#now i habe this image in my head.\

[undertheniall]

I hate him 😪

[strictpunishedhubby]

Tausend Gedanken gehen mir durch den Kopf, während ich in der Ecke stehen muss, um auf meine Tracht Prügel zu warten. In ruhigem aber bestimmenden Ton, der keinen Widerspruch duldet, befahl mir meine Frau, mir meine Hose herunterzuziehen, mich mit dem Gesicht zur Wand zu stellen, stramme Haltung einzunehmen, gleichzeitig legte sie mir Sprechverbot auf. Ich weiß nie, wie lange ich dort stehen muss, bevor sie mir befiehlt, aus der Ecke herauszukommen. Aus Erfahrung weiß ich, wie sie weiter vorgehen wird, während sie mit mahnenden, drohenden Worten mich auffordert ruhigen zu stehen zu bleiben und nicht zu zappeln. Sie wird meinen Schlüpfer, der bis jetzt noch als letzter Schutz meiner Erziehungsfläche dient, bis zum Knie herunterziehen. Ich sehe das Bild direkt vor meinen Augen, wie sie gleich meine Züchtigung vorbereitet wird. Ich weiß ich werde wie ein kleiner Junge schluchzen, während ich diese beschämende Situation ergeben hinnehmen muss. Aus Angst was mich erwartet verstärkt sich mein flaues Gefühl in meiner Magengegend. Immer wieder muss ich schlucken, mein Mund wird trocken. Meine Augen werden feucht, mein schlechtes Gewissen und meine Reue wegen meinem Ungehorsam gegenüber meiner Frau verstärkt sich. Ich fühle mich schäbig, so wie ein kleiner ungezogener Junge, der seiner Mama nicht gehorcht hat. Ich will ihr meine Reue zeigen, ihr Versprechen zukünftig artig und gehorsam zu sein. Ich darf es nicht, denn ich habe ja Sprechverbot, nur auf ihre Fragen darf ich antworten. Aber sie stellt mir keine Fragen, was zu meiner zusätzlichen Beunruhigung auf eine längere Sitzung hindeutet. Ich spüre wie sie hinter mir wortlos seit eine viertel Stunde in ihrem Sessel sitzt. Von Zeit zu Zeit lässt sie den für meinen Po bestimmten Rohrstock durch die Luft sausen., was mich jedes Mal zusammenzucken lässt. Ich spüre ihre Autorität und ihre Macht, die sie über mich ausübt, weswegen ein ernsthaftes Aufbegehren von mir im Keim erstickt wird. Ja sie erzieht mich so, als wäre ich nicht ihr Ehemann, sondern ihr frecher, ungehorsamer Sohn, der nur durch Züchtigungen zu bändigen ist. Sie erwartet nicht nur, sondern fordert absoluten Gehorsam von mir. Sogar widersetzende Gedanken gegen ihre Bestrafungen lasse ich durch ihr konsequentes, bestimmendes Auftreten bei mir nicht aufkommen. Ich bemühe mich ständig darin, ihre Anweisungen penibel einzuhalten. Sie hat mich mittlerweile dazu gebracht, ich sehe ein und halte es für selbstverständlich so erzogen und bestraft zu werden. Sie ist schließlich für mich meine Respekt- und Beziehungsperson, die mich lenkt und führt und erzieht. Als muss ich mich meiner Frau auch unterwerfen und jederzeit Gehorsamkeit zeigen.

Als ich von ihr in scharfem Ton auffordert wurde und den von mir die ganze Zeit erwarten gefürchteten Satz hörte," Stell Dich sofort vor dem Hocker!", folgte ich ihr unwillkürlich und reflexartig wegen der heruntergezogenen Hose mit schnellen Trippelschritten. Während ging mir der besorgte Gedanke durch den Kopf, " jetzt ist es soweit, jetzt bekomme ich wieder von einem der extra für meine Disziplinierung angeschafften Rohrstöcke auf meinen nackten Po zu spüren.

.

A thousand thoughts are running through my head as I had to stand in the corner waiting for my beating. In a calm but firm tone that tolerates no contradiction, my wife ordered me to pull down my trousers, stand facing the wall, take a straight stance, and at the same time forbade me to speak. I never know how long I have to stand there before she orders me to come out of the corner and stand in front of the punishment stool. I know from experience how she will proceed. While she admonishes me with threatening words to stand still and not to fidget. She will pull my panties, which until now have served as the last protection for my punishment area, down to my knees. I see the image right before my eyes of how I am about to be prepared for my punishment as I know I will sob like a little boy as I resign myself to this shameful situation. Fear of what awaits me makes the queasy feeling in my stomach grow stronger. My eyes become moist, my guilty conscience and remorse for my disobedience towards my wife increases. I feel shabby, like a naughty little boy who disobeyed his mommy. I want to show her my remorse and her promise to be well behaved and obedient in the future. I'm not allowed to do that because I'm not allowed to speak; I'm only allowed to answer her questions. But she doesn't ask me any questions, which, to my added concern, suggests a longer session. I can feel her sitting in her chair behind me for a quarter of an hour without saying a word. From time to time she lets the cane intended for my bottom fly through the air, which makes me flinch every time. I feel her authority and the power she exerts over me, which is why any serious rebellion on my part is nipped in the bud. Yes, she raises me as if I were not her husband, but her cheeky, disobedient son who can only be tamed by punishment. She not only expects, but demands absolute obedience from me. Her consistent, determined demeanor prevents me from even having thoughts of resistance to her punishments. I constantly try to follow her instructions meticulously. She has now made me realize and take it for granted that I should be educated and punished in this way. After all, she is my respect and relationship person, who guides and leads me and educates me.

When she called me to her in a sharp tone and said the sentence I had been dreading and expecting the whole time, "Stand in front of the stool immediately!", I followed her involuntarily and reflexively because of her pulled-down trousers with quick, mincing steps.

Meanwhile, the worried thought went through my head, "Now the time has come, now I'm going to feel my bare bottom hit again by one of the canes that were bought especially for my discipline.

Ohne ein Wort zog sie meinen rosa Schlüpfer herunter, ein Zeichen mit ausgestrecktem Finger genügten, ich legte mich zitternd über den Hocker. War es die lange Zeit in der Ecke, war es mein schlechtes Gewissen, zumindest jetzt war ich besonders wehleidig und weinerlich, sogar mimosenhaft, denn mit jedem Schlag zappelte ich heftig mit meinen Beinen, schrie jämmerlich, bat trotz Sprechverbotes um Milde, und dann was noch ungezogener war, ich sprang vom Hocker, hielt beide Hände schützend vor meinen nackten Po. Ich kniete vor ihr, umarmte ihre Beine, total verheult blickt ich von unten herauf in ein strenges und verärgertes Gesicht. Sofort stieß sie meinen Arm weg, packte mich am Ohr, zog mich wieder in die Ecke. " Dein erbärmliches, inakzeptables Verhalten wird gleich für Dich Folgen haben! Du glaubst wohl selber nicht, deine Bestrafung wäre durch Dein jämmerliches Benehmen beendet! Du bleibst hier solange stehen, bis ich mit dem Teppichklopfer zurückkomme! Die Schläge damit bekommst Du zusätzlich zu Deiner weiteren Rohrstockstrafe wegen Disziplinlosigkeit! Also zuerst mit dem Teppichklopfer, danach geht es weiter mit dem Rohrstock, solange wie Du es verdient hast! Deine Haue eben war erst der Anfang und ist noch lange, lange nicht beendet! Ich werde Dir schon noch beibringen, Deine Bestrafungen gefügig ohne Widerstand hinzunehmen!"

Warum nur habe ich mich nicht beherrscht, bin unerlaubterweise aufgesprungen, obwohl ich hätte wissen müssen, ich werde noch härter bestraft. Meine Reue kommt spät, ich werde, vielmehr mein Po wird gleich die Folgen daraus noch drastischer zu spüren bekommen. Mir ist noch elender zumute! Aber ich habe mir geschworen, egal wie hart sie mich züchtigen wird, ich werde gleich artig liegenleiben, solange bis meine Frau mir erlaubt aufzustehen. Folgsam werde ich darauf warten, bis sie mir erlaubt mit meinem dann wesentlich stärkeren misshandelten Po diese Bestrafungsposition winselnd zu verlassen um, sowie ich aus Erfahrung weiß, wieder für lange Zeit hier stehen, um zu der Einsicht zu gelangen und zu spüren, Aufsässigkeit, Ungehorsamkeit, Widerworte, schlechtes Verhalten haben jeweils Konsequenzen für mich und meinen Po. Gleich werde ich es wissen, nein schmerzlich werde ich es zu spüren bekommen, was es für mich heißt, die Bestrafung durch mein unkontrolliertes Aufspringen zu unterbrechen. Es wird mir eine Lehre sein!

.

Without a word, she pulled down my pink panties; a gesture with her outstretched finger was enough and I lay down, trembling, over the stool. Was it the long time in the corner, was it my guilty conscience, at least now I was particularly snivelling and whiny even oversensitive, because with every blow I violently thrashed my legs, screamed pitifully, begged for leniency despite being forbidden to speak, and then, what was even naughtier, I jumped off the stool, holding both hands protectively on my bare bottom. I knelt in front of her, hugged her legs, and, completely tearful, looked up into a stern and angry face. Immediately she pushed my arms away, grabbed my ear and pulled me back into the corner. "Your pathetic, unacceptable behavior will soon have consequences for you! You don't even think that your punishment is over because of your pathetic behavior! You will stay here until I come back with the carpet beater! You will receive these blows in addition to your other caning punishment for indiscipline! Also first with the carpet beater, then with the cane, for as long as I think you deserve it! Your beating was just the beginning and is far from over! I will teach you to accept your punishments submissively and without resistance!"

Why didn't I control myself and jump up without permission, even though I should have known that I would be punished even more severely. My regret comes late, I, or rather my bottom, will soon feel the consequences even more drastically. I feel even more miserable! But I have sworn to myself that no matter how hard she punishes me, I will lie goody-goody until my wife allows me to get up. I will obediently wait until she allows me to leave out of this punishment position with my then much stronger abused bottom, and then, as I know from experience, I will stand here again for a long time to come to the realization and feel that rebelliousness, disobedience, backtalk, bad behavior each have consequences for me and my bottom. I'll soon know, no, I'll painfully feel what it means for me to interrupt the punishment by jumping up uncontrollably. It will be a lesson for me!

[struggling-author]

Aang: "I'm all about peace and balance."

Azula: "And I'm all about chaos and fabulousness. We balance each other out, sweetie."

This joke was written by AI. I‘m testing out ChatGPT (and possibly turning it into an Azulaang shipper) and here’s my thoughts so far

read under the cut

I‘ll start with the elephant in the room - do I think it can/will replace actual writers?

the simple answer is no.

ChatGPT (and other AI I‘ve tested) is okay at writing basic storylines that sound pretty decent at first glance but it lacks any understanding of nuance or symbolism. It also has a bad case of „tell don’t show“ and loves narrating. Overall it would probably do much better at writing backstories than actual scenes for any type of media.

to put a slight addendum to my answer, I think given the nature of capitalism people will certainly try to replace writers, and are already trying afaik, I just don’t think it will be very successful in the long run. this mostly comes back to my previous point, which I‘ll try to demonstrate with an example. chatgpt can write a story where the protagonist loses his mind, but it does not actually understand the process of losing your mind, it cannot write coherent reasons for why he does or what kind of actions he committs to support and manifest this process. certainly it cannot give you a meaningful symbolism for his turn to madness.

where a real author may write something like „the prince sits alone in his tower, staring at his hands. his sword lays discarded at the side, but his fingers still drip with blood. as he looks up at the mirror to sees his reflection smirking back at him. ’see, I told you this was your destiny, it always has been‘. the prince shakes his head frantically and covers his eyes with his hands, unable to bear the thought of what he’d done. in desperation, he lashes out smashing the mirror to bits - though as he opens his eyes again, the shards of his shattered mirror still show that same smiling face, with bloody handprints over his eyes now completing the look. despite his better judgment, he finds himself chuckling at the irony.“ (that wasn’t even good but you get the point)

the AI instead will write something like „the prince sits in his tower tormented by his inner demons, he is afraid of what he has become. as the demons creep up on him, he loses himself in his madness and becomes the very thing he feared.“

I am underselling the prose here, because AI is actually decent at that part and I am honestly not, but in terms of nuance this is pretty close to what you actually get. the reason this happens is because ai doesn’t actually think or research „how does a person turn insane“ and then think how to best represent that in writing. instead it just guesses the most likely array of words for how someone might write that process, based on the stories it has already read. if you want to insert any sort of nuance into this, you will habe to tell the ai specifically how to do it, thus you must have thought of it yourself already.

what this means is that in any type of creative process, the fundamental ideas all still have to come from the actual author. so do I think chatgpt and other AI will change the writing process? absolutely! but I think it will do so more as a tool for writers than as a replacement.

it can help with prose and formulations, especially for writing in non-native languages, can help with outlines and structure, (something that judging by this rambling mess I could definitely use) and it could maybe get you started with some basic ideas, but everything that makes writing great and everything that makes writing matter, the creative thought process behind it, all of that still has to come from a human author and I think current AI would inbreed itself to death before it could ever learn to replicate that (ai inbreeding as I call it is already happening with image generation, because the internet is now flooded with ai-art some bots are copying themselves and creating worse and worse results)

little side note at the end, what it has also been pretty good at is writing jokes, so I‘ll be posting those as well as probably some of my other „research results“ here in the next couple days

also if it wasn’t clear, I am still in full support of the writers strike going on, just wanted to share some of my personal thoughts and experiences - and offer what I consider a reasoned optimistic perspective

[anniatuni]

Read book, mark words, google images, re-read important stuff, google some images again, be overwhelmed with the newly acquired information and see a certain question floating in the room: "What now?" Yeah well, what now. Going over what you learned in your head again: 7 principles, one seems more important to the author than the other. Did I get that right? Have I found the guide to perfect designs for us architects, young and old, who should not let long-established patterns and ways of thinking get us down? Well, I'm not sure yet, the floating question still besets me. New attempt: Compare with topics and learned stuff from previous semesters, look for similarities from many hours of reading to be able to better classify the many lines of the book. The floating question has moved even closer to my neck, still no success. It is a tragedy, I think to myself, rereading the highlighted words, again. I resorted to the usual procedure; to the Internet, which has always helped so far. But here again, the floating question was about to take my breath away, no success. There had to be a last way out. Comparison of architecture and art history? And BING, here we are, arrived at the goal, freed from the floating question. I knew that I already knew this desire for liberation, for detachment from thought patterns. History could no longer contribute anything to it, nor could any symbolic humbug. Wölfflin and Riegl wanted in principle the same thing: a world free of personal evaluation and a world without the hermeneutic problem, aka thinking bound to history. And so fast it goes, I understand the text, understand the core statements, the textual passages important for the author to all architects. A book that forced me to re-read many things, but in retrospect not a compulsion, but freedom.

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

Buch lesen, Wörter anstreichen, Bilder googlen, wichtige Sachen nochmal lesen, manche Bilder nochmal googlen, überfordert mit der neu erlangten Information sein und eine bestimmte Frage im Raum schweben sehen: "Was jetzt?" Ja gut, was jetzt. Noch einmal das Erlernte im Kopf durchgehen: 7 Prinzipien, eine scheint dem Autor wichtiger als die andere. Hab ich das richtig verstanden? Habe ich die Anleitung für uns junge und alte Architekten, die sich nicht von alteingesessenen Mustern und Denkweisen unterkriegen lassen sollen, zu vollkommenen Entwürfen gefunden? Naja, ich weiß noch nicht so genau, die schwebende Frage bedrängt mich immer noch. Neuer Versuch: Mit Themen und Gelerntem aus vorigen Semestern vergleichen, aus in vielen Stunden gelesener Lektüre Ähnlichkeiten suchen um die vielen Zeilen des Buches besser einordnen zu können. Die schwebende Frage ist mir noch näher an den Hals gerückt, immer noch kein Erfolg. Es ist eine Tragödie, denk ich mir, die angestrichenen Wörter nochmals lesend. Ich griff auf das übliche Verfahren zurück; auf in's Internet, das hat bisher immer geholfen. Doch auch hier, schon wieder, die schwebende Frage war kurz davor mir die Luft zu nehmen, kein Erfolg. Einen letzten Ausweg musste es doch geben. Vergleich Architektur und Kunstgeschichte? Und BING, hier sind wir, angekommen am Ziel, befreit von der schwebenden Frage. Ich wusste, dass ich dieses Verlangen nach Befreiung, nach Loslösung von Denkmustern schon kannte. Die Geschichte konnte nichts mehr dazu beitragen, irgendein symbolischer Humbug auch nicht. Wölfflin und Riegl wollten im Prinzip das gleiche: eine Welt frei von persönlicher Wertung und eine Welt ohne das hermeneutische Problem, alias geschichtsgebundenes Denken. Und so schnell geht's, ich verstehe den Text, verstehe die Kernaussagen, die für den Autor wichtigen textlichen Weitergaben an alle Architekten. Ein Buch, das mich dazu zwang, viele Sachen nochmal zu lesen, im Nachhinein aber doch kein Zwang, sondern Freiheit.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Crisis Redo Pt 1

Okay, spinning off from my idea of what might habe happened if Lena knew Lex would try to reshape the new reality in his own image and took steps to thwart him, I've been thinking.... what if Lena didn't have the time or focus to do much against Lex in that moment? The worlds are colliding, so many people have died, and all Lena knows is that she's ashamed of what she was planning with Non Nocere and that she wishes she didn't know the superhero standing next to her. She wishes she didn't know any of it.

So Lex's reality comes to fruition, with one major aspect missing: Lena isn't there.

He asks the butler where his sister is. The butler asks "whatever do you mean, sir? You've never had a sister."

And the same goes for Kara. She goes to Lena's office to tell her the truth all over again, and finds some nameless, unfamiliar man sitting behind the desk. No matter how hard she googles, the world has never heard of Lena Luthor. Kara is heartbroken, thinking that her Lena ended with the old reality. Alex does her best to comfort her, but is ultimately kind of crap at it.

"Maybe it's for the best," Alex says. This way, there's one less Luthor to worry about.

Months pass, and though Kara moves on, she never forgets. There's a hole in her life where Lena used to be, a mountain of things left unsaid-- things she'll never have the chance to say again.

But then, one day, Kara's in line to get coffee at Noonan's when the barista calls out "flat white for Lena!"

Kara's head shoots up, scanning the counter and the crowd reflexively. It's happened a few times by now, and every time her hopes are dashed by an unfamiliar face, the wrong hair or an unknown smile. This time, however, she spies a flash of fair skin and dark hair near the pick up counter, and her heart starts thudding in her ears.

It's too crowded for Kara to see the woman's face. She shoves her way out of line and towards the counter, only to next see the woman slipping out the door. By the time Kara makes it to the sidewalk, the woman is gone, but Kara knows in her heart that it was her.

It was Lena.

She rushes home that night to tell her sister, only for Alex to poke holes in her certainty. Alex asks question after question that Kara can't answer. She didn't see the woman's face, or which way she went. She doesn't know the woman's last name, nor did she have any other way to find the woman again.

All Kara can do is return to Noonan's at roughly the same time the next morning, and hope that Lena comes again. She waits for hours, sipping on cold coffee and nibbling on a pastry she can barely taste. In the end, even Kara knows when to admit defeat.

She stands to leave, gathering her trash and sweeping her crumbs onto the floor. She's so busy fighting tears that she doesn't see the person entering as she barrels out to leave.

"Oh!"

Kara freezes, her arms hooked around a familiar waist to keep the other woman from falling.

"Sorry, I didn't see you," the woman says in a low, throaty voice. Kara blinks, then stares speechlessly into Lena's eyes. "Please, excuse me."

Lena extricates herself from Kara's grip, straightening her sweater where it had gathered around her hips. Kara says nothing, her voice trapped behind the sudden lump in her throat. Lena's brow furrows in confusion, but her gaze remains cool, without any sign of recognition.

"After you," Lena says finally, taking a step back to hold the door open for Kara.

"Lena."

Only then does Lena do a double-take, her green eyes widening before she scans Kara rapidly. "Sorry, have we met?"

[vipitis]

Today I bring you.... a translation of the last 3 pages of one of my favourite Duck Avenger comic. The gist of the comic was that HDL accidentally exposed Donal’s secret identity as Duck Avenger after trying to impress their neighbour and it basically makes Donald’s life hell. They suggest Donald should move away, Donald tells them to pack their bags and then these pages happen.

I apologize if the font is a bit hard to read, the images were really small so I had to do with what I had. Transcribed versions under the cut.

I might do the whole comic if people are interested but for now I just wanted to share this one, because it always makes me soft, because Donald is the best parent there is.

Note: In german he says “Das Liebste was ich habe!” which I could have also translated with “The thing I love most” but I decided on this instead, though I am sure you could use both interchangably without a lot of change in meaning.

(It is never specified which triplet is speaking, as they aren’t wearing their hats and are instead wearing uniform black or pink shirts, depending on the page. So they will only be referred to as either HDL or triplet) Dialogue is bolded for easy finding. Page 1:

Donald stops on the stairs with a shocked expression. “Actually, we aren’t coming with you Uncle Donald.” He walks down the stairs where two of the three tiplets are “Why not?” “Because we don’t want to cause problems again.” It shows in the next panel the triplets with big suitcases, ready to leave the house. One of them says “We’ll live on a farm with granny” one of them says. “You won’t have to worry about your secret identity again then” says another. Donald says “Wait just a minute!” looking very shocked and scared. “I can’t just let you go!” Donald says as the triplets leave before reaching out for them. “You’re the most important thing to me!” His expression is distraught.

Page 2:

Donald is now in his bedroom and sleep clothes. On the top right side a dream bubble pops with a “Poff!”. “WAIT!” he says. In the next panel he sits up on the back of his bed, hand on his head. “Phew, it was just a dream! I need a glass of water after that scare!” He goes to open the door and gets surprised when the triplets are behind it. “What? You?” he says. It then shows the triplets grinning widely. “What’s got you grinning like that?” Donald asks and one of them says “Easy!”

Page 3:

Two of them are shown grinning with one leaning in towards Donald and saying “We heard what you said in your sleep!” A thought bubble that says “Uh-Oh!” appears on Donald’s head. In the next panel he is looking up sheepishly, putting his index fingers together. “Oh... And, uh, what did I say?” The triplet grins. “Something very nice, Uncle Donald!” The panel then shows all three triplets in the shadows with Donald looking surprised. “You said we are the most important thing to you!” The next panel shows Donald with another thought bubble, smiling in relief. “What a relief! They apparently only heard the last part of my dream!” In the next and last panel, it instead shows the house in the night with two speech bubbles. One of them from Donald “Well, I’ll hope you keep my secret safe in your hearts!” and the other from a triplet “Definitely!” In the bottom right the Duck Avenger is shown sitting on a box that says “ENDE” with a grin. 

[melofanish]

Drunk In This Love They Have

@carlosreyesweek Day 7: Writer’s Choice

Summary: Owen wakes up with a start. He's not sure what exactly roused him, but he's awake now. He rubs his eyes, taking a moment to stretch out on the bed. The flicker of the clock attracts his vision, and he reads the blue "1:23 AM" with a frown. Why did he wake up after midnight?!

The lights inside turn on, and the door finally closes. Owen takes a few moments sitting in the car alone, in the dark. He supposes he should feel some loneliness, but he doesn’t. All he feels is happiness and giddiness for his son, amusement regarding the entire situation, and hope for the future that TK and Carlos will be sharing together.

Tags: Carlos Reyes, TK Strand, Owen Strand, Established Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Soft Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Sweet Carlos Reyes (9-1-1 Lone Star), Drunk Carlos Reyes, Good Parent Owen Strand.

Warnings: Drunk flirting and awkward dad existence. 

This is such a crack, dumbass fic but I love it so much. It has just been finished too. I have two settings apparently. Finish a fic a month before the event, or three hours before the end of the event.

This idea came from the  "Mi Amor Tarlos" discord server. Major kudos to Kate <3

As usual, @lire-casander is the best human to ever exist. I am, once again, writing this as she goes over the final edit of the fic. She's beauty, she's grace, she's right about the best thing I've gotten out of this fandom <3

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters depicted, they belong to their creators. I'm writing just for the fun

Read on AO3.

---

Owen wakes up with a start. He's not sure what exactly roused him, but he's awake now. He rubs his eyes, taking a moment to stretch out on the bed. The flicker of the clock attracts his vision, and he reads the blue "1:23 AM" with a frown. Why did he wake up after midnight?!

He turns to a side, pulling his blanket up around his shoulder and trying to find a position that'll send him back to slumber when his phone pings. He decides to ignore it, the edges of sleep tickling his consciousness when it pings again, and again.

With a sigh, he reaches forward and grabs his phone, the glare of the screen blinding him for a moment until he turns on the bedside table. He looks back at the phone, finding five messages from Carlos.

A chill runs through Owen. For a moment he thinks something happened with TK. But then he remembers that they're both off for the next day, and he knows that TK is asleep in his room down the hall. He relaxes immediately, only to frown again when his phone pings with yet another message. He opens the thread.

Carlos Reyes: HIIIIIII TJ

Carlos Reyes: TL***

Carlos Reyes: TK********

Carlos Reyes: i drank sooo mucj

Carlos Reyes: i am frunk

Carlos Reyes: i lobe yoi sooo muvj

Owen stares at his phone, blinking in confusion. Carlos is… drunk, that much he's sure of. And he loves his son, which he's glad about. But he also seems to think that Owen is actually TK. Which is unfortunate. He's about to reply with a clarification when he gets four new messages in quick succession.

Carlos Reyes: i niss tou too

Carlos Reyes: van i see yiu when I het hone?

Carlos Reyes: i wamma cuffle

Carlos Reyes: cuddle

He can't help the smile that graces his face. Seeing how Carlos still thinks about his son, even in a drunk state, warms a deep corner of his soul. It's the kind of love he's always hoped for his son.

Carlos Reyes: amd kiss tou

Carlos Reyes: ans fuck yoi

And then it's no longer wholesome. He groans, dropping the phone and covering his face, as if that'll somehow erase the image that's been painted in his mind. He moves his phone away, putting it down on the table when it pings again, and again, and again.

He groans out loud again, reaching for the phone as he takes a deep breath. Two more pings come in during the time it takes him to do that. He turns the screen on, bringing the thread back up.

Carlos Reyes: uoire thw best thinj to eber hapoen to me

Carlos Reyes: i wanma lobe yoi forevr

Carlos Reyes: ill dhow yoi wiyh endless kissed

Owen glares at the phone, as if it can travel through the phone and reach Carlos. He sees the three dots bubbling about and he makes a decision, bringing up his own keyboard to type a reply.

Owen Strand: Carlos, this is Owen. You're texting the wrong Strand.

The bubbles pause for a moment, and Owen thinks he's going to get an apology text, or maybe even he'll get ignored and that will be tomorrow's problem. But they come back on the screen three seconds later and then he's getting a message.

Carlos Reyes: anf lobing sex

Carlos Reyes: yoi shoufl pivk me up do we cab habe s fucj

In a decision made over a split second, Owen is getting out of bed and marching down the hall to TK's room. He pauses at the door, straining to listen for movement. When he doesn't hear anything he softly knocks on the door. He gets a soft "hmm" almost immediately. So he swings the door open.

He finds TK in bed, blanket crowded at his feet and a book in his hands, eyes wide and awake. He pauses for a second, he was sure TK would be asleep. They did just return from a twenty-four-hour shift a few hours ago. He’s about to ask when TK beats him to it.

"You okay?" TK asks, looking at the clock on his bedside table. "It's almost one-thirty, dad. Why are you still awake?"

Owen sighs, remembering the reason he came in search of TK in the first place. There's a lot of things he would have seen himself telling his son, his own blood and flesh, at an hour after midnight. This is not one of them. And yet.

"Your boyfriend is drunk and wants to have sex with you," he says, going straight to the point.

TK stares at him, head turning to a side in pure confusion as his forehead creases into a frown. "My what? What?!"

"Your. Boyfriend. Is. Drunk. And. Wants. To. Have. Sex. With. You," he repeats.

"Wait, how do you know, what are you talking about?!" He asks, putting the book down and coming to a weird half-seated position where he has one leg half bent out in front of him and the other is tucked underneath him.

As if on cue, Owen's phone pings two more times. He brings the phone up, reading the messages quickly and then he's stepping into TK's room, scrolling up to the beginning of the messages and handing the phone over.

Carlos Reyes: r u oivking me uo?

Carlos Reyes: ill oay you eith sex

He watches as TK's eyes move from one side to the other on the screen, smiling at parts and then eyes widening at others, before he ends with a hand to his face, hiding away behind his palms.

"Oh, god," he groans. "He's so drunk."

Owen can't help the snort that rises through his throat, shaking in head in amusement. "Yes, that's an understatement."

The phone rings again in TK's hand. They share a look before TK turns the screen on and reads the messages. Owen doesn't want to know what the contents are when they're the cause of a bright red flush that takes over TK's face and neck. Still, he can't resist when the opportunity presents itself like this.

"What's he saying?"

TK stutters, looking up at Owen then down at the phone. "He's asking if I'm picking him up. The designated driver is drunk too."

Owen might have not been there for the large part of his kid's life, but he still knows when he's hiding something. And right now, TK is hiding something. But he understands; he knows his relationship with TK isn't usual, he knows that they are way too comfortable discussing their sex lives, but Carlos isn't. And Owen can't do much more than nod in acceptance when his son is trying to protect and respect his boyfriend's dignity.

"Okay, get dressed. Be at the door in ten minutes," he gets off the bed, heading to the door.

"Wait, wait, what?" TK calls. "Where are we going?"

Owen turns around slowly, facing TK, as if the answer wasn't obvious. "We're going to pick him up. You don't have a license yet, so I'm driving," he explains. "So let's go, your man is waiting."

It takes TK a moment, but then he’s getting on his feet and moving around the bed into his closet. Owen closes the door and walks to his own room, changing his pyjama pants to sweatpants and slipping into a pair of sneakers. He’s at the front door in minutes, keys and wallet in hand. TK comes barrelling through the house behind him in seconds.

They’re in the car, Owen turning the ignition on, when a quick succession of four or five messages ping through. TK glances at him out of the corner of his eye before he focuses back on his hands and turns the screen on. Owen catches the edge of a picture, and, from what he could tell, it’s just a selfie of Carlos and his partner, Jack. He decides to focus on the task in hand, asking TK for the location of the bar and swerving out of their driveway.

The drive isn’t that long, the bar a mere fifteen minutes away from their home. They spend the ride singing along to the music coming from the Bluetooth speakers, until a few messages ping through, at which point TK would stop singing, pull up the messages, type something in reply, and then get back to the singing.

They’re about half-way there when the ringing sounds around the entire car. Owen recognises the call notification and presses on the reply button a little too fast for his brain to remember that Carlos is texting him right now, and this is probably Carlos calling, and the phone is connected to the car’s Bluetooth system.

“HIIIIIIIIIII!” Carlos’ loud, clearly drunk and slurring voice fills the car a bare second after he’s pressed the button on his steering wheel, his tone so high-pitched Owen finds himself wincing.

“Hi! Hi, baby, hi,” TK is already screaming in reply, bringing the phone to his mouth only to pull it away when he realises it’s all around him, and then just saying it into the void. “Are you okay? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything is perfecto,” Carlos answers with a sigh, his voice muffled and mixing with the bar around him now that he isn’t screaming. “I just miss you, so, so, so much. And I’m sad.”

Owen glances at TK, the look of worry on his face mirrored on TK’s.

“Why are you sad? Is everything okay?”

“Jack is hugging and kissing Alana, and I’m here, alone and lonely,” Carlos replies in a tone that makes Owen right about a hundred percent sure that he’s pouting. He shakes his head as TK chuckles.

“You’re not lonely baby, you’re there with your friends,” he reminds Carlos.

“But my friends are kissing each other and making out and I think Alana has her hand in Jack’s pants and I’m here without your hands in my pa-”

The rest of his sentence is cut by a short scream from TK as he fumbles with the phone, finally pressing the button that disconnects the Bluetooth. Owen manages to resist laughing out loud but he has no power against the grin that splits his face wide. He feigns ignorance as he listens to TK whispering his replies. Somehow, even through the phone and the distance, he still hears Carlos, loud, loveable and oh so drunk.

A few minutes later and they’re finally pulling up the bar, pulling into the parking lot. Owen finds the closest free spot, putting the car in park and turning to face TK, who has his head down, the phone still pressed to his ear. He seems to have not even realised that they’ve arrived at their destination.

“Hey,” he nudges TK, nodding towards the bar when TK looks up at him. “Go get him.”

TK smiles at Owen, opening the door and dropping his phone into the seat. “I’ll call you if I need anything?” he asks, closing the door and moving towards the bar when Owen nods.

He follows TK until he disappears into the threshold of the bar, then closes his eyes and rests his head on the backrest of his seat as he sighs. He isn’t sure how his night came to this end, but here he is. He’s also sure he would have never done the same for any of TK’s previous boyfriends. But Carlos isn’t any boyfriend. Carlos is… Carlos is good. Carlos is a different type of man than the ones TK has been with. Carlos is nice, and respectful, and sweet. Carlos loves his son.

He supposes that’s what this all comes down to. The fact that he knows that Carlos loves his son, the way he always knew TK deserves to be loved. And he knows that TK loves Carlos, too. It’s the love that he’s only ever dreamt of TK having, a dream that seemed to get farther and farther away with every new man TK introduced him to. Until Carlos walked into TK’s life. He doesn’t want to undermine TK’s own work and tribulations to make himself better, but Carlos has no doubt been a large part of the support system he’s had during that time.

And so, if Owen has to wake up at one-thirty in the morning to drive his son to a bar so he can pick up said son’s drunk boyfriend, he’s willing to do that in a heartbeat.

A dull crash against the side of the car has Owen opening his eyes in alarm and looking at the side-mirrors of the car. He doesn’t see anything in the driver’s side of the car, but when he looks towards the passenger’s side, well, he sees TK, back pressed to the side of the car. And he sees Carlos, hovering over TK. And he sees two tongues fighting in the middle of the space between them before their mouths slam back together. And then, through the car, he hears the loud, unmistakable moan.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” he groans, looking back in front of him. It’s one thing for him to read what Carlos wants to do to his son, it’s a completely different thing for him to see it starting to happen. He takes a few deep breaths, glancing at the mirror every few moments. When he sees that they’re still in the same position, he leans over the console, knocking on the window until TK breaks the kiss and turns around.

His eyes widen when he sees Owen, hands coming up from wherever they are to hold Carlos around the shoulders. TK might have seen Owen, but Carlos seems to still be in his own fairyland; he trails kisses down TK’s neck until he gets to a spot and then his head stops in there. Owen doesn’t need to guess what Carlos is doing right now, the way TK’s eyes flutter shut tell him all he needs to know.

But no, this is too much. He leans over, knocking on the window again until TK’s eyes open and takes a deep breath, hands tightening around Carlos’ shoulders as he slowly pulls him away. Owen did not need to see the line of saliva connecting Carlos’ lips to TK’s neck.

He hears them exchange a few sentences, voice low and sultry, if he has to guess. Carlos’ eyes are blown wide, a smile permanently glued on his face, even as he nods and shakes his head in reply to whatever TK is saying. He hears Carlos giggle one last time and then TK is moving them back enough to open the back door.

“Hello, Mister Strand,” Carlos greets him the moment the door is open, words slurred, smile wide and eyes bright. “How ya doin?”

“I’m all good, Carlos, how are you?” he asks, chuckling as TK helps Carlos settle in.

“I’m fantastic! Did you know that TK came to pick me up because I asked him to?!”

This time Owen really can’t help the laugh that booms out of his chest. He hears TK snicker as well, Carlos joining in at the end. “Did he now?”

“Yes, yes, he did,” he nods his head almost aggressively. “He’s the bestest ever. I love him so much.”

“I love you too, baby,” TK replies, kissing Carlos softly on the lips as he finally finishes securing the seatbelt. Owen turns around, focusing on turning on the car -as if it takes that much concentration- to give them a moment alone. He hears them exchange “I love you’s” a few times and then TK retreats, closing the back door and opening the front one to get his own self into the car.

TK is barely a foot into the car when Carlos calls from the backseat. “TK?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asks, turning around in his seat to look at Carlos.

“Why are you so far away? How am I supposed to hold you?” Carlos speaks in the same tone as earlier, the one Owen thought was coming from a pouting face. Looking at the rearview mirror, he sees that there is indeed a pout on Carlos.

“I’m right here, baby,” TK answers, extending an arm to rub at Carlos’ curls.

“But, you’re so far away. I’m all alone in this big seat! You should sit here! With me! You can even sit on m-”

“OKAY!!!!” TK interrupts yet again. “Let’s not do that, baby. We need to be safe.”

Owen hears a sigh and then Carlos is mumbling his approval. He waits until TK is twisted back in his seat and has put his seatbelt on before he starts the journey back.

It’s only then that he realises they haven’t discussed where they would be driving back to.

“Where are we going, TK?”

“TO SEX LAND!” Carlos screams, and a perfectly coordinated groan leaves both the Strand men.

“Carlos, no!” TK retorts.

“Carlos, YES!” Carlos says back.

Owen sees TK opening his mouth from the corner of his eye, but Carlos evidently isn’t finished speaking.

“Hey, Owen, you should take us to my house, that way we can make as much noise as we want,” he says, much to the dismay of everyone that isn’t Carlos. He doesn’t seem to realise what’s wrong with what he’s saying, he just keeps talking. “TK gets really loud at times, and I do too to be honest, and it’s so hard to stay quiet when we are in your house, so we should go to my house.”

As funny as this entire situation is, the conviction with which Carlos says it leaves Owen no choice but to respect him, even as TK tries to sink deeper into his seat in an attempt to blend with the upholstery.

“Okay, Carlos, I’ll take you guys to your house,” Owen says, shaking his head at both Carlos and TK’s shenanigans.

“Thank yooou, Owen,” Carlos says. Owen is about to focus back on the street when Carlos gasps, and the sound of skin hitting skin echoes around in the car.

Owen looks through the rearview mirror, finding Carlos with his hands covering his mouth, and eyes wide, as if he just saw something from his nightmares. The empty streets make it easy for Owen to cross two lanes and stop in the sideway, both Strands turning around to face a now teary-eyed Carlos.

Owen turns on the overhead lights as TK fumbles with his seatbelt, trying to get it undone, even as he keeps his eyes on Carlos, asking him what’s wrong. It’s only when he’s in the backseat with him that Carlos unclutches his face and wipes his tears.

“I was rude to your dad, TK. I was so rude to your dad, my mom is going to be so mad at me,” he whispers. “I didn’t say mister, TK.”

Owen feels the concern -so thick a moment ago- melt and dissolve into nothing. He sinks into his seat, turning to sit straight. TK stays back with Carlos, wiping his tears and whispering sweet nothings as he assures him that his mother would not be mad at him. Carlos tries to fight him on it, saying that she most definitely would be, but he stops pretty quick once TK asks if he trusts him.

He uses the distraction to grab his phone from the glove compartment, where TK disposed of it earlier. He brings up the camera, making sure that the flash is off, and presses on record.

He can’t see the screen and what he’s filming, but through the rearview mirror, he sees TK wiping Carlos’ tears, forehead leaning on him as he presses kisses to his temple in between whispers and smiles. He sees Carlos hold onto TK’s arm, looking up at him with a soft smile and wet tears. A few moments later Carlos giggles and TK smiles at him, pressing a final kiss to his forehead before he straightens up and buckles himself next to Carlos.

He’s about to turn off the camera when Carlos presses a kiss to TK’s shoulder and lays his head onto it. His hand runs along TK’s arm, intertwining their fingers. “I love you,” he whispers.

TK takes a breath, a soft smile gracing his face as he turns his face to another kiss atop Carlos’ curls.

Owen turns off the screen, putting the phone away and switching off the light. He turns on the car, focusing back on the journey.

By the time he’s pulling up into Carlos’ driveway, the back seat is quiet. He switches the car off, looking back to find Carlos -head still on TK’s shoulder- with his eyes closed and mouth open in soft, almost inaudible snores. TK has the fondest expression on his face as he looks down at Carlos, a hand wrapped around his, the other sweeping around Carlos’ head, playing with his curls.

He almost regrets bursting their bubble, but he doesn’t think the car is the most comfortable place for them all to be right now. So he lays a hand on TK’s knee, waiting until he looks up at him, looking almost dazed. “We’re here,” he whispers.

TK looks out of the window, recognition dawning on him. He nods in reply before he focuses down on Carlos, whispering to him softly as his eyes flutter open and he slowly rouses from his doze.

Carlos looks up at TK, a brief moment of a smile coming onto him before he stretches his limbs out as much as the car allows and then he curls back into his place, mumbling incoherence.

“Come on, baby, we’re here,” TK whispers. “Let’s go inside.”

Carlos opens his eyes at that, staring up at TK. “We gon’ cuddle?” he asks.

TK chuckles, shaking his head, the loving look never leaving his face. “Yeah, let’s go cuddle.”

Owen watches as TK helps himself and then Carlos out of the car, and then holds Carlos around the waist as they walk up the porch. TK takes a moment to slip his hand into Carlos’ front pocket, producing a set of keys that he inserts into the front door lock.

As they move into the house, TK turns and nods at Owen, and he returns it. When Carlos looks at him though and turns to do the same, with much more enthusiasm, waving at him, face scrunched with a wide grin, Owen can’t help but repeat it to him, waving back at the giant dork.

The lights inside the house turn on, and the door finally closes. Owen takes a few moments sitting in the car alone, in the dark. He supposes he should feel some loneliness, but he doesn’t. All he feels is happiness and giddiness for his son, amusement regarding the entire situation, and hope for the future that TK and Carlos will be sharing together.

[nyarisu]

Rammstein: Paris liveblogging

This live is so fancy! My god, the intro is so dramatic, and the guys haven’t even appeared XD there are even alarm sounds!

Their entrance is *chef’s fingers kiss* and Ollie being the high fantasy dark elf we all asspire to be XD Say what you will about the spasmic editing, this was very nicely filmed!

I love the array of microphones on Till’s coat.

Asdghjl the flags being set into place and then Ollie with the flame! It’s all so badass! Also Schneider is hot XD

Sonne

Oooh they’re starting with this one! Also one of the few times he’s counting.

The instrumental at the beginning is always giving me shivers, it’s so powerfull

And I love the static editing

I can say whatever I want about this song being over mentioned by everyone... but the true is it’s amazing!

Don’t punch yourself, dumb baby.

THE FIRE!!!

Lol @ Richard being a sea urchin XD

The ending was fantastic<3 very dramatic!

Wollt ihr das Bett in Flammen sehen

Aasdfghjkl THAT SHOT OF SCHNEIDER!!!

The doom guy sounds are killing me I love them and the fireworks collars are amazing. I love this song so much!

Schneider throwing the drummstick in the air ♡

„AAAAAAA AAAAA” silly editing of Till every time AAAA BUT FUNNY NONETHELESS

„RAMMSTEIN!”

I love the gloves!

This song always gets me so pumeped up! And the editing makes it even more dramatic and full o energy!

The fire works at the end!

Keine Lust

Unfortunately, I sometimes vibe with this song T_T

It has such a powerful beginning it must be wonderful to hear it live.

Wanna see me fangirl again about Schneider spinning the stick midair and then catching it again?

Flake loks weird and I wouldn’t trust him.

Richard’s „nein, Ich habe keine Lust”

Dear lord Till has wonderfull eyes.

Wtf was with that tongue, Jonas??

Very nice Schnooter shots!

Oh, Ollie is hoodless now. A bit better, I think.

Paul being badass with his guitar.

Till bby who hurt you like this?

(fortunately for me ich habe some Lust hence me doing this liveblog)

Sehnsucht

Let’s geT NOSTALGIC BITCHES

I love that chanting so much!

Did he just made a cross sign??

Till is doing some hammering and Flake is just vibing XD

The chanting! The fire! The atmpshere!! I love everything about this song live

If he doesn’t hit his forhead.... oh, he actually didn’t...

Asche zu Asche

Nice trio in the front~

I swear to god Richard is always sexy on the mic during this song and he’s probably doing it on purpose! And the way he gestures!!

Lol I was wondering when Till will start acting like a slut XD

The keyboards are amazing before the last chorus.

Yesssh microhpones on fire!1

Feuer frei

Ugh that tongue edit again... leave Till’s tongue alone, Jonas!

Auch, that hurt.

BANG BANG

Flake, chase that nonsense right away XD

Leave his eye alone too!

That Schneider smirk when Till came with the mask. I love the masks!

IMAGINE BEING THERE and seeing this asdfghjkl the ultimate Rammstein experience.

Mutter

Some green lightng oh no that’s Mutter better be prepared to have my heart broken. The saddest song to ever sad you have no idea what it does to me.

Richard playing there, he’s really feeling the song.

The guitar solo is amazing!

Till was suffering there and I was shamelessly admiring Schneider behind him XD

God his eyes

The spark shower, if that doesn’t beak your heart even further... (but very nice arms >w>)

*sighs* that was fantastic~

Mein Teil

Wow I can’t belive he even added sound effects to the title melting away gross :))))

I’m getting goosebumps because of the insrtumental, it’s that awesome!

I love the moves schenider has in the background. And everytime he strikes the air with his fist.

Flake popping out of the couldron kils me everytime XD

Too much blood editing.

„da aAS IS MEIN TEIL!”

Schneider is being once again sexy in the back.

Till has funny dance moves but i love his serious face

And Flake being like no thank you I’m not buying anythingXD

Let’s START THE FLAKE COOKING

„you over there, give me your fire throwing thingy” jaaaaaaaa

There is no concert without Fklake’s spastic dance moves XD

Du riechst so gut

The bow!!

„der Wahnsinn” dear lord Richard you’re killing me.

The first time I saw Paul and Till doing that I almost had a heart attack I really thought they were gonna smash their heads together XD I see them doing it for shits and giggles.

I love the synchronised head baniging (more like bodybanging)

Yes, guitars on fire! Congrats on throwing that now jump after it :)))))

I just want to kiss Till’s mouth.

Links 2 3 4

Schneider stop being sexy!

I love the guys’ entrance for this song.

Till being all business. Onwards, my mighty stallion XD

The last chorus was very nice and full of energy (thanks editing).

Du hast

Ugh to those lightnings but otherwise is fantastic.

Do you think they ever get sick of playing it? I never expected this to be Richard’s fav song to play live....

That RZK ass XD

The fire!

Oh the keyboard must be divine live~

It must be really impressing to have a full hall singing just for you.

And then my favourite part! All that thing wiht shooting fire that comes back and then the whole stage exploding! Definitely my favourite R+ effect. Really nice image

Haifish

This gave me goosebumps again

„Sechs Herzen, die brennen” *choking* thanks for the feels-

Flake is really brave for doing that boat thingy. I could never.

Lol those dance moves, unexpected butf unny as usual.

Till clapping for Flake XDDD silly

I like the pose he aodopted while waiting for the song to move on.

Buck dich intro

This gets it’s own section because I love the instrumental so much!! Or remix, whatever you wanna cal it. It’s fantastic<3

And Richard enjoying every eye on him :D Nice ass anyway.

Weird over editing I don’t understand but whatever, we’re ignoring that.

Woo woo machine XD

Asdhjkl the BRIDGE IS COMING DOWN

THEY ARE COMING SDFGHJKLSCJHNV EJUSCD

Hello Frau Schneider and her puppies #till lehman is a sub

One of my favourite Till looks.

Of course he must be humping something or someone XD

Schneider x Rchard banter is the best. And then bodilly dragging Till onto the stage<3 I HAVE LOTS OF FEELINGS ABOUT THIS WHOLE THING OK??

Look at him being a good puppy RHI WHERE IS YOUR FIC??

Buck dich

Honestly now what is better that a shirtless Till with a colar?

The most syncopated instrumental ever. They are fucking crazy (I love them).

I was reminded of this fic XDD

Wow imagine being there and seeing Buck dich for the first time that is wild

„why are you wet?” „eh, I was too close to the stage” (part 1)

„NOCH EINMAL!!!”

The whole ending with Till and Schneider was hilarious XDDD

Man gegen man

Let’s go with that gay song! XD

Dumb editing but I’m focusing on Flake dancing beside Till.

He has an amazing back<3

I love how he goes crazy during the solo.

Wow Jonas went full with the editing for a few seconds didn’t he?

Also Till did something very sexy with that watter bottle.

Ohne dich

Time to have no feels again

I want that collar too.

Paulchard vibing together’

The hall looks amazin with all those little light on!

Dear lord Schneider looks fantastic.

Paul being cute again XD

Asdfghjkl Till crossing that bridge gave me a nose bleed tbh

Mein Herz brennt

My favorurite instrumental ever! And the one who convinced me to listen to this band.

A little sad they put on shirts again but hey, at least RZK took his off XD

The glowing heart is a loved effect but I preffer the current one to this, the timing is better now.

Amerika

Live is the only way I’m not skipping this song. The last time I listened to it is probably the last time I watched this very live XD

Are they actually whistling?

Why do they all look so good?

Flake, what are you doing? :)))

Ich will

Richard’s arms lookin fine and Till is being a slutt with the microphone again XD

Was that chick shirtles? XDD

Nice firework at the end.

Engel

So... is this whistling real or?

Those wings... in Till’s defence, I thing the floating wings are much more spectacular and much easier for his back too.

Pew!

Why!! Why do you edit those things?? They are gonna give me nightmares!

But whatever the wings on fire are cool.

Really Jonas this is not an anime stop enlarging eyes.

Pussy

Another badass entrance, considering the song XD

„Er könnte etwas größer sein” will always kill me :)))

Oh, your eyes are so pretty~

Poor mic stand.

The dick canon! To be in the first few rows... XDD „why are you wet?” „eh, I was too close to the stage” (part 2)

I love how wide Till’s back is<3

„let’s do it QUICK” peak slutiness from Herr Lindemann :)))))

I love how they all gathered around Schneider.

It impresses me so much everytime they kneel for their audience<3

Looking very nice there, Ollie!

I thought Schneider was gonna do a backflip with how he streched XDDD oh, hello Richard~

Fruhling in Paris

Till has very nice legs.

Not saying anything about him floating off like a damn fairy :)))))

I love evey time one of the others is singling along (this time: Schneider)

And Flake just ran off XD

Conclusions:

Tbh when I’m lacking motivation I really should watch this live it gives so much energy!

The Amerika / Engel whistling question still stands.

2 hours of nothing but Rammstein. I approve

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Bookish questions by @elcaminode

Finally, an hour of alone time (I love family visiting for the holidays but can everybody please go home now? Seriously - Christmas is over...!). And it’s been forever since @elcaminode posted these awesome bookish questions. So here I go:

Is there a book that you reach for on a regular basis?

Yes. Whenever Life™️ is hard, during sleepless nights or when I‘m too stressed to concentrate on a new book, Neil Gaiman reads “The Ocean at the End of the Lane“ to me (I’m talking about the audiobook. Neil, very unfortunately, doesn’t live in my bedroom.). It’s my comfort zone, my happy place, my emergency exit, the hand that holds mine in the dark. I mean, we all need a badass Hempstock in our lives, don’t we?

If you only had one book to read over and over in your life what would it be?

One book? Just ONE?! *panics*

Uhm... Probably a classic. I guess I’d go with “Jane Eyre”. It’s my favourite love story ever, and it comes with gothic vibes and -recently - Tom Burke’s voice in my head. So yeah, this one.

Have you memorized a poem/quote/speech? If so, spill!

I know “Fire and Ice” by Robert Frost by heart, and the one that’s quoted in “The Outsiders” and starts with “Nature’s first green is gold...”

Also, “November” by e.e. cummings

And a German Christmas poem by Anna Ritter which I love: “Denkt euch, ich habe das Christkind gesehen”

Does a monologue count? I know Macbeth’s final monologue by heart, starting with “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...” My favorite Shakespeare play, and that moment always makes me shiver.

What book from your childhood destroyed you emotionally?

Destroyed? None. I’ve always loved the darkest shit. *sniggers* But there was one villain who scared the hell out of me: The knight Cato in Astrid Lindgren’s “Mio, my son”. He had this metal armour hand he always tried to grab Mio with, and for some reason that image haunted me in my dreams.

Would you rather read tiny poems or 400+ pages books for the rest of your life?

400+, no question there. I love classics and brick-sized tomes. Ever since making it through “War and Peace” I’ve lost all fear of long books. In fact, I can’t get enough of them! The more time I get to spend with my favourite fictional heroes, the better!

Random bonus question: What’s one thing that you taught yourself?

Hm. I learned my first words of English by grabbing my older sister’s school book and trying to teach myself. I had to pester my sister about the pronunciation, of course, but I still remember reading words like “the cat” and “the hat” over and over and learning to construct basic sentences from that book. I just couldn’t wait until 5th grade. I wanted to know.

Wow, awesome questions! I know about five people on tumblr (who may already have been tagged). If you want to, @imaginehowcharming, @rattacat @robinlestrange?

[celiadiao]

After Proust, though I’ve never read him (1)

Sitting on the kitchen chair here in my family’s old apartment, underneath the dim light which taints my skin with a bit of orange, I start to think about my grandpa.

I haven’t thought of him for years. There is never a reason to think about him. Why should there be?

I’m thinking of him now because I just realized I don’t remember his voice anymore. It is like what they say, everyday you lose a little bit of the people you’ve lost, until they are completely gone. Then you don’t really think about death until the next time it happens near you.

He has been gone for I don’t even remember how many years. I can do the math and count out the exact number of years of course. But why. Why bother to do something that doesn’t matter to anyone who is still living . Who is still breathing…..

I feel like I never really know him. Apart from the story of his name, how he changed it for himself and all, a very simple story indeed.  Apart from the faint memories of the things he used to do. Toddling into the kitchen with a giant bowl to take water back into his room. That was his evening routine. Apart from all the superficial images, Ich habe ihn nie richtig kennengelearnt.

My father just ringed the door bell, pulled me out of my sudden rush to write down the reminiscences of my grandpa. But hearing his uneven steps does remind me of something else. Not a living memory of grandpa, but something else, maybe even better, since there is barely anything left in the case of my grandpa. It is a moment that I should have cherished but too scared to do so. So I hid it behind all those messy matters in my brain. Maybe it wasn’t real at all. Maybe I have dreamt it.

Once a couple years back, we were having dinner like we always do, sitting around at the kitchen table. My father was drinkiing rice wine. I’m not sure but he does only become talkative when he drinks.

I was sitting at this very table, probably on another chair, when my father said, Remember? It is around this time that dad used to shout ‘the weather forecast’ and you would go!

That was the only time I have ever heard him speaking of random memories about grandpa like that. Other times it is more complicated. Things had been intense between them. I remember once they got into a fight and my father knocked a hole in our bathroom door. He was a very strong man back then and the wooden door was old and hollow inside.

We put up a red new-year poster on the door to cover up the hole, but it had proved to be a vain attempt. Every now and then the hole still reminded us of its presence. After grandpa died we had the door changed.

I don’t recall how grandma had replied to my father’s sudden rememberance. Probably nothing. Probably only a simple “oh yeah”. And then we moved on. It is strange how years later that moment starts to haunt me.

It must have been dreadful to grow up poor.  I was’t exacly raised rich. Growing up we were five peolple in a 100 – square meter apartment, three bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom and a kitchen, a balcony with the stove, and that is all. The same old apartment with walls repainted multiple times over the years, the same shabby kitchen that I’m sitting in right now.

I was lucky to be the only child. Still my father complains everyday that my education has eaten away “our family’s fortune”, exactly the way he puts it. I’m the reason why he is still driving that more-than-ten-year-old Volkswagen.  

But I never lacked anything growing up. My father complains, yet he gives.

Unlike him. He had truly grew up poor in a broken household. His family had fled from the femine in the south. He was the second oldest child and the oldest son. His father died when he was ten. His mother had nothing and was maintaining the lives of her 6 children by selling shoe pads on the street.

Hearing this story from my grandma when I was little, I always imagined a poor white-headed old lady in the cold, putting up her stuff on the street and a mean cop would come and confiscate all her goods, shoving them roughly down a woven bag, that jerk, without even explaining or apologising, because it was forbidden to sell things on the street.

But nowadays when I think of this story, I know that the old lady was young. She was in her early thirties. And she liked to eat pork fat and sweet things very much, they say that I got that appetite from her. And she always favored her younger boy. Maybe she had sweared and cursed loudly, jumping up and down to fight for her goods, who knows.

It is sad that I only catch scraps of his childhood through other people’s retellings. I never asked him about it, even though we had lived under the same roof, eaten lunches and dinners on the same table for so many years. I guess it was not an everyday question to ask. But still…

It is true that I had never had a real conversation with him. I was simply too little to know anything real.

When I was tiny he would lift me up from the ground and “fly” me round his body. I loved that, always laughed and asked for another ride. So I was told.

Most of the times during my childhood, through all the struggling years of primary school, I treated him as a special secret, always tentatively, like we all do in this family, in one way or another.

He was my unlucky yet unique “origin story”. That is what kids want. That was what I wanted anyway. How amazing back then when we can sugarcoat everything automatically in our minds, instead of throwing out questions about how unfair life is, like I do now sometimes, though deep down I know there is no point asking.

At a certain age point, you would have that sad realiztion that things aren’t going to be easy for you. I guess I’ve reached mine.

[thenamesseven]

Warnings: Angst

As soon as he closed the door behind him, Jinyoung felt the anxiety creeping up on his chest. Things were getting out of control and he, honestly, didn't know how he was supposed to fix everything. At first, the only problem in his life had been finding a way to stop hooking up with another girl but now the guys were probably aware of what was going on behind your back and what was supposed to be a secret would soon turn into a rumor.

"Fuck"

Another problem had joined the situation seconds ago. He was not able to control his frustration and anxiety around you, resulting on him snapping at you without any explanation. He knew it confused and hurt you but he did it unconciously, even when Jinyoung thought it was incredibly unfair of him to be mad at you for worrying about him.

His mind was racing with too many problems and no solutions. Everything was crambling down at full speed and he didn't have an idea of how to stop it without hurting you and destroying the family he could have by your side. Jinyoung's hands rested on the sink when his body suddenly started feeling too weak but when he raised his head to look at his own reflection on the mirror the male felt even sicker, disgusted of himself.

How did he got here?

Why did he cheat on you even when he knew it wasn't going to be worth it?

With a sigh leaving his shaking lips Jinyoung pushed himself away from the sink and quickly took off every single piece of clothing he was wearing to get inside the shower. Warm showers usually helped him clear his mind and that was what he urgently needed. Jinyoung had to find solutions to his problems, he needed to make things right before the situation ended with your heart broken and a scandal which would be all over every social media that would almost cause his expulsion from the company.

What was more important for him though? His work or his wife?

As soon as the question popped into his mind the image of your smiley face crossed his thoughts. That's how Jinyoung got his first question answered, you were the most important thing for him even though he knew he had been kind of rude to you some minutes ago. The first step for his plan was to make up to you for being an asshole, not only for being rude but also for cheating these past few months, you didn't need to know that though.

When his shower was over, Jinyoung felt more determined and strong enough to attempt to fix the disaster he made. It would take time, patience and lots of effort but he was determined to fix this or at least that's what he thought when he was walking out of the bathroom.

"Hey baby, I'm-" His words got caught in his throat when he stepped into the bedroom. It was really rare to see you cry or look sad since you had always been this kind of bright and cheerful person that made everybody's day better with your smiles and sweetness. When Jinyoung's eyes landed on your small and curled up figure on the bed with your body softly shaking every time you sobbed, he felt like he was being choked.

If you were crying like this because he had snapped at you, how would you react if he told you what he's been doing behind your back for months?

"Baby..." Jinyoung reacted quickly even though his mind was still panicking. He crawled onto the bed, his hand gently resting on your side to turn you around so you could face him. It wasn't the first time Jinyoung had snapped at you but this time it made you feel really sad for some reason, maybe it was because your hormones were a huge mess thanks to the pregnancy or maybe it was because you didn't know what was wrong with him. "I'm so sorry...I really didn't mean to do it" While Jinyoung spoke he imagined himself apologizing for cheating and not for snapping at you, it kind of eased his anxiety "I..I was just stressed...I...I didn't think about it" He moved his face closer to yours, his lips kissing every single tear that rolled down your cheeks "I love you so much, you know that right? I wouldn't do something on purpose that I knew it would hurt you"

He felt like crying there on the bed with you, because you would never understand what he was truly apologizing for. Crying because, such an amazing person like you didn't deserve being lied like that, because you deserved someone as incredible as you but for some reason you were crazily in love with a cheater.

"Please forgive me?" His last words came out as a question. You quietly nodded, biting your trembling lip as you used the hem of your shirt to wipe away the tears on your face. When you saw the small yet relieved smile on Jinyoung's lips, your heart skipped a beat. No matter how many years the you two have spent together you were still so in love with him. It was like every day was your first day dating, every kiss was your first kiss and every 'I love you' was the first one being said.

You felt so lucky to have somebody like him by your side.

"It's okay Jinyoungie, you're tired, I get it babe" You replied feeling stupid for crying, for making such a scene over nothing. However, your reply pulled Jinyoung back to reality, making him realize you weren't forgiving his cheating but his rude behaviour before.

"Yeah" He stayed quiet for some seconds before his voice broke the silence between them again "I think I will call in sick tomorrow so I can spend the whole day with you" He announced out of nowhere, his arm snaking around your body to pull you closer to his. Your slightly swollen belly was keeping you both a bit separate but that didn't bother any of you. "We could stay in here all day chilling or we could also go out, how does that sound baby?"

You stayed quiet thinking about it. It was pretty obvious you wanted to have your husband for yourself without having to share him with his manager, GOT7 and his choreographer but you also didn't want to cause his band any trouble.

"You sure it will be okay to just do that?" You asked, his eyes meeting yours as Jinyoung nodded his head quietly.

"The guys can practice without me for a day, it won't cause any trouble, love" He whispered reaching up to play with your hair.

"I mean, I really want to spend some time with you, it's been so long since last time we had a whole day to ourselves" You muttered, your hands quietly playing with the bed sheets "However, if it's going to cause the guys problems then I can wait"

Jinyoung couldn't help but smile sweetly at your words, you habe always had this awful habit of putting everybody else's feelings and needs before yours. Everybody was more important than you. "I promise they will be okay baby" He pushed himself up on his elbow, a cute smile on his lips. Jinyouns started to lean down, his hand coming up to your cheek while your eyes closed awaiting for him to kiss you.

It didn't feel like a first kiss though, it felt like something else unfortunately, you couldn't find the exact words to describe it. What had started as something soft and gentle was slowly turning into something deeper and desesperate. Again, you thought there was something bugging Jinyoung but like every single time you blamed his lack of rest and excess of long practicing days.

The kiss was quickly broken when Jinyoung felt something poking him from underneath. With a frown on his face he gently removed his lips away from yours to look down, he could see a small bump on your belly.

"They are moving! Did you feel that?" Hearing the exciment in your voice made Jinyoung's heart pound against his chest, his mind still trying to process what had just happened. Looking up at you, the male nodded slowly while his eyes filled up with tears. "Awe baby, why are you crying?" You asked letting out a chuckle, thinking he was just getting emotional. Little did you know he was crying because the guilt gripping his chest was becoming too much to deal with it.

Jinyoung, with a small pout on his lips, shook his head, quietly telling you he wouldn't speak about it. You reached up to wipe his tears away from his smooth skin, a small smile on your lips as you just looked into each other's eyes "Do you know I love you a lot, right?" He asked out of nowhere, voice hoarse and hands gripping the sheets. His gaze had turned from sad to serious, from guilty to vulnerable as he awaited for your answer.

"Of course! We wouldn't have got so far if we didn't love and trust each other right?"

Your question made Jinyoung dizzy knowing your trust would be broken if you ever find out what he's been doing. However, he remember it would all be over soon, he was really going to end it this time so he could stop worrying about meaningless things to finally focus on his own family. "Right, we went through so much together" He added weakly, resting his head on the pillow beside yours. One of his hands moved down to your belly willing to feel if one of the babies kicked again. "What do you prefer? Both of them to be girls or boys?" He asked forcing a small smile up to his lips.

You turned, laying down on your back to stare at the ceiling. Since the first moment you found out you were pregnant you had never ever had any kind of preference towards a gender, the only thing you wanted was both of your babies being born well and healthily. "Actually I don't mind" You shrugged trying to put your thoughts into words "Having girls would be nice because we could buy them those cute little dresses but having guys would be pretty nice too because you can play sports with them and stuff" You turned your head to look at your husband "We could also have a girl and a boy but I just want both of them to be healthy, I don't want anything else"

"I want boys" He confessed running his fingers through your hair gently "I don't want to have girls because then I will have to worry about some heart breakers being around them" You couldn't help but laugh at his cute confession.

"If we have boys though, we would have to worry about them being the heart breakers and making girls cry" You stated arching an eyebrow.

"I would raise my boys well enough to not do that"

"Oh fuck off, we all do stupid things when it comes to love" You laughed surprising yourself with the swearing that had just got out of your lips.

"Did you just tell me to fuck off?" Jinyoung looked at you surprised, his hand on his chest as he faked a hurt look. You could obviously see he was biting the inside of his cheek to avoid laughing.

"That's right, I did" You admitted making both of you laugh.

It was in moments like this when Jinyoung felt like back in the days when you two had started dating, he felt so comfortable, so good around you that the thought of needing somebody else in his life made no sense. He truly didn't know what went wrong and when exactly, no matter how much he thought about it, Jinyoung couldn't find an explanation.

"What was your crazy thing?" He suddenly asked confusing you a little.

"Mhm? My what?"

"The crazy thing you did when you fell in love" He shifted laying on his side now, staring into your eyes as you silently thought about an answer.

"I think my crazy thing was falling for you in general" You admitted with a cute giggle, his brows furrowing in a frown as he looked at you "I mean, you have millions of fans Jinyoung. Getting into a public relationship with you has been one of craziest things I've done in my life, you know dating an idol was way out of my comfort zone"

"Glad we got through that" He answered honestly, pulling one of your hands up to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

"What about yours?" You asked, your eyes shinning with curiosity.

"Mine?" He smiled cupping one of your cheeks "Mine was hitting on the girl that worked at the coffee shop I purposely went to every single morning to see her even when I didn't like that shop's coffee" Your smile was way bigger at this point "Im serious, the coffee there was awful"

"Oh shut up" You slapped his chest gently, making him laugh as he pulled you even closer to him.

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

Jinyoung placed his phone back down onto the counter once he was done talking with Jaebum. He hadn't asked any questions about where he had been last night and when he simply told him he was too sick to go to practice today he just accepted and hung up. As far as he had noticed from their short conversation on the phone, Jaebum wasn't acting any different and that was a huge relief.

"Hey, baby?" Jinyoung crouched infront of you. Currently sitting on a chair, you had just been reading some new on your phone as he cooked the pancakes for both of you. "Do you think you can finish cooking the pancakes while I take a quick shower?" He asked with a small smile, he almost looked like the old Jinyoung. Whatever had been bothering him these past few months seemed to be annoying him less and less now.

"Sure, go ahead" After nodding, Jinyoung got out of the kitchen and walked into the bathroom not realizing he hadn't taken his phone with him.

Rookie mistake.

You were happily cooking pancakes, excited about finally being able to spend a whole day just hanging out with Jinyoung. Even though you still didn't know what he felt like doing for the whole day you couldn't help but feel slightly excited about it, really willing to do whatever he wanted.

Your humming, the sound of the pancakes cooking and the background shower sound didn't let you hear when Jinyoung's phone rang for the first time. However, by the third time the phone was ringing you were able to see a woman's name on the screen of Jinyoung's phone. A woman? Why was a womam calling him? When you reached out to pick the device up and accept the call, she hung up, leaving you there confused.

You did it out of reflex, you couldn't stop the words that came out of your lips.

"Jinyoung?" You asked, hearing the shower being turned off and the bathroom door opening a couple of minutes later. With just a towel around his hips, Jinyoung stood there infront of you. "Who is Sun Hee?"

And again, one of your questions managed to make his world spin.

[inthisfire-ifindrain]

Till death...

under a read more due to length very angsty and triggers galore, 

Hector kills Vulpes and Fiona gets her revenge. it started out a drabble and turned into a full damn story.

@ratherxintense

Staring at the door she sat quietly,two weeks. Hes been gone two weeks, he promised three days. She sat in panic wondering if she needs to leave. Fighting with herself telling herself she should have went after him days ago. It wasn't right and she felt it. No letter brought by a man saying he would be later the planned. Nothing. Just scilence. Feeling her heart beat pounding away in her chest she got up quickly and ran up the stairs to their bedroom. "I should habe left a week ago." Speaking to the emptyness, She changing her clothes quickly and packing her bag hastily for anything she may need if he was in trouble put on her boots and ran out the door not even noticing that she had left it wide open in her hurry.

It took a days time to find out the area he was last in. Question wastelanders on a blue eyed blond hair handsome man by the name of Ivan Fox. Every question every encounter terrified her. Changing her story each time deciding that telling them she is his wife and hes missing wouldnt be a good idea incase he has been with a new contact. She cringed and her stomach turned each time that thought came creeping up. "I'm his sister unfortunately our mom has passed away and i need him to come home." A lie she stuck with decently well. Until she came upon one group of raiders outside some shitty bar. They mostly laughed at her but did inform her that a friend of theirs dragged someone off by that description they couldnt tell her the mans name. "What is your friends name?" She said sternly being met again with laughter and a comment of.

"Hector. You best bet to stay away small woman." Hearing that her face had lost color, there must be no mistake. She remembers a few years back Vulpes came home fucked up and terrified of a man named Hector. It had scared her to see him afraid of anything much less a man. "I will do as i please now which way is this Hector..." The sweetness in her voice had disapeared,the darnkness in her eyes shown as she spoke. The three raiders quieted down noticing the change in the small woman in front of them. Pointing and telling her the general direction of his place they didn't worry. Once she had gathered all the information she needed she took her blade out, killing all three unsuspecting raiders they were close together and she had managed to end them before they had a chance to defend themselves. After all she couldn't leave a witness she had a grave idea of what she was dealing with now and knew this was not going to end well.

Following the direction they gave her head spinning the whole way, feeling that its too late that its her fault, this is why she needed to leave sooner. Two weeks. Could Hector have him this long and he still be alive? The growing pain in her stomach starting to get stronger as she forces herself to not be sick. It wasnt long before she approached a building with what looked like minimal lighting. The sun was setting so she hid, but hid close enough to see a figure moving around. Fiona watched and waited it felt like hours and maybe it had been. But the figure stepped out and she got a decent look at his face. "Hector" , she mumbled as the man looked how Vulpes had described him to be. He left off some where she could care less about after only waiting ten minutes, when he was good and out of view she crept in an open window.

Standing in his home she looked around, the place was disgusting. Blood, carnage, body parts from what she could make out. Covering her mouth she gaged before noticing something shining in the corner. Approaching she also saw legion clothing.. And his Vexillarius hat.. "No no no no" she spoke out loud in a panic as she ran twards it. Dropping to her knees she knew.. It was him.. It was... Him. Non recognizable, almost as if he was never a human at all. Shakingly she reached out to what was part of his hand the gleam she had initially saw. His wedding ring, further setting in it was him. She stood up and vomited in the near by sink before breaking into tears and sliding back down to the floor, crawling back to what remained of her husband, her owner. Fiona gently put her hands on his holding it but not moving it as if it would melt and be gone too.

She cried over him for as long as she could her body shaking in heart break and anger. Gently she took his ring off and put it in her bag along with his hat. Moving his hat made her scream, causing her to see more of what was his face tears coming down harder making her vision blurry, almost censoring the image herself. Next to him was more of his things, among them one of her red scarfs that he took and always carried when he was away.

Taking his hat over to the sink she washed it off. Not very well but well enough to put it in her bag. She wasn't alright. And this was not the end. She couldn't bury him. She couldn't take to much , and make it noticeable someone was messing with the body or inside hectors house. Hesitating to leave she stood at the window and looked back at him."I love you.. Mea anima.." She spoke quietly words he had always spoke to her. She turned and left out the window she had came in.

Watching, waiting, ploting. Days and nights on end. Days passing, turning into weeks. She was going to do this right and she was going to kill him. Stalking Hector took longer then she initially thought it would to get his patterns down, his behaviors, his drinks. By the time she had formulated a plan a few weeks had passed. Watching outside his window or a rock, he never noticed the small woman, after all her proficiency in sneaking about was one of her greatest abilities. When it got dark out and she was confident in his movements she would creep between windows watching him. Watching how he murders. Their screams for help falling on deaf ears for she was not their to be their savoir. The one she had cared about was gone. And Hectors destruction was the only thing on her mind. Leaving his place temporarily to get what she needed for her plot, drugs of almost all kinds along with a good healthy supply of med x and the basic stempacks. But enough drugs to know the monster out was her goal.

He had left and now was her plan in motion she snuck in. Several bags of drugs crushed and ready to be put in every bottle of alcohol he had she started in. Setting it up. Making sure she had enough rope and that his own killing table would be ready for him. Leaving this time she waited on his roof.. Hours passed before she saw him walk alone into his home. Perfect she thought to herself, No need to get rid of a victim. Climbing down she watched threw a window. Watched as Hector downed his own poison. About an hour past the beast fell to the floor not even making it to the couch by now he must knwo something isnt right. Fiona acted quickly not knowing how long she had before he wakes. Practically jumping through the window she threw her bag down grabbed her rope and tied the large mans hands and legs together. He was home and had already stripped himself of heavy armor for that she was greatful. It was feat getting him upon the table but using the rope and a little extra strength she was able too and tied him down with rope and the tables leather straps everything tight, she could see his hands changing color, no chances of him escaping or getting ahold of her.

Hector came around in just a hour the drugs wearing off. He fought at the restraints she quickly injected something into his neck causing him to almost lose consciousness again. Slapping his face she spoke. "Hey hey there!" Her voice was erratic sounding as she continued his eyes looking at her in confusion. "Don't, don't fight it. . it is over for you..you know. You must know.. Countless people you must have killed here..." She glanced over to the corner. As Hector noticed where she was glancing. "Before you open your disgusting mouth yes... You killed my husband. Vulpes.. " her cheeks turned red as her eyes started watering and bluring. Taking her hand she wiped her at her eyes concentrating back onto what she was doing. She could see a smile creep up on Hectors face.

Screaming at him as he began to tell her the awful things ans grosome things he had done to Vulpes. Quickly she took a rag and shoved it in his mouth nearly down his throat. "You Don't get to fucking talk!!" She screamed at him,already having a set plan she didn't want to hear this and didn't want to stray from the path. Crying she took a blade from his weaponry and started cutting away at him. His screams muffled from the wrag. Showing him each part of him she cut off of him, keeping him alive with med x and a stim pack here and there. "Don't want you to bleed out just yet now do we?" Her voice low almost a whisper. It went on for what seemed like hours, days? A day? Keeping it slow and keeping him alive. Taking breaks herself she would stop and sit on the couch and stare off into the corner letting time pass. Unmoving, almoat as if she was a statue. Then back at it again. Him in agonizing pain eventually she got all his limbs off in a gory mess on her and on the floor parts of him almost scattered everywhere arms legs fingers foot. But she kept him alive through it all, with the drugs of the wasteland. Stopping everytime shock had made him pass out. Eventually there was no more to cut off and he had spit out the rag at this point. Her over on the couch once again staring off. He speaks "I wonder if i have found someone the same as me.." He was speaking but was speaking as if delirious not directly to her.

It broke her gaze into nothing as she shook her head as if coming back into this world. "I'm not the same as you.. I'm fucking better then you." Standing up she went over to Vulpes corpse and grabbed his ripper slowly running her hand along the side of the blade. "Its time to end this. Its time for you to die Hector." Walking over to him she put the blade onto his neck, not turning it on she slowly sawed away at him until he head was completely severed. Grabbing his head she put it on a spike outside in front of the building before going back in. Gathering everything she needed she stumbled upon holotapes. One had Vulpes name on it she grabed it and put it in her bag, she had also found his ear in Hectors sick collection. She wrapped it in a red cloth and stored that away as well before walking to the corner of the room. She took the scarf he had carried with him and covered his remains with it, kissing her fingers and pressing it to the cloth. She walked out of Hectors home with no peace in her heart and no where to go but home.

She didn't stay at their home very long, it was a wreck by the time she got there. Animals all gotten to the food. Things everywhere. Walking straight upstairs she grabbed extra clothing but not hers, their wedding holotape from when they took a vacation and got secretly married at Jacobstown. She held it close before packing it away too. As she walked out she paused at the second bedroom next to theirs, glancing in it toys and teady bears. A dream she nagged him of that will never happen, his promise unintentionally broken. She closed the door and continued walking.

Not sure where she ended up . some home . some strange land. She got rid of anyone in her way until She found this one room shack, already frail from not eating, she looked sick and emaciated, opening the door she found it acceptable. Spending her nights playing his voice on their wedding holotape, hearing his voice speaking their vows helped lul her to sleep when her tears dried. Until one night she played Hectors tape. His screams, his sorrys to who she could only assume her. Hectors laugh, the laugh got to her. Everything had gotten to her she could no longer take this only a few months had passed sense he died and she couldn't continue. She put his ring on her finger next to the one he had givin her on their wedding day. Curled up on the old bed crying she took her finger, her nail still pointed and sharp with the metal underneath she glided it down her arm, and then again on her other arm. The red of her blood begging to run down her arm onto the bed at a fast pace she closed her eyes and held his hat tightly the fur of it touching her face as she closed her eyes and welcomed the deep sleep that eventually over came her, her heart coming to a stop. Fiona becoming one of the sad mysteries of the wasteland for anyone who stumbles upon her.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

War of Attrition: Chapter 17

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. The past comes back to haunt you. Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of death, blood, violence, wounds, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, survivor’s guilt Word Count: ~4,112 A/N: Please read the warnings!!

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“Got it, pal. Let me know when we’re getting close?” he murmured.

“I will, sir. Shall I wake you if either of you exhibits the symptoms of night terrors?” Alfred asked kindly.

Bucky nodded his head. “Please, Alfred. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Master Barnes. Enjoy your nap.”

Bucky was asleep within five minutes, lulled to sleep by the dull roar of the engines and your even breathing.

You moved the thick gardening glove down your wrist and glanced at your watch, trying your best to look inconspicuous as the guards passed.

10:19 am.

One minute until you had to make your way over to the small van with a wide arrangement of gardening tools... along with reinforced armor-plated sides, a silent, electric engine, and enough room for three people.

You clipped carefully at what you’d learned was a blueberry bush, humming a German tune that you actually did enjoy, and placed the clippings into the basket beside you. The guards paid you no mind, of course. You were a woman; a gardener. They had automatic weapons and you had slightly dull shears.

At 10:20 you stood and slowly moseyed over to your van, giving the guards a polite incline of your head and tentative smile as you passed. They eyed you and you had to fight back the urge to gag. There was no way to tell exactly what expression they held behind those soulless black masks, but if their body language was anything to go by it was in the vein of interest.

The basket got thrown somewhat carelessly into the back, the doors to which you left wide open. You walked over to the driver’s side door and hopped into the driver’s seat, trying your best to not fidget nervously as you turned the silent van on and waited.

You didn’t have to wait long.

There was a commotion on the other side of the sprawling property and the guards that had been stationed nearby were gone in a flash, running towards the source of the noise.

You bit your lip and gripped tightly at the steering wheel, nearly yelping in surprise when Peggy and Erskine jumped into the back of van and slammed the doors.

“Go go go!” Peggy yelled, but you were already rocketing forward, towards the front gates of Johann Schmidt’s private estate. The bastard wasn’t home, of course. You and Peggy had made sure of that.

The man you were rescuing- Abraham Erskine- looked gaunt and pale, which was no surprise. He’d been held by Schmidt for the better part of five years, being slowly starved to death and occasionally tortured. For her part, Peggy looked unfairly good in frumpy maid’s clothing that (despite your best efforts) hadn’t been able to hide her beauty.

“Look out!” Erskine yelled in thickly accented English, but you were already barreling ever faster towards the thick metal gate at the front of the property.

The van crashed through the wrought iron as though it was made of paper and the bullets of the guards’ guns might have been missing completely for all the damage they did.

“We did it!” you whooped from the front seat as you careened dangerously down the country road.

You could hear Peggy’s sly smile when she spoke, but you were too busy trying to make sure the three of you didn’t end up in a ditch to turn and look at her. “Not yet, we haven’t. We still need to make the rendezvous.” That made you grin and push your van just that slightest bit faster, adrenaline running through your veins. “Are you hurt, Doctor Erskine?”

The answering gasp made your blood run cold.

You knew that gasp; the shaky exhale that followed.

The van’s tires dug deep furrows into the ground as you slammed on the breaks, gravel flying in every direction. You spun in your seat, horror only growing at the sight behind you.

Erskine was bleeding out in Peggy’s arms, one gunshot straight to the gut, one to the chest.

He was bleeding. There was so much blood. Too much blood. It filled the bottom of the van until it came up to your ankles.

“You didn’t save me,” he gasped, bloody bubbles running down his chin.

“Abe! No! This isn’t- I wanted to save you- I tried- Please, Abraham! No!” you cried, crawling into the back of the van and kneeling down in the pool of blood. Its warm wetness seeped through your pants immediately, but you didn’t care. Abraham was dying. 

“You are evil,” he spat, and the blood splattered against your face. “Not even human. Steve Rogers should have killed you when he had the chance.” The hatred in his eyes had you scrambling back, scared. He was wrong! You were human! You grew up in New York! You liked machines and hated Nazis and-

“Почему ты расстроена, мама?” You froze as you backed up against someone, but you knew who it would be without looking. You turned anyway, seemingly unable to control your own body. A young Natalia stared down at you with eyes that were hers, but not. They were harder and colder than you’d ever seen, filled with condescension and hatred. It was the way she looked at an obstacle or an enemy. “Почему ты грустишь? Вы выполнили свою миссию. Доктор мертв.“ She asked with a feral smile that made your skin crawl.

“Нет! Нет, я н�� хотел этого! Он мой друг!” you gasped, bringing your legs up to your chest, curling into yourself.

But you froze when your hands touched cold, unyielding metal.

A scream crawled its way up your throat and you tried to scramble away from the pieces of metal, but they were attached to you; no, the metal was you. Your legs. Your fingers. A hand shot out and froze you in your tracks. Where Abraham and Peggy had been Howard Stark now laid, as young as he was the day you’d met him. His hand was broken, bones at odd angles and sticking out from his skin grotesquely. Pieces of glass were embedded into his purpling skin.

You didn’t know how you could recognize him. His face was smashed in until it was a pulpy mass with two dark brown, blood-eclipsed eyes staring piercingly at you.

“You killed me,” he whispered, though it sounded so loud to you that you had to throw your hands over your ears.

“No, please! Howard! I didn’t mean to. Please, please, please, stop. I couldn’t stop myself,” you pleaded, eyes shut tight against the horrible sight of Howard’s disfigured face and broken limbs.

“You looked right at me. I said your name. And then you bludgeoned me to death,” he spat accusingly, and you mashed your hands even tighter over your ears.

“God, this isn’t real. This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real!” you grit out through gnashing teeth. “This is a nightmare and-”

“Wovon redest du, fräulein? Das ist dein Leben, (Y/N).” 

The sound of Zola’s nasally voice had you careening forward into the pool of blood, not caring that it covered half of your face. You didn’t dare open your eyes and see him.

“Ich habe dich zu einem Monster gemacht,” he said, sickly sweet. It was the same voice he used when talking about successful experiments. “Ja das ist richtig. Das ist alles was du bist. Eine Waffe. Meine Waffe.“

“Nein! Ich bin nicht das, was du mich gemacht hast!” you screamed, metal fingers digging painfully into your skin.

“Is that why you killed me?” Mary Douglas asked. Even after all this time you knew her voice. It was the voice that haunted you more often than any of the others, except, perhaps, Howard’s.

You finally lifted your gaze, eyes wide and horrified. The skin of Mary’s face was burned and bubbling, a visage that would haunt even the most stalwart souls. Did she look that horrible after you’d killed her? You couldn’t even remember sometimes. You’d only seen her for a split second before Bucky had turned you away. Perhaps your remembered version was worse than the real thing, but there’d be no real way to ever know.

“You say you’re not a monster, but that didn’t stop you from killin’ me when you weren’t under their control. You’re broken, child, an’ nothin’ can fix you. All you’re good for now is killin’,” Mary said, speaking through cracked, warped lips.

“No! No no no please god no make it stop!” you screeched, tearing at your own face. Maybe if you died the voices would stop and-

“(Y/N)!”

“No, god no. Not you too, Buck,” you whimpered, tearing at your hair. Make it stop make it stop make it stop-

“You’re the reason why he’s alive and suffering,” a terrible, vengeful image of Pierce spat, staring at you like you were less than dirt. His guts were spilling into the pool of blood.

“(Y/N)! Please, wake up!”

“Wenn nicht für dich, hätte ich ihn nicht machen können,” Zola said malevolently, with your faceless, black-masked torturer behind him. “Es ist alles deine Schuld.“

“Baby, please. You gotta wake up.” He sounded frantic now. Why was he telling you to wake up? This was reality, after all. It was condensed suffering, dozens of people closing in on you in a landscape devoid of anything else except bodies and the blood that was slowly rising higher. Up to your knees, your waist, your chest-

“You’re the reason why SHIELD fell. I wish I had never met you.” Peggy stared down her nose at you, sneering beautifully.

“Baby, please. Wake up. Wake up!”

The world shook violently and your eyes opened to a too-bright room. You were already falling forward, out of bed, away from Bucky, and onto the hard ground of the room you were renting.

You vomited onto the worn wood, not caring that it got in your hair or on your hands. Your chest heaved as you breathed in startlingly cold breaths, the stench of vomit not overpowering the relief of no longer scenting the irony tang of blood in the air.

But you couldn’t relax, not when there were so many threats out there. Hydra. The KGB. SHIELD. The Avengers. The countless ghosts that were assuredly after your soul.

Bucky was by your side in an instant, running a big hand down your back, voice low and soothing as he spoke. “It’s alright, (Y/N). You’re here, with me. We’re in Bucharest, Romania. It’s 2015. They don’t know where we are. We’ve built a safe house for ourselves. Breathe, Baby. Just breathe,” he whispered, knowing not to move closer until you made some sort of sign that you’d understood what he’d said.

“It’s 2015,” you gasped, metal nails scratching grooves into the wooden floor as you clenched your hands into a fist. “Hydra doesn’t have us. The KGB doesn’t have us. We’re hiding.” You said the words like a mantra, letting them ground you.

“That’s right, Doll,” Bucky confirmed, letting himself get a little bit closer to tug your hair from your face. If he minded the vomit, he didn’t said anything. It wasn’t like this was the first time for either of you.

You sucked in a breath, and tried to release it slowly, evenly... but it came out as a shuttering sob. Bucky echoed the wounded noise softly and pulled you to him, his warm, soft human hand guiding your face gently to his neck.

Tears rolled down your cheeks and onto his shoulder, staining his light grey shirt in little droplets. You gritted your teeth against the wracking sobs, but that didn’t stop the pathetic noises from slipping through, nor did it stop the way your entire body shook. You knew, distantly, that Bucky was picking you up and carrying you through the tiny apartment, but you were still surprised when the first jet of cool water poured over your back, soaking your hair and clothing in an instant.

It wasn’t icy, but was still cold enough to not be mistaken for the pool of blood that haunted your dreams. The bathroom came into focus around you, its off-white walls and dingy lights comforting in a way they had no right to be.

You perched your chin on his shoulder and closed your eyes, letting the water flow over you skin, the effect calming you in a way his touch alone couldn’t.

“D’ya wanna talk about it?”

A hummed, dismissive response was the only reply you had the wherewithal to give at the moment. You could feel more than see him nod in acknowledgment and a sound of protest left your lips when he moved too much, but a second later a toothbrush and toothpaste were in front of your face. It was a sign of how out of it you were that you had trouble focusing on them.

Wordlessly you took them, though you paused to nudge his shoulder gently with your forehead, a small sign of thanks and affection that you couldn’t form the words to right then.

“Do ya wanna watch Tangled after this?” he asked quietly, lips brushing against your now sopping wet hair.

You hummed a small affirmative as you began brushing your teeth dutifully (Bucky knew it was the first thing you liked to do after episodes; it was hard to get past them when there was such a horrid physical reminder of what had happened). Of all the newer Disney movies you liked that one the best so far. There were others, but between saving half the world and avoiding what felt like the other half of the world, you hadn’t yet found the time to watch them all. They were an escape, and a welcome one at that.

“Time?” you murmured after you spat out the toothpaste and rinsed your mouth out with the bottle of water Bucky handed you (you needed to fix the pipes in this damned hellhole... or maybe just set up a water filtration system).

“Just after 2 am,” he answered immediately, voice still slow and soothing. 

You frowned. Maybe you’d be able to fall back asleep during Tangled, but it was unlikely Bucky would be able to, not after your episode. You bit your tongue on the apology you wanted to give him, knowing it wasn’t fair to either of you to apologize for something you couldn’t control.

Instead, you turned the water up to a less offensive temperature (it was starting to get too cold for you at this point) and shuffled until your back was against Bucky’s. Taking the hint, he wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned back against the tub, pulling you with him. Using your foot, you hit the knob that turned the shower head off, eyes opening a little wider now that you knew you wouldn’t be constantly bombarded by tiny droplets of water. With equal ease you popped the plug into the drain, eyeing it dubiously for a moment until you were sure it was actually stopping the water from escaping into the sewer.

“Alfred, could you bring the tablet?” you asked the air, knowing that the AI would hear you even though you could barely hear yourself above the sound of the water.

“Of course, Mistress Barnes,” one of the drones said dutifully, already floating into the bathroom with the largest of the tablets trapped between the claws of its little metal arms. You had a feeling the AI had been ready and waiting for you to ask.

“Thanks Al,” Bucky said as he took the tablet from Drone Anchorage.

“It was my pleasure, Master Barnes. Please enjoy the movie.”

You eyed the tablet and, sure enough, Tangled was already queued up and ready to go. Bucky huffed a single laugh and even you felt a tiny smile tilt a corner of your lips up. You tilted your knees up and Bucky set the tablet on your lap, knowing full well you made all of your tech waterproof (well, almost all of it, but Bucky knew very, very well which inventions were water-safe and which ones weren’t).

You tapped play and, almost instantly, your heart felt a little lighter at the sound of Eugene’s voice starting the introduction.

When the tub was full enough you turned the faucet off and practically melted into Bucky’s chest, tension finally leaving you in some measurable way.

“Hey Buck?” you whispered as the scene switched to Eugene stealing the crown.

“Yeah Doll?” he murmured, arms squeezing you ever so gently.

“Love you,” you answered, eyes not leaving the screen.

Bucky merely placed a gentle kiss to the back of your head and muttered a quiet but heartfelt “Love you, too,” and you finally let yourself get lost for a while.

By the time you woke up again you were back on the small mattress you shared with Bucky, dry and in new clothes. You reached out blindly for your husband, already suspecting he wasn’t there by the lack of dipping in the old, worn out springs. Sure enough, the sheets were cold, but you kept looking anyway, right until your hand reached the edge of the mattress. With a groan you shoved your face back into the pillow, unwilling to face the day. Days after an episode were especially tough and you considered it a blessing that you managed to wake up knowing what year it was and where you were.

“Bucky? Где ты?” you mumbled, trusting in his enhanced hearing to pick up your voice even through the walls. The apartment was tiny; only two small rooms. Nearly everything was in the first room- the one you were in now- with all of your important scientific research and the workshop in the other.

“Какие? Не могли бы даже потрогать ваши глаза?” came a quiet, gentle voice directly to your right.

Tension left your muscles after a second, your body relaxing when you realized he was watching your back both metaphorically and literally.

“Я не знаю, как вы можете быть комфортно на этой кушетке. Это ужасно,” you muttered as you shuffled around, finally opening your eyes to look up at him. He was reading the paper and you could just barely see his bright blue eyes over the top of it. If you weren’t mistaken, they were distinctly amused. You realized you were likely an unsightly heap, strewn out lackadaisically on the bed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Ты тот, кто спас его от корзины,” he countered.

You frowned, features coming uncomfortably close to a pout. Genius engineers and deadly assassins didn’t pout, though. Then, it hit you. “Shit,” you hissed as you grabbed the pillow and shoved it into your face. “I’ve been talking in Russian.”

“Да,” he said dryly. You chucked the pillow blindly at him, wincing as it veered violently to the right... and straight into the sink.

Bucky lowered the paper slowly and leveled a flat, unimpressed stair at you, but you were already rolling away from his accusing stare. You could practically feel his gaze boring into your back, but you valiantly ignored him until you heard the paper rustle again.

You let yourself lay there for a while, mind wandering as you attempted to sort your jumbled thoughts. The nightmare from hours before still lingered in grisly flashes, destroying any urge you had to leave the bed and be productive. You’d manage it eventually, but you couldn’t muster up the energy to get up just yet.

“What are we doin’, Buck?” you whispered, not thinking about your question until it was already hanging in the air between you.

A pause, then the sound of the paper being folded haphazardly. “We’re hiding. Doing what we can to stay away from other people. You’re sending tips to the new SHIELD to help them clean up unsavory folks and the remnants of Hydra. We-”

You rolled over to look at him, the sad smile on your face making him freeze mid sentence. “You know what I mean, Bucky...” you whispered softly.

He looked away, blue eyes trained on a random spot on the floor. “Dunno what you mean, Doll,” he said quietly, with just a hint of obstinance. He didn’t like this conversation, mostly because you ended up talking each other in circles for hours. You both felt horribly guilty over what you’d personally done, but neither of you would let the other turn themselves in.

You tried a new path of thought today. “Stevie’s friend. Anthony Stark.”

Even though Bucky still refused to look at you, you could see the way the name affected him in how his jaw tightened and his gaze turned stormy.

“Steve will figure it out soon if he hasn’t already. And you know-”

“He won’t tell him, yeah. I know,” Bucky said bitterly.

“Tony isn’t stupid either, from what I can tell. He’ll... probably figure it out eventually, too. Natalia and Steve will probably try to keep it from him, though.”

Bucky’s frown only deepened. “That’ll only be a problem if we insert ourselves in their lives again,” he said tersely.

You sighed, heart constricting painfully. “He was my friend, Buck. Our friend. And we killed ‘im.”

Bucky’s gaze turned up sharply, though you could tell he was hurting too by the way his gaze softened ever so slightly as he looked at you. “And what? We say ‘sorry we killed your mom and dad’ and hope he doesn’t blow us to bits with his suit? Worse, we hope he does?”

You flinched at the implication.

... No, that he’d seen through your words and intentions so clearly as he always did. “We’d deserve it,” you muttered so quietly you almost thought he wouldn’t hear.

But his eyes flashed with anger and fear and he was off the couch and in front of you in a flash. You were in his arms before you could mutter even the smallest protest, your face jammed into his broad chest.

“We did a lot of messed up things, Doll. I know we did. I don’t think we’ll ever really escape that shadow... but if you think I’m ever letting you go again, you’re wrong,” he breathed, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

Your arms went around his waist, but you couldn’t help the feeling of dread swirling low in your gut. “Someone’s gotta answer for what we did, Buck...” you muttered, voice muffled by his chest.

He squeezed you gently. “They did. They are. Steve and Natalia killed most of the rats and we got rid of what they missed. Only pieces remaining are the roaches that barely have enough power to pry themselves out of their destroyed, moldering ruins of an empire.”

You frowned and bit your lip. This was how the conversation usually went, though the lines sometimes were swapped, with you talking Bucky out of anything rash. It still felt wrong, though- to not say anything.

Knowing you were at yet another impasse, you let the subject drop. “Gotta go to the club later, pawn off some of my designs. You feel like goin’ with me?” you asked, peeking hesitantly up at him.

He stared at you, gaze assessing, for what felt like a small eternity, but eventually he nodded. “What kinda guy would I be if I let my gal go to a fancy club all alone after just sayin’ I’d never let her go?” he asked. The lightness he was trying for fell just a bit flat to both of your dour moods.

You leaned up and pecked him on the cheek anyway. “Thanks, Buck. Radcliffe always pays well for my blueprints and prototypes.”

Bucky finally released you, watching you from the floor with wary eyes as you stood and headed to the bedroom. “Where’s all this money going to, anyways?” he asked with a frown.

You leaned back around the corner, surprise lining your features. “I didn’t tell you?” you asked, confused.

He shook his head, amusement returning some of the light to his eyes. “You get lost in your own head too much, y’know. Wouldn’t be surprised if you have whole one-sided conversations in there,” he teased gently. He... wasn’t wrong, and you fought the childish urge to stick your tongue out at him.

Your smile was a little sad. “Sokovian relief efforts.”

Bucky’s smile was melancholy, too, the destruction of the city a fresh horror in his mind, along with the fear of losing you. Again.

“That’s... that’s good,” he said finally, looking up at you with what could only be adoration.

Your smile turned a little lighter- a little more genuine- and you nodded. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

Next Chapter

If you’d like to be tagged in this series, like this post! Sorry, but responses to this post asking to be tagged will be ignored, so send me an ask or like one of the taglist posts!

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[pafallende]

[Txt] genji luv- I habe made a monster [txt] (img attached) [txt] I introduce ur bro to one in baker and now their friends and I'm not sure how to feel [txt] he was my professional baker friend first omggggg [txt] I jest mostly but srsly that apron. [Txt] pls come back soon so we can tease the shit out of him. If ur talking yet. [Txt] if not we can shit talk him now [txt] (image attached)

   ➥  @greenxscarves

[ txt: エミちゃん ]  …if you had not included a picture, i would not have believed that we were really talking about my brother[ txt: エミちゃん ]  hanzo has not only made a FRIEND, but has been BAKING???[ txt: エミちゃん ]  i must be dreaming. or suffering severe head trauma.[ txt: エミちゃん ]  omg. i was already hoping to return next week but now i will make certain that is the case. i need to see this for myself[ txt: エミちゃん ]  if this is real, we will be sure to tease the hell out of him[ txt: エミちゃん ]  HANZO IN AN APRON. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO REACT TO THESE IMAGES[ txt: エミちゃん ]  fortunately, i will have a week to process all of this before i witness it and never let him live it down

[dekatsu]

After seeing this post by @namaki132 I decided to check out the German translation for Deku vs Kacchan 2 and translate the important bits into english for you all, because we all were dissatisfied with the english translation.

Izuku said “Das versteht sich von selbst, aber... Du bist stark geworden!” which means “That goes without saying, but... you have become stronger!”

Also for the next part I’m going to translate all of what Deku says to Katsuki after Katsuki reveals his misunderstandings, because I think it’s important and very different in sentiment, from the english translation.

Izuku: “Es wäre wohl normal, nichts mehr mit dem zu tun haben zu wollen, der sich über einen lustig macht. Aber... Wie du es eben sagtest, hatte ich nichts auf dem Kasten. Gerade deshalb habe ich nicht nur deine unsympathischen Seiten gesehen, sondern auch deine Überragenheit! Du der so viel von dem besaß, das mir fehlte, warst ein “toller Kerl”, der mir viel näher stand als All Might!”

Translation: “It would be normal to want to have nothing more to do with someone who makes fun of you. But... As you just said, I had nothing on the ball [1.] But for this very reason, I have I not only seen your unsympathetic sides, but your superiority as well [2]. You who had so much of what I lacked, were a “great guy”, who was so much closer to me than All Might!”

[1] the closest english idiom to the german idiom, basically means the same

[2] now the german word used here is Überrangenheit, which is not really a word but rather a noun made out of the verb ‘überragen’ which means to tower over. It’s common to take a word and add a noun ending to it and I’m actually surprised it’s not really a word since I hear Überragenheit a lot. It’s basically saying Katsuki totally outshined everyone else. Amazingness would probably fit here as well, but that’s not a word either. The closest existing noun is Überlegenheit, which means “Superiority”

Then he adds “Weil ich dich toll fand... Deshalb bin ich... dir immer hinterhergelaufen!”

Translation: “Because I thought you were great... that’s why I... always ran after you”

“toll” is a word with many meanings. It can mean awesome, brilliant, terrific etc. all positive connotations, and used negatively only for sarcasm, but great fits best. (funny thing: google translated the first part into because I loved you lol)

And then: “Das ist mir wirklich unangenehm, darum kann ich es dir nicht sagen, aber... (flashback...) Wenn der Drang zu gewinnen stärker ist, als der Drang zu retten, dann wird meine Ausdrucksweise unbewusst ordinärer. Eigentlich sollte ich diese Eigenschaft verabscheuen, aber in meinem Kopf stimmt die Vorstellung von “Siegen” mit dir überein. (...) Ich möchte gegen dich, “den personifizierten Sieg” gewinnen!”

Translation: “That’s really unpleasant, so I can’t tell you, but ... If the urge to win is is stronger than the urge to rescue, then my language unconsciously becomes more vulgar. Actually, I should abhor this quality, but in my head the Image of “victorious” coincides with you.(...) I want to win against you, “the personified victory""!

Izuku never once said the word hate and always talked about Katsuki in a very positive way. He even said that he can’t hate his ‘vulgar’ traits because they come from Katsuki, who is his image of victory! In the german translation, he obviously holds Katsuki in very high regards, even if he has unsympathetic sides. There is no negative sentiment.

Thanks for reading my translations! If I mistranslated anything, please correct me! I hope these make things clearer than the english ones. Ger sub video here

[ginggotisga]

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