#sometimes i like playing with metaphorical fire sorry it’s the only thing that makes me feel alive

[zukkaoru]

do u guys think i would get cancelled if i posted my unpopular b.sd opinions on twt or would people just continue to ignore me

[kyuummie]

I am absolutely insane abt c!TNT duo, and don’t have anyone irl talk to abt them :[. Pls info dump to me abt c!TNT duo and pls bestow upon me any and all c!TNT duo headcanons that u have. It’d absolutely make my day (also, ur pretty cool and I like ur Tumblr)

i am SO mad i had entire PARAGRAPHS OF AN ANSWER to this but it didnt save as a draft. TWICE. Anyways i finally decided to check my inbox..!!!!!!!!!!

And thank you! im not creative when it comes to hcs so heres ramble about metaphors and comparisons that are canonical/headcanon for ctntduo. Would base this on canon divergent interpretations but Nah

1- yin/yang

very obvious. “he is my yang”. recognizable and iconic. Two opposites which bring harmony. self perpetuating cycle of two interconnected sides.

the self perpetuating part is very important. it has always been established that they have a push and pull for everything, because they relish in the other’s reactions and its almost instinct. it all started this way too, their upbringing puts them in a very strange position slash relationship. they “balance” each other out — rather,, they teeter on a tightrope keeping them entertained and enabled . they are sides of the same coin, and complement the other. they always have a quick witty quip ready for the other’s petty insults, so so predictable. they dont keep harmony and peace between them, more so a light to keep them going similar to a smoker lighting cigarettes over and over again (insert the 10000 arts of wil lighting his cig with Qs light and vice versa. my fave ever) its close to an addiction, they need each other to keep running and flowing in the most unconventional ways they can find. if you look carefully, they are always circling enabling balancing each other

2- fire/light/burning

i like the metaphor of cwil being under the spotlight of people's perception .. sure, its cool to finally be able to see and interact with people but Q is different. he isnt and never will be afraid of wil. he is only "unpredictable" to him. freakishly enough this is also entertaining to Q. what will he destroy next? graffiti next? say next? do next? he cant help himself but to react. wil on the other hand will do anything to get a petty reaction from Q, to get his precious eyes on him that makes him burn in the light. tearing each other apart then rebuilding each other is an important component of their relationship me thinks

3- president/vice president

usually, i tjink this is a concept used to try and dethrone the other of their humongous egos and get that feeling of a win lol its all about reaction

their relationship is so interesting and weird because of the fact they wanted to over throw the other in politics — i dont think you see two POLITICAL rivals have that homoerotic tension often … anywhere! but i think its so funny that they became a version of the other further down the line (menace -> president, president -> menace) and it also goes back to the yinyang, over time and under certain conditions one can become the other because the other will always be present in the other. (like yin contains yang vice versa)

4- cannibalism Sorry /j

ok this is Strictly fanon. does this count as a headcanon i dont know.

if anyone remmeberes there was a certain point over on ctnttwt a handful of people were crazy for cannibalism ctnt go read whispers of blood and love. recently its become a not too uncommon/pretty popular characteristic for oc ships etc. of course its usually metaphorical in (ctnt) art and sometimes written but the act of giving yourself up completely to another to become a part of them goes pretty well with the psychology of ctnt/the game they play so i very much see the vision when people use this concept to depict Wil’s “devotion” (i guess? idk Refer back to ‘I am your servant’) to stay w Q in order to keep feeling that feeling of being “alive”.

it also goes hand in hand with quackitys want for power over people/things from beinng deprived of it in his earlier days. biggest stretch ever but also his capitalistic ideals to consume consume consume. and wil is willing to give him that opportunity because it is beneficial to him as well. horrible mutualism psa guys dont eat your boyfriend

these r mostly cwilbur centric mb. i also hate being wrong Which is why i hate having HCs. but why should i when theyre practically my ocs and the whole point of hcs is that theyre YOUR canon but oh well

anyone and everyone add on if u Like. Humble me if im wrong idc

[daintyduck99]

“i’ve liked you since the fourth grade…” “are you joking?!” “please, everyone knew but you.” gives me SUCH PeterPatter vibes, omg.

Reggie frowns at the empty couch. 

Something's up. When Luke wants to show them a song, he always drags everyone to the studio. Literally, usually!

He'd assume that that was what Luke was doing—bodily dragging Bobby out of bed—if he wasn't already nestled in his chair, tuning his acoustic like—

Like it was any other post "I've gotta show you something" phone call kinda Saturday. 

So like—

What kinda Saturday is it???

Luke laughs quietly. He looks at Reggie through his fringe, which always makes Reggie’s heart do a stupid little flip. 

"You can sit, Reg. You know I don't bite."

Reggie snorts. He sprawls sideways on the couch, taking advantage of the space. 

"Yeah, you don't bite me." 

Luke doesn't even bother denying it—

He'll go to just about any length to irritate the shit out of Bobby, sometimes.

Luke just smirks. "Want me to start?" 

He'll also take just about any opportunity to flirt with them all. 

But Reggie knows how to fight fire with fire, traitorous blushes be damned. 

He leans forward with a grin and a wink. 

"Wouldn't you like to know, sweetheart?" 

And Luke—

Fuck. Reggie actually must’ve gotten to him, for once. Because Luke—

Luke looks busted. 

His eyes have gone a bit dark and glazed, and he's staring at Reggie with parted lips, and it's almost as if—

Luke actually wants him. 

He recovers more quickly than Reggie ever does, clearing his throat, but a rare blush still burns along his cheekbones.

And he's holding his guitar rather tightly. 

"A-anyway—what I actually—I called you because—I have a song for you." 

Reggie swallows. None of this feels real. 

"Just for me?" 

Luke smiles and says, "Just for you, Reg."

His first instinct is to flinch as Luke starts singing about everything Reggie has ever been insecure about, but—

It's a peppy song. Like Luke's trying to frame all of those things as good things.

And metaphors are really more of Luke's thing than Reggie’s—he has to puzzle them out for ages, sometimes—but when he really listens to the lyrics, they're—

They're really positive, too. 

Luke's taken all of Reggie’s insecurities and reframed them as things that he loves.

Luke stops playing. He looks alarmed. 

"Hey, Reg—I'm sorry, I won't—I didn't mean—" 

"What?" 

Oh, he sounds all croaky because he's crying. No wonder Luke's concerned. 

Reggie hurriedly scrubs at his eyes.

"No, keep playing, I'm just—they're good tears, Lu. I promise." 

Luke chews his lip, but he must detect the sincerity in Reggie’s voice. He complies. 

He holds Reggie’s eyes the whole time. 

There's so much love—the kind that comes straight from Luke's soul—that Reggie’s certain he'll combust with it. 

When the song is over, and Luke comes to him, the only thing Reggie can do is pull him down and cling to him tightly. He buries his face in Luke's broad shoulder. 

"Lu. You really—you love me like that?" 

Luke huffs a laugh, carding his fingers through Reggie's hair. 

"No, I wrote you a love song because I was bored. Yes, you dork! And for the record—I've always loved those things about you. What's not to love about you?"

How could Reggie not melt at that? 

He lifts his head with a soft smile. 

"Well. For the record, I love you, too. I've been in love with you since—hell, I don't know when—for ages." 

"I've liked you since the fourth grade." 

Luke says it so matter-of-factly that Reggie nearly chokes on fucking air. 

"Wh—are you joking?!" 

Luke rolls his eyes good-naturedly, grinning all the while. He drops a kiss on the tip of Reggie’s nose.

"Please, everyone knew but you. I said always, didn't I?" 

Reggie groans, fastening his hands over his face to smother his fierce blush. 

"No, baby—" Luke gently pries Reggie's hands free, pressing more kisses to his palms. "Don't hide. Let's not do that, anymore." 

"Okay, but." Reggie bites his lip, suppressing a shiver as Luke's gaze flickers to his mouth. "Why now?" 

Luke hums. His eyes are so earnest. 

"I wrote you that song because I had to. The way I love you—it spills out of me. I couldn't hide it anymore if I wanted to."

"Aw, sweetheart. Next you'll be telling me that you wrote Bright because of me." 

Luke's expression doesn't change.

Reggie's breath catches. "Oh."

"Oh," Luke says mockingly, but it's through a smile. His voice is too warm for it to have any sort of sting, and Reggie laughs. 

"Just—shut up and kiss me, already." 

He doesn't need to tell him twice.

[locus-p0cus]

//suicidal ideation, hallucinations, implied/referenced child neglect, Tommyinnit's Exile Arc In General, Major Character Death (?)

(A Character Study With Far Too Much Metaphor)

(Aka, Tommy becomes a Match Girl™)



It was snowing when Tommy died.

For someone who had been supposedly born in the Antarctic wastes of Earth SMP, he certainly wasn't used to the cold. Not like he was used to sunburns and blisters, from explosions or just exposure only Prime knows. Even what little of his memories left to comfort him blistered with heat, something closer to burning than anything safe.

Sometimes he wishes he could go back. Even if it sets him aflame, he wishes he could bask in that warm glow just a little longer. Just to know it was real.

He can't go back. Technoblade's house doesn't count, Techno isn't real warmth. He’s embers at best- burning to the touch, but drawing Tommy ever closer in hope of something gentle- at worst he’s raging, a forest fire raining hell down on anyone unlucky enough to stand in his path.

No, Techno didn't count. Even if on the day Tommy found his cabin, when the snow hadn't yet graced the surrounding wastes, his house had reminded him of the fire that used to be there. The hearth they all used to sit around, safe, protected, comforted.

The hearth is only embers now, and Tommy is running through frozen plains, ready to be burned picking them up.

He trudges through the snow, limbs aching and foot completely numb. He's used to a slight loss of feeling in his toes, nerves damaged from standing at the edge of the holes Dream made- standing too close to explosions must run in the family- but this was something new. Where the ball of his foot usually feels tingly, as if poked with a needle just enough to feel it, now it's his whole left foot, hollowed out and filled with static that penetrates the skin and sends the cold slithering deeper into his bones.

He remembers the first snow after the Antarctic Empire had disbanded, Wilbur struggling to fit a giants gloves on his tiny hands, frustration growing quickly as they fell off every time he looked away. Tommy would squirm, eager to play out in the fluff with no regard for the aftermath. Eventually he ran off, forgoing the gloves altogether, much to Wilbur's dismay.

'Now look what you've done,' Wilbur said, plucking Tommy out of a snow bank like a lost puppy to hold close to his chest. 'This is why we need the gloves, Tommy. I bet your hands burn, huh?'

Tommy, teary eyed and red in the face, nodded. 'Make it better!'

Wilbur snorted out his nose, fogging up his glasses. 'I can't just make it better Toms. I'm not magic. You have to wear the gloves to keep your hands from going all weird. If you had listened to me you'd be fine!'

Tommy whined, attempting to bury his face in Wilbur's neck as best he could around Wilbur's scarf. 'Sorry. It hurts.'

Wilbur just hummed sympathetically. 'Here, let's go inside. We can thaw you out in there, and then maybe we can come back out with gloves on this time.' Tommy was whisked away, back into the cabin, and sat in front of the fire where his hands protested the violent difference in temperature. He'd stayed there all the same, so eager to make Wilbur proud.

It was always like that with Wilbur, he mused as he felt the familiar burn in his fingertips spread to his ears and feet, dancing up his leg dangerously. Keeping him happy had been like trying to herd a cloud of smoke from one room to another without breathing it in. At least when he was young the smoke had been a sign of the cabin's hearth, a place to run to rather than from. It was only later, when Pogtopia turned the Hearth's smoke to an ugly blackened thing, one of paranoia and cigar ash and the hiss of a lit fuse, that Tommy noticed just how much had got into his lungs. Secondhand smoke was a serious issue, Niki had always reminded him when Wilbur was just within earshot, close enough to hear but far enough to feel unnoticed.

It never mattered. Pogtopia held smoke like a tank held water, letting it fester and seep into every breath, and Wilbur's bad habits never died. It made Tommy's job easy, just keep the smoke from smothering the fire, from putting out the last of the flame. Such a simple job, with such an overwhelming consequence. He'd thought, at the 16th, that maybe in L'manburg the air would clear up a bit, be drained of its rot and hate until it was just the call of the fire again.

And then Philza, summer breeze that he was, elusive and barely there, came and blew Wilbur away. He drifted in, unaware and unwelcome, and sent black smoke into the burning sky. And then Wilbur was gone.

Ghostbur is hardly a wisp of what the smoke used to be, safer to breath but thin as paper. Wilbur had been a promise, if a broken promise, of fire. Ghostbur is the drifting remains of a snuffed candle.

Tommy doesn't know if he will ever get the soot out of his lungs.

He's stopped shivering now. Something like Techno's voice, or maybe Phil's or even Niki's, tells him that's very bad. That if he doesn't get inside soon, he'll-

He'll what?

Tommy stares blankly at his hands through the whispered beginnings of a blizzard. The tips, normally grey from soot or dirt, are an elegant lavender-blue. He can't feel his nose, or his ears or his hands. Through his, soaked, stained, tattered excuse for trousers, he can see frost crawling up his leg like a magnificent frozen spiderweb.

If he makes it to Techno's cabin, maybe the man will share his potions, and maybe it'll save his final life, and then maybe he'll be allowed to stay and then maybe Dream won't find him and then- what?

He hides in a house of embers forever, until it inevitably burns down? He never sees his home, his nation, ever again? He leaves his disks, his only solid reminder of the early days of L'manburg, in the hands of his abuser? He lives being burned and burned, and burned, never finding a hearth to lie down next to?

He never sees Wilbur again, and just- accepts this fate?

He reaches the edges of a forest, spiraling aspen trees blending into the snow as it starts to fall. He puts one hand against the nearest trunk, and feels nothing but static.

His head is hazy, limbs weak. His skin is dotted with bruises and burns and frostbite, like someone took the prettiest shades of blue and raked them across their ugliest red canvas. What had seemed so hard, nearly inconceivable mere hours ago at the top of that tower, feels so easy now. And it is.

It is so easy to collapse against an aspen tree, slide to the ground and lean back against the bark. It is so easy to watch the snow build up around him, covering him in a fresh blanket like the storm is tucking him in. It is so easy, to let go, to finally, finally, give in. Give up. Let his spark dwindle and dim.

There are tears frozen to his cheeks. He would wipe them away if he had the energy, if he cared what some fox or wolf found while looking for a winter snack in these woods.

The burning is nearly gone now. He can't feel the aching scars left by so many ruined hearths, he can't feel the wind that bit at his cheeks and arms, he can't feel the blaze of hurt the snow and the world had pierced through his core, drowning out the last of his spark.

Tommy giggles deliriously. The snow has built past his elbows, now. After this blizzard, he won't be found til spring, if anyone ever bothers to look for his body. They would probably be searching around the tower, if they did, and it would be quite the mystery as to how he ended up here if they ever found him.

Maybe he'd be on one of those true crime shows. Maybe someone would finally investigate Dream, and he would be falsely accused for Tommy's murder, or for trying to frame it as suicide.

He croaks out a laugh. Wilbur used to be obsessed with those shows. He'd make up the wildest stories for how the killer did it, or got away with it, or whatever the mystery part was. This seemed like something he'd come up with.

'Tommy,' he'd say, smiling in that way he did when he was about to spout bullshit, 'I bet you the kid just really wanted to die. Didn't go through with it at the tower- most jumpers want to back out as soon as they leap, did you know - but couldn't make it to safety through the blizzard, and sort of gave up.'

"That's stupid," Tommy says, the wind whipping his words away from even his own ears, "It was clearly the green guy's fault. Killed him at the tower and tried to hide the body in the blizzard, huh? Rightfully put away, I'd say."

'It was definitely his fault,' Wilbur agrees, the smoke billowing off him, 'But he wasn't killed. He was abused, right? Driven near out of his mind? He goes up to the tower, takes the step off, and has that moment of 'ah fuck, I was wrong- I gotta live to spite this guy-' but once he's in the snowstorm, he's almost to the cabin but gets sad again and gives up. Lies down, leaves himself to become one with the snow.'

Tommy snickers, floating hazily just inside his body as the snow builds ever higher. "That's so fucked, man," He huffed, "You need professional help. Why would you put him right next to the cabin? You coulda said he was too far away to get help."

Wilbur's voice grows quieter. 'He was almost there,' the wind breathes, 'If he had screamed, they would have heard him. He could have made it.'

He sniffles. "Don’t say that. Please.”

“Tommy?”

Tommy turns his face away, neck creaking from the cold. “Say he couldn't have made it. Say it was too late. He was too far gone."

The smoke churns, the snow builds, and Wilbur just smiles. 'You were so close. You almost did it, Tommy.'

"Stop,"

"Tommy, please-"

"Leave me alone." He breathes, shutting his eyes. The snowflakes on his eyelashes don't melt against his skin. "Go away."

Something barely there, like a ghostly slime, presses urgently against his face. "Tommy I'm sorry, you have to wake up- please, please-"

The pleading fades to buzzing in his ears, only a few words picked up through the cotton in his ears. "Technoblade- friend- hold on- I'll get- stay- please-"

'Tommy? Did you forget your gloves again?' A voice beckons from somewhere in the white. "I bet your hands are burning, huh?'

Tommy blinks down at his hands. They're covered in unmelted snow, blue and grey and blazing through his nerves. He sobs. "Please," he breathes. "Make it better."

Wilbur's hands, smoky white and pleasantly cool, curl around his with a gentle squeeze. 'Of course, Toms. Let's go thaw you out, okay? We'll be careful, take our time with it.'

Tommy nods incoherently, and he's picked up out of the snowbank and held to a broad chest, trenchcoat dusted with snow instead of ash. 'I've got you, sunshine,' He says, and Tommy lets himself drift off in his arms, ready to be carried to the Hearth.



A wail rips through the forest, and the blizzard flurries onward, past the final spark it has snuffed out.

[perryhedge]

Fire Punch

This was a bit of a frustrating read, and I wasn't sure it would be worth it to actually make it to the end, but ultimately I'm glad I did. I really enjoyed the first and last volumes, which were somber, contemplative, and often times ridiculous, but always in a way that felt as weird and off-putting as it was sincere. The six volumes in between were a bit of a mess.

Comparing Fire Punch to Chainsaw Man, which I can't help but do, the first thing that stands out about is that while the latter is always fun to read, the former is for most of its run miserable, humorless, and self-serious. There is Fujimoto's trademark surreal humor, and it does have its high points, but for most of the story it is very much a standard dark action manga. Far too much of the interminable fight scenes, for example, are just reaction panels of the ugliest dudes you've ever seen.

Much like Chainsaw Man, Fire Punch tends to have really interesting panel composition. There's a lot of repetition and cinematic framing throughout, there's interesting contrasts across page spreads and striking panels are left the space to achieve their intended effect. Due to the weak writing, I started to get cynical in the middle and began to see the unusual composition as gimmicky. But looking back on it, the paneling is consistently great and only lifts up the rest of the manga, even when the dreary backgrounds or landscapes of corpses and limbs that fill those panels are, well, ugly (in an aesthetic and a moral sense).

Now, I have no problem with ugliness in a manga. I would guess that a lot of people's problem with this manga would be the copious amounts of "objectionable" content, but I think that mostly plays to its strengths. All the incest stuff, particularly, while strange, is coming from a place of sincerity and surprisingly offers some of the most poignant moments in the manga -- and this is not a backhanded compliment. Agni's pain is constant, so the few moments of peace and love he experiences, particularly towards the end, generally make an impression. But ultimately, I don't think that the constant violence is in service of a message strong enough to justify it -- it ultimately just felt bleak and nihilistic. I get that's part of the point. But at least in Chainsaw Man, the violence feels flamboyant and fun. I can't appreciate the death and destruction in Fire Punch on an aesthetic level, and it doesn't hit on a thematic level either.

There are a lot of themes that are more or less adequately fleshed out in this manga. Central to it all is the notion of "acting", cleverly framed by Togata's obsession with film. Everyone is always acting, and people will eventually become the mask. Agni plays various "roles" in his life, and the central thrust of the story is always his conflict between the roles imagined for him by others and the one he plays in the end.

There's also a throughline of fire-related symbolism, where people are concerned about various things metaphorically represented by firewood, or sometimes food/fuel [sorry, I read this in Japanese, and I don't know a less cringe way to translate this -- but these are the words that are most often used].

The manga sets up these themes more or less from the beginning and is constantly revisiting them, but therein lies the problem. The dialogue is so consistently mediocre, and explores those themes in such a basic way, that it's hard to appreciate them. Chainsaw Man has its flaws, but while it wasn't subtle about its themes, it at least had the good sense to explore them with its characters and visuals. It felt like most of Fire Punch consisted of long, unbearable Socratic dialogues that had me rolling my eyes. These scenes are extremely repetitive in content (again, this is in tandem with the cinematic flair of the manga's form mentioned above), and often amount to one or the other character explaining the ideas of the manga in an extremely straightforward way. In a way, this strengthens the theme of artifice in the manga -- and I'm sure this is somewhat intentional on Fujimoto's part -- but in the end, none of the characters feel like characters, but rather vessels through which the mangaka could explore these themes. Normally, people get to do this by writing bad poetry in high school and never have to show it to anyone. Unfortunately for us, Tatsuki Fujimoto's bad poetry is a hit manga published in Shonen Jump+. C'est la vie.

The worst offender is Togata, whose entire character feels completely inorganic, at least to me. I will refrain on going too much into depth on a certain arc of their character in volume 4 and 5 (if you've read it, no doubt you know what I'm talking about), but it felt completely artificial and trite. Yes, it does strengthen the "acting" theme, and in a way I wouldn't have expected for this genre of manga, but it really comes out of nowhere and adds such thick melodrama to a skeletal, uninteresting character that the effect is lost. In general the character drama all suffers from this problem -- and unfortunately, a huge chunk of the manga is exactly made up of this kind of navel-gazing pablum. I also tend to hate anything that approaches "meta" -- and the self-referential nature of this manga made most of Togata's dialogue and the entire framing device of the movie itself incredibly irritating to me. I can appreciate the cleverness of it on some level, yes, but meta gets old very fast, and art that is this self-conscious very rarely has anything interesting to say. And indeed, almost from the page Togata is introduced, there is really not much of substance to be had for the next few volumes.

There is also an insistence on social commentary via the constant story element of religion. This stuff was probably the most insufferable bit of the manga for me, and one of its largest components by weight. There's really nothing clever to be said in any of these scenes, especially those surround a plot twist in the final volume. Again, it feels like very amateur writing that I've seen a billion times before, writing that one often finds in works that insist themselves to be exploring deep and universal themes, but in an extremely shallow way. This is really no better than Zack Snyder's Superman, or any JRPG where the final boss is the Catholic Church -- it's complete shlock. It may be addressing philosophical themes, but it's still shlock, and the fact that it aspires to be something else makes it worse. I'm not one of those people that thinks something like One Piece is a revolutionary work of political fiction, but I think the contrast is evident when you examine how unpretentiously that manga explores similar territory, while still managing to be engaging and emotionally resonant. Funnily enough, in the early volumes I almost caught myself thinking "this is kind of like Attack on Titan, but good" -- but ultimately it isn't much different in its didactic treatment of slavery, religion, and other such topics.

Ultimately, Fire Punch has finally convinced me to swear off any manga that sports the politics or philosophy tags, but before I end this rant I'd like to maybe throw an olive branch to any fans of that stuff by pointing out that it may just be me -- I've always felt this tension with a traditionally pulp genre (like whatever dark action series genre this manga is in) attempting to handle themes like this that are better suited, in my opinion, for the format of prose, or even philosophy. I can't think of a single example where it really works, at least an example where those themes are the focus. In the end, something like Fire Punch is still a weekly serial published in a magazine aimed at teenagers -- and that's not to say that it can't be a great work of fiction or discuss those kinds of topics, but I think if you're looking for kind of existential pondering that this manga is preoccupied with, you would be far better off reading Crime and Punishment or something -- something that can actually examine them in depth and perhaps bring you to some novel understanding of those concepts. Manga is a visual medium, its powerful at conveying strong visual ideas, ideas that transcend language itself -- and so to lock a manga down to such basic, pulpy dialogue seems like a waste to me.

In that sense, I have a philosophical bias against something like Fire Punch from the start, as opposed to Chainsaw Man which is primarily a sensory experience. Chainsaw Man is funny, bloody, nauseating, and appealing all at the same time, it's an orgasm of a manga (please forgive me for saying that, holy shit) and I think that's why it's great. It's not hard to see why someone could think that the brooding Fire Punch, by comparison, is dull. But Togata says penis, you might say -- and that is true, it is pretty funny that Togata says penis. Unfortunately, that's where the fun ends. And I might have said that this beef I have is philosophical -- but really, in the end, I just like reading manga to be fun. It's a preference at a very primal level for me. Jumping from this series to something like Call of the Night really made that stand out all the more -- that manga is funny, dynamic, and just a joy to read, and in general that's what I prefer a manga to be.

Despite my fundamental issues with it, I think Fire Punch is still an exceptionally well constructed manga. There are high points just as much as there are low points, and I think it's worth reading. The last scene gave me some pretty strong goosebumps, which only happens with art I care about. In the end, Tatsuki Fujimoto remains a bold and interesting figure in current manga, and if I find his cleverness to border on grating at times, there's no doubt that he can draw the shit out of a comic.

[grison-in-space]

real sorry for all the new folks following me this week, as I am driven underwater by the weight of lab chaos and have very little energy for much else except sudden hyperfocused text dumps at the moment

hi my bio is about three years out of date, I go long stretches of time posting nothing and occasionally lunge out of the shadows to produce a long and deeply nerdy commentary on some other poor bastard’s years-old OP. I’m not updating the bio. it’s been a long week and I am tired.

that this has finally happened to me is some kind of regretful cosmic irony, especially because it was really quite well described and explained costuming detail work, and I’m mad I don’t have the specialist knowledge to do such a thing half so well as redhorsedawn did.

those of you who are here from the giraffe thing last week, you’re more likely to luck out and get more of that moving forward; I am in fact a working biolo--aw motherfucker probably I’m supposed to call myself a neuroscientist now? ew, fuck that. I’m a behavioral ecologist in a trenchcoat lurking in a neuroscience lab which is pretending real hard that it belongs in the Psychology department of my current institution for funsies. I got a lot of big opinions about biology and animal behavior, and my training and inclination tends to be more on the “how do we understand animals within their own context, and how can we decode their communication and experiences” side of things and not so much the “how can we use animal cognition as a model to understand humans?” side. most of my actual day to day work right now is either coding or ferrying tiny little mice back and forth from their home cages to the place where they get to play video games in exchange for slurps of milkshake. they seem to like that sort of thing. me, I like the coding better, but we’ve been pretty short staffed lately.

I am interested in a bunch of other shit that isn’t so much about animal behavior or brains too in terms of nonfiction and am equally likely to lunge out of the bushes to rave about: sexuality, gender shit, disability, human history and how it relates to these things, human social and community dynamics, asexual community history (motherfucker I was there when we argued about the shade of purple to put in the ace flag; you bring ace exclusionism into my space and I will make fun of you as publicly as I know how) and occasionally how to spot TERFs/why radfem shit is enticing. I do not tolerate TERF shit, and I do not bother with DNIs: my version is that when TERFs reblog my crap I make them wish they had a DNI for me. the thing about posting all my non-fannish stuff to @grison-in-labs is a lie; I always forget what goes to what blog and confuse the streams, so unfortunately the only way to interact with me is to put up with an occasional firehose of content. sorry. I also can’t tag for shit.

those of you who are here from the “no actually Jaskier is a fairly burly dude who merely puts deliberate effort into being perceived as small and non-threatening and fuckable” side of things are--well look my fannish posts tend to be few and far between unless I’m actively trying to riff with someone or interacting. if you want that shit you gotta talk to me and my entire workplace is currently a rolling tire fire, so.... yeaaaaaaah, I’ve been distractable. uh, my partner @coffee-mage-sans-caffeine is writing a big ol’ Witcher fandom novel, and I beta for my buddy @abeautifulblog sometimes. I fear writing fiction myself and generally don’t bother, but I will meta until the cows come home; lob me a fun idea and I’ll chew on it with delight. I can overthink anything. 

generally if you talk to me and are friendly I will talk to you and be friendly back; I do not count followers and will not notice if you read this whole thing and fuck off into the night, but I wanted to let y’all know what you were getting into. again though: I cannot consistently remember tags, I am sorry, but I am rolling in with metaphorical Starbucks--worst fucking nerfed ADHD ever I swear to fuck--and doin’ my best here. I do believe very strongly in de-escalation; if there’s a conflict and you didn’t mean to make one happen, and you try to communicate with me in good faith, I’ll try and listen pretty much every time.

motherfucker, the pizza is burning. should probably eat.

have fun, folks.

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1981

The X-Men, those back-to-the-future mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(Uncanny X-Men 141 - 152) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, Brent Anderson, Dave Cockrum, Jim Sherman, Bob McLeod and Josef Rubinstein

While I also committed various fashion atrocities at the age of 14 (tye-die and fauxhawks, oh my), even Liberace would find Kitty’s outfits too much. (Uncanny X-Men 149; Uncanny X-Men Annual ‘81)

We dial back from the v. epic scope of the last few arcs. Instead, 1981 is just a lot of fun! We get:

Storm and Emma doing a Freaky Friday!

the X-Men vs. Magneto (again!)

A surprisingly effective Alien rip-off

An dystopian future! (OoOoOoOo)

Last year was the year of the Dark Phoenix, this is the year of Kitty Pryde. That’s not to say Jean’s death is swept under the rug: all throughout, we see her friends mourning her loss or remembering her fondly. (Scott even gets to have a demonic adventure about it.) But in general, Claremont puts Kitty in the forefront, fleshing out his YA-addition to the team. And what would a YA heroine be without a grim dystopia? Roll out the iconic Days of Future Past!

To be fair, 2013 was a dark time for all of us: What Does the Fox Say somehow got to the top of the charts and I was still watching Glee. (Uncanny X-Men 141)

How cool would it have been to see a name like Jonothon Starsmore or Eva Bell on those tombstones?

Anyway, that’s Kate. Kate’s had it rough. Mutants are at the bottom of the foodchain, most X-Men are dead and only a small cadre of resistance fighters remain, Sentinels dominate, and while she is married to Piotr, her children have been murdered. Bleak. Luckily, the rebellion has concocted the plan to shunt Kate’s spirit back in time to prevent this awful future from happening. (You’ve seen Days of Future Past, the last passably good X-Men film, you know what’s up.)

Let’s do the time warp again! 1981!Kitty’s mind gets taken over by 2013!Kitty, who promptly tries to convince the X-Men that a new Brotherhood of v. Evil Mutants will try to kill Senator Kelly, a presidential candidate who tries to put the mutant menace on the agenda. (Mutants tend to blow stuff up when he’s around.) Since the X-Men recently took a literal trip to Dante’s Infero and also befriended a cosmic world-ending entity, they basically shrug and go: “Yeah, this checks out.”

Off to Washington they go (zoommm) and there, they happen upon the Baddest Bitches in Herstory:

“How dare you hate mutants, senator Kelly! We’ll fix that by killing you!” (Uncanny X-Men 141)

This All-New, All-Different Brotherhood consists out of:

Destiny, a blind woman who can see the future. Definitely the eeriest member of this group. Badass lesbian, though that won´t be canon for years.

Avalanche. Greek who makes things shake. Is a long-standing member of the X-Men Rogue’s gallery, but rarely features in the spotlight. I think he got more characterization in four years of X-Men Evolution than he ever did in the comics.

Mystique. Shapeshifter. Ruthless and unhinged, the Cersei Lannister of the X-Men universe. Absolute legend, secretly the wife of Destiny, currently not as unhinged as she’ll be later. Immediately implied to be related to Nightcrawler: it’s the yellow-eyes-blue-skin-combo.

Pyro. Can manipulate fire, not create it. Absolute pillock, in all the best ways of the word. Originally intended as gay, but they decided to make him Australian instead. (?!)

Blob. Big, strong, immovable. We’ve seen him before.

One of the details in this fight I enjoy is that Storm is still struggling with her leadership, although she has a better grip on things than Cyclops:

Wolverine then proceeds to use those iconic but deadly claws about twice per issue for the next, oh, forty years. (Uncanny X-Men 142)

While the X-Men fight the Brotherhood in the present, we cut back and forth to the future. There, the X-Men consist out of some familiar faces - Storm, Colossus, Wolverine - and some surprises: Magneto (in a wheelchair), Franklin Richards (son of) and an unfamiliar ginger girl called Rachel. (She’ll be important later.) We even learn (one of) Magneto’s names: this is the first time he’s canonically called Magnus.

One of the strengths of Days of Future Past lies in its brevity, the way it tantalizingly taunts us with a brutal but familiar future without giving away too much. It’s single-handedly responsible for all those dark future timelines the X-lines are so fond of which will eventually culminate in time-displaced grandsons from alternative dimensions and the impossibility of a succinct answer to the question: “Who’s Cable?” Too much of a good thing and all that.

Still, what Days of Future Past does so successfully is:

Put the idea of the mutant menace back at the forefront, hammering home the metaphor of mutants being a minority. Mutants being put in camps and being forbidden to breed should - regretfully - make us think of all too many real life equivalents. (Specifically, all of the imagery harkens back to the Holocaust.)

It starkly shows what happens should the X-Men lose, reminding everyone of the stakes. The X-Men are here for a reason: bridging the gap between mutants and humankind. If they fuck up, we end up with mutant concentration camps.

It helps that the X-Men in the future almost all die horribly: Franklin is incinerated, Storm is impaled… It's brutal stuff. The only one to survive is Rachel, who wonders if their plan actually changed the future or if they created an alternative timeline. (It did the latter, sorry ‘bout it, Rachel.)

In the present, Kate chases after Destiny, who trains a gun on senator Kelly. I always wondered how this works: if Destiny saw the future, she knew that killing Kelly would trigger a terrifying future. What in the current Marvel timeline made her decide that the Days of Future Past was better? Did she see her own death? Did she see the Onslaught-crossover coming? The Chuck Austen run? What was it?

In any case, time-anomalous Kate stops Destiny from killing Kelly and the future is safe! For now. Kate disappears, Kitty returns to her body and some of the Brotherhood are apprehended. All is well, for now.

After being a key figure in DoFP, Kitty is also the main character in the Christmas special, which is basically a straight up horror and a pastiche of the Alien-movie.

Seriously, John Byrne still isn’t sure why he wasn’t sued by Ridley Scott for this. (Uncanny X-Men 143)

If you love Kitty Pryde? Read this issue. If you’re not convinced you like 80’s Kitty? Read this issue. It’s not continuity relevant and it’s basically Kitty playing the part of a Final Girl in a horror where she’s being chased by a demon, but it’s so good. It showcases all her strengths and her foibles. Kitty’s intelligent, cute (sometimes preciously so) and brave, but she’s also young, self-conscious and hot-headed. And it's not as if the other X-Men automatically adore her: Storm berates her all the time, she’s afraid of Kurt because of the way he looks (though she grows out of that) and she fights with Professor Xavier a lot. Moreover, she has a clever power-set for a young superhero who faces menaces on a daily basis: a thirteen year old who can go intangible is far less likely to have reality ensue on her and be dramatically offed because she's better at protecting herself.

I’m sure there are people who thought Sprite was hogging the spotlight, but I, for one, say she brings more to the table than, say, Angel. She’s not the Dawn Summers of this franchise.

Scott also gets a side quest. Poor guy can’t catch a break: first the love of his life dies, so he quits the X-Men, then he realizes he can’t do much else than be a superhero. He becomes a sailor on the ship of spunky captain Lee Forrester, is drawn into the sadistic plans of a demon unironically named D’Spayre and then shipwrecks in Bermuda with Lee.

The X-Men, meanwhile, are tormented by a team-up of Doom (who’s currently Latverialess and working on a comeback) and Arcade, that annoying crony. Locke, Arcade’s dom, has kidnapped the loved ones of the X-Men (Moira MacTaggart, Jean Grey’s parents, Illyana Rasputin and Amanda Sefton) in order to blackmail them into getting Doom to free Arcade. Apparently, Arcade accidentally insulted Doom and DOOM DOES NOT FORGIVE THAT FOLLY.

While the B-Squad (Polaris, Havok, Banshee and Iceman) goes to save Arcade’s hostages, the X-Men sneak into Doom’s castle. Well, except for Storm, who doesn’t give a single fuck and simply flies up to Doom, demanding an audience. Doom likes the cut of her jib and invites her to have dinner. (This is pre-Tinder, so this is a legit way of scoring a date.)

If Storm has a flaw (I said if!), it’s got to be her atrocious taste in men. (Uncanny X-Men 145)

The X-Men find Arcade’s cell empty, while Arcade casually saunters up to Storm and says hi. Storm realizes too late that this is a trap: while the X-Men are all trapped in Saw-like traps, Storm is encased in ‘living chrome’.

If you remember she’s claustrophobic, you know why this is a bad move.

While the X-Men free themselves from their traps - Polaris hilariously has to deal with a murderous merry-go-round - Storm is slowly driven mad in her prison, triggering a worldwide tempest. (She causes Lee and Scott to shipwreck.) Under the threat of Wolverine’s claws, Doom releases Storm - or rather, unleashes her.

“Instead of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!” (Uncanny X-Men 147)

The memory of Jean brings Ororo back to herself and she starts undoing the superstorm she created. (If only climate change were reversed that easily.) Their confrontation ends by Storm easily forgiving Doom, because she apparently trespassed on his grounds without adequate cause.

Mkay.

All of Arcade’s hostages return to their homesteads, except for Illyana Rasputin, Piotr’s sister: she’s staying at the mansion for a while. Angel, who’s sort of been a part of the team since the Phoenix thing, has had it with Wolverine and his ‘tude, and decides to quit the X-Men : he doesn’t want to be a part of an outfit that has a killer like Wolverine on it. (Or maybe he’s just mad Claremont didn’t give him any storylines: his presence has been mostly pointless.) It’s too bad he left before Kitty started experimenting with her outfits: I bet he would have loved her ugly-ass costumes.

Equally inconsequential is the introduction of a brand new character, who then proceeds to disappear from the narrative for the rest of the year:

Black Tom has tried to kill you at least twice, but him sending you a long-lost daughter doesn’t give you pause? Ugh, Sean, you deserve Moira. (Uncanny X-Men 148)

Intrigued by Theresa? TOO BAD, WON’T SEE HER AGAIN ANYTIME SOON.

Another new character is the lonely, decidedly mutant looking Caliban, who can sense “people like him” and is on the lookout for companions. Like many lonely people who try and grasp at friendship, he decides to overshoot his shot and ruin the night of Storm, Kitty and Jessica Drew at a Dazzler concert. Because he tries to kidnap Kitty, the girls react a trifle aggressively. When they realize their mistake - the eerily pale Caliban is a simpleton rather than a menace - he’s already fled. No mention is made of the Morlocks yet!

There’s also another dull annual where the X-Men team up with the Fantastic Four to save Arkon’s dimension from the Badoon and yaaaaawn. Far more interesting is the landmark issue #150. Slowly, through the adventures of Scott and Lee Forrester, Claremont has been setting things up for the return of a favorite villain. While the X-Men investigate Magneto’s old base in Antarctica on a hunch of Professor X and tangle with Garruk, Scott and Lee survive Storm’s tempest, only to wake up next to a strange island that seems to have been raised from the ocean.

It’s apparently some ancient citadel from a long forgotten civilization with a fondness for squid statues. (I don’t know man, I’ve never been to the Bermuda Triangle, maybe this is just super-accurate.)The tentacles make Lee Forrester feel very amorous, but before Scott can tell her he is way too repressed to just have sex with an attractive someone he’s known intimately for a month or two, Magneto saves his ass by revealing he, in fact, raised this island from the seafloor.

Oh, Magneto. So extra.

My ambitious little mutant demagogue then proceeds to take the entire world hostage, showing how much he’s grown from the pompous, raving madman from the sixties. (Sure, Magneto is still a bit of a madman, but increasingly, he starts being on the right side of history.)

“I’m trying to make Magneto more sympathetic.”

“Just put him on a page with some bigger villains who are less noble, like the Vanisher, Count Nefaria, or…”

“Reagan, Thatcher and Brezhnov?”

“Er.” (Uncanny X-Men 150)

It’s obvious Magneto is being pivoted as a more noble villain, codified into the well-intentioned extremist we know and love today. Not only do we get the first hints at his past, fleshing out his motivations, he’s also not wrong. Humans are historically not great at taking care of the planet or each other.

When the Russians call his bluff and launch nukes at Magneto’s new island, he quickly disarms them. His retribution is swift and ferocious: the entire citadel is a machine that massively amplifies his powers. He sinks the submarine that launched the missiles, condemning the entire crew to death, and he casually erects a vulcano in a Russian city in Siberia.

Damn. Not messing around this time.

Despite his good intentions, Magneto is still definitely in the wrong: not only because of his methods, but as Scott points out: if Magneto unifies the world under his kind of benevolent dictatorship, all of that will simply fall apart as soon as Magnus dies.

In a way, Magneto is just as big a dreamer as Charles is: Charles believes in peace and integration, whereas Magneto believes his iron fist will be enough to make a perfect world happen. Both of them ignore the reality that acceptance is difficult and messy, because you’re trying to change essential human nature: the fear of the other. Magneto believes in big, sweeping gestures that will fix the world in move, while changing the world is also boring, hard work. One step forward, two steps back. Magneto just wants to leapfrog to his ultimate goal.

The X-Men fly over the citadel, returning from Antarctica, and their plane crashes into the ocean. (Magneto does not brook planes over his territory, humans!) The Professor is also nearby, looking for Scott with Moira, Peter Corbeau and Carol Danvers. The X-Men sneak onto the island, but to their horror, their powers are nullified by some machine of Magneto. They reunite with Scott, who formulates a plan to thwart the would-be ruler of the world.

While the rest of the X-Men go to trash the machine, Storm, Kitty and Lee infiltrate the control chamber where Storm finds a sleeping, shirtless Magneto. Once again showing her terrible taste in men, she is not weak in the knees at the sight of a sleeping Magnus: instead, she contemplates killing him.

Storm knows how dangerous he is, but she also knows that he’s a great man who’s fighting for ideals, no matter how misguided. She hesitates too long: Magneto stirs, suspects an attack and tosses her out of the window, to her death.

Magneto quickly undoes the sabotage the other X-Men have wrought to his machine. A fight erupts. Storm, meanwhile, has managed to grab hold of a ledge. She crawls back up and smashes an important-looking computer, restoring everyone’s powers.

The battle turns grim, but Scott sends Kitty away to wreck Magneto’s machinery. She sneaks off, following Scott’s orders and destroying both Magneto's power-up device and all of his plans by phasing though the computer circuitry. Magneto senses this and furiously gives chase. Overcome by rage, he attacks Kitty and disrupts her phasing power with a magnetic bolt, seemingly killing her?

Everything about this story beat is great: mama bear!Ororo, mournful Magnus and even the fact that Kitty’s godawful outfit serves a narrative function: highlighting to us (and Magneto) just how young she is. The fact that Kitty’s Jewish is just icing on the cake. (Uncanny X-Men 150)

And thus, the softening of Magneto commences. 1981 might be a year with wildly varying narratives, but it has given us at least three enduring legacies to the X-Mythos: a new kind of Magneto, a fondness for dystopian futures and the character of Kitty Pryde, who's really come into her own this year.

Ugliest Costume: Kitty! Purposefully, but still. Best costume, by the way, goes to Destiny, with her creepy, creepy golden mask. Just imagine this lady casually strolling across a battlefield, eerily calm and collected, dodging everything you throw at her. Awesome design.

Best new character: I usually pick one character - what good is having a shared award when declaring the best of anything? - but this year, it’s going to one of my favorite couples: Mystique and Destiny. Can’t wait to see more of them.

Most audacious retcon: Blob somehow retroactively becomes a member of the original Brotherhood, which is not what happened. Ever weirder is Xavier pondering that he never met Magneto before his attack in X-Men #1, while their cordially adversarial relationship rooted in a youthful friendship would soon become a cornerstone of the X-Men.

What to read: Uncanny X-Men 141 - 143 and 150 - 152

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

tommy is definitely the most self conscious out of the trio while also being the least likely to say anything about it, anything said about his intelligence, appearance, weight, anything really just goes straight to his heart and eats at him. it leads to some amount of friction between him and billy bc while steve’s known tommy his whole life and has had ample time to analyze all his reactions (and is generally the most emotionally intelligent of the trio) he tends to simply praise tommy when flirting. billy just genuinely has no idea and loves to playfully tease tommy as a form of flirting, and even just in general for banter bc that’s just who he is. tommy almost always ends up crying in his car and it ends up taking his self image issues to a degree they haven’t been at since middle school and it goes on for MONTHS until anyone even realizes he’s hurting

instead of leaving off on an abrupt and non-comfort ending again, i’ll offer a nicer one this time. scouts honor. probably.

—

tommy had always been a second choice. besides for a short while when he was steve’s first choice. that was when it mattered.

steve would call him if he was lonely. steve would call him if he had new plans for a party. steve would call him if he was horny. they had their thing.

and then billy hargrove came along and steve stopped calling him as often. and then altogether it ceased.

for three weeks.

“hey, tommy,” steve slipped an arm over his shoulders. all smiley in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. like his mother’s.

tommy stopped himself from shrugging the touch off, decided to enjoy it while it lasted. “hey, how have you been. haven’t heard from you in a while.” he offered the comment as a passive reminder and steve took it. actually looked shocked, like he sincerely hadn’t even realized the passed time.

he took his arm back in but left his hand on tommy’s other shoulder, “i’m so sorry, tom.” his eyes lost their wrinkle and morphed into that deepened look he got when he messed up. tommy knew it very well. steve knew when he made a mistake, could tell easily and it tore him inside. tommy knew that. so he metaphorically bandaged it up per usual.

“it’s alright, man.”

steve linked their arms. tommy glanced around to make sure none of the big-shot homophobes were lurking. steve didn’t seem to care.

“are you sure? are you free friday night? billy and i are going bowling at six. you wanna join?” tommy could lose himself so easily in steve’s eyes. it was infuriating. what was also infuriating was billy. he loved the dude. stared at him just as much as he did steve probably.

but he seemed to never catch steve’s eye anymore.

he cleared his throat and slithered a hand up to steve’s back, “yeah, i’ll be there. same lane as always?”

steve ruffled his hair, earned a laugh out of tommy with it, “definitely. would never let it go. there’re too many memories of ours there.” tommy nodded in agreement and then halted unsurely at steve next words. “maybe we can even start including billy in them now, hm?”

the way he said it. wasn’t even remotely insinuating that tommy should take any hints other than more. but. what if they dropped him. what if steve just forgot about him entirely. what if billy did?

he looked right at steve after those backtracks. and he found only softness. no. they wouldn’t just let him fall off a ledge like that. steve would never.

when steve’s face started to fall he pinched his hip and laughed with him when he head butted tommy’s chest to escape it, he whispered into steve hair. “yeah, more the merrier. right?”

steve grazed his lips across tommy’s collar bone as he stood back up, that smile was the prize.

bowling on friday turned...not exceptional.

billy was a beast, as he was usually. tommy had to watch as steve touched all over him in the beginning. they got all unapologetically close and handsy to his dismay. steve looked at him exasperatedly after a while of billy not taking it seriously, he didn’t know if it was joking or not.

“can you come show hargrove how to steady the ball please. like you taught me. remember?”

tommy did remember. he frowned though, suspicious. the night tommy had tried that move on steve, had ended in their first kiss together. that was special.

but he stepped up and gently nudged and maneuvered billy’s calloused fingers into the ball. he bent his elbow slowly and tapped his shin to indicate the slightly kneeling stance. all while silent.

billy looked rather amused when tommy stepped back to continue, “are you shy? i like your voice, bud, use it.” it sounded more like an order than the flirty tease he was seemingly trying to produce.

tommy coughed and brought billy’s bent elbow back so the ball was closer to the ground, “you aim and you let the ball slip out. put some fire behind it or it’ll gutter. okay?” his tone was rushed but billy was staring at him intensely.

he felt steve’s familiar hand take hold of his bicep and tug him back. didn’t step away and kept close as they watched billy make his play.

he got a strike and threw them both the bird, “told you i didn’t need instructions.” tommy couldn’t hold his smile like steve could.

he cried silently against his pillow that night, thinking back on it.

billy was the one to catch him again three weeks later. the three of them had been going strong. closer due to steve, and even occasionally billy, making sure to invite him to new outings. threw his arm over his shoulders just like steve would normally. he found he liked how there was more muscle weight.

“your face got all red today during practice, have you been drinking enough water?” he poked tommy’s cheek lightly with his index finger. he couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or happy that billy was being so caring.

“i have a, uh, water bottle in my car,” he pointed off to the parking lot.

billy waved a hand dismissively, “steve’s meeting us at the fountain. let’s go there instead.” tommy smiled when billy’s arm grew more relaxed around him. tommy’s own limb was squished into billy’s side by how close they were. billy chuckled to himself and squeezed his hand around tommy’s arm. “you’re so plump,” he commented. tommy felt himself flush in humiliation. “so soft,” he thought he heard him whisper. but after that, billy didn’t say any more and he didn’t remove his hand. seemed content in a way tommy couldn’t understand.

he ended up sobbing in his car after their casual gathering. scratched at the part of his arm billy had held, willing the demeaning thoughts away. plump plump plump. pig.

steve kissed him again another three weeks later. right in front of billy. hugged him so they were hip to hip and so his hands were to the roots in tommy’s own feathered puff of hair.

he gripped the back of steve’s shirt with both hands. felt someone pry them off and hold them not too long after. when they broke off he saw billy staring over steve at him.

“don’t rip the polo now, big boy,” billy grinned and leaned his chin on steve’s shoulder. made a pucker sound and kissed the air towards him. steve turned his head and accepted a peck from billy before facing back to tommy. he felt his heart already shattering though.

steve hummed a pleased laugh with his eyes still closed and placed a hand behind tommy neck before guiding him right to billy’s mouth. his eyes were frozen open as billy’s closed and their lips touched for a short, dry moment.

tommy pulled away with a forced shove. stared right back at the wide open blue and brown eyes. he grabbed his coat off the back of steve’s desk chair and ran out. bawled his goddamn eyes out on the drive home. had to stop at a stop sign longer than he needed to just so he could clear his eyes enough.

don’t rip it. big boy. big. big. big. don’t rip it now. big. big. boy. boy.

he ignored both their calls.

two weeks later he allowed steve to walk with him to their cars.

“you look nice today,” he complimented after they’d been walking for a minute. “always did think yellow was your color.” tommy returned his smile, slowly. and then steve had those sunken eyes again, “i thought you liked him too,” he started off, tommy could tell he wasn’t sure how to carry the conversation.

“are you sure he likes me?” he asked.

steve gave an odd look, “are you kidding? he’s missed you so much he’s about to break into your house at this point.”

tommy blinked twice, “excuse me?”

steve scratched his temple unsurely, “he wants to apologize. we both do. we thought you felt the...same.”

“the same,” tommy repeated.

“tommy!” steve closed his mouth and they both looked over to where billy was jogging over.

steve nudged his arm, “see?” he gestured. billy reached them before tommy could step out.

“tommy,” billy breathed out with a small smile. not a smirk, a smile. “how are you?” the downturn of concern present in his eyes threw tommy off. this was new.

“i don’t really know anymore,” he responded. looked back at steve who hadn’t even turned away. they held their own contact, steve took his hand hesitantly. linked their fingers even slower.

“i’m sorry,” billy rushed out, captured all their attention with it. “it was my idea, to lay one on you.” they all squinted at the wording uncomfortably. tommy wasn’t sure if he was having trouble looking billy in the eye or billy was with him.

he took in a breath and felt both pairs of eyes on him, “i do like you. like...like that. but....” he closed off. but then steve rubbed his thumb across the back of his. the way he always did when encouraging him. so he went on even if he felt unconfident. “i think you’re gorgeous and funny. but, you say things sometimes that...i don’t know,” he excused, even though he did. he tightened his grip on steve’s hand, “it makes me feel ugly.”

he heard steve’s voice harden, “you’re not ugly. you’re the most handsome person i know.” tommy expected billy to make some comment about how he wasn’t even considered.

but what he heard instead was, “the damn cutest i’ve ever seen.”

he looked up at the two of them, took in their smiles and kindling eyes of adoration. aimed at him.

he realized it then, fully, “you both like me.”

steve opened his car door, “mhmmm,” he carefully tucked himself inside the backseat and pulled tommy with him.

tommy blankly watched as billy assisted him in the middle seat and closed the door so they were all inside. together.

billy cupped his cheek, “can i get that kiss by chance, sweet thing?”

he felt steve press a kiss onto his shoulder before he nodded vigorously. billy didn’t disappoint. none of them did.

[jaykayblr]

Anon asked : hey! you have a beautiful name mairah, it sounds exotic.. i just read you were a Scorpio rising, can i ask what do you look like? sorry if it too personal, i just feel scorpio rising just some how very hot so.. i wanted to ask, or can you do a scorpio rising culture?

[ Note : this post is completely based on my knowledge in astrology. ]

I added some more points to this post which was answered by me long ago.

They have very dark eyes. The way they look at people - uff! They can lure anyone with their eyes.  

And i have noticed that when they are listening to people they tend to have a very intense eye contact with them.

they have very strong and sharp features.

i dont know but they seem to look good in suits even the women, most of them love to wear suits

they usually have a tan skin-tone

they tend to have this dark aura around them that seems somewhat evil. 

If they have no expressions on their face they can look some what angry? (mars influence i suppose) 

all of them are very sassy

they are no - nonsense and straightforward people 

they always seem to look like they are plotting something 

something about them just screams - mystery, secret, sex.

resting bitch face

they dont smile, they smirk.

they have distinct noses or just prominent ones.

they love to wear black or any dark colors even velvet. 

i think somehow all of them have a habit of touching their chins while thinking or talking

they might have a habit of touching their nose too

they seem cunning.

they can easily make people obsessed with them

They have sharp jaw lines and bone structure.

Huge foreheads.

They love wearing formal attire.

They love wearing clothes that make them look dominant and powerful.

They can command people easily.

It's hard to not notice them - they can easily catch your attention.

The mars influence makes them athletic

So even if they don't work out that much - they have a good stamina and flexibility.

Their voices are usually deep and seductive.

Something about them screams 'silent leader' to me

Like they don't even have to try - leadership comes to them naturally.

They have the habit of clenching their jaws and hollowing their cheeks

Not to forget the iconic rolls of their tongue.

They like playing with fire - literally or metaphorically.

They walk confidently - like they own the place.

They might have a habit of running their hands through their hair.

They can come off as Rude without meaning to.

They can be pretty moody sometimes

They can be either literally or metaphorically surrounded by the thoughts of dead and the unknown - sex included.

They are possessive.

Either the people around love them or they hate them or some may even may fear them. Not like they care though.

They always receive strong reactions from the public

They are very hardworking and energetic in their workplace.

They are very critical of themselves, take for example - social media: they will not post anything just like that. They will make sure that everything is perfect in the post. They will recheck it thousand times before actually posting it - they might even not post it in the end because of their overthinking.

Hella stubborn and Sometimes petty.

They can pick up the energy in a place so well.

They can see right through a person's facade.

And I am not even kidding - they are very observant - they can predict your next step correctly - how? By looking at your face and body language.

They can even sometimes complete sentences for other people.

They are very secretive - this shouldn't come as a surprise. They might know everything about you but you will know very little about them. They won't open up completely unless they trust you.

They love money ok? They might've understood the importance of having money from a young age.

Trust me, they have been through shit.

They seem experienced.

They can see the dark side of things which people ignore.

They are strategic AF. Every move is well planned by them. They don't rush.

They can pick up energies of people very well. They will ignore people who give them a bad energy.

They have amazing intuition!

They are more mature than their age.

They don't trust others easily - but people easily put their faith in them.

It seems like they had to grow up at a young age. Like before their peers.

They are interested towards the occult and the unknown. They might've feared it when they were young - but eventually they got curious about it as they grew up.

They can achieve fame easily. It's as if they are meant to. ( 10th house Leo )

They mostly like to be alone.

They will only allow you to see things that they want you to see.

They have no filter. They say what they think and do what they want.

You can always find them sitting with a frown on their face.

They have a huge self respect for themselves.

They are very individualistic - they wont ask you for help unless they really need it.

They are very intelligent.

They all have beautiful smiles but they don't smile very often.

Low-key perfectionist.

Good taste in fashion though.

Extremely critical of people and themselves.

[hiswhiteknight]

Unbelievably Outlandish– Part 9

Summary:  Before starting down a new crossroads, the Reader goes onto an adventure of literary traveling. Suddenly tossed into an unbelievable story that has swept the world, The Outlander Series itself. How will a twenty first century woman survive?

Note: I own no characters, except reader, clearly this is based off the lovely book series Outlander by Diana Gabaldon and tv show. This follows more the tv show, but it’s far from accurate. I’m going to try to get better with using less proper English, but who knows maybe I’ll get into Scottish slang.

Pairing: Jamie Fraser x Female Reader

Words: 1900

 Warning: Angst, playfulness, cursing, slow start, obviously fighting and such

You heard Jamie’s word after he left, ‘You should go up and spend some time with the clan, it might be worth learning a bit more.’ He wasn’t wrong, though it was hard for you to admit it. You took a deep sigh, fixed your hair, and went back up the stairs. You found Mrs. Fitz, who passed you a drink. “Lovely you joined us again Y/N. Everything prepped for the hunt?”

 “Sure is, Mrs. Fitz, sure is, which means I can drink and be merry,” you watched as the line started to dwindle down as the men took their oaths to Colum. “Anything happen after the oath taking, like that musician, will he be playing today. Love that guy,” you smile down at her.

 She looked at you bemused and shook her head, “No, he won’t be playing this evening. There will be dancing later, I’m sure quite a few men would be interested in dancing with you.”

 You shook your head at her, “You are not a match maker Mrs. Fitz. I would not dare to go out on that floor. I would insult the good Mackenzie clan with my lack of grace.” A man tripped over his feet in front of you and stumbled on to find his friends.

“Grace is nothing you need to worry about here dear,” she grinned at you. “Not too difficult to figure out, I’ll have Laoghaire show you later,” she tapped you. Laoghaire stood next to her, giving you a strange look, you were sure you didn’t warrant. Suddenly the room grew quiet and you looked up towards the entrance of the hall. Jamie was weaving through the crowd slowly. He had changed and making his way towards the oath taking line. And every eye was on him, except when you turned to observe everyone’s reaction Murtagh was looking at you. You gripped Mrs. Fitz’s arm and pushed towards Murtagh, there was no way you were taking credit for this.

 When you made yourself up to him, he was towards the back of the room with his hand gripping the top of his sword, “Why do I have a feeling this involves you?”

 “I didn’t do it,” you whispered harshly to him, sounding like a child defending their lack of innocence. He tipped his head over not believing you for a second, “I didn’t do it on purpose, and he told me he could get back just fine.”

 “You don’t understand what you just did to him. You signed his death sentence,” he pulled you back further. Murtagh caught you up in the severity of Jamie’s predicament. With every word, you grew more worrisome and filled with guilt. The thought of not having Jamie to rely on as a friend tousled around in your head. You tried to find a way to free Jamie from this situation and the only thought you could manage was start a fire or faint and you didn’t believe either of those situations would help him out of this.

 It was Jamie’s turn next and you didn’t acknowledge that you started to hold your breath. Suddenly without reason or thought, you grabbed Murtagh’s forearm. And without much thought, Jamie diplomatically got himself out of the situation looking like a leader. You cursed under your breath, before dusting off the front of your dress, “And you were worried Murtagh. See Jamie came out looking like a,” you paused not being able to come up with a metaphor that would make sense in the 18th century, “I don’t know. He is just fine. Now you can’t be mad at me.”

 Murtagh rolled his eyes as Jamie walked up to him, “Couldn’t stay away from trouble, aye?”

 Jamie looked towards you, his face grew a knowing smile I didn’t quite understand, “Sometimes trouble finds me than I’m like a moth to flame. Y/N, I see you decided to join the gathering again.”

 “You made it sound so exciting and here you were not wrong. Though it doesn’t bode well that you got caught. And now Murtagh here is blaming me for your lack of discretion,” you use your thumb to point back at Murtagh, “And I was starting to win him over.”

 Scratching the back of his neck, leaning in to whisper, “Not everyone can be sneaky as you and not get caught.”

 “Tis right there sir,” you shoot back at him.

 Hearing a big sigh come from his partner in crime, Murtagh gave Jamie an eye roll and pulled him out of the hall, “You’ve had enough of trouble this evening, let’s go.”

 “Enjoy your evening, Y/N.”

 You shook your head, biting back a snarky comment. You could throttle the man for making everything seem so suave and charming. As Jamie and Murtagh rounded the hall entrance, the phrase you repeated to yourself, ‘your charm doesn’t work on me Jamie.’ It was slowly hitting you that, that mantra might not be as strong as you needed it to be. You looked around, feeling someone starring at you and caught eye contact with Laoghaire. And suddenly she was storming out of your eyesight. The dancing had started and you watched the mesmerizing dance of the culture. Everyone’s laughter put you at ease for a moment. Then suddenly, you were in your head missing your home and brother. You weren’t meant to be here, everything you are is fake or reserved. You couldn’t live like this and the bought of hopelessness took over your soul. In this moment, something inside you became a little toxic.

  The next morning, you were up early for the hunt. The way the night ended with the uneasiness sat on your chests as you dressed for the day. This wasn’t your place, this wasn’t your job, and it started to bother you how different the times are. You would never be respected as a woman, an unmarried woman. You tossed your hair in two French braids, per usual fashion when having a busy day. You dropped your hair piece under the bed and you ducked down to grab it to suddenly find a strange bundle. You finished with your hair and brought the bundle down to the kitchen.

 You grabbed some bread and sat the bundle on the table, “Dear what are you bringing that into this kitchen,” Mrs. Fitz yelled catching you off guard and causing you to stumble backwards.

 “I,” you paused to comprehend the situation, “I, I found it in my room, under my bed and I was going to ask it was some weird potpourri thing. What is it?”

 “It’s an ill-wish, a witch’s making,” she tossed it into the fire.

 “An ill-wish, what?”

 “Someone be wishing to bring you harm dear, what have you gotten into,” she put both her hands on your face, “Try staying out of trouble, someone has an eye to hurt you.”

 “I didn’t do anything, literally I have been making myself small at possible Mrs. Fitz,” your voice started to raise. You have done everything in your power to win people over, treat people with kindness, not start a stir when you found injustice to your gender and status. You didn’t believe in witchcraft, though it should cause you to question since you are living the 18th century, which is something you would never believe in.

 “All due respect, Mrs. Fitz, but someone is going to get their ass beat hard,” you shot catching everyone’s attention.

 “Lass, mind your tongue. That is not the language a lady speaks,” Mrs. Fitz tried to sooth you.

 You pull away from her, “No,” you start to gather your things feeling the heat of this betrayal crumble the wall you built around your true self to keep you protected from these people. Every comment, action, and lie you’ve told to keep yourself from being killed, shunned, raped, or imprisoned is bubbling out of your pours. You have reached you limit, “I am not a lady Mrs. Fitz. I do not belong here. I wear pants damn it, I swear, and I could probably kick the ass of half the men here,” you paused, “At the same time,” you paused again, “Maybe not, but I sure would die trying. I do not belong here. Look at how everyone looks at me, treats me, I’m the enemy because I’m different. I’m not part of the clans, I’m an imposter. And rather than whisper about their hatred, someone wants to cause me actual pain with this bullshit. Fuck that. I’m sorry Mrs. Fitz and pardon me, but fuck that.” Your packs were hanging from my shoulder, “Let this spread around the village, anyone that can guarantee me the name of the person who put this under my bed gets all the money I have earned over the time I’ve been here.”

 “Y/N,” Mrs. Fitz called after you. She clearly was not offended by your lewdness, but more she was concerned about what you were about to cause with your burst of feelings of revenge and anger.

 You stomped up to Angus, “Where the necklace man, I didn’t escape or leave, now give the piece back?”

 “Don’t speak to me like that lassie,” he started to feel around his body for the necklace you gave him the night before. With every pat, your already boiling anger grew. That was the only piece from your family you owned. “Might of lost-,” he started to say.

 With the beginning of his sentence, you went for your dagger lying on your waistband. Before you could pull it out, Rupert pushed your hand down holding the handle down, “Settle down Y/N, Angus gave me the necklace to watch over. He noted he would lose it.” He pushed the charm in your hand, “If that would have came out, Angus would have gutted you. Does the hunt have you on edge lass?”

 “Stupidity has me on edge Rupert and it’s not much of your business,” you stormed away to find your horse. Something had changed in you and you weren’t sure what to do about it.

 You struggled to get on your horse, when someone came up and offered you an extra push. Jamie stood in front of you and your horse, “Mrs. Fitz asked me to check on you. She shared you were upset and threatening people. I heard you tried to pull a knife on Angus, what has gotten into you woman.”

 This time you didn’t make eye contact with Jamie, “Mind your business Mister MacTavish. If I want to fight or punish someone for their actions against me, then I’ll see fit to do it. Now get out of my way, there is a boar to chase down and murdered.”

 Jamie didn’t move, keeping your horse in place, “You going to get yourself killed and as your friend, that does in fact concern me. You shouldn’t be going on the hunt like this.”

 You pushed forward with the horse causing Jamie to back up quickly, “I’ve seen Old Yeller, I get the dangers that come from a boar. Right now, you should be worried about the clansmen Mackenzie. Now if you’ll excuse me,” you started to move towards the field.

 You were fully aware he would not get the reference from the 21st century, but you did not care. The thought of taking the horse and charging out of the village to the stones drifted to your mind. But you still cared to get back to your brother at the moment and that meant you had to have a chance to survive, “Y/N,” Jamie yelled after you.

 “Leave me alone, Mister MacTavish, I have business to attend to,” you shouted back.

 Part 10

Taglist:  @doctorwhatwhenandwhere @damnedandbroken @blushingpogue @blancastans @slytherinambitious @kinky-asher @lovesanimals @bilesxbilinskixlahey

[dameronology]

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 4

summary: it’s the morning after the night before. time for a very awkward conversation.

warnings: warnings, very very brief alluding to smut but rly only if u squint 

song for this chapter is best friend by rex orange county! also the series masterlist can be found through the link to my main masterlist in my bio :) enjoy!

- jazz

You were’t sure what you needed more the next day: painkillers, to help your hangover or another round of drinks, to help you forget what you’d done night before. 

Or should I say - who you had done the night before. 

You didn’t sleep with your co-workers, much less your boss. God, it was almost as bad as if you’d slept with Merl - no, you couldn’t even let your brain go there. You’d already thrown up twice that morning (once into Jack’s toilet and then once into the subway tracks) and you didn’t need to make yourself do it again. Your stomach was churning and it felt as though the Blue Man Group were rehearsing their drum set in your frontal lobe. You’d tried to nurse it with a large block coffee and a half a packet of painkillers but alas, to no success. 

Somehow, though, your physical pains were the least of your worries. The fact you’d snuck out of Jack’s apartment and left without a word was playing over and over again in your head - so much so, that you almost didn’t come into work. Almost. Not even this situation was enough to make you take a day off. 

‘Is there a reason you’ve been stood outside the office for fifteen minutes, agent?’ You jumped at the sound of Champ’s voice. He glanced between the Starbucks coffee in his hand and the bruise around your left eye (fuck, you’d forgotten about that), quirking an eyebrow. ‘Rough night?’

‘No.’ You quickly answered. ‘Sir.’

‘So you what...walked into a door?’

Got drunk, tried to square up to a guy, got punched and then fucked my boss - thanks for asking. 

‘Yeah.’ You nodded. ‘I’m not normally clumsy but I forget that doors in America...go the other way? You know, drive on the other side of the road, use a different weight system, doors that go-’

‘- you can stop now, Percival.’ Champ cut you off. ‘Make sure you look after yourself.’

‘Right.’ You nodded. ‘Thank you.’

With the agent staring you at expectantly, you had no choice but to go into the office. You forced a smile, using your weight to budge open the door and step inside. 

The sound of your heels against the floor announced your entrance; the faint smell of Jack’s aftershave wasn’t normally that noticeable, but that morning, it wasn’t doing you any favours. You stood in the door way for a moment, letting it shut behind you as your eyes landed on the cowboy. 

He didn’t even look at you. Why wasn’t he looking at you? Fuck, had you upset him-

‘Nice of you to make an appearance, Percy.’ He suddenly spoke, flashing you a smile as he tore his eyes away from his computer screen. ‘How’s the shiner? Your buddy sure did pack a punch, huh?’

‘Uh, yeah.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘It’s fine, a little sore.’

‘You should pop down the lab on your break. Ginger will sort it out in no time.’ He leant back in his chair. 

‘Are we just not gonna talk about the fact we slept together last night?’ 

Jack suddenly jumped in surprise, eyes widening. Right, clearly not. 

‘I was trying to find a way to bring up such a sensitive subject.’ He replied. ‘But I guess I don’t gotta worry.’

You sighed as you walked over to your desk, placing your bag down and taking a seat. Fuck, your head was killing. You rubbed your eyes and cleared your throat, forcing yourself to continue the difficult conversation you’d just unwittingly started. You got the vibe that people in the South probably didn’t talk about sex so crudely. Twenty-something years of hanging around Eggsy Unwin had de-sensitised you to the idea of it being a taboo subject. 

‘I’m sorry I left this morning without saying anything.’ You sheepishly murmured. ‘When I do stuff like that, it’s usually with random guys I found in a bar.’

The biggest question that kept playing over and over in your head was why? 

Why Jack? You’d rebuffed Tequila’s advances before he could even finish the damn sentence and yet you’d slipped into bed with Jack with ease. It was probably to do with the fact he’d been such a good kisser, and the rest did not disappoint. It had been good. Really good. Possibly the best you’d ever had, actually. He’d said at the beginning of the night that he was going to help you kick back and chill out and...yeah, he’d done a pretty good job. 

‘It doesn’t affect me, sugar.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I don’t see why it has to change anything between us.’

Of course. Had you forgotten who you were talking to? This was Whiskey, the biggest flirt at the fucking agency. He’d probably had a different girl the night before you, and he was probably going to have somebody else tonight. He hadn’t said or done anything that could have lead you to believe it meant something more. Sure, you’d become friends and saw each other day and yeah, he drove you home sometimes because he didn’t want you to walk home in the dark and he had invited you out to help you de-stress when you needed it most. 

Did you like Jack? Did you want it to be something more? Did the last few weeks all....add up to something? Then again, maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he was just looking out for you, because you were a young woman, alone in the city. Perhaps last night had just been...a fluke. A glitch in the system. A wobble in what was otherwise a completely professional relationship.

‘No, you’re right.’ You nodded, scratching the back of your neck. It really felt like you should have said something more, because it felt like something more. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

He quirked a brow at you. ‘So we’re good?’

You forced a smile. ‘Better than ever, Whiskey.’ 

You’d had one night stands before. They were standard, really - but it was rare you found yourself thinking about them the next day. Something between you just worked. You couldn’t put your finger on it, in the same way you couldn’t spell out the sudden urge to kiss him last night, but some things just couldn’t be explained. Your attraction to him certainly couldn’t be - he was older, used the worst nicknames and spoke to you entirely in Southern metaphors. But, as aforementioned, he’d also looked after you.

Maybe that was what you needed. Maybe it was what you wanted-

- You stopped yourself there. No time to unpack all of that, especially when you were this hungover and spent most of your waking hours spitting fire about how independent you were. You’d had Tequila pinned to the wall less than twelve hours ago for trying to make move on you.  It was probably something to save for therapy (which was on your to-do list). 

The tension in the room felt a little more reflective of a fight between a couple than it did of two friends who had casually slept together the night before. Normally, the room was just calm, filled with the only sounds of you two occasionally cracking jokes or your fingers desperately tapping away at your respective computers. Now? It was tense. Suffocatingly so, as though it could have swallowed you whole. 

‘I’m gonna get more coffee.’ You announced, abruptly. ‘And I guess I’ll pay Ginger a visit to sort out this annoying fucking bruise. You want anything from Starbucks?’

‘Didn’t you just go?’ He observed. 

‘Yeah, but I want some fresh air.’

As you passed Jack’s desk on the way out, he reached out and grabbed your hand, quickly tangling your fingers in his. He peered up at you, brow furrowed - you were off. He knew you were off. He’d proven time and time again over the last month that he could read you like a fucking book. You were a clown for thinking that he wouldn’t notice the fact you’d completely retracted into yourself, or that you’d suddenly from from Jack to Whiskey. 

‘You’re annoyed at me.’ He observed.

‘I’m not annoyed at you.’ You didn’t try to pull your hand back. ‘I’m annoyed at...myself, I guess.’

‘Why?’ 

‘Because I let last night happen.’ You explained. ‘I shouldn’t have made a move on you, I shouldn’t have broken every professional boundary between us for one night of meaningless-’

‘- what if it wasn’t meaningless?’

You froze, suddenly snatching your hand back. What were you meant to say to that? You couldn’t work out if you wanted it to mean something. There was so much to untangle but your main concern was sorting out your sore nose and banging head ache. 

‘Jack...’ you murmured. ‘I can’t talk about this right now. My head is on fire and my nose is fucking purple.’

He stood up, reaching for his jacket. ‘C’mon then, I’ll take you down the lab.’

‘I can get there myself, really.’

‘D’you know where it is, sugar?’

‘I can work it out.’ You shot back. ‘I’m smart-’

Before you could finish your sentence, he had a hand on the small of your back and was guiding you out the room and down the hall. That was new; he hadn’t really shown you any signs of physical touch - excluding last night, obviously - but the progression felt...natural. Heck, Jack hadn’t even realised he was doing it, and you didn’t feel the urge to complain or push him off.

That was probably saying something. 

--

‘There we go.’ Ginger murmured, slowly dabbing at the bruise with...something. ‘Good as new.’

You felt as good as new. After putting a weird paste on your nose and forcing some fancy, top-of-the-range painkillers down your throat, your hangover was gone and your nose was no longer stinging. You’d been out here thinking that Kingsman had been far ahead with their medical technology, but this place made it look Victorian. You were tempted to ask if they had an amnesia-inducing medication that could make you and Jack forget the events of last night, but then you realised something.

You didn’t want to forget.

‘Thank you, Ginger.’ You smiled. ‘I really appreciate it.’

‘What did you do to end up with a busted nose and black eye, anyways?’ Ginger raised her eyebrows. 

‘Our girl tried to deck a man twice her size because she thought he was following a woman into the bathroom.’ Jack replied, gently rubbing your shoulder. That’s fine. That was totally fine. You were fine. 

‘I had the right intentions.’ You muttered. ‘Anyways - Calahan isn’t gonna catch himself, so I gotta get back to work. Thank you again, G.’

That was code for Jack and I are about to have a very awkward conversation. To be frank, you would have begrudgingly left at the whole ‘it didn’t mean anything’ point, but he’d been the one to push it, to float out the idea that it could mean something. You’d thought it, but he’d been the one to say it. That was the huge difference between the two of you. You could compartmentalise your feelings when they proved to be an inconvenience. Jack Daniels, however, was...brash. When he felt something, he had to say it. It was a blessing and a curse. 

You both walked back to your office in silence, once again with Jack’s hand resting on the small of your back. He knew you didn’t need looking after - hell, you’d proved that ten times over - but it almost like he was keeping an eye on you. He’d seen you square up to two different men in the last twenty four hours. It was for your safety, really. 

The minute the door had shut behind you both, that tension immediately returned. This time, however, there was a little hint of excitement. Anticipation, maybe. 

‘So...’ you trailed off, leaning against your desk. Awkwardly playing with your hands, you peered over at him. ‘Let’s recap: we slept together, I snuck out, we said it didn’t mean anything and then two seconds later, you retracted that statement.’

‘I didn’t retract it.’ Jack insisted. ‘I was just reading your signals - which are confusing as fuck, by the way, sweetheart - because you were the one who walked out.’

‘My signals?’ You scoffed. ‘You were the one who invited me out the in first place! And the one who drives me home every damn night so I don’t have to walk alone!’

‘You’re the one who’s being as skitterish as a calf at a goddamn smoke out-’

‘- as a what at a what?!’ You spluttered. ‘You’re the one calls me sweetheart all the time!’

‘Yeah, well, you’re the one who kissed me first-’

‘- just shut up a second!’ You held your finger out to him. He silenced immediately. 'I feel like we’re overcomplicating this.’

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘We are?’

‘Whi - Jack.’ You took a deep breath. ‘I am going to ask you this once, and once only. If you say no, I’ll move on and we can act like this never happened. If you say yes...we can discuss it, okay?’

‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘Go for it.’

‘Did last night mean anything to you?’ You asked the question slowly, in the same tone you might ask a child what small object they had in their mouth. 

‘Not at first.’ Jack replied. ‘I didn’t go into it with the intention of it meaning something.’

You frowned. ‘Do go on.’

‘I was gonna come in this morning and pretend like it never happened. Then I saw you, with that stupid bruise and stupid smile and I realised that you’re brash and dumb and fucking gorgeous and ...shit, you’re spiteful as hell and I’m a little terrified of you but damn, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fucking obsessed with you.’

‘Well, shit.’ You murmured. It was the answer you’d wanted just...in a lot more words. 

For a long time, your head strong nature and inability to tolerate ninety-nine percent of the human race was something people had used a reason not to like you. But Jack? Oh, no. Not him. He saw it as a challenge, maybe. He had an urge to cut through the thorny outside and trying to see what you held on the inside. He’d see little bits of it here and there - your smile when you spoke about Eggsy, or the way you’d gone out your way to try and protect that woman - but he was determined to find more. He wanted to find more. You were an enigma, a vortex of swear words and brash decisions, and hell, you were sucking him right in.

‘You gonna say anything more than shit?’ He urged. 

You’d never been all that good with words. Didn’t actions speak louder? That’s what your mum had always said, and it had proven true in your line of work too. Punching the daylights out of someone was always a clearer threat than a concerning phone call. Pulling your weight on every mission was more proof of hard work than gloating to your uppers about your achievements.

And kissing your boss was a much clearer sign of telling him that you liked him too rather than just verbalising it.

Jack almost veered backwards when you lunged at him, just about catching you in his arms. Your lips crashed together - it was a little more desperate than last night, but then again, so was the whole situation. His arms caught you at the waist, holding you against his chest as he kissed you right back.

After a few moments, you pulled back for air. Neither of you said anything, instead choosing to just stare at each other with disbelief.

‘That was very unprofessional of me.’ You admitted. ‘But I do like you Jack and I’m worried it’s going to be a problem-’

‘- since when has mutual attraction ever been a problem?’ Jack practically snorted at the idea. ‘I like you. You like me. I don’t get what’s so complicated about that, sugar.’

‘Because it’s unprofessional! You’re my boss and I’m here to work.’ You suddenly took a step back, complex feelings finally colliding. ‘To prove myself and get a promotion!’

‘And you’re doing that just fine!’ He shot back. ‘Better than fine! You work your ass off ten times harder than any agent I’ve ever met. I don’t know how those uppity goddamn suit-makers haven’t realised what an asset you are.’

‘Are you saying that because you like me or because you mean it?’

‘Ouch.’ He murmured. ‘Even if I couldn’t stand you, I would still recognise the fact you’re one of the best agents I’ve ever seen.’

‘Wouldn’t that be an ideal world.’ You snorted. 

‘How about this?’ Jack reached forward, taking your hands in his. ‘It’s clear that whatever happens now, we probably can’t go back to how things were. I can try, but I promise you it won’t happen.’

You nodded in agreement. 

‘So, you can back track on everything we’ve just said and let it affect how we work together, or we can just lean into this whole stupid thing.’ He continued. ‘We’ll work together and play together. Two birds one stone, just until you go back to London.’ 

This was something of a rare opportunity: mutual attraction. Aside from the occasional one night stand in London, you barely had the chance to have fun. After years of hard work, maybe you deserved it. It was just...fooling around. You’d both admitted you liked one another but it was hardly a grand declaration at love. There were some feelings at stake, but not enough for you to be worried. 

‘We need ground rules.’ You replied. ‘I like you and you like me but we have to put the brakes on it there. You have to promise not to fall in love with me. Obsession only, okay?’

Jack tilted his head to the side, as if to say fair enough. ‘Sure thing. Anything else?’

‘The minute this starts to interfere with my work, I’m cutting you out.’ Your tone was a little sterner. ‘Heck, the second it happens, this stops. It’s...an addition to my work, not a replacement.’

‘As your superior...’ he said the words teasingly. You hated that you loved it. ‘I will make that doesn’t happpen.’

‘Good.’ You gave him a curt nod. ‘Then it’s settled.’

You stuck your hand out for him to shake. Jack peered down at it, almost waiting for you to retract it and break into a grin. But that didn’t happen. You were completely serious. Could he put it down to British weirdness? Probably. 

‘You drive me fucking insane.’ The cowboy grabbed your hand, yanking you towards him and capturing you in another kiss. 

tags: @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ @imananxiousdriver​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @66wookies​ @paintballkid711​ @waatermelon-sugaar​ @hepburnwritess​ @haileyybird​ @xjaywritesx​ @jabbajambler​ @the-mandalorian-clone-lover​ @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @wickedmuse​ (message me if you wanna be added!) 

[hankwritten]

The Weight of Other People’s Thoughts

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for @lilythedragon05, Scotland

It was a bad idea to follow that tugging cord at the center of his being, the one that called him to Ullapool, and he never would have dared to entertain it if he knew it would have brought him here.

Jane sat by the ocean, stone’s throw from the town, but his distasteful frown kept his eyes locked firmly ahead instead of gazing dubiously at it. What had he been thinking? Coming to Ullapool had only make him feel worse, not better, a smirch against Tavish’s memory if there ever was one. Rubbing in Tavish’s face that he’d never go home again—and here Jane was, free to frolic across the whole damn planet, even if it took him to stupid countries ending in ‘land’.

He leaned further over his knees, barely feeling the sea breeze as he thought about his dead friend.

His murdered friend, he reminded himself. Murdered by someone who he thought he could trust, who now had to carry that guilt with him for the rest of his life.

Everywhere Jane looked it reminded him of Tavish. Maybe that’s why he’d come: self-flagellation. Appropriate punishment. Or maybe he was so desperate not to forget, he’d take the pain that came with remembering. Torturing himself truly, since he could look on the hills and surrounding coast that he had once only known through enthusiastic descriptions, see for himself the places where a young Tavish had played with dummy-grenades. He could imagine him talking to the local shopkeeps. He could practically see him walking up this very path, groceries in one hand, a newspaper filled with fried fish in the other as he took a large bite out of it-

Wait.

Tavish stopped dead, his face enveloped in utter shock. Still mid-chew, he said, “Jdra-ne?”

Jane leapt to his feet. “Apparition!” He pointed an accusing finger at the offending spirit. “Do not think for a second I will be cowed into repentance by the spectral manifestation of my guilt!”

Tavish nearly choked as he tried to swallow his bite of fish. “I…what?”

“Ghosts serve no purpose on my journey to recovery,” Jane continued. “Not even ones that look like my dead friend! Be gone creature of the other world!”

“What I- I’m not bloody dead.”

Jane squinted at him. He definitely didn’t look dead, totally opaque, no fettered chains representing his sins in life and his guilt over failing to help his fellow Man.

“…Are you sure?” Jane pressed.

“You’d think someone would know if they were dead,” Tavish grumbled poignantly, now glaring at Jane for some reason.

“I killed you though. It was-” -pickaxe right through the sternum, crushing, all the red bits coming out when they should have been in- “That was definitely fatal.”

“Aye, was, but I managed to limp my was back into Respawn range. Took a better part of an hour, but I made it.”

There was something odd to Tavish’s voice, something he wasn’t saying, but the realization that he might actually-seriously-really be alive was starting to set in and Jane was too afraid to believe it.

He took a step closer, past the bench he’d been enjoying his solitude at and completing a full circle around the Demoman. Tavish’s head followed him all the while, up until Jane came to a stop in front of him. “…Promise you are not a ghost?”

“I���m not a ghost,” Tavish said, as convincingly honest as he’d always been. Not that his acting skills hadn’t covered for his mendacity before-

-no, no that was a trick, it all turned out to be a lie a damn lie-

“Fine then. You’re not.” Though Jane would keep his eyes peeled for phantasmal anyway. “What the hell are you doing here then?”

“I live here,” Tavish huffed. “Gravel Wars are over, wasn’t going to spend the rest of my years in some blighted desert. Better question is what are you doing here, yank?”

Crap. Well, maybe a half-truth would suffice. “You always talked so much about Scotland I thought…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Tavish stood there, one hand still clasped around his groceries. The moment dragged on, vast seas of unsaid things between them, of regrets still festering, to which he ended with, “would you like me to show you around?”

Jane looked down, trying not to stare at his shoes but instead at the foreign soil around them. “…Sure. Why not.”

“Everything is incredibly vertical,” Jane complained as they climbed up yet another hill Tavish insisted was part of the journey.

“Aye, that’s why they call it the Highlands, BLU.”

Jane hated how fucking smug he sounded. Hated, and missed it all the same, missed how this bastard could set a fire in his gut just with one of his damn smiles.

“And there she is,” the Demoman said proudly as the crested the final ridge.

“Damn. Really went to crap in the last couple centuries.”

“Oi, don’t point fingers at me! I’ve only been around for forty of those.”

DeGroot Keep was shriveled and hunchbacked since Jane had last seen it, folding under its own legacy as ages had eaten the tallest spires first and chewed its way down to the cob. Still, he could just make out the choke points, the parapets, the places he used to go charging into with his mêlée weapon held high—all sanded down by the years, the vaguest memories of control points where a portal in time had briefly allowed Jane to witness their existence.

“So what,” he asked, following Tavish into the slight dip in the Highlands where the Keep nestled, “you live in here like some sort of anti-Italian?”

“An anti- what now?”

“Anti-Italians! Despises sun, allergic to garlic, doesn’t show up in mirrors, no sex life. Basic literary reference, RED.”

Tavish rolled his eye. “No, I’m not squatting in the dilapidated castle. Got a perfectly nice home down in the village, I just happen to have inherited this along with…all the other crap.” He waved his hand. “I’ve considered shelling out to having it restored but…dunno. Seeing it go from its heyday to this makes me think that in another couple hundred years it’ll just fall apart again.”

He sat on a piece of tumbled rock, one that used to hang over the Keep’s gate, a bright and shining keystone now used as a stool. Jane joined him.

“Don’t get much of this at home, do you? Old crap. Yer country’s still a wee babe you know, nothing’s even falling apart yet.”

“Incorrect!” Jane amended. “There are plenty of old things in America!”

“For last time lad, Thomas Edison wasn’t immortal, and he didn’t be build a second Shangri-La under Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Your statements reveal both your ignorance and your compunction, but I was actually talking about mounds.”

“Mounds,” Tavish repeated dubiously.

“Yes! Mounds! Fourteen hundred years ago Americans were building ceremonial mounds in order to track celestial events! They look like animals from the top, lynx, bears, fish, all that crap. I used to walk next to this bird one every day on the way to school.”

Tavish blinked at him, tilting his head. “No offense Jane, but including Native people usually isn’t in your worldview. Where’d you even learn all ‘o that?”

“My mother taught me, so think insinuating more cyclops—lest you show disrespect against her memory and I am forced to take out your other socket!”

Tavish raised his hands defensively, but there was a smile creeping at the corner. “Alright, alright, I get ye. A Mum’s honor is a serious thing.”

“Hm. Good.” Jane glanced ahead, suddenly afraid of lapsing back into silence, as though Tavish would start to slip away from him if they did. “How is your mother?”

“Ah…she passed some years back.”

“…I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright.” Tavish paused. “I still see her sometimes.”

“Metaphorically or…?”

Tavish glanced at him, but then away just a quickly, as though frightened of what he might see. “I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s alright with you.” Instead, he stared ahead, the sun setting between its cradle within the mountains. “Heh. At least there’s something that’s the same no matter where you go. Always a sunset.”

“Guess so.”

Still, Jane found he liked this one better than the ones back home. At least, better than all the ones he’d seen before he’d met Tavish.

The next day was spent in the village, and Jane couldn’t help but yearn for more of Tavish’s time, more of his attention. His friend. His friend who was still alive. Tavish had a kind word for every person they passed, all of whom didn’t seem to notice Jane at all, simply starting up a conversation with their fellow local and submitting to the rhythm of the morning. Breakfast was some sort of potato scone, but Jane wasn’t hungry, so he just walked beside Tavish as the other man ate. They found themselves at the same bench where they’d first run into each other.

“So,” Tavish asked. “Ullapool everything you thought it would be?”

“Hm. It’s…nice. It is obviously not perfect for geographical reasons entirely outside of its control, but. I understand how it made you the man you are.”

“Me? Nah.” Tavish wiped off his mouth with his sleeve. “I made myself like this.”

Again, he wouldn’t look at Jane, wouldn’t say what they were both thinking. That things had gone wrong, that they had both fucked up. One of them more than the other, but Jane had found him again, and maybe they could still figure something out, still have time to unearth all that they had deemed too dangerous and buried in the sand.

Jane reached forward, and put his hand over where Tavish’s was resting on the bench.

And watched it pass straight through.

Jane sprang away. “I knew it! I knew you were a ghost!”

Likewise, Tavish stood up sharply. “I am not. I bloody told you I was’t.”

“Liar! I will not be swayed by any more perjury from your ethereal mouth!”

“I’m not lying!” Tavish snarled at him, his eye dark and narrowed, burning hotter than the words would imply. “I never lied. I never wanted any of-”

“Blasphemy!”

“Would you just listen for-!”

“You cannot guilt me apparition! For I know that-”

“Shut up! Just fucking shut up!” Tavish’s fist closed around the neck of his scrumpy bottle, half drained before noon, and threw it full force at Jane’s head.

Jane raised an arm to block the incoming blow, but the impact never arrived. A second ticked by, then two, then three, and slowly he lowered his forearm to reveal the panting Demoman behind it, shoulders heaving and an inscrutable expression tearing across his features.

“How’s that for the truth you bleeding idiot,” he said.

Jane looked to Tavish, then rotated his neck slowly, staring at the bottle that had landed in the grass behind him. He blinked, willing what he was looking at to make sense, to suddenly disappear and go back to where things were a second ago. To believe he hadn’t seen that bottle connected with his own nose.

There was something he didn’t want to do, but he did it anyway, turning his gaze forward inch by agonizing inch, staring down at his own hands. Fully taking how translucent they were.

The moment shattered, Tavish tore his eye away. “Fuck. Fuck I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve…”

Jane was still looking at his hands. There was panic, deep and overwhelming rising within him, but there was no raised pulse to accompany it, no sweat on the back of his neck.

He lifted his chin to Tavish. “What? I don’t…”

“I didn’t die,” Tavish said thickly. “You did. I killed you and I walked off and you just bled out for who knows how long and-”

-the pickaxe but also a sword, just as deadly buried two feet into his chest and the man above him trying to shove it in a few extra inches, strangled screaming as it pushed deeper-

Jane hadn’t been paying attention to the last half of Tavish’s muttered confession. The Demoman was crying now, pawing furiously at his one lone eye as stared out valley below them, looking anywhere but at Jane as his sclera turned red.

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “Christ Jane I’m so fucking sorry. If you came to haunt me or whatever I just- I just want you to know that you can’t hate me more than I hate myself. That it’s been killing me every day since.”

He collapsed on the bench, curling away from Jane as he buried his face in his hands.

It could have been some sort of trick. A ghost bottle or…no Jane wouldn’t even try. He attempted to remember what flight he had come in on but couldn’t. He grasped for how many years since the Gravel Wars had ended, and couldn’t find the answer.

Jane was a ghost, yet everything still hurt as much as it had when he had lived. Immaterial, and he still so badly wanted to touch Tavish’s hand.

He sat on the bench next to him. “I didn’t come to make you feel bad, Tavish.”

“Then why did you come?” It sounded like it was meant to be venomous, but instead it only sounded empty—empty and wet with tears, like a plastic bag trampled into a puddle.

Jane looked down at his hands. His useless, ghost hands that he could still knit together. “I…I wanted to see you,” he said truthfully. “I missed you.”

Tavish looked at him, bleary-eyed. He whispered, “I missed you too. So damn much.”

“Whatever I was doing before, I missed you enough to come here. To someplace I thought you would be.”

A panicked jolt crossed Tavish’s face. “You’re not leaving, are you?” The same man who a moment ago thought Jane had come to smother him with guilt was despondent at the idea that Jane might go after all, that he wouldn’t get a chance to hurt himself with his own regret anymore.

“No, no not yet,” Jane said. He tried his best to wrap and arm around Tavish’s shoulder. The mortal shivered where their skin met.

“Okay,” Tavish said quietly. “Okay. Good. Thank you. I don’t think I can…When I saw you sitting up here I couldn’t believe it could be fore something good. That the only reason you’d want to haunt me would be because you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

It was true. Even though he remembered now, remember lying there, thinking how they’d killed each other, Jane had only ever hated the man who’d believed the TV’s lies.

“I really did come because I was thinking of you. Missing you.” Jane paused. “Today was fun. I’m sure you have a lot of other places to show me, right private?”

“…Sure. Sure whatever you want.” Tavish wiped at his nose. “I’m sorry Jane.”

“It’s alright Tavish.” He held his head in the crook of Tavish’s neck. “I’m sorry too.”

[kageygirl]

also on ao3

part 1 here

"Tell me he'll be all right, Roach," Jaskier says softly, but Roach is a clever lady with her own will who doesn't hold with such foolish thoughts, and therefore ignores him, continuing to nibble at a bush.

"I know," he sighs, and shifts to get a bit more comfortable. It's late, and he should just get to his bedroll, instead of curling against the log he'd been using as a backrest, but his crossed arms atop the log make a fair enough pillow. And it would be downright unchivalrous to abandon a lady like that. "I know it's just a ghoul, I know he can handle that, they're probably in a book somewhere with horribly colorful illustrations. A Witcher's First Monster."

Roach snorts, and he mutters, "Yes, well, you're hardly keeping up your end of the conversation, you've no right to criticize my jokes. Put in some effort, why don't you."

It's not that he truly doubts Geralt's abilities, any more than he doubts that the sun will rise in the morning. But sometimes when Geralt goes off alone and it's too quiet, no music or laughter or people to distract him, he thinks about how witchers never retire and his mind runs off into the dark thickets beyond the firelight where all but witchers fear to tread.

He'd been told as a child that his vivid imagination was a curse; it took him years to understand how that could possibly be true.

"I'm sorry, my lady, I shouldn't have said that. You are truly the loveliest of company," he says, resting his cheek against his arm. She's glossy in the fire's reflection, all combed out by Geralt before he left. He would dare anyone to think witchers have no feelings after seeing the care Geralt lavishes upon her. "How about a song, Roach? To lift our spirits?"

She whuffs at her name, and he takes that as assent. Quietly, barely vocalizing at all, he begins an old Redanian pastoral that he hasn't sung in years.

~

He wakes to the smell of leather and oil and sweat, and a tingling at the crown of his head, as if someone had run their fingers through his hair.

"'M awake," he mumbles blearily.

"You shouldn't be," says a low voice. Gravelly voice. Good voice, goes with the smell, and it's... not really a good smell? But it's a particular person's smell, and that person is very good, so: good smell, after all. "Were you bothering my horse?"

"I provided her with" -- he's ambushed by a yawn, cracking his jaw cruelly -- "only the finest entertainment." He rubs an eye with the back of his wrist, trying to wake himself up, but his eyelids have been heartlessly weighted down by some unknown blackguard. "She's a paragon of taste and sophistication. I can tell she appreciated it."

"Mmm."

There's something faintly mocking about that hum, and he's considering mustering the energy for outrage. Any minute how, it'll be right along. "Wanted to wait for you," he says, and sleep's lingering grasp makes it come out more grumpy than he intended -- and more plaintive, too. Bollocks.

His cheeks are just starting to burn, and he's clinging to the possibility that Geralt will just somehow fail to notice, because sometimes one just really needs the gods to give them a break, just forgive all the blasphemy, and --

-- and there are careful fingers trailing through his hair, now, definitely, and oh, he must have been a very good bard indeed. Somehow.

The fingers comb delicately across his scalp, fingertips teasing the fringe away from his face, dipping to curve around the curl of his ear, trailing the warm humming feeling of being cared for behind them. It's the kind of gentleness Geralt never gets to show, because no one ever wants him for that.

Damp-headed fools, the lot of them.

All the tension sighs out of him, and he raises his head a bit, nudging against Geralt's hand. "Feels nice," he murmurs. His cheeks are still prickling with the embers of his embarrassment, but perhaps Geralt will let him blame the lateness of the hour for his dozy neediness.

He's honestly not expecting a reply at all, so when it does come, it burrows that much deeper into his heart. "For me, too," Geralt says, the faintest hesitant rasp, just louder than the crackle of the fire.

The thrill that gives him is the strength he needs to open his eyes.

Geralt is crouched beside him, whole and hale and well. The cheeky firelight makes his pale stubble shine in the dark as it licks at his jaw, and Jaskier is far too well acquainted with the urge to do the same.

He notices the moment Jaskier opens his eyes, because of course he does, and Jaskier only gets the teeniest sliver of an instant to appreciate the soft look in his eyes before his jaw works and he angles his face away. His fingers make one last pass through Jaskier's hair, and then cup the back of his neck. "Get to your bedroll, bard. I'd rather not hear about your back all day tomorrow."

"Fine," he grumbles, just to watch the smirk play at the corners of Geralt's mouth. Then he sets about the monumental task of figuring out where all of his limbs have wandered off to and how to convince them to work together once more.

Like most group endeavors he'd had at Oxenfurt, getting himself to his feet is a qualified success. He stumbles at the finish line, and doesn't mind the mixed metaphor so much when he's saved from falling into the fire by a solid wall of witcher.

It turns out that having his hands unexpectedly pressed against Geralt's chest is a shockingly effective wake-up call. He'd somehow managed to sleep through Geralt getting out of his armor and cleaning himself up and taking care of his swords, and he feels like he's in danger of being chided for that inattention. He can't really worry about that, though, not when he can feel the steady rise and fall of Geralt's muscley chest through a thin layer of cotton, the wolf medallion half-hidden under a fold and winking at him.

He probably spends a bit too long appreciating it, but what is he supposed to do? It's a very nice chest.

He glances up, and Geralt's watching him. Not humorlessly, not sardonically, not any of the other uncharitable adverbs that Jaskier would never put into a song but sometimes considers ever so briefly, just to make a point... but with a patience that feels almost indulgent.

To someone not nearly so fluent in Witcherese, it might not seem like much. But it's such a change from having to scrabble around for (and possibly invent) meagre scraps of affection, so much so that the guards at Jaskier's heart are momentarily laid low.

"I'm glad that you're all right, Geralt." It comes out softly, plainly, in a way he rarely lets himself be. No artifice or dramatic hyperbole, no ironic detachment or invoking an imaginary other. There's an icy coil of panic in his throat after it's out, but he swallows it down; Geralt came back to him unscathed, and he deserves to know that it means something to Jaskier.

"It was only a ghoul." He says it with the supreme unconcern of someone who's dispatched far worse creatures, which is… true. But there's a searching look in his eyes, as if he can't understand why anyone would bother to be concerned about him.

"Yes, well, you're not 'only an' anything," he says, a little hotly, and it's partly about the parade of idiots who've failed to appreciate the witcher, and partly about the idiot in front of him who thinks Jaskier would be one of the former. "You're one of a kind, White Wolf."

Geralt blinks, and then says blandly, "There are other witchers."

Jaskier takes a breath to begin to address that nonsense, and then registers that even for Geralt, that was too bland -- that even with the firelight, his golden eyes are glinting a bit too much. "You know, Geralt -- fine, you're right, you win." He drops his hands and steps back, muttering, "Yes, you're all inter-bloody-changeable, it's ridiculous that I care so much about this witcher in particular..."

He tromps over to his bedroll -- which is nicely laid out already, with a waterskin beside it that he's betting is full, and there probably aren't even any rocks or twigs under it to poke him in the night, and he turns to glare at the witcher who ever so occasionally makes it difficult to remain mad at him, and yes, he appreciates the irony, thank you --

-- only to find that Geralt is in the same spot he was, watching Jaskier, and he looks a bit… lost.

Jaskier caves like a -- whatever it is that caves, he's tired and has other things to worry about. "Geralt?" he asks, stepping back over to him. "What is it?"

"I--" Geralt says, and then drops his chin to stare down and away. When he returns to meeting Jaskier's gaze, only his eyes move. His voice is raspy again when he says, "Thank you."

He has to wind the conversation back a bit -- and skip past the parts that only happened in his head -- but then it hits him, reminding him not a little of once taking a very jarring tiny cannonball to the forehead. "Geralt… that's not a surprise, is it?" he asks, as gently as he knows how. "That I care about you?"

Geralt doesn't answer, just gives him that not-quite-direct look, which is more than answer enough.

"I'm sorry, I -- I always thought you knew," he says, around the lump in his throat. It hurts, to think that Geralt can spot a lie at a thousand paces and hear all the signs that a man's preparing to attack him, but even when it's staring him in the face, he can't sense…

Well. It's just sort of a different language, isn't it? And if a talented and charismatic bard can teach a room full of drunks the history of their realm with a catchy little rhyme, then surely that same bard can handle a single, much more important learner.

He's caught unawares by another yawn, and he blinks back from it to find Geralt facing him again, a somber look in his eyes. "You should rest."

"I should," Jaskier agrees, and he dares to circle his fingers around Geralt's wrist, tugging lightly. "And so should the witcher who made sure there's one less ghoul in the world."

"Three less," Geralt says, and oh, that's new information, but for a wonder, Geralt lets Jaskier pull him towards the bedrolls, so he chooses not to let it upset him. (He'd noted Geralt's bedroll was next to his earlier, of course, but ignored it on the grounds of it not fitting into the narrative of pique he'd been building.)

"Braggart," Jaskier says only, and Geralt breathes out a laugh.

It's right about then that his body decides his borrowed time is up, and he all but collapses into his bedding. He drifts a bit as Geralt goes through his own routine, but stirs himself to roll and face the witcher once he's settled.

"If you wake up before me," he says to Geralt's profile -- as if it happens any other way all that often -- "feel free to play with my hair. If you want."

Geralt snorts, but his mouth curves up, just a bit. "Noted."

Then Geralt reaches over, drawing his thumb and forefinger gently down Jaskier's eyelids, and he's out like the proverbial light.

[keanan1501]

I wanted to make a short drabble for a AU i've been playing around with, that 'short drabble' somehow ended up being 2815 words long.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: (just to be safe)

- mentions of death

- swearing

- mentions of abuse

- mild panic attack

- loss of senses (they return don't worry)

- overstimulation (is that the correct word?)

Also quickly wanna say sorry if something is worded weird or if something is misspelled, english isn't my native language

Tubbo shivers slightly as the cool air whips against the huddled group of five. He hadn't dressed for the cold, he'd dressed for bed, sadly his plans for going to sleep were thwarted by Fundy breaking into his house, screaming about how Dream was building obsidian walls around L'manburg. That's how they got where they are now, Tommy, Ranboo, Quackity, Fundy and of course Tubbo himself standing next to a large obsidian wall, Dream sitting above them with his legs carelessly dangling over the edge.

"Dream you prick, what is this about?!" Tommy is the first to speak, his loud voice being heard over the howling wind. A small smile creeps up on Tubbo's face, no wonder Wilbur chose Tommy as the third president, Tommy had a way of catching people's attention and holding it. Even the masked tyrant couldn't help but pay attention to the blond president, or maybe he is, Tubbo isn't sure, Dream's mask is angled towards them, but who knows where his eyes are looking? Or maybe his eyes are closed?

"He's not going to come down, is he?" Fundy groaned, eyeing the stairs that  would let them climb on top of the obsidian like it had just insulted his entire bloodline, maybe it had, Tubbo wouldn't be suprised if Fundy could talk to stairs. Nothing could suprise Tubbo anymore, not after his older brother died and came back as a ghost.

Tommy lets out a sigh that is best discribed as a mix between resignation and anger before climbing up the steps, Tubbo quickly following after him, and from the noise behind him he can tell Quackity and Fundy are following as well. He turns to look back at Ranboo, Tommy had asked the enderman hybrid to wait near the meeting, and not involve himself, which was reasonable, Ranboo was new, he shouldn't have to dive head-first into petty political arguments. The half black-half white tall male gives him a reassuring smile, and Tubbo can't help but smile back, sure, Ranboo was new, but he'd already made a impression on Tommy and Tubbo, and both were looking for a way to invite Ranboo into this group, a way to make their duo a trio.

Once on the walls Tubbo freezes for a second. Dream isn't alone, Sapnap, George and Punz are with him. "You!" Sapnap spits, and speedwalks forewards, Tubbo would have laughted at how silly the bandana wearing male looked if Sapnap wasn't speedwalking towards him. Sapnap is fuming, he doesn't need to look at the other male's face to realize that, the guy's balled up hands shaking with what could only be discribed as rage tells him the whole story. If that wasn't enough Sapnap grabs the front of his pajama shirt and pulls him close, forcing him to make eye contact, the blaze hybrid's eyes almost look like they're on fire.

"Hey!" Fundy's bark snaps Sapnap out of the one-sided staring contest he was having with Tubbo "Can you at least let Quackity and me on before you go around trying to fight us?!" Sapnap glares at him, and Tubbo mentally scolds the small part of his brain that's still stuck in the past, the small voice in his head telling him to apologize, to courtesy for Schlatt, and to leave as fast as possible, Schlatt was already angry, he'll just piss him off more if he stays, and when Schlatt gets pissed off he-

A soft tail brushing against his hand brings him back to the present, Fundy's looking at him with concerned but understanding eyes. Tubbo takes a moment to remind himself that Schlatt is dead, and to notice Sapnap backed off, and that Tommy is president now. He gives a short and polite nod to Fundy, mouthing a "thanks" he would've said it out loud if Dream and Tommy weren't arguing. Wait... he should probably pay attention.

"-George's house!" Dream yells, throwing his hands up as Tommy splutters nonsense in return, clearly showing of his disagreement with whatever statement Dream made. Tubbo shuffles up besides Quackity, carefully tapping the duck hybrid's middle finger twice, it was their own made up code for "i wasn't paying attention, what's going on?".

"Dream is claiming you burned down George's house" Quackity whispers "Sapnap, Punz and George are backing him up, George and Punz are saying they watched you burn it" Tubbo frowns, he wants to protest against their claims, but Tommy is already doing a great job for him. He walks over to Tommy and places his hand on the taller male's shoulder, a silent show of support.

"Listen Tommy" Dream yells, reaching out to the blonde as if to cover his mouth with a hand, but thinking better of it "Tubbo burned down George's house, we have multiple eye witnesses! Or are you saying Tubbo has a alibi that can prove otherwise?" Tommy nods, full of confidence as always, he smiles brightly as he turns to his vice "Tubbo, where were you yesterday evening, and who were you with?"

Tubbo mulls over his answer, he was working on his bee dome during that time, he was building it with Ranboo. He opens his mouth to answer, but a bad feeling grips his heart and squeezes it, and a lie slips past his lips just as naturally as the truth should have "I was working on my bee dome, alone" why did he lie? The truth would have been so much better! He could faintly hear Dream and Tommy yell some more, but that became background noise. He knew why he lied, he lied because he wanted to protect Ranboo, Ranboo was new, innocent, the perfect prey for opportunistic tyrants such as Dream. Tommy and Tubbo were similar in that aspect, both teens wanted to keep Ranboo from playing metaphorical chess with Dream for as long as possible, Schlatt and Wilbur showed them what happens when you lose against Dream, and neither was ready to let bright-eyed Ranboo have even the tiniest chance of losing.

"I want you to exile Tubbo" Dream's words hit him like Technoblade's rocket, burning him from the inside out and drying his throat, rendering him speechless. From the sudden strangled noises next to him he can tell Tommy, Quackity and Fundy are having the same reaction. Once again, it's Tommy who finds his voice first "You want me to WHAT?! No! No no no no no! Fuck you! Fuck you i am not exiling Tubbo!"

"Well, that's going to be a problem then" Dream whistles, Tubbo could hear the smile in his voice, and with practiced ease he whips out a flint & steel with one hand, and Cat with the other "Tubbo burned down the king's house, and i want punishment for his actions, so either exile him, or i'll burn this disc like he burned George's house"

Quiet settled over the people gathered up on the wall. Tubbo could see Tommy's mouth open and close, trying to force out words that weren't there, could see Fundy flinch and shrink in on himself, ears pinned back and eyes ping-ponging between Tubbo and Tommy, could feel his heart drop, his stomach filling with dread. Everyone who was around for L'manburg's war of independence knows how much Tommy values his discs, everyone who's been on the server for more then a day knew how much Tommy values his friendship with Tubbo, but noone knows which of the two he values more, and Tubbo is petrified of finding out.

Quackity laughs, loud and boisterous, like Dream had just told the best joke he's ever heard "Are you crazy?! No way Tommy is going to chose some disc over Tubbo!" the duck hybrid cackles, wiping away fake laughter tears "Tell him how delusional he is Tommy!"

Tubbo looks back over at Tommy, taking in a sharp gasp of air at the lost expression on his best friend's face. His hands itch, and he knows, he knows he wants to grab Tommy by the arm, drag him away from Dream, away from responsibility, back to their bench, play mellohi... mellohi! He has mellohi!

He reaches out, grabbing Tommy's hand, and letting out a concerned noise as Tommy whips his head around fast enough to make him dizzy "Tubbo, i- i don't-" the blond croaks, pulling the shorter close and stuffing his face into the brunette's shoulder, a bit challenging with their height difference but they make it work "I can't lose you too" Tommy mumbles, and Tubbo is reminded of the fact that Wilbur had practically adopted the blond boy as his brother, something Tommy eagerly returned, all that was missing was the paperwork.

"Tommy, it's just a disc" Quackity huffs, fustration lacing his tone "Tubbo is worth ten times more than some random disc!" Quackity opens his mouth again, no doubt to rant some more, but Tubbo shushes him before turning his attention on the distraught blond, the last thing he needs right now is someone yelling at him

"It's okay Tommy, sometimes sacrifices are needed" Tubbo sighs, carefully scratching the back of Tommy's head in the way he knows Tommy loves, and like he expects the blond melts into it, letting out a quiet hum "Plus, i still have Mellohi, and i'm sure we can get a new disc" Tubbo cheerfully smiles, but that smile drops as Tommy freezes "I don't want a new disc" Tommy pulls away, and dispite not being a very touch-oriented person, Tubbo still mourns the loss of the grounding weight on his shoulder.

"You both are being morons! Dream is threatning to burn my disc!" Tommy snaps, eyes darting between Quackity and Tubbo, almost like he expects both of them to attack him "I thought they were our discs?" Tubbo asks softly, and he could hear Fundy growl out a quiet "Tommy, don't" but both are drowned out by Quackity's yelling "We're being morons?! We?! Tommy open your fucking eyes man! You're concidering wether you should banish a living, breathing, human being capable of emotions, your best friend, over a peice of plastic that plays some tunes when you put it in a jukebox!"

"We aren't sending Tubbo away, are we?" Tubbo wanted to scream, Fundy's question had been asked so softly, but the amount of defeat and hopelessness dripping off of it punched him in the gut, Fundy already knows the answer, and Tubbo wants to scream, because he knows as well. But once again the two quieter members of the cabinet go unheard, as the two louder turn their anger at one another.

" Who cares about some discs?!" Quackity screams, shoving Tommy back a bit, and the blond lets out a animalistic snarl that makes a shiver crawl up Tubbo's spine "I do!" Tommy yells back, pushing Quackity. Both Fundy and Tubbo dart forewards, Fundy grabs Quackity's wrist to stop him from falling off the obsidian wall, while Tubbo pushes Tommy back, placing himself between the two arguing allies, Ranboo's shout of distress could be heard faintly, the enderman hybrid probably noticing how close Quackity had gotten to tumbling down the large structure.

Tommy takes no notice of Quackity's near death experience, and tries to get around Tubbo, no doubt to continue their argument. Tubbo grabs Tommy's wrists, keeping the taller in place "Tommy, i promise you that after this is all over, i'll get you a new Cat disc" Tubbo smiles, rubbing circles onto Tommy's arms with his thumbs "It will take a bit, but i'll get a new one! We can let this one be burned and-" Tubbo's throat tightens as Tommy looks at him with undisguised rage burning in his eyes, the anger that was previously thrown at Quackity had increased ten fold, and Tubbo had just made himself the new target.

Tommy rips his arms out of Tubbo's hold, still staring at him. Tubbo makes himself tinier, knowing he messed up big time, why else would Tommy look at him like he wanted nothing more than to beat him up and leave him bleeding out? Instead of going physical the angry teen takes a deep breath before exploding "You- Tubbo, you don't- THE DISK TUBBO- THE DISKS ARE WORTH MORE THAN YOU EVER WILL BE!".

Quiet. Quiet takes over the whole group. Even the wind stops howling, everyone is shaking, why? Even Dream and his group are shaking. They didn't get yelled at, they didn't get invalidated, Tubbo did, yet they're shaking. He feels two arms tug him away from Tommy, and he weakly struggles against the hold, Tommy didn't mean what he said, he couldn't have meant it!

Quackity pulls him into a one-armed hug, and points his other finger at Tommy, his mouth is moving, and Tubbo's eyes widen. The only person shaking is Tubbo, the world hasn't gone quiet, Tubbo's ears are just ringing and he can't hear anything. As if realizing his situation was the key to everything suddenly noises surround him once more, Quackity and Tommy are yelling, the wind is howling, Fundy is pacing, he's pretty sure he can even hear Ranboo breathing! Everything is too loud! He grabs his own fuzzy ears and tugs, a horrible attempt at blocking out all the noise.

Dream claps his hands in a almost giddy way, and Tubbo flinches "Well, that's settled" he sounds so happy, Tubbo wants to puke "I'm glad we could come to a agreement President Innit" Tubbo watches as Dream pockets the flint & steel and Cat, his movements, his voice, his entire aura screamed dangerously pleased.

Dream reaches for him, and Tubbo lets out a bleet of fright, he wants to scream again, Dream shouldn't be trying to grab him and drag him to Prime knows where! Quick as a fox he escapes from Quackity's hold and dashes to Tommy, knowing his best friend would protect him, no matter what. Dream reaches for him again, and Tubbo tries to dart around Tommy to safety, but a hand grabs his arm and keeps him in place long enough for Dream to grab his wrist and put handcuffs on them.

Tubbo watches the hand that sealed his fate drop from his arm, he follows it as it drops limply to Tommy's side. The blond is looking straight ahead, not looking at him, why isn't he looking at him? "Tommy" Tubbo calls out softly, headbutting the male in the side, aside from a winded "oof" Tommy makes no move to regonize the gesture of affection.

"Tommy, look at me" the male stares straight ahead, no reaction to Tubbo's words "Tommy, look at me please!" Tubbo stumbles back as Dream tugs at the chain connected to his wrists "Tommy look at me goddammit!" Tubbo screams, why won't Tommy look at him? He wants to apologize, to reassure Tommy that none of this was his fault, to ask if they're still friends, but he can't do that, not when Tommy won't meet his eyes.

Tommy finally turns to face him, and Tubbo smiles, taking a breath in preparation for everything he was about to say, but Tommy beats him to it "Tubbo Underscore, i, President Innit, hereby exile you from L'manburg. You will have one hour to leave this country, if you are found in L'manburg after your hour is up, it will be considered treason" Tubbo's words die in his throat, instead a single sob is all that comes out. He takes a look around, both Quackity and Fundy are looking horrified at Tommy, Punz and George look like they'd rather be anywhere else, and to Sapnap's credit, the raven-haired man looks guilty "Well, you heard the president Tubbo, time is ticking, lets go!" Tubbo wouldn't be suprised if Dream explodes from happiness at this point.

Dream tugs on the chains again, and this time Tubbo follows without fighting back. He feels a odd sense of calm, but he knows it won't last, he'll break, he can feel a typhoon of emotions inside of him, but it's going to fast to pick out a single emotion, so he just feels numb. He can feel Tommy's stare on the back of his head, but this time it's him that refuses to acknowledge his best fri- his ex best friend.

As Dream leads him down the stairs he can hear a worried warble from Ranboo, so he puts on a brave face and smiles, not wanting the enderman to remember him as the weeping exiled, because honestly, he doesn't know if he'll make it back alive, or if he'll make it back at all. Tommy, Fundy and Quackity are screaming at eachother again, he can't hear what they're saying, but by their tones it's probably something bad.

"Take care of them for me, okay?" he asks Ranboo, pointing with his head at the L'manburg cabinet "I know they're idiots, but they're lovable idiots, i promise"

[nev3rfound]

night time wanderer : b.b

brief summary: for months you’ve had struggled sleeping, and one night bucky can’t help but intervene

word count: 1.6k requested: nope, something i felt like writing for some good ol’ fluff warnings: none that i’m aware of

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

masterlistin’

permanent taglist

You’d always wait at least an hour before creeping out of your bed, carefully pulling the sheets back and fluffing up the pillows before wandering toward the door. Since you started this, you’ve learnt which floorboards to avoid that creak loudly, and which remain silent.

It was a full mission simply to reach your door unnoticed, but somehow you’ve been pulling it off for months now, undetected.

At least, that’s what you thought.

You weren’t sure how long it had been happening, it could’ve been a few months or maybe closer to a year? Whenever it started, it made a point to stick around.

The correct terminology would labelling yourself an insomniac, the inability to sleep. And to be perfectly honest, it was lousy and you hated the fact you were unable to close your eyes and drift off. Instead, you would stare at your ceiling, counting sheep or listening to relaxing piano. You tried it all, until you simply gave up.

By the time you gave up, you began to wander around the compound at night. You aimlessly wandered the halls or settled in the communal lounge with a book until dawn. When everyone else slowly filed into the kitchen, you could simply play it off as being the first up. No one questioned it, because no one took the time to notice the bags under your eyes.

All except for Bucky.

Tonight was no different, you were all sitting together in the lounge, laughing about memories from previous missions when time got away from you all.

One by one, the Avengers disappeared around the compound, making their way back to their beds. You left in between Thor and Sam, a lot later than the likes of Steve and Tony.

Once the doors were all closed, and the lights in the compound softened you were out. You wrap a dressing gown around your frame and grab those fluffy socks that keep your feet warm against the cool tiles and follow wherever your feet take you.

But this time, you weren’t alone.

His blue eyes followed you as he peeked through his doorframe, watching you dragging yourself off through the compound, humming a tune he heard before. “Where you going, Y/n?” He mutters to himself, watching as you wait for the lift and walk in with a yawn before disappearing from his view.

A soft sigh left your lips as you found yourself up on the roof, burying your hands into the fluffy dressing gown as you curl up, looking out at the city.

Closing your eyes, you wish you could simply fall asleep right here, at this very moment. “Five minutes, please.” You mutter to yourself, wondering if you could possibly trick yourself into the matter.

Five minutes pass by, then ten and soon you glance at your phone to see it’s nearly 4 in the morning.

“Worth a try.” You rise to your feet with a heavy heart and eyes before turning around and jumping. “What the fuck, Bucky!” You blurt out, resting your hand over your heart as it beats sporadically.

Bucky remains still, a smile ghosting his lips as he focuses on you. “Sorry if I scared you, doll.” He comments, humour lacing his tone as you give him that deadly stare you’re known for.

“What’re you doing up, Bucky?” You question, lowering your hand as your heartbeat returns to a steadier speed. “It’s nearly dawn.” You state, glancing over your shoulder as the darkness of the night is beginning to fade away.

“Could ask you the same.” He raises an eyebrow, watching as you shift your focus to the floor, suddenly feeling the cool breeze across your legs.

“Just felt like some air, couldn’t sleep.” You tell him, focusing on how his gaze hardens onto you as he takes a step forward, watching as you step backwards.

Bucky raises his hands up, “It’s okay.” He comments, seeing you bury your hands into your pockets. “I know you don’t sleep, doll.” He speaks up, and as you go to argue, he stops you before you have the chance. “We’re on the same floor, Y/n. You’re stealthy, but not that good.” A chuckle escapes his lips, catching you off guard.

“So you’ve known about this, and not told anyone?” The question leaves your lips as you remain confused. “Why wouldn’t you tell them?”

In response, Bucky shrugs his shoulders. “For the same reason, you don’t want to tell them.” He admits. “You don’t want them to treat you differently, be fragile.”

“If they knew, they’d be worried about me on missions.” You sigh, turning away and focusing on the soft glow of the morning beginning over the trees, hearing birds whistling to one another in preparation for a new day.

“But you’ve been fine on them, hell, Steve’s been slacking out of anyone.” Bucky tells you, smiling to himself as he moves closer toward you, following your line of focus. “You shouldn’t be worried about those things, what if you just crash out at some point?”

Looking up at him, you can see he’s genuinely concerned about you, something you never anticipated. Sure, Bucky has been warm to you which was unexpected considering his cold demeanour, but you weren’t the sharing type.

“Why’re you up here, Bucky?” You turn to face him, catching him off guard as his lips part, but words refuse to follow.

“You look like you needed a friend.” He eventually answers. “If I’m wrong, I’ll be on my way doll.” He holds his hands up as he turns on his heels, heading toward the door. “But if I’m right, all you gotta do is say so.” He sings, knowing you’d roll your eyes as he waits to hear your answer.

Yet, as Bucky reaches the door and opens it, you haven’t responded.

“Y/n?” Turning back around, Bucky’s eyes widen as you stand on the edge of the building, your arms out wide. “Y/n, please, step off the ledge, just take a step back alright.” His voice remains calm despite the rising fear inside of his mind.

“I’m not going to jump, you dummy.” You laugh lightly, lowering your arms to your sides, stepping back onto the roof. Behind you, there’s a long sigh of relief. “I just forget what it feels like sometimes, to be on the edge.”

Stepping forward, Bucky looks over the edge of the building and at the sheer drop. “I think I prefer it away from the ledge.” He counters, seeing you smile up at him playfully causing his heart to flutter ever so slightly.

“You know what I mean, metaphorically speaking.” You state. “Everything feels dull, I’m just going through each day, waiting to enjoy a rest but it doesn’t happen. I can’t shut myself down, no matter how hard I try.” Your voice softens, and Bucky swears there’s an audible crack in your tone. “I just want to sleep, so badly.”

Everything in you breaks down as a few tears spill from your eyes and you naturally move away from Bucky. “Hey, doll,” Bucky coos, following after you. “It’s okay. It’s only me.” He tries to comfort you as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you cry into his chest.

It felt oddly familiar, being in his arms and not wanting to let go. It reminded you of Christmas Eve, sitting by the warm fire with a blanket around you. He was comforting, he felt safe.

“I just wanna shut down for a while.” You manage to admit as Bucky shushes you, running his fingers through your hair as you smile sleepily, melting into his embrace.

“Just close your eyes, Y/n.” Bucky whispers as he helps you sit down with him, you resting in his lap as the warmth of the sun rising hits your back.

If you had to describe it, you could say it felt like an old friend coming home. You missed it, you waited for it to come back and at last, it is.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You whisper as your body begins to feel heavy in his arms, your hands sliding down as gentle snores leave your lips until you’re out.

Bucky smiles at you, helping you lie down on him as he continues to brush through your hair, making sure it remains out of your face. “Anytime, doll.” He mumbles, leaning down gently and kisses your forehead. As he looks down, he swears he can see a smile crossing your lips as the sun casts over your face, illuminating the beauty Bucky loved.

*

Walking through the compound, Steve huffed. “Anyone seen Buck?” He asks around, only to receive a series of shrugs or no’s in response.

“You tried the roof?” Sam speaks up from the kitchen and listens to the sound of Steve’s footsteps nearing the stairs. “Man can’t ever take the damn elevator.” He mutters to himself, shaking his head before returning his attention back to breakfast.

As Steve reaches the door toward the roof, he quietly opens it and swallows the pant in his throat. “Buck?” Steve calls out, stepping away from the door to look around.

Yet, when Steve finds his best friend he can’t help but be intrigued. There you are, fast asleep in Bucky’s arms as Bucky watches the morning play out in the wilderness, seeing the birds in the trees peacefully.

Bucky turns his head, gently lifting one arm up and presses a finger against his lips. “I’ll explain later.” He mouths to Steve, looking back down at you as you shuffle in his arms, hiding your face in his chest once more.

Shocked, Steve simply nods before retreating to the stairs, unable to wipe the smile from his lips at his best friend making a move on the girl he can’t stop smiling about.

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️

@biss-stuff​   @psychicforest​  @lourightm​ @mywinterwolf​   @justsomedreaming​ @stanlux17​ @supermoonchildbroski @xrosegoldwolfx​ @courtneychicken​ @marvelsangels @supraveng @tommy-lee-81 @fandom-princess-forevermore @sarge-barnes-sir @pleasantlysecretdream @decaffeinated--fangirl @howdyherron @kirby-boo

[omoi-no-hoka]

Hi, guys! Sorry for the rather long hiatus. Work is still...soul-consuming haha. But I wanted to make a post about one of my favorite Japanese artists and this really cool song he released a little bit ago! All of his songs just got added to Spotify finally yesterday!

His name is 米津玄師 Yonezu Kenshi, and he is amazing. He started out making Vocaloid music under the name Hachi, in which he programmed all of the instruments and vocals. Now he mostly does music with his own vocals, and he writes and produces all of it. He also used to do all the illustrations for his music videos, and he does the cover art for his albums! I’m always swept away by his creativity and the poetry in his lyrics.

And you know how big a nerd I am about words, so here’s my English translation of my favorite song from his latest album. The song is called ひまわり Himawari (Sunflower).

This is a bit long, so I’ll put a “Read More” thing here. If you open the whole post, you’ll see my translation, and also a breakdown of my favorite kanji and words he uses. Hope you enjoy!

I hope that everyone studying Japanese can take a look at these lyrics, my notes on them, and see that even just listening actively to music can be a good way to study. 💗

ひまわり　Himawari　Sunflower

悲しくって　蹴飛ばした　地面を強く Kanashikutte kettobashita jimen wo tsuyoku Sorrowful, the ground I had sprung away from 跳ねっ返る　光に指を立てて Hanekkaeru hikari ni yubi wo tatete pulled me back strongly. I raised my finger to the light 愛したくて　噛み付いた　喉笛深く aishitakute kamitsuita nodobue fukaku Longingly, biting down on your lips and whistling deeply その様が　あんまりに美しくてさあ Sono sama ga anmari ni utsukushikute saa That visage is simply too beautiful 舌を打って　曠野の中　風に抗い Shita wo utte, kouya no naka kaze ni aragai Click your tongue, defy the wind of this wasteland 夜もすがら　嗄れた産声で歌う yo mo sugara shagareta ubugoe de utau Sing in the hoarse cries of a newborn through the night 遠く遠く見据えていた　凍て星の先まで tooku tooku misuete ita ite hoshi no saki made Shine the light of your bruised heart 痣だらけの心　輝かせて aza darake no kokoro kagayakasete all the way past that frozen star far, far in the distance その姿をいつだって　僕は追いかけていたんだ sono sugata wo itsudatte boku ha oikakete itan da That silhouette, I had always been chasing it. 転がるように線を貫いて　突き刺していく切っ先を korogaru you ni sen wo tsuranuite tukisashite iku kissaki wo I pierced through those stabbing blades as though I were falling 日陰に咲いたひまわりが　今も夏を待っている hikage ni saita himarwari ga ima mo natsu wo matte iru The sunflower blooming in the shade is still waiting for summer 人いきれを裂いて笑ってくれ　僕の奥でもう一度 hito ikire wo saite waratte kure boku no oku de mou ichido Break through that stifling air and laugh for me, deep within me, once more 消し飛べ　散弾銃をぶち抜け　明日へ keshitobe sandanjuu wo buchinuke ashita he Erase it all and fly, fire the shotgun into tomorrow 吐き出せ　北極星へ舵取れ　その手で hakidase hokkyokusei he kaji tore sono te de Get it all out, take the oar to the North Star into your own hands 傷ついて　静脈を不意に巡るエレキ kizutsuite joumyaku wo fui ni meguru ereki Wounded, electricity flows unexpectedly in the veins 掻き毟って　吹き荒び　鳴る哀歌 kakimusshite fukisusabi naru erejii Rip it away, rage upon it, let this elegy ring out 聴こえているあの時から　少しも絶えぬまま kikoeteiru ano toki kara sukoshi mo todaenu mama It never dies down, not even the slightest, from the time I first could hear it 震えるほど全て　消えないぜ furueru hodo subete kienaize It won’t go away, to the point that I’m trembling その姿がいつだって　僕を映し出していた sono sugata ga itsudatte boku wo utsushidashite ita That silhouette, it was always reflecting me もしも同じ街で生まれたら　君のようになれたかな moshimo onaji machi de umaretara kimi no you ni nareta kana If we had been born in the same town, could I have become like you? 日陰に咲いたひまわりが　今も海を見つめてる hikage ni saita himawari ga ima mo umi wo mitsumeteru The sunflower blooming in the shade is still watching the ocean. 聴こえるなら強く叫んでくれ　僕の名をもう一度 kikoeru nara tsuyoku sakende kure boku no na wo mou ichido If you can hear me, scream my name one more time. 鳴き声　かんかん照りの街路で　佗び戯れ nakigoe kankan teri no kairou de wabizare A cry on a sweltering city street, raise a lonely clamor 解き放て　乱反射して遠くへ　鳴り響け tokihanate ranhansha shite tooku he narihibike Let it out, that bent refraction that echoes far into the distance その姿をいつだって　僕は追いかけていたんだ sono sugata wo itsudatte boku ha oikakete itan da That silhouette, I had always been chasing it. 転がるように線を貫いて　突き刺していく切っ先を korogaru you ni sen wo tsuranuite tukisashite iku kissaki wo I pierced through those stabbing blades as though I were falling 日陰に咲いたひまわりが　今も夏を待っている hikage ni saita himarwari ga ima mo natsu wo matte iru The sunflower blooming in the shade is still waiting for summer 人いきれを裂いて笑ってくれ　僕の奥でもう一度 hito ikire wo saite waratte kure boku no oku de mou ichido Break through that stifling air and laugh for me, deep within me, once more 消し飛べ　散弾銃をぶち抜け　明日へ keshitobe sandanjuu wo buchinuke ashita he Erase it all and fly, fire the shotgun into tomorrow 吐き出せ　北極星へ舵取れ　その手で hakidase hokkyokusei he kaji tore sono te de Get it all out, take the oar to the North Star into your own hands 

A Quick Note on Translating Lyrics

I’ve got to say that it’s really hard to translate song lyrics haha. Sometimes the word order is so different between Japanese and English that I have to swap the lyrics. 

遠く遠く見据えていた　凍て星の先まで tooku tooku misuete ita ite hoshi no saki made Shine the light of your bruised heart 痣だらけの心　輝かせて aza darake no kokoro kagayakasete all the way past that frozen star far, far in the distance

The Japanese is actually in reverse order of the English here. Technically, a very direct translation would be “All the way past that frozen star far, far in the distance, shine the light of your bruised heart.” 

Interesting Words

舌を打って shita wo utte click your tongue

In Japanese culture, doing that “tch!” sound by clicking your tongue is rude. It shows that you are impatient, irritated, or frustrated. Many English speakers click their tongue when they’ve been asked a question and need to think about it. If you are a tongue clicker and you go to Japan, try to curb the habit!

The full lyrics here are: “Click your tongue, defy the wind of this wasteland.”

So this really expresses the pent-up frustration and anger in this person.

嗄れた shagareta, kareta hoarse

What I love about this word is the kanji and its radicals. We have 口 (mouth) and 夏 (summer) put into one kanji. Can you imagine what it would be like if all the heat and dryness of summer was in your mouth and throat, and how hoarse and miserable you would feel? What a cool kanji! (Note: this is a very low frequency kanji.)

切っ先 kissaki point (of a sword, etc.)​; pointed verbal attack

I had a hard time translating this line for a lot of reasons, but in particular I wasn’t sure whether this kissaki was a sword or a verbal attack. I can only assume that because this song talks about crying out and singing so much that it must be the verbal meaning, but Yonezu uses many metaphors so I could also see it being blades. 

人いきれ hito ikire body heat from several people in close quarters; stuffy air

This was a new word for me. Again, I found myself unsure of which meaning to use when I translated it. I went for the “stuffy air” meaning in the end because it was more succinct, but I imagine that Yonezu was probably imagining the former meaning, because he mentions streets and cities, which I imagine to be crowded. He’s also asking a person he’s lost to call out, and perhaps they are lost in a metaphorical sea of people. Then again, summer imagery is strong in this song as well. His word choice is just so GOOD. I wish he’d marry me. 

散弾銃をぶち抜け　明日へ sandanjuu wo buchinuke ashita he fire the shotgun into tomorrow

This evokes much more beautiful imagery in Japanese. The kanji for “shotgun” are 散弾銃 (sandanjuu). 散 means “to scatter” or “to spread,” like fallen cherry blossom petals scatter in a gust of wind. So rather than evoking the image of someone pulling a trigger, it evokes the image of the pellets scattering into the air like fireworks or petals almost. 

北極星へ舵取れ　その手で Hokkyokusei he kaji tore sono te de Take the oar to the North Star into your own hands

Ahhhh this is just so freaking pretty. “Take the oar to to the North Star into your own hands.” In other words, determine your own fate, take charge of your life. I just love the “oar” here.

吹き荒び fukisusabi to blow fiercely; to rage, to play (a flute, etc.) for fun

Again, I wasn’t sure how to interpret this line because of the multiple meanings woven into this word. Japanese is SO. COOL. you guys.

哀歌 aika lament (song); elegy; dirge; sad song

My man Yonezu out here bein tricky. Though the official lyrics use the kanji 哀歌, he actually sings this as エレジー (elegy). And that rhymes with the last word of the previous line, エレキ (ereki). Typically, Japanese songwriters tend not to think too much about rhyming. In fact, in Japanese in general, rhyming isn’t thought of as frequently as it is in English. So the fact that Yonezu used this interesting play on words with 哀歌 was pretty cool to me.

震えるほど全て　消えないぜ furueru hodo subete kienai ze It won’t go away, to the point that I’m trembling

I just didn’t have a way to translate the feelings in the ぜ here. “Ze” is a sentence-ending particle that usually shows a person’s confidence. So for him to use it here as he describes himself trembling, is like he’s putting on a front of confidence when really he’s deeply troubled. 

佗び戯れ wabizare ???????

This was my favorite word in the song, and also the hardest one to translate! It doesn’t appear to be a real word in the dictionary, but it’s an imperative made of two different words: 侘び and 戯れ.

Have you ever heard of the term “wabi” or “wabisabi?” It’s this concept of Japanese culture and aesthetics that focuses on the beauty of impermanence and solitude, and an appreciation for the sorrow that comes with the transience.

To look up the definition of “wabi,” it means “taste for the simple and quiet; rustic simplicity; austere refinement; wabi​,” or “enjoyment of a quiet life.”

But to look up the kanji of wabi (侘), we learn that it means “proud, lonely.”

So this is a very nuanced word! I think that the “wabi” of our word “wabizare” is meant to conjure the meaning of the kanji wabi, “proud, lonely.”

Now, 戯. Zare means “pleasantry; joke; tomfoolery​.” There is also a word 戯言 zaregoto, which means “nonsense” or “wishful thinking bordering on nonsense.” I imagine that when Yonezu created this word  佗び戯れ wabizare, he wanted to combine the “proud and lonely” with “wishful thinking bordering on nonsense.” 

鳴き声　かんかん照りの街路で　佗び戯れ nakigoe kankan teri no kairou de wabizare A cry on a sweltering city street, raise a lonely clamor

In other words, he’s asking this person to call out to him, but he knows that they are far away, too far for him to hear. He wants them to give out a cry, one that will sound as lonely as it does nonsensical because there is no way it will reach him.

Uh... What Does This Song Actually Mean?

Disclaimer: This is entirely my own opinion and it could be totally wrong! I always believe that everyone can interpret any piece of art how they like.

The tricky thing about Japanese is that you can omit subjects, and Yonezu does that a lot. So unless there’s an imperative or a use of pronouns, I’m not sure which line is about whom. 

But basically, I think that there was this beautiful person that the singer came to know, someone that they loved and admired. But that person fell into a very dark, hopeless situation. They are “a sunflower blooming in the shade, waiting for summer,” and the singer wants that person to reach out to him. “If you can hear me, scream my name one more time. A cry on a sweltering city street, raise a lonely clamor.” 

The chorus is all imperatives, telling the person to leap into tomorrow, to get it all out, to take the oars into their own hands and head for the North Star. 

I think that this song is all about the singer wanting to help a person they care deeply for, and imploring that person to take action rather than suffer passively.

The End!

I hope that you guys liked this post and that maybe you learned some new words and even found a new artist you love! 

Would people like to see more lyrics translations? They’re kinda fun!