#no one alive in this country has lived through anything like what’s coming

[homo-house]

hey uh so I haven't seen anyone talking about this here yet, but

the amazon river, like the biggest river in the fucking world, in the middle of the amazon fucking rainforest, is currently going through its worst drought since the records began 121 years ago

picture from Folha PE

there's a lot going on but I haven't seen much international buzz around this like there was when the forest was on fire (maybe because it's harder to shift the narrative to blame brazil exclusively as if the rest of the world didn't have fault in this) so I wanted to bring this to tumblr's attention

I don't know too many details as I live in the other side of the country and we are suffering from the exact opposite (at least three cyclones this year, honestly have stopped counting - it's unusual for us to get hit by even one - floods, landslides, we have a death toll, people are losing everything to the water), but like, I as a brazilian have literally never seen pictures of the river like this before. every single city in the amazonas state is in a state of emergency as of november 1st.

pictures by Adriano Liziero (ig: geopanoramas)

we are used to seeing images of rio negro and solimões, the two main amazon river affluents, in all their grandiose and beauty and seeing these pictures is really fucking chilling. some of our news outlets are saying the solimões has turned to a sand desert... can you imagine this watery sight turning into a desert in the span of a year?

while down south we are seeing amounts of rain and hailstorms the likes of which our infrastructure is simply not built to deal with, up north people who have built everything around the river are at a loss of what to do.

the houses there that are built to float are just on the ground, people who depend on fishing for a living have to walk kilometers to find any fish that are still alive at all, the biodiversity there is at risk, and on an economic level it's hard to grasp how people from the northern states are getting by at all - the main means of transport for ANYTHING in that region is via the river water. this will impact the region for months to come. it doesnt make a lot of sense to build a lot of roads bc it's just better to use the waterway system, everything is built around or floats on the river after all. and like, the water level is so incomprehensibly low the boats are just STUCK. people are having a hard time getting from one place to another - keep in mind the widest parts of the river are over 10 km apart!!

this shit is really serious and i am trying not to think about it because we have a different kind of problem to worry about down south but it's really terrifying when I stop to think about it. you already know the climate crisis is real and the effects are beyond preventable now (we're past global warming, get used to calling it "global boiling"). we'll be switching strategies to damage control from now on and like, this is what it's come to.

I don't like to be alarmist but it's hard not to be alarmed. I'm sorry that I can't end this post with very clear intructions on how people overseas can help, there really isn't much to do except hope the water level rises soon, maybe pray if you believe in something. in that regard we just have to keep pressing for change at a global level; local conditions only would not, COULD NOT be causing this - the amazon river is a CONTINENTAL body of water, it spans across multiple countries. so my advice is spread the word, let your representatives know that you're worried and you want change towards sustainability, degrowth and reduced carbon emissions, support your local NGOs, maybe join a cause, I don't know? I recommend reading on ecological and feminist economics though

however, I know you can help the affected riverine families by donating to organizations dedicated to helping the region. keep in mind a single US dollar, pound or euro is worth over 5x more in our currency so anything you donate at all will certainly help those affected.

FAS - Sustainable Amazon Fundation

Idesam - Sustainable Developent and Preservation Institute of Amazonas

Greenpeace Brasil - I know Greenpeace isn't the best but they're one of the few options I can think of that have a bridge to the international world and they are helping directly

There are a lot of other smaller/local NGOs but I'm not sure how you could donate to them from overseas, I'll leave some of them here anyway:

Projeto Gari

Caritás Brasileira

If you know any other organizations please link them, I'll be sure to reblog though my reach isn't a lot

thank you so much for reading this to the end, don't feel obligated to share but please do if you can! even if you just read up to here it means a lot to me that someone out there knows

also as an afterthought, I wanted to expand on why I think this hasn't made big news yet: because unlike the case of the 2020 forest fires, other countries have to hold themselves accountable when looking at this situation. while in 2020 it was easier to pretend the fires were all our fault and people were talking about taking the amazon away from us like they wouldn't do much worse. global superpowers have no more forests to speak of so I guess they've been eyeing what latin america still has. so like this bit of the post is just to say if you're thinking of saying anything of the sort, maybe think of what your own country has done to contribute to this instead of blaming brazil exclusively and saying the amazon should be protected by force or whatever

[meyhew]

“WHAT WE MOURN FOR THE DEAD IS THE LOSS OF THEIR HOPES.”

I never thought I’d make this post. Any time I imagined a One Direction member dying, I pictured myself weathered and grey. This was an eventuality that wasn’t supposed to be actualized until the boys and I had lived full lives. To have to come to terms with Liam’s death—his perpetual absence moving forward—in my mid twenties feels absurd. I wrote a long thing the day after I found out, so I’ve already gotten some thoughts out. I’m going to try and keep this short. I likely won’t succeed.

Liam was kind. If he’s remembered for anything, I hope it’s that. I know he helped out with food banks in London during lockdown because there were photos of him packing boxes, but I didn’t know until now how much money he gave them. £80,000 without any publicity. And it wasn’t a one-time donation. He kept working with various orgs to help food insecure people. In the week leading up to that unfortunate Wednesday, he gave away thousands to fundraisers—primarily set up to help people with severe illnesses. He’d been part of Soccer Aid for years. He was involved with anti-bullying campaigns. He worked with Rays of Sunshine to make hundreds of sick children happy. Over the years, he also donated to nonprofits that help children in Gaza and other places. The T-shirt he designed for Choose Love has garnered nearly £200,000; Choose Love has been working with the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund and Medical Aid for Palestinians to provide desperately needed aid in Gaza. Liam understood the value of his wealth, and what his social responsibility was. He did his part to make this world better.

All that without taking into account everything Liam did for us. The youtube videos he started during quarantine because it was a way to distract people, give them something to look forward to. His comedic timing was something special. The discord server where he talked to fans and highlighted their creative endeavors. His livestreams, the endless culture-defining tweets he made. I still see people laughing about his tweets. We all remember Mrs. Horan, yes? I mean, go all the way back to TwitCams. Just google the phrase and one of the first videos you get will be Liam’s. From day one, he took it upon himself to make sure the fans were happy. That we felt seen, heard. And he kept One Direction alive for us, on occasion at a great personal cost. He performed deep cuts we’d never seen sung live, he was always so enthusiastic about everyone else’s projects, he never shied away from talking about the band—because it made us happy. He knew what the band meant to us, the blend of hope and nostalgia many of us clung to, and he held on with us. For us. The masses ridiculed him for his clinginess, and he didn’t let go—for us. I’m sure he knew there are those of us for whom the name One Direction still means everything. And how right he was. Look at the global charts for the past two weeks. We’ve made history again. Because of Liam. He had been the glue holding a lot of the fandom together, whether people realized it or not. He brought us all together again in the most heartbreaking of ways.

One Direction came into my life at a time when I was becoming lonelier by the day. I had moved to a new country two years prior, and I didn’t yet have many friends because I knew only enough English to get by at school. Outside of school, I had no friends. They were all back home in the place I’d left. All I had was my two siblings—and when you’re 13 years old, your 14 yr old sister is hardly the person you want to spend all your time with. I didn’t have space for me, to do and to be something that was just mine.

Then I found 1d through a girl at school and they became that something for me. I bettered my English by watching them talk. I found this community because of them, and I have learned so much from being a part of it. So many wonderful people have touched my life because of them over the years, some I’ve fallen out of touch with and some I hung out with just this month. They—and, by extension, Liam—have made me wealthy in friendship.

Claudia, Ingrid, Mery; Thank you for putting up with my insanely specific demands and making headers for me. Ingrid, you’ve been so patient about teaching me how to gif. Mery, I still have your rec list for learning Spanish saved in my notes app. The TPWK print you gifted me hangs on my wall. Cloudy, do you remember that lineart you made of me? I still have it. You’ve all been so kind to me.

Rafa; You have no idea how much you’ve helped build my confidence as a writer. Lyab is a thing of the past now, but those hours you spent fleshing out the details of that fic are priceless to me. I’d never written anything so ambitious before. And, frankly, I don’t think I would’ve attempted a novel if I hadn’t written a 100k fic—which I couldn’t have done without your encouragement. I think this is my first time telling you I finished the first draft of my novel in September. Thank you <3

Yas; Beloved you are so dear to me. You have shown me such kindness over the years, at times I wondered what I had done to deserve it. Not many people check in with me the way you do. I value your presence in my life beyond words. You have so much love and affection to give, and I’m glad I get to receive so much of it.

If I wrote a personal note to everyone who’s in my life because of Liam we’d be here for hours and hours. Jess, Bella, Alex, Jack, Hayley, Hope, Soni, Kayla, Sara, Arsh, Tina, Ola, Cristal, Kylee, Hana, Ali, Antonise, Clare, Abby, Nina, fnh, mert, people I don’t follow anymore, everyone who’s come into my life because of liam—I love you. Literally every single person I follow should be named here because I wouldn’t even be on this website if it weren’t for 1d. You’re all so special to me.

I still can’t believe Liam is gone. I was at the grocery store and it hit me that it’s real, and I thought, no, there’s no way. It feels so fucking weird having this invisible hole in my life that’s never going to go away. But I’ll always be grateful for everything Liam brought into my life. I know I’ll grow old with a whole bunch of you in my life—I’ve already spent a decade with some of you in my life—and I wish Liam got to grow old and weathered with us all.

This is such an inadequate goodbye. I think I’ll keep coming up with things I wish I could tell Liam, or things I want to say to you all. There’s so much history here, so much to reminisce about. He took a piece of my adolescence with him. I’ll miss him forever. Too many of my memories are intertwined with him and I’ll miss him forever.

Sleep easy, Liam. I hope, in time, you’re remembered for your limitless capacity for love and your desire to do better, be better. You deserved more. 🤍

—————

tagging 1d people here because i know many blogs aren’t active on a regular basis. apologies if i missed someone (i’m sure i did). hugs for everyone

@1dclowns @hrrytomlinson @sandiazucar @fookinfreezin @hoeranghae @wlwmermald @tomlinsun @epubgf @heyangel @fireproofs @90sgrungelouis @lirry @iconichalo @itsnotreal @aquickstart @roguecurls @harryscuddles @hoteyelinerguy @babyy-honey @goldencereza @kindathoughtprovoking @kindofsharethat @fuchsiasea @queerbloodyangel @tofiveohfive @aboutmetamorphosis @wastelandbabyblue @delicatepointofview @twentybiqueen @girlcrushau @chaoticsue @chimnation @akasakasads @icouldbeluckyagain @alloutshirt @half-lightl @halohamilton @willowfey @meltedwings @softandslow @loustyles @onedirectiom @pop-punklouis @pridesobright @finexbright @femstyles @baawree @iamnathanscott @avocadolouie @userautumn @niallerer @itsnothesameasitwas @usignedupforthis @svpportive @svncourt

[castiwls]

peter - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt; 'Said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me’

Requested; anons

Notes; this is long (for me) and sad :( reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Dean Winchester was a man you’d never be able to understand. You’d only been 18 the first time you’d met him. You’d been bright-eyed and optimistic about the world, freshly out of high school and enjoying your newfound freedom when you’d stumbled into a dinner drunk on cheap vodka and craving some sort of food.

He’d caught your eye almost immediately. Your drunken confidence led to you finding yourself in the seat opposite him, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watched you ramble almost incoherently before falling silent.

That meeting alone led to a six-year relationship. For a moment you’d believed that Dean may have been the one. That you’d been one of the lucky few to find your soulmate at a young age meaning you’d get to live your life out with him.

And then everything seemed to unravel right before your eyes and you were hopeless to do anything. Dean quickly went from someone you saw your future with, to someone you’d seemingly outgrown - even though you were two years younger.

By 25 you were ready to settle down, traveling around the country had been appealing when you were 18 yet it began to feel like a chore. You wanted a home, a place you could go back to after a long day and feel safe.

You’d argued about it until once you’d had enough. You’d left with nothing more than a note explaining yourself.

It had been years since you’d even thought about Dean Winchester yet now you found yourself face to face with a man you’d long since given up on.

Dean’s smile was the same. His eyes still held that sparkle that you’d loved yet it had dimmed slightly, his eyes more tired.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. You swallowed watching him. “Why are you here?”

“What. I can’t stop by and say hello?” He pushed off the door frame stepping slightly closer. He continued to smile yet you’d noticed it failed to reach his eyes. A small frown pulled at your lips as you placed a hand on his arm.

“Dean. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing wrong.” He shook his head. “Dean, I’m not stupid. Somethings wrong, and where is Sam?” You ran your hand up his arm before placing it on his shoulder. His face dropped slightly at the mention of his brother. He sucked in a breath, his body seeming to deflate slightly.

Oh

“Dean i…I’m so sorry.” You sighed pressing your hand to his cheek. He stayed quiet simply leaning into your touch his eyes fluttering shut. 

You’d once promised yourself you’d never let Dean Winchester back into your life unless he finally agreed to grow up. Yet standing there in that moment you still saw that 18-year-old you’d met at the dinner.

Moving your hand from his cheek you stepped back. 

“I have a guest room.”

–

“He’s alive.” Your tone was dripping with disbelief as you stared at the man opposite you. Dean nodded his back against the counter. “Yeah.” He sighed running a hand through his hair. “He has been for a while.” Dean was talking as if this was the most normal thing in the world, he was using the same tone he’d use whenever you’d discuss dinner, or whose turn it was to take the trash out.

This was utterly insane. Even after he’d filled you in on everything that had happened since you left you still found the whole thing insane. Yet it was Dean so you’d believed him. You’d allowed him back in your bed and over the past year you’d fallen right back in love with him.

You’d finally got what you’d wanted. The life you dreamed of with him was a reality and you’d grown so comfortable that you’d almost forgotten what he’d told you years ago.

“I love you. But I can't leave hunting behind, It’s my whole life!”

The words had stung then and they stung more now as you stood opposite him in your kitchen. 

“So your going with him.” You crossed your arms and swallowed back the hurt which lay heavy in your chest. “You're going back.”

Dean watched you for a moment, his eyes downcast for a moment. “Sweetheart I have to-”

“No, you want to.”

Dean paused as you cut him off, taking a small step forward. He placed a hand on your arm. “I’m sorry.”

You looked at his hand for a moment before pulling back and turning around. In doing so you missed the look of hurt which flashed across Dean’s face before he followed you out of the room.

Walking into the living room you grabbed a blanket off the floor, folding it before turning back to him. “I know you're not sorry. I know part of you is glad, glad that you’ve finally got your get-out-of-jail card.” You placed the blanket down as he crossed his arms. “Thats no-”

“You don’t have to lie Dean. I know you well enough to know damn well that you could never walk away from hunting.” You let out a breath sitting down on the couch.

“I’m not mad. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair, leaning forward on your knees. “I really thought that maybe you’d finally grown up. That you’d realised that hunting isn’t a forever thing. But I guess I was wrong.” 

Dean sat beside you, his hand grasping yours in his. “That’s not true.” He shook his head. You turned to look out the window, your eyes closing for a moment as tears burned at your eyes.

Dean watched you for a moment before gently grasping your chin and turning you to face him. “This year…This year proved to me that maybe hunting isn’t my be-all and end-all. But I miss it.” He admitted quietly. “And I can’t let Sam do this alone, I couldn’t live with myself.”

Your eyes stayed on his as he cupped your cheek with his hand. “I love you.”

You sucked in a breath before swallowing. “Yet you still broke your promise.” 

Dean frowned, squinting slightly as he tried to figure out what you could mean.

“The note.” 

His eyes flashed with realisation before he opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “I told you to come back when you had grown up and were ready to walk away, and only when.”

His face dropped. “When I came that was true. Sam made me promise that when it happened I would follow through on that promise and I did. I did for you and for him.” He moved closer stroking your cheek. “Sweetheart you have to believe me.”

“I do believe you. But you still broke that promise.” You took a breath to compose yourself. “And I can’t wait forever, Dean.”

[alicentofficial]

re: my last post about jaime and alicent being parallels, i got an anon claiming they couldn't be similar because jaime as a man is privileged in ways alicent isn't since westeros is a patriarchy. this fact is correct! however! characters can have shared experiences, internal conflicts and dare i say, even themes, despite the fact that they are in different situations. let me explain why jaime and (show)alicent are similar characters.

rape/sa mentions below the cut

(1) okay so fundamentally jaime's thing is that he views himself as being sworn to so many conflicting ideals that he will never be able to uphold all of them. he is essentially in debt to so many people that anything he does will make him an oathbreaker. i think alicent views herself in a kind of similar way, only its through loyalty rather than oaths. hence that "i have endeavoured to serve both my house and my country etc" line because alicent basically FEELS like she has sworn conflicting oaths to everyone and everything around her - her father, her children, viserys, rhaenyra, the gods, the ideals of house targaryen, the abstract concept of what it means to be a "good woman" in society, and the list goes on, they don't call her Alicent "Where is Duty Where is Sacrifice" Hightower for nothing! both alicent and jaime see themselves trapped in moral paralysis because they are so concerned with what they are or should be loyal to, and as a result they are both constantly being eaten alive by guilt and self-loathing.

(2) both became deeply entrenched with the royal family at young ages whilst simultaneously living under their extremely ambitious hand of the king fathers. both fathers basically do not care who their children turn out to be and are only concerned with them as far as they can aid in his own ambitions. in jaime's case this was lessened by the fact that it was essentially divided between him and cersei, but tywin aggressively only gives a fuck about jaime as being the heir to casterly rock (hence his underlying insistence that jaime will do this despite the fact that he has sworn an eternal oath preventing it) - jaime does everything else to become tywin's lion-of-lannister golden boy but he will still never truly have tywin's love or affection or approval because tywin is incapable of that. otto basically pimped out his teenage daughter to viserys, and then after she spent 20+ years doing whatever he wanted he STILL doesn't respect about her, firstly because shes a woman, and secondly because he doesn't view her as a person, he views her as a political tool. and both of them are intensely loyal to said fathers and compulsively seek the approval which they know (on some level) is never coming.

(3) both of them have extremely complicated relationships with parenthood - alicent because her children are all products of her sexually abusive marriage, because she essentially grew up alongside them, and because they too are viewed as political tools more so than as people. as a result she's pretty emotionally cut off from them (struggling to connect with helaena, the unhealthy dynamic with aemond etc) meanwhile jaime can't ever openly acknowledge his children or act like a father to them and sees them as an extension of his relationship with cersei. alicent's feelings about aegon (and to a lesser extent aemond) are this weird dynamic where she loves him a lot and wants to protect him but is also aware that he's an abusive monster. in asos there's a jaime chapter after joffrey dies where he has this moment of awareness that joffrey is his firstborn son, and he kind of wonders if he should feel anything, but he can't bring himself to, basically because joffrey is also an abusive monster. he kind of awkwardly tried to bond with tommen at one point and seems vaguely fond of myrcella but can't really get himself to properly contemplate his feelings towards them either. for both of them parenthood is so wrapped up in all these other layers of pain and guilt that they struggle to have healthy, loving relationships with any of their kids.

(4) they both use copes - alicent with religion and jaime with dissociation - to essentially avoid engaging with their inner conflicts. jaime started dissociating to avoid having to deal with any of the injustices he saw around him i.e. listening to aerys raping rhaella and deciding he could absolve himself of his bystander guilt by "going away inside". meanwhile alicent uses religion as an outlet for her rage because when she throws herself fully into religion and convinces herself that she hates things because they're sacrilegious she doesn't have to confront her own trauma and anger. like a big part of why she hates rhaenyra's children is because they're physical manifestations of the freedoms rhaenyra has which alicent doesn't, but she's not emotionally equipped to deal with that, so the only option is to really really REALLY convinces herself that they're abominations cursed by the gods and thus she is justified in how she feels.

(5) okay here's where you have to hear me out. i think, narratively, jaime sees cersei's role towards him in a similar way to how alicent views criston. cersei and jaime's relationship is obviously built on the recurring themes of lannister exceptionalism and pseudo-incest within their house, but i also think jaime holds on to cersei as this symbol of pre-kingslayer him. she is his other half so when he knows that he's failed and become a terrible person, he can just hardcore project all his hopes of what he could have been onto her and see her as this paragon of beauty and love and nobility. and because of this he spends a lot of the series wilfully blind to the fact that their codependent relationship has turned them both into extremely violent and unstable people. to a certain extent alicent also projects a lot of her own childhood idealism onto both criston and rhaenyra - rhaenyra is literally her childhood girlfriend companion and i think because she's so emotionally stunted she's still obsessed with their relationship as like, the simplicity and tenderness of childhood before her marriage. hence why she seems so in denial about the fact that the war is about more than just their their relationship - but more so i think her relationship with criston is similar to that of jaime and cersei. (up until recently lol) i think she also saw criston as this white knight tragic courtly love figure because theyre BOTH still obsessed with the ideals of chivalry and knighthood and can reflect it back onto one another, whilst at the same time continuing to practice their own hypocrisy. she is basically (in a very jaime fashion) sticking her fingers in her ears to the fact that criston is deeply unstable and and punches people to death when he gets angry. both cersei and jaime's relationship and alicent and criston's relationship are essentially echo chambers that make them both worse while allowing them to view themselves and each other as idealised figures of the white knight and the noblewoman.

[doberbutts]

You mentioned in response to another ask that you don't use "transandrophobia" because the trans theory you were taught by trans women told you that "transmisogyny" covered those things and that is a total revelation to me. I've been thinking for a long time that it seemed to me that the idea of transmisogyny *does* cover transandrophobia, it just impacts trans femmes and trans mascs differently a lot of the time. But I had no idea that there has been theory/discussion that says this. I'm more used to the idea of "TMA" with the implication that only trans women are affected by transmisogyny. Is that more of a new thing and transmisogyny used to be considered as a more broad term? And would you trace that change to the same issue you're talking about with a lot of current feminism forgetting how feminism is also a "men's issue"?

Idk if I would call it "new" per say. The word trans-misogyny was coined in 2007 and did not include trans men, but the book in which it was coined did mention that language was likely needed to describe the trans man experience as well. There have been a number of different attempts, but none have really stuck.

I went to college starting in 2010, so roughly 3 years after Serrano coined the word. While in college, my school's GSA wanted LGBT elders to come and talk to all the scared freshly-minted adults who were trying to figure out this being gay thing. The woman who ran my GSA found a Trans woman who was willing to be my mentor and sponsor, she wrote my letters for me back when that was still necessary for medical transition, and we met frequently for her to teach me more or less how to be trans safely. Some things she did not know- how to bind safely, how to attach a semi-permenant packer, etc. But others she knew very well, because she herself dealt with both being seen as a man by society as well as the effects of testosterone on her body for decades before she transitioned.

Anyway. This woman was great, and is a significant portion of the reason I'm still alive to this day. And she is who taught me the word transmisogyny, and that it should really cover all trans people because all trans people experience an intersection of transphobia and misogyny. Whether that was popular theory at the time or not, that is what us young kids learned directly from the mouths of trans women at my college, which to me means that others were also learning this particular version of transfeminist theory.

Unfortunately by the time I dropped out of college in 2013/2014, online trans spaces were having stupid arguments such as "transtrenders are bad" and "neopronouns are bad" and "nonbinary people are cis people who want to feel special" and "trans men should be hunted for sport" and "trans women are incel nazis" and. Well. I went "wow this place is a cesspit and I feel like no one here has actually talked to another transgender person face to face" and then did not engage with the online community. So I don't really know how common or popular the understanding I was taught was at the time, though it certainly seems quite rare now.

(As a caveat I don't really think trans people of any gender have anything that isn't similar with each other when it comes to oppression, outside of certain bodily things that can't be helped because that's literally the thing we're transgender about, and I think we all experience very similar oppression but sometimes with a different hat)

As for what caused this particular defining to fall into obscurity? I really can't say. I don't know how popular the transfeminist theory the trans women who spoke at my GSA meetings taught us actually was in the broader world. Every once in a while I meet someone who lived through that same time who remembers that theory, which tells me it had gained at least some traction if it was being discussed in multiple parts of the country, but... that's really it. And it's pretty unpopular theory nowadays, I get people calling me a scumbag and claiming that I say transmisogyny doesn't exist just for mentioning that the theory I was taught includes trans men in the discussion.

But I don't think it's specifically the whole TMA/TME thing. I think it's a lack of understanding of what oppression and what intersectionality are, how they operate, how they work, how we define things through them. There are many people who believe that men do not experience misogyny. But, they do, that's why it's an insult to a boy to call him a girl during a moment of femininity or vulnerability, as a means of calling him weak because girls are believed to be weak. There are many people who think intersectionality turns oppression into additives, as though stacking marginalizations like dnd buffs. This also falls apart because oppression is not like quick math where you add a +5 to every roll if any part of your identity is privileged and a -7 if any part is oppressed.

I've had people get mad at me for saying that straight people experience homophobia while we also have sitting politicians that make jokes on live TV about how they'd drown their (presumably straight) children if they found out their kids were gay. For saying that GNC cis people experience transphobia when butches are getting kicked out of bathrooms and drag queens are getting jumped in bars. For reminding people that when Sikhs are killed due to being mistaken for Muslim in this country that hates Muslims over a national tragedy our Muslim population did not cause, it's still considered and called Islamophobia, because just because Americans are too stupid to tell a Sikh from a Muslim doesn't mean they weren't spurred into that hate crime by their rampant hatred of Muslims and the sight of a turban and long beard.

[youremyheaven]

Momagers, Stage Mom's & Mama's Boys: The Dysfunctional Moon Child

Moon influenced people often come from households where they had a very dysfunctional relationship with their parents. Both parents are usually toxic but the Moon person forms a close, overly sympathetic and anxiously attached bond with one parent who they perceive as the victim or martyr in some way. (Dad's abusive or neglectful and mom's the one trying her best, for example).

WHY does this happen?

Moon is said to be the most Yin of the planets. It's passive, feminine and emotional.

Most of the time, these bonds are toxic because its overly protective, overly nurturing, controlling, overly caring as opposed to say Sun influence which will create bonds that are too independent and unattached (aka female friendships vs male friendships lol). Moon influenced parent-child bonds become toxic because there's TOO MUCH love, care and attachment and neither party can have a separate independent existence.

Moon influence is prominent in the charts of momagers/stage moms AND the kids who are under their control.

Priyanka Chopra, Rohini Moon

Pri and her mom are attached at the hip and they're literally ALWAYS together. She has managed Pri's career since she was a teenager. And since she's not a nepo kid, it's known that she's had affairs with several married men in the industry, especially when she was starting out, to secure work :((

And I think its fucked up to have a parent basically pimp you out to make money. Be it PC getting a nose job or her army doctor mother quitting her job to open a cosmetic surgery clinic or her family running a pub?? PC is the golden goose and her family has just been living off of her money and encouraging her to basically do anything to make it. I think its a bit fcked to be smoking with your mom and its not bc I'm Indian lol

Alia Bhatt, Shravana Rising

Now Alia's dad is a pretty well known asshole who is infamous for being abusive. And Alia had a pretty rough upbringing, so its no wonder that Alia is as attached to her mom as she is. Alia's own marriage is pretty fucked up and toxic.

Alia started her career when she was 17 and to this day, her mom manages her finances. She was recently in the news for being scammed out of 1 crore rupees (119,000 dollars) so like I guess her mom's not exactly brilliant at what she does lol

Katrina Kaif, Hasta Moon

Katrina Kaif who is British, came to India when she was 17 and met and started dating the violent, toxic abusive Salman Khan, who was 20 years older than her. He helped her establish herself as a huge star but she went through a lot including physical abuse.

Kat endured all that because she had 7 siblings to support and her mom was a single mom. She's extremely close to her mom but I still think its fcked up that a literal teenager had to become the breadwinner of a family of 8 and endure all kinds of abuse in a toxic industry and in a country where she knew nobody just to break even.

Bella Hadid, Hasta Moon

Yolanda is a toxic mom in general but she has a particularly toxic bond with Bella for sure

Britney Spears, Shravana Moon

She's probably the most notorious example of being controlled by her toxic , abusive family :(((

Brooke Shields, Rohini Sun/Jupiter/Rahu

Her mom made her pose naked for playboy when she was 10. That should say enough about how fcked up her momager was. She has spoken about how her mom was an alcoholic and she felt like she had to do everything she could do to keep her mom alive :((

Ranbir Kapoor, Shravana Moon

He grew up in a toxic home where his dad cheated on his mom and was an alcoholic. He's KNOWN to be a mama's boy and his mother lowkey influenced all his previous relationships until he finally tied the knot with someone his mom approved of ://

Today his wife dresses and emulates his mom lmao

Leonardo DiCaprio, Hasta Moon

He's another infamous mama's boy

It's interesting to me how in most of these cases, the fathers were either absent or neglectful. These people grew up under the sole care of their mothers and it created an overly possessive, toxic, codependent bond. All of these people have spoken about how hard their mom's lives were and how they're grateful for everything their mothers did for them. This tendency of the Moon to make its natives be entirely sheltered from Yang or male influence or in some ways find Yang influence repulsive is very telling.

Similar to how Sun influenced people find it difficult to relate to or connect with Yin themes (like being clingy, attached, being nurturing in a traditional way, being openly loving etc) Moon influenced people struggle the most with detachment, letting go, independence etc. The extremes of both these can be unhealthy. It's important to learn how to be balanced and not give in to the tendencies that can harm both us and the people in our lives.

That's all for this post<3

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian,   Jan. 8, 2012

Is that sarcasm I’m reading? A joke? Gasp! I didn’t know you were capable, ahki! It’s a New Year’s miracle! I bet father and your siblings are very proud of you. A shame that I wasn’t the one to teach you. Sigh.

Are you hinting that you want me to come meet you again in person? You and father and your siblings? I’m flattered, but I don’t think I’m ready to risk getting back on the League’s radar more than I already have by contacting you. I’m happy you want me to come meet everyone, but I don’t think I’m ready for that. I’m the more sociable of the two of us, but meeting that many people at once, or even spread across a short period of time, is a lot, even for me. I’m content to follow along from the middle of the country for now, though I might take you up on that invite in the future.

From what I understand, the IRS is scared of the Drs. Fenton. I’m not sure exactly why, but they are. So Jazz, by association with her parents, will most probably be extended the same courtesy. Honestly, I would officially take on the Fenton name if it meant I wouldn’t have to pay taxes. I’m not going to, though. I’m not prepared for the identity crisis that that would give me, so I’ll stick to just using their name as an extra for now.

Sam will kill you if you call her by her full name, so just call her Sam or Manson (her last name). Having said that, she isn’t too bad. Her and Tucker (you can call him Foley or Tucker) don’t get along very well. She’s an ‘ultra-recyclo-vegetarian’ which basically means she won’t eat anything that ever had a face. Though, I’m trying to get her to tone it down a bit. She’s a bit in-your-face about it sometimes. Tucker’s the exact opposite. He has a goal to eat nothing but meat for the rest of his life and is less intense about it, but he’s still a little in-your-face at times. They’re a handful, but they’re good people. Just don’t let them get started about their food habits. They’ve argued for days about the topic. I’m just waiting for the day that they start an actual physical fight over it. I’ll just sit back and watch when that happens. I imagine it’ll be quite entertaining.

What kind of dagger do you want? How big? What materials? Any colors or designs you want painted or engraved? What color do you want the sheath?

Again with the invitation to meet up? I’ll hold you to celebrate those with me. Maybe you could get father and your siblings in on it, too! And Alfred! I think he’d have fun.

I wasn’t calling you a name, smartass, it’s a term of endearment. Like a nickname. Welcome to the modern world, loser, where context counts for everything. /j means joking. Other things you’ll see a lot are normally explained through the context or tone of the conversation or how they’re said. You’ll get there eventually, ahki!

ليبقى نصل سيفك حادًا يا أخي

Danny Fenton

***

A week. It had been an entire week and Damian hadn’t responded. That’s okay, though! Danny knows that life happens and that Damian isn’t always going to be able to respond right away. Besides, it’s not like they had a set schedule or anything. He probably hasn’t answered because something more important came up, like a case.

But what if he hates him? Danny didn’t think he’d be able to continue living if that was the case. Sure, he’d thought for a while that Damian hated him, but that had been before he told his brother he’s still alive! Damian could totally hate him and it hurt because now he’s actually alive to be hated!

It could’ve been the Shadows. He hoped it wasn’t the Shadows. He’d rather have Damian hate him than have the Shadows involved in any way. Did Mother know he was still alive? Did Grandfather know? He shuddered to think about it.

Danny jumped when his bedroom door slammed open. “Dann-o!” His dad’s voice rang loudly in the small room. “You’re mother and I would like your help down in the lab with something.”

Shaking off his paranoia for now, Danny followed his dad out of his room. “What do you guys need help with?” It wasn’t like he was a genius like them or anything. He didn’t understand a lick of their research. Does that make them geniuses or crazy? He’s gonna say ‘yes’, but none of those are a really big vote of confidence.

“Well,” Jack said, “You’re the weapons expert in the house, so we’d like your help with some blueprints for some.”

“Why are you guys making blueprints?” he wondered, “You’re researchers, not scientists. Even if you’re cleared for experimentation, weapons aren’t a part of your funding, as small as that might be. Besides, there’s nothing to use them on or against.”

“For now.”

“What?”

“‘For now’. There’s nothing to use the weapons against for now.”

They were at the basement door in the kitchen now. “What do you mean?”

Jack opened the door and led the way down. “Once we get the portal up and running, who knows what’ll come through!”

“He’s right, sweetie,” Maddie called from the lab. Where did that bottom door go? “Anything could come through the portal, so we’ll need ways to defend ourselves and others.”

“So why build it, then?” Danny asked, not stepping into the lab, “If it could be so dangerous, why build it in our basement and not in a government facility? Why even build it at all?”

“And give our life’s work over to people who’d misuse it all or sell it just to make money they don’t need?” Maddie scoffed, “No. We’re much better off having it here where we can monitor it closely.” She pulled a HAZMAT suit from a side room - how the hell had that gotten there? That’s not in the house’s blueprints! - directly across from the door. “Come put this one, sweetie, and we can get started.”

He glared at the rubber suit he’d been handed. It was plain, mostly white, with black accents. Black knee-high boots and elbow gloves accompanied it. Reluctantly, he put it on over his clothes. There was no way he was letting the thing touch more of his skin than was strictly necessary. He sighed quietly to himself and stepped into the finished lab, which was now covered in metal wall panels and linoleum floor tiles. “What did you have in mind?”

Jack pushed some papers to the side, absolutely demolishing Jazz’s hard work at attempting to keep their parents’ space organized, and pointed to a list. “Guns.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Guns?”

“Guns.”

“...Just guns?”

“To start out with,” Maddie explained, “Something long-ranged until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. Then, we’ll move onto bigger, more effective weaponry.”

Another sigh, this time louder and more obvious. “I don’t think this is a good idea. If-” he stressed the two letter word heavily, “-the portal does work, and if something comes through, wouldn’t it be better to show that we’re not hostile? Shoving a gun in something’s face is a great way of saying ‘We’re a threat that you need to defend yourself from!’.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jack shook his head, “The only thing coming out of that portal are ghosts, and ghosts aren’t sentient. Everyone knows that.”

That was a horrible way of thinking that would only ever lead to problems. “What do you mean?”

Maddie smiled at him, her voice and expression doing nothing to hide the fact that she was acting like she was explaining physics to a toddler. “You see, sweetie, ghosts are the leftover imprint of human emotions onto ectoplasm; The final fleeting thoughts in their last moments of life.”

“Shouldn’t that make you want to leave them alone, then? Let them keep a peaceful afterlife?” The Shadows had never been huge believers in the afterlife, but Danny had learned about the various ones after leaving, and he had latched onto that belief with an iron grip. He needed to know that he would be punished for what he did in life. He needed to know that those he cared about would not cease existing after they died. “I can’t imagine they’d be very happy about someone encroaching on their eternity.” Eternity was a long time.

Jack frowned. “You’re not getting it, sweetie,” Maddie said kindly, though he could see the frustration in her eyes at having to elaborate. “Ghosts can’t think or feel for themselves. Whatever their last thought was when they died was their final thought for eternity.”

“But you just said that their final imprint-”

“-is all they know.” Jack said, his tone stern. “Ghosts are in their own little world. They can’t think, they can’t feel, they can’t see anything outside of their final moments. They’re not sentient or sapient.”

“But-!”

“Danny,” Maddie cut him off, “We’re the leading experts in this field. We know what we’re talking about.” She ruffled his hair. “Just trust us, okay?”

Not in a million years. Not anymore. “Okay.”

“Great!” Jack was back to grinning. “Here’s what I was thinking: The Fenton Blaster-”

*

It’s been exactly three days under a month with no response. Does Damian not want to talk to him? Did he do something- say something wrong? Maybe he should send another letter. But what if he comes off as clingy? He wouldn’t want that. But, what if this is Damian’s way of seeing what he’ll do if he suddenly disappears? What if he had disappeared?! What if Grandfather and Mother learned that Danny was back and went after Damian because he knew and didn’t tell them?!

He shook his head harshly. “Don’t be stupid, Danny. If Damian had disappeared, then the news would’ve been all over it within the first week.” He paused. “Even if father has an excuse prepared.” And he would, if he was even half as paranoid as Mother said he was.

One more letter, he decided after much deliberation. One more letter and the ball would be in Damian’s court. It couldn’t hurt too bad to check in. If nothing came, he’d wait for any kind of news or clue before jumping to the worst possible outcome. That wasn’t going to stop him from being prepared, though.

His paranoia was only getting worse by the day. Every day without any sign of Damian was another day of Danny watching over his shoulder for even a twitch that didn’t belong to his own shadow. Every noise that he couldn’t see people make, every double take that anyone did, had him reaching for a weapon. Was paranoia a hereditary trait?

He’d taken to carrying his knives on him again. He’d never left the house without one on him, but now he made sure to carry at least three; one in each sleeve, and one in his boot. He also started wearing clothes similar to what he wore before ‘dying’. He made sure the changes were subtle enough that no one would point them out the next day, but it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed. By then, though, he’d’ve established this as his new style. That meant, however, that he would be stuck with it for a while. He didn’t find himself minding too much. It was comfortable, easy, safe.

“Danny!” Tucker greeted as he sat his tray down on the table in front of him, “Jazz says you’re moping.”

Danny scowled lightly at himself, upset that even Tucker had made him startle. “Jazz doesn’t know anything.”

“Something about your penpal not writing you back?” Sam ignored him and sat diagonally to both boys, completing the triangle around the circle table.

“Since when do you have a penpal?”

“Since when can you actually write?”

“Since when do either of you even know?”

“We just told you,” Sam said before taking a bite of her school-made salad, cringing slightly at the taste.

Tucker was chewing as he said, “Jazz told us yesterday.”

Danny’s nose scrunched up. “Don’t talk and chew.” he scolded.

“Don’t chew with your mouth open!” Sam gagged.

Tucker swallowed what was in his mouth, ignoring both of them. “Why’re you so upset anyway? It’s not like you actually knew this person! You guys exchanged, what, six letters totally?”

Danny nudged a piece of stale pasta around his plate with his fork. “I do know the person I’ve been sending letters to.”

“What?” Tucker asked.

“What!” Sam demanded.

“He’s a…friend from Before.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Even in his confusion, Tucker was still eating. “You remember the time before you were adopted? I thought you had amne-something!”

“It’s ‘amnesia’, Tuck,” Sam corrected, “And what did I just say?”

Danny cut her off before she could scold their friend. “I’m still a foster kid, Tuck. And, yeah, I remember. I never forgot, actually. Everyone assumed amnesia, and I didn’t find it important to correct them.”

“But they could’ve helped you find your family!” Sam pointed her fork at him.

He cringed and stabbed a few pieces of the school-made pasta. “Don’t you think I would’ve gone back if it were safe?” Maybe not the best wording. Smooth, Danny.

It was quiet for a moment. “What do you mean?” Her voice was small. Way too small to be Sam.

Danny didn’t answer her, instead deciding to eat the tasteless food. How could he tell them about Before? Telling Jazz was one thing, because he’d always known that he would tell her, but telling these two was a completely different matter!

He didn’t want them to get hurt. Knowing would make them look for answers where there were none. Not knowing would have the same effect, but at least they wouldn’t know where to look. Besides, the secret is to save their lives.

There was another, quieter, part of him that said he didn’t want to share his brother. That part is a liar that sounds too much like Grandfather for him to actually listen to it.

He finished forcing down what the school called food, put his fork down, and sighed. “Where I was born wasn’t the safest,” he explained quietly, “There were a lot of people on the compound that didn’t get along with each other,” An extreme understatement. “So there was a lot of fighting.” And death, and people going missing, et cetera. “I saw an opportunity to get out of there-” Not really, it was all an accident, but they didn’t need to know that. “-so I left.” Technically, he was kidnapped, but he went willingly. Either way, he left and has no plans to ever return.

“Dude..” Tucker’s voice was quiet, his plate cleared and his fork held in his hand. There was pity in his eyes, a lot of it. Danny hated it, so he looked back down at the table.

Sam’s own fork was slammed down onto the table as gently as she could manage at the moment, which was not at all; The metal utensil bounced. “And you ended up with the Fentons?”

The Drs. Fenton were infamous around Amity Park, just as they were to scientists around the country. ‘Crazy’ was a word that was frequently used with them. ‘Inane’ was another one. Danny would have to disagree with Sam’s evaluation, though. They were neglectful, sure, but they weren’t dangerous. The Shadows were dangerous, Mother was dangerous, Grandfather was dangerous. The Drs. Fenton were not. Not when compared to where he’d been born or who he was raised by. Living with the Fentons was a mercy.

He made to say as much, to tell his friends that Jack and Maddie Fenton were like kicked puppies compared to his Mother, but he was cut off.

Dash Baxter, the biggest guy in elementary school, had a vendetta against Danny for some reason. Along with Dash was his best friend Kwan. Kwan never really did anything other than stand by and watch, so Danny was neutral about him. Dash, on the other hand, was as big an asshole as a sixth grader could be.

“That’s our table, dweeb.” Dash scowled.

Danny heaved a sigh. “It’s literally not. We’ve been sitting here since the third grade.”

“Yeah?” Dash tried to make himself look bigger, “Well I’m tellin’ ya to move it.”

He didn’t have the energy for this. Standing, he picked up his tray, made an exaggerated ‘there ya go!’ motion, and walked away. Tucker and Sam were quick to join him, leaving Dash and Kwan at the corner table.

“What a jerk.” Sam said, dumping her tray.

Tucker nodded, putting his on the counter to be taken and washed. “Yeah.”

“Just leave ‘im, guys,” Danny sighed, “It’s not like he’s got anything better to do. Besides, better me than someone else.”

“Better you?” Sam scoffed, “Better no one. Why doesn’t the school do anything? Have you reported him?”

“And get labeled a tattle?” Tucker squeaked, “Don’t do it, man. That kinda name sticks with ya.”

Danny snorted. They had no idea what being labeled a tattle could do to someone, especially in the real world. “Don’t worry. Besides, I can actually handle myself in a fight if it ever gets to that point. He can’t say anything to me that would actually affect me.” It was true. Grandfather and Mother had been the only ones that were ever able to tear him apart with words alone.

Obviously unhappy with the two boys but not willing to try and change their minds, Sam walked a step ahead of them. “You two are so stupid.”

“Aww,” Tucker fake whined, the smile on his face betraying him, “You looove us!”

“Ew!” she pushed him away from her shoulder, “Cooties!”

Danny laughed with his friends, chasing each other out of the building and across the playground, unintentionally starting the biggest game of The Floor is Lava of the school year.

***

Damian,   Feb. 5, 2012

You haven’t answered my last letter. There have been no League assassins anywhere near me, so I feel it safe to assume there was no interception, nor have you been taken or compromised.

Was it something I said? I’m sorry, if that’s the case. Please, are you at least safe? There’s been nothing in the news, so I don’t think you’ve left Gotham. Are you in danger? Do you need me to come help? It’s been a while, but I can still win any fight you need me to.

ابق بأمان يا أخي

Danny Fenton

***

Danny closed the mailbox and pointed the little red flag up. “There,” he muttered to himself, “Can’t turn back now.”

He heaved a heavy sigh, staring at the white mailbox. If nothing came up in the news, then he’d assume that Damian didn’t want to talk to him, and he’d leave him alone. He wouldn’t go so far as to cut off all contact points yet, but that was still a potential response. If Damian made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with Danny, then he’d isolate himself from him. But only if Damian made it clear.

Standing in front of his house, the world felt both so much bigger and so much smaller than it ever had before. He’d lost his brother before, found a new family, and then reconnected with his brother. He’d been happier than he’d ever been before, and now it felt like everything was falling apart again.

Damian wasn’t answering him, Jack and Maddie had been in the lab more and more now, and Jazz was burying herself in her studies. He didn’t know what to do. Was there anything he could do? He’s just a kid! He’s a civilian child whose entire life is falling apart and he can’t do anything about it because he’s “Powerless!” When had he sat down?

Punching the dirt and grass of his house’s front lawn was doing nothing but hurting his hands. That didn’t matter, though, because he couldn’t feel it. He felt numb and empty and angry and sad all at once. Numb that Damian wasn’t responding, angry that his parents were more involved in their work than with their kids’ lives, sad that Jazz was having to grow up parenting herself and him, and empty because there was nothing he could do about any of it.

After what was probably both way too long and way too short a time, Danny stood and made his way inside. He could hear his parents in the illegal lab, building the guns according to the blueprints he’d made them, probably cutting out all the safety features he insisted there be. Jazz was in her room either reading a parenting book or studying to skip a grade or two.

He flopped into the couch and turned on the TV, absentmindedly flipping through the channels. He felt detached- There! He stopped on a national channel that was covering a story in Gotham, New Jersey. Maybe he’d find some news about father or Damian or one of the others?

“-ites mourn the loss of Gotham’s very own Prince, Bruce Wayne. Earlier today, his eldest son, Richard Grayson-Wayne, announced that Bruce went missing just under a month ago.”

No.

“The family has been and will continue to work with private investigators to find Mr. Wayne, but the local police force is not so optimistic.”

This-this-

“Authorities encourage everyone to reach out if they have any information on the whereabouts and/or wellbeing of Gotham’s White Knight. Richard Grayson-Wayne, now acting as the head of the Wayne Family, has agreed to pay any ransom demanded. As of this time, no such demands have been made.”

Suddenly, Danny was watching from somewhere else. He was detached, not in control of his body. He wasn’t close to father, not in the slightest, but Damian-

Damian.

Oh, gods. No wonder he wasn’t responding! Father’s gone missing and all Danny has been doing was stewing in his own self pity!

The letter. He had to send a different one.

As quick as he could, Danny bolted from his seat and to the front door, ripping it open just in time to see the mail truck turn the corner. The little red flag on the mailbox was pushed back down.

“Fuck.” He had to do something. He had to contact Damian! His brother needs him!

Danny rushed up the stairs and to his room, making a mess as he pulled paper from drawers and scattered pencils across the floor.

“-ther news, according to Mr. Wayne’s will, the actions of which are being taken in case of the worst possible outcome, has appointed Timothy Drake-Wayne as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises.”

***

Damian,   Feb. 6, 2012

I swear that I had no idea father was missing! Do you need help? I can start looking here in Illinois. I can search all of the Midwest if you need me to! What do you want me to do? I can’t do anything unless you tell me what you need. Please.

أخبرني ما الذي تحتاجه Danyal

Translation 1 - Arabic: Keep your blade sharp, brother

Translation 2 - Arabic: Stay safe, brother

Translation 3 - Arabic: Tell me what you need, brother

Part 3 Part 5

[steddieas-shegoes]

Hello my love! ❤️

Another for you, if you’re still taking them, though of course feel free to ignore this for any reason (or even no reason) at all!

I would love to see what you can do with Steddie and James Arthur’s “Car’s Outside”. I feel like this is one Eddie would write for Steve, maybe after an argument..? 👀

I had to look this one up because I’d never heard it before and this is some emotional stuff I wasn’t prepared for but should’ve been when you said maybe after an argument 😭

Touring the country had been his dream for so long that when it became a reality, he forgot what was most important.

It happened to a lot of rockstars.

His reality check came like lightning, fast and sharp.

“I’m just trying to understand, Stevie. You wanted me to do this. You told me to go on the tours and record the albums. You supported me. What changed?”

“You did.”

That was the last thing Steve said to him over a week ago.

All he knew now was that Steve was back in Hawkins staying with Wayne and hadn’t told him much other than he wouldn’t take up too much room for long.

Wayne didn’t tell him anything except that Steve was alive and safe, but didn’t seem to be taking care of himself well.

The first two days, all Eddie felt was anger. He was full of contempt for Steve suddenly changing his mind about Eddie’s life and dreams.

But the third day was when it hit him that Steve left.

He’d avoided everyone after that, only answered the phone in case it was him calling and hanging up if it wasn’t him.

He barely got out of bed, barely ate, didn’t even go into the bedroom converted into a music room to play his guitar.

The next tour was set to start in two weeks and he didn’t think he could go, not like this, not without Steve here waiting for him.

- - - - -

Wayne called the night before he was leaving for the tour, said he needed to come to Hawkins, but wouldn’t say why.

“Are you sick or hurt?”

“No, Ed.”

“…is Steve?”

“Just get here.”

So Eddie did.

He called the guys and told them he would meet them at their first stop in New York in three days, that he had a family emergency and couldn’t travel on the bus with them.

When he got to Hawkins, he felt like turning right around and leaving.

He hadn’t been back in years; Wayne always came to see them for holidays and visits.

Nothing has changed, not even the trailer Wayne insisted on still living in, even when Eddie offered to buy him something nicer.

Steve’s car sat in the driveway next to Wayne’s truck, just like it did before they’d moved to Chicago to try to make Eddie’s dream happen.

Eddie parked next to him, the rental from the airport much cleaner and nicer than anything else around here, but not in a good way.

It clicked suddenly, that Eddie wasn’t the same. That the guy who used to drive a beat up van and live in this trailer and loved Steve so much it felt like a physical ache when he wasn’t around wasn’t here.

He walked up to the door, knocking like this wasn’t his home just five years ago.

Wayne answered, sullen face making his chest tight with worry.

“Where is he?”

“He’s asleep finally. Come on in, son. Have a seat.”

“What happened?”

Wayne sighed.

“He’s been overworking himself and not sleeping or eating, and it finally caught up to him. He’s had a migraine for three days now, longest I’ve seen. Can barely sit up to sip water but begged me not take him to the hospital.”

Eddie’s fists clenched.

“Why wouldn’t he go?”

Wayne blinked at him.

“Son, you’re not an idiot despite the way you’ve been actin��� for a while. Think about it.”

Wayne walked to the kitchen and started packing his lunchbox.

“Where are you going?”

“I got a shift to get to. Steve shouldn’t be alone.”

Eddie stayed on the couch for the next two hours, his brain shifting through thoughts that quickly turned into song lyrics.

He wrote them down, but barely focused on what he was writing. Now wasn’t really a great time to be producing something new.

He heard a groan from his old bedroom and shot up from the couch, making his way to the end of the hall and entering the room without a second thought.

Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed, body hunched and eyes closed, pain a physical presence through every inch of him.

“Stevie,” Eddie choked out.

Steve’s head shot up. He winced in pain, but the tears in his eyes didn’t seem to have much to do with that as Eddie got closer.

“What are you doing here?”

“Wayne called.”

“And?”

“If you need me, I’m gonna be here.”

Steve looked away, his eyes closing as he turned his head.

“That’s not how things have been.”

It hurt, but he was right. It hadn’t been how things have been. Not for a while.

“I know. I…I don’t think sorry is enough for any of it, but I am. I’m sorry. So sorry, Stevie.”

Steve looked at him, the haze of the migraine keeping a lot of emotion off his face.

“Yeah. Okay.”

It wasn’t forgiveness, and forgiveness wasn’t deserved yet, but it was a start. And when Steve let Eddie get him water and medicine, and play with his hair, it felt like a start.

- - - - -

Eddie had to go.

If he didn’t go, he’d miss the first show of the tour.

He’d be in deep shit, and the guys would hate him, and he would never make music again.

His manager called him every four hours at Wayne’s asking when his flight would be and he always said “when things are right with Steve.”

It started to feel like that might not happen.

But something about the way Steve was slowly letting him in, allowing him to care for him more every day, gave him hope that he could get him back, get them back.

Wayne didn’t say much to him, didn’t have to. The way he watched was enough to know how Wayne felt about him, this situation.

But he didn’t go.

Steve’s migraine was gone, but he still needed Eddie, still needed to see that he was the priority.

Eddie needed to show him that he mattered more than his band, because he did. He always had and always would.

He missed the last flight that would’ve gotten him there on time.

He called the guys to let them know, to apologize, to tell them that he had to do what was best for him.

They understood, but told him their manager was livid and probably would try to replace him instead of postpone the tour.

He didn’t care at this point.

He’d gotten his taste of fame and it was bittersweet.

Steve stood in the doorway when Eddie hung up the phone, watching him with his arms crossed as Eddie covered his face in his hands.

“You’re not going?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Eddie dropped his hands and sighed.

“If I have to pick, then I pick you. I’ll always pick you.”

Steve’s brows furrowed.

“You think I want you to pick between me and your career?”

“Yes. That’s why you left, isn’t it?”

Steve shook his head.

“I left because you forgot that I was a choice at all,” Steve’s voice sounded choked. “I left because I didn’t even think you’d care if I did. You didn’t seem to care much about leaving me anymore.”

Eddie’s heart couldn’t possibly break more.

“Sweetheart, of course I care. I’m here because I can’t lose you. If it’s you or the band, then it’s you. Always.”

Steve let out a sob.

“I didn’t want you to choose me instead of your career. I wanted you to recognize that choosing your career didn’t have to mean not choosing me.”

“Oh, my love.”

Eddie pulled Steve against him, holding the back of his head against his chest, other hand running up and down his back slowly.

“You’re always my first choice. I’m sorry I forgot to show you that. I’m sorry you ever had to feel like you weren’t even an option. You’re the most important choice I’ve ever made and I’m going to keep choosing you every day. Even if it means giving up the band. None of that means shit to me if I don’t have you.”

Steve nodded against his chest.

They stayed like that for so long, Wayne came home, nodded and smiled from the doorway of the kitchen.

- - - - -

Steve came with him.

He called his manager the next day, said it was non-negotiable that Steve be with them for this tour.

The band was on his side, of course. They loved Steve and they loved Eddie and the last thing they wanted was to see either of them hurting.

The first time he performed the song he wrote while he was in limbo with Steve, he let the crowd know what was most important in his life.

“Gonna slow it down a bit for this next one. Sometimes this life has some downsides, hard to believe, right? It’s hard to maintain who you are when you’re being pulled in so many directions. But I’m lucky to have someone who keeps me grounded. Leaving them for tour wasn’t an option this time around, and I’m glad they’re here with me. I wrote this a couple weeks ago when we were having a hard time. I wasn’t being the partner they needed, and I wasn’t showing them that they’re the partner I want. I’m not loving you from afar anymore, sweetheart.”

Steve watched from his spot backstage, like he did every night.

He didn’t feel like an option anymore, he felt like the choice.

[villainofmyownstory]

Three copies and some signatures

Simon/Reader/(Johnny)

I don't know I don't have an idea for a title, so I wrote anything. I know some people are waiting for the next part of Day Zero, I'm slowly writing the next chapter but need more time, but don't worry I didn't abandon it! I was motivated to write this thing by anon's shitty ask to @/rememberwren about “too many fics about Ghoap” lmao . So I also wrote something about Ghoap. Because WHY NOT? Aaaaand if you don't know Wren's wonderful work leave everything and go and read it -> HERE <3

I would like to write the next parts, but I can't promise anything.

tags: angst, hurt no comfort

don't know how to tag :< let me know what to add

______________________________________________________________

Of course it had to end this way.

It was more than certain that you would end up in this place eventually. With sweaty hands and a heart that was beating too fast and heavy. Your heart rate increased and your breathing quickened. Drops of sweat appeared every now and then on your heated forehead and you tried again and again to wipe them off. To dry your shiny skin at least for a while. At least look a little presentable.

The crumpled white shirt no longer looked like the one you had ironed for over an hour. Now crumpled and stained, it carelessly hugged your curvy body.

The chair creaked with your every move. Nervously every now and then you change positions as if at least the comfort of sitting would improve your situation.

More minutes pass and the door in front of you is still closed. The paint on them is coming off in some places, revealing the banal light-colored plywood. The entire anturage of this building cries out for renovation.

Despite the well-paid work of the people who work here, the base looks as if its glory years are long behind it and there are no funds to even refresh the walls. It's as if for at least 20 years no one has noticed the cracked walls, the paint falling off or the crooked fine wooden chairs.

Maybe it's just appearances.

You shift in your seat again. The creak of the wooden chair echoes through the empty and cold corridor. Despite the early hour of the day and the sun outside the windows, everything inside seems harsh and unfriendly. To your relief there are not many windows so the prevailing semi-darkness makes you feel marginally more at ease. At least a little anonymity. Maybe the small number of people who passed you walking through the corridor with a quick step won't remember you and when you leave these walls after all, no one will ever shout after you on the street. They won't associate you with this place. With him.

Only when that happens. When this hell will finally come to an end. How long will it be when you are free again? Because every doorbell ringing, every unfamiliar number on screen or finally an unfamiliar customer at work looking at you for too long. It won't all cause that nervousness, that cursed lump in your throat and more gray hairs on your head. Every fucking minute spent in fear.

Someone will finally find out.

Reasons.

Everyone has some. Everyone has a story, some problems, something that makes them look for solutions. The question is whether it was worth it to risk so much. Whether committing a crime was worth it to choose to live here. To continue living in this country.

To be alive.

In the distance you can hear someone's conversation, laughter interspersed with words. Empty corridors carry sounds that ring in your ears, but everything blends into an incomprehensible cacophony of sounds. Into one piece.

You know that resounding, hearty laughter well.

You have heard it many times.

The melody, once heard, is forever imprinted in your memory.

Rhythmically approaching footsteps, voices are getting louder. Two people.

They are close.

The danger makes you feel trapped. Like an injured prey caught in a trap on a hunt.

You nervously look around looking for any way to escape. However, the only way to get out of this place is through this damn corridor, the direction from which you hear the approaching voices.

Panic grips your body and mind, many thoughts appear one second not allowing you to focus and remain rational.

He is about to be right here.

As you involuntarily bite your lower lip and try not to sob, the door finally opens.

A tall and muscular man stands in the doorway, illuminated by the light from the room, like a knight on a white horse with a friendly and affable smile. He greets you and says your name. His name. 

Finally, he invites you inside. This time you managed to escape.

Captain Price. This much you know crossing the threshold of this room. In the morning when two sad gentlemen knocked on your door. You expected to be handcuffed, or something else entirely. Something you were being prepared for.  It could always happen. KIA.

And now, sitting in a more comfortable chair than the ones in the corridor, you look at his Captain. A person you knew a lot about, as well as the entire Task Force 141.

After all, you are a good student. You diligently applied yourself to your lessons. You memorized every word.

Every truth and every prepared lie.

Your made-up life.

The captain leans back in his chair still looking at you, despite the stress of the situation a calmness beats from the man.

You expected accusations, shouting, nervousness and humiliation.

Nothing of the sort happens.

“It's good to finally meet you.”

He says, tilting his head gently to the side and grinning at you.

“When Laswell called me and informed me of the situation. Well. It was quite a shock to me. A positive one. But still... it's quite surprising.”

He doesn't finish the sentence because his words are interrupted by a rhythmic and loud knocking.

Damn.

***

Several hours have passed since those events at the base. Despite the fact that there are a few hours left until nightfall, you decide to spend the night in a nearby hotel and return on the next day, in the early morning.

You didn't even wait for the two gentlemen who brought you here.

You rent a car and return on your own.

You borrowed cash from the captain. The meeting at the base was supposed to be a secret, between you and him. No sign of your presence near the base. You couldn't use your credit card.

Another fucking lie in your life.

Or maybe everything else was untrue and what was happening now was reality. The truth you couldn't quite believe.

It wasn't just the frayed nerves of the situation that made you not want to drive today.

There was something else.

Today is Thursday. A day when when he had the opportunity, he called. He was close by, at a nearby training ground with recruiters. So you can certainly expect weekly contact.

The very thought turns your stomach. It was so ridiculous, infantile.

Unnecessary.

When 9pm strikes, as usual, evenly, punctually the familiar ringtone echoes.

You wait.

One-

Two-

Three.

“Hi”

You sit upright on the edge of the hotel bed, squeezing your thighs tightly together. You straighten your back unnaturally pulling your shoulder blades as close together as possible.

Finally, you hear his low voice.

“Hi love”

Love? Huh, that's something new.

“Hi”

You repeat the greeting in a trembling voice. Does he already know about your unannounced visit to the base. Does he know that his captain has finally found out. What if-

“I miss you, so bad.”

At these words you close your eyes.

There's nothing to worry about. A standard fake conversation between two spouses. In case of eavesdropping, in any doubt. At the risk of someone continuing to check up on you.

“I miss you, too.”

you answer with a learned line. As you do every time.

“I'm counting down the days until I see you again, love”.

You hate it. You hate hearing his words. You shiver. Swallowing the incoming tears.

You're unable to utter another theatrical phrase.

When a lie repeated so many times has become the truth for you. When pretending became a natural behavior. How it happened, that something inside you changed.

So pathetic, weak creature.

For the first time, you can't follow the script.

“ 'r you still there?”

The question hangs in the void. It reaches your ears. Further learned words, however, are blocked inside you.

You open your eyes and your gaze drifts to the floor, to the hotel's dirty carpet. Seconds pass slowly. Each moment makes you feel more and more miserable. You want to throw up.

“I miss you so much, Simon.”

Shit, you're such an idiot.

You quickly hang up, throwing the phone in the sheets and running to the bathroom.

Falling in love wasn't part of the contract.

***

He shouldn't smoke.

He quit exactly when he met you. That September night.

Now, standing behind one of the barracks leaning against a cold wall, he looks up at the same sky. Looking for what you were looking for then.

The sky is dark and cloudy.

“LT?”

He is pulled from his musings by a whisper. Such a familiar voice.

“Where are ya? Come back here, I'll freeze my balls off, if- ”

“I'm comin' , Johnny.”

Crushing the cigarette butt under his military boot, Ghost takes one last look at the sky.

No star. That night he sees none. There's nothing special.

As he enters the room, the small light of the nightstand illuminates the familiar room. When the door slams behind him, in this safe space, he pulls off his mask and walks over to the bed.

Shaking slightly, Johnny sits down on his bed, rubbing his bare shoulders in an effort to warm himself.

“You quit smokin'. ”

A dry statement, Johnny says the words and looks reproachfully at the man standing over him.

Ghost smirks, reaching out his hand to smooth the sergeant's messy hair. Like a tame wild animal. To calm him down. Meticulously styled mohawk was forgotten an hour or two ago.

His hand travels lower to finally stop on the man's jaw and with little force Ghost squeezes his chin, raising it to look him in the eye.

“Behave, Johnny boy.”

“Or what?”

With a cocky grin Johnny asks. He lifts one hand and sticks his fingers in the belt loop of his pants, pulling Ghost closer, so that he's standing between Johnny's legs.

“I don't think you're ready for a second round.”

Finally Ghost pulls away and heads toward the bathroom.

Johnny grunts back.

“I saw her today.”

Ghost stops in mid-step. He stiffens, but doesn't turn toward the man who already regrets his words. There's no going back.

“I want to finally meet her.”

Saying this, he gets up and walks closer. He puts his hand on Ghost's shoulder trying to calm him down. He knows it's too much. Not after what he heard during their weekly conversation.

But a life of lies was destroying him from the inside. He could feel the rot. The stinking evil he felt at every turn. While waking up and falling asleep. It was constantly accompanying him.

No one deserved such cruelty. If he even had to pay for it with his happiness. He would agree without a second thought.

It had gone too far.

“I want to meet your wife, Simon. She needs to know the truth. About all this.”

About us.

______________________________________________________________

English is not my first language, so probably many things are poorly described and the vocabulary is very simple. If you see any mistakes - let me know!

[11queensupreme11]

About the humans, how misoginistic would they be since they are from ancient periods (especially Adam) ? If Percy was raped by one of the gods, what would the humans do (especially Adam) ?

so for this question, it all stems down on not only what they believed back when they were alive, but how willing they were to change their beliefs after their deaths as times went on and stuff became more progressive

adam was the first ever human and since he got booted outta valhalla along with eve, he never got influenced by the gods' misogyny THANK GOD plus he's just too good to ever think of such a thing especially since his own wife was nearly sexually assaulted by that snake bitch. ALSO, since he was the first ever human, the concept of misogyny (at least for humans) didn't exist for him. misogyny only ever became a thing when more and more humans started popping out

unfortunately, all of the human fighters came from a time where misogyny was extremely rampant and in some cases (depending on countries maybe) before women even had voting rights 💀 the youngest is simo hayha (1905-2002) 💀💀💀💀

confucianism was already a thing before qin shi huang's reign, but thankfully he hated it so much that he had confucian scholars buried alive and their books burned LMAO (he was known as a tyrant just like a certain daddy we know) but it definitely wasn't because of how misogynist confucianism was. i'm trying to google some more stuff about him rn, but all i could find rn is that women still had shitty lives under his rule, and he had no wife, just concubines. not much info on how he treated women, but then again, in ror we know he loved and respected his mother figure, chun yan. but just because he treated one woman right doesn't mean he's like that with all women unfortunately, but lets hope chun yan can keep him under control 💀💀

then there's also leonidas. i can't find any excepts of him being particularly cruel towards women or saying anything crass, but he's from ancient fucking greece 💀💀

i don't have time to search up more about the others, but i feel like tesla's probably decent. he was alive between 1856-1943 which was also a very bad time for women, but i found stuff about how he has praised some women for their intelligence (though sometimes it could come off as patronizing but again, 1856-1943). for arsenic blues, i'm planning on writing him off as a very progressive and caring more about intelligence rather than gender. so he definitely won't be sexist.

SO ANYWAY, realistically, more than half of these people were probably sexist to various degrees in real life 💀💀 but i most likely won't write all of them like that in arsenic blues. the more ancient characters would probably be pretty bull-headed in their sexist views, but i'll just have them be more patronizing (especially since percy's not just a girl, but a CHILD in their eyes), rather than full-on spitting vitriol at her for her gender.

(they're basically picking favorites, like ppl in real life would do 💀 "yeah [insert marginalized group] are kinda inferior, but not you though, you're different!" 💀💀💀💀)

also, as for your question, ALL of them would be pissed. yes, even the sexist ones. percy is someone close to them, a child they all care about. so ofc they'd be pissed, and it doesn't help that they already HATE the gods for all the shit they've put humanity through over the millions of years 💀💀

[justagalwhowrites]

Halcyon - Ch. 4: Want to Talk About It?

Joel attends your mother's funeral. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 3, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Death. Mention of suicide. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 4.5K

A/N: Anna is vaguely described. Not mentioned in this chapter BUT Anna is adopted (this will be explicitly in the text later) and has no blood relation to Goldie.

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

November 14, 2010

“You sure we should really be here?” Tommy asked, looking over at Joel. 

“Course we should be here,” Joel replied, glancing at him and drying his sweaty palm on his black jeans. “We knew ‘er, too. Wouldn’t just be here to support… we’d be here anyway is what I’m saying.” 

“Right,” Tommy nodded. “OK.” 

The two of them were quiet, tucked away at the back of the funeral parlor. It wasn’t too packed with people, maybe two or three dozen, who were milling around, lining up to go look at your mom’s body. Joel couldn’t bring himself to do that part of it. He’d looked at his dad as he lay cold and still and now he had a hard time picturing him alive. He didn’t want to do that again. 

“She’s gonna be here, right?” Tommy whispered. “I mean… Rhode Island is far and she hasn’t been back since, right?” 

“It’s her mom” Joel whispered back. “Course she’ll be here.” 

He looked back over his shoulder anyway. He wasn’t nearly as confident as he sounded. 

Joel hoped you’d be here. It made sense that you would be. He hadn’t seen you in years. It had been so long he’d started to forget what you sounded like. It was like one day, just after prom, you decided he wasn’t a part of your life anymore and that was that. A switch he didn’t know existed had flipped and his whole life turned upside down with it. 

He almost hadn’t known your mother died. Your fucking mother, the woman who fed him dinner more times than he could count, who called him Joely, who tugged on the ends of his curls when his hair got long and told him to not be shy, to take what he wanted from her kitchen because her home was his home, too. She’d died and he almost hadn’t even heard about it. He wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for a text from your sister. 

Hey Joel, it’s Anna. She wouldn’t want me to tell you this but I think that’s bullshit. Our mom died a few days ago, the funeral is Sunday. Thought you might want to know. Hope you’re doing OK <;3 

It sent him reeling more than anything else related to you had in so long. How could he not have known? That something so big could happen to you and he was just living his life as though things were normal? That he wasn’t helping you through it? He should be helping you through it. 

But it hurt in other ways, too. It made him realize that, really, he was nothing to you. He wasn’t even your fucking Facebook friend. If something happened to you across the country, if you were in a car accident or you needed your appendix out, no one would tell him. He’d never know about it. You could die and it would be a normal day for him because he was nothing to you and no one would tell him that the most important person in the world was gone. 

Before too long, people started finding their seats and Joel fought to not turn around and watch the doors, looking for you. But he still glanced back when you did come in, trailing behind a small cluster of people that looked vaguely familiar. He realized he probably met them at some family event or another, at a birthday party or BBQ because, for three years, you were only ever apart when you had to be. 

And then there you were. You were wearing a black dress with black tights and black high heels and your eyes were red but your face was firm. There was a man beside you, one whose arm you clutched tight and Joel resisted the urge to glare at him. You didn’t even glance at Joel.

Anna came in behind you. She didn’t bother with the pretense of pretending not to cry, little trails of mascara running down her cheeks. But she smiled tightly at Joel and mouthed “hi” and he gave her a sad smile in return. 

Joel watched as you, Anna and that fucking man settled into the front row, his arm going around your shoulders and tugging you against his side. Joel barely listened to the officiant at first, too busy focusing on you. You kept turning your head to look up at the man next to you and at one point he leaned over and kissed your temple and whispered in your ear. Joel ground his teeth. 

But it was easy to pay attention when you got up to give your eulogy. You pulled your gold notebook out of your bag and carried it up to the podium. Your eyes were still red - he could see that, even from the back of the room - and your shoulders were hunched as you arranged the notebook in front of you. But you took a deep, shaky breath and looked up, back straightening and chin jutting out in defiance, jaw set tight. 

“If I had to find one word to summarize my mother, it would be try,” you said. “She was made up of try, I think. She was always trying to make things better for my sister and I, always trying to build the life she wanted… I guess, in the end, trying just became too much for her…” 

Your voice never wavered. It was stronger than Joel remembered but the tone and cadence were so familiar, so like home. Your eyes were red but you didn’t cry. You just stood there, fingers tight on your notebook that you only ever glanced down at, anyway. 

Joel wanted to get up and hug you. You looked like you needed a hug. More than a hug. You looked like you needed someone to carry you for a while, like you needed someone to take you by the shoulders, look you in the eye and say “It’s OK. I’ll take it from here. Rest.” You needed it so much that Joel started to stand up, instinctively, when you finished your speech and headed back to your seat but the man you came in with met you near the podium, putting his arm around you and kissing the top of your head. Joel sat back down. 

“She did good,” Tommy whispered as Joel stared straight ahead. For the first time, your eyes met his. 

“Yeah,” Joel said, not looking away. “She did.” 

After the service, there was a receiving line and Joel held Tommy back. He wondered if, maybe, he could get you alone that way. But that fucking guy was on you like glue, one of his hands on the small of your back he entire time. He was constantly directing you, constantly nudging you where he wanted you to be, adjusting you to stand how he wanted you to stand. Joel wanted to fucking punch him. 

“Thank you for coming,” Anna smiled a little at him, her blue eyes lacking their usual spark. “I know it’s been a while but… well, Mom just loved you.” 

Joel’s throat got tight. 

“I loved her, too,” he said. “She was a great lady. Really.” 

“Yeah,” Anna said, her voice wet as she looked back toward the casket. “Yeah, she was.” 

Joel glanced at you, your fingers in a tight fist around the man’s shirt, your lips at his ear as he frowned a little. Anna looked back at him and followed his eyes. 

“Don’t get me started,” she said, her voice low. “Mom wasn’t huge on him…” 

Joel shook hands quickly with one of your aunts and then he was in front of you. He glanced over at the man and realized he recognized him. The man had to be twice your age, hair going gray and crows feet around his eyes. His chest got tight. 

“Joel,” you said, one arm crossed over the front of yourself, clutching onto your opposite elbow. “Good of you to come.”

“Course,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to shake your hand or not. What did you do with the person who was once your best friend, the person you lost your virginity to, when you hadn’t spoken in years? “Always loved your mom. She was always nicer to me than I deserved.” 

You huffed at that and the man pressed a little closer to you, his hand firmly planted on your lower back. You stood up straighter before you looked toward Tommy and your face softened a little. “Good to see you Tommy. How’s school going?”

“OK,” he shrugged. “I’m passing. Missed you.” 

You smiled ever so slightly. 

“Missed you, too.” 

“You could come visit, you know,” Tommy said. 

“Tommy,” Joel hissed and he just looked up at him. 

“What! She could.” 

“It’s not a great time for me to be leaving school,” you said. “I’ve got classes all year and writing intensives all summer… I’m not sure when I’ll be back again.” 

“Not even to see Anna?” Joel frowned. 

“Anna can always come visit us,” the man at your back said. “Sorry to cut the reunion short but we should keep things moving…” 

“We’re last in line,” Tommy protested. 

“And the family needs to get to the reception,” the man said. “I’m sure you can share your thoughts there.” 

“Right,” Joel said, looking from the man to you. “Sure we can. C’mon Tommy.” 

“But…” 

“Let’s go,” Joel cut him off. “Don’t want to be rude.” 

Joel looked back over his shoulder to you when he made it to the doors, your head bowed and the man’s large hand at the nape of your neck. 

“Guy’s an asshole,” Tommy muttered as he climbed in Joel’s truck. 

“Yeah, well,” he sighed, grinding his teeth a little. “Goldie always had shit taste in men.” 

Joel felt like he deserved a goddamn medal for sitting there, watching you with that fucking guy, silent at a table with your family, family made up of Anna and people he didn’t know. Because, besides Anna, they weren’t your fucking family. He was. Him and Tommy. 

He kept watching for a moment to try to get you alone, some point where you were away from that man who kept fucking pawing at you and who looked like he was old enough to be your fucking father. He tried not to think about how shitty that was. To corner you at your mother’s funeral and force you to talk to him. But it was hard to really care. 

The time for etiquette was long passed. He missed you. He kept thinking that, eventually, the feeling would fade. That he’d wake up in the morning and think of something besides you. That he’d stop looking for signs of you everywhere and in everything. That, eventually, some day, you wouldn’t be the first person he thought of talking to when he had a shit day or when something good happened to him. He couldn’t keep going like this, going on without the answers he should have fucking marched up to you and demanded years ago. Joel wasn’t the type to think the world owed him things but fuck, didn’t you? Didn’t you owe him something? Didn’t being inseparable things whose roots and branches had become so intertwined that one couldn’t live without the other mean that you had to at least tell him before you cut yourself away? You certainly didn’t seem to think so. He disagreed.

And then you came home with that guy, that fucking guy, the one who couldn’t possibly be good enough for you and you let him touch you and hold you and control you during what Joel knew had to be one of the worst times of your life. Did that guy even know? Did he know that your mom took you prom dress shopping and adjusted the hemline herself at the sewing machine in your living room? Did he know how you carefully removed the screen of your bedroom window to climb out of it so your mom wouldn’t hear you open the front door when you left to lay in the bed of Joel’s truck and star gaze at the park? Did he know how sad and kind your mother’s face was when she told him that you’d left town, moved to Rhode Island months earlier than planned, when he came by your house a few days after prom to demand answers? 

Did you?

Eventually, you stood up and leaned down to whisper in the man’s ear and you left the room. The man watched you go and Joel waited for a moment before he followed you. The door you’d gone through led to a hall with bathrooms and an exit to the parking lot and he took a guess, hovering outside the ladies’ room door. He was right, and you nearly walked into him a minute later. 

“Shit,” you said, sniffling a little. “Sorry…” 

“S’OK,” he said quickly. “Thought I’d check on you. See if you wanted a drink.” 

“A drink?” you raised your eyebrows at him. He had the strangest urge to trace the arch of them with his thumb. 

“Yup,” he pulled his flask ever so slightly from his inside leather jacket pocket before tucking it away again. “Bullshit that the person who probably coordinated this whole thing can’t even fucking drink for it. Thought you could use one.” 

“Jesus, could I ever,” you said, looking around quickly. “C’mon.” 

You took his hand as though everything was normal and pulled him along behind you to the door, shoving it roughly open before stepping out into the cool November air. 

“Oh shit, one sec,” you said, hovering by the door for a moment, holding it open with one hand and balancing on one foot. Joel laughed. 

“What the fuck are you doin’ Goldie?” 

“Making sure we don’t get locked out,” you replied, pulling your heel off and putting your shoe between the door and the frame, closing the heavy metal door delicately to make sure it stayed propped open. You limped awkwardly for a few steps before Joel just shook his head and went to you, looping his arm around your waist and half carrying you to the little partial wall that separated the restaurant from the parking lot. He set you down there and watched as you rolled and turned your ankle for a moment before stretching your foot out to a point. “Never buy heels, Joel. They’re not worth the pain.” 

“Noted,” he smiled a little and pulled the flask out of his coat pocket before sitting beside you. He handed it to you first and you looked at it for a moment, smiling a little. 

“This is familiar,” you said, a hint of fondness in your voice. 

“Yeah but I bought the booze this time,” Joel said. You nodded slowly as you took a sip. You winced a little as it went down and handed it back to him. He looked at it for a moment, his finger tracing the neck of it. The metal shined a little, wet with you and the rum. He brought it to his lips, taking a drink. “So… how’re things?” 

“You mean besides the fact that I’m here instead of working on final projects because my mom decided to slit her wrists in the bathtub?” You asked, brows raised. “Just peachy.” 

“Sorry,” Joel flinched, handing you the flask again. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “That was a stupid question.” 

You shrugged. 

“And how are you?” You asked, pulling your arms in tight to yourself. “I know it’s… it’s been a while…” 

“Well, someone I know changed their damn phone number,” Joel said, shrugging out of his coat and draping it over your shoulders. “But shit’s same as always. Or same as always for the last few years, anyway. Tommy is doing good in school right now. Got a job with some pretty steady work.” 

You frowned, tugging the coat a little tighter to yourself. Joel was reminded of when you’d borrow his letterman years ago, how the sleeves swallowed your fingers because his arms were long enough that they had to special order his size. You’d always looked so fragile there, in his coat. You’d always looked so protected there, too.

“Did you already get your associates?” You took drink and handed the flask back. 

“Nah,” he said, taking it. “Decided not to bother. What’s the point, just flunk out in a semester, maybe two. Figured I’d save myself a lot of grief and money and just cut to the chase, you know?” 

He took a drink.

“That’s bullshit,” you said, gaping at him. “Joel, come on, it’s just two years, you can…” 

“I can what?” He cut you off. “I can fuck around at community college, act like I was ever gonna amount to anything…” 

“Of course you’re going to amount to something,” you interrupted him this time. “You already amount to something and…” 

“I amount to something?” He asked, voice getting heated. “Really? Is that why you took off without a fuckin’ word? Just ditched me here, blocked me on fucking Facebook, changed your fuckin’ number? Because I amount to so damn much…” 

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what!” He was on his feet now and you flinched at his raised voice. “Don’t talk about it? Don’t point out the fucking obvious? Don’t actually hold you accountable for your shitty actions?” 

“My shitty actions?” You gaped at him before you laughed darkly. “Oh wow, that’s fucking rich coming from you…” 

“Yeah, yours!” He yelled. “Because I sure as shit don’t know what the fuck I did…” 

“Bullshit you don’t know what you did,” you snapped. “Come on, Joel, don’t pretend that you’re dumb. Don’t pretend that I’m dumb. We both know…” 

“I don’t know shit! I don’t know a fuckin’ thing when it comes to you, Goldie! I know you left! I know your mom wouldn’t give me your number! I know you apparently never even fucking thought about me…” 

“You don’t know a goddamn thing…” 

“I do know that you showed up here with that fucking guy!” He pressed on. “What the fuck is that? How old is he, hm?” 

“It’s not your fucking business!” 

“Should be someone’s fucking business!” He snapped. “Because he has to be, what, twice your age?” 

“So what if he is? I’m an adult, I can do whatever I want with whoever I want…” 

“An adult,” he laughed but there was no humor in it. “Adult, you can’t even buy your own fucking booze and you’re, what, fucking some 50-year-old man? What is he, your fucking professor, that it?” 

“He’s 40!” You snapped, on your feet, awkwardly off balance with your missing shoe. “And who cares how I met him, he thinks I’m smart! He wants to be around me, he looks out for me, he…” 

“He’s takin’ advantage of you is what he’s fuckin’ doing!” Joel’s chest was heaving. “Been watching him control you all goddamn day! You really think he cares about you? Knows you? You’re just gonna be one of many to him, Goldie, he probably does this with every pretty girl in his damn classes…” 

“Does he propose to them?” Your left hand flew in between you, palm facing you as you held it up. There was a large, solitary oval diamond on your ring finger. Joel felt sick. “I’m not just some girl to him, I’m not just another lay in a long line of lays. He loves me, he respects me and I love him and I don’t need your fucking judgement, Joel.” 

“Doll?” Joel’s head whipped around to see that fucking guy poking his head out of the door you’d propped open with your missing shoe. “Everything OK?” 

“Fine,” you smiled a little and shrugged out of Joel’s coat, handing it back to him. “Just needed some air.” 

“Folks are looking for you,” he said, looking over at Joel for a moment. “Should get back.” 

“Right,” you said, taking a deep breath for a moment before looking back at Joel. “Good to catch up, I guess. You really should think about getting your associates at least. It’d do you good.” 

You didn’t wait for him to respond, limping awkwardly for the door before delicately putting your foot into the black pump as your fucking fiance held onto you. 

Joel gave himself a few minutes to calm down before going back inside and finding Tommy. 

He didn’t stay. 

Instead, he dropped Tommy at his mom’s house and headed to the bar near his apartment that he liked best. He played there sometimes, just him and his voice and his guitar, knowing full well that there’d never be a record label scout in the crowd but it felt good pretending. 

It was still early, the bar pretty dead, and he took a seat off to the side before ordering a Shiner. He sat there, grinding his teeth and trying not to think of you with him. It wasn’t even that he got to be with you all the time instead of Joel. If you didn’t want Joel, fine, he wasn’t going to force himself on you but fuck, couldn’t you see what was right in front of you? That you deserved better than that? 

“Hey.” 

Joel almost jumped at the sound of someone next to him. He turned to find a woman there, about the same age as him. She was beautiful, with dark skin and curly hair and eyes it would be very easy to get lost in if he could get lost in anything right then. 

“Hey,” he replied, looking back toward the bar and taking another sip of his beer. 

“Mind if I sit here?” She asked. 

Joel shrugged. 

“Thanks,” she said, climbing up on the stool next to him. “Don’t really feel like dealing with the attention I get when I sit by myself but I desperately needed a drink…” 

She leaned over the bar and flagged down the bartender before ordering a whiskey on the rocks. 

“That good a day?” Joel asked after a moment. 

“Something like that,” she sighed. Jimmy, the bartender, set her drink in front of her and she took a sip before sighing. “Looks like about the same for you.” 

“Yup,” he said. 

“Want to talk about it?” She asked after a moment. 

“Not really,” he replied. She nodded. “You?” 

“No,” she said. “I’m Ashley, by the way.” 

“Joel.” 

“Good to meet you, Joel,” she smiled a little. 

He sat there with her for a while. He liked her well enough, he supposed. She was nice and lightly funny in a way that didn’t cut him deep. But when she smiled, she smiled like you. Slow and easy at first and then spreading wide like your whole self was cracking open with it. Fuck, he’d always loved making you smile like that. He missed making you smile like that. 

So when he finished his beer and didn’t want to be away from that smile, not yet, he asked if she wanted to come back to his place. 

“Sure,” she smiled like you. “That’d be nice.” 

They skipped the pretense of it, not bothering to feel each other up on the couch or make a pot of coffee that would sit untouched until morning. Instead, they went straight to his bedroom, pawing at each other’s clothes and pulling their bodies free of their confines as quickly as possible. 

Joel kissed her deep and hard and desperate and she pressed her soft, plush body against his and it felt good, getting lost in another person like this. It seemed like the only time in his life that he wasn’t stuck living at least halfway in some other reality where things had turned out different was when he was inside someone else. He sought it out like an addict, always searching for that next high, anything that would put him far away from the low he lived in. But he was careful. Always used a condom, always got at least some feel for the woman he was fucking first so he felt like he could trust her. 

But he was reckless with Ashley. He needed to feel something else too bad to put much thought into any of it. He reached for his nightstand and fumbled in the top drawer, pulling the last condom from the box and making a mental note to buy more when he got paid next. He tore it with his teeth and realized too late that he’d caught more than just the foil pack when he did.

“Fuck,” he panted, already naked on top of her. “Do you have…” 

“No,” she said, all breathless and needy below him. “But it’s OK. I’m on the pill and I’m clean. I’m OK with it if you are.” 

He looked down at her in the darkness, the moonlight casting shadows over her face. But then she smiled at him, slow at first then all at once. Just like you. 

“Really,” she said. “It’s fine.” 

“Fuck it,” he said, lining himself up with her entrance, the soft, wet heat of her pulling him in. 

“That’s the idea,” she smiled and then gasped as he pushed into her, chasing that high with her body below him. 

He fucked into her until she came and then she pushed him on his back, fucking herself down on him and Joel looked up at her and got the sense that she was in this for the same reasons he was. That this had very little to do with him. 

“Gonna come,” he warned, his hands on her waist. “Should pull out…” 

“Don’t,” she panted. “About to come again, fuck, just… just let me…” 

Her hands spread wide on his chest and she rode him harder, faster before pushing him in deep and coming around him, the pulsing of her walls setting off his orgasm, only aware enough to care for half a second before it hit that he shouldn’t be coming inside a total fucking stranger. 

She collapsed on top of him and he held her for a moment, not able to shake the feeling that he’d just made a monumental mistake. It reminded him of the morning after prom, the morning after the last time he came inside someone without protection. How afraid he’d been that he’d ruined things for you, that he’d gotten you pregnant and destroyed your life. But he hadn’t. At least, not that he knew of. He just lost you instead.

Ashley left not long after, just a quick “Thanks, Joel. That was fun.” after he gave her a glass of water. They swapped phone numbers but, in the moment, it seemed like pretense. This was what you did after a one night stand to pretend like it wasn’t a one night stand. It felt better if you could lie to yourself and say that every random fuck was just the start of a relationship that didn’t pan out. He didn’t plan to call her. He didn’t expect to hear from her again. 

He was wrong. 

Next Chapter

A/N: We all know what happened there with Ashley, right?

OK, cool.

Hope you all enjoyed this little glimpse at the last time Joel and Goldie saw each other before they reunited at the same bar where Joel picked up Sarah's mom 12 years earlier! These two, they kill me, I swear.

Thanks so much for reading the menace that is high school best friend!Joel. I'm in love with him, I fear. I hope you are, too.

Love you!

[grumpymirelurkqueen]

König with heart break but repair with your putty :

Pt2 | Pt3

Fem reader, angst, we can understand an age difference (26 - 37), European reader, free form reader, I tried, he may be corrected later, have a good read.

‘If you come back alive from this mission, I promise to start a family with you. My love.’ His wife whispered close to the shell of his ear.

It was the last sentence he heard from his wife that day.

Beautiful in a flowing summer dress on the threshold of their shared home. A simple image that made his heart swell like a balloon. The only thing missing was a child in his wife's arms. He left the warm and welcoming house with that something in mind.

Finally starting a family, she his wife who had always refused to have children. Rejecting with a wave of her hand ‘I'm a businesswoman not a housewife’ ‘I like my power as a strong woman too much for a child’. He was too much of a feminist to think there was anything else. So he gave her time. And she said this to him before leaving on a suicide mission. A surge of energy and determination swept through him.

But this feeling faded like smoke in the wind when he returned home, success in hand. Nothing. Nothing left. The house was empty, no furniture, no decor. No trace of his life with this woman.

At first he thought he'd come to the wrong house, but he was home. He couldn't believe his eyes, his heart was aching in his chest. It couldn't be true, she had promised him. How can you promise such a beautiful thing and then never fulfil it? A solitary tear stuck in the corner of his eye. He tried to step onto the steps of the doorway, a sadness without equal when he realised that she was leaving him. Without saying a word. Deep down he hoped she'd find a better man than him, one who could fulfil the desires he'd never been able to.

Too many memories in this house, memories falsely acquired. So he moved to a block of flats, not far from the barracks and far from the neighbourhood where he has friends. Ashamed, he couldn't look his neighbours in the eye when he handed over the key.

As if she never existed, König becomes the old König again. Prone to anxiety attacks, his fears gnawing at him and his new confidence problem. She had managed to cure him, or at least that's what he thought of her.

He's been living in a modest flat for six months now. Working morning, noon and night. No limits. Just him wanting to forget his ex-wife. Every time he came back from a short mission and lay in his cold bed. His thoughts went to his happy wife. Happy but not with him. He couldn't take it any more, so in the second month he decided to work until the last breath he could give. To keep his thoughts away from her.

It was the middle of November, when temperatures plummeted in Berlin. A young neighbour arrived on his floor. The first time they met, he paid her no mind. She was in the lift with a removal box in her arms and two others at her feet. The cold had turned her ears and nose red, which Köning noted innocently. She was wearing a complete arsenal to combat the cold, and he had deduced that she must be from one of the neighbouring countries. Over the years, König had become accustomed to this coolness, but he couldn't ignore the fact that even in his military uniform and bonnet, there was a constant chill in this faded old building.

Curious about her new neighbour, she hadn't noticed that her eyes had been on him a little too long. Feeling her eyes on him, König turned his head from the ground to see her smile shyly at him before burying her head in her scarf. She was intimidated by his icy blue eyes. He had paid no attention to his own cold, hard demeanour. Something he had never done before. He who had always been gentle and shy had become everything he hated.

Once the lift door opened, announcing their floors, König ran away from the poor young woman. Through this encounter, the woman understood certain things about her new neighbour. Things they both share, in different ways.

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

Alright everyone, buckle up. My Susan post talks about what happens to her after the story unfolds.

But what about the rest of the Pevensies?

Today, Lucy. ________________________________________

Lucy misses Narnia with every breath she takes.

England holds no magic, nothing as exasperating as the call of the fauns, the thrill of battle, the lightness that comes when she drinks too much meade.

Lucy comes back to an England in the middle of a war, is told to put up and shut up. Gone are the country days; Lucy is prepared for a normal life. And she manages. Mostly.

Because despite the quick wit and the inner light, that has only grown stronger, England can make little sense of the girl. A girl much wilder than the rest of them, much more polite.

Lucy takes to boarding school like a fish takes to dry land. No teacher ever sees the girl watching the board, and yet she never misses a word. Other girls do not understand her, this girl that only speaks in riddles and never wears shoes when it isn't mandatory.

Lucy, full of Aslan's words and eager to make something of herself, tries, really tries, to be friends with her schoolmates.

But her maturity goes far beyond being ahead on the school material. Her sense of morals and silver tongue do not allow for the backstabbing, gossiping girls that every boarding school has to cast her out, but she doesn't really belong, neither.

Everyone knows Lucy always listens. Few stay in her company long enough to figure out she also understands. No 13 year old girl should know that much about the war economy. Or about anything, really.

She's wild. Her books are full of drawings, her speech contains figures of speech no one has ever heard.

At school they take self-defense lessons one day -the war could come to England, after all- and Lucy cleaves a wooden block clean in two.

Her partner doesn't even see her move her leg.

Lucy always lifts her finger when drinking tea, has never broken a promise. She sits straight up in her chair, doesn't make a single error when she speaks. She doesn't get into fights with other girls, no matter how hard they try. It is impossible to outmanouver her verbally.

Everyone wonders if her brothers taught her to curse along with the debate training she has obvioulsy had.

Well-behaved isn't the word; Lucy is peculiar.

The only one who gets it, aside from Susan, is her dancing instructor. The man had taught royalty, ages ago. He moves four times the pace with her as he does with the rest of the class. There is an elegance to her, once you get used to the wandering eyes and the bare feet.

Lucy moves like a hurricane on legs. He teaches her tango, ballroom. Soon he has nothing to offer but better instructors. Lucy never misses a step. When dancing, her eyes are blazing. She is a district champion before the age of 14; on course to be a world champion before 18.

The old man does tell stories, however. Of when he was a young man, when he taught the queen. Lucy only feels alive then.

She moves through the years normally. In time, girls come to respect her maturity, learn not to ask who taught her how to ride horses and dance and throw knives. Lucy is always positive, rarely without a smile. She's not diplomatic like her sister. People come to her nonetheless. It feels impossible to remain somber in her presence. Yet she stays ahead of her peers. She isn't mature earlier, but rather just more.

Like she's lived another life.

The boys take notice, too. She has an inner light that shines very brightly, seems to believe in and embody magic. They try to woo her during gala's and dancing competitions, making bets among themselves who can get her to dance. Rarely do they succeed; Lucy sees through them almost instantly. Only when true and without ulterior motive does she accept invitations for dinner, drinks or dancing. And not without reason; a kiss from her is a nightcap unlike anything else.

Lucy's and the Pevensies' personal history becomes somewhat of an urban legend. Everyone has a theory, no one ever knows. One of the girls gets the bright idea to steal Lucy's diary from her room when she is away, but the stories are in a language none of them can read.

The next day, the girl doesn't show up. She's suddely gotten acne so bad she needs to take medication for it. Lucy's diary remains untouched for the rest of her years in the boarding school.

She has strange friends. Old professors, middleaged women, younger acquitances. They are all wild and like her. Among themselves they speak a language no one understands. Everyone thinks it must be an As(l)ian one.

The bond with her sister deteriorates over the years; at the end of her time there they are not close like they were at the beginning. Every girl in her dorm has a crush on one of the Pevensie brothers, however. They visit often, seem taller than they should.

Lucy smiles and dances and flirts and lives. But she is the one that misses magic the most. She sees the looks, feels the distance. She is the sun, but while everyone feels her warmth, none come too close.

When the spectre appears to warn them of problems in Narnia she finally feels like herself again. A queen of old, called on for aid. She jumps at the chance. She finds the rings, gets on the train.

When it crashes, she is thinking of Narnia.

[peter-pantomime]

Captain America Fic Recs, Part 2

Part 1

Steve/Bucky

A Tree Grows In Brooklyn series

"You keep asking me what I want," Bucky manages, eventually. "But on any given day, my number one priority is to get through the day alive and myself, and to do it without killing anyone. Everything else is extra." Each work is standalone.

Embers, Not Ashes

“You okay?” The outline of Steve’s hands, balled into fists inside his pockets, looks too sharp despite the wool barrier. His nice pants. Standing there in his fucking church clothes and all it makes Bucky want is to walk over there and rub him through them until he’s in just as much of a state as Bucky is. The laugh that catapults out of Bucky’s mouth tastes like bile. “Nope.”

The Dud series

When he was eight or nine, Bucky Barnes was the secret sworn enemy of the dud newsie.

Mortal

Steve is ten years old and he’s a mortal sin walking.

The Hundred Year Playlist series

Steve and Bucky, start to finish. "Come on, pal, it's me. Take another hundred years if you want, I'll still be here."

Sharp, Metallic

The day after leaving the hospital, still woozy on the massively high quantities of morphine they gave him, Steve dreams about a metal arm around his throat and warm, salty fingers in his mouth, just the way he likes. The next day, there are plate marks on his throat, fading by the minute, and his breathing skyrockets as he touches them with reverence. Steve gets fished out of the Potomac, and Bucky comes to him.

Accidentally on Purpose

Bucky turns toward him, sliding his hand onto Steve’s hip as he mutters a lazy “G’night” and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. It takes him by surprise, and he barely has time to register Bucky’s half-closed eyes and the warmth of whiskey-ripe breath on his lips, before it’s over. After Bucky drunkenly kisses Steve by accident, it just seems to keep on happening, until it's not so much by accident anymore.

Exactly Like We Were

“You can make a fight out of anything,” Bucky says, and affects a laugh, badly. “You can make a metaphor a fight. What the hell do anesthetics have to do with anything?” Steve almost blurts out, Art is an anesthetic! But at the last second, he gets a hold of himself.

despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained)

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips. Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions— “Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.” Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen

Bucky Barnes and the Great Sexuality Crisis of 1938.

Will There be Any Freight Trains in Heaven?

It's summer of 1934, a quarter of all Americans are unemployed, and record numbers of migrant workers are hopping freight trains to seek their fortune out west. What are two boys from Brooklyn to do? or, Steve and Bucky ride the rails, become socialists, and fall in love, in no particular order.

how cold steel is (and keen with hunger)

There is a man who lives inside the Soldier’s head. The Soldier does not know much about the man. The man is an American, and he fought in one of the few twentieth-century wars the Soldier had not—if only because he did not exist yet. At some point, a war pitted their home countries against each other, but that did not put much of a damper on things. They are good friends. Here is how the Winter Soldier dies: the resurrection of James Barnes. An account of Bucky's time in Bucharest.

A red fish that fits just right in the hand

Steve asked, "Is it James now?" and he said, "No, Bucky." But no one else calls him that.

Howling Commandos series

Jacques' grand-père had kept a lock of his wife's hair, after she had died. He had worn it around his bony, age-spotted wrist, the way he had worn her smile in the reflection of his eyes.

dead hearts and midnight cowards

"Do you want to get out of here?" he adds then, all in a rush; and Bucky's not sure he meant to say it but he knows what his pulse is doing and he knows what his dick is doing besides, and he knows that Steve is looking like that and that he's looking at him like that, too. Bucky swallows to think about pressing his mouth to him, any part of him, every part of him, if they can only find some space.

Everybody is Supposed to be Dead

“…there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds.” In 1944, Bucky Barnes falls off a train into the Alps, missing and presumed dead. Months later, Steve Rogers nosedives a plane into the arctic. In 2010, the Winter Soldier project is uncovered by S.H.E.I.L.D., and Bucky Barnes is found alive. Three years later, Steve Rogers’ frozen body is found in the ocean.

Impossible Measurements

"Steve, I love you."

In the Sight of Green Carnations

"What happened between you and Jimmy?" He caught the flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Bucky had jumped upright, was twisted round in the bed to look at him. He looked pale. "What?" In which Bucky has a terrible day, and Steve manages to accidentally say exactly the right thing. Despite not knowing what the fuck is going on.

All The Angels and The Saints

In which Steve Rogers loses God and finds God and loses God, and also: Bucky.

Not Easily Conquered series

In 1945, Steve Rogers jumps from a nosediving plane and swims through miles of Arctic Ocean to a frozen shore. In 1947, Steve Rogers marries Peggy Carter. In 1966, the New York Times finds the lost letters of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

Practice Makes Perfect

And it’s just. It’s too much. Weeks of pain and months of missing Steve and his mouth and the stupid shit that comes out of it; years of molding himself to his back at night and pretending there’s nothing else to it apart from sharing warmth; a decade of his stomach twisting with the foolish desire to make Steve laugh. It's August and sweltering when Steve asks, out of nowhere, if Bucky wants to try kissing. Just to see what it's like. Bucky then spends far, far too many years pretending it didn't mean anything at all.

cascades.

“Holy shit,” Howard says, crackling through the speakers. “You alive in there?” Lying is a sin, of course, but Steve’s not sure what else he can do. He’s already lied to the government and Bucky and God Almighty; and himself, himself most of all. He ought to tell the truth. That he’s not quite what they hoped for. That perhaps they should put him back into the ocean. “Probably,” he says, instead, listening to Howard’s tinny laughter; and waits for the blast doors to unlock.

not just the carcass, but the spark

Time stopped mattering to him long ago, except in units of distance: how many days' walk they had to go, how many days until their next orders. The air smells nice; it's even warm enough that one of the windows has been propped open on the cabin. Bucky remembers cracking open the window to the fire escape in those early days of April and smelling the Brooklyn morning with something like hope.

Remscéla

“It’s going to rain,” says Steve. Bucky squints out the window. He sways slightly as the train jolts on its tracks, but doesn’t reach for the handhold. Through the trusses, the sky outside is gray, reflecting oily and leaden on the East River. The air feels heavy, warm for late October. “It’s not going to rain.” Steve snorts. He can’t help smiling. “It is. You know it is. Not everything in the world just arranges itself according to the will of Bucky Barnes.”

Ill With Want

Bucky pretends to be asleep when Steve crawls into bed, too tired to feel guilty over the quivery pleasure that settles in his belly when Steve’s arm brushes his. Steve falls asleep in about five minutes flat, unconsciously wedging his icy toes against Bucky’s leg. Bucky doesn’t move him. He drifts to sleep in a comfortable haze and tries not to wonder where this feeling was two hours ago when he had Marie in his lap.

tezeta (nostalgia)

Steve Rogers is a terrible tourist, and a lousy house guest. Bucky Barnes waters his plants and tries his best. Set in that sweet spot between Black Panther and Infinity War, in a little valley in Wakanda

Painted in Indigo

“You should be careful of that one,” Mr. Hendrickson says, with a nod to Bucky outside the window. “It ain’t right. Looking at you all the time as he does. The way he should be looking at girls.” Steve laughs, because damn, but what a ridiculous idea. Or, five times Steve caught Bucky looking at him, and the one time he looked first.

Shangri-La

Steve gets money, still won't move in with Bucky, and somehow totally misses that Queer Brooklyn is an option.

three white horses

Steve, it's not your fault, Sam had tried to say, before Steve cut him off, and Steve doesn't think that's untrue so much as it's irrelevant; fault's got nothing to do with it. It's just—wrong. It's wrong. Steve couldn't wrap his head around it the first time, how wrong it was. Steve should have gone first. Was supposed to. Bucky could have carried on without Steve, he knows, but Steve without Bucky is a zero sum. There should never be a world that Steve is in and Bucky isn't.

The Interrogation

There's a story and it goes like this.

Through Cities And Churches

A tale of many cities and churches and two boys. Happy 100th Birthday, Bucky Barnes: March 10, 2017.

the long slide from kingdom to kingdom

They want you to love the whole damn world but you won't, you want it all narrowed down to one fleshy man in the bath, who knows what to do with his body, with his hands. -Richard Siken, Driving, Not Washing.

The Problem Solver

This wasn't what Steve wanted from him.

winter wheat, sunflower peat

In the dead of the night, a man pulls over for a hitchhiker.

Welcome Home, Son series

Her face is warm but neutral—she is a kind person, he thinks, but also a professional. She would not think twice about killing him if he tried to strike. “My name is Ayo,” she says. He hesitates when he realizes she is waiting for him to respond. He doesn’t deserve the name Bucky anymore. He still answers to Soldat—the way a beaten dog answers to a jerked chain, but it sure as hell can get his attention in a hurry. But that’s no name for a person, and he is determined to become one. (In Wakanda, two wounded soldiers begin to heal.)

[starlightshadowsworld]

I don't think we talk enough about how traumatising the memory erased stuff is.

Like how hard must it have been for everyone to suddenly realise years of their lives were missing.

To just come to the chilling realisation someone up until an hour ago was your friend.

Has caused the apocalypse.

You think your a first year high school student but nope.

Turns out you've already graduated.

Do they even know how old they are?

You don't know what's changed in your life, what hasn't.

Byakuya's whole family company is gone.

Makoto won't know if Komaru is alive for a long time.

... Are they the only ones left?

Food's suddenly an issue.

They have nowhere else to go.

Makoto has to carry on like his friends didn't just try and kill him.

Everyone else is gone.

They won but... Did they?

And that's just the first game, the Remnants are on a whole other level.

They've caused genocide.

Killed family, friends.

And don't know who or if anyone's left.

Hajime basically lost himself and his own identity for who knows how many years and he's just supposed to just... Exist like nothing happened.

It's like waking up from a nightmare and realising it was all true.

And they don't know what their forgetting or even if they want to remember.

All of them are alive but... Is that good?

They all know who killed them, and have to go on like they didn't.

And their alive...

Nagito's back in a body that's still sick.

Does Nekomaru have a body?

Hell, Sonia's country doesn't exist anymore.

And if I'm remembering correctly, Chiaki's still gone...

... Fucking glad Makoto was here at the end to do damage control because holyshit.

He's already gone through all of this and now is helping them get through it.

Which is great but also means he went through it alone.

Komaru has all her memories in tact but has to constantly choose her words.

Lest she sends Makoto or anyone of the other survivors into a crisis.

And than you have what may be the worse case, V3.

Because Shuichi doesn't even know if anythings real anymore.

Is he real?

Is his name Shuichi Saihara?

How many times has he died?

Is this the real world? What even is the real world?

Am I even a detective? Is all of my personality fake? Who am I? What was made for the show and what's real?

Does it even matter?

Do I have a family? How old am I? How long is 53 seasons? Are my friends still my friends, are they the same?

Is any of this real? Am I real?

If V3 ends like Danganronpa 2 did, is Kaede alive?

Do they remember each other? Is Kaito still sick?

Was Tsumugi ever a friend?

And again, knowing exactly who killed who.

..... You know people give Junko a lot of credit for causing despair.

As she deserves.

But her boyfriend deserves just as much because... Holyshit my dude this is sick.

Her boyfriend was, Yasuke Matsuda the Ultimate Neurologist.

Aka the dude responsibile for all the memory wipes.

Shame she killed him because talk about a power couple.

Causing the end of the world and lasting trauma to everyone involved.

Makoto gonna have to go give everuone therapy while also desperately needing therapy.

[frostbitebakery]

Anything from Who Ordered The Resurrection Special please?

DO I! :D

“The war is over. What now?”

Ryloth’s mountains rise on the horizon with the setting sun.

Obi-Wan rubs at the corner of his eye, leans back on his other hand. The grass is tickling against his skin. Kashyyk’s vegetation has always been so soft and lush; it’s a balm that almost, almost makes him smile. “I’m afraid we’re not out of tasks to do yet, my friend.” Perhaps his tone is too sarcastic, too downtrodden. But the exhaustion is clamoring up his every nerve and muscle and strand of thought.

“You’re right,” his Commander agrees softly, small chuckle rounding the vowels, echoes of it flowing back from the cliffs. Geonosis is not a good resting place. “Even death can’t keep you away from work.”

It sounds too serious for a joke. “What do you mean?” he asks and turns his head towards—

Goda shakes him by the singed shawl, breath burning and fire. “The one who should have been didn’t care and now everyone is paying the price.” The hole in his gut sizzles, melts, and Obi-Wan frantically pulls at the bandages. “Stop them before—“

“Goda, please, hold on, yes?” They’re alone but they shouldn’t be. It had been carnage the last time. Goda pushing Obi-Wan into a fighter with his last breath, voice cold and droid-like when it wasn’t drenched in despair.

Goda’s glove smells like death as it brushes against Obi-Wan’s cheek. “We weren’t ever meant to be, were we?”

“Who—? Commander—“

“Your men.”

Obi-Wan wakes up.

Day 2

Wolffe hauls the backpack higher up on his shoulder, pulls the cap deeper into his face. “Sinker owes me. I’ll rig up the IV once I’m back.”

“I’m sure Nurse Rosa appreciates the nickname.”

Wolffe holds up his hands. “She’s the one who came up with it.” He slaps Cody’s shoulder before turning to the front door. “I’ll get something to eat, too,” he says, stepping through the door and into the faint morning light.

Cody leans against the door, closing it with his weight, and lets himself sigh deep and even.

Their plan is to put an IV into the zombie for electrolytes until his organs can handle digestion. Wolffe gets some supplies from the hospital since going there is still out of the question even though the zombie has drastically healed since the first moment he appeared. It’s not leathery skin stretched over bones and gnarled limbs anymore. He had almost looked fresh faced when Cody had helped him into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. Very fresh faced. It’s easy now to imagine what he’ll look like once he’s fully alive again.

Cody’s cheeks turn warm and that’s enough of that.

Maybe Cody’s family is in a unique position when it comes to… the stranger side of life, and as a firefighter he’s certainly seen enough shit one can’t explain that easily. But he’d rather not make tinfoil hats in a padded room while the zombie is whisked off to be sliced and diced.

“Hel…lo…”

Perfect timing. Cody looks up to his unalive guest standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom, looking lost in Cody’s borrowed clothes. “Oh, hey, you’re up!”

“…there.”

Cody blinks. “Where what?”

.

Cody has to think about that one for a minute. Which might give Obi-Wan the wrong impression about his family and Cody’s relationship to them but he’s not exactly thinking about them day and night anymore. Not now that they’re all adults with their own lives.

“My siblings mean everything to me,” Cody lands on, tipping a finger against the red MFD mug. “They didn’t have it easy growing up but they worked hard and,” he huffs out a laugh. He isn’t cynical usually but working hard to achieve dreams and success hasn’t been cutting it since before he was born. “Our father had some helpful connections so they could at least get a foot in the door.”

Cody refuses to publicly acknowledge the reality behind those connections for his siblings’ sake. He dug deep to uncover the truth behind Bly suddenly getting the scholarship of a lifetime, the top notch medical school of the country personally inviting Wolffe into their program.

Fox had fucked off to the Navy following his dream of reenacting the beach football scene in Top Gun. So it was up to Cody to ensure their father’s shady business wouldn’t bite them in the ass in the long run. Ponds had already paid the highest price for that. Boba—

“Boba is the oldest,” Cody starts, smile tugging at his mouth despite everything. He’s currently in jail for murdering my second oldest brother, Cody chooses not to say.

Obi-Wan tilts his head in interest but Cody moves right along.

“You met Wolffe,” he continues, grinning at Obi-Wan’s sigh. “Yeah, he has that effect on people.”

:

“I’m not here to hold people’s hands, Dr Koone,” Wolffe says reasonably.

The medical superintendent looks down at his hand being held by Wolffe and raises a bushy eyebrow around the breathing mask contraption covering most of his face.

“This means nothing.” Wolffe about had a heart attack when he got the news of the gas leak explosion rendering his mentor comatose. “It’s not my fault you like to live in a medical drama.”

Dr Koone pats his hand.

Wolffe sighs. “I’ll have Boost fluff your pillows. He’ll sneak in your ER novels.”

:

“I actually am not sure what Bly does,” Cody says slowly. “She got a bunch of doctorates hanging in her garage and her favorite hobby is making slime.”

:

Bly punches the end call button on the touchscreen with a growl. “No one lets me do anything around here!”

Cody blows on the spoonful of sauce before taking a careful sip. “They’re not going to fund you your own CERN, Bly.” A bit more oregano should do the trick.

“The things I could do with it!”

The alarm is about to go off and Cody stops it before the first beep. “Drain the spaghetti, please.”

Bly takes the huge pot over to the sink, hitting the cold water. “They act like I’m one inevitable lab accident away from becoming Doofenschmirtz.”

“They aren’t wrong.”

Bly whirls around, hands over her heart. “That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me, Codes.”

“I love you no matter what doesn’t count at all, does it?”

His sister scoffs out a laugh and waves him away. “I already knew that, idiot.”

Cody shakes his head and announces to the station that lunch is ready.

:

“After Fox’s stint in the Navy and fulfilling that dream, he went on to the next one,” Cody explains and pauses.

:

“Please give a warm welcome to our special guest tonight,” the club host says into the mic. “His unapologetic attitude towards life and its wonders has firmly established his name in the poetry community worldwide.”

Cody is about to clap when he notices everyone around him snapping their fingers.

“I swear, all your lives are made purely out of 90s tropes,” he murmurs to Bly.

“You would know, old man.”

Fox slinks onto the stage in a tight fitting black turtleneck and board shorts, and grabs the mic. “Pain.” He stomps onto the floor once. “Spite.”

The crowd goes wild.