two are horrible, I swear to god,” Jirou groaned, hiding her face in her hand. “Bakugou. Kaminari. This is my girlfriend, Utsushimi.”

“But you can all call me Camie!” the blonde—no Camie—smiled, waving at the two of them. Denki could only blink. Jirou had a girlfriend? When did this happen? And wait; how did he not realize that Jirou was gay? An elbow dug into his side and he hissed in pain, turning to give Bakugou a glare, who merely rolled his eyes at him. 

“Nice to meet you, Camie,” Denki replied, his voice cracking with nerves. 

“And which one are you, you handsome little thing?” she purred back, reaching out to mess with his hair. The snort from Bakugou as he stuttered out his name was not appreciated one bit.

“Camie, leave him alone,” Jirou complained, but the smile she wore betrayed the amusement she was feeling. Of course it would be at Denki’s expense. 

“Not that I really give a damn, but since Dunce Face over here is impersonating a fish out of water, I’ll be the one to ask. How did you two meet?”

“Oh, well you see, Babe over here literally ran into me. I was walking campus, gotta get to the library you know, when all of the sudden, BAM, I am on my ass on the concrete, books scattering the ground. She hopped off her bike all like ‘oh my god I am so sorry! Are you okay?’ I swear to you, it was love at first sight.” Camie’s animated gestures as she spoke brought a smile to Denki’s face. He hadn’t known her but five minutes, and he already knew she would fit in perfectly.

“Knock it off; it was not,” Jirou grumbled, her face reddening. 

“Maybe not for you, sweetheart,” Camie chuckled, pulling her into her side. “She asked if I wanted to get a coffee at the library coffee shop as an apology and it just snowballed from there. Study dates that turned into late night convos, which then turned to me asking her out on a proper date that didn’t involve the library or school.” 

“How long ago was this?” Denki finally asked. 

“A couple months ago, right babe?” The nod from Jirou, who had her gaze trained on Kaminari, both confirmed Camie’s question and answered the unspoken question that Denki had. At least, one of them. No wonder Jirou turned him down so viciously. Camie turned her attention to annoying Bakugou, who was busy getting himself more drinks while he waited for Kirishima, and Testu had excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving Denki leaning against the table with Jirou standing awkwardly next to him.

“So, you’re a lesbian?” he finally blurted out, cursing himself for being such an idiot. Jirou looked over at him, expression unreadable for the briefest of moments before she cracked. Her body shook with the force of her laughter and tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. It was contagious—Denki found himself laughing along with her, slapping a hand on the table repeatedly. 

“Oh my god, you’re such an idiot,” Jirou gasped out, wiping away the tears and taking some of her eyeliner with her. “But yes, Denki, I’m a raging lesbian.” 

“How in the world did I miss that? But now I feel awful for all of those pickup lines I threw your way,” he snickered as his own laughter subsided. 

“Guess your gaydar must be broken. Would have thought the hair gave it away,” she chuckled as she gestured to the side shave she was currently sporting. “But in all seriousness, I owe you an apology. Clearly you didn’t know, and it wasn’t fair of me to snap on you the way I did.”  

“Nah, I definitely deserved it. I was being a jackass and not reading the room right.”

“When are you not a jackass?” she quipped with a smirk. “That said, we cool now? I really hate the awkwardness between us. Really kills my vibe.”

“Cool as a cucumber,” he grinned, shooting finger guns at her as she groaned in annoyance. 

“Aww, my babe and her bff have made up!” Camie squealed, rushing over to envelope them in a hug. Denki was quick to escape the near chokehold the taller blonde had on the two of them, choosing to go crash on the couch.  

“Denki and Jirou made up? Just how long was I gone?” Kirishima questioned with a laugh as he walked into the room. Tetsu and Sero followed Kirishima in, each grabbing a beer from the fridge.   

“Long enough, you shitty-haired bastard,” Bakugou grumbled as Kirishima stood behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on top of the other’s head. Denki was pretty sure it only took Kirishima a long time to change because he was washing the hair gel out so his hair could hang loose, since there was no way in hell that it took him forever to change from hiking jeans and a flannel into a pair of black skinny jeans and a Suicide Silence muscle tee. But he would never out his bro like that. 

“Holy shit, Ei? You’re here?!?” Jirou asked as she was still trapped in the bearhug that Camie gave her.

“Long time no see, Jirou,” he laughed, stealing the beer from Bakugou to take a drink from it. Denki saw Jirou and Tetsu share a look before Jirou was squirming out of Camie’s grasp, making a beeline for Kirishima. 

“You should come help me and Tetsu get the rest of the equipment from the van!” Jirou said, trying to pry Kirishima away from Bakugou, who was trying to swat her away. 

“Yeah bro! Come help. We’re wanting to do something special tonight, because of the holidays, and who better to run it by than you?” Tetsu chimed in, a shit eating grin on his face. Confusion crossed his face before some sort of realization set in, of what Denki couldn’t tell you, and a grin to rival Tetsu’s own split his face. 

“Of course I’ll help you guys out!” he exclaimed, handing the beer back to Bakugou, who was thoroughly pissed off, especially when Kirishima told him to just hang out upstairs. “Sorry 'Tsuki, I’ll be back in a bit, promise. Don’t wanna ruin their surprise.” He gave Bakugou a quick kiss, which did nothing to erase the angry look he was sporting, and took off after Jirou and Tetsu to help them with whatever this plan of theirs that they were cooking up was. 

“If they’re doing what I think they’re doing, this is about to be a very interesting night,” Sero chuckled as he collapsed next to Denki on the couch, nursing his beer. Bakugou shot a glare his way, grumbling something along the lines of ‘cryptic bastard’ under his breath. Denki took the time to fish his phone out of his pocket and tried to not let the disappointment settle further in his stomach as he saw his messages to Shinsou were left on read. 

“Nu uh. We already have one grumpy-puss tonight,” Camie chided as she walked over to stand in front of Denki, ignoring the shout of protest from Bakugou behind her. “I may be new here, but this place seems like it’s supposed to be full of fun, laughter, and good times, not frowns, gloom, and doom.”

“Pretty sure Tokoyami prefers the latter,” Denki joked. 

“Well he’s downstairs brooding in the dark. Now put your phone away and let’s get this party started. How do you feel about tequila shots?” she grinned, pulling a bottle out of her oversized purse. 

“Oh man, you fit right in.” Denki felt his own face stretch into an almost manic grin as he pocketed his phone once again and heaved himself up from the couch. He wasn’t going to let the thoughts of screwing up with Shinsou get in his way of a fun night. Slamming three shot glasses on the table, because Denki was going to make sure Bakugou would join them instead of moping like a kicked puppy so help him, he was ready to really get this party started. 

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

Denki wasn’t quite sure how or when he ended up in the basement—tequila was known to do that to you—but he felt the excitement of the beginning of the show thrumming through his veins. Bodies packed the space, and Denki knew from experience that as the night went on, more people would arrive. Bakugou was still pouting and it only got worse when he couldn’t get Kirishima’s attention. Sero stopped him before he stomped up to the designated stage area, telling him that he just needed to be patient. Kirishima still stood with Dark Shadow, his back to the crowd as he chatted with the members, and Denki was fairly certain he saw a guitar strap wrapped around his neck. Instantly, all of the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. 

“Dude! Is Kirishima going to do what I think he’s going to do?” Kaminari questioned Sero, smacking at his arm. 

“Just watch and see, Denki,” Sero grinned.

“What are you extras going on-” Right as Bakugou was about to explode on the two of them, the first note from Tokoyami reverberated through the basement, silencing any lingering conversations. Jirou’s bass soon was added to the mix, and the anticipation was eating at Denki. He knew what was coming, but nothing could compare to the first ripple of shock that ran through him at a live show once the music started. Back still to the crowd, Kirishima inhaled loudly and on the exhale, the magic happened. The guttural words rang out into the quiet of the basement, his head tilted back, microphone poised in his hand above him as he screamed out the intro. As soon as the last word rang out, he turned around, face cracked into a wide smile as he hooked the microphone onto the stand. Tetsu immediately joined in and the band came to life—the cacophony of guitar riffs, bass lines, and drum beats filled the cramped space with an energy that was contagious. The look on Bakugou’s face as Kirishima joined in with a rhythm guitar, headbanging as he waited for the first verse to start, was one that Denki only wished he had the foresight to record, because that shit was priceless. As the verses bled into the chorus, both Jirou and Tokoyami lended their voices in a perfect harmony to compliment the rough vocals that Kirishima was dishing out. Tetsu continued to beat away on the drums, looking every bit in the element that Denki knew he was in. The area in front of the stage soon started to fill with bodies slamming against one another, various liquors spraying all around, as the mosh pit took life during the breakdown. Denki was itching to join, especially after watching Bakugou jump into the fray, but he hesitated. The last time he was in the pit with Bakugou, it didn’t end so well for anyone involved. Cheers from the crowd echoed all around as the ending notes rang out. Bakugou’s shouts of pride for Kirishima were the loudest, which made both Denki and Sero snort in laughter. 

“Happy Holigays, ya filthy animals!” Jirou cried out. “Bringing you some true, back to the roots, Dark Shadow tonight, courtesy of one Kirishima Eijirou! Now, let’s get this party started!” The loud roar of cheers was soon cut short by Tetsu’s drumming filling the space as he transitioned into the next song. This one was Jirou dominated with Kirishima growling out the supporting chorus. Tokoyami was swaying as he played the chords, letting the music flow through him, the serene look Denki knew he was sporting hidden behind his signature raven mask. The song finished and immediately pushed forward into the next and Denki threw himself into the pit during the breakdown after downing the beer he brought down with him. Between Bakugou and Camie he found himself getting thrown around, laughter bubbling up from him. He had missed this so much. He skidded to a stop next to Sero as the song ended and the band took a drink break. 

“Dude! Next time I’m all down and depressed, throw me in a mosh pit. Instant cure,” he panted and swiped Sero’s drink away from him to finish himself, much to the taller man’s chagrin. 

“I’ll try to remember that,” he chuckled. 

“Dude, where are you going? It’s just now getting good!” Denki asked as Sero started toward the stairs following Jirou’s announcement that this would be the last song featuring Kirishima for the night. 

“Stepping outside for a moment,” he said as he brought two fingers to his lips in the universal sign for ‘I need a smoke.’

“Man, I thought you quit that shit,” he teased and received a shrug in response. “Suit yourself—you’re gonna miss the best part. Bring me back a beer!” he called to him as he dove back toward the mosh pit, the heavy riffs reverberating in his bones. He was pretty familiar with this song, given that it was one of Kirishima’s favorites to blare when they went to the gym together, so as he pushed and shoved along with the others he was screaming along to the lyrics, feeling more free than he had in a long time. A mammoth of a man nearly sent Denki flailing back on his ass, but Bakugou and Camie caught him and propelled him forward. 

“Watch it, Baldy!” Bakugou growled. 

“I’m not bald! But my apologies!” the man yelled back, bowing down and nearly knocking his head on Camie’s shoulder, who laughed and shoved him. The tension that had started radiating from Bakugou disappeared as soon as it came, and he went back to enjoying the rest of the song. Denki followed suit, more than energized that he was getting to see his bro really let loose. He couldn’t wait to mosh with him later. 

“Alright! Hope you guys are having as much of a fuckin’ great time as we are!” Jirou yelled, her chest heaving as she caught her breath as the song ended. “Thanks again to Kirishima for joining us!” There were hoots and hollers as he waved and left the stage area to be beside Bakugou, who pulled him in for a rough kiss. 

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you could do that, Shitty Hair?” Bakugou asked as soon as they parted and Denki could only laugh along with Kirishima, who was sheepishly scratching at the back of his head. If only Bakugou knew that had Kirishima showed up on time on his birthday, he would have found out just what his boyfriend was capable of. 

“I’m really excited for this next song. Tokoyami and I have been working on something a little different for the drop of our EP. Hope you guys are ready for this!” Jirou called out as she grabbed an acoustic guitar. Tokoyami had already traded his electric one out for his own acoustic one, and with a nod from him, they started. The tune was faintly familiar as they plucked away at the strings, Tetsu in the background providing muted percussion against a wooden table. Jirou and Tokoyami’s voices complemented each other beautifully, and it was driving Denki crazy why he couldn’t place the song. He tried to not let a pang of jealousy hit him as he watched Bakugou cling to Kirishima. If he hadn’t screwed up, then maybe that could have been him and Shinsou tonight. He expelled that thought as soon as it came—he couldn’t let himself get down now. He was still riding the high of the pit and nothing was going to come in the way of that. The chorus of the song hit and that’s when Denki realized it was a song that Shinsou had shown him the last time he was at Cool Beans.    

“What an interesting take on this song. I would have never thought to make it acoustic. I really like it,” a voice said beside his ear, making a shiver run up his spine. He blinked, looking over to see what must be an illusion standing by his side. 

“Shinsou? You’re actually here?” Denki questioned, still not believing his eyes. He figured that he was being stood up, if that’s what you could call it, when he hadn’t gotten an answer all day about the invitation to the show. 

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, I meant to text you earlier and let you know I was going to make it, but the cafe got super busy. Then I had to chase Jacques around the apartment because he took off with my shirt,” he chuckled. “Also, you can call me Hitoshi, if you want,” he added, a blush dusting his face as he handed a beer over. 

“Then you should call me Denki. And I must say, Hitoshi, this is most definitely more your scene,” Denki smiled as he eyed Hitoshi. He was in a pair of black skinny jeans which were ripped at the knees and upper thighs and they were cuffed above a pair of dark purple Doc Martens. He had on the same black tank top with the unidentifiable band name in silver (that had been driving Denki nuts for ages) on with a dark purple and black flannel shirt tied around his waist. His hair was pulled up in a sloppy bun and all of his piercings were in and damn, Hitoshi looked like a whole ass meal.

“Oh really? And what possibly gave you that impression?” he joked, eyebrow arched. 

“For starters, you don’t look like you’re about to jump out of your skin at the slightest touch,” Denki laughed while the haunting harmony of Jirou and Tokoyami rang throughout the cramped basement. 

“I am almost scared to know what else makes you think that this is more my scene,” he chuckled and took a swig of his own drink. 

“Besides the fact that you look like you walked out of an alternative magazine looking sexy as fuck? What other evidence do you need, handsome?” he flirted and Hitoshi choked. 

“You can’t just say things like that Denki,” he grumbled, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Just how many drinks have you even had tonight?” he asked as Denki downed the beer given to him, crunching the can and tossing it. Kaminari’s sassy response was cut off by the ending notes of the song ringing out and he called out a loud cheer that was echoed by others in the room.

“How did you even know where to find me?” Denki asked as the realization that Hitoshi was here and standing next to him finally sunk in. He knew he sent him the address, but sometimes navigating the house could be a pain.  

“He ran into me,” Sero said, weaving himself back into the crowd as Dark Shadow switched gears from acoustic to electric once again, the song one of the best covers of My Chemical Romance that Denki had ever had the pleasure of hearing. “Figured he was looking for you since he seemed to fit the description of the ‘totally cute cat man’ you’ve been going on about,” he snickered and Denki’s face flamed at the arched eyebrow aimed at him from Hitoshi. 

“Oh! You’re the waiter from the cat cafe! How’s it going, man?” Kirishima asked as he popped over with Bakugou in tow, both covered in sweat from the pit. 

“It’s been a day, that’s for sure,” Hitoshi shrugged. 

“Tell me about it, Eyebags,” Bakugou scoffed. “I’ll be back—gonna go get us some more drinks.” He took off up the stairs after giving Kirishima a quick kiss and flipping Denki off after he asked for yet another drink.   

“Dude! It was great to see you play again!” Denki yelled, taking control of the conversation and leaning over to give Kirishima a fistbump. “I feel like it’s been entirely too long and that’s a travesty.”

“You’re right. Hopefully I can get back to it soon enough. By the way, my name’s Kirishima. Nice to meet you!” he smiled, extending a hand out to Hitoshi. 

“Shinsou. Same to you,” he responded, clasping hands with him. 

“I met him when I was doing work at Cool Beans! By the way, the angry blond goblin is Bakugou. We work together at Sugar Rush!” Denki laughed. 

“I’m also Ei’s boyfriend, so don’t be getting any thoughts,” he griped, returning and shoving a drink, which suspiciously smelled like rum and coke, at Kaminari. 

“Don’t worry—no offense, but he’s not my type.” Bakugou’s eyes narrowed at him, but he decided against whatever smartass comment he was planning to say as the last notes of the song rang out.

“Oh really? Then what exactly is your type?” Denki purred, threading his arms through Hitoshi’s, who coughed and immediately flushed a bright red. Thankfully, Jirou’s announcement that this would be the last song of their set distracted Denki enough from getting an answer out of the poor man. “Come on! Gotta enjoy the show to the fullest!” he exclaimed, pulling Hitoshi into the pit. The song was a heavier one than Denki was used to hearing from Dark Shadow without Kirishima playing, but he was proud of them for branching out. Denki felt more alive than he had in ages—the laughter and shoving from his friends surrounding him as the song was reaching its crescendo. Things were deliciously fuzzy as the alcohol raced through his body and he felt like he was floating. He found himself flailing from an unnecessarily hard push from Bakugou, but two large and warm hands shot out and steadied him. 

“Whoa there. No eating shit tonight,” Hitoshi murmured, his voice the only thing that Denki could focus on in the moment, the sound of music becoming a muted roar in the background. Denki looked up, panting, and was struck with just how beautiful Shinsou looked; his hair was wild, whisps sticking out of the sloppy bun and framing his face in the most breathtaking lavender halo ever. His eyes were shining with amusement and there was a light sheen of sweat coating his skin. The dim lights of the room were reflecting off his piercings and Denki was almost certain he was looking at the face of an angel. But what really drew him in was the honest to god grin that Hitoshi was sporting. He had seen the smirks and sarcastic grins that Hitoshi had a tendency to wear when he wasn’t looking bored, but this was the first time he had seen his true smile, and Denki was hooked. He could feel his mouth moving, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he was saying to Hitoshi, the hysteric need to get the thoughts of just how gorgeous and utterly hooked on him he was off his chest fueling his inebriated ramblings as the song was coming to an end. Whatever he was saying seemed to have an effect on the other man, for his eyes widened and jaw slackened slightly. As the feedback from the guitar reverberated through the cramped quarters, Denki closed his eyes and pulled Hitoshi down by the shoulders and pressed their mouths together in a quick and sloppy kiss. He felt Hitoshi stiffen momentarily before tentatively returning it and Denki was sure he had died and gone to heaven. Nothing mattered more to him than the feeling of Hitoshi’s mouth working against his as they stood in the dimly-lit basement, shoes sticking slightly to the liquor and sweat dampened floor as hoots and hollers from the crowd, and his friends, faded into a pleasant murmur in the background. They separated, chests heaving, and there was a softness in Hitoshi’s eyes that made Denki feel all warm and fuzzy inside. 

“Thank you for such a great show tonight!” Jirou said, her voice slightly hoarse from the performance. “Up next we’re gonna have Tape Deck’s own Cellophane serenading us! If you’re interested, find us over at the merch table for a copy of our new EP Revelry in the Dark! Until next time, ya filthy heathens!” The crowd dispersed, many making their way to the merch table that Camie was setting up and others heading upstairs for more booze or smoke breaks. Denki leaned against Hitoshi, who wrapped his arm around him, pulling him close, and sighed happily. While Sero made his way to the stage to prepare for his set the only thing that kept revolving in Denki’s mind was he was a very lucky man. If the grin from Hitoshi was any indication, the feeling was mutual. The basement quickly filled back up and the first notes of Sero’s set filled the air, a serene and stark difference from Dark Shadow’s performance. He cuddled closer to Hitoshi, swaying along with the music, and as he lost himself in the melody he found himself having absolutely no regrets.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

Imagine helping Legolas deal with a sprained ankle

It was all your fault, so Legolas would say.

“If you hadn’t had been so reckless, I wouldn’t have had to jump down from the boulder to assist you with the orc,” he’d complain regularly, from his position forcibly laying down in his sleeping pack with an elevated foot.

Whenever he’d try to rise again to bicker louder with you, a tending Aragorn would push him down again with a hand to his chest.

It was funny the first few days, you couldn’t lie, but now? Well, now it was just sad.

Legolas prided himself on his athletic ability, that much was obvious to you and the rest of the Fellowship early into your journey.

He’d regularly prance ahead like a young foal, or walk across snow with a smug smirk on his face. He was the strongest member there, and never let anyone forget it. This is also why he took injury the worst out of everyone.

It wasn’t, in all actuality, technically your fault. You needed help with an orc, yes, but Legolas timing his jump wrong and spraining his ankle had nothing to do with you.

Alas, he was gaining cabin fever from his immobilised state, therefore anger was bubbling in his chest—directed at you. You didn’t take it personally, but it was starting to wear down on you.

The walks through the days were slower, as Legolas would limp along with a homemade walking stick, fashioned out of a long branch.

Whenever he’d notice you or someone else looking at him over his shoulder, as he bared his teeth in wincing hurt, he’d quickly glare and push on harder.

You’d softly shake your head, but look away regardless.

It was unnatural to see an elf in such a state, like roses freezing over. Even more so, it was unnatural to see Legolas so grumpy. He was quite light-hearted at the beginning of the journey—you remember making a mental note that he’d probably be one of the best to hang around with due to so.

Alas, his sprained ankle and no doubt self-inflicted embarrassment brought the deeply rooted competitiveness out within him.

You were all sat around a fire tonight (save for Boromir and Gimli, who were off scouting the area), like many other evenings—laughing and pulling rabbit meat off of a skewer.

Legolas was a few yards away, pouting in his sleeping bag. You had brought his food to him a few minutes earlier, but he turned you away and claimed he wasn’t hungry.

“You’ll need sustenance to heal, little elf,” you laughed, trying to humour him.

All you received was a gruff grunt, and, “Don’t tell me how elves heal—I’m quite aware of my own race, thank you very much.”

You heard Pippin hissing through a wince, and bared your own teeth in cringe as you turned on your heel and headed back towards the campfire.

“Pay him no mind,” Aragorn said, leaning across to you. “Elves, especially the Mirkwood strain, are very prideful folk. He’ll come to his senses once his foot heals.”

“I can’t imagine it’ll heal anytime soon if he keeps pushing himself every day like he’s doing,” you pointed out.

Aragorn sighed. “That is entirely Thranduil’s blood coming out in him.”

“Remind me to never step foot in Mirkwood then,” you grinned.

Aragorn gave a toothy smile back, and bonked his skewer with yours in a “cheers to that” motion.

You could feel Legolas’ eyes burning into the back of your head, but paid it no mind. You didn’t dare glance over your shoulder, lest Mordor freeze over.

The rest of the camp continued on in low chatter, that is until Boromir and Gimli came rushing back—completely out of breath.

“What is it?” Aragorn asked right away.

“Orc scouts,” Boromir answered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Thirty, give or take, approaching from the west.”

The camp looked around at each other quickly in fright, before Aragorn jumped into action. Rising to his feet, he grabbed his sword and dictated everyone else to do the same.

“We’ll meet them half way and use the element of surprise,” he said.

Legolas began rising to his own feet, though, a great deal of strained effort was noticeable on his end.

“I’m coming, I just need to get my bow,” Legolas announced, barely able to move the foot resting on a sleeping pack.

“No, not you, mellon nîn,” said Aragorn, upholding a hand and motioning for Legolas to lay down again. “Please, stay behind. Though your valiance is admirable, you will only get in the way of this fight. Rest, and fight when your ankle heals.”

Legolas’ face contorted in hurt, and you imagined this was the first time the athletic prince had ever been sidelined.

You all stood around in misplaced guilt, fiddling with your swords and avoiding eye contact with Legolas.

Finally, the elf’s jaw set, and he forcibly fell back down into sheets—turning over and pulling the covers up over his shoulder.

“We can’t leave him vulnerable,” Sam pointed out, whispering quietly as to not anger Legolas further. However, you could see his pointed ears twitching back, and knew he heard every gut-punching word.

Aragorn nodded, and turned his eyes to you. The hobbits had to stay under the protection of Aragorn, and leaving Frodo and the Ring out of sight and alone behind in the camp simply wasn’t an option.

Aragorn gestured between you and Legolas discreetly. Understanding his words, you dropped your shoulders and sighed.

“I’ll stay back and tend to the camp,” you announced.

The rest of the Fellowship gave you an apologetic look, before running off into the forest towards the orcs.

You were soon left with the silence of the camp, save for the angered breathing of Legolas and the crackling of the dimming fire.

Stood there unsure of what to do in the awkward space, you continued fiddling with the pommel of your sword, and looked at Legolas.

His back was rising and falling quickly—clearly infuriated with the whole situation. You felt bad for him, you really did, but you were still unsure of how to approach him.

Looking down to the fire again, you saw untouched skewers of meat, and arrived at a resolution.

With the food in hand, you walked over to the prince. He could hear you coming, and with every crunch of your boots on the foliage, his eyes twitched.

Sitting down beside his back, you placed a hand on the broad of his shoulder and shook him gently. “The rabbit smells really good, and has that beautiful, slightly charred smoky taste. Seems a waste to not eat it, no?”

“Not hungry,” Legolas grumbled.

“You need to heal your ankle, Legolas,” you said again, this time sterner. “You need to ea—”

“Not. Hungry.”

Thinning your lips, you shook your head down at Legolas in disappointment. “Legolas, I know you’re upset with me regarding your ankle, but holding a grudge isn’t going to—”

He swiftly turned over in his pack, and stared at the dimming fire.

“We need more firewood,” he said, glaring at the dying flames.

You followed his line of sight, and noticed he was indeed right. However, you recalled the orcs and what Aragorn expected of you.

“We’ll just have to wait for the others. I can’t leave the camp to fetch more, and I definitely can’t leave you vulnerable to—”

“Ugh! I’ll do it myself!” Legolas exclaimed. He rose swiftly and tried limping out into the woods with clenched fists and squared shoulders.

“Legolas!” you called, quickly grabbing your sword and cursing under your breath. “Wait! You shouldn’t be on that ankle!”

But he was already marching on.

Heading a few strides out into the forest, Legolas went farther and farther to find the best firewood. You ran behind him, surprised he could go so far for someone who was injured.

“Wait!” you yelled again, finally jumping out in front of him. “Go back to sleep, Legolas. Now.”

He merely glared at you, and stepped around your form—pushing on.

Groaning in frustration, you turned around and pulled on his shoulder. “I’m serious, Legolas! There are orcs out here at the moment, and I need to stay by the camp!”

“Then you can go back,” Legolas growled, forcibly shoving your hand off of his shoulder. “I don’t need to be babysat by you.”

“No,” you agreed, “but you do need my help with your ankle!”

Grabbing the bottom of his cloak, you started pulling him back towards the camp.

“Let go!” he shouted, digging his one good heel into the ground and pulling his cape back—initiating a tug of war between you both.

“No!” you denied, pulling the cloak again. “You’re coming back with me, and that’s final!”

“NO!” Pull. “I’m helping by getting firewood!”

Yank. “You’re not helping at all! You’re putting me in a tough situation instead!”

“It’s not your problem!” Tug.

“Yes, it is!” you exclaimed, pulling the cloak one more time. “It is my problem, because you’ve become a HUGE problem for the entire Fellowship!”

Upon pulling one last time, Legolas lost his footing and tripped, causing you both to fall down.

You each groaned in pain as your backs were sprawled across the foliage. Legolas was the first to sit up, but immediately yelped in pain as he did so.

He held his ankle tight, and bared his teeth as to stop himself from crying out.

“It’s worse,” he whispered, avoiding your eyes. “My ankle—I think I hurt it more.”

You stared at Legolas in horror, as he clutched said sore ankle. You sat up next to him, and ran a finger along it.

He jolted immediately, and fought back another cry by biting down on his bottom lip.

“Dammit, Legolas…” you cursed, furrowing your brows and shaking your head. “Why couldn’t you have just listened to me? You need to rest.”

Upon glaring up at him, you were taken aback, for there were unshed tears in the elf’s eyes. He was clearly holding himself back from letting them fall, as he sniffled and studied his ankle.

“Legolas?” you called softly, reaching a hand up and gently directing his chin to face you. “What’s going on with you?”

Letting the first tear fall, and swallowing the lump in his throat, Legolas spoke up in a quiet voice—finally unbottling his emotions.

“I’m supposed to be the athlete,” he said, studying your eyes before looking down again. “I was always the best in training. I’ve pushed myself through rain, mud and more, because I’ve always been the best. And now? Now I can’t even fetch firewood for my friends...”

Sympathy overtook your eyes, as you suddenly understood the elf.

“You still are the best here, Legolas,” you promised, trying to catch his eyes as he averted them. “A sprained ankle means nothing in the grand scheme of it. You are, without a doubt, the strongest one of us here. None of us think differently of you simply because you’re hurt.”

“But I feel so useless!” he exclaimed, letting a few more tears fall. “My friends are out there right now pulling their own weight against the orcs, and I’m stuck here crying on the ground because I can’t even walk.”

“But you will walk again,” you assured him, turning his chin once more. “And when that day comes—which isn’t too far off, mind you—those orcs will wish they hadn’t ever left Mordor.”

You laughed brightly for a moment in afterthought, earning a smile from Legolas.

“What?” he asked gently.

“Do you remember how you took that cave troll down in Moria?” you chuckled again, thinking of the memory. “You scaled atop the darn thing and shot two arrows into its brain!”

“Three…” Legolas sheepishly corrected, now grinning in a shy way.

“Three,” you annulled, grinning back up at him. “Trust me, Legolas. Your friends think nothing less of you than pure amazing talent. Don’t let it eat away at you.”

Legolas nodded to himself for a moment, before another sheepish grin formed on his lips. “Speaking of eating…are there any of those rabbit meat skewers still left back at camp?”

You smiled warmly, and helped him up.

He tentatively accepted your aid, and slowly wrapped an arm over your shoulder, as you helped him limp back to camp.

“C’mon, athlete. Let’s get you some food.”

[goldenkirstein]

i've been on fire, dreaming of you

or alternatively, when both you and jean thought you lost each other

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

anonymous requested: hello there! I love your stuff. if requests are open, may I request a canonverse post-rumbling jean x fem reader where y/n is wounded + passed out from exhaution after the rumbling and wakes up warm and safe, with jean tending to her wounds. Y/n is shocked bc she remembers how she almost lost Jean (she didn't get turned into a titan, maybe she isn't Eldian?) and she just shoots straight up to embrace Jean without realizing the intensity of her wounds. Jean gets extra worried so he has to gently guide her back to lying down on the bed because she has a fever and her injuries aren't all better yet 🥺👉👈 maybe they cuddle afterwards until she falls asleep or smth aaaaaa 🥺 pairing: jean x fem! reader wc: 2.7k+ tags: angst to fluff, cursing, female reader, mentions of death, blood and violence, hints of blasphemy (?), mentions of injuries, aot manga spoilers.

a/n: sorry this took so long, (i was shadowbanned) i changed up the request a teensy bit but otherwise i hope you enjoy !!

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Hot, burning, searing pain is the last thing you remembered before your vision went black.

That and the sight of the man you loved transforming into the one thing you feared the most.

Whether it was the heartache or the open wounds on your body that made you lose consciousness, you don’t know.

Truthfully, you were angry at Jean.

It was a whispered confession on the Azumabito airship. You and Jean sat in the corner, Captain Levi and Pieck in front of you, eyes cast away. The rest sat in silence, reeling from the situation that had played out on the ground below, quietly preparing themselves for the hell that awaited them at Fort Slava.

Jean’s hands were trembling; you would expect that after years of seeing your comrades die at the hands of humans and titans alike, you would get used to the death.

This wasn’t that, though; this was a different fear and anxiousness. Jean’s hands were clammy and his face pale; you could gauge that from one look at the man next to you, whatever worries were bubbling inside him were the accumulation of all the events from the past couple of days.

Jean was a collected man most times; as commanding officer, he didn’t have a choice but to be stoic and calm in the face of danger. But when that facade began to crumble, you would be there to ground him, remind him of why he was fighting. You knew that if you locked eyes at that moment, Jean would be able to see right through the front you were putting up, see the fear etched into your irises as you all were hurtling towards your deaths. So instead, you made the executive decision to swallow that panic and be that rock he needed, offering him your hand.

You took hold of his hand, staring ahead, and squeezed it three times, a reminder for both him and you that at least you still had each other. You could feel his eyes on you after you performed the simple gesture, but you continued to look ahead, focusing on the clouds, knowing that a couple of meters below, havoc was being wreaked by those mindless titan drones.

He said it so faintly, so lightly that you barely heard it past the sounds of the engine reverberating around the metal cabin.

“I’ll love you now and forever, even when I’m a pile of burnt bones.”

It’s like he knew. It was his way of saying goodbye to you. And you ignored him.

You clenched your jaw and pretended that you didn’t hear, pushed it to the back of your mind because this was no place for hushed confessions of love and, even more so, goodbyes. You were sure as hell were not letting Jean say goodbye to you. There would be no reason to, not if you had it your way. The both of you were bound together, and goodbyes were never to be uttered between the both of you.

Even when I’m a pile of burnt bones.

Is that what remains of him now? The muscle, sinew, and skin that pieced Jean together all reduced to ash and soot? The body that you had spent hours tracing, memorizing every detail of scattered in the wind. You would never feel the weight of his body on yours again, be able to graze your fingers over the scars littered on his torso, feel the way his heart would beat against your hands.

Jean Kirstein would only exist in your mind from now on.

He had left you alone with nothing but his memory, but even then, it was plagued by the image of a senseless titan taking the shape of Jean.

You wished to go back and tell him to shut up, never to utter those words again. Tell him to get those foolish notions out of his head, slap your hands over his mouth, silencing him, so that you could continue to live in your deluded reality that both of you would make it out alive. Tell him that he was selfish, of leaving you here to endure this torment by yourself.

Would that stop the scathing agony you were feeling?

Maybe this was hell you were in, you thought. That you were being punished for ignoring him, that you were the foolish one. Perhaps you should’ve held him tight to you, found a way to fold himself into you, so you wouldn’t have to suffer alone. Were you angry at Jean, or was that resentment directed at yourself?

The pain spread from your chest to your arms, down your legs, coursing through your veins.

You should have looked at him, told him that you were just as scared; maybe that could have changed his fate. If only you repeated those words back to him. He would still be here now.

I’ll love you now and forever.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Bring him back to me.

The silent prayer came from the depths of your heart; whether God or who knows what would hear it, you didn’t know, but the thought of having to live with this ache was enough for you to continue repeating the mantra in your head.

--

Jean looked at your unconscious form that laid next to his seat. If it wasn’t for the gentle rising and falling of your chest, he could have sworn you were dead.

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Jean had made peace with the fact that he would die when he transformed into a titan. Seeing you, like this, however, barely grasping onto your own life, made his body ache; he was okay with dying, but the thought of having to live without you was a fate worse than death.

He reached over to grab your hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of your palm before grasping it and squeezing it three times. He let go of it, placing it back gently over the top of your torso.

It was time to change your bandages and clean your wounds. Jean was a strong man; he had seen firsthand what a titan could do to one’s body, but his hands quivered as they unwrapped the bloodied bandages from your thigh. One singular thought overcame his mind.

Was he the reason that you were injured this badly? Did he hurt you?

Jean had spent many nights tending to your injuries, his hands careful when it came to you. However, the cuts and gashes he would tenderly patch up would always be inflicted by other humans or titans. Never did he think that his hands would be capable of hurting you. Jean was disgusted with himself as he stared straight ahead at his hands, now covered in blood.

The worst part of this, Jean thought, was that he couldn’t even remember if he was responsible for this, or maybe, that was a blessing. Recalling the situation would drive him into madness. The man winced at the thought of his arms tearing up your body.

He reached over to the tiny side table holding the medical supplies, grabbing the antiseptic solution. Dabbing it on a cloth, he attentively cleaned the wound, instinctively checking for your reaction. You would always make a fuss when he would apply it, but Jean averted his eyes once he realized that there was no reaction from your comatose form.

Usually, he would scold you when you would pull back from his hands when he tended to your wounds, but now any response would be better than having to tolerate the silence in the tiny room.

Jean got up to clean his hands in the basin, warm water turning red once he dipped his hands in. This was his punishment; he would have to suffer the consequences of his actions. The both of you were alive; Jean knew that he should be grateful, get on his hands and knees and thank the gods above. However, why should he be thankful? It was cruel. The both of you were not alive by the grace of God; this wasn’t mercifulness or benevolence.

What good is living if you have to sit and watch the one you love the most deteriorate in front of your eyes.

“You need to sleep; this isn’t healthy.” Connie was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. Although he was speaking to Jean, his eyes were transfixed on you.

Jean didn’t need to look at himself to know how terrible he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his face pale and gaunt. He spent his days and nights in your room, never wanting to miss the moment when you would wake up.

If. If you woke up, not when. Even that was not guaranteed.

“I’m not leaving her side, Connie.” Jean dried his hands on the cloth next to the basin. He turned his head to look at his friend, whose eyes were now staring back into his.

Connie understood the situation; he wanted you to wake up as well, but it pained him to see Jean suffer like this, “Spending your days sitting next to her waiting for her to wake up won’t help her, Jean.”

“You don’t think I fucking know that?” Jean slammed his hand down on the basin, hair falling in front of his face. Connie’s eyes widened at his friend’s action; to say that Jean was frustrated would be an understatement.

“You got your mom back, Annie got to see her dad, even those damn kids found each other. I got her back, but it’s my fault she’s like this.” Jean gritted his teeth, lip quivering.

Connie’s heart sank; he had seen Jean at his worst, but this was almost unbearable to witness. He made his way over to the hunched-over man and squeezed his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault Jean. This is difficult, believe me, I know, but you can’t be blaming yourself.” Connie’s eyes flickered your form, and he clenched his jaw.

Jean shifted his head, sullen eyes peering at your face through strands of hair; the man shook his head as a sob escaped his lips, “I need her to wake up Connie. I can’t live without her; I don’t know how to.”

--

You felt a gentle breeze on your face and an odd pressure around your ribs. Laying still for a moment, you waited for the pressure to subside, but instead, it made its way down to your thigh. You tried to open your eyes, but it was as if they were glued shut; there was no strength left in your body.

How many days had it been? Where were you?

Questions circled amidst your clouded mind as you lay immobile. You realized that the pressure you were feeling on your body was the weight of someone’s hands. How badly were you injured?

Memories flooded into your mind as you became aware of the situation you were in currently. Someone had rescued you at Fort Slava, and you were being treated at a medical facility by nurses. No, not nurses; the hands felt oddly familiar. They were careful and precise in their movements but carried tenderness as well.

You tried to take a deep breath in, to gather strength to move any one of your limbs, but paused immediately as the pain in your ribs was far too great. Shallow breaths would suffice for the time being. You began to focus on moving your fingers, channelling whatever energy you had left to at least get them to move.

The sheets underneath your fingers were soft as you gently moved your digits along the fabric. The hands on your thigh briefly paused before continuing their movements. You waited a minute before moving again, this time lifting your hand.

You couldn’t feel the hands on your body anymore.

Whoever had been treating your wounds whispered your name. It was a man, but you weren’t able to recognize their voice as everything was still groggy.

The man sharply inhaled, his voice shaking as he said your name once again.

You mustered the strength to open your eyes; your eyelids were heavy and hard to fight to keep open. The room was blurry and far too bright for your liking, but you continued to blink, and soon, the details surrounding you came into focus. The figure was still, waiting for your next move; you lolled your head to the side to get a better look at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He slowly came into focus; he was holding your hand between his and planting kisses on the back of your palm.

Why was he apologizing? Who was he?

Your heartbeat quickened as his voice became more apparent; this had to be some sick nightmare. You slowly sat up and reached out to him to cement the fact that this couldn’t be real. Your hand made contact with his knee; he was warm, he was alive.

Tears were running down your cheeks as your eyes scanned up his frame until landing on his face. Jean stared back at you, eyes wide, your hand still held in his.

Your face contorted as you took in the sight in front of you; you were so sure you had lost him, and yet here he was. Sitting up fully, you used your free hand to grip on to his white button-down and pull him into you with whatever remaining strength you had. Jean dropped your hand, and you swiftly wrapped both of your arms around him, eyes fluttering shut to take in his presence.

A pile of burnt bones.

It wasn’t a dream; you could feel his heartbeat against your body, feel his hair against your cheek. You sobbed into the crook of his neck, ignoring the immense pain you were feeling, scared that if you let him go, he would scatter in the wind.

“Jean, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you-” Your voice was scratchy and hoarse, still weak from the slumber which had woken from a few minutes ago.

He brought a hand up to rest against your head, “I’m the one who’s sorry; why are you apologizing?” Jean pulled away from you, causing you to wince.

You furrowed your brows in confusion; he gently laid you back down on the bed before continuing, “I hurt you when I transformed into a titan; I’m the one who’s responsible-” Jean paused, his eyes landing on the gauze on your upper leg.

He wasn’t making any sense to you; shaking your head, you frowned at him, “What do you mean? I saw you transform before I passed out; I got injured by the rubble falling from the fort.”

“I should be apologizing, not you. When we were in the airship, you told me you loved me, and I ignored you, Jean, and then I thought you died and lost you. I’m terrible-” You looked up at him through teary eyes; Jean wiped your tears before kissing your cheeks.

“All this time, I was scared that I had almost killed you, and here you thought that I was dead.” He whispered, hands caressing your cheek.

“You’re not dead right; if I close my eyes, you’ll still be here?” You brought your hand up to hold his, letting out a shaky breath.

“No, my love, I’m not dead, and I’m not going anywhere.” Jean pressed a light kiss to your forehead. You cautiously sat up before moving over slightly to make room for him on the small bed.

“Can you lie here with me? Don’t wanna let go of you yet.” He nodded his head before getting up from his seat to lie next to you.

You placed your head on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Your hand traced the buttons on his shirt, slowly getting lulled to sleep by the sound of his steady heartbeat.

Jean’s fingers skimmed your side; overwhelming happiness filled his chest; he was relieved that you were alright and that he hadn’t been the one at fault for your current state. He felt you press a kiss where his heart was, and his lips curled into a smile.

“You know why I said what I said on the airship?”

“Hmm, why?” Your ears piqued in interest.

“Because I knew that even if I died, I’d find you again, somehow somewhere.”

You let out a sigh, silently thanking whoever it was that answered your prayers.

I love him and you brought him back to me.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this !! any feedback is appreciated !! i tried something a little different than how i usually write, so please don't be shy to tell me if you liked it or not and what could be improved !!

also i apologize for not being active these past couple of days, my tumblr went haywire and i was shadowbanned, its all fixed now but again super sorry !!

taglist: @c0urtn3y, @depressedbisexual, @dai-tsukki-desu, @clean-soap, @nevcrmxre, @conniesspringersgf, @glittrkink

click here to join my taglist

As always, please leave a like/reblog if you enjoyed this, I appreciate it lots <33

[thatoneteadrinker666]

Finished my gift for the secret Santa! This is for @aslitheryprinx and involves Phil and Wilbur finding Ranboo in the cold. And yeah.

Snowdrift Surprise

Warnings: soft and safe vore, fluff, cursing

When he decided to go on a fun little walk with Wilbur, he didn’t expect to find a child. And yet here he was.

The hike in the snow wasn’t planned, but they’d started getting cabin fever in the smallish house of theirs, and some fresh air would do them good, even if it was chilly.

Phil wrapped his wings around himself and shivered. “Are you sure you’re not cold, mate? I’m freezing my ass off here even with feathers.”

“The cold doesn’t bother me. Probably because I’m not old and frail.” Wilbur grinned.

“Oh you little shit-“ Phil threw a punch in Wilbur’s general direction, not really caring if he hit him or not. Wilbur twisted out of the way with a laugh.

“It’s true! Your old bones get cold easier. It’s just fact.”

Phil rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I’m not THAT old.” He shivered again and wrapped his wings tighter. Maybe it was because he was hungry. He didn’t get hungry too often, but he seemed to get colder when he did. He wasn’t sure how that worked.

“Philza Minecraft, I’ve seen a lot of old things in my time and somehow, you’re older than all of them combined.”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever, mate. Just because I’m not young and spry like you doesn’t make me ancient. Maybe you’re just a fetus.” He took a step and paused. “Wil, do you see that?”

“The grey hairs? Yeah, I meant to tell you about them a couple days back.”

Phil huffed. “I don’t mean those. I mean that.” He pointed at a snow pile.

Wilbur raised a brow. “You mean that pile that looks like every other pile in existence? I see it.”

“No. It moved. Like something was inside it.” Phil narrowed his eyes and watched the snow pile intensely.

Lo and behold, the snow drift shuddered, as if something was rumbling around inside it, trying to keep warm.

“I think someone’s stuck in it.” Phil took a couple steps forward.

Wilbur followed a couple paces behind, rolling his eyes but saying nothing. The man was senile. It was probably gravity that made the snow move, not any someone that was stuck in it.

Phil crouched and brushed a hand over the snow and gasped.

There was a child. A small, shivering, probably-not-supposed-to-be-blue child. His paternal instincts went haywire. He had to do something. He couldn’t just leave this suit-wearing kid out in the cold. Absolutely not.

Wilbur saw the look on Phil’s face and immediately knew what was going to happen. He sighed, running a hand through his fluffy hair. It was looking nice today. And soon it wouldn’t look nice.

“Wil, I-“

“You want to save them and you need my help. I know. You did the same thing with the little gremlin child.” Wilbur huffed. He swept a swathe of hair back before crouching and gently shaking the child’s shoulder. “Hey. You. Are you alright?”

“Wil! Be nice!” Phil gave him a flick on the head.

Wilbur sighed heavily again, acting a lot more annoyed than he actually was. He honestly didn’t care when Phil asked him to do this. It was actually quite nice. But he liked overreacting. “Fine.”

Phil watched as the normally tall man shrank down to the kid’s size, which was very small. The perfect size to store away. He kept an eye on Wilbur as he talked to the kid, and when the only response was a faint groan and a small twitch, grabbed the kid and dragged him over to Phil.

“Mate, maybe you should go in first so he doesn’t freak out. If he’s awake enough, that is.”

Wilbur nodded. “Alright, old man. Open up.”

Had Phil not been so concerned about this lone child, he would’ve scolded Wilbur for calling him old. But he didn’t have time to do that, so instead he closed his lips over Wilbur’s upper half and tossed his head back, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth when he heard Wil’s surprised squeak. That ought to teach him. Phil took a second to give Wilbur a couple licks before swallowing him into his crop, which was just big enough to snugly fit two tinies.

He scooped up the child and winced at how cold he was. Just holding him for a few seconds seemed to utterly drain the heat from his hands. He was lucky he found them when he did.

Phil carefully slid the shivering form into his mouth, curling his tongue around them to warm them up. It was like he had a stone in his mouth. Absolutely freezing. He did not like that at all. But at least he could feel them breathing, and ever so slightly push at his tongue. Good. They were responding. That was definitely a good sign.

Had Wilbur not given his crop a push, he probably would’ve kept tasting the tiny child. They tasted delicious, and could probably use the warm massage. But they likely didn’t know what was going on and would need a fellow tiny to explain it.

Reluctantly Phil scooted the little guy to the back of his mouth and carefully, oh so carefully, swallowed him. He waited until he felt the child settle into his crop before spreading his wings and launching himself into the sky. Hopefully, he’d be alright. They could ask for his name once they got home.

[warmblanketwhump]

Idk if its too late to send this in but if it isn't, how about ⬤ and ✿?

✿: feeling so out of it, they need constant attention

⬤: being called soft things like baby, sweetheart or honey

(note: this MIGHT be cheating but my poor brain was stuck on ideas SO this is a part two to this prompt fill! would recommend reading that first for context, but pretty sure you can enjoy them independently :)

To any other person, the remote cabin would have looked like any old shack – slightly dilapidated, covered in moss, nested away among the trees. But to a lost, soaked, chilled-to-the-bone A, the cabin looks like a warm little slice of heaven, and it takes all they have not to run up the stairs. Instead, they slide an injured B off of their back and help them hobble to the small porch.

The pair limp across the threshold of the cabin and leave the pattering rain behind them, entering a small, spotlessly clean living room that smells of cedar and pine. A large, squashy-looking couch faces a dark fireplace with a tall stack of split logs nearby, and to the right of the doorway is a small kitchen. In the back, A spots a darkened bedroom, a tiny bathroom, and a linen closet. The cabin's rustic, so there's no electricity or hot water - just a single spigot and a gas stove for cooking.

They set a trembling B on the couch, pushing away the guilt of yelling at them earlier, of making them come out here in the first place.

“I’ll find us some towels and blankets. Can you start getting your wet clothes off?” Amid their violent shivers, B nods and starts shedding A’s raincoat and their own denim jacket with pruned, fumbling fingers. The sight nearly crushes A, but they know someone has to go find blankets to help them both get warm.

A pushes into the bathroom and locates several clean, threadbare towels, then heads to the linen closet. They nearly burst into happy tears when they see the large bundle of hideous plaid blankets and a couple piles of flannel and thermal clothing stacked neatly in the corner (forgotten by whoever rented it last, they guessed) and grab as much as their numb fingers can hold.

When they return to the couch, they find B in nearly the exact spot they left them - denim jacket off one arm, on the other, rain jacket fallen to the floor. They're hunched over, stiff with cold, arms crossed tightly.

“Oh sweetheart.…” A sighs, dropping the blankets on the couch and rushing to them.

“T-tried to ch-change. F-fingers won't-t work-k. I’m s-sorry-”

“B, you have nothing to be sorry about. I should’ve helped you in the first place.” A unthreads the soaked clothing from B’s shaking frame, gently patting their wet skin dry and lightly squeezing the water droplets out of their hair with a towel.

B’s eyes are bleary and unfocused, but they respond to A’s simple commands as they dress them in a pair of warm red flannel pants and a grey thermal long-sleeve. A casts a glance towards B's swollen ankle - it's not the worst injury they've ever seen, but it's definitely got to hurt. They dart back to the bathroom and locate a small first aid kit with a cloth bandage, and tenderly wrap up the sore ankle to immobilize it.

When they’re finished, they wrap B in two blankets: one around their legs and elevated ankle, and the other over their wet head and trembling shoulders. B sneezes, cinches the blanket tighter and groans.

“Look-k like a Russian p-peasant woman.” B grumbles, and A can’t help but let a chuckle escape. They really do look like a grandma, with only their face sticking out of the blanket cape.

“Alright, then, babushka. Let me get a fire started, and I’ll join you in a minute.”

Mercifully, it only takes a few minutes for A to get a roaring fire going. A drapes another blanket around B's shoulders and gives them a quick, reassuring rub.

“I’m gonna change, okay? You just worry about warming up.” B moans weakly and pulls the blanket over their nose, edging closer to the flame’s heat.

A peels off their wet clothing in the drafty bedroom, hurriedly drying their own cold skin and pulling on their own warm clothes - a cream thermal and blue flannel pants. The brief exposure makes them shiver, and they chafe their arms and legs to rub away the goosebumps and the damp chill that sinks into their marrow. For just a moment, they acknowledge how cold they are, too. God, they wish this place had hot water.

The adrenaline of the moment begins to fade, and several facts strike them at once. They were freezing. They were stuck in a remote cabin with no electricity for the weekend. This whole weekend was their idea - and all their fault. And they felt guilty as hell about it.

Squeezing their wet hair, they shove the intrusive thoughts from their mind and grab a blanket from the bed to wrap tightly around their own shoulders, along with a couple pillows from the bed for B.

On returning to the living room, they see B managed to hop on their one good leg over to the fire, leaving a trail of two of their other blankets behind. They’re huddled as close as possible to the warm glow, head resting on the hearth. A drops the pillows on the couch and kneels down, running their fingers through B’s damp hair, now exposed by the fallen blanket.

“Feeling any better, love?”

B gives a small, wan smile that fails to light up their peaked face and shakes their head, turning to cough. When they’ve finished, they shudder weakly, pulling the blanket tighter.

“Can’t shake the chill in my bones.” B coughs again. A can see them rubbing their arms under the blankets. “Heat’s bouncing right off me. And I ache all over, not just my ankle.” Another chill rattles their teeth, and they pull the blanket up to their chin. “I just can’t warm up at all.”

A pulls a shivery B into a hug, rubbing their shoulders and trying to share the little body heat they’ve created - unlike B, the fire’s warmth is beginning to thaw them out. In the dim firelight, A can see a sheen of sweat on B’s forehead, and alarm bells go off. Instinctively, A reaches out to press their cold hand to it. It’s warm now. Too warm for someone who just spent two hours trekking through the cold rain.

"Sweetheart, you're feverish. That’s why you’re achy and chilled.”

“S’pose it makes sense. I’m just freezing.” A gust of wind rattles the cabin, and a draft snakes its way into the living room, making B shudder and curl up even closer to A. “I’d kill for a hot shower right now.”

“Don’t go all ‘The Shining’ on me yet - we just got here.” A grabs a towel to try and further dry B’s damp hair. It was probably an old wives’ tale, but they didn’t have many options to keep a sick person comfortable out here, and wet hair couldn’t feel good.

B had complained about feeling a cold coming on a couple days ago, and mentioned that they might not want to go this weekend. A had made fun of them for it, joking about how someone like B never let a little cold get them down. And now, thanks to them, B was even sicker. They really were the worst friend in history.

“Do you think you could manage some tea?" A asks quietly. B closes their eyes and nods, laying their head back on the hearth.


It takes a few minutes, but A manages to light the gas stove and locate a kettle, along with a dusty box of herbal tea tucked away in a cupboard. Whoever they had rented from had stocked it high with all kinds of canned soups and dry goods, so at least they’d be prepared for the long haul.

A sudden glance out the window reveals that the rain has turned into fat, white snowflakes, whirling in the sky and dusting the porch. A rubs their hands together, holding their chilled fingers as close to the stove flame as possible. The kettle whistles and A pours two cups, reveling in the warm steam that tickles their nose.

Once the tea is brewed, they make their way back to the fireplace. B's too weak to lift their own head, so A sits behind them and props them up, holding the teacup and helping them take small sips of the warm liquid. Once the cup is empty, A helps B lay their head back on the hearth before adding a few more logs to the fire and starting on their own tea.

Despite the warm fire, A can feel the ambient temperature of the room dropping. There's no way B's going to stay warm enough in the bedroom, so they’ll just have to make do out here for now.

After pushing the couch until it's just inches in front of the fire, A sweeps B into their arms and helps them back to the couch, easing them gently onto the pillows they've laid and tucking a blanket back around them. Even this close to the fire, the brief movement had set off another round of bone-shaking chills in B, and they grip their blanket so hard A’s afraid they’ll tear it.

“A?" B's voice is weak.

“I’m right here.”

“A, can you hold me? Please?” The desperation is palpable. B’s breathing is hoarse and they're close to tears, arms wrapped tightly around themselves. “Shivering hurts, but I can’t stop. I know you probably don’t want to get sick from me-”

A’s heart breaks. “Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll keep you warm.” They slide onto the couch and wrap their own blanket around the both of them, pulling B’s fevered body to their chest. B clings to their body, and A can feel the shakes that ripple through them. A gently massages their arms and back in slow circles and B presses closer, the vulnerability almost too much to bear.

Finally, A says what’s been eating away at them for hours. “B, I’m so sorry for what I said on the trail. I shouldn’t have said it, and I didn’t mean it. I do want you here. And now we’re here, and you're sick and hurt and it’s my fault, and I’m sorry for that too.” The apology comes out in such a rush, and B is quiet for so long in their arms that they doubt B even heard it.

But then they feel B’s trembling arms squeezing their waist. “Nature’s not your fault, A. Besides, if being taken care of is a part of your apology, it's warm and I'll take it."

A grips B even tighter, fighting back tears. “Whatever happens this weekend, I’ve got you. You know that, right?”

“‘Course I do. You always have,” B mumbles as they slip into a restless sleep. In front of the warm fire, A reasons that the drafty bedroom was probably too cold for anyone to sleep in. No, they were perfectly content to stay right here with B - and not even the promise of a warm shower could lure them away.