#putting a bunch of tags because I REALLY want to find this it’s stupid but the fic genuinely helped me a lot

[punchurlightsout]

hi this is kind of a weird post but about two years ago I read an Ao3 fanfic about Herbert West age regressing and Dan Cain as his caregiver, and it was really sweet and kind of got me comfortable with being a regressor. I don’t remember the name or tons about it, but I can’t find it on the site anymore, and the only ones I can find now are someone’s personal AU with Herbert and Ash Williams and that Crawford guy. if anyone can help me look, dm me please?

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: gen cw: drinking/getting drunk, high society expectations, cranky steve and robin, period typical homophobia tags: no upside down au, rich kid steve au, steddie and Buckingham double date, chirstmas parties, Eddie learns whats in eggnog word count: 2412

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written for the steddiemas prompt "eggnog" but it's a good week late, another victim of the plague I caught lol

“You better go collect your man,” Robin whispered, having appeared out of nowhere.

Steve hissed, “Stop calling him that.”

His eyes darted around the room, both to make sure he wasn’t heard. Robin was right, he hadn’t seen his boyfriend (who was definitely not his date tonight) in a while. Probably not a good sign.

“Well he is,” she scoffed.

“You are supposed to be my date, that’s the cover story. For you and for me. Doesn’t really work if you go around talking about how I really brought Eddie.”

It shut Robin up for a second, just long enough for Steve to enjoy the victory, before she said, “Tell your parents to stop being so uptight.”

Except the counter to that was the same as it always was. “And yours are so cool about it.”

Probably not the round and round Robin wanted when she walked up here on some high horse. One she had no business climbing on. She knew Steve was always a little extra stressed at these stupid dinner parties and that tonight was going to be worse. Instead of being supportive, it was almost like she was trying to sabotage things.

They could talk about it later. Right now, Steve apparently had to go find Eddie because there was no way Robin was saying that for fun. He was doing something. Probably making a run for it…which was smart. Steve could, at least, show him the best escape routes and let him know he didn’t take it personally.

Especially because it was a lot harder for Steve to make that run for it anymore. Ever since they’d brought him in from the kiddie room (which was actually the garage), his moves were tracked. Sure he wasn’t sharing one sad, toppingless pizza with a bunch of kids he didn’t know anymore but at what cost? At least the garage had video games…and no one talking about investments or how he should have gone to college.

Steve went off to find out what was going on with Eddie. Robin, in her endless helpfulness, decided to stay put and give no direction. It left Steve to go from room to room, asking everyone he could. No one had seen him. Something that was maybe a good thing? This meant he wasn’t standing on expensive furniture telling some amazing and elaborate story that would be wasted on these stuffy assholes.

Things got so desperate, Steve asked his mom if she’d seen Eddie. She always knew everything that was happening at these parties. Yet she hadn’t seen him. It seemed unlikely and a quick segue into tired reminders to not cause a scene. This one came with the bonus lecture of not ignoring his date because “no respectable woman is sidelined for a friend, dear.”

And nothing proved more that Steve’s mom didn’t see everything. Not only would he and Robin stick by each other through anything, she wasn’t even his actual date. Though, Steve did have to admit the only people in the world who believed they weren’t dating were them. Probably Chrissy and Eddie but sometimes Steve wasn’t so sure.

Moving on from his mom before he got roped into some mind-numbingly boring discussion, Steve ran into Chrissy. She was Eddie’s date who was really Robin’s date and had been folded into the group shenanigans. Which meant Steve was so ready to drag her into this quest. If he couldn’t have Robin, he could at least have help.

“We’ve lost your date,” Steve sighed, trying not to freak out yet.

“What do you mean?” she asked, instantly jumping to freaking out.

Steve linked their arms together and continued walking on, trying to think of where else he’d hide out. “Robin came up to me and told me to go collect my man. I thought he was doing something embarrassing but, like, I can’t find him. Do you think he’d leave?”

“No,” she cooed. “He’s been so worried about this night, there’s no way he’d leave you. He wouldn’t.”

Something that would have been so much more flattering if Steve had any fucking clue where the guy was.

“The garage!” Steve said, realizing the one place he hadn’t looked.

Chrissy didn’t say anything, just picked up her pace and they sped off toward the kiddie party. Of course. it was in the detached garage. Heaven forbid the kids breathed in the others, dad’s cars would lower in value at the mere thought.

So they barged through the door and onto the familiar path, still arm and arm, laser-focused on the only place it made sense for Eddie to be.

Before the door closed behind them, the soft exclamation of “Steve” was sung out and Chrissy and Steve both leaped into the grass, barely holding back screams as the voice startled them.

Steve easily moved Chrissy behind him as they both looked for the source of the voice, rather than some creepy old guy or party crasher, it was the exact person they were looking for. Both of them let out a matching, but quiet, exclamation for finding Eddie.

He was sat on a stone bench, leaning against the house, and smoking. Not only was he well hidden by shrubbery but Steve had expected to find him indoors. He needed that last glimmer of hope that Eddie was still at the party. And he hadn’t exactly left so that was…something?

“Hey man,” Eddie drawled out.

Steve’s eyes narrowed but he turned to make sure Chrissy was stable and had recovered from the little fright neither of them was going to speak about.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Chrissy said.

Resigning to her point, Steve nodded and went for the “what she said” shrug.

“I’ve been ri-ight here, baby.”

“He’s drunk,” Chrissy and Steve whispered to each other.

“Oh no!” Eddie cried out, dropping his head back. “Who told you?”

“I think you did, champ,” Chrissy laughed.

This probably wasn’t great. Steve went into panic mode immediately, ideas on what to do next sped through his mind followed by the consequences of each. A drunk Eddie was less likely to keep up the ruse, one he and Robin had organized so carefully.

It wasn’t time to come out, yet. Steve knew that time was rapidly approaching. Each and every day he had to lie about who he was with or what he was doing was another stab in the chest but at The Harrington Christmas Soiree? That was not the time. If they could just get into the new year, Steve would come clean, and probably get disowned, but at least it wouldn’t go down for “trying to steal the spotlight”.

Chrissy rubbed her hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. He had to be thinking awfully loudly right now. Where was Robin when he really needed her?

“I didn’t mean to,” Eddie pouted.

Steve watched Eddie pat around the bench and his own clothes, looking for his lighter. It was such a distinct move but it brought in this creeping feeling of normalcy with it. They’d done this before. Both drunk and sober.

As he had many times before, Steve reached into his pocket and got his lighter. Once he was close enough, he shielded the flame so Eddie could re-light his cigarette. Which he did with ease. The smoke billowed from Eddie and cleared both of their heads.

“How’s that work, though?” Steve asked. He then turned to Chrissy and leaned in a bit. “Could you go find Robin, remind her not to gloat, and maybe get a glass of water? In that order of importance.”

“She’s not going to gloat,” Chrissy said but it’s already an apology. They both know the truth. It’s part of Robin’s charm but it’s always extra annoying in moments like these.

“That’s the spirit, let's hope for Christmas miracles.”

They share a giggle that they’ve earned by being as close to Robin as they are and Chrissy disappeared back inside. Steve sat down next to Eddie and moved his hand so Steve could take a quick drag off the cigarette. He’s going to need it…or some of whatever Eddie had.

“Alright, what’s the story then?”

“Have you ever had eggnog,” Eddie asked. A question that feels wildly off topic but, again, he’s a little drunk so a coherent sentence is a great start.

“Yeah, it’s disgusting.”

“No-ooooooooo. No. Look, listen, I mean. It’s not. You’re wrong. Wayne makes it all the time,” Eddie leaned in closer, a hand cupped over his mouth as he whispered. “Every year.”

“Yeah, my parents do too. It’s nasty. The one in the punch bowl is the one you want.”

“Au contraire, that one has alcohol in it and I’m supposed to behave,” Eddie has his finger raised, wagging in the air like a cartoon teaching valuable life lessons.

“And so’s the eggnog.”

“Mmmmmm, no. I think I’d know that.”

“I…actually, yeah. I’d have thought you knew that too. Wait, so how– you know you’re drunk now, right?”

“Yeah but, ya know, we’re not telling Steve. He’s going to make me sleep on the couch for a whole week.”

“Sure,” Steve pressed his lips together and nodded. This was ridiculous and he kind of wished Eddie was just giving some rambunctious nerd speech. “But how’d you get drunk then?”

“Sabotage, obviously. The Harrington’s don’t want the heir to their throne with a commoner like me.”

“So they spiked your drink?”

“Totally.”

“Somehow complimentary you think they’d waste liquor on that,” Steve shrugged and he snatched Eddie’s pack of cigarettes to light one for himself.

“So it was Robin!”

“More believable actually. No, it was the eggnog.”

“There’s not alcohol in eggnog, Wayne wouldn’t give me it if there was.”

“Because you have to put it in, which my parents do.”

In a different situation, this would be funny. Steve might even find a way to laugh about it later but the guilt simmering in his chest for not teaching Eddie about which drinks had liquor is too strong to enjoy the laughable way his boyfriend accidentally got drunk.

All the solutions Steve had run through didn’t fit the situation anymore. They were likely both going to have to leave. Or worse, Eddie and Chrissy were and that’d ruin so many people’s nights.

Before he could think of a way to save everyone’s good time, Chrissy returned. Robin right behind her. Steve quickly stamped out the cigarette like Robin wouldn’t see and stood to talk to them.

He filled them in on the whole eggnog situation. It earned the appropriate level of laughter but once it subsided, they started trying to actually solve the problem. Eddie sat content on the bench, watching them adoringly as they worked out his fate. Steve had to give it to him, he was a very happy drunk.

“Hey, psst, hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Eddie said as they were finalizing some plans to get him upstairs to Steve’s room and full of coffee.

“Oh my god,” Robin said, trying to shut him up.

Steve walked over, leaning into his space so he wasn’t towering over him. “Yeah, man. What’s up?”

“I just need you to know-”

“Oh boy.”

“I came in with a smoking hot blonde but she’s not really my date.”

With all the patience in his body, Steve let out a sigh that was every bitchy comeback he had rolled into one sound, and said “Yup.”

“You’re way better.”

“You didn’t even commit to that. At least hit on me. Ugh. Can you just be cool for like two more minutes?”

“Cool? Yeah? Yeah! I can be cool for so many minutes. Two, ten, six, eighty. I’m good at it.”

“You’re not, so we better do something quick.”

“We should fool around is what we should do. This place has to have so many rooms. I didn’t even peek in half of them.”

Steve turned around and looked at the girls, “I think we gotta leave.”

“You can’t leave your own family Christmas party,” Robin said.

“I’ve done it so many times. Chrissy and Eddie have to go because Eddie’s sick. You and me can work something else out.”

Eddie stood up and leaned on Steve. “You should have some of that eggnog. I guess they make it with alcohol here.”

“Will you stop acting like we don’t know each other!” Steve scrubbed his hand over his face.

Robin sucked her teeth, “Might be for the best, he won’t blow anyone’s cover that way.”

“But he’s being so obnoxious about it,” Steve groaned.

“Good thing he’s the only one being obnoxious,” Robin said, crossing her arms over her chest.

A pose Steve mirrored, “What do you suggest then?”

“Let him sleep it off. He’s right, there’s plenty of rooms here and all we have to do is tell the truth for once. He didn’t know there was alcohol in the eggnog.”

“I didn’t know. I gotta tell Wayne though, it’s way better this way.”

“Who doesn’t know,” Steve groaned. Not frustrated at Eddie for not knowing, not really, but stressed out by the situation and that had to go somewhere.

“What if,” Chrissy said with her shoulders pulled up to her ears. The meek injection spoke to her nervousness but she got everyone’s attention. “We joined Eddie?”

Eddie, who was draped on Steve’s back with an arm over his shoulder and idly rubbing Steve’s chest, hummed in approval. The comfort of Eddie’s weight had Steve forgetting everything they were supposed to be hiding as he melted into the comfort and contact.

Still, he and Robin voiced matching sounds of confusion.

“It’s not embarrassing if the ‘kids’ got drunk. It’s our first time here, they almost expect us to overdo it so…let’s overdo it. Eddie won’t be the one who didn’t know this or that, we’ll all just be young adults doing what’s expected of us.”

Steve pondered the plan. “We couldn’t go wild.”

“It’s not a frat house,” Robin said for Chrissy.

Eddie gave a soft “Yeah” that Steve knew was meant to mock Robin but came out like agreement.

“It could work.”

“It could be fun!” Chrissy cooed, jumping up and down a few times. Maybe they all needed to take the edge off here.

The hand that was on Steve’s chest now held his cheek as Eddie kissed the other one.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go have some fun,” Steve groaned, doing his best to act like he hated this.

“Finally!”

[blitzwhore]

I just saw Blitzø get called Stolas stockholm victim I can't with this fandom anymore😭

😂 As outrageously incorrect and stupid as that take is, I'm going to go on a tangent here. I hope you don't mind.

I think every fandom has annoying people with awfully terrible takes in it. People with zero media literacy. People who hatewatch. People who think they're entitled to the exact show they would've wanted, which has nothing to do with the actual, existing show.

This is especially true for queer media, and especially true for queer cartoons. (Hi, yes. I was active in the Adventure Time, Steven Universe, Voltron, and She-Ra fandoms when those shows were airing, respectively. I've seen some stuff). Some people just can't handle queer cartoons, period. If the queer characters/ships are soft and wholesome, they're infantilising and boring, and if they're complex and nuanced and actually have conflict, they're abusive and problematic. You'll hear the same recycled arguments over and over again. Like, the shit some people are saying about Blitz and Stolas after The Full Moon? Is literally almost word-for-word what they said about Catra and Adora post-season 3 of She-Ra (and even at the end of the show).

Here's the thing, though! Those people and their bad takes are not what I want to think about what I think about a fandom. Those aren't the people I want to call the fans. They don't deserve that title. Not when so many other people are out there dedicating their time to making gifs and art and meta posts, and writing fic, and commenting/reblogging to show support, and sliding into people's DMs to scream and squee together about a thing they love.

At the end of the day, "fandom" is just a lot of people each doing their own thing. Which people you engage with and allow to stay within your line of sight will determine your fandom experience. Fandom can be a huge, convoluted, online space full of people who are constantly arguing with one another and whose takes make you unfathomably angry... Or it can be you and your 5 friends and mutuals who scream gleefully at one another in 2-note posts. You can't control what others post online, but you can control your engagement with it.

How? Well, here's what I personally do to avoid getting upset by people's stupid opinions online:

Filter 'critical' and 'anti' tags (eg. #anti stolitz #anti vivziepop #Helluva Boss critical #HB critical #vivziepop critical). Many people actually do tag their critical posts because they know it's the respectful thing to do!

If I come across a post that has one or more of those tags, obviously, I don't click through to see it under any circumstances.

If I stumble across a stranger's untagged post with hate/criticism that upsets me: I stop reading and BLOCK. Immediately. I don't look back. I don't finish reading. I don't engage. I just block block block. I <3 the block button, seriously.

If I feel my mind reeling from a bad take I just came across: I take a step back, close my phone, breathe, remember life is beautiful sometimes. Go back and watch an episode I really like. Clean my living space a little. Vent about it to a friend (but only if I really need to, because if not, I'd rather not dwell on it).

If I'm starting to feel the need to reply to someone's bad take (directly or via my own post), I instead make the decision to channel that energy into making fandom posts out of love. (I don't do this just with fandom. If I see something transphobic online, I usually react by reblogging a bunch of trans art or trans positivity posts on my main, for example). I like to think of it as putting some positivity out into the world to compensate for the negativity I just saw. So, for example, if I see someone shitting on my blorbo, I may make a silly post just saying how much I love blorbo. Or I'll make (or draft) a post about how interesting I find some of blorbo's actions. Or reblog another person's positive/interesting post about blorbo.

And finally, I stay the hell away from Twitter. Or at least, if I go on Twitter, I try my best to avoid any tweet that has text in it instead of just art. Even the people who have good opinions spend too much time arguing with the people who have bad opinions on there. I don't want to see people's bad takes! No, not even while reading founded and perfectly articulated criticism of those bad takes! So I just limit my time on Twitter. And again, if someone is putting bad takes on my TL (even if it is to counter them), I unfollow and block as needed.

All this to say, yes, it really fucking sucks to read the opinions of people who don't understand and who hate the characters and ships and worlds you love. Gosh it's the worst. But you can curate your fandom experience. You can focus on the things you can control. You have the power to decide if your fandom experience is draining or fun!

And because I don't know how to finish this, here, have a Stolitz kiss to heal you:

We will keep winning and there's nothing the haters can do about it. 😌

[its-time-to-write]

how about a Jamie x reader fic when they go away to Amsterdam they sit together on bus and they wake up cuddling and then there’s an issue w hotel booking and there’s a one bed trope and they end up waking up cuddled together and then they admit feelings and reader goes to game with a tartt jersey on <3

I’ve been thinking about this forever, and I’m terribly sorry it took so long!! I do enjoy being an adult, but I’m at a point in life where I don’t have much free time and if I do, I use it to sleep😂

I really miss the days when Ted Lasso was still airing and the x reader tags had new content every day. I feel like that one meme of Thanos when he’s like “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Shoutout to all y’all who are still here and reading my stuff! Love you!!

smile at me

It’s straight-up fucked. It really, really is. But also maybe it’s good, as Keeley pointed out, because not having a boyfriend anymore means you can focus on yourself?

Or something. 

Of course he had to break up with you right before leaving for Amsterdam. Hell, he broke up with you because you were leaving for Amsterdam. 

“I don’t want you going to another country with a bunch of other guys,” he had said. “It’s them or me.”

“It’s literally my job,” you told him. 

Apparently, that didn’t matter. 

But what-fucking-ever, you’re at Keeley’s waiting for a car to take you to the airport, and she’s promised to make sure you don’t think about your stupid ex even once. 

It’s times like these you wish Ted were still here with a spot-on pun and some dad-type advice. All you ever get from Beard is a weird anecdote and a vaguely threatening look. 

Keeley chatters on for the entirety of the ride to the airport, through customs, and all the way to the lounge. 

“You’re gonna get loads of great content for the socials, babe. Candids, action shots, behind-the-scenes. Friendlies are fucking amazing!”

Last time Richmond were in Amsterdam, they had lost horribly. They’re hoping to make up for it this time around. 

The plane is full of Greyhounds, both footballers and coaches alike, with Rebecca at the very front. Keeley plops done in the seat next to her as Dani waves at you from the middle. 

“I saved you a seat!” he calls. You smile as Sam takes your bag to put it in the overhead. “Thanks, Dani. You excited?”

Dani grins. “I think this time I am ready to see a whole field of tulips!”

You laugh as the lads roll their eyes. Jamie leans across the aisle toward you and says, “Oi, what’s the twat doing while you’re away?” 

You press your lips into a thin line. “Not a clue.”

He raises an eyebrow and says, “You break up with him?”

“He broke up with me.”

Jamie twists his face into a scoff. “And you wonder why I call him the fucking twat. Prick. Bet it was so he could finally fuck his coworker.”

You shrug. Jamie’s never liked your boyfriend. It’s not like you were together long, only a few months. And sure, he was a little bit of a twat, but sue you. You had a special place in your heart for pricks with a heart of gold, only he didn’t even have a heart at all. 

“You should date someone better,” Jamie continues. 

You glare at him and retort, “Oh yeah, because it’s just that easy. You got some one in mind?”

Jamie gives you his most angelic look and says, “What about me?” which makes half the plane dissolve into laughter, yourself included. 

“Cheers, Jamie,” you say as you wipe your eyes. “I needed that.”

A strange look crosses his face, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual cocky expression. “Anytime, love,” he replies as you turn to start a conversation with Dani. 

As much as you’d like that, Jamie would never date you. His joke stings a little but you brush it off. Maybe you’ll find another twat in Amsterdam to distract yourself from the fact that you’re half in love with Jamie Tartt.

—

“I’m sorry, we don’t have a booking under you name,” the hotel concierge says.

You tap your nails to your wrist. “Are you positive? I’m with AFC Richmond, they should’ve had one.”

The concierge taps on his computer for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid we don’t have anything. And all of our rooms are booked this weekend. Might I recommend the hotel down the road?”

Damn it. There’s no way this is happening. Everyone else has gotten to their rooms without a hitch and here you are, alone in the lobby as you pull out your phone to call Keeley. There’s no way this is fucking happening. 

“Everything alright?” asks a voice behind you, and you jump. 

“They don’t have a room for me, and they’re fully booked,” you explain. 

Jamie looks at the concierge, who shrugs apologetically, then back to you. He asks, “Why don’t you share with me?” and you frown. 

“I thought you were rooming with Declan,” you say. 

Jamie lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, but he switched with Richard because O’Brien fucking snores and he don’t give a shit.”

You say, “So you’re with Richard, then,” and he shakes his head. 

“Nah, Richard’s with Jan.”

“I thought Dani was with Jan,” you say. These fucking footballers. What’s the point in having set rooms if they’re just going to switch it all up.

“Dani is with Jan,” Jamie says patiently, as if this all the most obvious thing in the world. “But Dani’s a cuddler, so he’s probably going to fucking end up with, I don’t know, Isaac or someone. Which means I get a room all to meself.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “Alright, I can do that. As long as you don’t mind.”

Jamie winks. “Sharing a room with a pretty girl for four days? Ain’t a problem, love.”

You laugh and follow him to the elevator.

—

It feels a bit like playing with fire, agreeing to room with Jamie. Especially since you’re freshly single and definitely open to a rebound. But there will be two beds and a lot of space and anyway, you’ll be busy with the match and social media, respectively. 

Except as soon as you walk through the door, you realize there’s a tiny little hitch.

“There’s one bed,” you blurt out, so surprised you’re unable to filter your words. Jamie blushes a little bit as he says, “Yeah, um, Cockburn and I hate sleeping alone, so we asked for one. He grew up sharing a bed with his brothers and I just fucking hate being alone. I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

“No,” you say firmly, “you need good rest. It’s not a problem.”

It’s not a problem. 

Or at least it wouldn’t have been if Isaac had been a shittier captain. 

But as it is he’s great, so he’s got the whole team going out to dinner at a pre-determined location complete with a dress code of no t-shirts and apparently you count as part of the team, so you have to go too. You’re in your massive bathroom trying to curl your disgusting travel hair when Jamie walks in wearing one of those white hotel bathrobes.

He asks, “You mind if I’m in here?” so you shake your head, struck temporarily mute by his bare clavicle. Fucking hell, you feel like a repressed Victorian woman. 

Jamie says, “Mint,” and goes about his alarmingly detailed skincare routine. You’re pretty sure you’re done with your hair so you crane your neck in an attempt to check the back. 

“Missed a spot,” Jamie says. “Want me to get it for you?”

You shoot him a dubious look but hand him the curler. He runs a hand through your hair, picking up the offending strand and it’s all you can do not to shiver. 

“Mum taught me,” he explains and you nod ever so slightly, not wanting him to accidentally burn your neck. Jamie says, “All good,” and runs his whole hand through your hair this time, making the curls bounce. 

You choke out, “Thanks,” and hurriedly put away your things, desperate to leave before Jamie can pick up on the fact that you can barely handle being in the same room as him, and that you have great concerns about what the night will bring. 

—

“You look fucking hot,” is the first thing Rebecca says when you meet her in the lobby. Keeley looks mildly offended that Rebecca took the words out of her mouth, but she just laughs and taps your arm. 

“Gonna break a few hearts tonight, yeah?” she grins.

You’re not sure about that, especially since dinner turns out to be a very domestic affair. It’s loud, sure, but it’s definitely toned down since it’s a pre-match celebration instead of a post-match one. You’re with Sam, Keeley, and Roy with Jamie far, far away. You push all thoughts of him from your brain only for memories of your ex to surface. You frown. 

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Roy says and for a moment, you think he’s talking to you. But he’s actually talking to Jamie who has moved from his place across the restaurant to right behind your chair. 

“Fuck off grandad,” Jamie says good-naturedly. “Wanted to tell this one that some of the lads are going out dancing after this. Not too late,” he hastily adds at Roy’s burning scowl, “just for two hours and we’re only allowed one drink.”

You’re pretty sure that’s a bit more liberal than Roy likes, but he nods his head slightly so he must be in a good mood.

“So, you coming?” Jamie asks and before you can reply Sam and Keeley chorus, “Yes she is.”

You give Keeley a Look before turning back to Jamie. “Guess I am,” you reply.

The smile Jamie gives you does more to make your head spin than any amount of alcohol you’ve had in your lifetime.

—

Jamie has taken it upon himself to wipe that frown off your face. He might have been watching you over dinner and that might have been why he chose that exact moment to invite you out, but he’ll never fucking admit it to anyone except Sam. And Keeley. And maybe Cockburn when it was the off-season and they were a little tipsy. (But not drunk, never drunk.) 

So yeah, sue him if he’s spinning you around on the crowded dance floor just because it makes you laugh. It’s not his fault that he’s been wildly in love with you since the day Higgins hired you. It’s not his fault that you’re easy to be around and have the most beautiful smile he’s seen in his life. 

And fuck, it certainly isn’t his fault you can’t see in yourself what others do. Why you settled for a piece of shit like your ex, he’ll never know. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his best to show you how special you are. He knows you’ll never feel the same about him, but maybe he can help you level up your standards. Maybe if you’re with someone good, it’ll hurt less that it’s not him. 

So he lets you hold his hand for the entirety of the two hours that the team is out and doesn’t say a word when you don’t let go in the cab back to the hotel. 

You’ve gotten that closed-off look in your eyes again, the one that means you’re thinking about your ex, so Jamie knocks his shoulder into yours and asks why he can’t have the password to the team’s Instagram account, which is a sure fire way to get you to lecture him on irresponsibility and aesthetics and the best way to get your eyes to come back to life.

—

Honestly, it’s easier to fall asleep than you might have expected. It’s a big bed and you’re fucking tired. 

You just didn’t expect to wake up in the middle of the night crying, but it’s always fucking like this when you go through a breakup. You go to sleep fine and wake up sad, so you do your best not to wake up Jamie except you’ve both ended up entangled in each other’s arms, so he can feel you shaking. 

“Hey,” Jamie says in a soft voice, “You’re okay, love.”

You half expect him to push you away once he realizes you’re so close, but he only pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. Maybe it’s because you’re both half-asleep, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

You sigh and settle into him, drifting off in a matter of moments. 

—

You wake up to a pair of blue eyes watching you. 

“How you feeling?” Jamie asks, voice gravelly with sleep. 

You just blink at him. It’s hard to form coherent sentences within the first ten seconds of waking up, and even harder with the memory of Jamie’s arms around you last night. 

Wait. Not just the memory. The present reality because neither of you have moved. 

Jamie misinterprets your silence and begins to extricate his arms.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m not to trying to like, cross and fucking boundary or something. Should’ve left you alone.”

You’re still not awake enough to talk so you grab him to stop him from moving away. He gives you a questioning look so you say, “I wouldn’t have agreed to share a bed if I thought you were a creep.”

Jamie grins. “So like, if Jan had offered to share a room you’d’ve said no.”

You wrinkle your nose as you say, “Jan’s not a creep.”

“He’s the fucking worst,” Jamie grumbles, “And anyway, can we not talk about Jan fucking Maas this early in the morning?”

“Sure,” you say, “let’s talk about something else.”

Despite your comment, you both lapse into silence. You’re enraptured by Jamie’s blue eyes. You’ve never been able to study them this close before, and you want to take this opportunity to memorize every fleck of green. 

Jamie seems to have a similar thought, except his gaze flicks to your lips. 

“I have morning breath,” you tell him and he says, “Real men don’t give a shit, babe,” before leaning forward.

It’s softer than you’d expected, sweeter. 

It’s also strange to think that you’re making out with Jamie in bed, and that he’s the one who initiated it.

The thought is so absurd that you giggle, mid-kiss. Jamie breaks away and says, “Oi, there’s no way that was a shit kiss.”

“No,” you say between giggles, “it’s just weird that we’re doing this. Like, how are we supposed to look each other in the eye after?”

Jamie moves so he can look at you better, and you roll from your side to your back. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Oh come on, we share a room and a bed, we kiss because I have all these sad feelings and you’re feeling a lot of emotions about the match, and then we have to work together after. It’s silly.”

Jamie cocks his head. “That’s what you think is happening?”

“Yes?” you say. None of this is going how it’s supposed to. “What do you think is happening?”

“I like you,” he says, and there is absolutely no mistaking his meaning. 

“Oh,” you reply in a small voice. “Since when?”

“Since before you started dating the twat. When Higgins introduced ya to the team.”

“That’s a fucking long time ago!” you exclaim. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Jamie rubs his face. “Yeah, ‘cept you showed up to work tellin’ everyone how you started dating the twat. And I ain’t a home wrecker.”

You groan. “Fuuuck. I literally only dated him to try to get over you.”

Jamie shoots up. “What?!”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ve been like a little bit in love with you ever since you winked at me during that first promo I did.”

Jamie blows out a breath. “Okay. Think that’s enough talking. C’mere. We’re making out proper, like, then we’re going to breakfast.”

You grin as you climb onto his lap. 

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 84 

Oh what a wonderful day! Why? BECAUSE I FINALLY GET TO SAY THE LAST OF MY STUPID ARBITRARY RULES! The Final Arbitrary Rule is: No Crossing Over with Other Franchises! Which I very clearly fuckin’ broke here!

I wanted to do my best to only make pieces working with just the base of Junkan itself, and AU’s I made had to be original and not just “What if Junkan but it’s in X series.” That way when I finished the project a bunch of new doors would open up for me to have fun with! I know last time we had Alice in Wonderland, but given the public domain nature of that story I don’t find it to be an infraction of the rule. There’s a future day coming up that also kiiiind of breaks it? But also i feel like it’s a slightly different case, not sure how to explain it while you can’t see it. None of that matters because today we have a blunt, no fucking around breaking of that rule, and why?

Listen I’ve seen some of ya’ll draw/write Junko and Mikan as Pokemon Trainers while waiting for this day to get posted, surely you understand. I’ve been wanting to draw a pic of these two with full teams for months at this point in the projects making, I couldn’t wait any longer, it was a moment of weakness!!!

Designing the outfits for these two was super fun. Once again I’ve fucking put Mikan in a Sweater, and this time it doubles as a dress! Will I ever be stopped? 

That does generally bring me to the thoughts I’m having in hindsight months after this pic, I think Junko’s side is on the weaker side. I like her fit though I might make small edits to it whenever the next time I draw her is. But the main thing is I think the team I put together is kind of lacking??

Mikan’s? I’m perfectly happy with, Frillish is just there because she vibes aesthetically with Mikan, Blissey is obvious, Lampent because it’s associated with hospitals due to floatin around them to steal life energy, Clefable I can explain in a second but it’s probably obvious, Spinda because she needs a cute buddy to be clumsy with, but my favorite was giving her an Applin.

Like the whole thing with Applin is that giving one to someone as a gift is a declaration of Love. So of course Junko would do that, she’s all about that shit (in my brain at least). I think it’s cute!

Junko’s half of things though, if I’m gonna be real a few months later I’d probably only keep two of them and just try to remake the rest of the team. Gengar (who is also the reason Mikan has a Clefable, I love that old fan theory), because he’s my favorite pokemon and I think he just vibes really well with Junko. And Hydreigon, because Junko deserves a giant nightmare dragon. 

This is another instance of me concocting something for this project and then not being able to draw any more of it because I have to wait for it to be posted. So now, assuming I have time, I can finally draw the Pokemon AU!~ Like I said i’ll probably do some minor reworks, and then some major reworks on Junko’s end. No idea when it’ll be but look forward to it I suppose!~ 

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

[chronurgy]

i loveeeeeeeee your hc about gortash in all your tags!!! can you share your favorite hc about durge/gortash shenanigans in the city?

Yeah absolutely! Shenanigans hmmm....

Some of these will be a little more specific to my durge (Vesper, half-drow wizard) than others

During the Hall of Wonders heist, gortash specifically left some guards out of his reconnaissance to test how Durge handled themselves under pressure. He wanted to know if this was someone he would work with or someone too crazy to manage.

Gortash and Durge did a heist in the House of Hope as a trial run for their heist of the Crown - this is when they stole Raphael's shoes (the helldusk armor boots that Gortash keeps in the chest at the foot of his bed). Gortash didn't tell them about his history there or with Raphael before they went in. I think after seeing him there Durge did put at least pieces of it together and really left lots of burn marks and blood and guts spread around in their wake to get back at Raphael. They also broke at least one priceless and irreplaceable vase on "accident" while they were there. Their ire towards Raphael from this realization actually manages to carry over even when they can't remember why and it's partly why they're so determined to kill Raphael and so insistent that they won't work with him.

Gortash takes Durge to fancy parties, for a number of reasons - as a bodyguard, to bring them close to a murder target, to introduce them to the kind of high society stuff they'll be involved with as his co-ruler. But also because he loves to show them off, his darling assassin, loves the vicious little comments they make about the other attendees. He starts finding excuses to bring them to any party he can because he only ever enjoys these parties when they're with him, when he has someone just as brilliant as he is at his side. Durge usually has to attend in disguise but sometimes just dressing up fancy enough not to look like a sewer rat is enough to fool people.

Gortash is the kinda guy who will work himself to exhaustion and then fall asleep at his desk. The first time Durge found him like that, completely dead to the world on top of his diagrams and sketches, they thought about killing him. They imagined every detail, knew exactly how it would go. It would have been so easy, because he's so defenseless like this. They see his eyes moving under their lids, see his hands flex, and little expressions pass over his face - they know he's dreaming. They wonder what he's dreaming about (is it them?). And they don't kill him. They just watch him sleep, fascinated by the differences between the waking man they know and this unguarded sleeping one. They leave before he wakes up. I think they do this a couple of times before he finally catches them (maybe because they try to stroke his hair or something in a fit of softness). At first he's like, "oh my apologies, please don't hesitate to wake me should this happen again" before he puts together the look on Durge's face and realizes they've been watching him sleep and tried to like, touch his hair. He considers this a success because they could've killed him a whole bunch of times and didn't and they seem to be developing some sort of feelings towards him. He resolutely does not acknowledge the existence of any things he could possibly be feeling about this. Not at all.

Gortash keeps a large fancy estate in the city, Durge has a guest room there - it starts out as just an extra room but as they spend more time there Gortash starts to customize it more to their liking. He also moves their room to be next to his once he realizes that they're staying over more often, blaming a maid for knocking over a candle and causing fire damage in their old room when they ask why it was moved.

I think one night they have to have at least one really stupid caper they pulled off while extremely drunk that neither of them will talk about - as an example, they got super drunk, decided that since they were so good at heists they should do more of them, broke into some patriars estate, and stole a ton of fancy liquor. They also stole the bust of some guy from the entryway and staggered up the stairs to escape out the window of the daughter of the house's dressing room. Anyway, they woke up the next morning on the floor of Gortash's bedroom, extremely hungover and both of them (and the bust they stole) were wearing fancy little fascinator hats they can't remember but must have stolen out of the dressing room. They try to laugh at each other but gortash just ends up violently throwing up in a trash bin while durge lies on the floor with their eyes squeezed shut because the room won't stop spinning. They refuse to speak of this and will adamantly deny it ever happened if asked. Durge absolutely killed sceleritas while trying to force him into a stupid hat. The exact series of events might need some workshopping, but the core idea is some extremely stupid adventure the two of them had together that neither would ever admit to but is also a cherished memory for both of them.

Gortash's gauntlets (before he had the netherstone) used a series of capacitors and a setup akin to a self winding watch to generate an electric charge that he could attack people with. He designed them himself.

Vesper finds these gauntlets fascinating. When they first meet in person, he shows them off and discusses their construction and it's the first thing about him that they find impressive and intriguing.

As a gift, Gortash gave Vesper a set of sharpened rings designed after his gauntlets.

Vesper actually helped Gortash with some of the designs for the steel watch, looking at the plans and making suggestions - they were especially helpful when it came to the magical portions of the construct.

I think the closest the Urge ever comes to forcing Vesper to kill Gortash isn't when they first meet or during sex. It's one day when they're waiting for some spy's report, so they're sitting around in his room. He's tinkering with something at his workbench, and they're sitting at a desk working on a spell. They realize they need certain special inks for the transcription and look up to see them in the desk's little shelving unit and then they look closer and realize the desk is stocked with all the things a wizard needs - inks, chalks, paper, magical components. And this is the desk they always sit at when they're here and need to do some work. And Gortash has stocked it as a wizard's desk. He's made it their desk. And he's working at his workbench and they're working at their desk together in companionable silence. It's domestic, almost. And that's when the urge hits, with just absolutely crushing intensity, and they turn on gortash. Jokes on them, he's into that shit. After some back and forth between them (the level of explicitness is up to you! Or me, if I can get my act together and write this!), Vesper more or less jumps out the window and spends the next couple of days cutting a bloody swathe through baldur’s gate. When they finally return to him, gortash just asks them if they enjoyed their little vacation. After that, even when recreating much the same scene, the urge never comes on as strongly again (they don't know it at the time but this is the first time they've managed to throw off Bhaal's yoke when he really wanted them to kill someone. He never pushed that hard again with gortash because he's afraid of the consequences, though he still does push them to kill him a little bit).

Gortash gave durge a number of gifts over their acquaintance, both practical and fantastic: jewelry, enchanted items, clothes, shoes, books, any and everything you can imagine. He loves seeing them using his gifts, carrying or wearing something he gave them, because it helps mark them as his. He spends absolutely lavishly on them, buying them beautiful and fancy clothes for them to wear when they're in his house or out with him in public. He also buys them more practical gifts, well-fitting boots, weapons, armor, all of it enchanted and worth a small fortune.

On some of his gifts to Durge, he encodes messages for them in their cypher. They say things like "For my dearest assassin" and "To the sorrow of all" on a weapon and "pari pasu" (Latin for with equal step) and "I've always liked to play with fire", plus any number of other things.

Gortash has a thing for Durge wearing his clothes. One cold morning durge throws on his black coat when they get out of bed to check something and seeing them wearing nothing but his coat is such a thing for him that he ditches all their plans for the day to spend the day in bed with them.

Gortash has a number of affairs, to help his star rise in the upper city. He may use them to make durge jealous, but they are ultimately people to be used and discarded. He doesn't care what they do, because they're tools. Durge is his. His partner. And that's why he doesn't share.

[groovebunker]

i’m gonna be obnoxious about this and people are just going to have to be cool about that. yes? good.

happy birthday to what would you do (if they ever found us out) (affectionately known as wwyd)!!! a year ago today, i posted chapter one and (i’m not being dramatic here) i think it changed my life?

little backstory: i’m a dyke with eyes and a type, so when i watched fran drescher making impassioned speeches about labour rights, i was both smitten and reminded that i’d been meaning to watch the nanny. i was also (mostly unbeknownst to me) about as mentally ill as i’ve ever been in my life. i was halfway through a phd which i loved but it was making me so, so unwell. anyway, i started watching the nanny as some kind of escapism and one night, i was like…has anyone thought of fran and cc kissing on the mouth? and they had (obviously) and so i started thinking about that and how whine cellar is a deeply disappointing episode in so many ways and then i was like ‘i can fix that! with a one shot!’.

fast fwd to april 2024. i’m in my favourite city in the world. i’m posting the 11th chapter of that one shot far too late at night (sorry sara). it’s ended up about 85k words long. i’m no longer a phd candidate. i’m significantly less mentally ill. and i’ve spent the last 8 or so months being held by a group of people i would never have met if i had never started writing again.

i didn't quit my phd to write fan fiction, obviously. but writing fic helped me realise how unhappy i was because it was something that gave me joy in a time that was so fucking bleak. i don't really like thinking about it too much but it wasn't great. and then i had this lifeline. these two idiots (affectionate) falling in love with one another, not only in wwyd but all the other fics i was writing. and talking about with people who were commenting and finding me on tumblr. and then, eventually, we weren't just talking about fran and cc, we were talking about our lives! because we were friends!

people will tell you before you start a phd that it's a lonely experience. i was the only history student in my cohort. i only met one of my supervisors in person at his leaving drinks. i have two friends i met at my uni, one of whom was the first person i told that i had to quit. i had other friends and an incredible, loving, patient partner, and they were amazing. but still, it was lonely.

and then i just fucking wasn't.

january ‘24, the squad evolved from being my stupid tumblr tag to being the most chaotic group chat i have ever been part of (until nic got us nicely organised). a week or so later, i quit the phd. and i told a bunch of people i’d never met that i was dropping out of grad school and they were so fucking kind. i will never forget that. the squad, in all its iterations, will have my heart for my whole life. i will not rest until i have annoyed you all in person. my dream is winning the lottery and flying you all to a villa in spain for a week so i can cook you dinner (and cass can make bread) every night and drink wine and splash about in the sun (or in sara’s case, hide in the shade and probably yell at us to put sun screen on). when i say i love you, i mean it so wholly and truly.

anyway, back to wwyd. it’s not my first fic. i’ve been writing on and off for 15 long, long years. but i hadn't written a ton for a while (other than my aloto fic bc gretson my beloved) and i really kind of expected to get a couple of comments and a few kudos. i just had a story that wanted to get out so i published the first few chapters in really rather quick succession (i’m sorry to anyone who reads my stuff, my adhd is too bad for a posting schedule) and people…loved it? like, really loved it. which was so nice because i’m gonna be honest, there was not an adoring audience for my academic work (perils of being a genocide scholar). and i know it's become quite a few people��s comfort fic. i know people have reread it, more than once in some cases, which feels wild. people have left the most wonderful comments, said the kindest things, drawn gorgeous art, made a fanmix (which is fucking amazing), followed along on this journey which i did not expect them to do.

i don't have favourite children (b&w fans, i promise you, the next chapter is in the works) but if i did, wwyd might be one. sure, she's my difficult eldest child. but she got me into a fandom for the first time in years, she’s given me friends i know I will hold onto for the rest of my life, she reminded me how much fun writing can be. and she’s spawned so much more because she made me so much more confident as a writer.

so i don't think i’m being overdramatic when i say it changed my life. if you’d told me all of this when i hit publish on chapter one last year, i would have told you to fuck off. relatively vehemently. but i’m better now. and i’m so fucking grateful for this fic for being part of what gave me that.

anyway, thanks for letting me be a bit self indulgent - promise you don't have to sit through this ever again (maybe for won't you when i finally get it done. i’m sorry. i’m verbose). and once again, to everyone who has read wwyd, given it kudos, commented, reblogged a chapter on tumblr, all of it, my eternal thanks. i couldn't have done it without you.

finally, because i cannot say it enough, to the squad, you have my whole heart. it’s actually mad to me that this time last year, i had no idea who any of you were. your stamp on the last few chapters of wwyd is indelible. your stamp on my life is somehow more permanent than that. thank you. ilsym 🫶🏻

[pawberri]

ok, so i just saw an anti-dni post talking about how having a dni list in bio is purposeless and annoying since it is like a 'holding a sign saying "do not kick me." ' now, i find that perspective objectionable (since obtaining a block list might be what is desired anyways and not all dni reasons have to be extremely polarizing, e.g., i dont think a minors dni will suddenly make a billion minors annoyed, making them interact w/ you immediatly) and i have a slight feeling that you disagree with that point of view too because uhhhhh.

so what i wanted to know was whether you share the same reasons to oppose that perspective, and, if not, then, what are they?

I have been getting really annoyed with the backlash to dnis... I think it's goofy when some person has a dni with a million things, but it feels reactionary to me to say "it makes no sense for you to put your boundaries and expect people to follow them." There's especially this vibe with people who post more extreme content getting mad at dnis. I think that's weird. Partially, people seem to take them as like... a sign of moral superiority or hatred... rather than just a little bit of clarity on boundaries. These people talk about "curating your online space" but have to make these posts ranting about people who do it in a way they dislike. I especially think it's dumb to say, "Just block me, why do I have to not interact with you?" because... I mean, you can't block someone you don't know exists. It's meant to be a preemptive expression of boundaries, so the other party has the chance to block you and / or just not interact.

I know that, in practice, some people have really silly, long dnis that are linked on some weird carrd that takes forever to read. I don't think it's fair to strawman the concept of expressing some of your boundaries online in a digestible format as being stupid because of that, though. Especially when a lot of the people with silly dnis are teenagers just trying to figure their life out. They'll grow out of it. It's fine.

I also think it's weird and victim blame-y to say people will naturally be harassed if they give any kind of indication of their boundaries. I sometimes get mean anons, but for the most part, my experience online is way better because I am upfront about things. I don't get too personal or say things I'm uncomfortable sharing, but I make my boundaries clear. Even when I was a teenager and getting harassed by redditors, I never had stuff I asked to be trigger tagged used against me like people fearmonger about. (I'm sure it can happen, but I think that for most people, it just results in their social circle tagging stuff for them.) Even if that did happen, I think it would cruel to say that it was my fault for daring to express a boundary. If you kick the guy who says "do not kick me", you're still being bully and a contrarian asshole. Even if I didn't express a boundary, people like that would likely harass me. If I don't express a boundary for the sake of avoiding harassment, I get in exchange an audience that will constantly be shocked and fight with me about my beliefs when they show. Then, that creates either an unpredictable level of harassment or the feeling of being harassed because I'm constantly in discourse with my followers. At best I feel miserable and hate interacting with my followers.

I think this partially comes from people who are afraid to express their boundaries for fear of backlash (ie they want to make extreme content but fear saying so will make their followers mad), but honestly I think being straight forward makes your audience more curated. The people I see who post extreme content and are clear about it seem to have an easier time than people who build an audience of a bunch of unsuspecting people and then slowly introduce untagged incest kink or something. Not saying it's a guaranteed anti-harassment tool, but I don't understand the impulse to warn for nothing and have no clear boundaries with your audience, then get mad you curated the audience you curated. I hope it doesn't come across as me victim-blaming in the opposite direction, I don't think anyone deserves harassment regardless of if I disagree with what they post online. I kind of just mean to illustrate a counter example to the idea of the dni-haver making themself a target or inherently Being A Harasser.

[da-rulah]

Soppy new year post incoming...

Whew. 2023 is almost over. Thank fuck for that.

I don't want to put too much pressure on having a better 2024, because frankly, I don't want to jinx anything. This year has been awful in so many ways, but the highs I've experienced have been extreme highs, and they've fuelled me to get through the year in one piece.

But I wanna talk about this silly little fandom for a moment, because it was only in July that I discovered Ghost. And like for so many of us, it changed my life.

For about 18 months prior to finding Ghost, I had lost a lot of passion in my life. As an autistic woman, I struggled with that. I had no hyperfixations, nothing to be passionate over, nothing that I truly enjoyed. It was getting really dark near the end of those 18 months, until my best friend (@her-satanic-wiles) text me one day in July and said "I need to info dump on you about this band I found a couple of weeks ago."

That was mid-July. It took me two days to fall head over heels in love with Ghost.

It reignited my lost passion for music, brought me back to a time where music was my life, it ruled my world and fuelled me daily. It reignited my passion for writing too, which some of you have joined me in. But most of all, it's given me this weird little safe haven of a home in a group of people on the internet who love this stupid little satanic band just as much as I do.

The last few months since I found Ghost, I've been tested mentally for various reasons but now that I found them, it was so much easier to get through those months than if I hadn't. I'm not sure where my head would be at without this distraction and passion, but I don't want to think on that, because luckily enough, I do have them.

I'm so grateful to a bunch of my close mutuals - @her-satanic-wiles, @angellayercake, @thew0man, @portaltothevoid, @ramblingoak, @tasty-ribz, @ghostchems, @leezlelatch, @ibikus/@writingjourney, @kissingghouls and SO MANY MORE of you that I can't tag you all - for keeping me afloat, most of the time without realising you're doing it. Whether it's through accepting me as a friend, supporting my writing, freaking out over Ghost with me or genuinely being there for me when I needed a friend... I adore you for it. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

I feel incredibly lucky to be starting 2024 off with this passion and drive again. I'm not out of the woods yet in terms of mental health challenges, and January is always a tough month for me, but I feel more prepared to take it on knowing I have a home to come to, and a driving force behind me.

Thank you all for the last few months, I hope you'll still be around when I write one of these soppy as fuck posts next year.

I think it's true what they say; "If you have Ghost, you have everything".

All my love, Bee 🖤

[whatyadrawin]

The Fruit After The Flesh 18+ -Chapter 3-

Minors DNI!

Masterlist

Approximately 2,682 words

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt(HeadCanon) x AFAB reader

This chapters Warnings: Strong language, use of derogatory terms, sexually suggestive language.

A/n: Two drawings took me so long, I feel very pathetic and unproductive but I am so happy to get the ball rolling. I can't wait to illustrate and submit chapter 4 because oooooh lord Tommy boy gon look good in it. I am also so excited to get writing the next few chapters, I have the fire in me and I don't want it to go out until I get a bunch of writing done lol. Please check the masterlist linked above for updates on progress.

Tag list: @fan-goddess

Chapter 3

The day begins with the sounds of birds happily chirping in the tree shading your backyard; a gentle breeze is washing over the land, cooling the heat away from the ground. You feel good today and decide it’s time for a cute yet practical outfit, so you grab some jean shorts, and a bright yellow tank top with a reliable pair of boots, you were ready to get things done. After eating some oatmeal purchased from Luda Mae’s store, you get your things ready to go drive to the next town and do some serious food shopping.

The car is packed with some water and a snack or two, but before you hit the road you take a trip down to see Dover the farmhand to try and appease him one more time. The morning seems to be the best time to catch him, and you can see him watching TV through a window so you knock on the door gently and hear a groan, he answers the door and when he sees you, he rolls his eyes and says rudely,

“Whadya want?”

You put on a sincere smile and reply “Good morning, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything?”

“Ya interrupted my peace, now what the hell d’ya want?” his tone is aggressive, but you continue,

“I just thought I might interest you in some new stuff for your home? I know you like how things are but I wanted to see if I could make it more comfortable, like a new T.V, or a new bed or whatever else.”

He throws his head back and sighs “Ya just don’ get it do ya? I don’ want yer fancy shit from the city, I don’ need nothin’ other’an this here orchard n’some peace! Why don’t ya just go play dress up with the Hewitts again, see if their retard son will play tea party with ya”

He slams the door on you. You feel sick with anger and knock again, this time more loudly.

Dover opens the door and screams “The fuck is yer problem?”

You try to keep your cool as you reply through gritted teeth “Why are you so mean to me? What did I ever do to you other than be kind and offer you help or nice things! You don’t even know my name!”

Dover’s eyebrows furl into and angry frown “This here land belongs t’me, stupid little girl. I worked fer years under that bitch Tilly, and the fact that she left everythin’ to some no-good kid who don’ deserve it, makes my skin crawl. If I had my way, this place’d be mine”

You look visibly confused “What is that supposed to mean?”

He then pauses and gets all flustered “Nothin’, nothin’ at all. You just let me do everythin’ here, soon ya gon’ realize ya don’t belong here and leave, if ya know what’s good fer ya. Now never come back to this house ever again or I’ll give ya somethin’ to cry ‘bout”

He slams the door again and you are shaking with rage, your eyes begin to well up with tears as you walk away back to your car. You set out on the drive to the next town and it feels like it lasts forever, the road is straight and flat, and the surroundings are just large swathes of yellow grass and wheat rushing past you as you speed up to shorten the distance. The sky is cloudless and the sun is blaring down on you causing your eyelids to weigh down, you decide to put on a playlist that only has bangers to energize you. Eventually you see the welcome sign for the next town and feel a sigh of relief.

 The town is small but you are able to spot a large Costco in the distance -Oh hell yeah, I can really stock up now-. You find a parking spot close to the door and as you walk in you get blasted by the air conditioning which feels so nice after that long, hot drive. You take your time through the aisles grabbing as many bulk items as you can, finding preserved goods that won’t immediately go bad, and some produce that would be able to last a little longer than others. Once your cart is fully maxed out with goods you head to the cashier who looks at you funny due to the number of things you are buying. They greet you,

“Hi Ma’am, all this for you?”

You smile, feeling a bit embarrassed “Yeah, I don’t live nearby any stores, just stocking up.”

They smile back “Oh yeah? Where ya comin’ from?”

You reply “Fuller”

The cashier squints her eyes in curiosity “Fuller? Where’s that at?”

You are a little surprised by their response, but with how desolate the town is their response makes sense, you say,

“It’s a... um, well…a dead town near the Oklahoma border”

They tilt their head as they scan your Costco card “Must be real dead if I ain’t never heard of it.”

“Yeah, it is” you give a little chuckle and they continue,

“Well, alright then, I’ll get yer stuff boxed here and you can be back on yer way to the dead town.”

You finish paying and thank the cashier, then you start wheeling your cart back to the car when a very old man approaches you.

“You came from Fuller?” he says

You reply “Yeah, do you know it?”

He pauses, then says “I know it. That town used to have a lot people go missing after the businesses left. Why’re you out there?”

“I inherited an orchard” you say quietly

He places his hand on his chin “Oh? So, there’s still somethin’ left huh. Be careful ma’am, that town ain’t safe from what I know. The people ain’t right, if there’s any people left.”

You feel extremely confused “Ok, uh, thanks?”

You open the trunk and fill it with the bags wondering what he could possibly mean by people going missing, and the citizens being not right.

The drive back felt a lot faster; you were running what that old man had said through your head, -he must be talking about Dover, or maybe some urban legend-. You have experienced gossip and falsehoods about your own town back home before, so it didn’t seem so absurd to have a random stranger tell you something odd. You arrive back at the house by 1pm, happy to have been so productive today, you begin to unload the car and get everything into the house.

All the groceries get put away and you decide to start baking a batch of chocolate chip muffins for the Hewitts since they have been nothing but nice to you, and it’s the first time in a long while where you feel comfortable around other people; you are hopeful of making new long-term friends with the Hewitts. You bake 24 muffins since you assume that Tommy likely eats a lot and maybe hasn’t had a baked pastry in a while. When the muffins are done baking you take them out of the oven and put them in the little basket you brought the fruit over in, you cover the muffins with a cheesecloth and make your way over.

You walk up the driveway and look to the barn but don’t see Tommy there, just a group of chickens clucking around. You knock on the door which gets answered by Charlie who says,

“Well, well, well, what we got here? Bringin’ us somethin’ good sweetheart?”

You blush and reply “Yeah, I baked some muffins for all of you”

“Well, ain’t you sweet. Come in girlie, Luda’s gonna wanna say hi” he waves you in

You didn’t like how he stared at you but he seemed mostly harmless, he calls out into the house

“Luda! The neighbor girl is here!”

Luda Mae comes out from the kitchen drying her hands with a towel “Oh hi dear! What a welcome surprise to see you. What brings you by?”

You smile, Luda Mae is such a welcoming and kind person, you say “I baked some muffins for everyone, as a thank you for inviting me over the other day, and kindness you have all shown me”

“That is so thoughtful of you! I hope you know you’re welcome to come by anytime dear, you don’t need to bring gifts every visit, your company is enough” she says sincerely.

You feel very accepted among this strange small-town family you say “It was no big deal really, I went to the next town over to get groceries and picked up some ingredients to make sweet things to share”

Luda Mae tilts her head and smiles indicating how impressed she is by your kindness and generosity, she follows with “Well Tommy will just love these, I guess you must’ve known that he doesn’t get to eat baked goods often”

She calls out for him to come upstairs and you immediately get butterflies in your stomach, they make you feel nauseous and excited. You hear heavy, thudding footsteps and the house gently rattles as Tommy makes his way up to the living room from what you assume is the basement.  He stops in his tracks the second he looks up and sees you; his eyes were shrouded in shadow from his hair and thick brows but despite the darkness, the brilliant blue looking back at you was vivid and bright; his long hair was roughly tousled and draped down to the nape of his neck in curly dark brown tendrils.

You finally got to see him even closer and you lose your breath with just how incredibly huge this giant of a man is compared to your own height, his chest is so wide it would enshroud your entire body if you hid behind it, his thick pectorals heaving with every breath under his worn-down short sleeve blouse. His legs were massive and covered by a pair of very worn and dirty jeans, they were hanging onto by a worn belt that had a large belt buckle, oxidized by time. You immediately felt a tinge of ancient animal fear from the obvious difference in power his body displayed, he could kill you in seconds if he wanted to but beneath his brutish exterior you could sense there was someone worth taking a chance on.

You wished to be able to see the rest of his face but it was hidden behind a dark leathery mask which was tactfully sewn together, there was only a small slit near his mouth for air to pass through, you wondered what he was hiding if he was already this impressive.

Luda Mae sighs and says,

“Thomas, don’t be shy, Y/N brought us some sweets, say thank you”

He holds his stare on you, he had never seen someone as breathtaking as yourself and your clothes did nothing to hide your robust, curvaceous figure, you didn’t look like someone who could easily break if he were to touch you but your height was barely a third of his own. He couldn’t help but find you simultaneously gorgeous and cute which was a perplexing and new feeling he welcomed. He suddenly snaps out of his trance when Luda Mae clears her throat, he then nods slowly as he shifts his eye contact from you and turns to leave quickly back down the stairs.

Luda Mae shakes her head “Excuse him, he takes a bit to warm up to people he likes”

“What about the people he doesn’t like?” You shocked yourself with your comment, it seemed to have just come out against your will.

Luda Mae looks at the floor and clenches the towel “Oh… haha well, don’t worry yourself about that hun. He likes you; one can tell that plain from the way he’s behavin’ ”

You let out a giggle and try to hide from the heat building up in your cheeks, Luda Mae notices this and smiles, Charlie sees this too and rudely barks in,

“Good thing y’got a crush on him because the people who don’t like him? Well, Girlie, you don’t wanna be them.”

Luda Mae drops her smile and snaps “YOU HUSH UP RIGHT THIS SECOND! THOMAS AIN’T DONE NOTHING WRONG!”

Charlie just laughs and wanders off, Luda Mae looks at you and says,

“I’m so sorry ‘bout him dear, he’s got such bad manners, does whatever he wants.” She places her hands on her hips and squints in the direction Charlie wandered off.

You reply “It’s alright. You know, Thomas seems to not want to be around me every time I come here. I hope I am not seeming like an intrusion to him.”

Luda Mae gets a worried look and says “Oh sweetheart, as his mama I can tell you with full certainty that he likes when you come over. He asked about you the other day, wondering who you are”

You try to suppress the smile forming on your lips, “I didn’t know he spoke. I would love to get to know him better” for some reason you kept saying bold statements despite your mind protesting the revealing honesty.

Luda Mae smiles at you “He speaks to the people he feels comfortable with, so far that’s only been me and sometimes Charlie. I think you may have to make an effort with Thomas dear, he is going to be like taming a wild animal, so you have your work cut out for you”

You continue a bit of small talk about the town you visited and then take your leave back down the drive way to home. The walk back makes you think of so many scenarios in which you would be able to speak with Tommy, he seemed like he would have a lot to say. The prospect of making Tommy trust you and having such a unique friend was overstimulating and got you so excited that you didn’t notice Dover come out of the bushes next to you, making you jump from being startled. He gives you a dirty look and says,

“Seems like yer makin’ friends with them Hewitt folk. What a stupid girl ya are. You know their sons a violent sort dontcha?”

You have had enough of Dover and his cruelty, you reply,

“I thought you wanted to be left alone? Besides, Thomas is really shy, he doesn’t seem violent”

Dover laughs “Ya really are dumber’n ya look! That retard would string ya up and eat ya alive if you don’t get the hell outta here”

You stop walking and face Dover “Why are you telling me this? It seems like you don’t care if I live or die so what would it matter to you if he DID eat me alive?”

He stops and looks at you “I DON’T CARE IF YA GET BURNED ALIVE!”

You stare at him, saying nothing, and he awkwardly looks around, expecting you to get mad, he follows

“Ya like that fool dontcha? Yer fixin’ to have him split yer birthin’ bits in two huh?”

You sneer at the crass statement “What is wrong with you? If you don’t need anything from me then please just go find the peace you claim to want, and let me live my life”

You continue walking away and he yells back after you “Those fuckers ate people ya know! Next theyr’ gon’ eat YOU! Have fun fuckin’ a cannibal man, ya dummy!”

You keep walking and make your way to the front door of your home, the words said to you by Dover were heinous but they did make you think, -He might be right, Luda Mae and her family say some really weird things a lot and seem to change the subject when things get too suspicious. At this point, I don’t care anymore… this is my only chance to have a normal life and have friends, maybe even family. I’m going to continue Tilly’s legacy, if not for her… then for all the people who seem to actually care about me-

Next chapter-

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Commander's Omega"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: alpha/omega, dystopia, sex slavery, forced breeding, mutilation, rape, corporal punishment, fascism, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, mpreg, age gap (38/23), mentions of abortion, happy ending

Summary: After years of a mass infertility crisis, Bucky Barnes finds himself thrust into a brutal world of survival where he's forced to serve as a vessel: a caste of omegas who bear children for the political elite.

Chapter IV. Exit Wounds

Before:

Gunfire pops through the air: loud, sharp, fired in three round bursts. An hour ago it was distant, but now the whizzing sounds of bullets have gotten alarmingly close. Bucky turns his head and listens, trying to gauge proximity by the deep thwack of the bullets hitting the trees.

He’s taken cover inside of an abandoned RV in the woods. He’s wedged the door shut with a chair and is sitting propped up against the wall, in pain, his rifle laid down beside him. Leaves and trash litter the plywood floor. Whoever lived there before is long gone now. 

Bucky’s head snaps back to the wall as he begins to hear shouts in the near-distance. He curses under his breath, pulse ticking hard in his veins from all the adrenalin. It could be his men out there, or it could be approaching guardians. He’s got no way of knowing. He’d still be out there fighting with all the others, except for that he’s been shot in the leg. And, well … 

His eyes dart to the back of the trailer where Jenny’s stumbled to and dumped herself on the bed. She’s moaning even louder than before and Bucky feels like a royal fuck for sitting there on his ass, thinking of nothing but his own pain.

He grits his teeth and uses the stock of his M4 like a crutch to push himself up from the floor. “Ah!” he yelps, because fuck, does that ever hurt. But he clamps his mouth shut and bites his tongue until he can taste blood. He can’t go screaming and drawing attention to their position. He’s on his feet, leg throbbing terribly. His pants leg is torn and blood soaked from where the bullet went in. There’s no telling what caliber he’s been shot with, but he’s pretty sure there’s no exit wound. That’s not good news, but he tries to put it from his mind as he hobbles to the back of the RV where Jenny is.

She grimaces at him when she sees him. “Sorry!” she hisses. “I know. I know I’m being loud.”

Bucky scoffs. “You’re having a fucking baby.”

“God!” she sobs. “Yeah. Yeah I really am, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiles grimly, heart going out to her. “Just try your best to stay quiet, okay?” He knows it’s a shitty thing to say to a woman in labor, but Jenny’s not stupid; she knows what’s going on outside just as well as he does. They’re both omega. Neither one of them wants to be taken. 

Jenny groans as another contraction comes on. Outside, the bullets and the shouts are getting louder, closer. “Shit,” Bucky hisses. He reaches down and unholsters his sidearm, sliding it on the bed towards Jenny’s hand. “Safety’s on,” he warns. “Ten rounds.” She’s straining and grimacing with her eyes closed as she works through the contraction, but Bucky catches the small nod she gives him. “Okay,” he says. Good.” 

He limps back out to the front of the RV and positions himself by the window over the kitchen sink. It’s a decent line of sight, if the fighting gets close enough, but he can’t do anything about the fact that he’s exposed from the position. Oh well, he thinks. He’ll just have to make sure he shoots the fastest. He’s had great luck so far.

The fighting draws nearer, and before he knows it Bucky’s taking out enemy fighters left and right. At least the guardians wear uniforms. It makes them easily distinguishable from the rebels, easier to pick off. Bucky gets maybe fifteen, twenty guardians on the ground before the trailer door busts open, the chair propped behind it splintering like a bunch of toothpicks. Three guardians burst in, and Bucky’s only able to shoot one of them before they wrestle his rifle away and punch him square in the face, knocking him out cold.

After:

The bathwater sloshes gently against the sides of the tub as Bucky shifts to grab the bar of soap from its ledge by the windowsill. He soaps up his shoulders and rubs the suds around absentmindedly. He’s been finding himself daydreaming a lot lately. Not that it’s unusual for him. Daydreaming is one of the only things he has left to fill his time, and he’s been remembering his days with the resistance, in particular.

He’d fought with them for almost a year. It’d felt like five. Bucky knows that his mom and sisters are out of the country now, and that thought is one of the few that bring him comfort. He knows they’re safe. He knows that. By some small miracle, he’d been able to receive a letter from them a few months after they’d crossed the border into Canada. In it, his mother had written that they’d received official refugee status and were being hospitably housed in an elderly man’s townhome in Toronto, and she’d urged Bucky to give up the fighting and come be safe with them.

He hadn’t, of course. He’d been so naïve back then, with such a hero complex. So of course he’d chosen to stay and fight. It’d gotten him fuck all. But even now, sitting in lukewarm bathwater in Commander Rogers’ house, Bucky can’t bring himself to regret having fought. It’d been the right thing to do. If he hadn’t been captured he’d still be fighting today. He knows it.

He glances down at his body, brings his left leg up out of the sudsy water to thumb at the skin of his thigh. The scar tissue is pale now, almost indistinguishable from the rest of his skin. He runs his fingers over the smooth and bumpy texture of where the bullet had gone (and where it’d been none-too-professionally dug back out), thinking about that last fight. It’d been a shame, he thinks. He could’ve killed a lot more of the bastards if he’d only had a spot up in the trees. But instead he’d been stuffed inside that old tin can of a trailer, only slightly less of a sitting duck than the woman giving birth in the back.  

He lets his leg slip back under the water with a sigh.

He never did find out what happened to Jenny or her baby.

“—o’clock today! Attendance is mandatory for all vessels!”

Bucky’s in the supermarket when the announcement rings out, pumped through the speakers out on the street. He can’t hear it clearly from inside the store, so he waits for the cashier to ring up his apples and other produce items. He pays with the appropriate tokens and then goes outside to listen to the announcement.

It’s a particicution they’re announcing, and Bucky’s blood goes cold. Oh god. Not again.

“Ugh, I wanted to go home and take a nap,” Bucky’s assigned walking partner complains as he rejoins him on the sidewalk, his own netted shopping bag filled with fish and ham from the deli next door. “Why can’t they just do this on their own?” he bemoans. “What do they really need us for anyway?”

“It’s to keep us afraid,” Bucky mutters. He still isn’t too sure what Ofjohn’s persuasion is. The entire point of having walking partners is so that they’ll report on each other. Ratting out the misbehaviors and thoughtcrimes of others has become something of a national sport under Gilead, so Bucky can’t be too forward with what he says around Ofjohn. “It’s to remind us what happens to criminals.”

Ofjohn glances at Bucky’s left sleeve that he’s got pinned up. “Like we could forget.” 

Bucky’s lips thin but he doesn’t say anything. It’s true. He is a walking reminder for all the other vessels, a glaring billboard that screams: “Fuck up badly enough, and you could wind up like this guy.”

“Better get a move on,” Ofjohn says. He gestures with his shopping basket. “Gotta get this stuff home before it spoils.”

“Right,” Bucky says distractedly. He follows along after the other man, still not sure what to think of his new walking partner.

That afternoon’s particicution is like all the others Bucky’s attended in the past. It takes place in what was once a high school football stadium. With so few children being born since the advent of the fertility crisis, most of the schools have long since been repurposed. Nobody ever said the faithful weren’t resourceful. 

Guardians holding the same guns that Bucky used to fight with tell them where to sit, and they all take their places, kneeling in neat lines in front of the stage that’s been erected for the occasion. The stadium’s speakers are blaring Gilead’s national anthem overhead (Bucky’s never learned the words) as if they’re assembled for a celebration, rather than the somber occasion it really is.

A caretaker ascends the stage, a handful of other caretakers at her back. They all smile down at the kneeling vessels like they’re glad to see them there—and hey, Bucky thinks, maybe they actually are. It’s hard to figure out how the minds of the faithful work sometimes. 

“Good afternoon!” The lead caretaker says, speaking into the microphone that’s been placed on the stage. “I’m so glad to see you all here. Blessed day!”

“Blessed day!” they all echo back to her. Even Bucky says it, the response rote at this point.

“Good, good.” The caretaker sobers. “Now, we all know why we’re here today. We are one nation, under God. Each and every one of us has a duty in this new, blessed society. Sometimes duty is joyous, but sometimes it is also hard. When we’re confronted with sinners among us, we must remember our duty.” She looks behind the stage and nods to someone unseen. A moment later, two guardians come into view with a handcuffed man between them. They haul the man up onto the stage, and Bucky tenses up at the sight of him.

“Ohmygod,” he breathes, speaking in that quiet, motionless way that all vessels eventually master. He can sense several pairs of eyes sliding his way.

“What?” someone breathes back.

Bucky swallows heavily. “I know him. We went to school together.” He’d been in Bucky’s grade from the time they were kids and all the way through high school: Bradley Barnett.  An alpha. Kinda shy. Nice kid, as far as Bucky was ever able to tell. He’d always come directly after Bucky, in alphabetical roll calls. 

He looks older now. And drained, as if he’s fought and fought hard, but now all the fight’s gone out of him. He’s got bruises from being beaten already, and his face is all blotchy and tear-stained from crying. But he isn’t crying now. Now, he just looks resigned. Bucky swallows, recognizing that look more than he’d like to admit. He can remember feeling that way, right after they’d pulled the bag off his head and dragged him out of the van and into the red center four years ago. Defeat. That’s the look.

“This man, right here,” the caretaker at the microphone is saying, pointing her finger at Bradley like he’s the scum of the earth. “This man has been convicted of the crime of kidnapping.”

All around, the other vessels start murmuring. There’s shifting and stirring in the neat rows that they’ve formed.

“Quiet please! That’s not the worst of it, I’m afraid.”

Bucky’s eyes drift fearfully back up to the stage, to the guardians holding Bradley’s arms. Oh no, he thinks, dread welling up in his stomach. What are they going to say? What are they going to say he did?

“This man is a rapist.”

The murmuring intensifies. 

“He raped a vessel.”

Louder, with a few people crying out, upset. Bucky is holding stock still and feeling sick to his stomach as Bradley hangs limply in the guardians’ hold.

“The vessel was pregnant!”

Louder.

“The baby died!”

Everyone erupts, all the other vessels yelling and crying out in rage. The only thing that keeps them where they sit, Bucky knows, is the multitude of guardians with rifles pointed their way. But they’re all shifting and stirring like caged, furious animals. The woman directly in front of Bucky is so distressed that she’s pulling viciously at her hair. 

God, Bucky thinks, wanting to reach out and stop her. Everyone’s gone batty. His eyes shoot back up to the stage. Bradley is trembling now. Bucky wonders if he knows what’s about to happen to him, but decides that the answer is: probably not. He’d be peeing his pants by now, if he knew.

Well, he’ll be finding out soon enough.

“All right everyone. All of you, up up up, quick and orderly!” the caretaker chirps down at them. Bucky rises with the rest of the group and goes to join the large circle in the grass that they always form at events like this. The guardians drag Bradley down from the stage and into the center of the circle, then leave him there. Bucky doesn’t look at Bradley any more. There’s no point. Instead, he taps his fingers together in a staccato against his palm, running his old serial number through his mind on a loop – 32557038, 32557038 – hoping to be sunken deep in his head by the time they have to start this terrible thing they’re about to do.

“You know the rules of a particicution,” the caretaker at the microphone says. “Once I blow my whistle, you may begin. When I blow the whistle again, everyone stops.”

He keeps tapping, keeps cycling through the numbers: 32557038, 32557038, 325570—

The whistle blows, sharp and shrill, and everyone screams and rushes forward.

Bucky doesn’t remember the walk back from the particicution. The first thing that registers is the front door, which he stumbles through, feeling dazed and overwhelmed. He pushes it shut weakly behind himself, shutting the house back up into its usual dimness. The grandfather clock in the hall ticks rhythmically, back and forth. Bucky’s fingers twitch where they hang by his side.

He trails slowly down the hall, head buzzing. He’s got a faint intention of going up to his room, but it’s nascent, only half-formed. He’s just outside of Commander Rogers’ study when the door to the room opens and he steps out. He startles at the sight of Bucky, features quickly melting into a frown. “Bucky? What’s wron—” he breaks off, seeing Bucky’s distressed state, his rumpled clothes, his bloodied hand. “Bucky what happened?” He grabs Bucky’s shoulders and stares at him imploringly. “Bucky? Are you hurt?”

“… No,” Bucky breathes. “M’not.”

“Whose blood is this?” Steve asks, voice urgent. Bucky’s eyes flick up. The look of worry and confusion on Steve’s face is such an oddity. And for some reason, Bucky starts to giggle—only a little at first, and then a lot. Steve’s frown deepens. “What happened?”

Bucky giggles some more. When he’s finally able to stop, he just says, “Particicution,” and then starts giggling again. And it gets really bad as Steve’s face bleeds into understanding, and then pity. The giggles somehow morph into sobs, until Steve’s pulling him forward against his body and Bucky’s crying into his shoulder, the air leaving him in great, heaving gasps. “No, no no,” he hyperventilates. “I had to. We had to.”

“Come on,” Steve says quietly, and pulls Bucky into his office.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, after they’ve been sitting on the office’s opposing couches for some time. Steve’s got a fire roaring in the hearth between them. Its warmth replaces some of the body heat Bucky feels like he’s lost from the shock of the day. Steve’s also placed a blanket around his shoulders, and Bucky grips it tighter about himself as best he can with his one hand. There are still flecks of blood crusted under his fingernails.

“Nothing to say,” Bucky murmurs. “We ripped him apart.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment. It’s obvious he’s trying to think of what to say. “It’s not your fault.”

“I tried to kick him in the face,” Bucky says dully, only peripherally aware of how Steve freezes. “It’s what I always do. If you do it hard enough, you can knock ‘em out right away. Before …” He stops and sucks in a trembling breath, determined not to start crying again now that he’s finally gotten himself under control. “Before … the rest.”

Steve sighs. “You tried to spare him, Buck. That's good. You tried to do a good thing.”

“Didn’t work this time,” Bucky mutters. “He was screaming for a while.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but the tension in the air between them feels heavy and oppressive. Silently, he gets up and goes over to the room’s sideboard, uncaps the whiskey and pours from the crystal decanter into one of the matching glasses. He comes back over and sits next to Bucky on the couch. “Here,” he says gently. “If you want.”

Bucky looks at the glass Steve’s offering him and considers it. Any other time he’d probably be shocked and on-guard, wary that this could be another trick, a test. But not now. Now he’s exhausted and the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat sounds like an excellent idea. He releases the blanket from his hand and takes the proffered glass, downing a large sip with a grimace. “Ugh. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Steve knows as well as he does that vessels aren’t allowed to drink alcohol. But Bucky can tell that, much like the reading, this is another little infraction that his Commander is going to allow him. Beside him, Steve sinks back into the couch cushions. “You going to be okay?”

Bucky scoffs quietly. “Gonna have to be, aren’t I?” When Steve doesn’t say anything back, he just shakes his head. “It’s weird. I used to fight in the resistance, you know?” He shrugs his left shoulder, indicating his missing arm. “S’why I lost this.”

“Bucky you don’t have to explain yourself to—”

“I killed a lot of people back then. Dozens and dozens. Shot people from hundreds of yards away, watched their skulls collapse through my scope.” He takes another big, rueful sip of the whiskey. “So you’d think I’d be used to this stuff by now.”

Steve makes a noise of protest. “It’s not the same, Bucky. What they make you all do at those things …” He shakes his head. “It’s traumatic. There’s no way it couldn’t be.”

“Hm.” Bucky nods. “They taught us some things in the resistance. Some simple techniques, for resisting torture.” He glances at Steve. “I tried using them today, to sink into my head.” He stares at the whiskey, swirls what’s left in the glass around a few times, admires the color, and then tilts it back and downs it in a long series of gulps.

“Jesus Bucky.”

He slams the glass down on the coffee table, exhaling harshly and licking his lips. “It didn’t fucking work.”

Story Masterlist

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[corporatefrog]

꒦‧₊ ꒷ headcannons: team stan with a careless friend✧.*

✧.* tags: college au

✧.* Characters: kenny mccormick, kyle broflovski, stan marsh, eric cartman, butters stotch

a/n: I usually don't add cartman to these things bc he stinks+loser+annoying+suckmydick but I know he'd take advantage of someone who hod so sense of mortality so he gets a pass this time ig.

masterlist

Kenny

He mistakes the carelessness for spontaneity and immediately assigns you as his go to “lets do something stupid I just thought of” partner

He’s a “try everything once” kind of guy so it’s perfect that you have no sense of self preservation

“Kenny stand on the other side of the field, I wanna see how far I can throw my phone.”

“Okay.”

You both infuriate stan to no end

#annoyingduo in the best way possible 

Do NOT put the two of you in the same room at a party

All of a sudden there’s a 15 person game of just dance happening but there’s no screen?? You’re all just doing moves you saw on just dance

Everyday is a new adventure

Kenny probably has an eye out for you though

He can die doing something stupid and be back the next day but you on the other hand are not 

Gotta keep his partner in crime alive! There’s a bunch of other things on his “before I die (for real)” bucket list that you still need to mark off

Kyle

You just get caught up in the moment! You have such a wonder for life!

Kyle doesn’t get it sometimes seeing as he tries to view everything logically. 

He’s more like a babysitter when you both go somewhere

“You did not just spend $300 on knock off jordans from a random man on the street corner.”

“I did and they’re the comfiest shoes I’ve ever worn. He told me they’ll cure my posture problems.”

“Do you just believe anything someone tells you?”

“Coming from someone who almost cried when I didn’t use his Candy Crush referral code so he could get more lives, that’s really rich.”

Okay so he gets swept up in trends sometimes. At least he understands his own mortality!

After the third time you try to learn how to do a backflip and fail miserably, he has to leave the room to keep from screaming 

keeps a mental count of the things you do every day that should kill you

the current record is 14

Stan

He doesn’t understand how you can just go through your day without a care

Are you not afraid of dying? That’s like 32% of his thoughts during the day

“Fuck I dropped my credit card down the drain. Stan, hold my ankles while I reach down to grab it.”

“I can literally see the used heroin needles down there.”

“Okay and??? Not my fault the city doesn’t have a safe use zone, I need that card!” 

One time you guys were leaving a store and the alarm went off 

Stan turned to ask you if you got the security tags removed but you we’re already sprinting halfway across the mall

Not because you stole anything, but because you saw jimmy, clyde, and tolkien walking out of a store and wanted to say hi

And then you spent the rest of the day being lectured by an underpaid paul blart wannabe

Stan was freaking out because he thought you would get arrested for causing a scene or something (they find any reason to arrest someone in south park) 

But all you did was laugh in that light hearted, careless way you always do

Cartman

Bro will manipulate your carelessness for all its worth

You are now the second person he calls when he has some stupid plot that needs someone who doesn’t understand the concept of death

If kenny’s busy, you’re on speed dial

Honestly, you’re probably the first call because you’ll do something stupid without needing to be paid! 

Free labor!

Wanna work at dicknbaus hot dogs for 14 hours with no pay? It’s free hotdogs! You’re in! 

Hes an exploitative motherfucker 

Thats all im here to say about it

butters 

You’re going to give him a heart attack

One time you purposely kicked a medicine ball to see how far it would go and broke your foot

And he was more worried about your foot than you were!

“Oh jesus, can you move it?”

“Um… no I don’t think so. Lemme take off my sock”

“AH ITS PURPLE!”

“Oh damn, you’re right. That’s a nice shade though, I was thinking of painting my room that color!”

“NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BE TALKING ABOUT THIS”

Unlike kyle, he can’t force himself to ignore your careless nature

He’s always worrying about you 

He’ll suggest you both go to first aid classes or cpr training whenever you hang out “just for fun!”

but really he needs to know that you at least have some first aid knowledge if you're going to keep running around like death is a social construct

[wannabelilybriscoe]

2024 In Review!

Thank you for the tag, @leavesthatarebrown! <3

I only have two stories and I only started writing halfway through the year! But I'm going to take this opportunity to indulgently ramble about my two stories because I love them both very much. Under the cut for anyone who happens to be interested.

June - December

A Song For the End of the World

So, I'd gotten back into HP fanfiction earlier in the year, after a long time away from being actively in the fandom (we're talking ohhhh ~15 years). Turns out, many people wrote many truly fantastic stories while I was "away," not to mention the treasure trove of older stories that I'd missed because I was a tween back when I first started reading fanfiction! Who knew!

After reading so many gorgeous, poignant, fun, and hard-hitting stories, including a whole whack of really creative AUs featuring the Marauders, I found myself kinda sorta wishing that I could write one of my own. I used to write fiction a lot when I was younger but only ever short stories. Then, university and my twenties happened and put creative writing other than poetry on the back-burner (poetry has been a constant throughout my entire life). But I've always wanted to write a novel! I just didn't think I was the type of person who could write a long story.

Anyway, I was in an extra slumpy place creatively, and aching to feel connected to my old self again (hence getting back into HP fanfiction in the first place). So I thought...fuck it! I've done a bunch of other really hard shit in the last decade. Why can't I just write a stupid fanfic for the pure fun of it, and use it as a sandbox to learn how to write a multi-chapter story? Just to prove to myself that I CAN?

So I started brainstorming what would be the most fun for me to write i.e. what I would be intrinsically motivated to stick with. That's how I landed on:

Zombies! I love zombie movies. Zombies are fun! The genre never takes itself too seriously, but creates a lot of opportunities for interesting character dynamics and explorations into the human psyche. Plus, a lot of opportunity for action-packed, cinematic scenes!

Set in the 70s because I find that era interesting from a pop culture and political milieu.

Remus POV because he's my favourite and I thought he would be the easiest brain for me to inhabit (but I later enjoyed exploring other POVs, I think I just needed to build up my confidence in Remus's head first).

I wanted it to be EPIC. Like a TV show with a couple of seasons. Lots of characters. Multiple plot reveals. Something of a scale I'd never done before.

I wanted it to be a queer coming-of-age story because I love those stories, and stories about found family, friendship, and learning to be brave in the face of insurmountable obstacles.

Then I made a list of cool and/or funny things to add in. I decided that nothing would be too ridiculous for this story because the name of the game is fun. Those things included:

Ample 70s music references

A priest with a flamethrower (can't tell you why, I just loved the visual)

Zombie dog!

An apocalyptic roadtrip

A romantic scene on a tower ledge

A cult with a classic 70s cult leader

Zombie rats!

A Commer van

A chainsaw (hmmmmmm)

And the very final scene, which I won't spoil, but which I've had in my head since the first week of writing this story.

But as I wrote and wrote, I started to tease out different themes I wanted to explore, and different characters I wanted to introduce and inhabit.

One of the biggest things I'm learning from writing this story is to trust the process. Before writing this, I thought I had to have every little piece of the plot figured out at the get-go. It always left me with analysis paralysis. But now I'm learning that while you need to have the broad strokes planned to give you direction, a lot of the parts of the plot that make the story engaging and memorable are discovered along the way. How can I begin to explain how freeing that realization was for me? I've rewritten my plot outline about four times. Although, the funny thing is, whenever I find myself second-guessing a plot point, I seem to end up circling back to my initial idea anyway.

Does all this mean that parts of the story are clunky and in need of refinement? Hell yeah. If I was going to even consider trying to get something published traditionally, I would need to put it through so many rounds of edits. But this is my hobby story about Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, and I'm sharing it as I go. So, I'm choosing to not feel bad about things like going back and making edits to past chapters after they're published if it serves the final product. And I'm choosing to not cut scenes I've included simply for my own self-indulgence, even if it makes things ramble a little. It's imperfect but it's full of joy and heart (and angst and irreverent violence).

December

The Road to Love Is Covered in Ice and Slush

If ASFTEOTW is long for the sake of long, The Road to Love is short for the sake of short. I've read a bunch of tight, punchy romcoms that were just brilliantly executed. I wanted to see if I could do the same. Also, things are at a heavy point in my zombie story and I needed a little brain break. I've been having a blast writing horror but I wanted some silly, light comedy during the holidays!

I decided to set it in Toronto because I've wanted to write a story set in Toronto for a long time. I was born in Toronto and have lived in and around it my entire life. Some of my most formative years were spent living in the west end of the city.

I set it in the present day at a startup because I've lived it, and I knew all the ridiculousness that could be packed into a story with that setting. My goal was to make the plot uncomplicated, as a counterpoint to the zombie story, because that one has required a lot of research and planning. Basically, I approached this story as a rapid-fire project that would hopefully flow easily. I'm happy to say that it did! I've enjoyed writing it immensely.

It's a love letter to my home city. I've fully romanticized Toronto because I think the city deserves it. And it's been so lovely to see people commenting that my story has made them want to visit! It’s also officially the first multi-chapter story I’ve ever finished!!!

Fanfiction is so fun! I've met so many lovely, creative people in the last six months. I've learned SO MUCH about writing fiction! Thank you thank you thank you if you've been reading my stories, and especially if you've been leaving likes and comments. I think one day I WILL write an original novel. I know I'm capable now! But for the time being, I'm enjoying playing in the fanfic sandbox.

(I don't know who to tag because seems like most of my moots have done this already....so if you haven't, consider this an open tag!)

[skreebs]

Thinking about the ableism toward Jouno in the BSD fandom and it genuinely pisses me off so badly I want to hit people. I’ll be perusing the tag and looking at stuff and then I’ll see some random pop ups for AO3 and get shit like this

Now I don’t 100% know the context of this screenshot, for all I know this fic could be about him before he lost his sight, but either way it got me thinking and thinking got me angry and being angry means i need to complain. Jouno is already pretty shit blind rep, I’ll be honest. He’s the basic stereotype of “blind character has super senses because they’re blind” but can we give blind people literally ANYTHING else??? jesus christ. I’m pissed how BSD writes his blindness so as per usual I had to attempt to fix all of that myself, but attempting to fix it and removing it entirely are NOT the same and one is VERY MUCH SO WORSE. Again, not talking about this fic specifically but other ones I’ve seen that do this, or those “Jouno if he could see” edits. Spoiler alert, blind people can open their eyes.

I dont know why BSD and every other piece of media is so adamant on not giving visually impaired and blind characters white canes and just giving them "super senses" to get around it. It’s incredibly stupid and abelist to portray stuff like this. Disabilities are not super powers and thank GOD they didnt make that his ability but they still gave him that aspect and I guess it can be excused with SOME lore stuff like maybe he got really good senses from his surgeries but it just sucks that it happened that way at all? And then they don't even touch on how horrible having incredibly hightened senses to the point you can HEAR blood would be?? can you imagine hearing everyone internal organs around you 24/7 EVERYDAY? No one talks about that at all. That would be so fucking overwhelming its genuinely insane. Jouno is such a dear character to me, but genuinely when I remember him in canon without any of my headcanon explinations it’s just really sad that all I can say about him as representation is "well.. it could be worse".

I know there’s going to be at least one person saying “theres good blind rep in other shows though!!” Yes! I know! I’m super glad about that! But ignoring the bad ones doesn’t help much. You need to point out the issues to get good results. Recently, and by recently I mean about 17 hours ago, I watched/listened to the first episode of Daredevil, once with audio descriptions, and then after I watched without AD and had captions. I’m super glad that things are more commonly getting AD—it’d be a bit pathetic if the show with a blind main character was not accessible to blind people—but even with Daredevil, Matt still falls a bit into this stereotype.

Don’t get me wrong, seeing a character with a white cane has me absolutely elated, but from the single episode I’ve seen and what I’ve heard, he apparently also has some sort of super senses, and I know in the first episode he can hear heartbeats. I think super senses as a power is fine, but it’s just the fact they always give it to the blind characters. I, myself, am not blind, nor am I really visually impaired, I just wear glasses. However, as someone with a special interest in disabilities and also as someone that is disabled in other ways, seeing disabled rep fall into stereotypes over and over just really bums me out sometimes.

I think Daredevil is great so far from this one episode, I’ll probably be looking at more of it, but that is definitely just one gripe I have with it. I think Charlie Cox putting a bunch of effort into the role with the method acting and talking to people in the blind community and just all of that is amazing, I love to see that in anything, it’s just urrghh that it’s so hard to find a blind character that doesn’t have some kind of insane superpower senses with things. It reminds me of when characters with autism are so frequently portrayed as geniuses or their autism is only acceptable if it helps the neurotypical cast with “gadgets” or something. I dunno. Hard to explain, it’s 11 at night and I’m tired. Just don’t be ableist in any fandom or in real life. I shouldn’t have to even point out why this shit is disgraceful.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

I’m relatively new to the fandom and have really enjoyed a lot of your posts… I have a question that I couldn’t quickly find an answer to in searching through your tags…

What’s the deal with streaming? Like, I listen to BTS. I enjoy them a lot, I listen to a pretty even mix of all their albums though I probably like MOTS:7 era the best). Some days I listen to them like all day lol (if I’m cleaning the house or something) and I listen to them a lot in the car or while working. I’ve enjoyed some solo releases more than others so I naturally streamed those more. but like the more I start following accounts on here and on army twt the more confused I get about the intense pressure to stream constantly? I’ve heard that people play certain songs (or albums I guess?) on repeat on mute and/or have dedicated streaming devices they keep going all the time.

Not to be negative or rude at all but like…what? Maybe because I’m new to KPop and have never followed it until BTS but that just sounds so weird and… idk the word, maybe disingenuous? Again I do not mean this as an attack I am just genuinely confused. Wouldn’t BTS themselves want us only to listen if we were actually enjoying it and not out of some competitive attempt to get better ratings? It feels so odd to me, like that is not how I would behave with any other artist that I love. I would only ever listen to them out of a genuine desire to hear their music. But there seems to be so much weird shaming out there for when/if songs are not streamed heavily enough? And for any other artist I would just write that off as a difference in taste among the fandom, but here it’s treated like a personal wrong against the artist…?

But as I say that I’m sure there’s more to it… I have definitely seen people talking about payola or chart manipulation so idk. If I should google this instead, just tell me to, I just have already tried and didn’t find that much clarity, just a bunch of people on quora and Reddit talking about certain songs not getting streamed enough.

Anyways this is super long, sorry if it annoys you. Just thought you seemed knowledgeable and levelheaded enough to ask? Love your posts. All the best.

*

Ask 2:

Okay wait I’m the anon that just asked about streaming and I went and re-read your post about “inorganic success” — I had read it before but somehow I didn’t put together that the 24-7 streaming is an attempt to combat payola or like go up against it I guess. Okay. That makes more sense. I still feel like there’s a weird focus on charting but I guess if it’s about getting more concert venues and more radio play it makes sense.

You can ignore my last ask then I’m sorry if I’m being dense or something lol.

***

You haven’t at all asked a stupid question. Your confusion is easily explained by you being new to k-pop, and everyone new to this madhouse asks this question eventually. I’ve talked about this before, but can’t find the post for the life of me so I’ll briefly go over it again.

First, you need to understand what k-pop is. K-pop is a system that gamifies music consumption. Competition is something you’ll see in the music industry regardless. Western stans such as Arianators, Barbz, and the Beyhive have organized around streaming goals and efforts for at least 10 years now. But there’s no other music industry that explicitly emphasizes competition among groups and fans, the way the k-pop industry does.

Competition is baked into its DNA:

From the idol training system under agencies with supposed specialities that are treated like warring houses a la Game of Thrones (a mentality created by the Big 3),

to the music shows where fans are encouraged to vote daily and weekly for the best artists and where wins are tied to streaming numbers,

to the highly publicized year-end award show criteria that outline key metrics for wins in streams, sales, and fan votes.

Basically, the k-pop industry creates a clear hierarchy of talent and acclaim for artists in their system, directly stokes fan participation in buying into that hierarchy, and the numbers are the easiest litmus test/short cut to settle the question of who is at the top.

And all of this is served with a cocktail of parasocial delusion and entitlement that has (more easily manipulated) fans thinking their perceived investment into their faves, earns them the right to micromanage their fave idols’ careers. All of this benefits the labels and industry because they’d rather have you more engaged (even if toxically), than not.

Everybody here buys into this system despite what they’ll tell you, some just manage to keep their wits and perspective to prevent getting sucked in, while others fall headfirst into it.

And so, like I said in my ‘inorganic success’ post you referenced, the focus on streaming is part of fans really just playing the game. Excess is something you’ll see on the charts in any case, whether in k-pop or in the West.

The difference with BTS and ARMYs however, is in the why of how the fandom streams. Essentially, you’re more likely to find people just as passionate about the music itself as they are about giving that music its due in hard numbers and consequently, recognition. You’re more likely to find fans like this in the ARMY fandom, than any other, in my opinion. Some people forget that the og ARMYs were k-pop fans first. They were fans who intimately understood how this system worked, they understood why the Big3 maintained dominance in k-pop for literal decades, and they saw the worth in the music BTS made, loved it enough to invest time into the playing the game better than anyone else at the time - pushing BTS from nugu status to where they are now, competing well outside the realm of the k-pop system but in a space that remains complex and highly competitive.

Another aspect that differentiates how ARMYs stream vs other k-pop fandoms, is that due to the sheer size of the fandom in absolute numbers, the average ARMY typically streams less than a typical k-pop stan. Basically, in other fandoms the typical stan has to stream more per person to have even a fraction of the gains seen in the ARMY fandom. ARMYs also aren’t doing anything other fandoms aren’t doing, it’s just that so far, they’re more efficient at it and don’t have to worry too much because BTS makes music that keeps attracting more fans, adding to the size of the fandom. They’ve also generally stayed away from more illegal methods given the intense scrutiny and animosity the fandom has faced for being part of the reason BTS upended the ordained hierarchy in this space. It sounds silly but it’s true.

But that’s only one side of the story. The other side is that in the fandom, everybody here really just does what they want. And many people genuinely enjoy listening to BTS that much and that intensely. Going by personal experience in what I observed before I became ARMY, I noticed that many ARMYs are Type A and organized - people who like and study data. The first time in my life that I saw someone create a spreadsheet for fan theories on a k-pop MV, was when an ARMY made one for I NEED U MV. I’m not sure what it is about BTS, but from the beginning they’ve attracted the sort of fans who genuinely enjoy listening to music often, people who enjoy creating and playing around with playlists, and people who track and measure applicable data. So your assumption that the people who stream like this are people who don’t actually enjoy the music, is wrong. In my opinion. For a lot of ARMYs, streaming and appreciating the music isn’t mutually exclusive.

Personally, I listen to music a lot. And I’ve always been that way, so when I became ARMY, I just sort of naturally fit into that culture. The sort of music BTS makes is a joy to listen to, I play their stuff literally everyday and it feels like the most normal thing in the world for me to sleep to Serendipity sometimes (in my sleep playlist which includes brown noise and rain sounds), or to do laundry to Let Me Know playing, or to drive to UGH and Set Me Free Pt 2 playing. I have multiple accounts because I listen to all kinds of music all the time, and it’s just convenient for me to have things set up such that I can flip on a playlist in every situation I’d want one on.

But like I said, the reality is that everyone in this fandom does what they want. It’s true there are certain people in the fandom who obsess over streaming, these are typically chartmys and akgaes, but most other people stream however they like. Fandom in general is a pressure cooker environment so I don’t blame you for noticing that pressure, but at the end of the day you really should just do what makes the most sense to you.

ARMYs generally recognize the reality of the space they are in, they recognize what it means for BTS, and most simply tweak their normal listening habits to maximize the gain and support to BTS. Plus sometimes it’s fun to play into fandom’s initiatives as a way to connect with other fans (such as in streaming parties).

I ended up rambling but let me know if this answered your question.

[petrovouho]

got tagged by @komplikacije in a question game, thank youu 💜

had fun and wrote a lot so i will shorten the post hahah

do you make your bed: absolutely not and people who do.... something wrong with them, also kinda unsanitary, you should let your sheets get some air and sun to disinfect

what’s your favorite number: 8 i don’t remember all reasons but through my life it just feels like the number was always following me in some way and the main trigger was when i was 8th on an entrance exam for college and i was soooo happy because i really wanted to study architecture and it was the only college that i put on my list (kinda stupid decision now that i look back lol) but it felt like everything just clicked

current job: none

if you could go back to school, would you: i would in a sense that now that i’m older i value knowledge a lot more and i can actually understand the importance of some things that we learned in school, not that i didn’t back then, i was always a great student, but now im able to understand it on a deeper level and connect with other things i know but i don’t really have the time and energy to go through it again.. but i wouldn’t like to go back in a sense of that period of time in my life and the people in school and stuff like that

can you parallel park: i can’t drive, and i don’t think i’ll be good at it either

a job you had that would surprise people: never worked a day in my life… i did some dance gigs at festivals and promotions and those type of events but the money would not go to us but our dance studio. and when i was i child i was always trying to sell shells to tourists and one time my drawings…

do you think aliens are real: could be idk, i don’t really see the point in thinking too much about things that i don’t know a lot about or that we just can’t find out so it never makes sense to me when people who also don’t have some knowledge on space and biology, in this case, have an opinion on it. like it’s cool if you’re trying to understand something and come to the conclusion but i feel like today too many people have opinion on everything and know nothing

can you drive a manual car: no

guilty pleasure: things that i feel guilty about are not pleasurable and things that i find pleasurable i don’t feel guilty about

tattoos: they are very cool and i always thought that i’ll have a bunch but as im getting older i’m not sure anymore hahah i think i’d feel super weird if i had something on my skin permanently.. still like them a lot tho

favorite colour: purple, green and blue

favorite music genre: i guess like indie/rock/punk/rnb/jazz/reggae, not too much of anything hahah but i listen to pretty much everything

do you like puzzles: i don’t remember when was a last time i did one but i do like them

phobias: i don’t have some specific fear but lately i’ve been a bit paranoid that i will pass out when i’m in my room alone and no one will know and be able to help

favorite childhood sport: i never was a sports person but i did go to rhythmic gymnastics as a kid and then in elementary school i started jazz dance and been doing it until last two years, idk if dance counts hahah but yeah i’ve always been physically active

do you talk to yourself: i don’t really think of it as talking to myself hahah more like sometimes my thoughts just come through my mouth when i’m alone or like i will have an inner monolouge sometimes but that’s not talking to myself? i guess idk hahah it’s not like my brain is silent if i’m alone

favorite movies: i don’t really have favourite movies, i do watch movies like dirty dancing, grease, pretty in pink, the breakfast club when i need something comforting because it’s something i watched a lot when i was younger

coffee or tea: i like both but maybe tea since coffee tends to make me nervous

first thing you wanted to be when you grew up: pfff i think a painter or a teacher ohh i just remembered hahahah actually i wanted to be “an adventurer” lmao like some type of explorer that has to do with nature and history and wears that khaki shirt and cargos outfit with boots and a hat

i tag: @midnightpulses @kontra-svijeta @valovita @nismo-na-filmu-zaboga @blu27nature if they want to do it :))