#so the last sighting was 26 days ago on

[tame-a-messenger]

Damien is back… but no Angela AGAIN. This is getting ridiculous 😭

SURELY they'll be back soon right? (I hope to God this doesn’t jinx it)

[orikiys]

🎗️9:26 am

ᘛ 𓏧     ࣪    𖠵 성훈 ☓ fem!reader. ꔪ ﹏ ᘒ tooth-rotting fluff implied lovers warning not proofread mentions of kissing & 900+ words

✰ val’s corner: kind of inspired by this song by beabadoobee!

sunghoon couldn’t understand how people could watch someone sleep, stare at them mindlessly while hoping that the time would stop and the lazy mornings would endlessly stretch for decades. he never did. to him, it had always seemed like a waste of time— why would anyone want to just… stare at another person whilst they slept? it made no sense to him, no matter how much others seemed to romanticise it, his friends included. he remembered laughing at them and commenting that they’d just gone too soft.

he had never even understood the appeal of lazy mornings either. they were just mornings, like any other, why would they hold that much importance to someone? in his mind, the only reason to get out of bed in the morning was to either go on jogs or get on time for work so as to not get fired for slacking.

but as he lay in bed next to the woman he loved, watching her sleep, sunghoon couldn’t help but feel the understanding slip into him. almost slightly and his eyes shimmered with recognition now. you looked so peaceful, so relaxed— he named it then, why people loved watching their lovers sleep. he felt his eyes soften at the sight before him.

from the way you breathed rhythmically, the sound of the heartbeat could be heard if only he leaned a little closer. the soft rise and fall of your chest, it was as if the world outside did not exist. nothing mattered at the moment but you.

as he lay there, watching the minutes tick by, sunghoon found himself wishing that the time would stop. that the lazy mornings he heard his friends talk about could drag on forever that they would stay etched into his mind.

in the end, sunghoon had to force himself to get up, to go about his day. but as his feet touched the cold tile and away from you, he could already feel himself wanting to pull you back in his chest like a few minutes ago.

he eyes your figure one last time and immediately his lips curl up into a small smile and he lets out a playful huff before disappearing out of the room. it’s not every day that he gets to watch you sleep seeing how you’re always up before him or around the time he wakes up. guess today luck is on his side.

sunghoon savours today. he heads straight for the kitchen unsure if there was anything he could do without waking you up. his feet move slowly with caution and his steady hands begin mixing the ingredients together.

he glances at the half closed bedroom door and sighs softly, neither of relier nor out of irritation. its a loving one, a fond one. sunghoon loved the fact that you would come stay over at his house a few days of the week when your work allowed you. it’s not like the two of you lived miles away, but it was still different from living together everyday, seeing each other daily.

he doesn’t deny the fact that he loves it when you give him packed snacks for him to chew on when he’s hungry, he definitely doesn’t mind the fact that you choose to snuggle onto him rather than your soft plushies. he means it too.

and so when he feels two slender arms wrap around his lower torso he can’t help but chuckle in amusement, “morning sleepy head.”

sunghoon turns his head to look down at you and presses his lips to the side of your head before focusing back on to the tedious task of making a ‘simple’ breakfast. he found that making breakfasts for the two of you gave him a feeling of utter stability.

“you’re up early,” you comment, burying your face into his back with your cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his hoodie and your arms loosely wrapped around his middle.

sunghoon has to waddle over to fetch something and seeing as you refuse to let go of him he places his hand over yours and waddles over very slowly and carefully, each step making him feel even sillier than the one before. in the end he huffs playfully, “someone has to feed your hunger.”

you smile with your eyes still closed and leave room enough for sunghoon to stretch his hand out and grab whatever he wanted to do without having to pry your arms off him.

you could grow used to this, you realise.

sunghoon returns back in his previous position and he feels your arms tighten around him, making him grin to himself.

“when did you wake up?” sunghoon feels you squeeze him tighter and he visibly relaxes when you tiptoe to look past his shoulder to see what he’s up to.

“not long ago while you were sleeping like a baby,” he teases with one side of his lip curling up.

“i’m flattered to know that you look at me while i sleep.”

that sentence had him pressing his lips in a tight line and shaking his head softly in any attempt to get rid of the red blossoming of his cheeks and ears.

and then he hears it— your laugh. soft and melodious. he immediately turns around abruptly and stares at you, the crinkle in the corner of your eyes as lips turn into a full fetched wide grin. and before he knows it, he’s following your expression.

“god i love you,” he mutters quietly before closing the distance between the two of you and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

it ends before it even starts and your expression switches into an even softer one if possible, you look at him like he’s the only man known to exist.

“come on,” you say, grabbing his hand softly and lacing his fingers through yours. “the pancakes are about to burn!”

[tmpestuous]

Six Days

Summary: You make the effort to avoid Bucky during a mission after he upsets you in an argument, but things quickly take a turn for the worse. 

Pairing: bucky x avenger!reader

Word count: 4k

Warnings: fluff, angst, slight mentions of torture/hydra experimentation, blood, canon level violence, hurt!reader, sad!bucky

a/n: welcome to my first (real) post! i haven’t written in a long time so my apologies if this is a bit rusty. this was inspired by an excerpt on a post i saw and decided to turn it into a prompt: 

“He held her face in his hands. 

‘Do you think I care about anything but you?’”

--

You were on edge. 

This was the first mission in a long time where you hadn’t spent the night before with Bucky, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s arms, and waking up with another before heading off. Your regular routine almost happened. It would have happened if it hadn’t been for the argument that happened just about five minutes before you were ready for bed, an argument you deemed unnecessary and frustrating the second you stormed out of Bucky’s room and back into the one you barely spent any time in anymore. 

Not having that routine definitely threw you off your game. After dealing with a restless night and a series of tosses and turns, you decided to just stay up until you had to leave. 

Biggest mistake you could have ever made, you thought.

You packed everything you needed and, first thing in the morning, walked straight into the kitchen to fill up a thermos with a lot more coffee than you’d ever drink on a normal day before heading off to the quinjet launchpad without a word. Everyone else eyed you as you walked out; your usual, greeting nature was replaced by a silent one, a sight no one had seen since you first joined the Avengers. Once you exited, everyone’s eyes quickly turned to Bucky who had walked in just as silent. Though it was less rare for Bucky to avoid conversation, the two of you being separate was the clear elephant in the room.

Bucky looked up to meet everyone’s gazes on him, his brows furrowing immediately in annoyance.

“What’s the problem?” 

“Something going on between you and Y/n?” Sam asked without hesitation. He beared witness to the entirety of your relationship with Bucky, especially since he was often assigned to missions with the both of you. If anyone could tell something was off, it’d be him. 

“She’ll get over it,” Bucky replied monotonously before also heading out to the launchpad, everyone else straggling out shortly after.

You were already sitting in your normal seat inside of the quinjet, scrolling absentmindedly on your phone to distract yourself from the eyes that would eventually fall on you as you heard everyone else approaching. 

Though you were still angry, Bucky was not. In fact, he was more angry with himself than he was with you. He didn’t even think he was upset with you at all, but he was convinced you thought otherwise. 

Finishing a shower after an intense sparring session had never felt better to you. 

You had been with the Avengers for about two years now, picking up on more useful ways to use your fighting abilities rather than always being so destructive. Old members of Hydra, who decided they wanted to somehow reinstate and resolidify the organization, had taken you–along with more people than you could count on both of your hands–to be experimented on with a serum similar to the ones used on Bucky and Steve. After managing to escape, you had definitely lost a piece of yourself. It took a while to warm up to the thought of fighting alongside such honorable people, but after two years, you had found your home. 

The first year and a half was strictly training and shadowing anyone who had gone on a mission. You were eager to prove yourself as being part of the team, and in the last six months, Steve and Tony had agreed to allow you to not just shadow missions, but be part of them. You had just finished mission 26 as being “part of the team” two days ago, and Steve had stopped you before your workout with Natasha to let you know that he thinks you might be able to do your first solo mission. 

That news definitely kicked your motivation into overdrive during sparring. Natasha’s never been one to go easy on you, per your own request, and was riding on a 10-0 streak against you.

That streak got broken fairly quicker than she had expected.

Upon finishing your workout, you were most excited to tell Bucky the news. He had been there the whole ride to see just how hard you’ve worked to get to where you are today, especially sharing the experience of being under Hydra and struggling to use your abilities for the right reasons. 

But for some reason, things just didn’t go as you expected. 

And it hurt. Really hurt.

Bucky stepped on the jet and gave you a quick glance. Everyone else had taken their usual seat, meaning the only one available was the one he always took right next to yours. He sighed deeply to himself before sitting down, seeing you immediately cross your arms across your chest from his peripheral vision.

This was definitely going to be a long trip.

You didn’t say a word to him the entire ride. Not even so much as a shoulder or thigh touch. You kept your stoic nature for all of the ten hours you were sat next to him. 

Bucky was losing his patience, and the only person he blamed was himself. This might have been the first day in the year and some months that you’ve been together that you hadn’t said a single word to him, and it was eating him alive.

It was most definitely eating you alive too, but you couldn’t get the argument you two had out of your head. 

Bucky was starting to pack his things when you had walked into his room, his attention quickly diverting to the door and onto you, shooting you a soft smile.

“You’re back already?” He asked, knowing you always took a hefty moment to yourself to relax after sparring with Natasha. 

“You are now looking at the woman with a singular victory against Agent Natasha Romanoff,” you said confidently with a playful victory bow, making Bucky chuckle as he stood up and made his way over to you. 

Standing up straight to look up at him, Bucky cupped your face in his hands and kissed your forehead. “I’m so very proud of you, baby,” he said with his lips grazing yours that had just pulled into a small smile. 

“I also might have really good news,” you said in an eager tone, which Bucky noticed and loved immediately. 

“What’s the good news?” He asked right away as he wrapped his arms around your waist, wanting to hear your excitement. After seeing you have so many losses, with yourself and others, he knew you took every win very seriously. You reminded him of himself when he first joined the Avengers as well, and knew just how difficult it was to adjust and get even just a glimpse of triumph.

“Steve pulled me aside today and said he thinks I might be ready for solo missions,” you responded as you wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck. “He saw how well I did during the last mission and wants to see how I do alone. He just wants Tony to agree first.”

Bucky’s face dropped slightly. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked rather than answering his question, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

Of course you thought you were ready. You had prepared long enough for this and knew you could take on the challenge. You also thought that Bucky of all people would be able to recognize that and agree. 

“You’ve only been on 26 missions, honey,” he contested. “It took me a lot longer than that before I was even able to handle a mission with just Sam.”

“So you think that I can’t go on a mission by myself because it took you longer to adjust than it took for me?” you asked incredulously as you pulled out of Bucky’s grasp and took a few steps back. 

Bucky ran his hands over his face in frustration. He knew just how stubborn you were; he had seen it mission after mission and debrief after debrief. You were never one to stand down from defending yourself and your decisions. However, you had never been so persistent with him over anything beyond a playful dispute between the both of you.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Y/n, so can we table this conversation and go to bed?” he bargained with you softly. 

You scoffed. “You just patronized me by implying that I’m incapable of handling a mission on my own and you want me to ‘table the conversation’?”

Given your tenacious anger, you knew it’d be best to not say anything at all until you felt a lot calmer about the situation. You had surely pondered if you were just overreacting, but Bucky’s words still hurt you.

He was never one to patronize you or make you feel like you couldn’t do something. In fact, it had always been the opposite. To hear that he felt you were incapable of taking on something you felt you were ready for had stung you harder than any other accusation ever thrown at you. He was the man you loved, the one person on the team who you trusted the most, and he thought you were unprepared.

So you avoided him. The jet landed and you gathered your things and walked right past him. You got lucky that Clint couldn’t come on the mission anymore and you could take his room so you wouldn’t be stuck with Bucky for the entire week. 

Bucky had felt like he was stabbing himself in the chest. He couldn’t sleep the entire night. This seemed to be a mission of firsts for the both of you, including the first time you were both on a mission and slept in different rooms since you’ve been together. 

The next morning, Bucky felt he made it worse. He wandered over to your room before it was time to meet everyone else, knocking on the door loud enough for you to hear it but not make himself obvious in the hallway.

You opened the door, looking right at him though Bucky felt like you were looking through him.

“Can we talk?” he pleaded softly. “I know this isn’t the best timing—”

“Then maybe we should wait until we get back, don’t you think?” you interrupted, your voice a bit raspy from the lack of communication with anyone.

“I can’t think straight on a mission knowing that you’re upset with me, baby,” he said, a slight tremor in his voice. You knew he didn’t want to upset you, but you also didn’t want to direct your anger towards him. It was the one thing you had both promised to each other. “Please?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Bucky,” you replied sternly, your use of his name feeling like a knife through his back. “Can we just do this after?”

He nodded, not wanting to prod you any further than your limit. He whispered a soft “okay” before walking back to his room.

That was the last you spoke to each other before everything happened.

Your mission started off smoothly. You were paired up with Steve, who wanted to monitor you a bit closer while on a mission to further confirm his confidence in you. He also didn’t want to pair you with Bucky when you had tension with each other, wanting the mission to go successfully and without distractions.

You and Steve would take the fifth and sixth floor of the building to locate the files you needed to extract. Natasha would take the third and fourth floor, Bucky and Sam the first and second. Tony would be eyeing the outside perimeter for extra threats and also spotting Natasha a helpful eye, though everyone knew she could handle herself well. 

After fighting off a few straggling guards, you found the file you needed. The only problem was the faint beep, beep, beep you heard somewhere in your vicinity. Steve was keeping watch outside, fighting off the backup that was eventually called when they realized you were here. You couldn’t locate where the sound was coming from, but you knew it wasn’t a good one. 

“Hey, Steve, you busy?” you said, the hint of fear in your voice.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, hearing your tone. You could hear his shield bouncing off the walls as he responded.

“I’m hearing a beeping noise from in here and I can’t find it at all,” you said as you kept tearing the room apart carefully, not trying to accidentally trigger anything. 

“What do you think it is, Agent?” he asked, and you knew he was trying to turn this into some sort of test like your life wasn’t probably at risk.

“The only possibility is an explosive of some sort,” you responded, trying to hide the irritation in your voice from still being monitored on a mission like a child. “I can’t really make out where it’s coming from and it’s nowhere that I’ve searched in the entire room, so it’s probably hidden somewhere.” The beeping then started at a quicker pace, only making your nerves go into overdrive.

“I’ll finish up out here and then help y—”

Boom. 

“Rogers? Y/l/n?” Tony spoke anxiously into comms.

“What the hell was that, Tony?” Bucky asked immediately, not liking the tone in his voice while he said both yours and Steve’s names.

“Explosion on floor five. Rogers and Y/l/n aren’t responding.”

“Y/n? Steve?” Sam tried to reach out. Nothing.

“All I’m getting is static, guys,” Natasha chimed in. “I’m headed up.”

Bucky jolted into the staircase, running faster than he could even process. He eventually caught up with Natasha, Tony and Sam both flying in from either side of the building to the fifth floor. The entire floor was filled with smoke, though the hallway was a bit clearer than the room you had been in alone.

Natasha caught a glimpse of Steve, who was thankfully conscious, as he tried to lift himself up with a a cough to expel the smoke from his lungs. Tony helped him up and Steve immediately caught Bucky’s eyes, filled with anxiety he hadn’t seen in him in a while. He then looked at the door and Bucky understood that you were in there.

He knocked the door in with no hesitation, though something was blocking his entry. Steve and Tony made their way over to help him push the door, moving the cabinet that had been flung across the room with the impact of the explosion. Bucky slipped through the door, blue eyes scattering across the room until he saw your hand sticking out from behind some debris. Using his metal arm to lift up the equipment that had fallen on top of you, he moved it over to the side before kneeling in front of you. He noticed the large piece of shrapnel sticking into your abdomen, a fairly large blood stain tainting your suit and your breaths extremely shallow.

Your eyes were half open as they landed on him, though your body desperately wanted to fall out of consciousness.

“Hey, honey, I’m here,” he said as your eyes glossed over. 

You felt too weak to talk, it hurt just to breathe with the impeding metal in your stomach. The one moment you wanted to say something to him and you couldn’t. 

“I’m here, okay? We’re gonna get you out of here,” he said as his eyes stayed firmly on you, his ears tuning out Steve directing Sam, Tony, and Natasha to prepare for an emergency evac back home. “You’re gonna be okay, everything’s gonna be okay.” 

Bucky cupped your face lightly, running his thumbs across your cheeks carefully over a few cuts. His face and tears streaming down his cheeks was the last thing you remembered seeing before the darkness reeled you in.

_

It had been six days. 

Six days since you all successfully evacuated the mission. Six days since they removed the metal from your stomach safely. Six days since they found out the extent of your other injuries from the blow. Six days since you had been unconscious. Six days that Bucky hadn’t left your side for a second.

He had already regretted everything he said to you the night before your mission, but now he felt like he had made the biggest mistake of his life by even upsetting you. Bucky knew you probably wanted to cool down, memorizing all of your coping mechanisms and the way you communicated your feelings. But something in his head told him to talk to you sooner, and he only wished you had let him before everything else fell apart.

He hadn’t slept in the six days you’d been unconscious. You had suffered such a serious head trauma that the doctors in the medical wing of the compound were surprised your scans came back clean. On top of the fractured ribs, the wound in your stomach, and the broken leg, everyone had already known you were a trooper.

By the sixth day, Bucky’s eyes were finally starting to get tired. 

He fought sleep off as hard as he could, not wanting to take his eyes off of you for a second. Sam had come in several times throughout the week to bring him food to eat, though he could barely finish any of it. Steve had urged him to go shower every day, promising to watch you and alert him if any changes had happened, pleading with him until he finally agreed. Bucky would rush to shower and immediately ran back as he had finished and gotten dressed. Steve would just give him a pat on the shoulder and a longing look, knowing he couldn’t push any more out of his best friend who was watching intently over the love of his life. 

Bucky laid his head on the small space on the side of the bed next to you, his thumb running soothing motions back and forth on your hand as his solemn, blue eyes watched you take small breaths in and out with your eyes sealed shut. His eyes then pulled him into a slumber, one he didn’t even remember falling into.

After a few hours, he felt you shuffle a bit on the bed, shooting his eyes open and seeing you rub your eyes with your free hand, his hand still intertwined in your other one. 

“Y/n?” he spoke softly, your eyes redirecting to his face and a small smile creeping on yours.

“Hi,” you said groggily. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

Bucky sat up and shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for, baby. I’m just glad you’re awake,” he reassured as he let go of your hand and moved his to rest on your cheek. “How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?”

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you joked in a tired voice. “How long have I been out?”

Bucky sighed, though he was glad you were feeling well enough to be playful. “Six days,” he answered. “You had a lot of injuries.”

You nodded slightly. “What about the mission?”

“Natasha and Tony took care of it,” he informed you. “They stayed behind while we evacuated to finish and found a copy of the file. Mission successful.”

You nodded once again, biting down on your bottom lip as you knew there was still unresolved tension between you and Bucky. He noticed it too, but he didn’t think it was the right time to talk about it. Not right after you woke up. 

_

A few days later, you had been discharged from the medical wing and had gone back to your room. You had told Bucky you wanted to go back to his, but he had insisted it’d be better for you to rest in yours. 

He stayed with you the first few days you were in recovery, though he didn’t sleep next to you. It hurt a bit, but you had at least felt comfort in knowing he was in the room with you. 

One morning, you had woken up and saw Bucky sleeping peacefully on the couch chair in the corner of your room, knowing he had finally gotten rest after a few days. You stayed watching him and he met your eyes immediately when you woke up.

“Hey,” he said in the raspy morning voice you knew all too well. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” you said as you sat up a bit in bed, to which Bucky moved to your side to help you do.

“Don’t exert yourself too much, Y/n,” he warned in a light tone. “You’re still recovering and I don’t want you to prolong y—”

“Buck, I’m okay, I promise,” you cut him off, placing your hands on his face and forcing him to look you in the eyes. His normal, cerulean eyes were a bit more clouded. They looked more gray in the dim lighting of your room, but you could also make out the sting of sadness in them. 

The longer he looked in your eyes, the more tears formed in his. “I could have lost you,” he said with a crack in his voice. “I almost lost you without making things right with you. I’m never gonna forgive myself for that.”

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, Bucky—”

“No,” he cut you off this time. “I can’t wait any longer, Y/n. It’s eating me alive and I want to make things right with you. I need to make things right with you. Everything that went wrong on that mission only made everything worse. You could have died while being on bad terms with me and I’m never, never, going to let that happen again. Do you understand me?”

You nodded slightly, tears quickly glossing your eyes as well while a tear slid past Bucky’s. He cupped your face in his hands, wiping the tears that fell down your cheeks with his thumbs as you started to play with your fingers in your lap.

“Do you think that I care about anything in this world but you?” he said, a noticeable shake in his voice while he didn’t break eye contact with you. “There is nothing that compares to you in my world. Nothing. When I heard that explosion and Tony say your name, it felt like my heart dropped. I don’t want to experience that again. Especially if I’m not with you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “So you mean—”

“I said what I said because I’m too scared not to be with you, Y/n. It’s wrong and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I made you feel like I felt you weren’t ready to be on your own. You’re more than ready and I was clouded by my own fears and patronized you when you didn’t need that. I can’t lose you, I can’t picture what the rest of my life would even look like without you in it. But my fears should never come in the way of your accomplishments that you deserve and earned, honey. Never. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you and I’m sorry that it took everything that happened for me to say it to you.”

If the tears weren’t falling from your face before, they most definitely were now. You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s torso and sobbed into his chest. He was crying too, but he wrapped his arms around you and rubbed small circles in your back to soothe you the way he always did.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out between sobs. “I didn’t want to fight with you, I just—”

“Shh,” Bucky comforted you. “It’s okay, baby, I know. I didn’t want to fight with you either, it’s on me.”

You pulled away slightly to look up at him once your sobs died down, sniffling a bit as he looked down at you with all the love and adoration he’s always had for you.

“Promise me we’ll never fight before a mission again,” you urged softly, and even though your tone was slightly playful, Bucky knew you were also half serious.

“I promise, baby,” he said, kissing your forehead twice. “Now let’s go back to sleep.”

You nodded as he made his way around the bed and slid next to you, carefully wrapping his arms around you as you both laid down and enjoyed each other’s warmth again.

__________________________________

thank you so much for reading! i thoroughly enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading my first piece! 

[randomhealer]

ℬ𝓁𝓊ℯ 𝒲ℯ𝒷

warnings: Obsessive behaviors, yandere characters, GN reader, murder half described, not reviewed, Tumblr wasn't accepting my post since 3am so it changed it itself, theory for who owns the last sentence

♡₊˚ 🕸・₊✧

You don't know how lucky you are to have good friends...

Kamisato Ayato, your long time friend, with a calm and relaxed facade, your friend who helped you stop the bullies who were messing with you, honestly you were happy when all the torment ended but where did the boys who messed with you go? Ayato says they all got detention from school...

Kamisato ayato...for you, a kind, hard-working, intelligent boy. Kamisato ayato...a manipulator... a sweet friendship with every step forged and meticulously planned like a piece for a treat. whispers say that he is the owner of a powerful faction and that his influence extended far beyond the city limits, he was a shadow that no bad soul wanted to cross, two-face, having him as an enemy was worse than having the devil. ..such whispers that soon disappeared from the world soon after saying such rumors around...

Sunday... a boy from a very well-known and important family, exuded an air of elegance and sophistication that belied his true nature. You never thought you would catch the attention of someone so important, but here he is...always bumping into you and talking to you at school.

Little do you know, oh poor innocent soul falling into the web of two dangerous demons, the bright blue web calling you to fall and drown in your own innocence.

both finding themselves in a sick love for you, something silly for them...it's not obsession, it's love...pure love over an innocent and clean soul, both having knowledge of each other, knowing your every step, shadows you They spy on your house, every day both families have eyes for you. and he has eyes for his friends and family too...

From lavish gifts to whispered promises of eternal love, they've done everything to win the reader's heart without having to break their facade.

a chance. while you have your freedom, your sanity, your innocence and your legs intact... You can choose between them, the choice is yours, but remember any step you take has a big consequence... you are walking on glass here.

Ayato's hand squeezed yours a little, his smile that could have been genuine before disappeared just for a fraction of a second as he watched you exchange kindness with Sunday, his gaze meeting Sunday's who smiled gracefully as he held your hand a little. little more, he looked from beneath his eyelashes with a feeling of hatred, disgust and mockery at Ayato.

while looks mix with hatred and jealousy creating thoughts about killing the other between the two men and you are oblivious to everything as you mumble some things to Sunday, who looks at you with a smile and waves. Of course, he listens to your every word despite his thought being that only Ayato would disappear from his sight...

Cute moments, sure... Ayato sharing his drink with you, Ayato giving you a light kiss on the forehead for being able to do all his math homework, Sunday buying you expensive things, Sunday letting you play with his hair...

but you're not stuck with just two people, you have more friends and a free life to live...right? bad choice...

16/04... A body was discovered, this morning three people were found dead in a state of advanced decomposition...The victims were...

These weren't the guys who bullied you?

...26/04... a body was found today in a river in an abandoned park, a couple was walking when they saw a hand floating in the small lake...

This...wasn't this the guy you met a few weeks ago at the cafe? he had given you his number after he spilled coffee on you...

03/05... a body of a teenager was found today near the... ...the cause of death has not been found yet, but the body was dismembered and appeared to have signs of torture... we ask all citizens in the area to be careful and Don't go out late at night...

This... was the guy in the class next to yours who you were going to meet in a few days...

...

...

...

You don't know what's going on...a serial killer on the loose...? or just a big coincidence of deaths? You're getting scared to even go home alone...

a sweet and familiar voice breaks your thoughts as you walk, you stop walking as you hear the footsteps reach you and a voice whisper sweetly "my dear...you shouldn't keep coming back alone, didn't you hear what's happening? let me accompany you to your home."

I've been trying to post this since 3 am and Tumblr won't let me??? I haven't even been to Penacony yet lol

[so-many-ocs]

fifty creative writing warmups

1. search for lists of writing prompts, select one at random, and write from it for 15 minutes. the goal should be to write as much as possible, rather than trying to write something “good.”

2. read or watch a scene from a book/film/show/etc. and then rewrite it from memory.

3. choose one of the five senses (sight, smell, touch, taste, sound) and write a brief scene focusing primarily on that sense.

4. write an interview as if it were occurring between yourself and a character you’re writing about.

5. rewrite something you wrote a long time ago.

6. shuffle your favorite music and write something based on the first song that plays. 

7. choose a scene from your least favorite book and try to rewrite it in a way that you like. pay attention to the changes you make and why, in your opinion, they improve the scene.

8. choose an object in the same room as you and write as much as possible about that object: descriptions, history, personification, etc.

9. choose an author whose style you like and read one of their works for about twenty minutes before sitting down to write.

10. write a short scene with no adverbs (words ending in -ly such as quickly, hastily, quietly, dimly, etc.)

11. reread a scene from a book you like and write down what you think the author did well: characterization, use of literary devices, foreshadowing, dialogue, etc. then write down the characters, goals/motives, and conflicts of the scene.

12. go outside or look out a window and simply write what you see.

13. write a scene with no dialogue.

14. write a scene with only dialogue.

15. choose a scene from your current work in progress and rewrite it from a different character’s point of view.

16. without editing, reread the last couple of scenes you wrote.

17. describe a room where you live.

18. learn a new word and try writing a few different sentences that each use that word.

19. reread something you’ve written out loud. pay attention to things like sentence flow.

20. write an alternate ending for a piece of media you’ve enjoyed recently.

21. write a short story based on a side character in a piece of media you’ve enjoyed recently.

22. rewrite a classic fairytale, but find a way to turn it on its head.

23. go to a random word generator and write a quick scene based on the first word that comes up.

24. describe your day as if it were the first chapter of a book.

25. choose a book from your shelf. find the fifth word on the fifth page and write something based on that.

26. go for a walk. or, if you can’t do that, try to find a way to move your body around.

27. choose an emotion and write a scene where that emotion is the central focus.

28. rewrite a scene you’ve already written, but switch the perspective—so, if your story uses first person present tense (I, me, my, mine), try third person past tense (they, them, their, theirs), or second person present tense (you, your, yours).

29. rewrite an important scene in your work in progress from the point of view of a complete outsider with no stake in the plot.

30. read three pages of a random book, making note of the author’s style, and then try to write a page in that author’s writing style.

31. write a news article about one of your characters. what is the headline? what is the article about?

32. in public, transcribe a conversation happening near you.

33. write a short dialogue exchange, then choose an emotion to highlight and rewrite the dialogue with that emotion in mind.

34. choose an object near you and describe it three times. each time, try to capture a different emotion or vibe.

35. if you’re within earshot of a conversation, write down 2-4 lines of that conversation and then continue it by making up your own dialogue.

36. write brief, 1-2 sentence descriptions of people you see in passing.

37. pick something you love and write about it as if you hate it.

38. pick something you hate and write about it as if you love it.

39. read something you wouldn’t normally read: an author, genre, style, medium, or subject matter you’d usually avoid.

40. write a goodbye scene between two people three times to capture different emotions: somber, cheerful, angry.

41. find a random photograph online of a person or place and write a story about it. what is the history behind the image? how did the picture wind up being taken—why?

42. find a random image online and write 1,000 words describing it.

43. watch a scene in a tv show or movie and try to adapt it into a written format.

44. read a few pages of a book about writing.

45. describe your main character’s home.

46. describe a day in your main character’s life.

47. set a timer for five minutes and list as many words as you can think of.

48. write a page of pure stream of consciousness. put down anything that comes to mind.

49. write a page describing the appearance of a side character.

50. choose one of your characters and create a new character based on them. for every trait your character has, this new character will have its total opposite—so, generous → selfish, cowardly → bold, short → tall, etc.

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

psst check out radio apocalypse

[skepsiss]

For Steddie prompts -- I'm always a fan of older Steve and Eddie, like them in the 90's and still pining type of nonsense

That or them as camp councilors, for Summertime for us Northern Hemispherers ♥️✨

Pining in the 90s.... hmmm, as in they're not together yet? I'm going to take this in a rather AU way, hope you like it! Ooops, it's almost 2,000 words.... but whatever. (Anyone can send me a prompt! Please do) --

Eddie hoisted his guitar up his shoulder, grunting as he picking up his duffle and staggered away from the bus. It was a mild summer day, and he was pleased he had gotten in early to camp, even if he missed getting the extra sleep.

Eddie wasn't exactly 'a morning person,' but mornings came with their perks as Eddie took in the familiar sight of Camp Callingwood. He had never frequented the camp as a kid, but he had started as a seasonal camp counsellor in the late 80s as a last-ditch effort to not be homeless for the summer. It turned out to be one of the best decisions of his life because he had met some of the best people in the world. It was 'one of those perks' and Eddie couldn't help but look around to try and catch a glimpse of the guy he was looking for.

Like a sunbeam on a cloudy day, Eddie caught sight of Steve Harrington making his way down the dirt path toward the bus drop-off. He was talking to a younger woman who was also wearing the counsellor uniform, but Eddie didn't waste time waving Steve over. It took a beat, but Steve smiled wide when he saw Eddie.

"Hey!" Steve called over before saying something quickly to the young woman and then trotting up to Eddie. "Hey, man. I wasn't sure if you'd be coming around this summer."

"Wouldn't miss it," Eddie said cheerfully, letting Steve grab his duffle bag so they could start walking toward the cabins.

"No big break yet then, huh?" Steve asked, saying a few quick hellos to the other counsellors that had just been dropped off.

"You seen my name in the tabloids?" Eddie joked, only feeling a small pinch of embarrassment over Steve's comment. He hadn't made it big despite how much he talked up his music. He knew he was good, but there wasn't always an agent who could see that in the music biz. Still, he was nearly 26 now, and without a break soon, he feared he wouldn't make it at all.

"I guess not," Steve laughed, talking easily with Eddie along the quiet forest path. "Definitely would have taken notice to seeing you. You still selling songs?"

"Yeah, doing pretty good there," Eddie admitted, shyly glancing at Steve as he tried to gauge his attitude toward all of this.

Eddie was doing well in the 'selling songs' department; he could churn out hits for anyone, but it wasn't the music he wanted to play. It sucked that metal didn't seem to be in fashion right now, but no part of him wanted to change his whole personality to fit what was 'popular.'

"Wrote one for Whitney Houston recently," Eddie proclaimed, feeling a bit proud of that sell.

"No shit?" Steve asked, sounding surprised before he bumped his shoulder into Eddie's. "Good for you, man. Cool."

Eddie smiled stupidly, liking the roughness and how boyishly charming it was. When he had first gotten to Camp Callingwood all those years ago, Steve had already been a seasoned veteran at the game. From what Eddie knew, he ran the site year-round now, and maintained the grounds during the off-season too. Eddie was only a temp, but Steve seemed so pleased to see him every year. And every year… Eddie always tentatively sussed out whether or not Steve was still single.

"Any interesting changes?" Eddie asked, glancing at Steve from under his lashes, trying to keep things casual. "No… well, I got a dog," Steve smiled, opening the door to Eddie's cabin for him. "Pepper--she's great company during the winter. It can get pretty lonely up here by yourself."

"New dog, but no lady?" Eddie joked lightly, hoping the answer was no.

"No, no lady," Steve laughed, dropping Eddie's bag on the bunk bed. "They tend not to be great company in the winter when they have to rough it--in my experience."

Eddie laughed lightly, unable to hold back the little bloom of heat in his chest. Steve really was 'one of those perks' and Eddie could hardly wait for camping season to begin so he could sign up as a counsellor again. He liked the kids, and he had fun teaching everyone how to play the guitar, or hosting the 'in-door activities' for the kids that didn't quite fit in with the others, but the real reason he kept coming back was Steve. He wished it wasn't just a temporary thing, but he chickened out asking for more every year he was here.

"Don't get too comfortable," Steve offered, swaying and leaning on the pole of the bunk bed, looking casual as could be. "We've got a lot of kids these first few weeks so I might need to move you into the big house. You don't mind dogs, right?"

The big house was Steve's permanent residence, and it was a proper home rather than the bunk rooms the counsellors and kids usually slept in.

"No--yeah, dogs are fine," Eddie said quickly, "wouldn't mind meeting Pepper though--if you're not up to anything else right now?"

"Sure, I'll see if I can find her. She's probably running around somewhere. She's a bear dog, you know? Well, not for like attacking bears or whatever, but she does a good job of keeping them away," Steve explained, motioning for Eddie to follow him.

Eddie put his guitar down on the bed and followed Steve out, not sure if he knew what Steve meant by 'bear-dog.'

Almost as soon as they got outside Steve was yelling Pepper's name and whistling as he walked toward the mess hall.

"Did you get some new tattoos?" Steve asked as they continued to walk around the camp. Other counsellors were moving about and setting things up or settling into their cabins, the site a hive of activity.

"Yeah, one on my arm and one on my thigh," Eddie said, twisting to show off his new ink. That was another thing he liked about Steve: he didn't seem bothered at all that Eddie had tattoos, even though they were still considered quite scandalous to most employers.

"One more too on my chest, but I'll save that one for later," Eddie joked lightly, pleased to be asked about his ink.

"Later for sure," Steve retorted with a smile, and Eddie blinked at him as he tried to decipher what he meant by that. Later how?

Eddie didn't get the chance to dwell on that thought though as Steve hollered Pepper's name again and Eddie watched as a large white mass bounded toward them through the trees.

"There she is," Steve said pleasantly, crouching down to greet the dog.

Pepper was a Great Pyrenees and far too big for Steve to be crouching down for.

She bounded into him and turned happily, letting Steve rough her up with pets and scratches. He was cooing and making pleasant sounds of affection at her as she wagged her tall and rubbed her head under his chin.

"She's still a puppy, only a little over one year old," Steve explained as he stood back up and Pepper turned her attention to Eddie.

"She's big," Eddie said, a little surprised by the dog's size as she bumped into his hip, looking for attention. He gave her a few good scratches, unable to stop himself from smiling.

"She's friendly--might try and sleep with you," Steve joked lightly, motioning for Pepper to sit.

She obeyed quickly and Eddie grinned as he watched her pant happily, looking for more commands.

"So this is her first summer with the kids?" Eddie asked, crouching down like Steve had before and scratching and rubbing Pepper's neck.

"Yeah, well, in this amount. We get some winter scouts and groups like that, so she has been around kids and she's great with them, but she'll probably be excited to have so many people to spoil her."

Eddie laughed, charmed by how in love Steve was with his dog. If Steve was still single, and he was pouring all of his affection in to a dog… Eddie couldn't see why shooting his shot would hurt. He had backed off every year since he met Steve, but he was feeling determined to at least confirm that Steve wasn't interested in him. They were pals, and sometimes they wrote to one another during the year, but Eddie really wasn't sure how receptive Steve was to the whole… queer thing. He did know that they'd had queer kids at camp before, and Steve had always been gentle and accepting of them, so his attitude couldn't be all negative.

"Let's go grab your keys," Steve said suddenly, and Eddie stood up to follow him. "I'll just give you a master this year, easier that way. It opens all the bunk houses and the utility rooms--and the big house. Easier than trying to sort out all the rings."

Eddie nodded, feeling a small flush creep up his cheeks. It felt rather intimate to be given a key to Steve's house, even if it technically was part of camp property.

Steve handed him the kitschy keychain and Eddie quickly added it to his own keyring.

"Don't lose it," Steve said, sounding only moderately strict. "I only have three of those. You and me are the only ones that'll have them, I don't want to hand out the spare."

"Oh," Eddie frowned, glancing up at Steve. "Are you sure you want to give it to me?"

"Yeah, I trust you, man. Plus, I don't mind you letting yourself in whenever," Steve grinned, walking over to his desk and rooting around the papers there.

Eddie pinched his brow in with confusion, not sure how to react to that. What did he mean by 'letting yourself in whenever'? It sounded so off-handed, but Eddie had no clue if he was supposed to take that seriously or… flirtatiously.

Steve had always been friendly, but this felt like it went a bit beyond friendly.

Eddie swallowed lightly, mustering the courage to speak as Steve turned back around with a clipboard in his hand.

"I could move my stuff into your place now, if you want," Eddie asked, idly picking his nail polish. "Easier than having to do it later. Just… make it my spot for the summer."

It was Steve's turn to stare as they stood there quietly for a beat, before Steve seemed to shake himself from his astonishment.

"Yeah! For sure---that's cool, let's do that," Steve agreed quickly, smiling again but not making a move toward the door.

"You want to show me the room I'll be staying in?" Eddie asked, feeling his confidence grow a bit.

"Yes--yeah," Steve waffled, sounding pleased but a bit surprised for some reason. "Follow me."

Eddie chewed his lip lightly and looped his arms behind his back as he followed Steve out of the cabin. He wasn't certain, but Steve had seemed sort of… flustered by the prospect of them actually sharing a living space. The idea of that encouraged Eddie, and he grinned privately to himself as he thought about retiring for the evening with Steve in his little cabin in the woods. It felt… romantic and it really did set Eddie up to succeed.

Eddie was going to make this summer the summer he asked Steve on a date. He wasn't going to chicken out again.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I don't want to contribute to paying for furniture for the house?

1/3/2024, Names changed. Sorry, this is a little long.

I (26) live with three roommates: Kay (22) who is my sister, Sam (22) who is Kay's high school sweetheart and fiancé, and Andy (25) who is Kay and Sam's best friend. All of us are autistic, queer, and neurodivergent in some way or another.

Background info; Kay, Sam, and Andy had had plans to move in together for several years with Andy moving cross country to do so. Kay and I both moved out of our parents house within a month of each other in Summer 2022, with Kay and Sam moving in together, and me moving into an apartment by myself. Early 2023 due to issues with my apartment and landlord and being unable/unwilling to stay there past my lease when it was up in six months, with some encouragement from our mother Kay asked if I wanted to move in with the three of them because Kay and Sam's lease was up around the same time mine was and they were already planning on getting a bigger place to live with Andy when he got here. Due to the aforementioned apartment troubles and having a hard time mentally living alone for the first time, I accepted. We found a small house and the four of us moved in Summer 2023.

Now we've butted heads a good bit the last couple months (especially me and Andy because we had barely known each other before moving in together and we have very different personalities), including a few very loud fights, but we have thus far managed to eventually talk it out and work it out and kept things mostly under control. I admit, there have been times where I was definitely the asshole in situations, but I've acknowledged that, apologized, and tried to improve my behavior since then. Anyway, this ask isn't about all those times.

A lot of my issues in the household stem from my depression and lack of motivation to get things done. A big contributing factor to that is that I am painfully aware I wasn't part of their original plan, and that leads to me not feeling wanted as part of this house. The three of them often do things without me like playing D&D, and hanging out/going fun places without me, while things I want to do with all of them just kinda never happens, like playing a video game or board game with one of them, or going out somewhere fun I want to go. Some of me not being included is completely justified like Kay and Sam's date nights, and some things while they do still sting a bit to be excluded from make sense why (like their D&D games that can get very NSFW, and I'm a sex-repulsed asexual. also being Kay's sister would make it extremely awkward regardless of my sexuality. I only found out about the NSFW nature of their games two weeks ago though), but certain things it doesn't feel like as good a reason for me to not be included or it's not actually communicated to me why I'm not invited to be part of something.

A REALLY big thing that contributed to these feelings I have was the day we got the keys to our house, as Kay and Andy were showing it to me, Kay told me "Just so you know, this isn't permanent. You're going to get your own place again eventually" with a soft deadline of two years because that's when another of their friends graduates college and might need a place to stay after. Over the last few months we have had several conversations about my feelings of being unwanted and Kay has apologized saying that what she meant that day came out wrong. What she meant by that statement was they all want to help me become more independent so that I will be able to move out and live on my own again one day when I'm ready since the first time didn't go so well. They were not/are not planning to kick me out, and the other friend moving in is just an idea that may not even come to fruition anyway. Even if it was partially a misunderstanding and there is no set time I need to be out of the house by, knowing that there is an end in sight has made it much harder for me to settle in because I don't feel like I can get settled since I'll just have to leave again at some point anyway even if that time is literal years away. Sorry if that doesn't make sense but that's the best way I can phrase it.

With all that background out of the way, I'll get back on track now. Kay and Andy have spent months planning on how to decorate the house and want to make the whole first floor (kitchen, living room, and shared craft space in the front room) themed like a medieval tavern. I haven't been able to give much input on how the house gets decorated outside of my own room. I've been trying to at least make my bedroom feel more homey since it's where I spend a lot of my time, but the common areas are much harder for me to feel comfortable and like I belong in because I don't have much control/input in how they will look. Which again, I know I'm not going to be here super long term, so it makes sense but it still sucks.

Now onto the actual situation here. There is a dining table set that Kay and Andy picked out that costs over $400 that Kay said on 12/25 she wants us all four to pitch in to get for the household for her birthday in a couple months. I am hesitant to contribute to this set, because I am not going to live with them forever. Obviously I pay my part to the household. I pay my fair share of rent, utilities, and food (though I will often make mini grocery runs throughout the week and I rarely if ever ask for money I spent back because I feel awkward about asking for money from any of them). I have already contributed towards furniture for the house but that is either things that are explicitly and exclusively mine despite household use (a tv stand I already had, a bookshelf I bought to display my things) and will come with me when I move out, or something that was a gift for someone else but still not ridiculously expensive (a $40 secondhand curio cabinet the rest of us got for Kay as an early Christmas present and various other small decorations for around the house).

There was another interaction today that has me a little upset. We've been thinking of getting a second TV for the living room so we can play online co-op games together. Who pays for the TV, determines who gets to keep the new one and who takes the old one when I leave. If the three of them want to keep the new TV, they're going to split the cost and I get the old one, however if I want the new TV I will have to pay for the whole thing myself. 1 person vs 3 people paying for something just feels unfair to me.

But the dining set feels different because it's a lot of money and I won't get to take any part of it with me when I eventually leave. With the TV I'd at least get to keep it. I feel guilty about not wanting to help pay for it, especially because Kay has said she wants it as a birthday gift, but if it almost feels like I'm just buying furniture for someone else's house. Honestly, I'll probably end up sucking it up and contributing anyway because I really don't like confrontation and tend to keep my feelings to myself anyway, but I just want to know other people's opinion on the situation.

Money has been a growing issue for me lately. I'm the only one with a stable, salaried job (barely pays above minimum wage though so it's not like I'm rolling funds), while Kay and Sam are hourly and Andy is between jobs right now. Like I said, I feel awkward about asking for money from any of them. Honestly I don't mind paying a little extra here and there to help out since I'm not much help with the cooking and cleaning, but the amount I have been contributing with no compensation has been eating away at my savings the last few months and I've been keeping silent about it because I don't want to make them feel guilty about it and make it awkward.

TLDR; I'm insecure and have trouble feeling wanted around by my roommates, and am expected to eventually move out. WIBTA if I don't want to help buy a dining set for the household because I won't get to take any part of it with me when I move out?

PS- If it's not too much trouble, could you please tag @aita-roommates-furniture so I am notified when this gets posted? Tumblr won't let me submit asks from a sideblog. If not, no worries! I'll just keep an eye out for it

What are these acronyms?

[freetheshit-outofyou]

@sadrcitysocialclub, In reference to the PTSD post. Folks often say "Man, you left the war 17 years ago, it can't hurt that bad anymore." what they don't understand is it was 17 years ago for them, it was last night for me. "June 26, 2007, 3:51 PM

By Brian Mockenhaupt

I Miss Iraq. I Miss My Gun. I Miss My War.

A year after coming home from a tour in Iraq, a soldier returns home to find out he left something behind.

A few months ago, I found a Web site loaded with pictures and videos from Iraq, the sort that usually aren't seen on the news. I watched insurgent snipers shoot American soldiers and car bombs disintegrate markets, accompanied by tinny music and loud, rhythmic chanting, the soundtrack of the propaganda campaigns. Video cameras focused on empty stretches of road, building anticipation. Humvees rolled into view and the explosions brought mushroom clouds of dirt and smoke and chunks of metal spinning through the air. Other videos and pictures showed insurgents shot dead while planting roadside bombs or killed in firefights and the remains of suicide bombers, people how they're not meant to be seen, no longer whole. The images sickened me, but their familiarity pulled me in, giving comfort, and I couldn't stop. I clicked through more frames, hungry for it. This must be what a shot of dope feels like after a long stretch of sobriety. Soothing and nauseating and colored by everything that has come before. My body tingled and my stomach ached, hollow. I stood on weak legs and walked into the kitchen to make dinner. I sliced half an onion before putting the knife down and watching slight tremors run through my hand. The shakiness lingered. I drank a beer. And as I leaned against this kitchen counter, in this house, in America, my life felt very foreign.

I've been home from Iraq for more than a year, long enough for my time there to become a memory best forgotten for those who worried every day that I was gone. I could see their relief when I returned. Life could continue, with futures not so uncertain. But in quiet moments, their relief brought me guilt. Maybe they assume I was as overjoyed to be home as they were to have me home. Maybe they assume if I could do it over, I never would have gone. And maybe I wouldn't have. But I miss Iraq. I miss the war. I miss war. And I have a very hard time understanding why.

I'm glad to be home, to have put away my uniforms, to wake up next to my wife each morning. I worry about my friends who are in Iraq now, and I wish they weren't. Often I hated being there, when the frustrations and lack of control over my life were complete and mind-bending. I questioned my role in the occupation and whether good could come of it. I wondered if it was worth dying or killing for. The suffering and ugliness I saw disgusted me. But war twists and shifts the landmarks by which we navigate our lives, casting light on darkened areas that for many people remain forever unexplored. And once those darkened spaces are lit, they become part of us. At a party several years ago, long before the Army, I listened to a friend who had served several years in the Marines tell a woman that if she carried a pistol for a day, just tucked in her waistband and out of sight, she would feel different. She would see the world differently, for better or worse. Guns empower. She disagreed and he shrugged. No use arguing the point; he was just offering a little piece of truth. He was right, of course. And that's just the beginning.

I've spent hours taking in the world through a rifle scope, watching life unfold. Women hanging laundry on a rooftop. Men haggling over a hindquarter of lamb in the market. Children walking to school. I've watched this and hoped that someday I would see that my presence had made their lives better, a redemption of sorts. But I also peered through the scope waiting for someone to do something wrong, so I could shoot him. When you pick up a weapon with the intent of killing, you step onto a very strange and serious playing field. Every morning someone wakes wanting to kill you. When you walk down the street, they are waiting, and you want to kill them, too. That's not bloodthirsty; that's just the trade you've learned. And as an American soldier, you have a very impressive toolbox. You can fire your rifle or lob a grenade, and if that's not enough, call in the tanks, or helicopters, or jets. The insurgents have their skill sets, too, turning mornings at the market into chaos, crowds into scattered flesh, Humvees into charred scrap. You're all part of the terrible magic show, both powerful and helpless.

That men are drawn to war is no surprise. How old are boys before they turn a finger and thumb into a pistol? Long before they love girls, they love war, at least everything they imagine war to be: guns and explosions and manliness and courage. When my neighbors and I played war as kids, there was no fear or sorrow or cowardice. Death was temporary, usually as fast as you could count to sixty and jump back into the game. We didn't know yet about the darkness. And young men are just slightly older versions of those boys, still loving the unknown, perhaps pumped up on dreams of duty and heroism and the intoxicating power of weapons. In time, war dispels many such notions, and more than a few men find that being freed from society's professed revulsion to killing is really no freedom at all, but a lonely burden. Yet even at its lowest points, war is like nothing else. Our culture craves experience, and that is war's strong suit. War peels back the skin, and you live with a layer of nerves exposed, overdosing on your surroundings, when everything seems all wrong and just right, in a way that makes perfect sense. And then you almost die but don't, and are born again, stoned on life and mocking death. The explosions and gunfire fry your nerves, but you want to hear them all the same. Something's going down.

For those who know, this is the open secret: War is exciting. Sometimes I was in awe of this, and sometimes I felt low and mean for loving it, but I loved it still. Even in its quiet moments, war is brighter, louder, brasher, more fun, more tragic, more wasteful. More. More of everything. And even then I knew I would someday miss it, this life so strange. Today the war has distilled to moments and feelings, and somewhere in these memories is the reason for the wistfulness.

On one mission we slip away from our trucks and into the night. I lead the patrol through the darkness, along canals and fields and into the town, down narrow, hard-packed dirt streets. Everyone has gone to bed, or is at least inside. We peer through gates and over walls into courtyards and into homes. In a few rooms TVs flicker. A woman washes dishes in a tub. Dogs bark several streets away. No one knows we are in the street, creeping. We stop at intersections, peek around corners, training guns on parked cars, balconies, and storefronts. All empty. We move on. From a small shop up ahead, we hear men's voices and laughter. Maybe they used to sit outside at night, but now they are indoors, where it's safe. Safer. The sheet-metal door opens and a man steps out, cigarette and lighter in hand. He still wears a smile, takes in the cool night air, and then nearly falls backward through the doorway in a panic. I'm a few feet from him now and his eyes are wide. I mutter a greeting and we walk on, back into the darkness.

Another night we're lost in a dust storm. I'm in the passenger seat, trying to guide my driver and the three trucks behind us through this brown maelstrom. The headlights show nothing but swirling dirt. We've driven these roads for months, we know them well, but we see nothing. So we drive slow, trying to stay out of canals and people's kitchens. We curse and we laugh. This is bizarre but a great deal of fun.

Another night my platoon sergeant's truck is swallowed in flames, a terrible, beautiful, boiling bloom of red and orange and yellow, lighting the darkness for a moment. Somehow we don't die, one more time.

Another night, there's McCarthy bitching, the cherry of his cigarette bobbing in the dark, bitching that he won't be on the assault team, that he's stuck as a turret gunner for the night. We'd been out since early that morning, came back for dinner, and are preparing to raid a weapons dealer. Our first real raid. I heave my body armor onto my shoulders, settling its too-familiar weight. Then the helmet and first-aid kit and maps and radio and ammunition and rifle and all the rest. Now I look like everyone else, an arm of this strange and destructive organism, covered in armor and guns. We crowd around a satellite map spread across a Humvee hood and trace our route. Wells, my squad leader, rehearses our movements. Get in quick. Watch the danger zones. If he has a gun, kill him. I look around the group, at these faces I know so well, and feel the collective strength, this ridiculous power. The camaraderie of men in arms plays a part, for sure. The shared misery and euphoria and threat of death. But there is something more: the surrender of self, voluntary or not, to the machine. Do I believe in the war? Not important. Put that away and live in the moment, where little is knowable and even less is controllable, when my world narrows to one street, one house, one room, one door.

We pack into the trucks after midnight, and the convoy snakes out of camp and speeds toward the target house. I sit in a backseat and the fear settles in, a sharp burning in my stomach, same as the knot from hard liquor gulped too fast. I think about the knot. I'll be the first through the door. What if he starts shooting, hits me right in the face before I'm even through the doorway? What if there's two, or three? What if he pitches a grenade at us? And I think about it more and run through the scenarios, planning my movements, imagining myself clearing through the rooms, firing two rounds into the chest, and the knot fades.

The trucks drop us off several blocks from the target house and we slip into the night. As always, the dogs bark. We gather against the high wall outside the house and call in the trucks to block the streets. The action will pass in a flash. But here, before the chaos starts, when we're stacked against the wall, my friends' bodies pressed against me, hearing their quick breaths and my own, there's a moment to appreciate the gravity, the absurdity, the novelty, the joy of the moment. Is this real? Hearts beat strong. Hands grip tight on weapons. Reassurance. The rest of the world falls away. Who knows what's on the other side?

One, two, three, go. We push past the gate and across the courtyard and toward the house, barrels locked on the windows and roof. Wells runs up with the battering ram, a short, heavy pipe with handles, and launches it toward the massive wood door. The lock explodes, the splintered door flies open, and we rush through, just the way we've practiced hundreds of times. No one shoots me in the face. No grenades roll to my feet. I kick open doors. We scan darkened bedrooms with the flashlights on our rifles and move on to the next and the next.

He's gone, of course. We ransack his house, dumping drawers, flipping mattresses, punching holes in the ceiling. We find rifles and grenades and hundreds of pounds of gunpowder. And then, near dawn, we lie down on the thick carpets in his living room and sleep, exhausted and untroubled.

Many, many raids followed. We often raided houses late at night, so people awakened to soldiers bursting through their bedroom doors. Women and children wailed, terrified. Taking this in, I imagined what it would feel like if soldiers kicked down my door at midnight, if I could do nothing to protect my family. I would hate those soldiers. Yet I still reveled in the raids, their intensity and uncertainty. The emotions collided, without resolution.

My wife moved to Iraq partway through my second deployment to live in the north and train Iraqi journalists. She spent her evenings at restaurants and tea shops with her Iraqi friends. We spoke by cell phone, when the spotty network allowed, and she told me about this life I couldn't imagine, celebrating holidays with her colleagues and being invited into their homes. I didn't have any Iraqi friends, save for our few translators, and I'd rarely been invited into anyone's home. I told her of my life, the tedious days and frightful seconds, and she worried that in all of this I would lose my thoughtfulness and might stop questioning and just accept. But she didn't judge the work that I did, and I didn't tell her that I sometimes enjoyed it, that for stretches of time I didn't think about the greater implications, that it sometimes seemed like a game. I didn't tell her that death felt ever present and far away, and that either way, it didn't really seem to matter.

We both came back from Iraq, luckier than many. Two of my wife's students have been killed, among the scores of journalists to die in Iraq, and guys I served with are still dying, too. One came home from the war and shot himself on Thanksgiving. Another was blown up on Christmas in Baghdad.

Thinking of them, I felt disgusted with myself for missing the war and wondered if I was alone in this.

I don't think I am.

After watching the Internet videos, I called some of my friends who are out of the Army now, and they miss the war, too. Wells very nearly died in Iraq. A sniper shot him in the head, surgeons cut out half of his skull—a story told in this magazine last April—and he spent months in therapy, working back to his old self. Now he misses the high. "I don't want to sound like a psychopath, but you're like a god over there," he says. "It might not be the best kind of adrenaline for you, but it's a rush." Before Iraq, he didn't care for horror movies, and now he's drawn to them. He watches them for the little thrill, the rush of being startled, if just for a moment.

McCarthy misses the war just the same. He saved Wells's life, pressing a bandage over the hole in his head. Now he's delivering construction materials to big hotel projects along the beach in South Carolina, waiting for a police department to process his application. "The monotony is killing me," he told me, en route to deliver some rebar. "I want to go on a raid. I want something to blow up. I want something to change today." He wants the unknown. "Anything can happen, and it does happen. And all of the sudden your world is shattered, and everything has changed. It's living dangerously. You're living on the edge. And you're the baddest motherfucker around."

Mortal danger heightens the senses. That is simple animal instinct. We're more aware of how our world smells and sounds and tastes. This distorts and enriches experiences. Now I can have everything, but it's not as good as when I could have none of it. McCarthy and I stood on a rooftop one afternoon in Iraq running through a long list of the food we wanted. We made it to homemade pizza and icy beer when someone loosed a long burst of gunfire that cracked over our heads. We ran to the other side of the rooftop, but the gunman had disappeared down a long alleyway. Today my memory of that pizza and beer is stronger than if McCarthy and I had sat down together with the real thing before us.

And today we even speak with affection of wrestling a dead man into a body bag, because that was then. The bullet had laid his thigh wide open, shattered the femur, and shredded the artery, so he'd bled out fast, pumping much of his blood onto the sidewalk. We unfolded and unzipped the nylon sack and laid it alongside him. And then we stared for a moment, none of us ready to close that distance. I grabbed his forearm and dropped it, maybe instinct, maybe revulsion. He hovered so near this world, having just passed over, that he seemed to be sucking life from me, pulling himself back or taking me with him. He peeked at us through a half-opened eye. I stared down on him, his massive dead body, and again wrapped a hand around his wrist, thick and warm. The man was huge, taller than six feet and close to 250 pounds. We strained with the awkward weight, rolled him into the bag, and zipped him out of sight. My platoon sergeant gave two neighborhood kids five dollars to wash away the congealing puddle of blood. But the red handprint stayed on the wall, where the man had tried to brace himself before he fell. I think about him sometimes, splayed out on the sidewalk, and I think of how lucky I was never to have put a friend in one of those bags. Or be put in one myself.

But the memories, good and bad, are only part of the reason war holds its grip long after soldiers have come home. The war was urgent and intense and the biggest story going, always on the news stations and magazine covers. At home, though, relearning everyday life, the sense of mission can be hard to find. And this is not just about dim prospects and low-paying jobs in small towns. Leaving the war behind can be a letdown, regardless of opportunity or education or the luxuries waiting at home. People I'd never met sent me boxes of cookies and candy throughout my tours. When I left for two weeks of leave, I was cheered at airports and hugged by strangers. At dinner with my family one night, a man from the next table bought me a $400 bottle of wine. I was never quite comfortable with any of this, but they were heady moments nonetheless.For my friends who are going back to Iraq or are there already, there is little enthusiasm. Any fondness for war is tainted by the practicalities of operating and surviving in combat. Wells and McCarthy and I can speak of the war with nostalgia because we belong to a different world now. And yet there is little to say, because we are scattered, far from those who understand.

When I came home, people often asked me about Iraq, and mostly I told them it wasn't so bad. The first few times, my wife asked me why I had been so blithe. Why didn't I tell them what Iraq was really like? I didn't know how to explain myself to them. The war really wasn't so bad. Yes, there were bombs and shootings and nervous times, but that was just the job. In fact, going to war is rather easy. You react to situations around you and try not to die. There are no electric bills or car payments or chores around the house. Just go to work, come home alive, and do it again tomorrow. McCarthy calls it pure and serene. Indeed. Life at home can be much more trying. But I didn't imagine the people asking would understand that. I didn't care much if they did, and often it seemed they just wanted a war story, a bit of grit and gore. If they really want to know, they can always find out for themselves. But they don't, they just want a taste of the thrill. We all do. We covet life outside our bubble. That's why we love tragedy, why we love hearing about war and death on the television, drawn to it in spite of ourselves. We gawk at accident scenes and watch people humiliate themselves on reality shows and can't wait to replay the events for friends, as though in retelling the story we make it our own, if just for a moment.

We live easy third-person lives but want a bit of the darkness. War fascinates because we live so far from its realities. Maybe we'd feel differently about watching bombs blow up on TV if we saw them up close, if we knew how explosions rip the air, throttle your brain, and make your ears ring, if we knew the strain of wondering whether the car next to you at a traffic light would explode or a bomb would land on your house as you sleep. I don't expect Iraqi soldiers would ever miss war. I have that luxury. I came home to peace, to a country that hasn't seen war within its borders for nearly 150 years. Yes, some boys come home dead. But we live here without the other terrors and tragedies of war—cities flattened and riven with chaos and fear, neighbors killing one another, a people made forever weary by the violence.

And so I miss it.

Every day in Iraq, if you have a job that takes you outside the wire, you stop just before the gate and make your final preparation for war. You pull out a magazine stacked with thirty rounds of ammunition, weighing just over a pound. You slide it into the magazine well of your rifle and smack it with the heel of your hand, driving it up. You pull the rifle's charging handle, draw the bolt back, and release. The bolt slides forward with a metallic snap, catching the top round and shoving it into the barrel. Chak-chuk. If I hear that a half century from now, I will know it in an instant. Unmistakable, and pregnant with possibility. On top of a diving board, as the grade-school-science explanation goes, you are potential energy. On the way down, you are kinetic energy. So I leave the gate and step off the diving board, my energy transformed."

[greazyfloz]

MISS GIRL YOU HAVE BECOME MY FAV ACCOUNT OMG!!!

Unfortunately I have fallen under Michael Bunting’s spell so can I request something angsty “you win, I’m done” with him ?! 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Hope you have a great day/evening <3

OMG I'M LITERALLY IN LOVEEEE WITH BUNTS!!!

Angst: 26. "You win, I'm done with this" w/ Michael Bunting

Two Years

Michael and I met when I first moved to Toronto a little over two years ago. It was almost like love at first sight because we Started dating around a month or two later. One thing about Michael, as he gets heated very easily on the ice, luckily, I have never experienced this. Michael firsthand.

Today was our two year anniversary and I already know that Michael forgot. I don’t know how he could’ve forgotten since last week. He told me that he was going to take me to the nicest places in Toronto for dinner after his game.

All day he said nothing to me about our anniversary, and I was going to hold off on saying it first. As he made his way to the door, I followed him, and he turned to press a kiss on my lips.

“Okay, bye babe. Love ya“ he says, as he gets to shut the door.

“bye Mikey, and oh yeah, happy anniversary to you too” I tell him that he stops from closing the door and re-opened it

“oh my God” he says, seeing I wasn’t amused, “fuck”

“it’s fine. See you after the game“ I say to him. He pulls out his phone to check the time.

“fuck, I’m already late” he says under his breath, “I’ll make it up to you I promise”

Even leave, shutting the door behind him, and I make my way up to our room. I open the closet and grab my leather pants and a white leafs jersey with his last name and number on the back.

After I’m ready to go to the kitchen and heat up something quick before receiving a text from Steph saying she was here. I take a couple of bites before realizing I wasn’t very hungry, then throwing it out and making my way out to her car.

“hellooooo” she says, excited to see me

“Hey” I say back trying to sound as excited

“wait, what’s wrong? you look sad”

She pulls out of our driveway and begins driving into the city.

“no reason to be sad, it’s Mike and I’s two year” I say, then look at the window as I hear Steph gasp

“he did not forget”

“he did”

“oh, my god no way. What an ass”

“oh, but he said he’ll make it up to me” I say, looking back at her as we drive through the busy streets of Toronto, “I really don’t wanna go to the game tonight”

“I don’t blame you” she says she turns into the parking garage.

We made our way into our seats with the rest of the wags. Steph was telling everybody that Michael forgot about her anniversary just out of the conversation we were having.

As the game went on, I noticed Michael was not having it. The team was losing and they were currently playing the Oilers who are typically a pretty tough team. I usually hold my breath whenever he plays the more rough teams because I know one day he’s gonna do something so stupid and possibly get himself hurt.

“I seriously cannot watch this“ I say to Gio’s wife and she giggles a little

“oh, I thought you’d be used to it by now“ she laughs

“how could I get used to that?“ I say, in a silly tone as a couple of the other wags laugh along.

Then his neck shift came. And I knew something bad was gonna happen when Kane was trying to get physical with Auston in front of the net. I watched my boyfriend skate around all the other players in front of him to jump on the player, taking them both to the ground.

“oh, boy“ I say, as I stand to try and get a better look across the ice.

I watch my boyfriend, get up from the ice after the refs pull him and Kane away from each other. I shake my head as I sit back down in my seat as he was put in the box.

When the next period came along, the game became more physical for all players. He really stood out as being the angriest player on the ice as I watch him, have a meltdown mouthing off of the other players.

The game ends, and some of the wags already go down. I said with Steph and Johnny’s wife and kids before we made our way down to ice level.

When we go down there, Michael and Mitch were already out chatting with some of the other players and their wives as he waited for me. When they noticed us, Mitch went right up to Steph giving her a hug and I walked over to Michael.

He wrapped his arms around me, but only quickly giving me a hug before pulling away. “oh, so now you can’t even act like I’m a good boyfriend?” he says quietly to me as he pulled away.

“what?” I ask and he ignores as he looks back up with the group.

“all right guys. We gotta head out now“ he says turning around and I follow him as we walk towards his car. He doesn’t say a word to me the whole way there. I’m thinking it must be because of the game and he’s taking it out on me which isn’t like him.

“Jesus y/n. I forgot our anniversary I know I’m sorry. but why the fuck are you going around telling everybody?” he says looking at me as soon as we shut our doors to his car, ” I told you I’d make up for it”

“I told Steph. And then she brought it up in a conversation we were having with the rest of the wives. So go fight with Steph about it” I say, rolling my eyes at him

“No! I wanna fight with you about it!” He yells at me

I laughed dryly before looking back at him, “just drive“ I say to Michael and he angrily throws the car into drive, stepping on the gas and speeding home.

We make it home, and I walk into the house, slamming the door behind me. I hear Michael re-open the door and enter.

“what the fuck?!” he yells out, and I turn around and open my mouth to say something back, but he beats me to it, “I forget a fucking anniversary, and you start acting like a psycho?! Seriously what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he yells at me and I feel the tears begin to form in my eyes. I lift my hand up to brush underneath.

“oh, for fucks sake’s you’re not actually gonna cry?!” he continues yelling

“yeah, I am” I yell back

“holy fuck, grow the fuck up and stop acting like a two-year-old! Are you still mad that I forgot about a stupid anniversary?! Huh?” he yells even louder than before making me shake a little before the tears really start streaming down my face, “stop fucking crying! I don’t know what game you’re fucking playing but I don’t wanna play“

“you win, I’m done with this” I say, quietly before, turning and locking myself in our bedroom. I walk over to the closet and grab a bag to put a few things in to last me until he goes on the road again. I hear him banging on the door, followed by a couple curse words.

As I get closer to the door I can make out what he saying better.

“what do you mean you’re fucking done with this?“ I hear him on the other side of the door. Fear takes over my body as I reach for the door handle and decide not to turn it. I take a couple steps back and just look at the door.

“open. The door.” I hear him say again as the door knob twists, “I just wanna fucking talk. We’re not over Because I forgot about our anniversary.“

With that, I open the door quickly, and he looks at me and he opens his mouth probably to yell at me, but I beat him to it this time, “no, we’re over because you’re acting fucking crazy”

“how the fuck am I acting crazy you’re the one breaking up with me because I forgot an anniversary“

“do you even realize anything you’re saying?” I say, finally brushing past him as I make my way to the door.

“Wait, you’re actually leaving?” he says, as he finally sees the bag under my arm

“yes Michael, goodbye”

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 26 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: If I wasn't getting declarations of war before, I certainly am going to now. Oops?? Anyways—sorry, not sorry! As always, let me know what you think!

December 1944

A day trip to London should have been the exact cure that Ruth needed to help cope with the loss of two of her siblings. Especially during the oh so jovial holiday season—and the current Colonel thought it prudent to get her manic work-ethic away from the men that were just trying to do their jobs.  Robby had been sent to London with her but Ruth hated the fact that they were even going to be gone for a weekend. 

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Ruth wasn’t one to show the emotions she was feeling or let something as visceral as grief go easily.  So though she was miles from her job and from her work, her mind lingered and did not leave her thought-processes.  And it was painfully evident to Robert Rosenthal that Ruth Sharpe was sinking in her ship of solitude and isolationist policy. In comparison, Abe was doing much better—seeing a therapist and everything.  But not Ruth.  

He wished that she would just let him in—to some level or degree—even the deck of the ship of solitude would do at this point.  But she was keeping him far from her—and in the storm of Ruth Sharpe’s grief, he was a sinking man overboard that would never find his way to a lighthouse.  

Any attempt at conversations broaching the topic of either Sarah or John—or retrieving John’s locker from London ended in harsh words and distance.  And that wasn’t what she needed right now—he knew that.  So he had stopped pushing the issue several weeks back in the hopes that being her friend would be enough.  He should have known that when it came to Ruth, ever-unchanging and firm in her stances, it would not be enough to just be there for her. 

At the moment, Ruth was purchasing a pair of men’s gloves, presumably her present to Abe when they returned.  The cane that was supporting her weight made a tapping noise as she rejoined him. 

Truth be told, it hurt Robby Rosenthal that Ruth would hide the extremities of her spinal pain from everyone.  The cane had come as a necessity the month prior when she had nearly collapsed and could barely stand the pain in her back yet again.  It had steadily been getting worse and with her refusal to care for herself, he had no choice but to go to the doctor on base about the situation and present her with a cane.  She hadn’t spoken to him for three days before she agreed to use the damn thing—and she hadn’t said a word about the cane since. 

“Find what you’re looking for?” Robby questioned. 

“Satin hair-ties, a book for Liesel, a pair of gloves for Abe, and a snowglobe for the little brat,” Ruth answered, glancing at her bag.  She pinched her coat together tighter, glancing at the falling snow outside.  “We should probably get on the road soon or we may end up stuck in London.” 

“Oh I don’t know,” Robby replied lightly.  “It might not be that bad. You and me, just spending time in London—we could go dancing.” 

Ruth’s features nearly fell at the words.  “I can barely stand and you want to go dancing?” 

“I didn’t mean—” 

“No, I know what you mean.” 

“Well,” Robby glanced around at the Christmas market, another idea brimming to the surface.  “We could always stop by the—” 

“No.” 

“But Ruth, John’s locker is just sitting there—” 

Ruth’s eyes flashed with anger and she jabbed her cane in his direction.  “I am not picking up my little brother’s locker until I see a damn body.” 

Sympathy and an overwhelming ache to hold her in his arms and comfort her overtook Robby’s brain as he looked at her.  “Ruth—” 

“No, I said no a few weeks ago and I meant it then.  I mean it now.  Leave it alone, Rosenthal.” 

Ah, the dulcet tones of his last name—which well and truly meant she was unhappy with the suggestion and the fact that he was prodding yet again.  

“I just think that it might help you—” 

Stopping short on the sidewalk, Ruth drank in the sight of Robby with a frown on her face.  She couldn’t help the fact that she felt like she was a caged animal and wanted to bite back against anyone that wanted something from her.  “You’re not a part of my damn family, Rosie.  Now back the hell off.” 

“Not part of this family?” Robby echoed the words, surprise clear on his face. 

“No, you’re not.  Did I stutter?” Ruth knew that she was being mean at the moment.  Knew that she was lying through her teeth because she wanted to lash out and hurt the world that had hurt her so much.  And if that meant hurting Robert Rosenthal, then consequences be damned for that.  

“God, you’re such a—” 

“A what?  A bitch?” Ruth’s gaze narrowed at him and a sneer curled up in her lip.  The snow was long forgotten as it fell down around them—but Ruth just felt nothing but the fire of rage and grief gnawing at her and consuming everything around her.  She would be a wildfire that ate up everything in its path and did not look back. 

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Robby barked out the words just as quickly and viciously as she had suggested her original assumption. 

“No?  You know, there is something that I will never understand about you.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Why the hell you’re still here—I didn’t ask for you to be here.  I don’t want your help or your friendship and I sure as hell don’t need it.” 

“Bullshit, Ruth.” 

“Bullshit, no, I’ll tell you what’s bullshit—” 

“Do you ever shut up?!” Robby nearly roared the words out at her and Ruth abruptly took a step back, gaze narrowing at him.  “What’s bullshit is you—and the way that you won’t ever let anyone in!   I’m not trying to push you away, I’m holding onto you for dear fucking life and you are shoving me away with every wall you keep putting up!” 

“So jump ship, you idiot!” Ruth snarled.  “Take a hint!” 

“No!” Robby bellowed.  “That’s not how this works!” 

“How what works?” Ruth’s voice went deathly calm as she stared at him—a coldness only accentuated by the snow.  “This fake relationship?  Because there is nothing here, nothing real.  We are not friends and we are sure as hell not lovers.  And as far as I’m concerned, this portion of our lives—the lie—it’s over.” 

A cold and meaningless laugh ripped from Robby’s throat—it threatened to spill out as tears but he did not do that.  “You’re running away again.” 

“Again?” 

“Yes, Ruth—Ruth Sharpe—running away again,” Robby said, taking a step closer to her and pressing a finger into her shoulder for emphasis.  “You’re running away because you’re scared.  You’re so afraid of anyone seeing the real you—you can’t fathom anyone actually wanting to be in your life or loving you—and you run the other way.  You gave up someone who loved you because you’re selfishly scared of anything real!  And you’re doing the same thing to me!  You’re lonely and pitiful and we both know it!” 

Deafening silence ricocheted across the gap between them and all Ruth could do was stare at him.  Completely and totally unable to speak, unable to remember how to form words, unable to even deny the facts—because he was right and she knew it.  And the hurt that ached in her chest was like a bloody and gaping wound.  

So Ruth Sharpe did not say anything.  She just gave a simple nod as Robert Rosenthal regretted everything that he had just said.  And he didn’t say anything either. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 1945

The day that Robert Rosenthal flew the men of the Hundredth to Berlin was the day that Ruth Sharpe’s entire life came to a screeching halt.  There was no way for her to know that it was the last time she’d see either of them—there had been a hopeful feeling in the air when they had left. 

She had carried on quite normally.  She had prayed with Abe before he left and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.  At just three months shy of his 18th birthday, Ruth supposed he was no longer the boy that had arrived at Thorpe Abbotts wide-eyed and just a kid.  No, he was a man now and there was no denying that.  He seemed excited to hit Berlin, excited to head out—and though he had asked her to say goodbye to Rosie, she had not done so. 

What would have been the point? 

Rosie was a capable pilot and considering that he had never led his men astray a single time, this time should be no different.  She wasn’t about to go and talk to him now—not when her pride was still hurt and her heart was still trying to pick up the pieces of trying to leave him behind.  

They could talk when he got back—and she might even apologize for being a bitch.  She might tell him that she missed him and their friendship.  She might tell him that she was just hurting and that she really missed being able to talk to him.  

But that was never to be. 

She sat and waited in the tower, as she always did—fully knowing the risks of sending the men straight to the heart of Berlin were higher than ever.  Jack Kidd and Harry Crosby sat beside her, silently watching and waiting for the boys of the Hundredth to return.  It was several hours before any of the planes would come limping in, trailing smoke and creaking as they either crashed to the ground or fell to the earth in line. 

And when they counted and Rosie’s plane was not amongst the returning planes, Ruth felt her heart stop beating in that treacherous chest of hers. 

Her breath stole away in her throat and she found herself utterly rooted to the spot and unable to move a single inch.  John, Sarah, Abe—Robby—all just gone, all just torn away in the blink of an eye.  They were gone faster than a match could burn up and faster than the tides in the very ocean could change.  

“Ruth—” Kidd managed to catch her around the waist before she crumpled to her knees, hand covering her mouth in absolute silent horror. 

No sounds escaped her throat and the silent scream was louder to everyone in that damn tower than the very sirens that were sounding outside.  Because the silent tears that streamed down her face and no one knew what to do.  Or what to say.  Because what do you possibly say to someone who just lost her brother and friend in the same day? 

“Did—” Ruth’s voice scratched out in horror.  “Did I just lose them both?” 

“I don’t—I—” Crosby’s gaze flickered back outside to the planes, unable to find any words.  “We don’t know.” 

“I can’t—” Ruth’s voice tore off as she rose to her feet, quicker than any of them could anticipate.  “I can’t breathe—” 

Bile rose up in her throat and she made a mad dash for the outside of the tower.  Making it two steps outside, Ruth caught onto the railing and the bile spilled up her throat.  She gagged as her breakfast deposited on the ground below, but she didn’t wait around for more bile to come.  She rushed down the stairs, nearly skipping them two at a time—cane left behind on the ground where she had been kneeling. 

By the time that she had reached a secluded place, Ruth had no damn idea where she was.  Snow dusted the ground and clumped together and her knees shouldered the numb cold as she sank into the ground.  More bile rose up in her throat and she let out a choked sob as the rest of her stomach emptied its contents on the ground in front of her. 

Fisting at the snow in front of her, she slammed a fist into the ground.  “No, no, no, no—bring them back!  Bring them back RIGHT NOW!” She screamed. 

Her voice echoed around her in the trees but she was met with silence. 

The realization that she would never hug her little brother again made her want to die on the spot.  Her breath came out in short spurts as she curled into a fetal position, wishing desperately for all of this to go away.  

She’d never hug Abe again or adjust his tie.  She’d never get to watch him graduate High School or figure out what he was going to do with his life.  He was never going to marry anyone or father any children and she’d never get to see any of the amazing things that he would do. 

And then her mind betrayed her and shifted—

A horrible wail left Ruth’s lips as she realized the very thing that she had been denying.  The thing that Rosie had been saying for this entire time.  That she had been in love with him.  That she had been scared and he had been right.  She had run away—far away—and now it was too late for them. 

She’d never tell him that she loved him or that she wasn’t scared anymore.  She’d never tell him that she was wrong and that he was right.  Her pride had been too far in the way and now there was no fixing that.  He was dead and gone and Ruth felt the keen sting of loss in a way she had never felt before.  Because for all of her acting with Rosie, it was also the safest she had ever felt. 

Rosie—she had taken him for granted.  He had loved her and been there for her and stood by her through it all.  Through the insane schemes of her brother Abe and helped her with your problems.  He had been her friend and he had been more than that.  He had begged her to listen and to let him in and she had refused. She was to blame for this—she was absolutely certain of it.  A punishment for denying the love that she so clearly had in her life. 

Ruth slowly sat up, mind racing.  Surely—surely if Abe and Robby were dead—she would feel it.  She would know.  Because she loved them.  And God would not just let her suffer needlessly.  No—Robby was a damn good pilot and he would’ve let himself die first before letting anything happen to Abe.  

They were alive.  She was certain of it. 

And she couldn’t just sit here waiting for them to find their way home.  They were lost and she needed to go out and find them.  She felt it like a siren’s song in her very soul.  So as Ruth rose to her feet, her breaths evened out and she stared straight ahead, a firm determination filling her soul. 

“Alright boys.  If I have to fight an angel?  So be it.” 

[sam-loves-seb]

weekly tag wednesday

thanks to my lovelies for the tags <3 @spookygingerr @transsexual-dandelions @deedala @heymacy @gallawitchxx

name: sam

age: 26

location: home of the 2024 nba champions

and now...

what is your DJ name? dj sammy spins

if you were a genre of music, what would it be? indie rock

what would you title your biography? what the hell is going on (seriously can somebody tell me)

what are the first three things you'd do if you were invisible? steal some shit, probably commit some other non-violent crimes, then maybe try and uncover some state secrets

what subject do you wish was taught in every school? literally copy and pasting bee and so many others but: financial literacy !! i still feel like i know nothing !! also on a less serious note: world geography, because it has taken me a shockingly long time to figure out where some things in the world actually rae

when was the last time you tried something for the first time and what was it? a few weeks ago i tried a new beverage of the alcoholic variety called Sun Cruisers and they were quite good

what is the most underrated city you have ever visited? davos, switzerland (probably not that underrated to some but i had never even heard of it before i went and now i think about it constantly)

what day in your life would you like to relive? the last day of school before spring break during my senior year of college. it was a friday, i had no classes, i spent most of the day with my roommates hanging out and that night we got tipsy and watched mamma mia and jumped on the couch and scream-sang all the songs

little did we know that a week later the world would end.

i went to florida for 5 days for spring break and when i came back, the dorms were closed, classes were online, and everything was completely shut down starting monday because of covid. we had to move all our stuff out, and i never lived with those roommates again. we're all still friends, but i rarely see them because we live far apart.

this answer got away from me but yeah. that last day with my perfect roommates in our perfect apartment dorm. that's the day i'd relive if i had the chance.

if you could eliminate one thing from your daily routine, what would it be and why? showering. it's so tedious. i know it needs to be done but god it's so much effort. why can't i be instantly clean?

how long would you last in a zombie apocalypse? honestly i think i would last pretty long in a zombie apocalypse if i tried, but the more important question is would i want to last in a zombie apocalypse? probably not. is there an end in sight? a cure? is this just the world now? i think my survival skills are high but my will to live is low in this scenario

what would be the most surprising scientific discovery imaginable? if scientists figured out teleportation i think that would be the most shocking thing to me

if you could have any view out your office window, what would you choose? a city view. i want an office in a high rise that overlooks boston. that would be cool.

tagging anyone who hasn't played yet cuz it's almost technically thursday by now <3

[pitch-black-angel-of-death]

Feel my wrath

Call me Angel or Sir, he/him I'm 26 and into guys, masc leaning and unaligned non-binary people, as well as some GNC people and I'm aro-spec. I'm also poly and have one commited partner currently. I'm exclusively an encourager and feeder and I'm looking for online chat, roleplay and maybe something more?

Send me asks if you think yourself worthy I’m happy to get scenarios, prompts, a little bit of roleplay or you just getting excited in my inbox

Kinks and Dynamics I like:

Feedism (obvs)

Slobification

Stuckage

Struggling/near-immobility

Immobility (under the right conditions)

Wheezing and panting (so much, top tier tbh)

Health play (but situational)

Death feedism (seeming more likely day by day but still not 100% on the dying part)

Humilation/Degradation for food/eating and obeying me aspects

Giving praise for gaining weight and how your body looks

Food addiction/begging for food

Torture and hurt/comfort, playing around with how dependant you are on me

Sadism

Predator/prey dynamic

Some kinda vamp-y stuff

Dom feeder/encourager

Dom worship

Corruption

Religious (cath0lic) iconography

Unhealthy weight gain

Junk food

Grazing through out the day

Large meals and stuffing

Appetite stimulants and weight gain powder mixed into ordinary food

Cooking and baking (not a kink, just my hobby lol)

Body Contrast

Weighing and measuring

Kinks and Dynamics I don't vibe with:

Inflation

Pregnancy

Piss/Scat

Farting

Force feeding

Funnelling (I just love watching a feedee get their hands dirty from greedy desperation too much)

C0n-n0n-c0n sex

Fat shaming

‘Destroying’ talk, I see what I do as transformation and creation; I love fat bodies and love giving people the body they desire

My slightly less extreme blog is @fallenangelfeeder which might be shadow banned as I can't search it or message people on it. I'm also getting phantom notes all the time over there. Feel free to send asks and messages to there though because I seem to still be able to receive DMs and asks currently. However if you do have issues but don't want to engage in death feedism but still want to chat here, just let me know, it's all cool.

Also see a rambling explaination of my thoughts on death feedism below

Under 18s or ageless blogs will blocked on sight, DO NOT INTERACT

I thought I wasn't into healthplay, death feedism and immobility until about a month ago, despite knowing I was into the more extreme end of feedism most of my life. Dunno how open I wanna be about it at the moment, I'm still exploring and finding my new limits. Thing is, I've been a carer (not feedism related but still 24/7) before and its tough work, harrowing at times. But I do like to be in control and take care of everything in a dynamic with someone, its just my nature. I think I'll feel different about watching someone struggle and eventually pass when its someone I'm sexually attracted to. The thing that's stopping me from going into an extreme or death feedist relationship at the moment is simply funds, I'd love to take care of someone fully and properly, for however long they can last, but it takes a lot of money, money I don't have currently. So for now I'd like to keep all death feedist stuff to encourager, rather than active feeder, but sending some money to death feedees if and when I can.

I think I'd like to keep my feedee mobile for as long as possible, for both our happiness and sakes but when the day comes, which I know its likely to with how extreme I like to push people, I'll be there to take care of you. The part I do love about immobility is that my feedee will be completely and utterly under my power, they can't do anything to escape the further fattening they once begged for. I've always loved stuff to do with breathing, the sound of panting, wheezing and gasping turns me on so quickly so I'll enjoy those aspects of health play but I'm still a little less certain on other bits. I love getting someone's heart racing but I'm not into heart attacks, again despite knowing its likely. I'm not turned on by health conditions and operations at all really but they aren't turn offs either, if that makes sense? I like symptoms but not actual health things. And then, the actual death part of death feedism. I think I like it in fantasy, roleplay and the like but irl? Not sure. But I can't stop thinking about creating something so beautiful, such a pinnacle of greed and gluttony that it has to be brief in this world. It such a beautiful poetic end to such a beautifully debauched life. To aid someone to die of such hedonism, for desire of pure pleasure and what I can give to them, its utterly beautiful.

[mariacallous]

Out of sight, out of mind. That’s the fate of global shipping, even though all of us depend on it for our daily supplies. Everything from bananas to toilet paper to iPhones travels by sea at some point. But we only pay attention when something goes wrong, whether that happens in the Red Sea, the Suez Canal—or underneath what used to be Baltimore’s Francis Scott Key Bridge. This week’s accident, which occurred when the container ship Dali lost power and headed straight into a support pillar, has delivered a reminder of the sheer overlooked scale of the shipping industry—and how unprepared many systems are to handle it.

Part of this is the massive size of today’s container vessels themselves. A few minutes before 1:30 a.m. on March 26, the Singapore-flagged container Dali issued a mayday call, which allowed construction workers on the Key Bridge to get a few cars to turn around. Down below, the Dali appeared to have engine problems; camera footage shows its lights flickering before smoke emerges and it hits the support pillar. Within seconds, the bridge collapses into the water. Some of it collapses onto the Dali, too, and with the bridge, cars plunge into the water. At the time of writing, six people are unaccounted for and presumed dead.

Now lots of ordinary citizens around the world are discovering marine websites such as vesselfinder.com and marinetraffic.com, which track merchant vessels. They will have learned that the Dali has a gross tonnage of 95,128 tons, a summer deadweight of 116,851 tons, and that it’s 300 meters (nearly 1,000 feet) long.

When it struck the Key Bridge, the Dali had 4,679 TEU (20-foot-long shipping containers) onboard and was crewed by 22 Indian seafarers, who had been joined by two pilots from Baltimore. Merchant vessels are predominantly crewed by relatively tiny staffs that are usually made up of people from India, the Philippines, Indonesia, Vietnam, Russia, and Eastern European countries. Indeed, it has been decades since it was common for Western Europeans and Americans to go to sea. Today’s seafarers are skilled, but they do hard and lonely work with long absences from home—and when disaster strikes, shipping can be extremely dangerous. Earlier this month, a Houthi attack in the Red Sea cost the lives of three seafarers—two Filipinos and one Vietnamese.

All this is in service of the goods that make our lives so convenient—and which require a vast and largely invisible ocean network to support.

Just consider the arrivals, off-loading, loading, and departures at the Port of Rotterdam, which is merely the world’s 10-busiest container port. Last year, Rotterdam handled 13.4 million TEU at its 14 terminals. That’s 36,712 TEU every day of the year. In the afternoon on March 26, 149 ocean-going ships were docked in Rotterdam, where cargo containers were being offloaded and new ones added. Another 132 were about to arrive, and another 161 had just departed. The expected arrivals included the Ever Living, a sister to the ill-fated Ever Given, of Suez Canal fame.

At a length of 335 meters (nearly 1,100 feet), width of 45 meters (145 feet), and with a deadweight of 104,653 tons, the Ever Living is almost as massive as the Ever Given. But only almost. With a capacity of nearly 10,000 TEU, it’s very similar to the Dali. The Ever Given, by contrast, has a capacity of just over 20,000 TEU, and it’s not even one of the world’s largest container ships.

Indeed, these days, the world’s fleet of ultra-large container vessels (ULCVs)—vessels of more than 14,500 TEU capacity—features a growing number of beasts that can transport 23,000 TEU and more. The MSC Irina, for example, can carry an astounding 24,346 TEU. Today, in fact, the Dali’s capacity of 10,000 makes it a midsize box ship. Compare that to container ships in 1972, when construction began on the Key Bridge: Back then, the largest container ship in the world had a capacity of a mere 2,984 TEU.

The shipping industry keeps making things more efficient—and thus more cost-effective and more attractive. It’s thanks to shipping that it has made so much sense to build a globalized economy: It’s so cheap to ship goods globally that people in wealthy nations can have them made elsewhere, transported across a few oceans, and still pay less than if they were made at home.

But the massive ships come with equally massive logistical demands. Ports have to be expanded to be able to receive and service them. The port service, for example, involves higher cranes with a wider reach: just imagine 24,000 containers stacked upward and sideways. The ports also need larger storage facilities to hold such vessels’ cargo until it’s picked up by trucks. The financial picture involving ULCVs is clear on the vessel-owner side, because buying a ULCV eventually pays off.

Ports are usually public-private partnerships, which means that investment often involves the taxpayer. The Port of Virginia in Norfolk, which the Dali had left just before its ill-fated call at the Port of Baltimore, has just allocated $1.4 billion to widen the port to make it accessible for two-way ULCV traffic. Norfolk is also currently being dredged to the tune of $450 million, after which it’s expected to have the deepest and widest channels on the east coast of the United States.

“This is a true advantage for anyone delivering to or from America,” said Stephen A. Edwards, the CEO and executive director of the Virginia Port Authority, in an interview with World Cargo News. “Our wider channel sets The Port of Virginia apart by allowing for consistent vessel flow, increasing berth and container yard efficiencies, and further improving harbor safety.” It’s a competitive marketplace, and lots of Chinese ports are already set up for ULCVs. Ports and countries that can’t afford ULCV-worthy expansion are out of luck.

And as the Dali has taught the world, accommodating large vessels is not just about ports. They traverse oceans, sail under bridges, and sail through canals. Imagine if the Ever Given or another ULCV were to strike a bridge. Even a sturdier bridge than the Key Bridge (which received a rating of “fair” during its most recent federal inspection) would struggle to withstand such a blow.

Such calamities happen very rarely. It would be extraordinarily expensive for cities and countries to strengthen bridges and other infrastructure that a massive container ship might hit. The Dali’s crew and pilots appear to have tried their hardest to steer the ship away from the Key Bridge when the power supply failed, and they issued a mayday call to alert authorities to the fact that the ship was approaching the bridge. This, though, is unlikely to be the last time that machines fail man.

Even as ships get bigger and bigger, with more and more sophisticated technology, the human brain and hands are an indispensable backup. Giving crews a few more tools with which to manually counteract technology may be the best way of avoiding another Key Bridge disaster.

Shipping—an industry that involves ratings, officers, stevedores, crane operators, ship managers, insurers, and many others—goes on delivering your favorite consumer goods around the clock. It remains a miracle that mishaps involving their floating fortresses occur so rarely.

[black-arcana]

BUTCHER BABIES Announce September/October 2024 U.S. Tour

BUTCHER BABIES will embark on a U.S. headlining tour in September. Support on the "Good Lord! The Butcher's Ded!" trek will come from DED, DROPOUT KINGS and FOX LAKE.

Tickets go on sale this Friday, August 9.

Tour dates:

Sep. 18 - Palmdale, CA - Transplants Brewing Company Sep. 19 - Los Angeles, CA - 1720 Sep. 20 - Bakersfield, CA - Temblor Brewing Company Sep. 21 - Reno, NV - Cypress Reno Sep. 23 - Seattle, WA - El Corazon Sep. 24 - Portland, OR - Bossanova Ballroom Sep. 26 - Salt Lake City, UT - Metro Music Hall Sep. 27 - Colorado Springs, CO - Black Sheep Sep. 29 - Denver, CO - HQ Oct. 01 - Tulsa, OK - The Shrine Oct. 02 - Oklahoma City, OK - 89th St Oct. 04 - Austin, TX - Come And Take It Live Oct. 05 - Dallas, TX - RBC Oct. 06 - San Antonio, TX - The Rock Box Oct. 07 - El Paso, TX - RockHouse Bar & Grill Oct. 08 - Roswell, NM - The Liberty Oct. 10 - Tucson, AZ - The Rock Oct. 11 - Phoenix, AZ - Pub Rock

BUTCHER BABIES played their first concert since the official departure of co-founding co-vocalist Carla Harvey on July 27 at the Stonehenge festival in Steenwijk, The Netherlands.

The band announced Harvey's exit in a social media post on July 20. BUTCHER BABIES wrote: "As you may have already guessed, it is confirmed that Carla Harvey and BUTCHER BABIES have officially parted ways.

"Carla has been an integral part of our journey, bringing her unique talent, passion, and energy to the band. We are grateful for the incredible memories we've made together and the impact she has had on our music and our fans. We will miss her greatly and we wish her all the best in her future endeavors.

"We deeply appreciate your support over the past 15 years," BUTCHER BABIES added. "We feel incredibly fortunate to keep making and playing music as our career, and we are excited for this new era of BUTCHER BABIES!

"See you on the road."

Carla added in a separate post: "Over the last 6 months You may have noticed my absence from BUTCHER BABIES posts. After 15 years of dedication, I wanted to let you know that I will not be rejoining the band for any future endeavors.

"I am super proud of my work with BUTCHER BABIES…2 EPS, 5 Full lengths albums and countless tours with our metal heroes! To all of our incredible BUTCHER BABIES friends and fans…you have provided me with some of the greatest experiences of my life! I have loved every second of writing and performing all over the world for you! I have loved meeting you. WOW. I still can't believe this kid from Detroit got so lucky.

"I am not done making music and performing. I WILL see you soon".

Last fall, BUTCHER BABIES completed a European tour without Carla, who sat out the trek in order to undergo emergency surgery on her left eye.

Harvey shared the news of her absence from the tour on October 26, 2023 in a social media post. The 47-year-old singer, who co-founded BUTCHER BABIES in 2010 with fellow vocalist Heidi Shepherd, posted a photo of her performing with her bandmates, and she included the following message: "Here's a picture of a girl in her happy place; unfortunately i won't be in that happy place on the upcoming @butcherbabies Euro run. Love you all but i have to sit this one out!

"I have a history of problematic vision and I had to have a major surgery about 10 years ago in my right eye for a retinal detachment. On our summer tour the telltale symptoms repeated themselves in my left eye. I've been hoping to avoid major surgery but it is clear that it must be done. My emergency surgery will include a healing process of laying face down for a number of days with a gas bubble in my eye."

Carla added: "This is the first time in fifteen years i won't be able to join my friends on stage but right now my health and sight take precedence for me. While I am gutted that I cannot make the tour the risk of me waiting till after a tour to do such a surgery is too great and includes permanent vision loss. The beauty of having two vocalists is that Heidi can cover for me until i'm better!

"Hoping to make it out for part of this euro run...go to the shows, have a blast and support my bandmates for me! I'll see you soon!"

In the comments section, Shepherd voiced her support for her then-bandmate, writing: "Sending all the love and healing. We'll hold down the fort while you heal. We need those beautiful eyes to work!!! Love you!"

BUTCHER BABIES' three-week European tour is scheduled to conclude on August 17 at the Czech Republic's Rock Of Sadská festival.

This past January, Harvey and ANTHRAX and PANTERA drummer Charlie Benante announced that they were officially engaged.

BUTCHER BABIES released a double album "Eye For An Eye..." and "…'Til The World's Blind", in July 2023. The double album celebrates the tenth anniversary of BUTCHER BABIES' critically acclaimed debut, "Goliath", released on July 9, 2013 via Century Media Records.

BUTCHER BABIES' previous album, 2017's "Lilith" was produced by Steve Evetts (THE DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN, SEPULTURA, SUICIDE SILENCE) and marked the band's recording debut with drummer Chase Brickenden, who replaced Chris Warner in 2016.

In July 2019, longtime BUTCHER BABIES bassist Jason Klein announced his departure from the band. He has since been replaced by Ricky Bonazza.

[leviathanverse]

Chapter 26: Quest

You helped the brothers get to the docks, as well as the trio and Nezuko. There was one boat left, and there was more than enough room for you to climb aboard. But there was a problem.

" Come on, Y/n! We can get out of here!"

Tanjiro looked at the cameras with those kind eyes of his you had come to appreciate. This was the last time you'd see them... and you thought you saw Sanemi and Genya realize it.

" Good luck, everyone."

You saw Sanemi try to get off of the boat, only for the mechanical arms to release the floating object to drift. You looked at the computer screen and began to type in the location the boat had to go to.

" Y/n!"

" Fuck-!"

You saw the boat slowly drift across the water. The barrier that kept you away from going to your homeland. It was sad to see... but you knew that atleast they survived, that they could go to their families.

That only left you on the island, alone and ready to be killed by the creatures that had gone extinct more than six million years ago...

The place you would die on where no one would ever find your remains... You began to shed tears.

It was sad to think about the tears that rolled down your mother's cheeks, the sadness and guilt in your father's eyes as he thought of it being a good opportunity to learn what it felt like to work.

But no, it was a horrible idea... Not to mention that you were probably the only human on the island now...

The only worker from Jurassic Park... a lone survivor. The only one to know what truly happened her on the island. Well- nott fully but to an extent.

Loud hissing from one of the monitors caught your attention and you dared to look at the bright screen. Your eyes widened, and you nearly fell off of your chair at the sight of a massive prehistoric snake.

The gorgeous white scales had green and purple tints, purple marks on the back of the head that acted as a crown patterm, green around the eyes while there was a patch of yellow and orange to mimic an eyes on the top of its snout to the crest by its eyes.

Gorgeous, stunning and deadly. Whether or not it was venomous, you did not want to test it out incase it saw you as a snack.

Nope! Not a chance. You sighed, but kept looking at the monitors. How long could you survive in this hellhole? Maybe not even a few days, seeing as there were all sorts of prehistoric creatures and critters that now roamed the entirety of the island by now.

Another monitor had movement, right next to the screen that displayed the serpent. The two Baryonyxes and the Utahraptor! The other screens came to life, revealing the other creatures. The T-rex, I-rex, Spinosaurus and the Allosauruses- all of them in different monitors.

The Mosasaurus enclosure held the massive aquatic creature idly swimming in the depths, the only evidence that it was moving was the dark shape under the water that moved.

All the creatures were in each monitor displayed before your very eyes...

" Oh god- I really am going to die here..."

You bit your lip, fighting back the urge to cry and let yourself be vulnerable. Even Zika was outside, sitting on a wire and scanning her surroundings.

There was a Troodon with a pack of four Velociraptors and an strange black dinosaur with the body of a Velociraptor, but with the head like the I-rex. Another hybrid, perhaps?

The misfit of a dinosaur had rose pink streaks along the sides and bright blue eyes... It was, most definitely, a hybrid brewed up in the Research Lab. It was majestic, the way it slowly looked behind it to check the area.

So many creatures, so many deadly outcomes if they were to catch you in their strong jaws or talons for claws.

" Is that a Buitreraptor? With another hybrid?"

Your eyes scanned the two creatures, looking at the one that had a large head, small feet and quills on its tail. It was massive compared to the raptor right behind it.

" No way... I thought they didn't-"

You checked every monitor, seeing all the creatures roam the island as if they had come back home. Despite it all, the destroyed park, it wad truly a sight to see.

Even if there was a group of odd dinosaurs that no one would expect to see together. Acronosaurus, Dilophasaurus, Deinonychus, Atrociraptor, Carnataurus, Pyroraptor and even an Irritator- all in one group together and traveling.

This place... this place was their home... the place they were created on.

" Life... life really does find a way..."

You were in awe at the sights you saw on the monitors... the screens.

" I... I understand now... They are more intelligent... They understand emotions like us... They aren't mindless creatures like many assumed them to be."

Words left your tongue unconsciously. You were in a daydream, gaze watching the monitors in the distance. Every word you spoke came from your mind, how you saw them as incredible creatures that had once roamed the earth to step foot on the soil of the land once more...

This... this was nature at its finest... Intervened by humans, sure but that was what made these prehistoric beasts speacial... Without the help of human intervention, none of them would be here walking and breathing the same air as you- as everyone on this planet.

" This... this really is Jurassic Park."

You choose your path, for it is your journey in your hands now. It is up to you... to create the next chapter of your journey. What will you choose? Will you choose the path where many have fallen? Tame these untameable creatures? Get off the island? Or accept your fate? It is now in your hands, in your mind to continue the path.

Previous <-•-> Masterpost

[qqueenofhades]

Heyy :)) I don't know if you still do prompts and if you do them for this ship but if yes could you please do 26. or 19. for Ivan x Fedyor? That'd be so lovely ♡ thanks a bunch and if not no worries!

Ivan has been staring at a pile of paperwork for almost three hours, the pain in his head feels like someone has driven a spike into his eye, and he really doesn't know why someone else couldn't do this. All right, they'd probably fuck it up and make him fix it anyway, they're not of sufficiently high rank to look at the Darkling's sensitive secrets and classified attack plans, and all other people are idiots etc. etc., but it still feels unfair for it to have fallen on him, particularly. They only got back from the latest Fjerdan campaign a few days ago, it went worse than expected, every strategy needs to be revisited and revised, and that has become, undoubtedly, Ivan's job, now that he's the unquestioned second-in-command of the entire Second Army, subordinate only to General Kirigan himself. He's not yet thirty.

He has just drawn a deep breath, angrily splashed the last of the kvas into his cup and taken a fortifying swig, and otherwise braced himself for another few hours of torture, when there's a knock on the antechamber door and -- barely waiting for an answer -- Fedyor Kaminsky rushes in. "Captain," he says, spotting Ivan and stopping to salute. "Good, you're here. You need to come with me at once."

"What?" Ivan jostles the desk, jumps to his feet, and looks around suspiciously, as if some malfeasant has breached the sancrosanct walls of the Little Palace and he needs to kill them immediately. "What is it?"

"You'll see." Fedyor tugs at him. "Hurry."

Ivan, swallowing his questions, abandons the paperwork without a backward glance and hurries out after Fedyor, already assessing the potential options. This seems bad, or at least urgent enough that it has to be handled with no delay. Has the tsar choked on a sweetmeat, or the tsaritsa stabbed herself with her embroidery needle, or some other pressing crisis that the fucking royal family feels the need to involve their pet Grisha in? Is it worse? Did something abruptly collapse from that underwhelming campaign? Did they decide that said underwhelming campaign was entirely Ivan's fault and throw him out of the order, thus to be packed back home to frigid Chernast in disgrace? Or maybe --

Apparently oblivious to Ivan's inner turmoil, Fedyor keeps up a brisk pace down the corridors, until they enter the library, ensure that the Apparat is not lurking moistly behind a nearby bookshelf, and hurry down the narrow rows to the end. Fedyor reaches around it, presses a hidden catch, and stands back as the shelf swings out, as smoothly as if it's on wheels. It reveals a narrow passage and set of twisting steps beyond, leading upward and out of sight, and Ivan frowns. "What's this? Is there someone up there? Is it a -- "

"Just shut up and go up there." Fedyor prods him in the back, a familiarity for which Ivan would definitely flay anyone else alive, but in the several years since he and Fedyor officially became a thing, he has grudgingly learned to accept. "Take a look."

Muttering, Ivan ducks under the low lintel and ascends the narrow, creaky steps, hands held vigilantly at the ready for anything that feels up to springing out of the darkness. There's nothing, though, and when he reaches the hidden nook at the top, lit only by a skylight somewhere high above, he turns in a circle and can't see any pressing emergency. "What's going on? Why did you -- "

He's cut off as Fedyor reaches the top, bounds into the small space after him, and seizes Ivan by the collar of his kefta, pushing him against the wall and kissing him thoroughly. Ivan splutters, makes a noise of extreme protest (okay, mild protest) and windmills his arms, but somehow manages not to break free or even push Fedyor away at all. He's still grumbling when Fedyor bites his lower lip, making him yelp, and then forced to focus on kissing him back. It's only when they've sunk to their knees on the floor, Ivan is mentally calculating how uncomfortable it really could be to lie on those floorboards, and still kissing in short, hungry bursts when he realizes the truth. "You little bastard, Fedya," he breathes. "You lied to me."

"Lied to you? About what?" Fedyor looks at him with that damn dark-eyed, dimpled smile for which Ivan is unbearably, ferociously weak. "I said you needed to come with me at once."

"For a military emergency! For -- I don't know, something! Not because you discovered an interesting door in the library and had a sudden urge to distract me!"

"Or. Counterpoint." Fedyor smirks, entirely unchastened. "I did, in fact, need to do exactly that. You're going to drive yourself crazy. Admit it, Vanya. You enjoyed this."

Ivan stares at him narrowly. Fedyor stares narrowly right back.

"Fine." Ivan wipes his mouth, bites a traitorous smile, and leans back in for another round. Whatever else it might be, life with Fedyor Kaminsky is never boring. "Maybe a very, very little."