#back on my bullshit again (expressing things through quotes)

[benjaminrydersnest]

"Those that are fragile can be broken," "Those that are weak can be controlled," "Pull the strings and make them ring." -Mr. Valentine, Fallen Angels

[neverendingford]

.

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Lying

One day, Billy realizes he can just lie. To press, to the JL (only when they really ask about his identity), and to world. And the best part is that almost no one can prove him wrong, because what’s Black Adam or someone else going to do? Prove him wrong? (I kinda already talked about this but meh) Like here’s something I can see Billy maybe doing because one time and one time alone, a reporter asked and he quotes:

Reporter: “Captain, I’m sure many people are speculating, and I’m sure it’s a question asked often, but who is your Missus Marvel?” *holds mic to Billy’s face*

Marvel: “…Huh?” *Has confused expression* “Can you repeat that?”

Reporter: “Who is your Missus Marvel?”

Marvel: “Uh… Ma’am, there is no—” *Does air quotes* “—Missus Marvel.”

Reporter: “Then who is the mother of Captain Marvel Junior and Mary Marvel?”

Marvel: “Uuuuh… Me? Technically? They’re both made from parts of me, but not parts *gestures to his lower region* of me, no.” *He shook his head.* “If I remember correctly Mary was made about 10000 years ago when one of my arms were chopped off. (He’s lying through his teeth right now. The only reason he hasn’t been caught is because of Achilles allowing him to bullshit his was through without blinking.)

Reporter: “I- I see.” *stunned*

Marvel: “And then Junior’s a…” *snorts* “…leg.” *Muffles a laugh into his hand not realizing no one will get his joke besides Freddy and Mary*

Reporter: *confused by Billy laughing but doesn’t say anything* “Interesting… Are Mary Marvel and Marvel Junior your only children? Spawn? Wards?”

Marvel: “Oh, yeah. I could more though. Like, watch this.” *Literally breaks off his ring finger, splintering the bone and everything without a single flinch. Then drops the finger on the ground and it morphs into what looks like a four year old Marvel. Billy picks him up and holds him like a parent would their toddler.* “It’s super easy.” *He’s even doing the slight bouncing that parents do when they hold their kids.* “But I don’t know… now that I’m holding this one, I’m starting to get attached. We might keep him.” *looks down at the mini Marvel, who in turn looks back at him.*

Reporter: *still horrified she watched a man, if he even is one, snap one of his fingers off like nothing. Said man’s finger nub is also still exposed to the world in all its disgusting glory. Safe to say she’s looking a little green* “O- Oh really?”

Marvel: *moves Mini Marvel around in his grip, and then suddenly throws the toddler like a paper airplane. Thankfully, instead of falling on the ground and splattering like meat pie, Mini Marvel takes to the skies is flying over the nearby crowd and such. Marvel turns back to the reporter.* “Yeah, but before that happens, he’ll have to develop a consciousness and personality. It took a bit for Mary and Junior to develop their own. Now they have their own likes, dislikes, and feelings. Who knows how long it’ll take the little guy.” (Again, he’s bullshitting this completely. He’s mishmashing Solomon’s wisdom on golems with things he makes up on the fly)

Reporter: “That’s… amazing.” *looks greener now. Looks to cameraman and motions for him to cut the feed. As soon as he does, her hand moves to her mouth.* “Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.” *runs over to nearest trashcan*

Marvel: “I guess that’s my cue to leave.” *starts to float off the ground* “Thanks for having me, miss!” *Marvel then whistles and Mini Marvel immediately stops entertaining the crowd and flies over to Billy and they fly off into the sunset.*

Elsewhere… Mary’s working an odd job for some money when she sees a tv on the news channel. She nearly has a heart attack because for three brief seconds she thought her dad was holding a young Billy in his arms like he used to. Then she blinked a couple times and realized it was just Billy as Marvel with four year old dressed like him. Fawcett kids really love Captain Marvel, huh?

(Oh yeah, and as for how he made Mini Marvel, he’s my hypothesis. When he broke off his finger, he destabilized its form and it reverted back to a part of living lightning for a brief couple of moments. Then, in an effort to not return back to the rock, as it could sense part of itself still nearby, it stabilized itself once more and forced itself to take the form of a miniature Marvel) (and if anyone makes sense of that, I’ll be darned)

[tgcg]

argument

its a big one

TG: alright this is probably a bust

TG: more i think about it how the fuck do you even make a marinara

TG: can i even alchemise cheese or do i gotta like alchemise the milk and curdle it myself

TG: how do you even curdle

====================

TG: make a goddamn

TG: curgler

TG: whatever

TG: internet archive gonna pull through

====================

CG: ALRIGHT DAVE

TG: shit

====================

CG: YOU BETTER BACK THE FUCK OFF. I DON'T KNOW WHERE IN BULGEMUNCHING VIRULENT FUCK YOU GET THE IDEA YOU HAVE ANY RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD THINK ABOUT MY OWN GODDAMN PLANET. SORRY TO HAVE TO DEAL A BLOW TO YOUR IMPOSSIBLY INFLATED FUCKING EGO, BUT HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED THAT YOUR SIDE-EYE SLACKJAW HOPELESS DEADPAN BULLSHIT BEHAVIOUR IS ACTUALLY INCREDIBLY FUCKING CONTEMPTIBLE AND DOESN'T PUT YOU ABOVE OTHER PEOPLE? HAVE YOU CONSIDERED THAT?

CG: OR DID YOU JUST ASSUME FROM THE MOMENT YOU FOUND OUT I'M A REVOLTING FUCKING MUTANT LOWBLOOD FREAK THAT I'M SUDDENLY NOT ALLOWED TO LIKE THE IDEA OF MY LIFE MEANING SOMETHING AT SOME POINT?

TG: okay you are wildly misquoting me where the fuck did that come from

TG: also you scared the hell out of me

TG: im just trying to science some pizza here

====================

CG: OKAY THEN, DAVE! EXPLAIN TO ME AS WELL AS YOUR AMBLING ONE-NOTE SMOOTH EXCUSE FOR A 'THOUGHT'SPONGE CAN

CG: IN SOMEWHAT COHERENT TERMS, ALTHOUGH I KNOW THAT'S A TALL ORDER:

CG: HOW YOU SAYING MY ADOLESCENT DREAMS OF BECOMING A THRESHECUTIONER ARE "FUCKED UP AND IRONIC IN A NASTY ASS WAY" DOESN'T QUALIFY AS UNDERHANDEDLY KICKING ME IN THE MANDIBLE PRONGS!

CG: YOUR AUDIENCE AWAITS YOU WITH BATED BREATH! TAKE IT AWAY, M.C. BRAIN HEMORRHAGE.

====================

TG: okay i dont

TG: know how you got a hold of that phrasing because i said that shit in confidence

TG: get out of my business bro

CG: NEWSFLASH, ASSHOLE: THIS METEOR IS A PHYSICAL, LITERAL LOCATION WE'RE BOTH IN. IT'S NOT A FUCKING PRIVATE CHATROOM. THIS MIGHT BLOW YOUR PITIFUL MIND BUT PEOPLE CAN ACTUALLY HEAR OTHER PEOPLE TALK WHEN THEY HAVE TO SHARE A SPACE! BRO!

TG: ugh

====================

CG: AND IT'S VERY INTERESTING YOU ACCUSE ME OF MISQUOTING YOU, AND THEN SUDDENLY TURN AND SPOUT FROM THAT SHITTY DRONING GROANSHAFT OF YOURS THAT I'M INVADING YOUR PRIVACY WHEN I DIRECTLY QUOTE YOUR SMARMY LITTLE SHAMEGLOBES!

CG: WOW! TURNS OUT KARKAT IS ACTUALLY BEING GENUINELY FUCKING UPSET ABOUT SOMETHING — WHO KNEW, RIGHT? WHO WOULD'VE GUESSED THAT I ACTUALLY HAVE GENUINE COMPLAINTS TO LEVEL AGAINST THE PEOPLE WHO GO SPOUTING HOOFBEASTSHIT ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK TO THEIR ECTOSIBLINGS?

TG: no dude can you shut up a second

CG: I MOST CERTAINLY FUCKING WILL, THANKS FOR THE OFFER! I'M NEVER TELLING YOU A GODDAMN THING AGAIN, SO I HOPE YOU MANAGE TO GAIN SOME WRINKLES TO THAT VESTIGIAL FLAWLESS ORB FLOATING AROUND IN YOUR CAVERNOUS NUGBONE FROM ALL THIS. I HOPE IT WAS WORTH ALL THE EFFORT ON YOUR END.

TG: listen!!!!

====================

CG: MHM! MY AURICULAR CHAMBERS ARE WIDE OPEN!

TG: jegus

TG: okay

TG: i have no defense for my literal phrasing but how expeditiously did you shadowstep the fuck away after i said that

TG: because that is some shrek tier "princess and ugly dont go together" level misrepresentation of my sweet self

TG: like if this wasnt obviously a heated platonic argument we were having i would probably be digging what the reference even if it was a shitty trope

====================

TG: i just

TG: have been thinking about some things and none of those things have got an iota of a thing to do with you or your blood

TG: thing

TG: man

TG: i dont know why you think id be so pressed about your vein juice its like

TG: a normal ass color for a normal ass guy

TG: and obviously it was a major fucking deal from how you talk about it but it doesnt need to be anymore

====================

TG: the thing is i just dont like have the same attitude as you about fighting and stuff and thats not something i am getting into right now but i am gonna make it expressly clear

TG: that its just kind of fucked up for me to sit my ass down and listen to someone spew gold and medals and confetti colored shit going googoo all over tall and loathsome ass bloodletters he never knew

TG: and have him tell me he wants to be the best guy at combat since samurai fuckin jack

TG: and thats my capital B business believe me the emphasis is there

====================

CG: SO IS THIS ABOUT ME WANTING TO BE PART OF SOMETHING YOU DON'T AGREE WITH? BECAUSE THRESHECUTIONERS DON'T EVEN FUCKING EXIST ANYMORE. I LITERALLY COULD NOT DO THIS IF I TRIED AT THIS POINT, SO YOU CAN UNKNOT YOUR “KNIGHTY WHITIES” ABOUT IT.

TG: being anti-military is not my point but damn if it isnt a thing thats probably true anyways so good job sleuthing that out

CG: WHAT IS YOUR POINT, DAVE.

TG: bluh

TG: i just said i dont wanna talk about it man

====================

CG: OKAY,

====================

CG: OKAY.

CG: I MEAN. IT FEELS KIND OF IMPORTANT TO THE CONTEXT OF THIS WHOLE UNAMBIGUOUSLY PLATONIC ARGUMENT WE'VE BEEN HAVING

CG: WHICH I'M RELIEVED WE AGREE ON BY THE WAY

CG: BUT IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO KNOW I'M NOT GOING TO WRING IT OUT OF YOU. IT'S FINE.

====================

CG: …IF YOU DECIDE AT SOME POINT THAT YOU WANT TO TELL ME THOUGH, MY RUMBLE VESSELS ARE STILL OPEN.

TG: i swear youre making those up on the spot at this point

CG: I'M KEEPING MY LANGUAGE'S ART ALIVE, DAVE. IT'S BASIC DECENCY TO THE PLANET THAT RAISED ME.

TG: heh

====================

TG: yknow we got these things called anatomical snuffboxes

TG: its got that right amount of vague nose wrinklage to it that i feel like youd be right at home saying that

TG: snug as a grub even

CG: WHAT PART IS THAT???

TG: its that little weird bone bit that sticks out on the back of your palm when you flex your thumb right

====================

TG: look

CG: HUH. LOOKING AT THAT IS KIND OF WIGGING ME OUT.

TG: yeah its kinda gross rose told me about it

TG: but anyways

====================

TG: are we cool

CG: I MEAN… I GUESS SO. YOU WEREN'T ACTUALLY INSULTING ME, RIGHT?

TG: hell no dude never

CG: OKAY. I COMPLETELY RESCIND THE MYRIAD OF WAYS I JUST INSULTED YOU. AND I'M SORRY.

TG: nah i know its just fluff at this point

====================

CG: I STILL DON'T APPRECIATE YOU TELLING ROSE THINGS I SAY TO YOU IN CONFIDENCE. THAT WAS BETWEEN YOU, ME, AND MY NOW NON-EXISTENT HOME PLANET ROTTING AWAY TO A CRATERED GRAY HUSK IN ANOTHER DEAD UNIVERSE.

TG: i swear that was like the only thing its just that she gets it and i cant keep my mouth from going on about the gettable stuff

TG: they call me the babbling brook the way my flows so audible

TG: i wont do it again

CG: NO,

====================

CG: I GET IT HONESTLY.

CG: I'M BASICALLY THE NUMBER ONE PROPRIETOR OF AIRED GRIEVANCES IN ALL OF PARADOX SPACE AND THEN SOME, AND I'D ALSO BECOME ITS BIGGEST HYPOCRITE IF I HELD IT AGAINST YOU.

TG: thanks

TG: but i mean

TG: at the gigantic risk of sounding uh

====================

TG: ………..

CG: ?

====================

TG: well

TG: i kinda just think youre better at being a guy to chill out and watch movies with than a guy to tangle fists with

TG: and i dont think theres anything wrong with being that

TG: i think its cool

====================

CG: …THAT'S AN ALARMINGLY BRAZEN OBSERVATION TO MAKE OF SOMEONE YOU'VE KNOWN FOR ABOUT THE SPAN OF SEVEN SEASONAL EQUINOXES, DAVE.

TG: i dont know what that means but it sure is probably

CG: AM I ALLOWED TO ASK WHAT EVEN GIVES YOU THAT IMPRESSION????

TG: i just got that inkling about you man

====================

TG: and you can do whatever you want with that info

TG: throw it in the load gaper or whatever if you want i dont really care

TG: give it a swirly and slam it in a locker call it a nerd break its glasses whatever

TG: but beyond this whole lord english thing weve got going on i am pretty content to never aggress my fellow man slash alien slash monster again if i can help it

TG: i think thats pretty fair given what thats been like so far

====================

TG: and yknow its cool to have some company when im waxing emotional over the narrative depth of click starring adam sandler which we are watching next by the way

CG: UGH, FIIIIIIIIINE. JUST TO MAKE UP FOR CALLING YOUR THINKPAN SMOOTH AND SUPERFLUOUS.

====================

TG: score

TG: we should argue all the time

CG: SNRK

[mcrslover]

MCR quotes for anyone who needs them:

"Kids would say they were going to kill themselves then they heard our music... it's our mission"

- Mikey Way.

...

"Reasons why mcr is good for you

juradsleigh:

Feeling like a rad vampire? Listen to bullets

Feeling angry? Listen to 3 cheers

Feeling sad? Listen to black parade

Feeling colourful and happy? Listen to danger days

Feeling like breaking up your band? Listen to death never stop you"

...

"This is for every kid out there... That dyed their hair a fucked up colour and can't get a job. They got a tattoo on their neck like Frank, and can't get a job. That does this because they fuckin' love this. This song is for every kid in the audience- even if you don't have fucked up hair or tattoos-every kid on stage, this song's about us, this song's about you, it's called The Kids From Yesterday."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Stop covering your children's eyes.

Everything is fucked up and pretending it's not won't make it any better. I'm tired of people praying for a change when it's up to them to get off their asses and make a change."

- Frank Iero.

...

"I spent most of my time in the back of the class, just drawing. My goal was to not get noticed in school, because spent so long not being noticed anyway or being treated as if I were invisible that I started to like it.

I've learned that it's actually not very lonely... It's like, you have less friends but the friends you have count more. I met a lot of people that weren't outsiders, or they were very popular, and they have a lot of friends but I don't know if they're the kinds of friends you would call up at 3 am to help you out or talk about being depressed."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Promise me, when MCR's gone, you'll do what it takes to survive. You're strong enough to do it without us."

- Gerard Way.

...

"All your quirks and all your problems, even your depressions, and your failures that's.. that's what makes you, you."

- Gerard Way.

...

"If you or someone you know is severely depressed you need to fucking talk to someone! Your mom, someone in school, I don't give a fuck! Because suicide is fucking bullshit."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Nothing is worth hurting yourself over, nothing is worth taking your life over"

- Gerard Way.

...

"If we never play another show again, just keep yourself alive."

- Gerard Way.

...

"We're outsiders, we're the kids who didn't get dates for the prom, we're the kids who were confused, who didn't fit in with the cliques, who weren't part of the in-crowd.

Growing up can be a very frightening and confusing time, and I think people look at us and see it's okay to be different. They see that there is a way other than what they're being offered. That you can stand out, that you can be creative, that you can be yourself."

- Gerard Way.

...

"gerard-hey:

I love MCR so much it's like they have a song for every situation. Feeling sad? Listen to The Lights Behind Your Eyes. Feeling frustrated? Listen to I'm Not Okay. Feeling Energetic? Listen to Na Na Na. Feeling like you wanna kick some ass? Listen to Destroya.

Feeling rebellious? Listen to Teenagers. Feel like you wanna break up your band? Listen to Fake Your Death."

...

"The difference we want to make is, number one, to let these kids know that they're not alone, that they're actually not that messed up, and that they can do whatever they want they can express themselves in any way they want without being persecuted or called a faggot or some kind of racist thing. Really just get people to get over their stuff so they can live."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Whatever happens to you, no matter what, l'm always fucking there for you... Don't forget that. I don't give a shit if your boyfriend dumps you. If your girlfriend dumps you. If you're working a shitty job or can't get through school. If you can't get through a fucking Harry Potter book, there's nothing worth dying over. There's nothing worth taking your life over. I will always fucking be there."

- Gerard Way.

...

"If you come to an MCR show, you're probably a little fucked up, and that's okay because we're just as fucked up as you. It's us against the world. And it's great because there's thousands of us in one place."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Someone doesn't like you? Fuck it.

Having a bad day? Fuck it. Didn't get that job, or that grade, or that promotion you wanted? Fuck it. Fighting with your lover? Fuck it. Feel fat today? Fuck it. Losing control of everything and everyone? Fuck it.

What matters now won't matter soon; the truly important thing is that you are alive, and that you have the capacity to do absolutely anything with this beautiful, crazy coincidence of being on this earth. Just stick your middle fingers in the air and think, 'Damn, I have it good."

- Gerard Way.

...

"You're going to come across a lot of shitty bands, and a lot of shitty people. And if anyone of those people call your names because of what you look like, or bedause they don't accept you for who you are. I want you to look right at that mother fucker, stick up your middle finger and scream

"FUCK YOU!!"

- Gerard Way.

...

"Real revenge is making something of yourself."

- Gerard Way.

❤️🖤❤️🖤

[raymond-reddington-ruminations]

This post contains all the spoilers about 10.21 and 10.22. Ye be warned.

Another Warning; I'm about to bitch.   I started writing this about 45 minutes after the final episode ended. I was going to write it in a few days, but I really need to vent if I'm going to get any sleep tonight.

It should be said that while I still love the show and the characters, and the final episodes were not objectively terrible, I had a list of things that I wanted and I got none of them. So I'm going to sound off on that.

It doesn't change how I feel about the show overall, and I'll go back to saying positive things about the show afterwards, but at the moment that I'm writing this I'm pissed, and I'm going to express it.

I remember one of the producers was quoted as saying that Ressler would be front and center when Reddington's fate was decided. What? There was no decision here. Who decided something?? Not Ressler.

And it did feel like that was coming. It looked like Ressler would be the one to catch up with him and decide whether to take him in or let him go. And I'm not just talking about the last 15 minutes, it felt like that all the way through. The other characters kind of had to declare where they stood, to some degree (dembe and Harold got off the hook) and Ressler didn't really do that. I feel cheated.

I feel cheated on many levels. From 8 years of mysteries laid out that were never answered, to dodging the central question of the show's premise, to ditching the Red/Dembe relationship which was simply the most beautiful male friendship and defined both characters, and finally, no mention of Elizabeth in the end.

What the hell is going on with Dembe? He was asked how he felt about what he was doing, and he couldn't answer. And he never did explain why. What exactly did he think would happen when Reddington was brought in? The man's already been sentenced to death.  Argh.  Makes no sense. In the end the core of Dembe's character makes no sense because they didn't explain it, or address his original stated purpose of wanting to save Reddington's soul.  The monologue covered the past, but not the present.  Bad job.

When that story of The Matador first came up, and the allusion was made that Reddington needs to risk his life to feel alive, I cried bullshit at the time. That's not the character that I've been watching. He is content with whatever life brings, he is fearless, but he does not need to seek risk to make life worthwhile. He is just as happy with peace and quiet, WHICH THEY SPENT A LOT OF TIME DEMONSTRATING IN THE LAST HALF HOUR.

So this ultimate ending with the bull just sucks balls. They're trying to imply that he chose the risk, and chose the manner of  his death, because risk is his thing, like the Matador.

Hell to the no.

And where does that leave Agnes?? God damn it, that's too much tragedy.  No, I cannot presume she's going to be okay with losing him.  I want to kick something. The show ended so very far away from what the first eight years were about; Red's relationship with Liz, and thereafter with Agnes.

I'm going to have to get my ass in gear and actually write some fanfiction. I've done only a handful of longer pieces over the last 20 years, and I recognize that I'm neither good nor proficient at it. But I don't think I can let this rest.

I'm still wound up in The Blacklist, and I don't see myself getting another fandom anytime soon. I get burnt out at the end. After many years they end in ways that aren't satisfying and I wonder why I should let myself get emotionally involved in another story.  There are some showrunners whose names I have learned because of this and will actively not watch a show they produce. I don't think that's the case here, but it might be quite some time, if ever, that I let myself fall in love with fiction like this again. Why do they need to b**** slap us, the audience who followed them for years, in the end??  Is there some kind of perception that a happy ending is somehow detrimental to their audience??

It affects the rewatchability of the show, you know? It's hard to get invested in something when you know the ending is disappointing.

Ok, ok.  It may not be the writer's fault. They always said they were going to concretely reveal Red's identity, and that didn't happen. I believe that is the network interfering with the writers. And I feel like that may have happened on more than just Red's identity. I mean... A bull.  As in, we can't write what we want to, so here's some b*******. If that was the deliberate choice, kudos to the writers. Well played. If it wasn't their intention to draw in that phrase...well. They walked right into that one.

I realize there probably isn't much of an audience for what I'll be writing, but I need to write it for myself.  It is sad to me that the fandom for The Blacklist seems to be so small. There was so much material here, and so many of the people I've known for my past fandoms could have loved it as passionately as I did, and written far more and far better than I ever could. I think if they had confirmed Redarina directly it actually would have accomplished that. The people I've been close to in past fandoms are wildly supportive of LGBTQ and would have been attracted to this character's story based on his being trans.  What are missed opportunity.

Can we get this to be a George RR Martin situation?  Where the original Creator puts out a book that contains his own ending and ignores this one?

I'm going to see about getting that first fiction written as quickly as I can. But until then, let this be said for the record;

Donald Ressler got Reddington to a hospital, and after a lengthy recovery, during which Weecha concluded that life with Reddington is not for her, Red walked free, called Agnes, and welcomed Dembe back to his side, as Red had retired from crime. They both went in search of, and found, Anne.

Addition; posting this the following morning. I did not get any sleep. I need to stop letting fiction do that to me.

[plscallmeeren]

VISITORS

Platonic Logan Howlett x OC

Summary: just a lil Drabble from a fanfic I never finished and hardly started

Warnings: ……swearing maybe?; unedited bullshit

Stares fell on me inevitably like I was the magnet and their eyes were the iron as I crossed the school grounds.

Some things never change, I guess.

The looks had a wide range though: Most were dirty or hungry stares, some held fear, others were laced with pure curiosity.

I was the newest thing to be thirsty for, the circus, the best gossip in the past months, and to those who looked on with fear - the next danger in their fucking hell of a life. And it made me wonder how much must have happened to those that their trust issues reached a paranoia that warned them of a single individual casually walking through their heavily guarded home.

A part of me didn't want to know.

But perhaps they should have been relieved they couldn't see all the weapons I was carrying. I probably didn't need them, but one could never be too careful.

Silently I thanked the gods I hadn't brought my swords, which I couldn't hide so easily. I could've caused someone a panic attack.

Logan stood waiting for me at the entrance, and my guess told me that was an abnormality in itself and that just that might have saved me from even more fear, but granted me more attention.

I'm not one to complain.

His face was stern and cold, and he gave out warning looks to the boys and some girls looking at me thirstily.  Why does he hide his smile? It's the only acceptable part of him most of the time...

I pondered whether he felt the need to look tough in front of his students and maybe even coworkers. He definitely made himself that image when it came to the outside world. And that made me wonder if he was ever himself here. Did he even smile with Jean? The thought of his smile being such a rare occurrence around here made me sad for those who missed it, but I understood. I understood but I wished... I wish he wouldn't. Then again, it gave me a sense of pride I immediately felt guilty for. So I'm the only one who always gets to see it.

Yet I ignored every thought and placed a smirk on my face as I approached him. More heads turned and the whispers grew heavier as I crossed my arms and looked at him mischievously as always.

Even though he was 6'2 and I was 5'2 I towered over him in our eyes. I may never know how other people perceive it. If for them I look like the small one next to him. But he seemed small for me, perhaps because I knew how small he had been so many times. And for him I was the biggest person he knew, because I, and I quote, 'have a big personality'.

"What are you looking at me like that for?", he growled, already feeling he knew the answer.

"Oh, I am going to have such a great time here. I will meet all your little friends and students you've told me about, tell them stories about you, show them baby pictures-"

"There are no baby pictures of me", he said it so triumphantly I almost believed him. Kidding. A grin plastered on my face, I stayed silent, just long enough for him to realise his mistake.

"Really? Is that what you think?" My eyebrows raised provocatively as I twirled a strand of hair between my fingers.

A glimpse of unimportant fear flickered in his eyes briefly, before narrowing them and glaring at me in a 'don't-you-dare' kind of a way.

It was a comforting thing in my eyes. That someone who had gone through hell and back could still be scared of things as simple as his coworkers and students seeing their baby photos. Mind you, he knows damn well if anyone would actually do it it would be me.

"It's nice to finally see you again", he broke the silence, his gaze softening as the act fell and for a moment I caught his smile red-handed. Even here.

I could have sworn a few students gasped at his expression and I could hear talk of us being together. Let them gossip. They won't find news as hot as us for a while.

"I dare say you missed me", I smiled and wrapped an arm around his neck and gave him half a hug. A real greeting would have to wait 'til later.

Beside us, someone cleared their throat and I stood back again, allowing my eyes to fall upon a red-haired woman who I immediately recognized.

"Jean!", I cried in delight, and confusion spread over her formerly grim face, "It is so wonderful to see you, hon."

The look on her face... priceless.

"I... What? Do I know you?", she stammered in bewilderment as Logan seemed to be sinking in a sea of dread.

As he should be.

Even though I would recognize her anywhere at this point, she looked different than how Logan saw her. His mind coloured her in such endless beauty she looked amazing, but seeing her with my own eyes... she just looked normal. As normal as any other out there. And I imagined how much love it would take to change a person's appearance so much in one's mind. Perhaps I would never know, for that's how I would always see the person after all.

"No. But I know you so well. Oh my fuckin', god you have no idea how many stories I've heard. I feel like I've already met you, darlin'." Next to me Logan looked like he just wanted to disappear as Jean looked over at him and I grinned. He needed that humiliation every now and then. Most of us did.

"Also, your hair would look nicer short in my opinion. Make of that what you will but I stand by it."

Jean looked thoroughly taken aback as I showed her my sweetest smile. Something in me was singing Kill her, kill her not, kill her, kill her more because of all the things Logan had told me she had done by him, but yet another part found deep respect appropriate. She looked like someone who could deserve both. Maybe she was conflicted, too. Maybe she's like me.

But the thought quickly vanished with the usual counter-argument: I'm one of a kind. That's good. One more me and the world would be too dark and complicated to live in.

"Logan, who is this?", the way she said it made her more dispicable than before. She played with her victims; I could tell.

I love you. But not like that. I'd die for you - but don't text you back. I choose him. But only in the softest of voices do I speak to you. In the most loving ways do I treat you. But you're not the one for me. That kind of person.

"This is... an old friend. One who I regret introducing to this school", he replied grumpily, and suddenly I was the extra. The one too many. The third wheel instead of her. Fuck this.

"You speak too soon, honey. I'm sure everyone here will love me", I repressed any hurt in my voice and looked back at Jean. Such a stunner, right?

"Yes... I'm sure the boys will", Jean muttered venomously. I'm not sure if she intended for me to hear or not but my blood was boiling. Well, I tried.

"Logan, where's your room?", my eyes didn't leave Jean's as I asked him innocently, letting a dangerous undertone find its way to my words, and I could almost hear Jean gasp internally. Ha. Not the only mind-reader, are you.

"Up two floors, down right corridor, third door, no name", he said quickly, but not hurriedly. I bet as soon as I go he'll tell Jean 'it's not what you think'. Yeah, hon. Sure.

"What makes you think you can just barge into this school and it's okay?"

You just had to push it, didn't you.

"I didn't barge in. I got invited, sweetheart."

Bestie here was getting nervous. Me against his crush in a fight? Good luck with that.

And no. By fight I don't necessarily mean physical. Although that's not out of the question, either.

"And if you don't wanna talk to me then fucking don't. I sure as hell won't feel like I'm missing out."

"Yn.", Logan said in a reprimanding tone, that only to me sounded like a plead.

"Okay, I'll spare her. But please tell her to mind her manners with me. I don't fair well with... people I don't like or who mistreat me." I finally looked away from her and the look I shot Logan wrote miles. He nodded solemnly and added: "Go on, then. I'll let you watch."

I smiled again and strutted past him into the building, leaving silence and looks of awe in my wake. I'm a performer, and all of life is my spectator.

I did feel like that sometimes. I was forced onto stage straight out of a brawl so I could put more emotion behind my stage name. My audience was a demon that had decided to build me, purely for entertainment and as much drama as possible. I always grant you that, don't I?

I reached the corridor that Logan had advised me to go to, only to be distracted by two students near the end of the hall who were making out.

"Guys, isn't this the teachers' section? I mean hey, I won't tell, but a little risky, don't ya think?" Look who's talking.

The two teenagers fell apart in seconds and started sharing excuses and questions at a speed even I could hardly decode.

"As I said. You don't have to make excuses to me, but slogan will be coming up soon and I don't think you would've liked that confrontation."

One of the two guys looked like he was about to faint and the other had put on a resolute facade but was practically trembling.

"I- Look, can you please- no one knows we're- yknow. Please don't be a bitch about it, either", the one of them said, looking at me with so much intensity it was impressive.

The other slowly added: "Calling her a bitch probably won't help..." He said it in a very loving and caring manner, almost like an old habit of bickering, which only they understood and knew to be a tease. Sweet.

"No big deal, and I wouldn't. I love a bit of gossip but we are one of a kind and we do have to stick up for each other. Now hurry on. I can hear Logan coming", I gave them one last smile before opening the only unnamed door and entering his room. In truth, Logan had just set foot inside the mansion after talking to Jean, but that way they had some time to escape at least.

Now, for the record, I did know what Logan's room looked like. He's not too old for video-call - but being being here is something else entirely.

[violentferalcat]

I am reading "The Second Sex" by Simone de Beauvoir and it's just so great. It's so much more than just a book about feminism. SO here's a list of quotes from the book that sometimes make me not sleep at night (and what I think about them):

I am reading in the Russian translation, and so I will be translating the quotes from Russian to English. Expect them not to match the official English translations or the French original!

"There is no femininity today because it never existed." (Introduction, p. 4)

Yes, yes, yes, absolutely. We hear so much about how "femininity is dying out today" be it because women are liberating themselves from the strict and arbitrary gender ideas, or because of transgender women "invading into women's spaces". It's all bullshit. People were saying that ALL THE WAY BACK IN 1940s if Simone had to include it in her book. But what more is that I can see parallels here with masculinity too! Especially now with the rise of toxic masculinity (about which I can ramble on about for ages too) we hear from those people that "masculinity is dying out." "Men are so feminine and weak and pathetic now, what shall we do??" Nothing! Nothing because if femininity never existed then neither did masculinity. Stop fearmongering and crying about the liberation of our society from these gender stereotypes.

"They [women] are scattered among men and are more connected with household, work, economic interests, social position with a certain man - father or husband - than with other women." (Introduction, p. 16)

Nothing much that I can say about it, the quote is pretty much self-explanatory. Simone argues that the liberation of women did not for a very long time because of the way women are dispersed around the globe. The working class bonded because of how close it worked with their comrades. The slave class bonded because of how close it was with each other. Women, on the other hand, are everywhere; they are not in one particular spot or place. The liberation of women, according to Beauvoir, is possible only when women become self-aware of their position; it is possible only when women work together. Of course, I doubt that Beauvoir wrote her book with transgender people in mind, but I can personally say that everything above and below can also be applied to transgender women. And of course the queer community (fuck you exclusionarism); we must work together; we must stay together.

"...the path from the egg cell to a woman is quite long. The concept of womanhood cannot be applied to egg cell itself." (The Data of Biology, p. 47)

Again, pretty self-explanatory. You cannot define a woman through her biology; neither uterus nor egg cells can describe the vastness of womanhood. Woman is not female; man is not male. This theory heavily parallels the current queer and feminist framework around transgender people. We cannot be defined by our biology, since the concept and idea of humans is so much greater than our nature. (More about that below).

"But the definition of a human isn't given once and for all; they make themselves. As Merleau-Ponty very much correctly expressed: human is not a natural species, but a historical idea. Woman is not a concrete reality." (The Data of Biology, p. 74)

That is, humanity is not granted or defined by neither nature nor god; we make ourselves and reach our current existence; we define ourselves and we should be understood and analysed only through historical lens. Not some concrete and never-changing reality.

"Ancient people alienate in a totem; modern people alienate in their individuality, their ego, their name, capital, work: such is the first temptation of a true existence." (The Point of View of Psychoanalysis, p. 92)

What Simone here means (just in case it's a bit hard to understand, because that was my first reaction, i.e. confusion) is that humans tend to alienate themselves (i.e. try and escape their existence) in things other than them. We are not our bodies (and Simone extensively talked about it in the Data of Biology), nor are we our names. Those are just things, they do not define us. They are simply our qualities, perhaps representing us, but not inherently us. So, this theory once again can be applied to the current queer and feminist framework (and all the other social movements, anti-racism and others, you get the gist). I, as a transgender woman, cannot be defined by my dead name, nor by my penis. To say so is to alienate yourself, to try and escape your true transcending self. I can change my name, I can change my body, I can change everything that I have but I, as a human, as a being, will remain. My existence and everyone's existence is transcending. It is above all that is physical; it is above all that is mental.

"If a subject doesn't go in totality through a path of development which is considered to be normal, then it is said that their development is arrested and they define that arrest as a flaw, a negative, but never as a positive decision." (The Point of View of Psychoanalysis, p. 96)

This, this, this, again. This quote just makes me go crazy. Absolutely, yes, Simone, allow me to kiss you on the mouth (very bad that she has been dead for quite a while now. I need to build a time machine). This can be applied to fucking everything, eh? Queer, neurodiversity, fashion, style, different body shapes (in particular fat people) and everything that doesn't necessarily fall under the category of "normalcy". Even cishet people experience this where they are oft not allowed to express their gender in a way that they like. Which just means that we all need to abolish this concept of normalcy, of this non-existing golden standard of being. This also applies to our queer community, where some people still believe that if you're not "trans" enough then you're not trans at all. Or, in particular, the recent aro/ace discourse where being cishet aro/ace excludes you from being queer (which it does not). What can be said about the quote, however, is that being queer, or fat, or neurodivergent, or etc. etc. is not really a choice. It's not a decision. I didn't choose to be trans nor did the other trans people. But the quote still stands strong.

"...the individual is always described by their connection to the past, and not from their projection into the future." (The Point of View of Psychoanalysis, p. 96)

The first time that I read this, I immediately thought about AGAB. Why is it that we and others define transgender people through their AGAB? Shouldn't we instead talk about the gender that they are now? And, yes, of course, I know that some trans people describe their gender as unchanging, i.e. they've always been a girl/boy/enby/etc. and that is true! But still, why should I call myself AMAB? Why do we still choose to care so much about our past, about who we were instead of who we are or who we will become? It's just a bit weird to me. I am not defined by my gender which was assigned to me at my birth. I am not defined as an "ex-boy" or "ex-male". I am a woman, though, perhaps, I haven't always been one (depends on your interpretation of being transgender) but that doesn't mean that my history of gender should describe me as an individual. I have changed, I should be defined by who I am. (I know the piss poor reading comprehension on this site, so please remember that I'm not talking about felonies, or crime, or whatever, attrocities, blah, blah. Of course I hate the police and prison system, but in this case we are not talking about it. I am not talking about "simply forgetting the Holocaust ever happened! Can't we just move on? Blah, blah, blah". No, that is not my point here.)

"...having too much is not better than having just enough." (The Historical Materialism, p. 100)

Capitalism. Need I elaborate more? I did take the quote out of context, though. In the original, Simone is talking about the physical strength of a woman. She talks about how in the past, when tools were more crude, a woman couldn't operate it and therefore there appeared the discrimination of women due to the separation of jobs. But now, with the industrial revolution, it didn't matter whether you were incredibly strong or strong just enough. The machine will work in the same way, no matter how much strength you apply to it. Note that Simone took this model from the works of Engels.

That's about it, I'm still very slowly but very surely reading the book. I recommend you read it yourself, it's such a wonder. I will try and keep this post updated as I progress through the text.

[metalbuckaroo]

Hey, lovely! For your sleepover. How about...

“I desperately want to take you out for dinner and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me.”

Please feel free to ignore if you received this. 💖

Checking In

Summary// A hotel getaway with Bucky's favorite receptionist

Warnings// Lil angsty, some fluff, some smut, cursing, tiny mention of drinking, 18 plus only, minors dni

Note// I kinda love this request. I didn't use the quote, but its based off of the quote, this also got LONG and took sooo long.

My new masterlist and taglist will hopefully be done tomorrow night.

Im really hoping it doesn't flop bc I'm lowkey proud of it and also spent a lot of time on it

MASTERLIST

Moodboard by @commonintrest

This was the slowest Bucky had went with someone in a very long time. Three dates in and he hadn't even had the chance to see you naked. It was driving him crazy to say the least.

Anyone else wouldn't have gotten a call back, but for you; it made him want it even more. So, he came up with an idea to take that extra step.

Walking into the hotel you worked at, he gave a nod to the security guard and flashed you a charming smile; his hair much shorter than when you saw him last. "Like the haircut." You said, turning in the chair to look at him. "Feels more... professional."

"Checking in again?" You asked, leaning your chin on the base of your palm, reaching your other hand to card your fingers through the short hair.

Bucky shook his head and leaned his forearms on the desktop. "No. We are checking in somewhere else. Tonight, when you're off."

His eyes trailed down to the top of your blouse, looking at the few buttons that where open. "Buck, I'm not staying in a hotel with you." You smiled, shaking your head. "Come on, I'll sleep on the couch if you're too uncomfortable." He smirked.

You thought it over for a moment before sighing and nodding your head. "Yeah, ok." You agreed, letting him pull you in for a brief kiss by the back of your neck. "Fantastic. I'll be here at five to get you."

"I'll have to go get cl-" Bucky shook his head at you. "Won't need 'em." He said, turning to walk out. "Bucky, don't you dare."

"See ya tonight, pretty girl."

As promised, five o'clock hit and Bucky was pulling in front of the doors in his sleek black car; quickly getting out.

His usual suit was traded in for a more casual button up tee and dark jeans, the prosthetic that matched the shape of his right arm perfectly on display.

He rounded the desk and picked up your bag. "You can't be back here." You teased, making him roll his eyes. "Come along, babydoll. We have plans." He said, hand between your shoulder blades to guide you with him.

Bucky's plan would surely get that extra step at least jumpstarted. The heated make out sessions in his car when he dropped you off were starting to get to him.

He refused to call anyone else to handle the tightening of his jeans, the wait made him yearn for you even more.

So, he patiently waited as you changed into the lavender sundress he'd sent for, listened and talked over dinner on the patio of the motel, and just basked in your enjoyable presence.

"Dance with me." You said, hand laying on his bicep. He chuckled lightly and shook his head. "I don't dance, sugar."

You raised your eyebrows and cocked your head to the side, fingers tracing down the vein that ran the length of his arm and to his hand. "Well, you're going to, or you'll be sleeping in that room alone." You laced your fingers in his and he looked at you with an amused expression. "Oh, really now?"

"Mhm, c'mon. It's a slow one, so you won't embarass yourself." You teased, feeling his hands on your hips as soon as you turned your back to him. "I never said I couldn't dance. Just that I don't, babydoll." His gruff voice said in your ear, moving to stand in front of you once in the midst of the other couples enjoying their night.

"Couldn't say no to you if I tried anyways." He said softly as your hands rested on the back of his neck, his on the dip of your waist.

The Bucky who took you on dates was different than the Bucky who strolled in your lobby at least once every two weeks. He wasn't glowering when he looked at you; instead he had a smile that made the corner of his eyes crinkle and your heart flutter.

He hadn't smiled so hard and so much in years. He was addicted. To your voice, fiery attitude, and gleaming smile; and he couldn't even imagine how much more he'd crave once he finally got a taste of you.

"Gonna let me sleep in the bed, pretty girl?" He cooed, hands roaming over the swell of your ass. "Of course, Mr Barnes." You grinned, pecking a kiss to his dimpled chin. "Could dance with you all night if you wanted me to." He said, squeezing gently. "I wouldn't complain."

His lips slotted over yours, your eyes fluttering shut at the softness of them.

He suddenly lifted his head, bottom lip brushing the tip of your nose as you opened your eyes again.

Bucky's cold demeanor he usually had while walking through the lobby of the hotel returned, smile fading into a deep scowl as he looked at something behind you.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, worry lacing your voice as you cupped his stubbled jaw in your hands, feeling the muscle of it flex. "Just stay close." He murmured, pulling you closer to his front.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, lips parting to say something, but the stern look in his eyes stopping you as they stayed glued on whatever was behind you.

"Barnes, didn't expect to see you here- like this." A voice that was slightly higher in pitch than Bucky's sounded from behind you.

Bucky tucked you into his side, hand on the small of your back as he stared at the shorter man. "Just enjoying my night. That a problem?"

You swallowed thickly and gripped onto the back of Bucky's shirt, crumbling the perfectly ironed fabric in your fist as your heart pounded. "Needa talk." The man said.

Bucky's eyes flicked to a group of men sitting at the corner of the patio before looking back to the man in from of him. "Go sit down. Order us some more drinks." Bucky said sternly. "Bucky-"

He finally looked down at you with an icy stare, making you shrink back slightly. "Now isn't the time to argue with me. Go sit down." The tone of his voice was one you hadn't heard before.

You nodded and turned to walk back to the table, picking at your nails as you took your seat again.

Looking to where Bucky was sat at the table with the group, you chewed your bottom lip. You knew what you were getting into when accepting that first date, you just didn't think it'd follow you everywhere.

He tried to stay patient, he was in rival territory and knew it was a terrible idea; but this was one of the nice hotels and he wanted the weekend spent right. Keeping his cool was the only way he was going to be able to do that.

He was barely even listening to half of what the men were saying, glancing over at your nervous posture as you picked the nails he had just paid to get manicured; even though you protested against taking his money.

Until one statement had his head snapping back towards one of them. "The girl seems... sweet. Make you happy?" It wasn't meant in a way a friend would ask when checking up on another friend. Bucky felt it burn through him like a threat.

"Yeah, well, she's got a mouth on her and I'm losing my patience. So, you men have a good night, you owe my girl an apology for ruining her night." He stood, teeth gritting together.

You noticed Bucky's tense stance and straightened in your seat as he got closer. "Rude bastards." Bucky grumbled, taking your hand in his and tugging for you to stand. "What did they want?"

Bucky thought about lying, but he promised you he wouldn't. "Talk business. Can't believe they'd interrupt me over stupid bullshit." He sneered, pulling you along with him back into the hotel. "Where are we going? They're going to bill you for those drinks." You huffed, picking up your pace to walk next to him. "Don't care."

By the time the two of you reached the door to your room, Bucky had you pressed against it; fumbling to swipe the key card as his lips attacked yours.

Your hands fisted into the front of his shirt to keep your balance as shoes were kicked off, Bucky backing you towards the bed with his large hands holding the sides of your face.

You fell back onto the bed when the backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress, taking him with you; Bucky's body parting your legs.

The kiss was hungry and desperate, sharing breaths as his hands gripped at your outer thighs and pawed their way under the skirt of your dress.

You pulled away from the kiss, breathless as he dipped his head to latch his lips on the underside of your jaw. "Bucky, wait-" You panted, pressing his shoulders lightly. "What?" He breathed, stopping all movements as he looked at you; eyes dark and lips kiss swollen. "I-"

"You're a virgin. We can wait, if so." He cut you off, face dropping slightly. "No, no. It's not that. I just haven't had sex in awhile." You said, gnawing at your tongue. "Want me to go slower?"

"I just don't want to take things too fast." You whispered, tracing the collar of his shirt with your fingertips.

Bucky took a deep inhale, warm hand moving to hold your chin. "Babygirl, listen. I'm not going to kick you out of my bed when we're done. You got me attached with this damn chase you gave me. Wanna take care of you. Okay?"

You nodded and pulled him back down to you, his tongue slipping between your lips as his fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt.

Gently pushing them away, you replaced his hands with yours to pop the buttons open as his tongue glided across every inch of your mouth he could reach.

You lifted your back off of the mattress for his hand to feel for the zipper of your dress, grazing your fingers down the tensing muscles of his chest and abdomen; stopping at the button of his jeans.

"Don't get shy now, take 'em off." Bucky mumbled against your lips, sliding the straps of your dress off of your shoulders.

The wetness between your legs grew as your tugged at his belt, whimpering into his mouth when he pressed his hips against you to show how hard he was.

Pulling away, Bucky sat up to tug your dress down your torso and legs; eyes drinking in the beautiful sight in front of him as he shoved his jeans off and palmed himself through his boxers.

"Take the shirt off." You panted, backing up the bed. A smirk grew on his face, metal thumb sliding back and forth in the waistband of his boxers as he looked at your glistening folds. "Ask nicely and I just might." He taunted. "Please."

You watched the way his muscles flexed with each movement, the shirt sliding off of his arms and to the floor; revealing the mess of scars Bucky hoped you'd ignore and a large tattoo on his ribcage.

Next were his boxer briefs, pooling at his feet as his cock twitched in the air; swollen tip red and leaking precum. "You're staring, babydoll." He said, voice low as he moved his body back over yours.

"Can't help it." You swallowed, the weight of his cock against your thigh as you felt the firmness of his back. His hand slipped between your bodies to guide himself to your heat, spreading your slick with his tip.

"So wet, barely even touched you yet." You whined at his words and gripped his shoulders. "Buck, please. Stop the teasing."

The smirk on his face grew before he brushed his lips against yours. "Hm, I don't know. Kept me waitin' so long, might just tease you a little more." He hummed. You bucked your hips against him, his tip barely pressing into you. "Fuck..." Bucky said in a low groan, a shudder passing through his body.

He made sure you felt every ridge and vein, pulling breathy sounds from you when he pushed deeper. Your walls so tight and warm around him, he already had to hold off his release.

"Look at me, sweet girl." He breathed, nipping at your bottom lip and rolling his hips into yours.

When you opened your eyes, the adoring look in Bucky's made your breath hitch. Hands wedging under your back as he sat up, holding you to him so you were sitting on his thick thighs.

"So beautiful." He groaned as his hands glided over the curve of your back to your ass, metal and flesh fingers digging into the skin.

Guiding your hips in a faster pace, he could feel you clenching around him, swallowing the blissed out sounds you made with a breath taking kiss as his grip on you tightened.

The soft ow that passed your lips made Bucky loosen his grip and move you in a slower pace. "Need me to slow down?" He panted, pulling away from you slightly.

You frantically shook your head, hands clinging to his shoulders; needing to feel his skin against yours. "No-no. Don't stop, please, keep going." You whined, bucking your hips along with him.

In a swift movement, your back was pressed back into the mattress. Your fingers laced with Bucky's as he pinned your hands at the sides of your head, his hips meeting yours in a faster, rougher pace that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your head spin; his cock sliding against every sweet spot, some that you didn't even know existed.

Salacious sounds from both of you echoed around the room, your eyes fluttering shut again and body arching into him so your front was flush to his as the coil snapped.

"There you go, baby. Feel so good, so worth the wait." Bucky moaned out, chasing his own release with shorter thrusts.

A whimper of his name falling from your sweet lips sent him over the edge, his hips flush to yours as he spilled into you with a guttural moan.

He slowly rocked his hips into yours, riding the blissful feeling for all that it was as he looked over your blissed out face.

It was the moment your eyes peaked out, staring back into his lust darkened ones that Bucky knew. You were the one thing he needed to protect. To hold close and never let go.

A tender kiss was placed on your lips, a satisfied hum leaving Bucky as he slipped from between your legs to lay beside you.

You slowly moved off of the bed to grab a shirt and go to clean up, legs feeling wobbly with each step to and from the bathroom.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed when you walked back into the adjoined room, legs still a little jelly feeling as you made you way back to him.

He laughed, an actual belly laugh that made your heart swell as he pulled you between his parted thighs. "I have some... unexpected business to take care of in the morning."

You nodded lightly and sat your hands on his shoulders. "I want you to stay in this room and keep the door locked. When I come back, we'll do something." He promised, gently massaging your sides. "Something, huh?"

A squeak escaped your throat when you were pinned back underneath Bucky, his hips pressing into you. "Oh, don't you get me started. I'll keep you up all night."

[posallys]

annabeth isn't physically abusive <3

I suppose I brought this on myself, but….let’s talk about the judo flip.

I hate it. I think it was awful, really.

But it felt really out of character for Annabeth tbh. and i KNOW that someone is going to mention this scene in the notes and be like “it’s not out of character she’s just abusive!!!!” so before anyone decides to mention it i’ll address it.

They’re what, 14 in ttc? 8th graders? Maybe a freshman? That’s a Child. That’s a whole kid. I don’t know how many of you have interacted with an actual 14 year old recently, but my sister is 14 so i’ve been around a lot of 14 year olds, and i can promise you they’re way less mature than you think they are! They still don’t know how to properly handle emotions! They’re very irrational and they don’t really think things through all the time, and i’m willing to bet that your current day view of a 14 year old is really just what you thought you were like at 14—and we all thought we were way more mature than we actually were.

Second…we have to think about the actual writing here. “Punched” doesn’t always mean that she wound her arm back and went full boxer on him. It most likely is supposed to be the way that you “punch” someone’s arm playfully, which is more of a shove than anything. But for the sake of writing, you’re not going to put “Annabeth put her fist on my stomach and shoved me,” because that’s long and can be more easily written as “punched.” the writing is assuming that the readers are able to understand the context and know that she didn’t actually punch him. An equivalent that popped into my head just now is writing “they barked” when a character is yelling. we all know that, with context, “barked” is just another way to say “yelled.” the character didn’t actually bark.

Okay moving on. Next I'm going to take us on a little adventure into botl…

This is also a completely valid and normal reaction! Again, she’s still 14, almost 15, and just found out that her best friend, who she thought was dead, is actually alive. She’s going to have a lot of emotions, and anger is going to be one of them. I’m going to steal directly from a source here so you know that i’m not just spouting bullshit, but “In brief, a secondary emotion is one that emanates from a judgment about a primary emotion. They generally occur due to our unwillingness to fully accept and feel the primary emotion. The primary emotion is usually one that feels physically uncomfortable and might also have a social stigma attached that reinforces the tendency to keep it held in. Sadness, guilt, anxiety, and fear are most often the primary emotions that get transformed into anger. As a result of judging and therefore suppressing their full expression, their energy “becomes” anger,” (https://www.goodtherapy.org/blog/from-sad-to-mad-how-suppressing-your-sadness-invites-anger-0415145).

I bolded the important parts of that because the connection to what annabeth is doing and the quote is pretty obvious…she feels things she doesn’t want to, represses it, and then it turns into anger….but it’s not actually anger. It’s her relief that he’s alive and her guilt that she was the reason he was even “dead” in the first place.

Anyway, I used this scene (specifically the highlighted part) as a reference because this shows us how annabeth reacts to these emotions (and i stg if someone says anything along the lines of “but she almost cracked his ribs😡” i’m going to scream. Please for the love of everything learn to not take every piece of writing at face value. It just means that she hugged him tightly.)...and the emotions that she’s feeling in botl are very similar to how she’s going to feel in MoA when she sees him after not knowing if he’s okay.

Now, the judo flip. Like i said, i hate it, specifically because it feels out of character for annabeth (it was bad writing, folks). If we look at how she reacted in botl, she should react in a similar manner in moa (considering she’s only two years older and 16 year olds aren’t that emotionally mature yet, either)…

We see the same progression of emotions…first relief, then anger. However, the key difference here is that her response feels a lot more violent in moa than botl (and it is, i’m not denying that), but we have to think about it.

They’ve trained together for the past four years. They’ve both thrown each other around, and to assume that percy has never ever hurt annabeth, even accidently, is simply false. So if you’re going to call annabeth “abusive” because of this, you better damn well apply it to percy, too.

For all Annabeth knows, she’s doing something that is completely harmless to him. She doesn’t know that he can actually feel pain because as far as she’s aware he still has the curse/blessing of achilles. She literally had no way of knowing that he didn’t have it anymore, and, all else aside, it’s so out of character for her to want to intentionally hurt him? The person she spent four years worrying about, wondering if he was safe, if he was alive? The girl who at 13 fucking years old swore her life on the styx to protect him? Yeah, she’s definitely going to intentionally hurt him. Totally in character for her

And while i feel like it was entirely out of character, I genuinely don’t think it can be considered abuse? Please correct me if i’m wrong, but abuse is usually a repeated violent action or cruelty (obviously there are situations where it can be a one time thing, but barring those one-timers, you can’t really consider a judo flip physical abuse?) Now, if there was actual evidence of her being physically abusive in the books (other than what i said above, which is clearly not abuse if you think and don’t take it at face value) then yeah, i’d be inclined to agree with you. But the evidence isn’t there, and since abuse is typically repeated, it doesn’t quite make sense to consider one judo flip abuse? Especially since it wasn’t intended to hurt him. And just to further justify this thinking, here’s another reference that took me three seconds to find by just googling it (and it’s from a .gov site)!

“Physical abuse is intentional bodily injury”...keyword there being intentional.

So, in conclusion….annabeth isn’t physically abusive? Which is pretty apparent with some basic non-surface level reading and thinking, honestly. The judo flip was 100% bad writing, but that doesn’t mean you can just slap “abuse” on it and call it a day.

[mayabruhbruh]

Let’s discuss the Finn & Millie interviews.

If you are vouching for the interviews to be straight up bullshit, please read this. If you don’t, great, read it anyway. I’m hoping for discussion tho, so drop some asks if you have questions or disagreements. 👁👁

Okay, so in case you were unaware, very recently there were interviews that came out of finn and Millie gushing over how much m!leven there is this season. Like, a LOT of gushing.

So here’s the thing, I believe them! At least to some degree. There, I said it. Hopefully you guys don’t hate me over this. I’m just trying to be frank. Here, I will express my confusion over the duffers’ writing choices, present common writing choices in other stories, and PLEASE HELP ME I JUST DONT GET IT-

There’s no way they’d straight up lie to our faces about an important plot relationship like theirs, and as much as I believe some of the cast have to be told what to say when they have to steer around questions that give away too much, this just doesn’t seem like something they would have to lie about.

Something I’ve sensed since the beginning of the show was how obvious it was that M¡leven wasn’t going to be canon. And not even in a mean way. Without all the subtext and clues hinting at their romantic decline, I could really tell that they weren’t going to end up together because that’s just how show’s work. Tell me ONE fairly long-lasting show in which two characters got together in the first or second season and then STAYED together for the rest of forever. Come on, it’s just not plausible for a story to go on like that. It gets boring. And even if there’s ‘real life issues’ involved, it gets boring to watch them try to work it out! That’s why I’m so baffled right now that the duffers are still dragging out their relationship. I thought they might’ve known better than this.

For example, take enola holmes and Tewksbury. HELL YEAH THEYRE GONNA DRAG THAT SHIT OUT! It’s the relationship dynamics that get people to keep watching. Whether it be slow burn, or forbidden love, or friends with benefits or whatever the fuck! All of these dynamics exist because it gives the story stretch room to grow and develop the feelings and relationship. Room to make you want them to be together. For ST, you can argue that m!leven did have a dynamic that made us want them to be together, something along the lines of lost love (and then found), but the duffers seemed to write it in a way that really confuses me. I identified m!leven with the dynamic of young love, something that everyone knows doesn’t, or shouldn’t, last very long. Sorry to bring this up again, but they knew each other for a week, lost touch for a year, and boom. Relationship. How does that work when they know virtually nothing about each other?

I mean, sure, apparently m¡leven is working through ‘real issues’ in their relationship this season, which I’m excited for because it allows them to dive deeper into these mentioned plot holes in their love story, but come on. in s3 we SAW WITH OUR OWN EYEBALLS that they basically don’t get along unless they’re sucking face or are in mortal danger. (That’s an exaggeration, but you get what I mean. They just aren’t compatible and if anything, I liked the friends stage, or the yearning stage in which they THOUGHT they wanted each other instead of what’s happened in s3 and now :( bring them back.) as for the ‘married couple’ quote. Bro they are literally teenagers and it pAINS me to see the suffer brothers milk this relationship so hard. If what they say in these interviews is true, then either the subtext such as “The First I love You” song in the soundtrack, was all thrown out the window. Or it was just hinting at their “bumpy road of a relationship” this season. Which- ????GOD I JUST DONT UNDERSTAND.

And I don’t mean to undermine any of y’all’s theories on why finn and Millie said what they said. I just think we can’t let our preferences blind us from seeing what they’re telling us straight up. In case y’all didn’t know, I have a spider-man MJ mindset where if you don’t get too excited or raise your standards, you won’t be disappointed. Seriously, as much as I want to believe in byler and DO believe it, we can’t dismiss the facts just because we don’t like them.

BTW none of this means that the byler hints we expect won’t happen. Perhaps one of the ‘issues’ in the relationship is Mike being conflicted between his girlfriend and her fREAKING brother :o

[anglinasjolie]

My take on Alexei and Melina as parents

ok, this is probably gonna be a rant so i’m sorry but anyway

I’ve seen SO many people calling them the big baddies or saying ‘fuck them’ but man, that’s not it. SURE, they should never have allowed Dreykov to get the girls but THINK about it.

Melina said she had gone through the Red Room at least 4 times BEFORE Natasha was even born, imagine how fucked up her head must be? She never learned how to love, she thought her role was to obey, to serve, to please. She even says to Natasha that she was born inside a cage and that was the only way she knew how to live. However, once she saw that helping Dreykow hurt her daughters (not specifically Natasha since she knew she managed to escape), the only thing (besides, probably her not so fake husband) she ever loved in her life she was bold enough to FINALLY act on it and rebel against it. I’d also like to say that when Alexei told them they HAD to leave she expressed she didn’t wanted to, Melina just wasn’t brave enough back then but damn, did she loved her little girls.

Now, Alexei.

HEAR ME OUT before judging!

We don’t get much of his backstory, what we know is that he was an idealist and that Dreykov sold this ideology for him and then locked him up for no apparent reason, YES he shouldn’t have sold two little innocent girls to and I quote “complete a misson” but I also don’t think Melina EVER told him what the Red Room was like, she’s not the chattiest or the most vulnerable person in the world. He claimed so much he was pissed about being undercover but he was just as sorry as Melina about leaving, when she says “I don’t wanna go” he says “don’t say that” as in: don’t make me wanna stay too. I know he seemed self absorbed but that was his way to take the focus out of getting “soft” and falling for this family, because wanting this family would mean he wouldn’t complete his mission. He could have let them take both Nat & Yelena away without talking to them, but he told them they’d be fine even tho they wouldn’t, after 20 years he still remembered Yelena’s favorite song, he still knew what they were up to. He failed them bad and he knew it and regretted but admitting he was wrong and failed was bullshit since there’s no such a thing as failure to a russian super soldier.

Both Alexei and Melina knew their love for their ‘fake family’ was real, even the ultimate asshole of assholes can’t help but smile when a little kid calls you “mom” or “dad”, fake it until you make it is fucking real. They just didn’t wanted to word it out, because the more real the more it’d hurt, but to them Natasha and Yelena were their daughters, “their girls” and that was their family. Again, i’m NOT excusing them or what they did, i’m just saying that they’re not the ones we should be targeting.

Anyways, sorry if that’s too long or if there’s any misspellings i’m tiredddd

[drabbles-mc]

As Soon As I Can

Nestor Oceteva x F!Reader

Request from @alienstardust​:  Umm All the angst in those childhood prompts. I’m a fan! Yes! <3 Maybe something with Nestor? 💫 thank you

I went with this prompt from This Post: When Person A and Person B were kids, Person A broke their arm and had to wear a cast for a while. To make them feel better, Person B decorated it by drawing a bunch of doodles and quotes all over it. When Person A finally got the cast off, they asked the doctor if they could keep it. Years later, Person A takes the cast to a tattoo artist and gets all of Person B’s doodles and quotes tattooed onto their arm so they can wear them forever.

Warnings: language, angst, hospitals

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I looooooved writing this. Writing has been tough for me lately but this just felt really right. This is my first fic where I’ve done a lot of time skips within the story so hopefully it flows alright. Hope you guys enjoy! xo

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You and Nestor were sitting in your back yard, sprawled out together under the one tree that managed to survive so many years in the California heat. You were laying on your back, cast-bound arm lying rigidly out to the side. You were staring up through the leaves as you listened to Nestor talk.

“At least they let you pick the color,” he was next to you, laying on his stomach as he dug through his backpack.

You laugh was heavy with sarcasm, “Yea, if I’m not gonna be able to move my arm for the next eight weeks it’s the least they could fucking do.”

“You sound bitter.”

You looked over at him, “I am bitter.”

He chuckled and shook his head, he was about to come back with a witty remark when he got distracted by finding whatever he had been looking for. He smiled as he pulled it out, “Aha!” he held up his pack of Sharpies.

“What’re those for?” you nodded towards the markers.

“For your cast.”

“You’re gonna decorate my cast?” you had to laugh.

“Yea,” he was carefully choosing a few different markers to start with, “Maybe it’ll make you feel better about totally eating it falling off your skateboard the other day.”

You laughed as you reached over and shoved him with your good arm, “Shut up—like you haven’t fallen a million times.”

“No casts for me, though,” there was a cocky smirk on his face.

“No casts for me, though,” you mocked as you tried not to laugh.

You watched him in semi-silence as he started at your wrist and slowly but surely made his way up your cast, covering it with all sorts of doodles and quotes. Sometimes you forgot how artistic he could be. You went back and forth between watching him and just resting your head back and closing your eyes. Neither of you kept track of the time as he stayed sprawled on his stomach beside you. the two of you probably would’ve stayed out until dark if your mom hadn’t stuck her head out and said that Nestor’s brother was there to pick him up and bring him home. Nestor threw all of his things back into his bag before helping you up.

Once he was gone, you took some time to actually look at the cast. You smiled at the amount of work he put into something that you were only going to have for a couple months. Your fingers traced lightly over the many marker lines that now covered your cast. Your mother looked over your shoulder at the artwork, a smile passing over her lips for a moment.

“Did Nestor do that?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of your arm, “Yea.”

She nodded, “That was sweet of him.”

You scoffed trying to suppress the smile on your face, “I guess.”

The next eight weeks passed by. And, despite the fact that having your arm in a cast was incredibly inconvenient, it could have been a lot worse. Nestor walked with you to all of your classes, offering to carry your backpack despite the fact that you told him that your busted arm had nothing to do with your ability to carry a bag. Whenever the two of you were together and things were quiet, he would keep adding onto the tiny mural that was your cast. Sometimes you wondered how much more he could fit on it, but he always found a way. For as much as you wanted it off, you were going to miss the bonding time for the two of you. And you were going to miss the artwork, too.

“So,” the doctor smiled and nodded at you, “you are all good to go. We can get the cast off and you’ll be as good as new.”

“Yea?” the thought of having your arm back made you feel giddy.

“Absolutely.”

You felt like a new person once your arm was free of the confines of the cast. Letting out a sigh of relief, you rotated your wrist a few times and carefully ran your fingers over the freshly-exposed skin, glad to feel like you were back in control of your own body.

“I can get rid of this,” your doctor held up the cast he’d just finished so carefully removing, “Unless you want to keep it as a momento.”

“Um, actually,” you felt your face heating up as you avoided eye contact with your mother, “Could I keep it?”

The doctor nodded, smiling as he handed it over to you, “It’s quite the work of art at this point—I understand wanting to hold onto it.”

On the drive home, you felt your mother glancing over at you every couple of minutes, a knowing smile on her face. You tried to ignore it but eventually you broke.

“What?” you were careful of your tone.

She laughed quietly and shook her head, “Nothing. Just, I think it’s nice that you’re keeping it, that’s all.”

“Mhm,” you tried to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks again, but that only made it worse.

You never told Nestor that you kept the cast. You never really knew exactly why you didn’t tell him—the two of you told each other pretty much everything else. The two of you spent almost all of your free time together, and as soon as he found out that your cast had been removed he was dragging you right back out to do things that could potentially break your arm all over again, and you let him. He never asked about the cast, so you never brought it up. There were moments, as the two of you got a little older, where you wanted to mention it to him in passing that it was something that you kept, but the moment never seemed quite right. Each time you went to clean out your room and your closet you would come across it, and each time you were faced with the decision of whether or not you wanted to keep it, and you always did. You always told yourself that you didn’t know why, but you knew.

--

“Alright,” you were trying not to let yourself get too emotional as you sat cross-legged on his bed watching him pack “You can’t do anything stupid while I’m not around to yell at you for it, alright?”

He chuckled as he shoved another shirt into his bag, “Trust me, there will be plenty of other people around to yell at me. That’s the whole point of—”

“But they can’t do it as well as I can.”

He glanced over at you, a small smile on his face. He knew how upset you were despite the fact that you were still being supportive. Him going into the Navy was something that you hadn’t seen coming. The thought of him being gone for so long after the two of you had spent so much of your lives practically joined at the hip was a bit jarring. You knew the ache in your chest was caused by more feelings than you were ready to admit to him, or to yourself.

“It’s not like you’ll never hear from me.”

You huffed, “Snail mail is not the same as bothering you in person,” you flopped backwards on the bed, “And for the record I still think it’s bullshit that you don’t get to call me.”

He laughed as he stood up and sat on the bed, looking down at you, “Don’t be dramatic. I’ll be in basic for less time than you had that stupid cast on your arm.”

“Yea but it’s not like you’re coming right home after that.”

He nodded, his expression sobering a little as he continued to look at you, “I know.”

“You’ll come home to visit me as soon as you can?”

He chuckled, nodding, “As soon as I can.”

For a moment you thought about spilling your guts—telling him everything that you were thinking and feeling. There was something about the way that he was looking at you that made you feel like maybe he felt the same way. But the confidence that shot through you went away as quickly as it appeared, and the moment passed as he continued to pack his things.

True to his word, you got letters in the mail. You saved each one, kept them stashed away in your closet alongside the cast that was still there collecting dust even after years of being shuffled around. You sent more letters than you received, not that you really minded. You figured that he needed them more than you did.

However as the months ticked by, you waited for him to say he was coming home, but he never did. It was one thing right into the next and the more time that passed by, the more you wondered if this was how he slipped away from you, even though he swore that that wouldn’t happen. He reached out when he could, when he had the time. And you knew that he had other priorities, and realistically you did too. But there was still part of you that felt like things were changing too much.

Your heart sped up inside your chest when you got a late-night phone call from him. You scrambled to answer it, “Hello?”

“Hey,” he sounded exhausted.

“Hey,” you pulled your blanket up to your chin as you spoke to him, “H-how are you?”

“I’m alright,” he sighed, “It’s good to hear your voice.”

You smiled despite the weight settling in your chest, “It’s good to hear yours too. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

You didn’t want to push and pry, but you couldn’t help asking, “When are you coming home?”

There was a long pause before he spoke up again, “I, uh, I don’t really know.”

“Don’t they give you guys leave or something?”

He let out a tired chuckle, “Yea. But, um, I’m not sure if I’m going to be coming home for leave anytime soon.”

Your heart crumped inside your chest, “Why not?”

“Got some shit that I’m working on lining up here. Doesn’t hurt to stay close.”

You hated that your bottom lip was beginning to tremble, “Right.”

He knew you too well and you could hear the shift in his tone, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” you replied immediately, “Fuck, don’t be sorry. I’m proud of you, really. Keep…keep doing your thing.”

“Thank you for always being there. It’s been…it’s been nice knowing someone is in my corner when no one else seems to be,” there was a beat of silence, “You seen my family lately?”

You took a deep breath, “No. Why, everything alright?”

He sighed, “Wouldn’t know.”

You pressed your lips together into a tight line—things had never been simple for him when it came to family, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be home to see you as soon as I can be, alright?”

Your breath was shaky as you exhaled, “Alright,” you were about to say goodbye but your brain betrayed you, “Hey, Nestor?”

“Yea?”

“I love you,” the words fell from your lips, free of their confines after so many years of locking them away.

It might’ve been you projecting, but you could’ve sworn that he let out a sigh of relief, “I love you too.”

--

That was the last thing that you’d heard from him. He went radio silent after that. You wondered if it was just you that he was ignoring, but no one seemed to have heard anything from him—his own family included. The only things that were running through your mind were terrible. All of your calls went unanswered, all of your texts went unopened. The letters that you sent didn’t get kicked back to you but you never got responses to any of them either. He had blipped off the radar seemingly without a trace and you had no idea why. You lost a lot of sleep over it but at the same time, life didn’t stop for anyone. You had to keep moving forward while a very large part of you was stuck in the past.

You were packing up your room, getting ready to move into your own apartment. You were throwing things from your closet into random bags and boxes—organization had never been your strong suit. As you were leafing through everything, pulling things down off the top shelf of your closet, you were smacked in the face with a stack of papers. You managed to catch them before they hit the ground, tears instantly springing into your eyes when you realized what they were. Your heart sped up inside your chest as you stood on your tip-toes, reaching for the very back of the shelf. The feeling of the plaster underneath your fingers sent a shock through your body as you pulled it towards you. Looking over it, you were bombarded with an onslaught of memories.

Packing fell by the wayside as you sat on your bed, reading through the letters and looking over all the artwork that was still holding up on the cast. How you managed to keep your tears from falling, you didn’t know.

There was a light knock on your door and you looked up, trying to make yourself look much less upset than you were. The smile immediately dropped from your mother’s face when she saw what you were doing, how it was upsetting you. She leaned against the doorframe as she tried to figure out what to say to you to try and make things better.

“I’m sorry, honey,” her tone was sincere.

You shook your head as you set your cast to the side, “Don’t be. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You hadn’t really spoken much to her about it all—there wasn’t a whole lot to say. You didn’t have any answers and with each day that went by it was less likely that you would ever get them. It was difficult to tell whether or not it was more reassuring for you that no one had heard from him, not just you.

“There’s nothing to talk about. He just fucking disappeared, I guess. I just need to accept it and get on with my life.”

“He was your best friend—you’re allowed to be upset about it, you know.”

Even though you knew it, it was nice to hear her say it to you. Wiping the tears from your eyes before they could stain your cheeks, you nodded, “I know.”

She lightly drummed her fingers on the door frame, “You keeping those?”

There was a long pause before you finally nodded, “I think so.”

She nodded, “I’ll go grab you another box.”

--

“This thing looks like it’s been through the wringer,” your tattoo artist chuckled as she looked over the cast you’d brought with you.

You managed a smile, “Because it has. I’ve had that thing since I was in, fucking, like eighth grade I think? Long time.”

“What made you decide to get this done now?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Figured it’ll be better than moving it from one closet to the next over the course of my life.”

You could tell by the look on her face, that she wanted to ask for the story behind it all. But the fact that you didn’t offer it up, made her not pry. You’d always been open so if you were keeping something to yourself, she respected that. The two of you talked about the logistics of it, and the changes you want to make to clean it up a little bit. You were excited to come back and get it done, though.

Despite the wait, your excitement and nervousness about coming back didn’t fade. You didn’t regret the decision, but it was still nerve-wracking as you got ready to sit down in the chair. She had you look over the pattern she’d drawn up, and when you gave her the okay she laid the stencil out on your arm and got to work. You watched her as she brought it all to life—it was a little cleaner and more grown-up than the original scribbles and doodles, but it felt right. Tears stung at the edges of your eyes but it wasn’t because of the physical pain of getting the tattoo.

She was wrapping it up in saranwrap as she gave you the run-down of taking care of the tattoo. You’d heard the spiel before but you still listened anyway. You had a hard time taking your eyes off of the artwork as you made your way back out to your car. Sitting down in the driver’s seat, you let out a sigh as you tried to inspect the ink as best you could through the wrap around your arm.

The next day, you were putting on a fresh wrap over your tattoo after your shower when you heard your phone buzzing in the next room. With a heavy sigh, you slapped a piece of tape onto the wrap and scrambled to get to your phone before you missed the call. Looking down at the screen, you didn’t recognize the number. But it was an off-hour for a scammer to be calling so you answered it on a whim. Worst case scenario you would just hang up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, my name is Rita and I work at Imperial Hospital. I’m looking for Ms. Y/N?”

“Um, speaking?” you had no idea where this was going.

“Good morning. Someone was admitted and you are their only emergency contact—no next of kin listed. Do you know a Mr. Nestor Oceteva?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, “Yes,” you couldn’t get the words out fast enough, “Yes I do. Is he alright?”

“He’s going to be fine,” her tone was calm enough to give you the smallest sliver of reassurance, “But we do need you to come in and answer some questions for us. He’s been in and out of it and we need someone who can give us reliable information.”

“O-okay. Yea. Yea I’ll leave right now. It’ll be about an hour or so before I get there though. Is that alright? He’s going to be okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s going to be fine. Thank you so much for your cooperation.”

You hung up the phone and started flying around your apartment to get ready. You had no idea what you were about to be walking into but at this point you didn’t care. All these years you’ve been wondering about him and he was two towns over. You were as angry as you were relieved.

The line of questions that the nurses asked you seemed endless. You knew that it was all important but there was nothing that you wanted more than to be in the room and see that it really was him, that this wasn’t just some cruel trick from the universe.

Finally, the nurse started walking you back. You only heard half of what she was saying to you about his condition as the two of you approached the room. You heard that he was stable and the rest didn’t really matter to you. your hands were trembling as she gestured to the door to his room, telling you that she would give you a few minutes to yourselves.

You slowly opened the door and a sob lodged itself in your throat as you looked at him. He was passed out, whether the sleep was genuine or from the meds you didn’t know. Truthfully, it was almost difficult to see that it was the Nestor you knew and loved—but you could still see it. Underneath the cuts and scrapes, beneath the braids and the tattoos, there was still your Nestor. The man you knew all those years ago was somewhere underneath it all.

Walking over, you collapsed in the chair next to his bed. You reached out and took his hand in your own, seeing the scars and scabs that covered his knuckles. Whatever he’d been doing all those years, it wasn’t treating him well. You let out a shaky breath as the tears started to fall. You tried to keep your emotions bottled up and quiet, but you couldn’t. There were too many there that you had been battling with and pushing down over the years.

Your crying made him stir. With a quiet groan of pain he opened his eyes and turned to look and see who was in the room with him. His entire body went stiff as his eyes flew completely open, unable to believe that you were sitting there with him.

“H-holy shit,” he coughed, trying to sit up, “Y/N?”

He was conscious and able to speak, so you punched him in the upper arm, “As soon as I can my ass, Nestor.”

He winced and smiled, and you could see all of the motions in his eyes, “I’m…I’m sorry.”

“You fucking should be.”

“I am.”

“Good.”

There were a few beats of silence and then he heard the crinkling of the wrap on your arm as you crossed them and he nodded towards it, “Fresh?”

Heat instantly flooded to your face and you fought the urge to get up and run out of the room, “Got it yesterday.”

“Can I see?”

You hated that he was talking to you like everything was normal, but you couldn’t lie and said that you didn’t miss it. Taking a deep breath, you laid your arm down on the hospital bed for him to inspect. A smile instantly took over his features when he saw what it was. He looked up at you, and when he saw the happiness and hurt both in your expression, his smile dulled a little bit.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What the fuck, Nestor?”

“I know, I know. I should’ve said something.”

“Uh…yea.”

“When they let me out of here, will you let me take you somewhere and tell you all about it?”

“I mean. I guess. But only because I’m nosey,” you managed a smile through the tears.

“I love you.”

The words made your heart skip a beat in your chest, “I love you too.”

“That’s way less clunky than a cast,” he tapped the plastic wrap.

You smiled, wiping the tears away, “Yea, I guess so.”

“I can’t believe you still have the same number after all these years.”

You paused, looking down at your hands, “I kept it in case your ass decided to smarten up and call me one of these days.”

“Hospital calling you on my behalf doesn’t count?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “No. No it doesn’t.”

He reached over and clasped your hand in his, “I’m really glad that you’re here.”

With a deep sigh, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his forehead, careful to miss all the scrapes, “Me too.”

There was so much more to be said, but it could wait. You tried to soak up the feeling of his hand over yours, smiles appearing on both of your faces despite the lost time and the gravity of the situation. A lot of things had changed, but as you felt the heat from his palm and the way his thumb traced back and forth over your hand, you knew the important things were still exactly the same.

[frozenrose105]

hello friend! id like something angsty today, darkiplier and GN-DA related. you can go bonkers with this one the only thing i ask of you is to use this quote: (its not mine btw, its by @buff-borf-bork (i apologize for the ping i just wanted to make sure to give you credit) Da/yn: Why would I ever help you? Pushing me out for some revenge fantasy, fine. But you just left me there, you didn't even have the decency to finish me off! just go overboard with the angst i beg u

You have come to the right place my friend, and I present to you, some angst.

Dark’s dress shoes clicking against the tiled floors were the only sound he could hear besides his own heartbeat. They were steady and sure, exactly as the demon made sure to present himself even in his own home. He was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, but there were times when his confidence was a facade.

Times such as the present, as he walked to a nearly empty room within his manor. It was practically untouched, but for a single object within. Most wouldn’t understand the significance of it after all, or why he always kept it locked. Only those who knew him well would be able to notice the tightness of his lips, the stiffness in his posture, or the way that his normally lively aura was way too still.

“You’re tense.” The voice came soon as he opened the door and stepped inside the room, distorted and low. Dark took a breath and faced the ornate mirror hanging on one wall, to which he gave a wry smile even as the voice continued. “But then, you always are when you come to see me. It’s been a while, Dark. Why are you here?” Dark could see their outline from where he stood, a shadow within the reflection of the room which he knew wouldn’t be there if he turned around.

“...As you said, it’s been some time,” Dark said in that steady, careful tone of his. “A visit was due. I wanted-”

“Don’t give me your bullshit, Dark. I can see through you better than any. After all, it is my body you’ve decided to take residence in. Why are you here?” The DA’s voice, despite its distortion, was unmistakably cold. Dark pursed his lips in response, but nodded.

“Of course. It was not a lie, DA, I do mean to come more often. But I thought to come to you now because I’ve run into something of a snag in my endeavors. I’m- unsure, admittedly, of how to proceed.” Dark was careful to keep his tone level. It wasn’t often that the demon found himself unsure, and he asked for guidance even less. There were few he could trust enough to do so- few who wouldn't exploit a demon's weakness and hesitance.

“...You want my help,” The DA said. It wasn't a question- it was matter of fact, and a hint of amusement laced their voice. Then they laughed, taking the time to move to the front of the mirror as they did. Dark didn’t move as they got closer and rested a hand against the glass, his expression unchanging. “Why would I ever help you?” The DA’s voice shifted as the next words came, their anger clear in the tone. “Pushing me out for some revenge fantasy, fine. But you just left me there, you didn't even have the decency to finish me off!” Their hand withdrew from the glass as they spoke, only for their fist to slam against it on that last word. They take a breath though, removing their fist from undamaged glass and folding their hands behind their back. The undeniable coldness returned to their tone with their next words. “...You left me here, Dark. I think I’d like to watch you suffer the same as I have. Figure it out yourself.”

Meanwhile, Dark stood entirely unflinching, silent through the DA’s outburst. When they were done he only nodded, unable to keep his aura from flicking. He looked away as the DA stepped back and fell into silence, unspeaking for a long moment himself. However, it wasn’t long before he looked up again with darkened eyes and allowed his own bitterness to show through that oh so careful stoicism.

“You know I did not intend for any of this. You know that I was guided by the Entity same as him, that I was driven to leave you trapped in there because of it. If I knew a way to release you from there I would, but it was the Entity’s power that put you there, not mine. As is, I can do nothing.”

That was met by a likewise bitter laugh from the DA. “You always were so insistent that none of this was your fault. ...You remind me of William. ...Wilford now, I suppose. I hear he’s been fucking with reality the same way that you can.” Dark watched as they pretended to think, tilting their head. “I wonder, powerful as the two of you are, why you have been unable to free me. I wonder how much of it is your inability to do so, and how much is your unwillingness.” Their voice was venomous by then, and it was clear their musing was nothing short of accusatory. “Leave, Dark.”

Dark’s lip curled at their words, and his aura flared briefly. He thought to argue, to try to convince them- ...But it was a conversation they'd had many times, and still they were no closer to believing him. So he gave the District Attorney no more hint of his feelings, instead reaching up and tugging down the sheet that normally covered the mirror, his movements even stiffer than when he first arrived in the room. “As you wish.” Then he turned on his heel and swept out of the room, allowing the door to shut and lock behind him.

[sunjaesol]

“The simple act of being in love with you is enough for me.”

jiara | post-s2 | pining idiots | title: quote by Pacey from Dawson's Creek

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“Kie.”

“Hm?” The girl’s mop of curls obscured her face as she mumbled out some vowels, clearly still buzzed from the night before. An amused smile ticked up his lips and slapped her calf again. She sighed. “What?”

“Leggo,” he pushed, “we gotta get to Pope’s place.”

“Why?”

Even if everyone else would deny it, JJ swore Kie was as bad as he was: slow and fucking lethargic before eleven in the morning. Sure, she had better grades in school, but he wasn’t gonna give her more credit than that. Speaking of, “Helping him with that new scholarship, remember?”

The girl groaned and rolled over to face him, droopy eyes cracking open to scowl at him. She slept where he used to crash whenever his dad’s place became too much, but since the old man fucked off to Yucatán, he found peace in the quiet walls and cracked windows. Regardless, it was weird seeing her sprawled on this mattress, the boy almost able to envision himself beside her. A dangerous fantasy to linger on, so he pushed it aside and kept on trucking.

“C’mon, Kie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered and sat upright. “How did you even get in the Château?”

JJ grinned and snagged a key chain from his shorts. “Spare key. Duh.”

She rolled her eyes, uttering, “John B’s stupid,” and then pushed him out the guest room, telling him she’d get ready. His mouth opened to make the joke if he couldn’t stay and watch, but the door slammed in his face and that was that.

Having a crush on Kiara was the freakiest thing ever. First of all, JJ and emotions didn’t mesh well — it only led to trouble, a perfect example being his dad and him with the most fucked up dynamic to boot. He preferred to not even think about the man, though one glance in the mirror often betrayed his mind and brought a rush of memories to the forefront, whether it was a shiner against his eye, or the fact that he resembled his father when he was young.

So yeah, he didn’t like anything ‘love’ related. It was stupid. It was more reckless than buying a jacuzzi or trying to steal a golden cross from a boat with dozens of armed men. Friendship, however, was easy. He told the Pogues just that: they were ‘it’ for him, he’d go through fire for them, through hell and fucking back.

But he didn’t think he’d actually die for them, which almost happened when he tried saving Kie on the Coastal Venture — to which she ended up saving him. (A vision illuminated by a golden sun, hovering over him. He’d never forget it.)

While he inspected the contents of the fridge, embarrassingly filled with only beer, eggs, milk and junk food, the door creaked open and revealed a dressed and less-wrecked Kiara. His gaze flicked up and down her frame, quick, and then averted it back to the fridge.

“You got no food, man.”

She chuckled. “I know. It’s not exactly The Wreck type of food…”

“You haven’t gone back?”

“Nope,” she replied, curt, and moved past him to shove a container of sausages aside to grab a bottle of almond milk. Even if she wasn’t with her parents, she still somehow kept up her ‘no dairy’ principles.

Also, Kiara was hella beautiful. He hadn’t let it register when she walked in, but it was true. Her soft-looking, shiny skin, sporting the prettiest smile in all of the OBX, and she was just hot. Especially when she propped herself on the kitchen counter, to which he settled beside her to not look at her legs.

“How many scholarships are there?” she asked. “Like, I’m obviously proud of him, but…”

“He told us last night,” JJ laughed. “You were that fucking high?”

She giggled, “Yeah! You were there, I was just on my ass.” And then, quieter, “And… I don’t know, I guess I’ve been kind of distracted.”

He perked up, surprised. Though the Pogues were family, openly talking about emotions when it wasn’t prompted by anything, remained rare. They were better at talking shit and smoking and napping on boats. Whatever, he took the bait.

“Why?”

She shook her head. “It’s stupid, JJ.”

“Kie, you’re talking to me,” he nudged her shoulder, “throw me a bone here. Is it Pope? You got the hots for our favourite nerd again?”

Taking a sip from the bottle, her brow quirked up as though that was the stupidest thing he ever said, and retorted with, “Why’re you always doing that?”

His hands raised instantly, defensive. “Doing what?”

“You’re always digging, like, when I was with Pope you got all weird.”

“I don’t dig.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. Kie, what’s up?” He kept it moving before she found the core of his problem, and bounced back to the original issue. “Before I start saying shit to Pope.”

She scoffed. “You're full of shit.”

“Oh, Kie,” he drawled with a smirk. “You can do better than that.”

Silence fell. He waited, fiddling with his fingers, and quietly hoped Pope wouldn't be too annoyed when they arrived late — then again, they were begrudgingly coined 'tortoise and tortoise' by the group anyway.

She placed the bottle back in the fridge and sent him a rueful smile, one he often saw her showing Sarah before they went aside and had a private talk. Their eyes locked and she finally spoke.

“Sometimes, I… I miss my parents. And it's like, I don't get how they don't just accept that I'm a Pogue, that I'm friends with you guys, you know? But I still miss them.” She looked down at her feet, crossing at the ankles like a little girl waiting to be reprimanded by the teacher. “I miss my dad's hugs.”

Instantly, his arm swung around her for a gentle side hug, a grateful smile pulling on her lips as she leaned into him. Both knew they should savour a moment like this, as hugging with a twitchy JJ and often irritated Kie happened once every blue moon.

Ignoring the guilty look in her eye — yeah, he didn't understand missing a paternal embrace, rather used to a blow in the stomach or a crude remark, but that didn't mean he lacked empathy — he resisted the urge to encourage her to reconnect with them. Knowing her, she'd just close up and glare at him for the rest of the day.

So no, he wasn't going to ask her. And no, she shouldn't feel guilty. P4L 'til the end, baby.

“Thanks, JJ,” she whispered.

He snickered and pushed her off. “You can't tell the guys I'm becoming soft, dude. Theyʼll give me so much shit for it.”

“They know you're soft,” she teased, “don't even try.”

“I'm tough,” he tried.

“Like Play-Doh.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled and motioned at the kitchen door. “Let's go, Carrera. Before John B and Sarah come back and act all married.”

Now that was fucking annoying. After John B and Sarah faked their death, they got married by a bandana strip and hadn't let that notion go after returning. Sure, there was that small blip when they were fighting the crazy religious chick, but that was old news.

John B made him swear he wouldn't tell a soul, but the guy waxed poetry about Sarah whenever they were drunk and alone. It was hilariously sad. Another man lost to a girl.

(“She wants a beach wedding,” JB sighed a couple nights ago. “Nice, right?”

“I– yeah, I really don't care about this, man.”)

JJ knew that when he got a girlfriend (Kiara unintentionally but also very intentionally crossed his mind), he'd act normal. No mushy shit. No poetry. Definitely no creepy Romeo and Juliet references thrown in as if that shouldn't freak the Pogues out. Their behaviour better not be infectious.

Expectedly, Pope's scowl reached them all the way from the car, Kie and JJ sharing a sheepish look before stepping out.

“Gee, guys,” the boy deadpanned, “thanks for making haste. Really appreciate it.”

JJ's wide grin hoped to salvage it. Slapping his friend on the shoulder, he pushed past him and yelled, “Kie was dead, dude!”

Pope grimaced. “Don't joke about that.”

He watched as Kie stopped beside Pope with an apologetic expression, telling him she overslept and was sorry and that he knew how JJ was — “Always joking.”

His chapped lips pursed, a familiar punch hitting his chest with him then pretending it didn't hurt. She always did this. Even if she claimed she didn't, she always took Pope's side. Relationship or not. JJ knew she didn't owe him her 'side', but it'd be a nice change of pace either way.

Whatever. This wasn't the JJ Pining For Kiara Show. Pope needed their help.

A state-wide scholarship competition gave Pope another shot at winning a huge chunk of money (no gold type of rich though) and getting his ass out of OBX, hopefully launching himself into some fancy college when he revealed to be of Denmark Tanny's lineage. Those hibrow assholes loved a good sob story.

All Pope had to do was score hella high on some test — easy — and impress the panel — not so easy — and he'd be the luckiest Pogue of all.

But that did mean Kie and him had to sit on his creaky bed with a freaky amount of flashcards while a stressed out Pope paced around his room. He was pretty sure the floor was eroding.

Also, he had no fucking clue what any of the flashcards meant. Did Pope's smarts really attracted Kie that much? Was it the brain? Brain over brawl? But where was the fun in that? JJ loved Pope to death, but the guy had to be fully medicated or high before his brain shut off and he acted carefree.

“Pope, do you even know what this all means?” Kie bemoaned, flipping the cards around.

“You got a dictionary somewhere?” added JJ, squinting at the word aberration. It sounded like some weird disease. He showed him the word.

Pope dismissed it. “It means: different from the norm.”

“Dude, why not write that then?”

“Because they want aberration.”

He didn't get it. “No one uses it though.”

“JJ, that's just the way it is,” Pope pressed.

“Guys, stop,” Kiara interrupted. “But honestly Pope, it's so, like, elitist. None of these questions are important to the world, or the well-being of the people.”

“Sorry, Kiara, but unfortunately not everyone cares that much,” he sighed. JJ could tell they were starting to annoy their friend, their tortoise bullshit bleeding through.

Her nose scrunched up, peeved. “Right. Because there's a planet B just waiting to be used by us. Duh.”

“Ooh,” JJ drawled, nudging her arm. “Are there donkeys shitting money?”

Kie laughed. “Yes. All beaches, clean air, no Kooks, and money-shitting donkeys.”

“Nah, I want it to be hella Kooky,” he joked, gesturing wildly. “I want a yacht and tell people someone else does my laundry, or something.”

“You don't even do your laundry anyway,” she bounced back with a roll of the eye. “I know you force John B.”

“He's already playing House with Sarah, might as well wash my underwear, too.”

Oh, man. He could do this all day. Talking shit with Kiara went as smooth as fishing for him. Each time he thought he one-upped her, she threw more on top and kept it going 'til neither knew what the point even was anymore. Sarah dubbed it as 'banter' which he believed was a rich way of saying 'talking smack.'

“I don't believe you even know how to do it,” she challenged.

JJ huffed and crossed his arms. “I can do it.”

A smirk bloomed on her lips as she kept jabbing. “It's kinda cute, how you need John B to be your mom.”

“I don't.”

“You literally said it five seconds ago.”

“Guys,” Pope groaned, followed by an exhausted sigh eerily similar to Heyward. “Can we get back to the flashcards?”

Kie and JJ were too far into their discussion though, jabbing at each other at rapid speed. Then she threw her cards at him and all bets were off. He yelled she should make a goal with her hands, to which he folded up a flashcard and shot it straight between her fingers.

And that was when Pope kicked them out. JJ presumed it was a victory they lasted as long as they did. Kie kept apologising over her shoulder, prompting Pope to ask Cleo for help instead.

For a beat, they were silent stepping out of his place and back into the car. JJ felt a stab of guilt for fucking up Pope's study time, but it was hard to dial his brain to school when his friends surrounded him. Just when he wanted to ask if she felt bad too, she went off about the climate — as usual.

“It's so dumb how there were no questions about the environment or human rights or, or anything like that! It's all science and lit, like, there's more to life than fucking chemistry formulas!”

“I skipped those cards. Didn't get them.”

“It's so fucked,” she hummed. “And I'm obviously glad that you drove to the Château to wake me up and all—”

“Yeah?”

“—but I really wish those questions would matter. We almost died, JJ!”

“No, shit,” he grumbled, quickly starting to lose his patience with the ranting girl. She didn't even realise what the fuck she was saying anymore — what she did to his heart, skipping like some elemtary school girl on the playground, when she slipped some nice words in.

“Died!” she pressed. “Why even care about stuff like that?”

“Fucks sake, Kie—”

“And I didn't want to say it, but did you see how many flashcards there were? How many trees were cut for that? It's like, hello, Quizlet exists!”

“Kie, shut up!” he yelled.

Her mouth fell slack, gobsmacked, gawking at him like his interruption was a slap in the face.

Gesturing wildly with one hand, he exclaimed, “You know, you can just go on and on and I hear you talking and it's like, yeah, we get it, Mother Earth needs to be saved, we're fucked, you don't gotta repeat it twenty-four seven.”

“What the hell, JJ!”

“You have an opinion about everything! A man gets tired!”

“A man?” She scoffed. “You're not even eighteen.”

“Point is you don't gotta act all preachy all the time.” He turned the corner, hands tightening around the steering wheel.

Kie scowled. “Where is this coming from? I'm not preachy, I'm educating you.”

Now that was just fucking with his head. Incredulous, he exclaimed, “You think I don't listen? Kie, I'm the only one that does. JB is on Planet Sarah all the damn time and Pope only did shit 'cause—"

"That!” she yelled, throwing her hands up with frustration. “That's what I mean! You're doing it again! You dig!”

“What?!”

“Every time you mention Pope and I, you dig. You needle!” Twisting in her seat, his gaze flickered to catch her disgruntled expression. “Why do you do that? It's so… sus.”

JJ laughed. “Sus?”

“You don't ask John B about Sarah.”

“'Cause they're fucking obvious.”

“Still,” she pressed. “Did I do something to piss you off? Is that it? Is it me constantly asking you to recycle and yet — shocker! — you never do?!”

“Fucking God,” he grumbled under his breath.

With frazzled thoughts and shaking hands, adrenaline coursed through him as he swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. If he fought with Kie any longer to this degree of fuckery, they were gonna crash.

She frowned. “What're you doing?”

“You, Carrera, are driving me insane,” he deadpanned, matter-of-fact. Then he slammed the door open and stepped out, desperate to catch his breath.

In the back of his mind, he had an inkling as to why he was so keyed up. Kiara would call him a Neandethal, but fuck it, here was the truth: Kiara was hot as hell when she argued with him.

Following his lead, she got out, her sneakers stomping against the asphalt. The sun steeped low on the horizon, the light hitting the hood and reflecting onto her face; her curls shifting from dark brown to gold. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so fucked. He almost missed the start of her spiel, too enthralled.

“I'm driving you insane? I'm always getting you out of trouble, because you never think things through! You never see the bigger picture!”

He rolled his eyes. “Bigger picture? The only thing I see, Kie, is you going on about nature. That easy.” And then, before he could stop himself, he spewed out, “And you don't have to do that.”

“What?”

“Getting me out of trouble,” he said, pursing his lips. “That's not your responsibility.”

“Right. Duh. Because after everything we've been through, I can't care about you,” she exclaimed, face twisting up in pure fury. She got in his space, shoving his shoulder, but when he didn't budge, it only seemed to anger her more.

JJ didn't know what was going on anymore. Why was she so mad? Even if she didn't want to admit it, he was telling the truth. Of course all the Pogues had each other's back, but Kiara doted over him more than was necessary. The constant checking of injuries, limiting his day drinking, all that. Like he was some child!

He leaned in and mumbled, “I can take care of myself.”

Kie smirked. “Then do your own laundry.”

It happened naturally. One second he stared at her furious eyes and thought about how much he loved arguing with her despite the bullshit, the next his fingers curled into her hair and pulled her in a fierce kiss.

At first, her hands laid frozen on his shoulders, surprised, but the moment he realised his impulsive decision was a mistake, they slid around his neck and kept him close.

JJ sighed in relief and deepened the kiss he'd been craving ever since they were fourteen and Kie went from gangly to statuesque. Her lips were warm and soft and her hands were soft and she hadn't let go and holy shit — he was kissing Kiara Carrera.

The kiss lessened when her mouth quirked into a smile, their grins pressing flush together, and JJ shivered from delight. Oh, man. He was gone.

“You drive me damn crazy, Kie,” he murmured, voice dropped to an undeniably soft tone.

She bit back her silly grin and whispered, “Good.”

Taking a deep breath, he tried focusing up, but all he could do was stare at her face. A shy hand grabbed hers.

He had to get it out of the way now, or else he'd kick himself later. “I'm… really into you. I'm– oh, fuck, uh–”

“Maybe we can talk about it not on the side of the road?” she suggested, amused.

JJ grinned, elated (What was the word he saw on the flashcards? Exalted!), and kissed her again, because he could.

On the ride back to the Château, he confessed to seeing her in a different light for years, while she couldn't really pinpoint a time or moment, that it just happened. It didn't matter, though he was in utter disbelief that he and Kie were having this conversation. No jokes, no BS, all seriousness. Tomorrow, he'd wake up and it wouldn't be some sick dream. Kie liked him back.

JJ was sure he'd doubt himself or overthink it in the future, but today, he'd bask in the certainty and the major ego boost.

“Okay, but did you ever legit like Pope then?”

A sheepish smile crawled up her cheeks as her gaze averted to the window. “I thought I did. But we have, like, no chemistry, so…” She shook her head. “I was confused.”

“That's okay,” he uttered. He couldn't give her shit for it. Even if he did torture himself with their short-lived relationship, he understood.

How would he react though? John B and Sarah wouldn't care, or Cleo, but Pope? He didn't want one of his brothers hating him. Being iced out by the guy fucking sucked, as it meant he was truly hurt and therefore meant JJ truly fucked up. He couldn't handle disappointing him.

Kie read his mind. “He'll be fine with it.”

“I dunno, man…”

“He will,” she repeated. “We're Pogues. We've all narrowly survived death. And besides…” She turned back to him with a secretive grin. “I think he has a thing for Cleo.”

Whoa. He did not see that coming. His brows shot up to his hairline, mentally kicking himself for being so focused on Kie that he didn't even notice the shift of interest between Pope and Cleo. They made sense, too. Know-it-all's, but well-meaning, and only speaking when needed.

If the idea didn't relief him of worries, he'd be concerned as to why they were all seamlessly coupled up like in some 90s sitcom Big John had on VHS.

“What a player,” he joked.

“Tell me about it.”

They arrived at the house, the Twinkie and Sarah's bike sprawled on the overgrown front lawn. JJ frowned. He had hoped to have some alone time with Kie, not to jump her bones and fulfill a regular dream of his, but to talk. To figure it out. He wanted to do this right. Because after everything, they deserved to have good things, to start on a high note — he deserved it.

Kie noticed it, too. Puckering her lips on contemplation, her gaze trailed from him to the rest of the property, ending on the trusty ol' hammock. She jabbed her thumb at it.

“Let's sit there.”

Normally, they laid on opposite ends on the hammock, if they even shared one to begin with. But now, she pressed herself right beside him and he felt like heaven dropped down on them in the best way possible. He suddenly understood what John B was lamenting about — the company, intimacy, the ease. Nerves rippled through his body like a summer storm, but he figured that was what it cost to lose one's mind over a girl.

He didn't know what to say, so Kiara spoke instead.

“I don't want us, the way we are around each other, to change, you know?” she said. “Like, I don't want you to think you have to act like some mellow ass boyfriend all of a sudden.”

He smirked. “Who said anything about boyfriend?”

“Bye.”

“Hey, wait,” he grinned, latching onto her arm before she pushed herself out. “C'mon, Kie.”

Her nose scrunched up. “I don't do this usually, okay?”

“You think I do?” he asked. His hand softly slid down to wrap around hers, to which she hooked their fingers together. Okay. Wow. It felt so damn nice that it propelled him to say, “I wanna be your boyfriend, Kie.”

The girl smiled and then surprised him by leaning in herself, pressing a gentle kiss on his chapped lips. It was overwhelming having her instigate it, his gut twisting up in excitement like when he was about to backflip from a boat, or cliff dive, or something similar like that.

He let go of her hand to cup her cheeks, only to whisper, “That's a yes, yeah? Gotta get a yes.”

“Yes, JJ,” she uttered back. “Here's to not fucking this up.”

“Cheers, baby.”

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[dumdumsun]

And Dusk

A/N: Enjoy ❤️

Warnings: blood and violence

Word Count: 1975

—————————————

Chapter 4: Always Next Time

Who the hell were those men?

Shaken up from her encounter with the three gunmen, (Y/N) threw the front doors of her home open and hurried inside with Mr Pennycrumb skittering behind her. “Dad?” She called out as she hurried all around, her voice breaking and echoing throughout the house. “Dad?!”

“(Y/N), hun, what’s going on?” The southern accent sounding from behind her caused her tense posture to relax as she turned to Grace.

“Mom… W-Where’s Dad?”

“He’s at a meeting, sweetheart. I’m not sure where, he didn’t tell me much,” When her daughter nodded with a faraway look, Grace took a step closer. “What happened? Where’s Preston?”

Swallowing, (Y/N) tried her best to crawl out of the hole she dug for herself, but it seemed to just be getting deeper. “Uh… I was attacked by some crazy people a-and Preston decided to take me home.” She rushed out as her feet quickly took her to the staircase that led to the rooms. Grace was immediately on her heels.

“You were what?! Honey, are you okay?! Who was it, what’d they do?!”

“It’s fine, Mom-”

“No, it’s not! You need to be tellin’ us these things, (Y/N). W-What if somethin’ like last time happened?” Grace recalled the day the two met. The girl’s shoulders visibly tensed and her mother wondered if she should have said that.

“Mom… I-”

“It’s alright, darlin’. I’m sorry for saying that.”

“No, no!” (Y/N) quickly turned towards her and brought her into a tight hug. Grace chuckled and returned the affection. “I’m glad you worry… It lets me know I’m loved.”

Grace gently ran her hand through the girl’s hair. “You most definitely are…”

(Y/N) began to get choked up, so she pulled away before the waterworks could make their presence known. She pointed behind herself awkwardly. “I’m gonna… get some sleep. I’m a little exhausted…”

“Of course, sweetheart. How about I make you a snack when you wake up?”

The familiarity of this woman making her food simply because she loved her had the girl’s (e/c) orbs nearly overflowing with tears as she nodded. “I’d love that. Thank you, Mom… I love you.” She grinned before slipping into her bedroom and softly closing the door. As soon as she heard her mother’s footsteps echo down the hall, she quickly wiped her eyes and charged towards her bed, flopping onto her back and closing her eyes.

Inhale for one, two, three, four

One, two, three, four…

One moment, she’s in her bedroom, and in the next, she’s in the park where she left her date. She adjusted her blurry vision by blinking several times. The fogginess washed away to reveal Preston much closer to her than she was comfortable with. His brown eyes were glancing at her lips as his blonde waves, once slicked back, fell in his eyes as he leaned close to her, lips puckered. Before his lips could graze hers, she pressed her index and middle fingers to his mouth. The boy frowned and stopped his movement, eyes fluttering open. “Um… What are you doing?”

“I-I was, uh-”

“I have to go,” She stood to her feet. “I think Mr Pennycrumb ran away.”

“Oh,” Preston’s entire expression fell into a look of irritation that had her blood boiling every time she saw it. “Then, I’ll help you look.”

“No,” She shook her head. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m just…”

(Y/N) placed her hand over her eyes and feigned sadness. “I’m so torn up about it… I just wanna be alone…”

“Awe, honey,” Preston stood and moved to stand in front of her. “I told you that you didn’t need that dumb dog. How about I take you to get some ice cream-”

“I just said I wanted to be alone!” She quickly turned away and took long strides to get away from him faster. “We’ll reschedule!”

Groaning into her hands, (Y/N) made her way back to her home, running to the side where the roof cast its shadow, a perfect hiding spot. Sitting down in the grass, she hugged her knees to her chest as close as she could before humming her three-note tune to dismiss her clone. Her eyes rolling to the back of her head, she became dizzy and her vision faded to black. When she opened her eyes, she was in her bedroom again, laying on her back. Exhaling, she let her hand drop onto her chest. “God…”

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

“This is it.” Five announced as he and Diego exited the car stolen by the latter. The two approached their father’s company building with slow, hesitant steps as they surveyed the exterior.

“‘D.S. Umbrella’. This is it.” Diego muttered. The closer they neared the entrance, the slower Five’s pace grew until he stopped walking altogether. Diego turned to his brother in concern. “You okay?”

Five hesitated. “Yeah, fine. Just…” When he reached the front door, he let out a sigh. Diego swiftly took out his knife and began picking the lock on the door.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen the old man?”

“Forty-five years…”

“That’s a trip…”

“No kidding…” The boy sighed yet again. “You know, when I was stuck out there in the apocalypse, there wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t hear his voice in my head.”

Diego didn’t look away from his task. “What was he saying?” He asked before muttering to himself when he couldn’t get the door to unlock.

“‘I told you so’.”

The quote itself made Diego scoff and shake his head. “Yeah, I’ve witnessed (Y/N) get an earful of that after you left… Dad used to lock her in that damn room all the time…”

“What room?” Five stood straighter, the mention of his love something he would never disregard.

“A small, dark room in a part of the house none of us were allowed to go… I don’t know how she did it, but he kept her in that room with no windows or light or human interaction until she was able to find you,” Diego looked up at his brother. “Almost a week.”

“A week? He kept her there for almost a week?!”

“Yep. And each day she couldn’t reach you, we could hear him shouting about her ‘not wanting to find her true potential’ or whatever bullshit he tried to beat into her mind to make her feel like shit. But something must’ve happened, because on the fifth day, Mom was bringing her to her room. God, she looked…”

Five wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“She looked dead. Like she had just come from her own grave. She didn’t talk to anyone for a while.”

“Starlight…” The boy shut his eyes and shook his head. His mind immediately thought back on Luther’s words. Perhaps he had been dragging her into every mess he made, and he’d been doing it far longer than he thought.

Diego was silent for a few beats before breaking it with a huff. “But hey, if Dad’s here, he’s never met either of you before, so he can’t say ‘I told you so’.”

“I’m sure the bastard will find a way.” Five growled, the tiniest hint of a sarcastic smile on his face before it fell moments later. Without warning, he blinked inside the building and unlocked the door for his brother, who sat dumbly before him.

“Right… Gotta remember that.” Diego cleared his throat as he stood to his feet and walked inside. After searching around for a bit, the two decided to split up to cover more ground. Five tried several rooms, all with locked doors until he found one in particular.

The decor was disturbing, to say the least. Set up to be a family room, yet the only “people” inhabiting the room were three mannequin-esque figures. Brushing off the chill that ran down his spine, he made his way to another room with a desk on one side of it, going through several papers until he came across an invitation to a gala. Deeming this useful, Five pocketed the invitation just before the sound of something metallic clattering behind him could be heard. Slowly, the boy stalked closer to a part of the room where a child’s play area had been set up. There was a table with puzzles, crayons and paper. Five unknowingly passed a chalkboard with the names “Pogo” and “(Y/N)” written in yellow chalk. The boy’s eyes caught a drawing on the table and picked it up. It had to have been drawn by a child, the monkey on the paper poorly drawn. The character beside it, though, had the gears turning in Five’s head. It was a girl with (h/l) (h/c) hair and (s/c) skin. He was going to look around the area more when he heard another noise coming from in front of him. He dropped the paper and moved forward, his body going still at who stepped out of the shadows.

An ape wearing only pajama pants cautiously crawled out of his hiding spot and Five immediately knew who it was. His soft grunting and squeaking made the boy’s voice and actions become softer as he crouched down in front of the chimp. “Hi… Pogo,” He whispered as the two got closer. “Hey… It’s alright, little buddy.” He softly smiled as both he and Pogo stared at each other in wonder. With a gentleness only shown to his love, Five slowly reached forward. “Pogo… It’s good to see you-”

He was caught off guard when Pogo screeched and struck Five in the side of his neck, causing the boy to cry out and fall over. The chimp quickly moved away from Five and ran through the glass wall, leaving him a panting mess. The boy looked all around as his hand pressed onto his bleeding wound. “Diego! Diego!” He called out as he stumbled to his feet, dashing out of the room. Little did he know, Diego was nowhere near him, having his own share of bloodshed.

Just as Diego was about to have his ass handed to him, he spotted a rebar a little ways away from him. Turning slightly, he kicked the man who had a grip on his arm, setting himself free. The Kraken jumped onto the platform, grabbed the rebar in both his hands, and backflipped off the platform, landing right in front of his shadow-clad opponent. The man dodged nearly every swing Diego took at him, save for the one to the side, and then to the leg that sent him to his knees. Raising the rebar above his head, Diego was just ready to give this man hell. But when he raised his head and revealed himself to be Sir Reginald Hargreeves, Diego hesitated. “Dad…” He whispered before a small knife sunk itself into his abdomen. He wheezed out a breath, his father staring into his eyes as he muttered,

“Ametur.”

Diego could do nothing but fall to the ground as blood seeped out of his wound after the knife was ripped out of him, watching as Reginald continued down the foggy pathway. He clapped his gloved hands twice, alerting a screeching Pogo to drop down from where he had been waiting. Once the chimp was on the ground, he and Reginald joined hands, continuing away from the man bleeding out on the ground.

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

As Grace and (Y/N) painted together, the girl hummed her usual tune, being interrupted when her mother softly gasped. “Y’know what? Reggie wasn’t at a meeting. He was takin’ Pogo to run some tests. That’s why he’s out so late.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” (Y/N) sighed. “I wanted to go this time…”

“There’s always next time, darlin’.”

“Yeah,” The girl returned to her painting. “Next time.”

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