#this is a joke post nobody reblog until i put the second part

[sirompp]

im pregnant

[technitaur]

This post echoes a lot of the things that I've realized in the past couple of years. I've done pretty much a complete 180 in my idea of what good game design is. The person that I reblogged this from has watched the transformation in realtime.

NOTE: I started this post with my thoughts somewhat well organized, but eventually it devolves into a rant about my gaming experiences over the past 20 years. But as tangent-filled as the post is, I think it may resonate with people, so I'm gonna leave it as-is.

Warning: I am an extremely long-winded person. Bring a snack!

It always used to be a bit of a running joke between me and Jinarra - for a long time, I was staunchly Vanilla™ about my approach to games. I felt that modding games (even those that are explicitly designed for it, like Bethesda games) cheapened them somehow, or made the player's accomplishments somehow less valid. Jinarra has always believed the opposite - that modding a game out the ass makes it so much better.

And it wasn't until I got into game development myself that I realized Jinarra was right.

I always had this weird hangup of 'I want to experience the game in the way the developers intended,' because I thought that would make me look cool to other 'hardcore gamers.' And I would just play the games over and over and over again in the exact same way.

I derived some weird sense of pride out of being Vanilla, of being 'pure', of being able to succeed in an unmodded game where skills didn't increase at 10x the normal rate or whatnot. I was proud of my ability to grit my teeth and sit through all 17,030 Heal spellcasts needed to max out my Restoration.

Boy, what a waste of my valuable time. And for what? The perceived ability to dunk on my friends for not being hardcore enough in a leisure activity? Really, it did quite the opposite. This never earned me any respect. All it did was make me look foolish.

And that was just in single player games.

My time spent in MMOs was even worse.

I can't tell you how many times I've stuck around in toxic group environments because I was chasing clout, and because the game's design made it very easy for toxic group behaviors to form.

I've made a conscious decision to avoid joining guilds anymore. Really, I've largely stopped playing games where guilds are even a thing. Because I know that no matter how cool the guild might be when I first join up, there is a 100% chance that I will eventually start sacrificing my own physical and mental health to pick up whatever slack might exist in that guild.

Whether it's farming needed materials that nobody else is farming, or trying to manage interpersonal conflicts that are happening, or staying up long hours to hand-hold players that refuse to put in the time to learn the game and learn how to fend for themselves - this has happened to me in every. Single. Guild. I've ever become a prominent figure in.

Even the ones that were filled with legitimately cool people.

A lot of it is my own fault, of course - for being someone who has such a hard time saying 'no.' But the way that MMOs are designed also heavily encourages this kind of 'second job' mentality. People know that helping their guildmates with The Grind™ is just part of life when you're in a guild. And it's propped up as this Good, Right thing to do.

If you aren't willing to force yourself to stay awake a couple extra hours, dragging your ass, just to help this one guy farm his achievements, many guilds will see you as an unhelpful guildmate. The logic is that the rest of the guild will help you farm your achievements, so you're expected to help them, too - even if the achievement doesn't actually give any kind of material benefit to anyone.

I think that at this point, I'm kind of venting more than I'm actually making a point, so I'll circle back to the point I was trying to make: MMOs are very good at trapping players in the Perpetual Midgame, especially because guild environments exert a subtle (hell, often a not-so-subtle) peer pressure on the people in them.

It becomes normal - and some people will even claim that it's a positive thing - that in order to remain an accepted part of the guild, you not only have to maintain your own perpetual midgame (keeping up with gear and personal raid supplies and whatnot)... but you're required to spend time helping other players maintain their perpetual midgames, too.

And it's all in the interest of keeping players logging on every day, to see whatever new things have popped up in the MTX shop.

Games like Dwarf Fortress may have a perpetual midgame that can get a bit boring - but when I hit that point, I know that I won't be ruffling anyone's feathers if I say to myself 'I'm not feeling this anymore, I'll come back in a few months.' And I do.

And when the mood for DF hits again, I have a great time with it all over again. The skills I learned in my last go-round with the game are usually still relevant in single-player games, and I can have fun trying things a little bit differently next time.

But MMOs are another breed entirely. If you want to remain relevant, you have to keep up with the latest build guides and meta, you have to get your daily quests and your (*SHUDDER*) Mythic+ and your whatever-the-hell-else in, and you have to make sure you do it every day/week or you're going to fall behind the rest of your guild. If you want to keep raiding with them till the end of the expansion, you must stay on track.

If you want to actually participate in the 'endgame' of an MMO (which is progression raiding, usually), you're not allowed to play the game on an 'in the mood for it' basis, like you can with something like DF. You have to play it consistently, every day. Like it's a job.

I was stuck in this mentality for an embarrassingly long time, and I am sad to say that I genuinely looked on 'casual' players with pity and derision.

Then I got into game development.

And I started thinking about what my 'dream game' was.

What game would I make if I were in charge of everything? What mechanics would I employ?

I haven't made that game yet. I haven't even come up with a solid idea of what it would actually be. But I DO know what it's NOT going to be.

After a lot of thought, I realized that if I were to implement a lot of my previously 'favorite' mechanics into my game... they're actually very predatory, if I were to implement them 'correctly.'

In the process of learning game development, I have become much more aware of when a game is artificially wasting my time. And I have come to greatly resent many games that I used to love.

I'm even starting to dislike Fallout 76 (I know, bad game is bad haha, just pretend I'm talking about the Actual Popular Game Du Jour). Because it is slowly but surely implementing that 'you must play daily if you want to stay relevant' bullshit.

There are pieces of gear that you currently have to grind for over three months to be able to afford. And those are just the guaranteed pieces. There are people who have been farming for a specific random drop for 5 years and they STILL haven't gotten it yet.

Hell, a while back they even started introducing Mythic+ style 'content.' It's not required if you want to participate in endgame boss fights... yet. But I have a feeling it's only a matter of time.

I put 'content' in air quotes because it's not really content. It's just that randomized challenge bullshit where some days you get a combination of enemies/effects that's alright and then some days it's almost physically impossible to make the timer.

Sure, there are some days that I'm actually feeling it and it is fun. But 95% of the time, it's just a daily chore that players do ad nauseum while they try to complete a set of gear that is a side-grade that they'll probably never use anyway.

My game won't be all of these things that I once held on such a high pedestal. It won't be a game that you have to grind in for 500+ hours just to begin feeling powerful. It won't be a game that forces you to train on a daily basis and keep up with an ever-changing meta just to stay relevant. It won't be a game that openly delights in completely screwing you over just because RNG wasn't on your side.

When I was a kid, my dream was always to create a multi-player RPG. But now, that hypothetical game that I make one day? It probably won't even be a multi-player game.

And by God, it will be modding-friendly. Even if it's only in the sense of 'I'm not savvy enough to include built-in modding support, but I also won't try to stop you from modding my game. Here's a list of functions and a summary of how I've left them open to play around with. Go ahead and jam BepInEx into this thing and go nuts.'

Some people go on about how games 'back in the day' required so much time and energy and how it was a good thing. They imply that if you want to start actually enjoying your experience within the first 100 hours of a game, you don't have any patience, and you just want instant gratification.

YEAH, I WANT INSTANT GRATIFICATION. OBVIOUSLY. IT'S A VIDEO GAME. It's SUPPOSED to be ENTERTAINMENT. I am not supposed to have to WORK for my gratification in ENTERTAINMENT. I should be allowed to want that gratification in whatever form pleases me.

I get in moods where I appreciate The Grind™ as much as anyone else, and when I do get in those moods, I'll play a game that is all about that grind. And I love it! But it's disheartening to come to the realization that so many games out there now are like that. It's basically the default state of any RPG, now. Doubly so if the game heavily relies on procedural generation.

I do enjoy procedural generation in games, but there are some games where you can just tell that they're using it as a huge crutch in place of real content.

It's especially frustrating when the game is advertised as having all these amazing varied hand-crafted environments but it turns out that it's mostly just empty space skinned by a dozen or so palette/asset swaps. (Looking at you, Star Trek Online. As of about 3-4 years ago, anyway. Maybe it's changed since then, but I doubt it.)

Fallout 76 was originally supposed to appeal to an older, more casual audience - the same people who had been loyal fans since Fallout 1 (or even Wasteland 1!) - but as the years pass, it's becoming the same soulless grind that every other multiplayer online RPG has resigned themselves to being.

I have a huge number of games in my Steam library. But ever since I got into game development, the number of playable games in that list has dramatically shrunk.

I've stopped seeing most of them as playable, because now I see them as the perpetual-midgame mindless achievement-hunting time-wasting grindfests that they are.

I now tend more towards games that are better described as 'toys' than 'games'. Stuff that I can easily bend to my liking and create my own rules of play. This is the exact opposite of what I used to prefer. Where I once used to worship WoW progression raiding as the pinnacle of all gaming, now I'd rather just shit around in Garry's Mod DarkRP or enjoy the challenge of writing automated bots for text-based RPGs that allow them.

(If you've never tried Garry's Mod DarkRP or similar, I highly recommend doing it at least once. In many ways, it's the purest form of expression and fun I've ever seen in an online video game. It is a sloppy, stunning, stupid, beautiful combination of LARPing and shitposting. Yeah, it is still a festering bastion of 'edgy,' offensive humor, but if you can look past the bad apples, you can find some truly hilarious and chaotic encounters.)

I've said it before and I'll say it again: 30+ years ago, in the 'golden age' of super difficult games where you only had a few lives for the whole game and had to start all over if you lost them all... back then, video games could afford to waste your time, because there simply weren't many of them compared to now.

When you knew that you were only going to get 2-3 good Nintendo games a year, those RPGs that boasted 80+ hours of playtime were a BIG DEAL. And back then, they actually did give you 80+ hours in meaningfully varied environments with meaningful stories. Procedural generation as we know it wasn't a thing at the time, so they made that shit count.

Now, there are thousands upon thousands upon thousands of games out there, all vying for our attention. And those that have ongoing server costs vie especially hard. But it's not even the companies that I really blame at this point.

I blame the hordes of slavering 'hardcore' fanboys (and I am well aware that I used to be one of those people!) who insist that games that artificially waste your time are GOOD. That you should just uninstall already if you're not tough enough to spend 20 hours a week on daily quests and dungeons just to have the 'privilege' of spending 3-4 hours getting brutally wiped by the same boss over and over.

Well. I did uninstall, actually. I've permanently uninstalled quite a few games once I saw them for what they really were. But I think I'm in the minority. I think there will always be more people trapped in the loop than those who have escaped it, and big game companies are bound to cater to whichever group is more profitable.

There is a part of me that misses the days when I did genuinely believe that I actually enjoyed farming bosses for hours on end trying to score a Stone of Jordan. Back then, it was an easy source of dopamine. But it was also a tremendous waste of my time, and pretty harmful to my mental health at the end of the day. Although it took me until age 39 to fully realize this, I suppose it's better late than never.

Even though I've escaped the loop, I'm still bitter about the games that once held me in their clutches. Because deep down, I know that those predatory games with dark patterns are always going to be more popular and financially successful than any truly-casual-friendly game I could possibly make.

Hey, where's all the endgames?

Any time I'm browsing through my Steam library, I see Stellaris staring out at me, with a big ol' number on hours played next to a prompt asking if I'd recommend it to people. I don't generally do user reviews, but also I never actually know if I'd recommend that one to anyone, because the developers keep doing massive overhauls every so often that it's perpetually a totally different experience from the last time I played it. So now and then I'll fire it up again, put in another large number of hours, struggle for a little coming to grips with some feature that's completely changed, but get a handle on that, start thriving, get to the end game, and then just kinda stall out and quagmire for some reason or another. For the longest time I thought this was happening because the newly redesigned way the game worked meant there was some new concept I had to be mindful of for the whole game or it'd eventually come around and bite me, but on my most recent attempt to get a handle on it, the mid-game complications tipped their hand a little too hard and I realized no, I keep stalling out into an unending mid-game because that's how the game is designed to work.

It helps that this is the first time I've played it since somehow ending up with a big ol' pile of DLC, as the constant redesigns are really pretty blatantly structured such that you really need to have the DLC for it to feel like a properly functioning experience. Otherwise there's just a bunch of weird dummied out stuff basically. But yeah, Stellaris is set up with a variety of both hard and soft systems such that any time you really hit the momentum to start dominating the map and taking everything over, SOME sort of sudden crisis is going to pop up and demand your attention. Do you have a big enough fleet to take out anyone who might oppose you? Well, every other faction in the galaxy is suddenly going to form a federation where if you attack one of them, you're at war with all of them. Reach a point where that's a fight you can handle? Uh... there's suddenly a massive pirate fleet poking at you from behind! Dealt with that? Oh, well, here's a "random" disaster to destroy half your economy. Those fallen empires just sitting on the map with their overkill death fleets the whole game have decided they now have a problem with you. Space Godzilla suddenly appears and starts eating the whole galaxy. SOMETHING is going to happen to perpetually keep you in still a pretty good position but with some big crisis demanding your attention so you can't just go mop the map up.

Attempting to play this game before I realized this was how it worked was super frustrating, because I thought I was just always missing something really important and playing badly, but, OK no, it's just generating new problems on the fly to maintain this eternal mid-game. I'm... not going to call that bad design. I can see it appealing to a certain kind of person, but me? I hate it. And I hate how commonplace it's getting.

Dwarf Fortress is rad, and kind of has a bad endgame. At some point, you're either going to lose your fortress to early bad luck or some critical mismanagement, or get overwhelmed by invading goblins or forgotten beasts or something, but if you play well, you can get to a point where those sort of threats are fully manageable, and from there... either you just get really bored because the normal ways you interact with the game don't have any fresh challenges to offer, or you train up an impressive army and start conquering/destroying/exploring the world in a less than engaging mode most people don't know exists, OR you can go the traditional route, dig too greedily and too deep, crack open hell, and have demons flood your fortress. Like it shows in the intro. I don't really like any of these, but they're something, and Dwarf Fortress is quite famously a super ambitious game that's not anywhere close to finished and may never be.

Dwarf Fortress clones are getting pretty popular, and a feature I keep seeing them advertising is some sort of adversarial event manager that will keep hitting you with random disasters, paced out such that you always get hit with something new if you start getting complacent... and they do this instead of having any sort of end game.

There's a lot of survival type things with infinite procedural worlds. You explore this area and build up tools and defenses and deal with some aggressive enemies, and that leaves you in a position to venture out towards that big landmark on the horizon where even more aggressive enemies will attack you as you try and get even more resources to explore the next landmark, and this just continues forever, this is the game.

Basically every MMO's "endgame" is a series of really hard to survive dungeons/boss fights that give you slightly better gear than what you came in with which should let you just barely manage the next dungeon/boss fight and we're just literally going to keep adding these forever, hopefully at a pace where you aren't just sitting there bored waiting for the next one to go in because you're done with the last one.

And like, again, I dunno, maybe this is just me, but THIS IS THE MYTH OF SISYPHUS! Hades was super mad at a guy and decided to subject him to the absolute worst punishment he could think of- being tasked with pushing a boulder to the top of a hill, but rigging it so that every time he got close to the top, the boulder would slide off and roll all the way back down. So he's just stuck in this eternal loop of the mid-game of boulder pushing. And people who give talks and write papers on game design will say this is great because the strenuous task of pushing the boulder up the hill is the core gameplay loop and that's where all the focus should be.

This feels like a fundamental failure of game design from where I sit, but it's possible I'm just showing my age. I'm just barely old enough to remember when infinitely looping through the same stuff until you screw up and die was just what videogames were. Every arcade game was this single screen challenge where you kill everything or you platform to some goal or you do a race, and then maybe there'd be a few other similar levels, but ultimately you loop back to the first screen you started on but the difficulty's been incremented up in some way, usually just kinda ratcheting the speed up, and yeah, you just play until you lose, maybe get on the high score chart. Then the NES came along and people realized this design philosophy didn't really work when people buy a game up front and that's that, versus feeding quarters in every time they sit down with it, and the fundamental nature of game design changed, and now we've got a more narratively structured sort of deal where you're continually moving through a variety of novel situations requiring greater and greater mastery of the mechanics a particular game is bringing to the table until we build to a proper climax that really puts all your skills to the test and then gives you a nice little ending afterwards.

And like, technically this is subjective, but I am certain that more or less everyone at the time agreed that a game structured like Contra or Super Mario Bros. was just hands down better than a game structured like Pacman or Space Invaders.

Now, it DOES make sense to me why the bloated dying dinosaurs that are big name game publishers are super keen on undoing about 40 years of progress and returning to that Sisyphian drudgery. Ultimately, they want to munch quarters again. And while I would rather passionately debate how true this actually is, the corporate consensus on how to make the most money from games is to... trick people into compulsively playing a game for as long as they possible, while not especially enjoying it, through a combination of having no end game and pressures like "daily login bonuses" while tempting them with little additions that theoretically will make it a more enjoyable experience but ultimately have very little impact (cosmetic DLC stuff, little minor content packs, etc.) and just kinda maintain this false hope that if they stick it out and keep throwing in money it will eventually become a more satisfying experience.

But besides, you know, the fact that the people making their money out of that sort of gross exploitative model keep giving their GDC talks about compelling game loops and player retention and microtransactions and all, I can't for the life of me work out why indie developers who presumably just want to make a really cool game and maybe a better one later are ALSO increasingly designing games with thes endless mid-games and no real longterm goals to work towards. So... please stop doing that? Focus on making games that are only as long as they need to be, where you acquire some skills and ways of approaching problems, then get tested on those, and have a nice satisfying ending, then get to move on to play something else cool, and fondly remember this experience such that they'll hopefully want to see what you do next.

I personally would also very much like to spend all my time making things like that, and it'd be so much easier to focus on that if I didn't have to waste all my time begging for rent money and struggling to stay alive with all the medical problems I can't afford to see doctors about. So... maybe help a gal out there?

[suchalonelysunflower]

“She’s got You Mesmerized” (C.H)

Pairing: Calum Hod X Reader

Requested: Yes!

Summary: Based on the song “Heather” by Conan Gray. You notice how Calum seems to fall for the new intern at the studio, even when he doesn’t realize it.

Warnings: The reader uses she/her pronouns, I’m sorry if I make anyone uncomfortable by that, it was not my intention at all. Angst with a happy ending. Language. Jealousy. Mentions of Cheating. Maybe some grammar mistakes (English is not my first language, sorry)

Word Count: 2K

Author’s Note: Requested by the lovely @rime-warrior I hope I could do it justice 💕 There are some lyrics hiding in the story. Feedback, Comments and Reblogs are always welcome! I love to hear from you guys ❤️ You can read my other works HERE. Happy reading 🦋

@rime-warrior: Hi! Can you please write an imagine with Calum based on the song “heather” by Conan gray :) (yes I am in my feelings at the moment)

Relationships are hard. You knew that. They can’t survive only on love, that would be foolish. No, you need to take compromise, to communicate, to have some sort of connection beyond the physical attraction and be respectful towards each other. But, most importantly, you need trust.

And you trusted Calum, you really did, with all your heart. He had done nothing but make you happy every single day for the past two years. Of course, dating a rockstar is not an easy thing to do, but despite the paparazzi, the fans and the constant going away on tour, you made it work.

You still remember the night that he made it official, when on a cold December night he posted that picture of you in his favorite and iconic hoodie “It looks better on her anyway” he captioned it.

It was not like him to brag about his personal life on social media, and the fact that he did that just made your relationship stronger from then on, knowing that you were in this together till the end of the line.

You were happy and in love. It seemed like nothing could penetrate the little bubble that you created for yourselves. Well, that was until her.

Calum texted you inviting you to the studio that day, saying that the two of you could grab dinner afterwards. It’s been a while since you spend some quality time with him since he came back from yet another very successful tour, so you accepted immediately. You got yourself ready, grabbed the keys to your car and drove, your heart already excited.

When you got there, however, all that emotion died down a little, your smile quivering a bit when you saw Calum sitting alone in a room with another girl. He was laughing at something she said, shaking his head amusingly as she placed her hand on his knee. You had a bad feeling about this. You didn’t know who this mystery girl was, but you knew Calum, and he would never cheat on you, would he?

Almost like he could sense your presence, your boyfriend lifted his gaze and smiled as he met yours through the big window of the booth. He quickly got up and ran towards the door, wrapping his arms around your waist and softly pecking your lips, making your thoughts fade away in his embrace.

“Hello, gorgeous” he hummed, resting his chin at the top of your head.

“Hey, handsome” You said with a smile, pulling away from him just enough so you could look him in the eyes “Ready to go?”

“Yeap. But first, I want you to meet someone”

Calum went inside the booth one more time and grabbed the girl by her hand, making her stand up and follow his way to you.

“This is Heather. Heather, Y/N”

Oh shit, she was pretty. A true sight for sore eyes . Her blue eyes contrasted perfectly with her raven black hair, she had curves in all the right places and her complexion seemed angelic. You weren’t completely sure if she was real or just a vision until she extended her hand towards you.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Heather said shaking your hand. Smiling like a kid.

“She’s been helping us with the album” Calum said looking at her “She’s an amazing songwriter. Honestly, she puts all of us to shame!”

“Oh, please stop! Cal here is just being too nice”

“No, I’m not! I swear Y/N, she’s a genius”

They started laughing and you awkwardly joined in, not really understanding if there was joke.

“Well, I’m sure if Calum says it, then it must be true” You gently, grabbed your boyfriend’s hand and intertwined your fingers with his “It was so nice to meet you, Heather”

She smiled and said a little “likewise” before heading back to the booth. You and Calum made your way to the parking lot, and as you left the building you couldn’t help but comment “She seems nice”

“Oh, she is”

“And pretty”

“Is she?” Calum raised an eyebrow at you, making it seem like she just thought about it “Huh, guess I never noticed. Maybe it’s because I have the prettiest girl as my girlfriend” He smiled as he brought you closer to him, placing a kiss on your forehead, making your heart flutter.

Maybe he didn’t notice. But you definitely did.

Over the last couple of months, you noticed how Heather was always around. On the studio, on the casual hangouts, on the nights out and on every party.. everywhere you go there she was. Always looking like an angel and always hanging around close to Calum. Maybe even too close for your liking.

Calum was always very touchy with the people he liked. Always hugging and kissing his friends on the cheek, never afraid to show affection. And that is something you absolutely love about him, but seeing him being that affectionate with her made you feel uneasy.

You couldn’t help but feel a hint of jealousy every time he put his arm around her shoulders, or how she would playfully hold his hand to compare sizes. You didn’t know if you were mad at Heather for leaning her head on his shoulder or at Calum for letting her get that close. You knew you could trust him, but you didn’t know if you could trust her.

She was nice. Sometimes too nice, actually. Making you feel bad about having those insecure feelings running around your head. But sometimes you just couldn’t help but wish she’d leave for good. Still not trusting her at all.

As the days went by, you sit and watched your suspicions came true as her flirting became more aggressive towards your, seemingly unaware, boyfriend. Not even trying to hide it or pretend to have an ounce of respect towards you as she laid her legs across his lap, play ‘pretend fighting’, laugh way to hard at all his jokes, leaving lingering touches here and there or took a lot of selfies kissing his cheeks. Even the fans thought you guys were broken up at some point, but nobody else seemed to notice, especially Calum. Maybe you were exaggerating.

You were getting ready to go out tonight, the band had just released a new single that went straight to number one and they needed to celebrate it. You were putting on some makeup when Calum came out of the bathroom, already dressed to impress.

“Hey, Y/N. Could you take a picture of my outfit? Luke asked for it so he could figure out what to wear since he can’t decide”

You laughed and nodded at his request. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, you quickly started taking picture after picture, giggling at your boyfriend’s absurd poses. It was in the middle of all that scene that he got a text. It wasn’t your intention to open it, but your finger clicked on it by accident.

Heather 🙃💕: Thnks for the hoodie 💕💕🥰 can’t wait to see you 2nite ❤️❤️

Attached to it there was a very provocative mirror selfie of her, wearing nothing more than his empathy hoodie. The one he gave to you or that you stole from him every time you miss him and wanted to feel close to him. Your favorite. His favorite. And, apparently, hers as well.

Calum noticed how your expression changed drastically in a matter of seconds. One minute ago you were laughing with him and now it seems like you were about to burst into tears.

“Love, is everything okay?” He asked, making you lift your head, breaking your trance from the screen. You were livid.

“I don’t know” you spat “You tell me”

Turning the screen to his face, Calum’s eyes widened as he saw the picture, grabbing the phone out of your hands.

“Why is she sending you pictures like this?”

“I- I-“

He stuttered, making your face fall in disappointment “Calum, be honest” You said defeatedly “Are you cheating on me?”

Calum snapped his head at you.

“What?! Of course not!”

“And you expect me to believe you?” You said, gesturing at the phone in his hand.

“How can you say that? Y/N this means nothing!”

“You gave her your sweater!”

“It’s a fucking piece of fabric! It’s just polyester! It’s nothing”

“It wasn’t nothing to me!” You cry, not being able to hold it in anymore “I just- I just don’t know why would you ever kiss me when she’s standing right there! Practically begging you to do it. I’m not even half as pretty or talented or anything to call your attention anymore”

“What?”

“Please, Calum. I know you like her better. I see your eyes as she walks by. I see how you look at her while I die inside, you never seem to notice me but you always notice her, and I know because some time ago you used to look at me the same way. You’re spending all your time with her, laughing at her jokes and letting her flirt with you shamelessly. She’s got you mesmerized and you don’t even realize it. I wish I were Heather, maybe that way you could love me back” You whisper that last part, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“Y/N, that it’s not true. That is not the same way I look at you at all. I love you. Heather and I are just friends” Calum said, rubbing his hand down his face.

“Does she know that?”

“Y/N..”

“I don’t feel like going out anymore” You mutter, standing up, walking straight to the bathroom and locking the door.

As soon as you closed it, Calum was banging the door on the other side “Y/N”

“Just go, Calum”

“Fucking hell, Y/N. Don’t do this!” He was getting impatient “You’re being childish! C’mon, we’ll be late!”

“Then go! I’m not leaving”

You heard him mutter a “For fucks sake” before silence came over you two, only for it to be broken fifteen minutes later by the sound of the car driving off the street. Only then you allowed yourself to cry again.

You didn’t know how much time you spend like this, sitting on the floor with your back pressed to the hard wooden door, crying until you felt like you couldn’t cry anymore. So, slowly you got up, took all your makeup and your clothes, put on some pajamas and went to bed, not sure if Calum will be back for the night. Not sure if he will be back at all.

Tears started to burn your eyes once again and you allowed them to roll down your cheeks and stain your pillowcase. Your sobs rocking you until you drifted away in dreams.

Moments later, maybe a few hours or minutes, you were woken up by a large figure laying next to you on the bed. He was back.

Calum scooted closer to you, bringing his arms around your frame and pulling you into his embrace. He hid his head on the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of small kisses down its way.

“Cal..” You whispered. Your voice hoarse from all the crying “What are you doing?”

“You were right”

His voice sounded small, broken. Not like him at all.

You turned around in his arms, facing him in the darkness “What?”

Calum let out a sigh “You were right about Heather. She was flirting with me and I didn’t notice, but tonight she tried to make a move and kiss me…” You held your breath, not sure if you wanted to hear what he had to say next “She didn’t get to do it though, I pushed her away immediately and told her to never do that again. Next thing I know I was on my way here. On my way to you”

“Calum..”

“I’m sorry, baby. I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have invalidated your feelings the way I did, I should’ve listen. You’re the only one for me, love. I only got eyes for you, always you. You’re the only one who got me mesmerized, my everything. I’m sorry I haven’t shown it a lot lately, I’ll make it up to you”

You hummed and lifted your head so you could press your lips against him. He welcomed the kiss by placing his hand on your cheek and caressing it lightly.

“I’ll get that sweater back for you, I promise” He said, kissing your forehead.

“Oh, she can have it or you could burn it. I don’t care. I have the the only thing that matters right here, right now in my arms” He chucked at your response, bringing you closer to him.

“I love you”

“I love you, more” You hummed against his chest, breaking the comfortable silence once again after a while “Does this mean that I can say ‘I told you so’?”

[andersunmenschlich]

"Was I Abused" game

Copied and pasted from this post by @furiousgoldfish (to save space since you can't reformat anything in posts you reblog).

Is it accurate? Who knows! My memories of childhood are incomplete! Besides, a lot of these things seem frankly normal to me and not abusive at all... which, if they are abusive, is probably an especially bad sign. Hm. Anyway, on to the game!

Reblog and bold the things your parents have done to you! Italicize if you're not sure. (copy paste it all and then bold)

Physical abuse

parent slapped me to prove their point / teach me a lesson (I don't remember. It would have been loss of temper anyhow, not point-proving or lesson-teaching.)

parent spanked me as a “punishment” saying it was for my own good (Hey, I was raised full-on Michael Pearl TTUAC-style. This is foundational.)

parent pulled on my hair to force me to move

parent threw things at me while angry, things heavy enough to hurt me (Kind of? She and my sister were on my bed, top bunk. I was cowering on the floor. But I dunno if she was angry.)

parent trapped me in a room/corner so I couldn’t escape them (I don't remember. But I do know, in my very bones, that there was no escape from them. You couldn't run. You couldn't hide. And trying would only make things worse.)

parent hit me when I wouldn’t obey them / tried to confront them (To Train Up A Child, people.)

parent used a twig / stick / belt to lash at my body (Again—this is the Pearl technique. My parents broke a lot of wooden paint mixing sticks on me before discovering this whippy plastic rod about the thickness of a pencil! You could sharpen the end in a pencil sharpener, too. They had a ton of those, it seemed like. And a short one for trips outside the house; it fit in Mom's purse.)

parent grabbed me to force me to pay attention to them

parent pinned me down and physically prevented me from escaping (...Yeah. Again, this is the Pearl technique.)

parent brought me into situations where I feared for my life (I—look, it's not like the fears were rational or anything. It's just that the world is terrifying when you're autistic and so much hurts. And have been taught your whole life that "the world" is a terrible, dangerous place that can kill you both physically and spiritually. Yeah.)

parent made it painfully obvious for me that I’ll obey them or suffer injuries (I mean. TTUAC.)

parent threatened to beat me if I wouldn’t do as they say (This was the most basic part of my childhood. Like air. Under what circumstances would this not be the case? Unimaginable.)

parent forcefully fed me something I refused to eat (Does not letting you eat between meals, and putting the same food in front of you at each meal—over and over again until you either eat it or it grows mold—count?)

parent made an attempt at strangling / drowning / burning me

parent banged my head / body into the wall / furniture (To be fair, I hit him first. And it's not like I broke the table when his punch sent me across the room: I didn't hit it that hard. Just busted open the back of my head a bit.)

parent forced me into sexual activities

Emotional abuse

parent called me derogatory names and slurs more than once (Frankly, I'm still reasonably convinced that I am a monster. And evil. And I am definitely a fool, at least biblically speaking. "The fool says in his heart, 'There is no god,'" indeed.)

parent said my name mostly with hatred and scorn in their voice (To be fair, it was my name.)

parent degraded and humiliated me in front of others for fun

parent insulted and devalued something really important to me (I mean, in retrospect, it was dumb. Just a worthless paper model of a house, that's all. It wasn't even that great. I was a little kid, after all. So what if I'd spent all day on it? It was still garbage, really.)

parent deprived me of something that meant the world to me (I don't remember. I genuinely don't remember, but I still have trouble admitting that I care about anything because part of me is terrified that if anyone knows I like a thing they'll have a way to hurt me, and that fear has to have come from somewhere, right?)

parent yelled and swore at me in anger more than once

parent blamed me for things that were out of my control/not my fault (And they do feel bad about this now.)

parent shamed me for my physical appearance

parent guilt-tripped me for not pleasing them well enough (I mean, they tried. But good luck; I have no idea what guilt feels like. I bought a book about it because I was curious.)

parent regarded me as a burden, and shamed me for needing them at all (Hmm. I don't really do shame either. I was a burden, though.)

parent insisted I couldn’t take a joke after I was hurt by their insults

parent never comforted me / got angry if I reached for comfort (Again, to be fair: I'm autistic. I'm pretty sure they were just having trouble with my body language and facial expressions. Why else would they punish me for bad attitude when all I wanted was to be cooed at and fluttered over with the same concern they showed my siblings when they cried about their wounded knees?)

parent punished me for crying / showing fear / showing trauma symptoms

parent humiliated me for showing excitement and happiness

parent subtly let me know that my feelings and my problems don’t matter (They, uh. They don't. My feelings and problems are mine. Why should anyone else care? It's genuinely not their problem.)

parent got angry at me for feeling depressed / angry / tired / suicidal

parent blamed me for feeling depressed / angry / tired / suicidal (Who else's fault would it be? They're my feelings, produced by my body and brain, experienced only by me, in my own head. Dang if I see how anybody else could be to blame.)

parent compared me to cousins / other children to prove how I’m the worst (Dang you, Perfect Second Child. ... Although... in retrospect... that set-up wasn't great for you either, was it. Hm.)

parent decided for me how I feel when it was convenient for them

parent told me that I was crazy / delusional / need to be locked away (I don't remember. It sounds familiar. But I don't. I don't remember.)

parent threatened me with kicking me out / sending me away if I don’t change (Kind of? Does it count if you overhear your parents talking about it in their locked bedroom? Not their fault I was listening at the door, surely. They were genuinely considering it. I can't blame them. I was a terrible child.)

parent refused to accept my sexuality gender / tried to force it to change

parent required me to act normal to protect family’s reputation

parent isolated me from family activities they all enjoy (Nooo, haha, I did that all on my own.)

parent assured me that nobody will ever want me (I mean... "only a mother could love" is a saying for a reason. And if even my own mother couldn't love me, well! I don't remember whether anyone told me this outright. It just seemed... obvious.)

parent insisted that I was lucky and that I could have had it much worse (I could have!)

parent made me responsible for their well-being and made me the caretaker

parent insisted that their harmful acts were all done “out of love” (The subject of love was confusing. "I don't love you," "I hate you," "I have to love you because you're my child, so I love you—but I don't have to like you, and I don't, I don't like you at all" ...it was all very confusing.)

parent demanded I be available for their requests at any time (Well, yes, obviously. To Train Up A Child was very clear about this.)

parent punished me for trying to establish boundaries (Boundaries, boundaries. Hmm. Interesting concept....)

parent destroyed my belongings as a form of revenge (Revenge? I don't know. Consequences, I think it was. For keeping all my favorite toys on my bed, and nesting in them. So obviously they had to be thrown onto the floor. And at my head. Ahaha.)

parent made inappropriate sex jokes and comments in my presence

parent denied doing any of this and insists that all the blame is on me (I'm not sure they aren't right, honestly. As previously noted, I am a horrible person, and I was even more horrible as a child.)

Psychological Abuse

parent kept pointing out my flaws as proofs that I won't achieve anything (Mmm... was it them, or was it me doing this? Seems like they were always telling me how intelligent I was, how talented, how much promise I had. The voices asking why wasn't I doing anything, why couldn't I use the gifts God had given me correctly, why was I wasting it all, I'm the stupidest smart person ever, garbage, can't do anything right, etc., seem to have always come from my own mind.)

parent called me stupid, incompetent, ignorant, while withholding information that I needed to know in order to complete tasks

parent would change their side of the agreement at a crucial moment and then pretend it was obvious from the start

parent stalked me / distrusted me without any reason / invaded my privacy (I'm really not sure. What privacy? A four-bedroom house with twelve people in it has very little room for privacy. And if you have nothing to hide....)

parent attacked my insecurities and vulnerabilities in any argument (Dad's always been very good at this. It's his emotional intelligence, I think. Never been much of a cryer, but he can do it to me every time!)

parent forced me into degrading actions while they watched

parent threatened to leave me

parent regularly accused me of behaving the way they did

parent never acknowledged, praised or approved of my actions

parent always demanded they be acknowledged as right without any proof / explanation (Sort of? They had explanations. It's just that those explanations were often terrible. Not that my parents were aware of that.)

parent insisted that they’re a great parent using financial support as proof

parent insisted that I should be grateful for how good they are to me (Keeping me safe from the world! The evil, dirty, disgusting world, full of immoral monsters! Oh, the horrible things that could happen to me without their protection! ...Which is not entirely untrue, I guess. But... I dunno....)

parent gaslit me and tried to make me believe my memories weren’t real if I confronted them with what they did

Neglect

parent didn’t notice I haven’t been eating properly (Frankly, I preferred that. I never much cared for being forced to eat things that made me feel sick.)

parent didn’t notice I was sick / didn’t care for me while I was sick

parent didn’t notice I was injured (Eh. After the first few years of my life, that suited me just fine.)

parent didn’t notice I didn’t have clothes / shoes I needed for school (I didn't go to school.)

parent didn’t notice I suffered from trauma (Look, it's—it's the autism again, okay? Living in a world that hurts you horribly at unpredictable moments is traumatic. I didn't know it was trauma. I just thought it was life. So how could they have known?)

parent didn’t notice I was anxious and stressed (Oh, they noticed that.)

parent didn’t notice I was depressed (Once again—I didn't realize. So how could they? I'm really not sure this counts.)

parent didn’t notice I was cutting myself (Whipping myself, actually. With tree branches. Until the skin broke. Hmm, that was when I was in my early teens, though—as a kid I used to turn a little wooden rocking chair upside down and throw myself into the sharp ends of the rockers. To be fair, they might have noticed. Just... who really cares? I was a rough and tumble kid. Scrapes and bruises and cuts and what-have-you were to be expected. Anyway, there was no cutting; I never cut myself.)

parent didn’t notice I was suicidal (I wasn't. I'm not. I won't be. Mind over matter. Ha.)

parent didn’t notice I was being sexually abused

parent didn’t notice I was being bullied

parent failed to get me medical attention when it was needed

parent failed to teach me the very basics of self care

parent didn’t seem to notice any of my needs and feelings except the absolute minimum I required to survive (Uh. Anything more than the absolute minimum you require to survive isn't a need. You need to survive. Do you really need anything else? I mean, it's nice, a definite plus, but....)

when I notified them of these things, they denied it, accused me of lying, decided it wasn’t happening and/or blamed me for it

Financial Abuse

parent made me feel ashamed for needing money

parent made me feel like I was a financial burden to them (But I was. Come on, now. There's no way honesty counts as abuse. ...Is there?)

parent only gave me minimal money to survive (I don't—there were kids out there getting money from their parents? I mean, they're giving you clothes, food, and shelter already. What for would you need money? I must be missing something.)

parent made sure I never have a decent amount of money on me (Again—I never had that much money. Quarters from the Tooth Fairy: that was it. Money from birthday cards or whatever went in the college fund under their bed. "For your future." And I raided that stash later to buy books anyhow.)

parent took the money I earned from me

parent used the money to blackmail me (if you continue this way let’s see who will pay for your bus ticket!)

parent insisted since they “pay for my stuff” they have the right to control my behaviour and actions (and attitudes. Is this, um. Is this not true?)

parent had enough money for luxury but kept me without anything

parent refused to get my medicine / get me medical attention because it’s too expensive while they got everything for themselves (Nah, they didn't visit the doctor either.)

parent would keep me anxious over if they would pay my expenses or not

parent would make me do as much work for them as possible before they would pay for a necessity

parent kept me in the dark over family finances even when I was of age (Was that them, though? Or was that me? It's difficult to know what's going on with your money when you can't go outside during the day—so no bank visits—and you don't have the password to your bank account because you never asked for it, so you can't do anything online. Which was just as well, because my laptop was... not great. Almost certainly terribly insecure.)

parent would make sure I never have enough money to escape them

If you bold more than 5 things, you have been through abuse. For some particular ones, even one true thing on this list means you’ve been badly harmed by your parents. Also this list is not complete, there are many more abusive behaviours not listed here, feel free to add!

[hopesbarnes]

Black Swan (4)

Summary: Y/N used to be a Russian spy under the code name Black Swan. But that was a lifetime ago, now she’s a part-time avenger, dance teacher, surrogate sister to Natasha Romanoff, and trainer to new Shield Agents. She’s come a long way from the days of killing targets and being tortured. But when someone from her past comes around will she be able to ignore her history anymore? Or will she end up falling in love with the only man her sister ever loved?

A/N: Will be reblogged to @rogvewrites​ at 12 pm tomorrow. I am also taking next week off from posting bc ya girl needs a mini-break.  

also! tell me thoughts and feelings abt this one:)

The two of you return from your adventure in the grocery store and unpack the car and restock the fridge together. You even make sure to organize in the way Steve likes to avoid arguing with him later. Why the spices needed to be alphabetical, you didn’t know. But you did it anyway. Better to just do it than have the same argument for the thousandth time. 

“Do you maybe wanna watch another movie?” you ask as you put his precious ice cream in the freezer after he puts a note reading ‘Eat and I will kill you - Winter Soldier’ on the top of the tub. 

“How about that one you mentioned at the store, Going to the Future?”, he suggests.

“Back to the Future, Bucky. It’s called Back to the Future. And you sure? It’s a trilogy and that’s a lot of time to spend with me!” you say half-joking, half-serious. He was still getting used to the tower and sitting through three movies is a lot

“I’m sure. I don’t mind spending time with you,” he admits.

“I kind of have to work on some choreography for a bit, but we can watch it later?” He nods and heads towards his room. You head towards the studio Tony constructed for you and Natasha and stretch while playing ‘Waltz of the Flower’, the song you assigned to the youngest group of girls, all aged 6-8. It would be their first ‘big girl dance’ and you had to make sure the choreography wasn’t too complicated for them to remember. It was Tuesday night now, and the girl’s class was tomorrow night. Trying to come up with a dance at the same time as teaching them was disastrous, so it’s better to come prepared and focused. 

It only took an hour or so to map out formations the girls would be in, and edit the music down to the time you wanted. You planned out the first minute of the song, and couldn’t do more until you see how it looked with the girls. Nobody else was around so you decided to play some music on the speakers and free dance. You let John Mayer’s voice fill the room and put on your pointe shoes, letting the music take control. Unbeknownst to you Bucky stood outside the room and watched from the window in the door. Your fluid movements and rhythmic turns captured him, and he knew he was starting to like you more than a friend.  

When you felt lighter and less stressed you stopped the music and removed the shoes. It was still pretty early so there was time to start the movie marathon. After a quick shower, you called him through Friday and arranged to meet him in the group living room. 

Bucky came, ice cream in tow, and hesitantly laid against the couch. You popped a bag of popcorn and got settled in.

“So there’s three of these?” he asked and you laughed.

“Yup! We can watch the others another time though, we have time,” you said and he smiled at the idea of having time. Time to just relax, and time to relax with you. You start the movie and he stays pretty quiet until the Delorian flies. Bucky looked amazed as the car flew. 

“You know Stark almost had a flying car before the war. I remember seeing it, it hovered a second or two ‘fore falling to the ground again.” he said fondly. You smiled at him, not wanting to ask any more questions in case it led to what happened to Tony’s parents. It was good that he remembered the event though. You had read all about the Stark Expo and Howard Stark’s car that floated in a time before cars even had mandatory seat belts. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for most of the movie, only adding small comments towards the movie or laughing as it played. When the movie’s credits roll, you look over to his spot on the couch to see what he thought. But instead, you see him sleeping soundly, his bowl empty and beside him on the couch. He looked peaceful, and you didn’t dare disturb that. You draped a blanket over him as the rest of the tower tricked in from their day’s activities. You shush them and send a stern look their way and they get the gist. Everyone but Steve retreats to their rooms. He points at Bucky and puts his arms out questioning but you just smile and shrug in response. He drops his things off by the wall and motions his head towards his room, silently asking you to follow.  

You followed Steve to his room and plop down on his couch, ready for a lecture. It no doubt was coming, he had his ‘dad look’ on. You had no idea the topic, but he always did this when he wanted to talk about something serious. Motioned to his room, and then sat on the chair opposite the couch.

“You and Buck seem close.” he starts, forming the words hesitantly. You just nod in reply.

“I haven’t seen him this close to someone since ‘fore the war. It’s nice,” he admits. “You know I worry about him, he spent so long taking care of me. Back when I was that scrawny little asshole who didn’t stop fighting. Figured I owe it to him now. He won’t ask for help, ‘s not him.” 

You nod. Boy did you know that feeling well. “It’s like me and Natalia. I took care of her when she was younger when she was naive. God, she used to think she was invincible and would get in such trouble. Never would’ve imagined it with how she is now. I mean, now I feel like she’s the mature one. Don’t get me wrong, I still have to hold her when she gets emotional, but she watches out for me more than I do for her now. The years have definitely flipped our roles.”

“Never seen her emotional, huh.” He says blinking in surprise. To Steve, she was the Widow that saved his ass one too many times. “But yeah. I guess like that. I, well, bring it up because I want to make sure you and I have the same idea when it comes to Bucky. He can’t handle getting hurt right now, it’d break him,” Steve says in an authoritarian voice. You were getting the strict girlfriends’ dad talk from him.

You laugh, “Isn’t the talk usually given to the guy not to break the girl's heart? Trust me, we’re just friends.” you sigh audibly. You didn’t want to date Bucky, even if he laughed at your jokes and looked like a good person to cuddle with. You shake the thought from your head. “Plus, I mean we can’t even date! Girls don’t date people their sisters were in love with that’d just be horr-.” You pause, realizing the word vomit that just came out. 

“Shit,” You say softly. 

“Shit,” Steve repeats back. He slumps back in the chair confused. “Shit is definitely right. I didn’t know Natasha was in love with Bucky. Heck, I didn’t even think they crossed paths. Wasn’t she KGB not Hydra?” he asks.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that, I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone. And she’s not in love with him now, she was when we were younger. Hydra and KGB were different sides of the same coin. They intersected at times.” You can’t believe you told Steve. What a great sister you are.

“Please promise you won’t say anything. Just try and forget I said anything,” you add on beggingly. 

 “So you knew him too? Before the airport?” Shit, you just accidentally opened a door to a story you hated going through. 

“If you promise not to say anything, I’ll explain.”

 “Deal,” he says. So you start retelling the story for the second time in two months. 

[silver-wield]

Nobody asked for this one, but I said I was gonna do it anyway. Barret and Cloud's friendship development.

Don't worry, I'm not gonna make a mile long post. I'm just gonna hit on the key moments, but I think these two deserve a bit of spotlight.

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven’t played – do I still need to do this? Eh ok, (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it’s gonna be reasonably long.

Also, this is one person’s interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that’s cool and we’ll agree to disagree.

You’re also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I’m grabbing them from Youtube and it’s frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Other analyses if anyone’s interested.

Shinra HQ vision scene (Cloti/plot analysis) 

Chapter 3 (Cloti reblog) 

Tifa character analysis 

Aerith Resolution (plot analysis/theory – I should probably update this since I’ve had other ideas since then) 

Train graveyard (not really an analysis, but I got some sweet screenshots of Cloti) 

Clotiscrew tunnel analysis 

Cloti reunion analysis 

The Promise Analysis 

Andrea’s approval (Cloti ask response) 

Leslie analysis (not mine, but a good read) 

Cloti action touching 

Aerti friendship analysis 

Cloti body language chapter 3 

Cloti healthy disagreement 

Cloti post heliboss battle (chapter 15) 

Clerith playground scene 

Cloti body language plate fall 

Now, strap in and enjoy the ride.

I'm not recapping the whole game lol

Chapter 1: Barret isn't impressed one bit with Cloud. Watching back their early interactions and I keep noticing this sad look on Cloud's face when he's excluded. But then, I'm also like “Well you pushed them away first”. But I also wanna hug him.

Yeah, so Barret isn't impressed and he's outright hostile, calling Cloud names and antagonising him. He even shoots at Cloud and then raises his gun to take out a security bot. This man doesn't like Cloud and isn't afraid to show it.

You gotta remember, Barret is 6'5 and built like a brick shit house and has a machine gun on his arm. He's not someone to mess with. Taking that in, Cloud's dismissiveness is pretty impressive. I mean he's almost a foot shorter than Barret, after all, and his sword probably weighs more than him lol

Perhaps by the end of the chapter – after Cloud saves Jessie – Barret might have thawed a tiny bit towards him, but he's still mistrusting and doesn't like him.

Chapter 2 and there's not a lot of interaction between them. Barret does actually agree with Cloud when he says “what's done is done” in reference to the destruction. This shows Barret is pragmatic and not against Cloud himself, just his role. After that, Cloud's alone for the rest of the chapter until the above screen when he leaps into the cargo carriage of the train and Barret says, “You had me worried for a minute.”

He looks caught out when the others all look at him because he's been a total dick to Cloud throughout the mission, but this shows he cares about his team, even if he doesn't like everyone on it. Showing concern for his people is the trait of a leader and if the game were showcased differently we could assume that Barret is our leading man.

“The folks down here don't have the luxury of choice, you know.”

Still in chapter 2 and this is such a great moment between Cloud and Barret! There's no arguing, just Barret giving Cloud a different perspective that's not the badass merc “Idc” one he's showcasing. You can see once the conversation is over that Cloud grows introspective, so Barret's words clearly resonated with him. This looks like another marker on Cloud's chart of going from a douchebag to a decent human being. He thinks about how things are for other people. Later, Marle tells him to consider others feelings, too. To listen. I'm loving all these small moments that come together to build a clearer of picture of Cloud's development.

Barret actually removes his sunglasses – why is he wearing them at night? – to meet Cloud's eye. This is a gesture that shows his sincerity and belief in his words. He's not just blustering for the sake of it. He cares about the people and the planet.

Chapter 3 and we don't see Barret until near the end. He's back to being snappy with Cloud – understandable since he's being a dick going on about money.

(aside: can I just squee at Cloud smiling at Tifa through this whole bit. He's such a dork)

And when we see Barret again he's very professional and courteous. There's no emotion in his tone and his words are very formal. He could be talking to anybody. His head dips as he's speaking, in an effort to lower himself more to Cloud's physical level. On an emotional one, he's making himself non-threatening. This isn’t a confrontation is what he’s putting out.

Cloud doesn't look happy at the dismissal and something we know about him is his desire for acceptance, so this probably hurts, although he acts otherwise.

We're up to chapter 5 and this is a turning point between Cloud and Barret's budding friendship. Barret's in battle dialogue makes it clear he's trying to show off in front of Cloud, who's dismissive still. There's a lot of back and forth between them in the kind of guy banter that suggests they kind of respect each other, but they also just have to put up with each other.

The above screen is the second before Cloud says to Barret that he's better than that in response to his arguing with the Shinra manager. Barret seems surprised Cloud even tries with him, but what's more telling is this expression from Cloud shows he gave it some thought before speaking. He considered the right words to address Barret which shows he's thought about the kind of reaction Barret could have. He took in Barret’s words from chapter 2 and Marle’s from chapter 3. This is called character development!

Chapter and Cloud throws some shade and Barret blusters lol

Tbf Barret's grown a lot less hostile since chapter 1. He's not as combative to Cloud, nor is he maliciously insulting him anymore. They've entered a stage of snarky banter, which we all know is one of the big steps on the road to friendship lol

Clearly Barret being able to see Cloud in action and rely on him in battle – not to mention Tifa's enduring good opinion – are starting to colour his own opinion.

(Tifa actually rears back when Barret waves his arm around in this bit lol)

Barret looking to Cloud for back up here. I mean, they're all in the shit, but this is interesting that he's looking to Cloud for that reassurance they're gonna continue kicking ass. The fact Cloud agrees without even the tiniest disagreement is probably the first time they're genuinely on the same page through their own choice.

Let the friendship begin!

Now, I bet you're thinking I picked this one to showcase cloti, well you're wrong. This is an example of how Barret's mellowed towards Cloud from his chapter 1 hostility to now. Cloud disagrees with him and instead of getting pissed that his leader decision is overruled, he lets it go.This could be a moment of contention between them, but they’ve both grown enough over the game to get to the point that not everything between them is a fight.

Now, maybe Barret's saying this because he thinks Cloud is about to die, but that seems selfish and like he's saying it to make himself feel better after being a douchebag, and for a selfless man like Barret I just don't buy it. He's genuinely regretful of his past actions and this is the point between the two of them that they can start again and actually become proper friends.

There's no time for much of a guy reunion between them when Barret does see Cloud again all the way over in chapter 12 -- that’s a long ass time apart for Barret to think about how he treated Cloud -- and we kind of brush past Barret's feelings because the plate collapse takes priority.

After that, Barret is much nicer to Cloud, trying to get his praise in battle and being a proper support to him. There's still that snarky banter between them, but the hostile edge has gone. We see a culmination of their friendship development during the stairs climbing sequence. Where before their banter had a hard edge and combative nature to it, this is very friendly and full of jokes and warmth. Barret has definitely softened towards Cloud and considers him a real friend. You can't fake that shit.

Conclusion

Yeah, I kinda cut this short and didn't do the latter half of the game, but that's because it's much more clear than this early development. Focusing on the small interactions between them that built a gradual friendship, it took a huge shock to get Barret to reassess his opinion of Cloud and him dropping from the reactor, going missing and then showing up to save the day covered it. It was like he got a reset and from that he dropped his prejudiced preconceived ideas about Cloud and opened up to him more. Because there’s such a huge gap between the time Barret sees Cloud again, it’s easy to miss the middle part of their friendship. The part where it goes from dislike to like. It’s easy to remember Barret hating Cloud and then see them being a team after chapter 12 because those moments stick in your mind more. It’s the transition that gets lost.

I love their development and how they become friends. It's not the kind of friendship that Barret shows with Red. Those two are bros the instant they met. Cloud and Barret's relationship is more complicated because of Cloud's role and identity. It takes Barret a long time to see past that persona, especially when he's only got evidence of that to go on – unlike Tifa. Once he does, he gives Cloud his full support and trust.

I, for one, can’t wait to see how they go forward in Barret’s arc.

[pancakesfor2]

And They Were Roommates (4)

Summary: Unforeseen circumstances lead to you needing a roommate; when Bucky steps up, old feelings come back to light. The only problem is that he has a girlfriend.

Warnings: Cursing, cheating

Words: 1383

Written for @babylevines writing challenge! My prompt will be in a later chapter!

Note: So this is definetly my favorite chapter and I’m very excited to see how you all react to it! If the formatting is a little off it’s because I’m on vacation and I’m posting this from my iPad, but I wanted to get it out for Sebastian’s birthday. Let me know if anyone has any issues.

Masterlist and Series Masterlist are in my bio! 

You woke up and for about five seconds everything was fine and then the events of yesterday hit you like a truck. “Fuck…” you muttered, rolling out of bed and trudging to the bathroom to get ready for your day.

“Morning!” called Bucky from the kitchen.

“Morning,” you replied much less enthusiastically, slumping into one of the barstools in front of your kitchen counter.

“You okay? You went to bed without dinner last night,” he asked, pushing a plate of pancakes towards you.

“I ate with Tony,” you lied. “Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you about something.” You tried to keep your face blank, not wanting him to think that anything was wrong even though something definitely was.

“Can it wait until tonight?” Not really “I lost a bet so I gotta pick up breakfast for Sam before class,” he explained.

“Yeah of course!” Fuck. It’d probably be better if he heard the news at the end of the day anyways, you didn’t want to ruin his whole day.

“Great, thanks!” He said, already halfway out the door, leaving you alone with your breakfast.

If someone asked you what you did for the rest of the day you would never be able to tell them. You went to class and learned absolutely nothing. This thing with Dot was taking over your life and it wasn’t even your relationship.

You were glad you had classes today though, you’d probably go crazy if you didn’t have something to do to pass the time before Bucky got home. You usually went to the library to study for a couple of hours after class, but today you knew you wouldn’t get anything done, so you saved yourself the walk and just went home.

It was only four in the afternoon, and Bucky wouldn’t be home for at least a few more hours so you decided to take a nap to pass the time. You let your bag fall onto the floor, and crawled into bed. You reached over to grab your phone from the nightstand to set an alarm to wake you up, but instead of picking it up, you knocked it to the floor. Why was everything going wrong today?

You rolled over the edge of the bed and pulled on the charger cord to pick up the phone, hoping that the screen wasn’t cracked. Luckily it wasn’t, so you set the alarm and let yourself try to fall asleep.

You rolled left and right, getting up to turn over the pillow when it got too warm. When you finally drifted off, it felt like you were only asleep for ten minutes before you were woken up by your phone ringing.

Groggily, you sat up and grabbed the phone, seeing Tony’s face staring back at you from the screen. Why was he calling you? Tony didn’t call anyone. You figured it was probably about the Dot situation, but with Tony it could be anything.

“Hey, everything okay?” You asked.

“Yeah, just wanted to find out how Barnes took the news,” he replied, confirming your suspicions.

“I uh haven’t told him yet.”

“Why not?”

“When I got home he was with Dot and then he was running late this morning and I didn’t wanna ruin his day. But I’ll tell him tonight for sure.” Unless you chickened out again.

“Good luck! Okay I gotta go, Steve’s coming over and I wanna try and make him dinner.”

“Please try not to burn down another building,” you groaned, knowing that Tony had absolutely zero cooking abilities.

“No promises!” he laughed, before hanging up.

It wasn’t long before you heard the click of Bucky’s key in the lock, “Honey I’m home!” he joked, joining you on the couch in your living room. He seemed so happy and carefree and you hated that you’d be the one to ruin his good mood.

“How was your day?” you asked, moving over so he could have more space.

“Pretty great actually, class ended early, so I went to the gym with Sam and Steve, and then afterwards we got ice cream from the new place across the street from Steve’s apartment.” He paused and reached into his backpack, pulling out what looked like a kid’s lunchbox. “I got you some too, but I didn’t want it to melt so I bought this to put it in. Here, lemme stick this in the freezer and then you can tell me what you were gonna tell me this morning?”

Fuck he’s cute. “Sounds good!” you said, hoping your face didn’t show how nervous you were. The refrigerator wasn’t too far, so Bucky was back within less than 30 seconds, putting his feet up into your lap. .

“So what’s up?”

“I––fuck––I don’t know how to tell you this.”

He furrowed his brows, concern all over his face, “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need help? Whatever it is we can get through it,” he said.

“No, no, this has nothing to do with me––shit––it’s about you.”

“Did I do something? If I made you uncomfortable, or you want me to move out that’s totally fine; well not totally fine because I’d be homeless, but this was your space first.”

“No, fuck, uh, I’m just gonna spit it out, IsawDotcheatingonyou,” you rushed out, tripping over your words.

“I’m sorry what?” His face fell, and any chance of his smile returning was crushed when you repeat yourself, albeit a bit slower and with more details.

“I was at the lab yesterday, and you know how my area has those floor to ceiling windows?” He nodded. “Well I saw this couple making out and I was gonna ignore them but then I realized the girl was Dot,” you explained, bracing yourself for his reaction. “I’m so sorry Bucky…”

“You’re sure it was her?” Bucky had always had this larger than life presence, but now he looked like a ten year old whose parents had told him they were getting a divorce. You didn’t know it was possible for him to even look this small, and you hated that it was inadvertently your fault.

You only nodded in response, which was enough for him. Besides, why would you lie to him. You decided not to mention the photos, not wanting to rub salt in the already open wound.

He didn’t deserve this, he was the best guy you knew and he didn’t deserve to be cheated on. Nobody did. It broke your heart to see the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. He quickly reached up to wipe them away. “Fuck,” he muttered, “Fuck!” he said louder, grabbing onto one of the cushions and squeezing it. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! This fucking sucks!”

You repositioned yourself so that you could wrap your arms around him, trying to give him all the comfort that you could. “It’s okay, let it out,” you rubbed circles into his back and he melted into your embrace.

“It’s not fucking okay!” he yelled, making you flinch at the volume of his voice, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you,” he said immediately after, noticing your reaction

“It’s okay, I don’t blame you for being angry, but I’m here for you if you wanna talk about it? Or not talk about it, we could watch a movie?” you suggested, willing to do anything to try and make him feel better. You knew if the roles were reversed and you were the one being cheated on that he’d do the same for you.

He shook his head, “No thanks, I think I’m just gonna go to bed,” he said, pulling away from you and getting up off the couch. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and slumped towards his bedroom, the door shutting with a soft bang behind him.

There was a little part of you, the selfish part you wanted to keep hidden deep inside, that was glad Dot was out of the picture. But you knew this wasn’t about you, and you’d have to be there for Bucky for as long as it took for him to feel better. With everything that had just happened, the last thing he needed was you having feelings for him. So you buried them. Again.

Ahh! Please let me know what you think! Reblogs mean faster updates!

Tags in the reblogs! Send an ASK to be tagged.

[mimzy-writing-online]

Some Blind Things I (and actual blind person) Have Done

I talk all the time about what’s realistic for a blind person to do and how to write a blind character who isn’t a complete media myth of touching faces and super powers... soooo, part of that is knowing what kind of things an actual blind person (me) fucks up doing because I’m blind.

These moments include: Me sarcastically telling people I cannot see the thing they’re doing. Moments where I have zero manners. Moments where I do have manners. Making people uncomfortable because they’re staring at me. Great phrases like, “I have too much ADHD to count to eight.” and “It’s literally illegal for me to drive.” and “Wait, who are you?” “That’s not how we talk to people Mimzy.” My cats’ growing concern that I can’t see them or tell them apart but continuing to love me. Channeling my inner Toph Bei-Fong. Updates on the ongoing insomnia writing.

There’s no chronological order to them, I’m not sure there’s going to be any order to them at all, but it’s 3 am and I can’t sleep and it’s called the Late Night Writing Advice Blog for a reason.

(I definitely did not have to double check my own blog title while typing that, definitely not)

Note: This list gets a little long, but it’s a funny read and I was up until 4:30 (this note is from a future Mimzy who’s almost finished posting this, after 1.5 hours)

Additional Note: Feel free to send anons with commentary or reblog with commentary because I would love if someone enjoyed this. Like, these are stories of my life, please appreciate them.

The Things!

-My best friend and I hang out mostly at night because of his 9-5 job, and he still lives with his parents who probably don’t like me so when we hang out we’re mostly driving around on random adventures and coffee/tea runs and late night dinners. 

So it’s night, and my night vision is awful and I have to wear sunglasses anyway because what I can see is painfully bright headlights so yeah I see basically nothing.

With my best friend, I have

1. after asking him a question: “Did you nod at me and I just didn’t see it.” “I did nod.” or after waiting long enough for a response he’ll realize what he did on his own and say, “I was shaking my head no, sorry.”

2. Reaching into total darkness to touch his shoulder and touched his armpit instead.

3. Dropped something from my bag onto his messy car floor and asked him to find it for me because it all looks blurry and grey-black down there, even without sunglasses

4. Sensed he was going for a high five and I gave him a perfect high five. Surprised, he wanted to test it again. I completely missed.

5. “We’re passing the oil refinery, so enjoy hearing, touching, smelling, tasting that.” plus 3 other identical jokes on the same drive. “Hey, can you stop making blind jokes, I’m starting to hate them these days.” “When did that happen?” “When one not-great classmate slash sort of friend made them all the time.” “That’s a shame.” “Blind jokes from sighted people are also super repetitive. The only blind jokes I seem to like are from other blind people.”

6. Him: “You’re rolling your eyes behind your sunglasses, I can tell!” 

7. Once we saw snow once our way driving home from Las Vegas. It was March, it was after midnight, and the warmest it had been at any point in that night was 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4.4 degrees Celsius. That’s a real comparison?? That’s a scary number to an American who’s barely ever left California. We were driving through the mountainy area of California where the temp really drops and for three seconds we saw snow in the wind. Well, he saw it. Something moved, it was small and flaky but like... that was actually snow and I couldn’t see it? (this was three, almost four years ago)

8. Last weekend we drove around the rich neighborhoods to look at Christmas decorations because I love Christmas lights because for ones light actually looks pretty instead of painful and I can see it at night without hurting, so it’s nice. I love the pretty visual things. Blindness will not take the pretty visual things from me! And the decorations just make me so happy and I wanted to do that last year but never did, so we did that this year

9. I also told him about the cripple punk tag on Tumblr last weekend and he was delighted to know it exists because he’s got other chronic health issues including downright awful knees.

Other blind things not directly involving my best friend

1. I have paused writing to ask a sighted person if it’s realistic for my sighted characters to see X item from Y distance away. Usually my dad with his stupidly perfect vision.

2. Realizing I’m forgetting what sighted people can see. It’s been four years since I saw like a normal person. And all my sighted memories are literally blurry from age.

3. But I still have dreams where I see normally. And then dreams where everything is too bright like in real life and I cannot see and what is happening???

At home, specifically

1. I have three cats who I can’t tell the difference between. I have a small black and brown tabby cat. A black and orange tortie cat who is slightly heavy but medium build. An all black cat who is huge and has the longest fur I’ve ever touched on a cat. I cannot tell the difference between them until I’m up close. Especially if the lighting bad.

2. Tonight I almost set my laptop on top of Remy, my brown and black tabby, because I didn’t see here a foot away from me, curled up next to my leg, somehow blending in with my orange and blue comforter. Her concerned look I did see and was horrified by my almost fuck up and apologized profusely for.

3. Cannot see Felix, my black cat, half the time if the lighting is bad and have almost sat on him, put my feet in his face, tripped over him, etc. because he blends into the shadows and oh my fucking god I cannot see that.

Note: Remy cuddles with me all the time. Felix adores me but will not be caught dead cuddling anyone because dignity, but if he’s in my room and nobody’s around to see he’s insistent on cuddling. Rio (black and orange tortie) is devoted to my mum, and she knows she makes me nervous when she suddenly jumps on me and I get really shifty and squirmy and not fun to cuddle with, so we’re cool and I give her pets but she doesn’t usually crawl onto me unless she wants to make my mum jealous.

4. Can sneak up on family members and friends because I move so quietly, so at least there’s that. Not a blind thing, but it makes up for some things.

5. Have walked up to someone I thought was a friend, realized I don’t know them, and the first thing out my mouth was “Wait, who are you?” and then a close friend (and the party host) grab me by the shoulders and say, “That’s not how we talk to people,” and just like, where are your manners Mimzy, wtf, but I never saw that stranger again so it’s okay.

Side Note: blindness aside, I do have a habit of just rudely speaking my mind in not-appropriate settings because I just don’t care and don’t have the anxiety to at least act like I care. They’re very satisfying, but usually very rare moments.

6. Please stop moving things around the house!

7. “What do you mean there are cobwebs?” *Shines a flashlight at the dark corners of my room* “oh my god...”

8. Me, to my family members, “Please close those curtains, light hurts. Please turn off that lamp, it’s too bright in here.” *me, later turns off most of the lights in the house* Family members: “Why is it so dark in here? I can’t see.” *Me, channeling my inner Toph Bei-Fong* “Oh no, what a tragedy!”

9. Mum is the only one who vaguely appreciates my light sensitivity because she also has snow vision (a mild case) and has a little light sensitivity, sometimes, on her bad days.

More Not Quite Appropriate Things!

There are so many things that I say only to realize that there is a very nearby stranger who heard that out of context and it sounded so bad.

1. Best Friend (while I’m walking down stairs just fine, by myself, don’t need anyone’s help, I can do it!) “There are eight steps.” “I don’t need your help.” “I know but--” “I’m fine!” “I’m just trying to help.” “I have too much ADHD to count to eight anyway!”

“I have too much ADHD to count to eight anyway,” is exactly what two strangers heard while walking right behind me.

Why would you sneak up on someone who’s so obviously blind??

2. “Sea foam green is an ugly color anyway.” I was in a mall, it was well lit and I was using my cane and managing with my crap vision, but I managed to see that specific color I hate on a dress right next to me, and the woman walking on the other side of the mannequin display heard that and did a double take on my obviously blind self.

Or so I’m told by my mom who could see what happened.

3. Similar to above, I was in the Artist Village in San Diego, which is a huge tourist trap, and I was sort of a tourist too, but it’s freaking outdoors, so I have the cane and sunglasses. And I’m in an Artist Village (very visual thing) with my parents, so out of place. And this random dude was apparently staring at me. Cannot see him, absolutely no idea which direction my mum is pointing towards, everything is blank and weird and not see-able, but I turned my head and by some miracle looked directly at him and he freaked out and looked away.

4. “Oh yeah, make fun of the blind person!” sarcastically, but loudly, somewhere public after a joke a friend had made that I was actually okay with.

5. “Driving and hiking are my two biggest weaknesses,” said out of context to people who didn’t know I was blind.

6. “I forgot you were blind.” “Well I didn’t.” More channeling of Toph, I think.

7. “Why can’t you drive?” *points to cane* *he does not get it* “It’s very illegal for me to drive.” *does not get it* “They’re blind dude,” classmate says. “Very blind.” “You seem to get around just fine,” says the man who only see me indoors with the very best lighting scenario for my vision. “Yeah, but that’s because I have the cane.” “So?” You seem just fine, he seems to think. How dumb are you? I definitely think. “Why do you need the cane?” “Because I would die if I didn’t have it. I have almost died. People would die if I tried to drive.”

8. Later: “Did he think you could just drive and use your cane to feel the road or something?” “I guess.”

9. More questions from other people who don’t know me very well asking why I can’t drive. “Because it’s illegal.” Their confusion is wondering specifically why it’s illegal rather than thinking I’m not actually blind. I explain the laws in the driving handbook, because I have read it (unlike some people I guess. How did you miss the ‘drivers must be able to see at least 20/40 with their best corrected eye” and I haven’t been in that category for two years.

Note: My day blindness came two years before my vision acuity reached visually impaired status. So, like, two years of wishing I had a cane but thinking “I’m not blind enough” and still being terrified in certain situations and risking my life walking around without one or some sighted guide.

Similar Public Things

1. I can see indoors pretty well so I get by on prescription glasses and no cane (I see 20/70 - 20/100 with glasses) but sometimes the mall is crowded and nobody gives me space and I’m just not comfortable getting so close to people, so I bust out my cane (and maybe my sunglasses too) so I look extra blind and people will give me the space to walk without running into someone.

2. Have also done that just because the indoor lights were also too bright and I need my sunglasses.

3. Have stared at my phone in public with cane/sunglasses, or tried taking photos with it, and I get so many weird looks because blind people see nothing I guess, none of us have any vision at all! (read sarcasm)

4. Walking into a coffee shop I’ve been to before and I know they change their teas all the freaking time. Also got the cane. “Hi, can you tell me what iced teas you have right now?” “Oh, they’re all on that sign.” *blank look* Do you not realize I’m blind? I’m thinking. “What kind of black tea do you have? Do you have any tropical black tea?” (because they usually do and I love tropical black tea, and they did that day too, so I ordered that.)

5. I cannot read menus. Those restaurants that have the menus above the register are awful, evil. Cannot read. In the wonderful days of my childhood I didn’t have prescription glasses for my moderately not great but still mostly functional vision (my dad has perfect vision and no concept whatsoever about what it’s like to not be able to see those things!) So imagine my parents dragging me to restaurants like that and I’m 10 years old and supposedly can read perfectly fine but I cannot read that menu and I think it’s some personal character fault of mine that I just don’t know how to read those kinds of menus, so I have to ask my mum to help me choose a food to order and eat, and then that’s the only thing I ever order any time I ever go back. So, I’m quickly getting sick of those places because I only eat one item there and I want to try something new with a restaurant with those nice hand held menus, but those are sit-down restaurants and apparently they cost more money, sooo...

6. That was a rant I went on with my best friend last weekend

Side note: It’s almost 4 am, my mum just woke up, saw the light on in my room from under the crack of my door and said hi. I’m at a point right now where she just expects it and isn’t one to judge (unlike my dad who has zero insomnia because he has hypersomnia and I don’t know how humans do that)

Side Note Ten Minutes Later: My laptop is at 10% but I plugged it in because dammit I am finishing this tonight and it will have all the things.

7. “Hey, where’s the trash can? I can’t find one.” *also mistakes a trashcan and a human being just sitting still. All the time* “Why not just litter then?” best friend asks, knowing exactly how I’ll respond. “I have manners!”

8. I hate traveling even a little by myself. My orientation and mobility skills with my cane aren’t that bad, but they’re not good enough for me to feel comfortable walking around by myself anywhere that isn’t super familiar with routes I already have practiced and memorized (school, close friend’s houses or apartments, the blocks in my neighborhood I’ve walked 500 times coming too and from school or walking dogs with my parents). Anywhere unfamiliar or wide/open or crowded or God Forbid, OUTSIDE is a source of terror and will not let my traveling companions leave me alone for longer than a few minutes and certainly not walk away on my own.

9. Will not go to bars because I present female and I am visibly disabled and that makes me look like an easy target and why would I risk that unnecessarily?

I’m gonna cut it off here. This is a long post, and I need to just finally go to bed. Goodnight. I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to send anons with commentary or reblog with commentary. I’d like to know that someone liked this.

[buckyreaderrecs]

A Toast to Whiskey: Chapter 1 / 2

Summary: You work in an old bar hidden away from the modern world. It's almost charming, but not quite. That's probably why Bucky likes it.

Words: 2,325 Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader Characters: Bucky Barnes Additional tags: Bucky needs a hug, recovering Bucky, mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists), angst, she/her pronouns, more tags/characters to be added with part 2, brief mention of Nazis, mental health will be prominent part of part 2

Note: Find this fic and others on A03 - click here. And follow this Tumblr! I post lists of Bucky/Reader fic writers and reblog all my favs. I’ve just started it, so would love the support! xo Rhi

Dedicated to: @browngirlmagic for the conversation. The next chapter is the Lush one!

A Toast to Whiskey Chapter 1 / 2

There were a lot of things in the dusty, old bar that made the man's jaw clench in annoyance, distaste, or anger. You were compiling a list of these things, doing your best to minimise their occurrences. There was one you couldn't avoid though, and it was almost amusing that it bothered him at all. Each time someone ordered a drink - beer, cocktail, shot, whatever - a clean glass was given. The man didn't like it. Was it not like that in his time?

If James Buchanan Barnes thought he'd gone unnoticed in the hole-in-the-wall bar you worked at, he was mistaken. Not entirely, to be fair; the baseball cap and quiet stopped the other patrons from even giving him a second glance. 'Patrons' might have been too civilised of a word to call them. They were old, sickly, local men that had been drinking the same beer from those same taps forever. Harmless, mostly. Unobservant, entirely. Not you though. The first day Bucky walked in and taken a barstool on the very corner, closest to the door, you knew exactly who he was.

Like a lot of people that came and went from the establishment, Bucky's seeking of anonymity was granted. You pretended to not recognise him. You were kind to him, a little more gentle than you were to others, but mostly just a good bartender. And in time, you grew accustomed to the charade. He came in a couple of afternoons a week, but never during the nights when it would be busy. Eventually, he even started to speak more than a couple words to you.

"New cap?" you greeted Bucky with a grin, putting the only drink he ever ordered down in front of him.

Bucky wrapped his right hand around the glass of whiskey. He glanced at you, smiled and shrugged.

"Speaking of new, can I ask you something?" you asked.

The expression on Bucky's face was guarded, but definitely one of concern. You realised you should have just asked, rather than let his mind spiral.

"What’s your problem with clean glasses?"

He looked surprised. Surprised was an experience Bucky wasn't particularly used to or fond of. He wouldn't hold it against you though.

"How do ya know I got a problem?" he asked back, genuinely curious.

Shrugging, you looked around casually. "Guess I notice a lot of things about people,"

"Right," he said slowly, knowingly. "I don't know… Just seems wasteful… Is it the law?"

"That we have to use clean glasses?" you asked with a laugh. "I don't know… probably not. I mean, it's more hygienic. Probably makes the drink taste cleaner or whatever. Board of Health might have a problem with us if we didn't… Not that I've seen one of them in here in years."

Bucky picked up his glass and finished the whiskey. "Fill her up," he quipped. He'd made a half-joke, and you appreciated the effort.

"Yes, sir. Lemme know if you, you know, what anything else," you told him, topping him up, knocking your knuckles on the bar top, and walking away.

…

Bucky Barnes certainly wasn't the most chatty person you'd met. It was better to ask questions if you wanted to pass time with conversations. Easy conversation was one of your special skills, being a bartender and all. However, it was incredibly difficult to do this when you were purposefully avoiding topics that would put Bucky in a position to have to, you know, admit his identity and all that. So, things stayed superficial.

No, Bucky didn't watch the game.

Yes, the weather's been insane.

No, he doesn't want any nut mix.

Okay, maybe yes to pretzels.

Yes, he can see your hair has changed colour.

Yes, he likes it.

For as long as it had taken to get to the point of superficial conversation, it didn't take any time at all to run out of things to say. As it turned out, neither you nor Bucky had lived, or were living, shallow enough lives to sustain it. There were questions you were begging to ask, and if he was honest with himself, Bucky was kinda just counting down until you finally spoke up.

…

"So, I got a question,"

"Mmm. You have a lot of questions," Bucky said, smirking then taking another sip of his whisky.

"You could ask me somethin' if you want a change of pace, pal."

It was a joke. Just banter. But a dark expression flashes across Bucky's face for only a split second. You didn't catch it.

"What's your question, Y/N?"

He knew your name?

Of course he knew your name. He was The Winter fucking Soldier. He probably knew everything about everyone that worked and frequented the bar. How had you not thought of that before? Suddenly, it seemed risky to ask what you had planned to.

Bucky watched you hesitate. He sighed and looked around at the empty room. It was a Monday afternoon and it was just before the regulars showed up to knock beer bottles together and catcall you across the bar. It was just you and him.

"Ask," he said softly, taking his cap off and setting it down on the barstool next to him. You watched Bucky run his hands through his hair, tucking some of it behind his ear.

"Why do you drink whiskey?"

Bucky laughed. Like, a proper heartfelt laugh. "What?" he said, nose still scrunched up in amusement.

"What?"

"Why do I drink whiskey?" he repeated.

"Yeah… I mean… It's disgusting… and, like, you… can't get drunk, right?"

There it was. You did it. Admitted you knew him. Which he figured out. So none of what was happening was really a big deal. But it sure as fuck felt like it.

"Right. I can’t- Well, I can, but it takes a lot,"

"Asgardian mead a lot?"

Bucky grinned and tipped his glass towards you. "How do you know about Asgardian mead?"

You snorted. "Everyone does. Everyone knows everything these days,"

"That's what we want you to think," he said, not skipping a beat.

It made you laugh. It was already better talking to him without false pretences. "So, whisky?"

"Ah… Guess it's that everything's different now… An' that's mostly good. But… You know."

No. No, you didn't know. How could you even begin to understand? "Yeah," you said, your voice far more quiet than you meant it to be.

"Whiskey's still whiskey,"

"It tastes the same?" you asked.

"Almost. Not exactly. Close enough,"

"Makes sense… But why here? S'not like this bar been here since the 40s or anything."

Bucky was visibly trying not to smile. Or make eye contact. "Ah… Not sure how to answer that without… offending ya,"

"Huh? ... Oh, I don't own the joint or anything,"

"You don't?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"No? You think I did? Why?"

"You're…" but he shrugged, still guarded. "I don't know," he lied. "But, ah, I was just lookin' for somewhere…"

"Pretty much stuck in the 40s or thereabouts?"

He nodded, smiling. "But without the Nazis,"

"Mmm… I mean… Have you watched the news lately?" you very quickly said.

"I try to avoid it," he admitted solemnly.

As people started to wander in, the conversation waned. Bucky watched you serve cold beer and pour bags of crisps into bowls. He listened to the worst songs being picked on the jukebox and he sat truly shocked you weren't even at least the daughter of the owner. Despite what you may have thought, he hadn't bothered to investigate you at all and finding his assumptions to be wrong was unsettling.

See, Bucky was a little bit smitten with you. He thought you were smart and sassy and timelessly beautiful. You were the ultimate perk of randomly picking this as his hideaway from the world. But, he figured you were only here because it was a family business. Why was someone smart, sassy and beautiful working strange hours at a shitty bar?

It was hard to say which of you was more curious about the other.

…

Something about what Bucky said had stuck in your head. Whiskey, his drink of choice, was the closest thing to his own time he could find. You could do better than that though.

About a year into working at the bar, you were finally allowed to venture into the cellar to clean it up. There were boxes of shit from forever ago down there and you just wanted it sorted, gone, and the space put to better use. Most of what lived beneath the floor was trash, but every hour or so you'd find something cool. A few vintage beer signs. Empty bottles of collector edition Coke. That kind of stuff. But, there was one thing you had found that you now wanted to stumble across again.

Nobody could remember where it had got to.

It took two days of searching to find it.

The bottle of whiskey was shoved under a bunch of paperwork in the office's bottom drawer desk. Not exactly where you'd store something worth a lot of money, but hey - the barely-there owners of the bar were eccentric, to put it nicely. You didn't recognise the brewing company on the peeling label, but that wasn't the point. The date on the bottle quite clearly read 1940.

When Bucky took his usual spot that afternoon, you bounced over to him with a grin on your face. He looked up at you, keeping his cap.

"Aren't you gonna ask me why I'm so happy?" you said, elbows on the bar and head in your hands.

Bucky smiled a little. He seemed sad. Sadder than usual. Good timing.

"Why are you so happy?"

"'Cause I found something that's gonna make you real fuckin' happy. Check this out!"

You produced the bottle from where you had it stashed under the bar and handed it to Bucky.

Bucky's lips parted slightly and his eyes went all glossy. He read the label carefully, probably trying to place the brand you couldn't. He handled it so carefully, even more than you in your fear of dropping it.

"This is real," he finally said.

"Yeah. I found it in the basement ages ago and just remembered it. 1940, so I figure it's like, first or second batch after Prohibition, yeah?"

Bucky nods. "I guess…" he replied, smiling, remembering Prohibition. "And before all the distilleries had to stop again,"

"For what?" you asked.

"The war," he said so matter-of-factly that it hurt a little. He looked up then, saw your confusion. "Dunno if it was law or if they just did it, but most places stopped making drinking alcohol and started making stuff to help win the war. And ah, whiskey stopped being made because it took up too much crops. I don't know. Something like that."

Something like that. Like he hadn't lived history.

"I didn’t know that. That's…" Not 'cool.' "That makes sense… Anyway. Open it," you ordered, getting out two clean glasses.

Bucky put the bottle on the bar and looked at you seriously. "Y/N, that's gotta be worth… a lot… Can't open it for no reason,"

"Nobody here cares about it. And besides, it's not really no reason, is it?" He didn't move or say anything. "Bucky." He flinched at his name, glanced around to make sure nobody heard. They hadn't. "I think you kinda earned this one, yeah? Now do me the honours."

Why was everyone in Bucky's life so goddamn stubborn?

He sighed and opened the bottle silently. You nodded in encouragement, letting him pour.

"A toast," you posed, holding your glass up. Bucky mimicked your action. "A toast to…" Everything in your head sounded either very cliché or very sad.

"Whiskey," Bucky finished.

"Whiskey," you agreed.

Drinking at the same time, Bucky swallowed in two gulps while you struggled with a sip.

"Jesus fucking Christ it tastes like cat piss now and it did then," you whined, pouring the liquid left in your glass into Bucky's. He laughed at you.

After drinking that down quickly, Bucky reached across the bar and took your hand in his. "Thank you, Y/N. Really."

A toast to finding things that make us less homesick.

…

After the 1940 whiskey, Bucky came in more regularly. He stayed longer, despite the place filling with people. He even began to talk to the other regulars when they sat at the bar and argued with you about politics, the news, and kids these days. You watched him play devil's advocate, siding with the old men, sarcastically poking fun at you with a quick comment every now and then.

You weren't sure when it happened, but you realised Bucky had grown to be comfortable in the space. And there was something about that that made you ridiculously happy. Like, sunbeams bouncing around on the inside of you making you all hot and tingly and full of joy whenever he was there kind of happy. It was gross.

Bucky would walk in, sit, place his cap down and grin at you with his cute little teeth and sparkly blue eyes. It made your day without exception, and you started to notice more little things about him and how they made you feel. When he hooked his hand behind his ear it would make your stomach flip.

One time, when he was telling you a story about carnival rides and baby Steve throwing up, a loose strand of hair fell across his face and you immediately and unconsciously leant across the bar and folded it gently behind his ear for him. Bucky froze, and you went to apologise, but he spoke first. "Thanks," he said softly, with more meaning than the situation called for, then continued on with his story.

It was like that for just over a month. Then he stopped coming in. There was nothing in his final visit to indicate he wasn't coming back. Bucky just disappeared.

CLICK TO READ PART 2/2

[foxtophat]

hey i said i was gonna get this up today!!!!

so with this chapter's conclusion i can safely say that i've officially written everything that i set out to write with mercy!  this chapter was literally a skeleton that shaped eighty percent of the entire story, so i'm glad i could finally flesh it out and put it out there!!

there's still one more chapter to go, which will be more or less an epilogue for the main story. after that, i think i'll try to get a couple of other fandom fics going (ones that are ACTUALLY nearly done, not half-ass done like mercy was when i decided to start posting lmao) and then i can set up a schedule to write some more for this universe

anyway, for now i just want you to read and enjoy.  this chapter is all about john's ptsd, and it made me sad, so i hope it makes you sad too heheh

as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs, kudos, casual mentions in meatspace or idle daydreaming about different ways this chapter could go are ALL super welcome and adored. i love you guys, you've been so kind to me <3 i hope you enjoy this chapter!!!

the usual: below the cut is the full chapter text if you don't wanna go to ao3, but you should, ao3 is way easier to read on

Things around the Rye homestead have been pretty good as of late. Eight, nine months ago, Nick never would have expected to see the living room floor again, much less finish even half of the tedious repair work that he's managed to check off his list. The planters are already sprouting with what's going to be an early summer harvest, Carmina's hen-house is ready to go, and they've already bartered off some scrap for moonshine and extra ammunition for Carmina's blooming sharpshooter hobby. The house itself only creaks and groans in heavy winds, and a few additional supports outside have secured the second floor from crashing down in the middle of the night. For an old, blown-out house that's been through nuclear winter, the place is coming back together pretty well. Hell, another couple of years and they might be able to reconnect the septic system, and then they'd really be cooking.

Other people have noticed their good luck, too. Mostly friends, like Grace and Jerome, but the word's spread a bit now about the Rye's generosity, and they've gotten a few good trades out of it, although a lot of them are I-O-U's that maybe won't come to fruition. That's fine by Nick — they don't need the old fencing or the scrap plywood, and there are still two mostly-buried garages out back that could be broken down for some really prime salvage. If people want to give him free use of their future smokehouses or promise to help him find more gas for his truck, then that's more than enough payment. Anyway, that's what Nick tells people when they don't have anything to offer — it isn't like he's going to turn somebody away when they need help.

Of course, not all of their generosity is appreciated equally. John being around doesn't sit well with many of the people who come by, although it's never enough to deter them from doing business with Kim or Nick. There aren't many confrontations, even when John helps Nick load wood into a truck or remains lingering in plain view, although somebody usually has something to say about it. Unless they get really vulgar or violent, Nick usually lets them blow off steam in his and John's direction, and he doesn't take it personally when somebody takes a cheap shot at him for being such a soft-hearted bastard.

Their vitriol usually ends after a few minutes. Most of the time, John can handle it by himself, apologizing genuinely to each person who tries to curse him out. Nick hasn't heard the same regret twice, and even if John doesn't recognize every hateful face, he seems to remember his part in their trauma. It might not be what they want to hear, but John's serious, specific remorse usually puts the fire out of their fight. So far, there's only been two instances where Nick had to call Jerome out to mediate, and neither time resulted in anyone getting shot or knocked out. Sure, John might come out of an altercation with a couple of bruises, but that's usually it.

It stands to reason that something was bound to go wrong at some point. Nick's prepared for all sorts of catastrophes; he's got contingency plans for flooding, wild animals, and even ornery neighbors upset that he let John off so easy. There are a million little things that could go wrong out here, and Nick can only do so much to prepare for every eventuality, but he thinks he's got a pretty good handle on it.

That is, until the radio breaks. It's one thing that Nick hadn't even considered a possibility — they'd left the thing in its box until the apocalypse, and until they left the bunker, it'd barely seen any use at all. And yet, one day Nick tries to confirm a trade and the radio fails to catch anything more than static.

Cheap goddamn made-in-China crap, that's what it is, and that's what Nick tells everyone within earshot as he fiddles uselessly with the knobs. When he turns the radio around to get a look at the connectors, he ignores the stamped metal that reads "MADE IN GERMANY" in favor of hunting down the problem — but that's going to involve unscrewing the back and, well, Nick isn't exactly an electrician. He's not sure the best option here is to dig into the guts of his only radio willy-nilly like. He could go get the user's manual, but it's in a pile of boxes down in the bunker, and Nick really doesn't want to go rooting through trash for it.

Heaving a frustrated sigh that takes all the fight out of him, Nick grabs the flashlight and goes out back to let Kim know what's up. She and John are working in the garden, which used to be something John would avoid at all costs. Now, he doesn't even seem phased to be working in the dirt, barely acknowledging Nick's irritated venting about the broken radio as he pulls weeds. It's only when Nick mentions going into the bunker that he seems to take notice; he tries to be subtle about it, but Nick doesn't miss his head swiveling to stare briefly.

Of course, Nick is so used to John's cagey weirdness about bunkers that he barely notices, too busy

Kim looks sympathetic, but she doesn't sound it as she reminds him, "Nick, complaining to his ever-patient wife. "I'm just gonna grab the manual, maybe see if there were any spare parts in the box we missed. It's not like the thing gets used enough to break!" the radio is ten years old. Even expensive equipment can't last forever."

"If I don't get to sit down and give up whenever I want, then neither does the radio. It's not like we got any choice , here. If we don't have a working radio, we're going to have a bitch of a time reconnecting with everybody. And we've actually started to build something, you know?"

"At least you'll have a diagram to work with, I guess." Kim sighs. "John, have you... do you know where our bunker is?"

John smiles wryly. "I do," he replies.

"Oh, right," Nick sighs. "You probably know where everything is on the property, huh."

"Knew," John points out. "But yes, that was my job. I was as thorough as I could be." He chews his lip, standing after a thoughtful second. "I know where a lot of bunkers are. If you can't repair the radio... We could look for another one."

"Okay, of course you do." Nick waves for John to follow him, which he does, keeping pace as they head away from the wash, towards the opposite side of the hangar from their normal route. "What makes you think I wanna take a radio from somebody else ?"

"Not many of the structures put together out here were by any means safe ." John probably shouldn't sound so blase about it, but the guy's got a point. Doubly so when he continues, "I was suggesting we take one from someone who won't be needing it anymore."

Nick clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Well, it's something to think about," he agrees reluctantly. It sounds a lot like grave-robbing to him, but John's right. It's the smartest option, and somebody's going to have to do it eventually. It might be better for everyone if it's them, and not some opportunistic drifter who won't put the resources back into the community.

That's a problem for another day. Right now, Nick leads John around thick tumbleweeds that have gotten caught in the long grass, bringing them up just short of the bunker door. Covered with about two years' worth of dirt but not yet overgrown, the white hatch is only a marginal pain in the ass to pry out of the ground. John waits for Nick to ask for help, only to realize that isn't happening anytime soon, and wordlessly assists in coaxing the rusted hinges to work.

The bunker is dark and smells like a root cellar. Nick sure hopes nothing important molded. They'll have to get down here and clean up soon, before the mildew takes hold and ruins everything.

"Okay," he says, "You just wait here and make sure that thing doesn't close on me."

Nick half-expects some kind of joke about locking him inside, but John only nods obediently, standing a few feet from the opening with his arms folded across his chest. Nick rolls his eyes but does his best to ignore John's unease as he descends into the bunker.

He decides against testing the power — even if the generator down here still has some juice in it, they haven't operated anything in a while and Nick does not want to be engulfed in flames right now. Instead, he clicks on the flashlight and wanders through the narrow space. He doesn't linger on the drawings Carmina left on the wall or the unmade cots, passing by a pile of laundry that'll never get done and heading to the small utility closet in the back.

He finds the box intact, one corner suffering water damage from what looks like a cup of water that nobody ever picked up. Deciding against rooting around for anything else that might be useful, he takes the whole box back out to the ladder, chucking it up out of the hole once he's tackled the lower rungs.

John is trying hard not to show his nerves as Nick pops back up, shoving his hands into his pockets before changing his mind and folding them again over his chest. Bunkers are a tender spot for him, and Nick knows it, so for now he decides not to make a big deal about it. John's too fragile for Nick to be teasing him, even if he refuses to admit it himself.

Pulling the box apart, Nick scavenges the manual and a couple of accessories that he hadn't needed a decade ago and probably doesn't need now. The cardboard is mostly good, so Nick breaks down the box, chucking the useless packaging back into the bunker before foisting the supplies onto John.

Nick gets up and shoves the bunker door until it falls shut on its own weight. "Well, now I gotta spend the rest of my day reading that crap," he says, gesturing to the chunky owner's manual.

"Give it to Carmina," John suggests, "She's desperate for new reading material."

"And give her the chance to become more technologically savvy than me? I'll pass."

Nick spends the next few hours troubleshooting his way through the manual, vengefully ignoring the support hotline numbers plastered on every other page. Even if the service center hadn't been annihilated in a nuclear apocalypse, fat chance Nick would ever lower himself to call.

By dinnertime, Nick is frustrated but satisfied that he knows where the trouble area is. One of two pieces has given out, both designed to be replaced occasionally. On one hand, that's a good thing — it's supposed to be done by novices, which means the manual is painfully clear on the method. On the other hand, there are only going to be so many matching radios out there, and who knows how many will have the same issue?

"It'll be okay," Kim reassures him that night. "Plenty of people get by without a radio, you know."

"That doesn't mean I wanna be one of them," Nick grouses, turning to pin his hopes selfishly on John. "You said there were bunkers around, right? And maybe one of them has a radio we can use?"

"I didn't promise anything," John clarifies, "But that would be my suspicion."

"Maybe it'd be worth it to look. Who knows, we could get lucky."

Kim doesn't look sure about Nick's optimism, but he ignores her skepticism. If nothing else, it'll be good to use John's old cult knowledge to benefit them for once, and that alone puts Nick firmly in the "in favor" group. Even if it turns out to be a waste of time — well, at least they'll have tried everything. For now, Nick can let Kim think up a contingency plan for a no-radio life — Nick is going to rest all of his hopes firmly on the repair plan and hope that it works out.

Nick wakes up last the next morning, sleeping in an extra half-hour or so before finally peeling his eyelids apart to face the sun. Even as he gets dressed, he feels groggy and slow, dragged down by a long night of forgotten stress dreams. His brain probably spent all night running through every possible outcome of bunker-hunting with John — not that it does any good now, when Nick can't remember any of it.

He isn't the only one who looks like they could use more sleep. Carmina is yawning over her breakfast, eating like a sloth as she processes being awake. The bags under Kim's eyes are darker than normal, too, but she's bright-eyed and dressed for the day.

John is the only one who looks like he's coping with the morning at all, but that's probably because he's been up for a while now. Ever since he's been given free rein, John's sleep schedule has put him as the last one to sleep and the first one to wake. Nick doesn't mind too much, though, since he usually brews up some coffee right before anyone else comes down. He's been arguing with Kim for the last few mornings about going by himself to pull water from the river for the house, but Kim is holding tight to her buddy-system, and John isn't going to convince her to give it up that easily.

From the way Kim looks at Nick as he descends the stairs, they might be arguing about it already today. "What?" Nick asks, "What'd I do?"

"It's not you," Kim says. She gestures across the table at John, who looks like he's been waiting for Nick to come to his defense. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

"The radio is the same make as mine," John tells Nick, clearly expecting Nick to understand what he's talking about. Fat chance there, though, because Nick has no idea what he means. "It might not be the same model, but it's worth a try."

"Uh... which radio are you talking about, exactly?"

John tries hard to not look like he's suffering at the hands of fools. He fails, but at least he directs his exasperated look towards the ceiling at the last moment. "In my bunker," he explains slowly. "I had a radio of the same make."

"You said yourself it broke," Kim points out, clearly repeating an argument from before Nick's arrival.

"All the more reason to not worry about scrapping it," John replies. "The bunker is closer than any other structure, and it's guaranteed to be there. That is as much of a blessing as you'll get these days."

Nick wonders at first why Kim is so dead-set against going back to John's bunker. Sure, the guy refuses to talk about it, and sure, bunkers in general seem to fill him with unshakable anxiety, but it's still just a bunker. A bunker with a radio that could save their asses, where they won't be stealing from someone who might need it just as much. And hell, John doesn't even have to go inside!

Kim sighs and says gently, "I just don't know if it's... the greatest idea." She looks sideways at Nick, who knows from experience that she's holding back her opinion for John's benefit. She probably doesn't want to be the one telling him he's too fragile to handle it.

"I'm not asking for your permission," John says. "If neither of you want to come with me, I'll go by myself."

"Oh, come on," Kim huffs, "Not this again —"

"If I want to go somewhere, I have the right to do so," John exclaims. "We've established that I'm not a prisoner, and I certainly am not a child."

Carmina huffs loudly, but John pointedly ignores her.

"Okay, okay," Nick says, holding out his hands in a poor attempt to placate all parties. "Look, if you're really dead-set on this, and you really think that the radio's gonna help, well..." He sighs. "Then maybe it's worth going to check out."

Kim looks mildly offended that he's taking John's side, but Nick knows how to reassure her, at least a little. "But there are some ground rules," he says. "You can come with me, but I call the shots. No acting like you know better than me, or deciding to run off and forcing me to follow you. You get it?"

"Of course," John says.

"I mean it. If I decide it's not worth it when we get there, you're gonna have to respect that. I mean, there could be snakes living in there now. I don't even remember if I closed the hatch, it could be flooded from the rain earlier this year."

John nods, so quickly that Nick wonders if he's really listening. "Yes," he says. "That's fair."

"I can't believe this," Kim sighs, relenting at last as she rubs her forehead. "Okay. But you both need to be careful." She looks at John. "Especially you."

"I don't..." John cuts himself off, reluctantly changing tactics. "Okay. Fine." He stands up, leaving his chair wide open for Nick to take as he says, "I need to get ready," and excuses himself. What he needs to get ready for when he's already dressed, Nick has no idea, but that's not exactly Nick's problem. If John needs to go talk himself through the decision he forced on Nick, then it's a good thing he's not involving Nick in any of it!

Nick's real problem right now is the way Kim is staring at him. "What?" he asks, sinking into the abandoned seat. She doesn't respond, and Carmina glances skeptically at her dad from across the table. "What was I supposed to do?" he asks, exasperated. "It's not like he was gonna let it go."

"You could have put your foot down," Kim says. She sounds downright disappointed, and that stings more than Nick wants to admit. "You could have taken my side," she adds, aiming her heavy frown at the coffee cup in front of her.

"We've been waiting for him to want to talk about it," Nick points out. "And anyway, we need a radio. If he can help, we should encourage it. Right?"

Kim isn't keen on getting into a fight right in front of Carmina, so she only nods her head in response. It's enough, though, because Nick does wind up feeling guilty for siding with John. Right or not, he probably should have negotiated that better.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he says. "You're right. I've got tunnel-vision with this radio problem, is all."

"I know," Kim sighs. "I just... worry."

"Well, don't. I'll be fine."

Kim rolls her eyes. "It isn't you I'm worried about, Nick." She looks towards the stairs, listening to John pacing up in his room, then reluctantly turns back to her husband. "Just... promise me that you'll keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Nick replies. Kim doesn't look too reassured, so Nick reaches over and wraps her hand in his. "Really, I will." He glances at Carmina and tells her, "You'll keep an eye on mom so she doesn't worry all day, right?"

"Sure," Carmina says. Nick knows from the Kim-like tone in her voice that she thinks he's being an ass, but at least she's young enough to not call him out directly yet. All he has to do now is make sure that neither of his girls can rub his rash decision-making in his face when he gets back.

John is quiet as he and Nick make their way through the woods. The walk itself isn't too bad, less than a mile out from the edge of what Nick used to consider his property, but John is having a lot of trouble hiding how jittery it is, and it makes for a tense hike. He keeps speeding up and falling behind, as though he can't decide whether or not he wants to lead the way.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Nick asks eventually, unable to help himself. John answers with such a dirty look that Nick immediately goes on the defensive. "Hey, don't give me that. I just don't want you to, you know... start having nightmares about it or Joseph or whatever all over again. You're the one who's always been weird about it."

John scoffs but doesn't respond. From the way he glares at the ground, Nick figures he probably hasn't stopped having nightmares yet. That's... probably a good reason to keep him from climbing all the way down into the hole. Of course, Nick isn't sure that he'll really be able to stop John, never mind what John promised back at the house.

"What were you doing out here?" John asks after the silence grows out again. "When you found me."

"Oh. Well, I was sorta looking for places to put more traps, after I made them. And, you know, if there was anything left to salvage out here." Neither of those ideas had gone anywhere, although maybe now would be a good time to revisit them. "There's not much out here, though. There's that herd of deer to the north, and the river... we really haven't needed to expand so much."

John hums agreeably in response, although he doesn't have much to add to the conversation. Nick doesn't know how to keep it afloat by himself, so he doesn't, letting them sink back into silence until they finally reach their destination. Nick recognizes the spot by the shock of parachute fabric hanging in the trees, just a flash of artificial color behind the browns and greens of the trees.

Now that he has time to look around, Nick can sort of see where the land had been cleared for installation. Of course, the only remnant of the open circle now is the thinner layer of weeds over what looks like a thirty-foot rectangle. He doesn't remember anybody building out here, and he can't even fathom when they could have done it, but somebody came through here right before the apocalypse and made themselves a hidey-hole.

Nick doesn't wait to approach the closed bunker door, but John lingers at the imagined edge of the space as though facing a barbed-wire fence. He seems pensive and lost in thought, and Nick lets him adjust while he sweeps away dirt and scraggly tumbleweeds that have just started to cover the hatch. Just a bunker or not, it's got to be a lot to deal with, although Nick can't imagine why. No matter how terrible being alone had been, it couldn't have gotten worse than intense boredom. Hell, Nick's met two different people who had clearly let the cabin fever get to them, and neither of them could shut up about their damn bunkers.

Reaching down, Nick braces his legs on either side of the bunker door and pulls at the hatch. John is clearly holding his breath, even this far away, tension coiled in his shoulders and forcing his spine ramrod-straight. He doesn't offer to help, stuck in place like he is.

"Maybe you should stay up here," Nick offers.

Of course, John only scowls at the thought. "You won't know where to look. It would be faster if I went in alone."

"Yeah, Kim would love it if I let you do that. Don't be an asshole."

Nick heaves the door upwards. The rusted hinges scream in protest, as if they hadn't moved in years, but the door swings open after a few hard tugs on the handle.

John hesitates a second longer, then approaches the hatch. Nick goes over to the edge, crouching down so that he doesn't fall, and shines the flashlight down the ladder. The air is stale, smelling like rot and mold, and Nick can see a puddle drying at the base of the ladder. Well, that makes sense — there's no way the seal is still airtight. So much for closing the door from the elements.

"You ready?" Nick asks. John nods mutely in response, standing some feet away from the hole. "Really, John. You don't have anything to prove. Kim would probably be happy if you stayed up top."

John grimaces. "I'll go first," he says, his voice clipped.

This is a bad idea, and Nick knows it. A month or two ago, he'd probably have figured John was about to pull a fast one on him, but now he's more concerned that John is trying to pull something on himself. Confronting your fears is one thing, but as John climbs down the ladder and Nick gets a good look at his pale face and tight jaw, he worries that this is too much, too fast. Not that John seems to understand the concept of pacing himself — he seems more like the kind of guy to throw himself mindlessly at a problem until it shatters under the sheer force of his determination.

Nick hands John the flashlight before he gets out of reach, following him down the rungs as quickly as he can. They knock into each other as he reaches the bottom rung, and Nick turns to find John aiming the flashlight uselessly at their feet. Staring down the murky darkness that turns the bunker into a cave of unknown depths, John looks as though he might hear floodwaters in the distance.

Maybe he's just taken aback by how bad things look, even with only a little light to see by. The looming piles of garbage and years of refuse have turned the twenty-by-ten foot box into a narrow, craggy cavern. Nick can see a door at the far end of the gloom, cracked in the middle and left ajar in its frame, surrounded by a pile of overturned furniture. He spends a second or two trying to calculate the dark tally marks he can see covering the wall next to him, but there are too many and he can't keep track.

John takes a shuddering deep breath that turns Nick's attention back to him. "Hey," he calls, "You okay?"

"Yes," John replies, spitting the word out. He shakes his head heavily from side to side, just in case Nick missed the baldfaced lie for what it is, and takes a hesitating step away from the ladder. The breath he takes doesn't seem to give him enough air, and no amount of gasping can draw more in. He has a white-knuckled grip on the ladder, and it seems for a second to be the only thing holding him up as he visibly reels.

Nick hasn't been on the opposite end of a panic attack in a long time, but he's been through enough on his own to see that John is veering wildly in that direction. He's searching the walls, rapid-fire counting the lines, confusion breaking out on his sweaty, gray face.

"Hey," Nick says quickly, lifting his hands placatingly as he comes closer, "Hey, it's gonna be okay."

John shakes his head again, rapidly this time, abandoning any pretense of control. "No," he gasps, "No, I don't think it is!"

Goddamn it. Nick should have known better, he never should have agreed to this, he never should have let John come down here. He just — he hadn't thought it would be like this. He didn't know it could be this bad.

Nick puts off berating himself, at least until John's panic passes. For now, he focuses on damage control, guiding John's free hand to grab hold of the ladder, which is at least haloed in enough light to keep the worst of it from immediate view.

"It is gonna be okay," he insists. "Here, let's — let's get back up top. Get you some fresh air, okay?"

For a moment, it looks like John doesn't understand the concept, but his fingers eventually curl together on one rung. "I didn't know," he says unhelpfully, but at least he doesn't resist as Nick ushers him slowly up the ladder. He moves so slowly, paralyzed by each step, but Nick's only concern is making sure he doesn't fall on his way out.

The sun is right overhead as John slides out of the bunker, crawling on his hands and knees and collapsing several feet away from the opening. Nick hesitates on the last rung, knowing full well that they can't just leave now that they're here, but he has to deal with John first. The radio has waited this long — it can wait a little while longer.

John gasps for air a few more times, barely catching his breath. He doesn't look at Nick, but he offers him a miserable apology, mumbling, "Sorry," halfway into the dirt.

Nick crouches beside John, awkwardly shifting his weight on his feet. He's not sure what he's supposed to do here — he isn't used to being on this side of things, and Kim is so much better at calming people down than he is. The worst of the attack has passed, but Nick's not good at damage control.

"Hey," he says at last, "It's okay. Take your time."

There's not a patient bone in John's body, so it's a small miracle when he listens obediently, struggling until his breath evens out enough to ease the panic.

"I thought I could handle it," he sighs at last, his voice heavy with resignation. "I handled it for seven years, I thought..."

Nick doesn't think what he saw down there counts as handling it by any means, but he's not about to say as much. Truthfully, he doesn't know what to say.

"We should go," Nick says. "This isn't worth it."

John looks offended at the mere suggestion. "We came all the way here," he rasps. "Give me a minute. I'll — I'll go back —"

"Like hell you will," Nick snaps. He doesn't mean to, but damn, is John really such a masochist? "Look, just — let me go find it. You keep watch up here."

There's barely any hesitation before John nods miserably in agreement. He tries not to let it get to him, but he's already shaken by the underground and he's in a suspiciously fragile state himself. He hopes to God that he can find the radio on his own, and that it works enough to make this trip worth the trauma. If this doesn't work out, Nick is going to feel even worse about it than he already does.

It's not the best idea to leave John alone, but Nick forces himself to go through with it anyway. Armed only with his flashlight and empty backpack, Nick descends as quickly as he can, taking one last breath of fresh air before disappearing into the bunker.

God, there is blood everywhere. Nick's not sure how many of the streaks on the walls are meant to be counted with the rest of the tallies, scratched into the walls with what Nick hopes to God was anything other than John's fingernails. Everywhere Nick shines the light, he finds another smear of crumbling red blood, each one painting a different image of John's scars and scabbed over tattoos. The garbage is honestly overwhelming, with a decade of waste piled up openly on top of sealed trash bags, cans spilling across the floor, dirty clothes and ripped fabrics clumped together in haphazard nests that have molded and mildewed into an inseparable mess...

There's more room to walk than Nick originally thought, although there aren't many places entirely free of trash. Still, he hesitates to step outside of the ring of natural light above. After all, nothing about this bunker is safe. Looking past the garbage and the wreckage that John has left behind, Nick sees rust starting to form along the seams, and his first step feels uneven, as if they hadn't leveled the ground properly before installing and just couldn't be assed to fix it.

Jesus Christ. It's a miracle that John didn't die down here. It's surprising enough that it circulated enough air for him to survive. How the hell did he make it as long as he did in this death trap?

It's not a question Nick can answer, and quite frankly he doesn't think it's safe to spend much time down here ruminating. As a matter of fact, the less time he spends down here, the better. It's hard not to take note of the damage, though, especially as he searches for wherever John might've kept his radio. Lord, with the way everything seems to have been torn apart, who knows if it's even going to be in one piece? Or even somewhere accessible? Nick really doesn't want to go poking through the destroyed couch or the bags of trash heaped in confusing piles across the bunker.

He heads all the way to the back of the space, circling around an overturned table and seeing at last a small desk wedged into the corner, facing the ladder. The radio microphone hangs from its cord over the edge, and Nick has to repress a delighted shout when he sees that it's still in one piece. There's a crack along the plastic case, but other than that, Nick can see that it's a model very similar to the one back home — older by a couple of years, maybe, but hopefully not so old that it's no longer compatible.

He struggles to be careful as he loads the radio into his bag, but all he wants to do is get the hell out of here. It's only once he's pulled the heavy backpack back onto his shoulders that Nick takes stock of the position that he's in. Standing here, facing the ladder, Nick can see a definite barrier that John must've formed at some point — the table, the desk, even the broken down automatic washer, all of it has been set up as though John were planning to hunker down against an enemy attack.

On the ground, behind the table, Nick sees a book with a white leather cover. The gilded Eden's Gate emblem has been mostly rubbed clean off, but Nick has seen that book too many times not to recognize it for what it is. It's bloated with water damage and stuffed with ripped addenda that have filled the binding to burst, lying on the cement like an undetonated grenade.

Nick grabs it before he can think better about it. He immediately regrets it, mostly because the bottom cover has become slimy and the whole thing feels like it's going to come apart in his hands. Not knowing what else to do, he drops it onto the empty desk, wrinkling his nose at the squelching slap of wet paper on wood. He goes so far as to pinch the first few pages under his finger, ready to flip it open to some random verse — but even touching the cover leaves Nick feeling uneasy and watched. Honestly, just looking at it fills Nick with a sense of distant dread, the same hazy fear that came along with the first time he got a face-full of Bliss.

Fuck that, he decides. Whatever John's left in the book, it's not for Nick to look at. He already got what they came for, and it's been about five minutes; Nick can't leave John waiting much longer, and frankly he doesn't want to. With one last grimace in the book's direction, Nick beelines for the ladder. He stops trying to tabulate how many days John kept track of, stops wondering when or if he ever lost count, and focuses entirely on getting the hell out of the goddamn deathtrap.

It's probably just his imagination, but Nick can smell floral sweetness in the air as he finally escapes the bunker. He takes a deep breath once he's out, tipping his face back to gratefully meet the blue Montana sky.

John waits until Nick looks at him to ask uneasily, "Did you find it?"

"Yeah," Nick replies, shifting the backpack so that he can pat it reassuringly. "I think it'll work. I didn't check for the parts — I figure we can do that back home."

John nods a few times. "Good," he mutters, "Good," as if maybe he doesn't think it's such a good thing at all. He falls silent, and Nick realizes he's waiting for Nick to say something about what he saw down there.

Nick wants to say something. He doesn't know what, though. His own thoughts are scattered and confused. "Uh... you mind if I close it up?" he asks.

John shakes his head mutely in response; the clang of the door rises up through the air like a stricken bell, scattering some birds that had been resting in the treetops.

"So... uh..." Nick rubs the back of his head, trying to decide what to say before deciding lamely to go with, "Do you... wanna talk about it?"

The fact that John doesn't immediately reply tells Nick all he needs to know. When John finally says, "No," Nick knows it's a lie, even if he's not sure what to do about it. Nick's positive that they do need to talk about it. But he doesn't know how he can force the issue, and he's sure he's not the man to do it. John needs a licensed psychologist, or a goddamn priest, someone who can absolve him of whatever the fuck that all was down there, not a hick aviator who can hardly handle his own trauma.

"Are you sure?" he presses. "I mean..."

John stares at the dirt, his hands curling into tense fists. Nick moves immediately to rescind the question, but John beats him to the punch. "I didn't know it would look like that," he tells the weeds matted under his boots. "I didn't think it would... be like that."

Nick wants to ask how John avoided noticing the mess spiraling out of control around him, but there had been plenty of evidence down there that proved John hadn't been in a clear state of mind.

"There... were issues with the power early on," John admits, clearing his throat roughly. "I would have to... prioritize. Switch on the lights, switch off the ventilation system. Switch off the lights, switch on the ventilation. Eventually, I stopped switching on the lights."

He swallows a few times and tries to bring his eyes to Nick's, but he can't seem to manage it. "Really," he mutters. "We don't have to talk about it." But before Nick can agree, because he suddenly wants to hear as little of the story as possible, John continues briefly onward, staggering the words as though he's throwing them off a cliff. "I've been locked in the dark before," he says. "I thought I could handle it. But I... I couldn't."

Nick doesn't know what to say. He stares helplessly at John, waiting for Kim to materialize out of the wood and point out the obvious emotional cue for him to take, but there's nothing but John's uncomfortable expression and a quiet forest all around them. He should reach out, maybe. Offer him a sympathetic hand, or something.

"That's all I want to say about it," John says at last.

"Uh. Okay." Nick clears his throat, tries to think up a good joke to lighten the mood, and fails completely. He tries to come up with something to say that would share his sentiment but nothing comes.

"Kim will start to worry," John mutters.

Kim's gonna worry no matter what, but Nick doesn't bother to tell John that. If he thinks he can hide his emotional distress from Nick's wife, then he is welcome to try. At least that'll be more fun to watch than the slow implosion happening in front of him now.

Nick waits until the silence between them on the way back doesn't feel so thick, then tries to distract from John's deeply pensive mood. "I'm not looking forward to reading more of that manual," he says as they trace the path back towards the house. "But I also don't wanna screw up our only chance at replacing it. It's a real tough situation."

"I assume the pictures aren't clear enough for you," John replies. It's a joke insult that stings mostly because of John's brisk delivery, and he ducks away as soon as the words leave his mouth. Nick considers taking it personally for a second, until John wearily mutters a sincere apology into the air between them. "I didn't mean that," he admits roughly.

"It's fine," Nick shrugs. After all, Nick's used to being a self-defensive dickhead; he can't exactly take offense.

Casually brushing it off seems to be the wrong thing to do. John comes to an abrupt halt behind Nick, thick tears gathering and spilling over his closed eyelids. At first, when Nick turns, he can't comprehend the sight in front of him, watching John's face slowly turn red. John sucks in a wet, heaving breath, which only makes things worse as it turns into a sob midway. It seems to mortify John, but he can't stop, and all at once he's just — crying, and Nick is left standing there while John covers his face in humiliation and sucks in deep, horrified breaths. Words try to form between the sobs, but all Nick hears is desperate wailing.

"Shit," Nick says, setting down the backpack, "Okay, hold on —"

"—Didn't know what to do," John's saying, the words tearing from his throat. "I got trapped, I didn't —"

"Hey," Nick tries, "Just — take a breath."

John sobs, dropping to his knees in the mulch. "I lost track of it," he gasps, "I don't know what's real, Nick. How much of this is happening — I keep thinking I'm not — I'm not ever getting out of here, and I —"

Oh, Nick knows he fucked up real bad now. John's cries tear through the scar overlaying his heart, as though twisting a knife that's rusted over in his chest. Nick thinks back to the muttering, the distant looks, the unsettling nightmares, and now he kind of sees them for what they are. Deep, visible wounds on John's psyche that he should have caught sooner. Signs of a collapse much bigger than the one that put them in this world to begin with. Clear indications that John wasn't ready to go back.

"Please," John gasps. He doesn't ask for anything, so Nick doesn't know what he wants, but he repeats the word like it's the only one he knows. "Please."

"God damn," Nick sighs, coming to John's side. "You are a real piece of work."

He can't help but try to deflect, even as he reaches out to grasp the dented curves of John's shoulders. He knows there are deep, claw-mark scars under his hands, even if he can't feel them through the flannel of John's shirt. He thinks he understands where they came from now, although the concept is more horrifying than Nick is willing to consider; all he can do is be better than John had been to himself, and hope that's enough.

Nick barely pulls John in before he's being grabbed, desperate claws sinking into Nick's back as John scrabbles for a secure grip. He's shaking so badly that Nick feels it rattling his own bones. There's nothing for Nick to do but hold on while John desperately tries not to fall apart at the seams, struggling to form coherent words. Nick only catches some of them, as John tries to explain the barriers, the tallies, the scarred over spaces where he used to have tattoos, but he doesn't need to understand the words to see the wounds that are being uncovered.

"Alone," John cries into Nick's chest, "I was alone, the whole time, he said I wouldn't be alone —"

"Okay," Nick consoles, "It's okay."

John eventually calms down, although it's anybody's guess how long it takes for him to finally catch his breath. Even when he does, his gasps finally leveling out, he keeps a tight grip on the back of Nick's shirt. Not even Carmina has clung to Nick so terribly, and despite the fact that John has a couple of years on him, Nick manages to feel desperately protective in the moment. He can't help it. John keeps talking like he can't tell up from down, and he'd been trapped down in that hole for who knows how long without power, and from the chaos he'd seen, it's clear John has been trying to protect himself for a long time.

"I've got ya," Nick says after John lets out a heavy sigh, finally losing the strength to hold on so tightly.

John's sweaty face is pressed into Nick's shoulder, but the words are still clear. "I need this to be real," he admits quietly. "I can't go back there."

"You don't have to," Nick says. He's rubbing John's back now and he doesn't know when he started, but the guy seems so desperate for the contact that he can't bring himself to stop. "You're not making me up, you know?"

John huffs. There might be a laugh somewhere in there, or Nick might be imagining it. "I know," he rasps. "I wouldn't be so kind to myself."

Oh, man. Nick sighs, patting his back gently. "Gotta work on that, I guess," he says. "We'll get you there."

John's fingers curl briefly against Nicks back. "Thank you," he mutters. "God, thank you."

Nick lets the situation lie like that for a minute or so. John is the first one to let go, his arms falling away from Nick's sides as he leans back and takes a deep, steady breath of air. Nick lets him go with a heavy pat on the shoulder, relieved to have the space if only because it means John isn't about to collapse again.

"Kim was right," John admits, saying aloud the thought that's been repeating nonstop in Nick's mind. "I should have listened to her."

Nick gets to his feet. "Yeah, probably. Thank God she isn't the type to say 'I told you so,' huh?"

John sits back, scrubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve. "I hope so," he says.

"I think I know my wife pretty well by now," Nick chuckles, holding his hand out for John. "C'mon, let's get home before she comes looking for us."

For an awful second, Nick thinks John is going to cry again, but he only grits his teeth and takes Nick's help to climb to his own feet. He dusts off his pants as though his face isn't warped by drying tear tracks, wiping belatedly at the wet skin under his eyes as they start onward again. Nick doesn't let him trail behind too far, but he doesn't force John to keep pace either, leaving enough space so that John doesn't feel self-conscious when he starts sniffling again.

They haven't been gone that long, but Kim is still waiting for them outside when they get back. She and Carmina are reading on the porch, but as soon as Nick and John reach the driveway, Kim drops the pretense entirely. Nick hears John take a deep breath behind him; he looks back, but John's expression is too troubled to get a good read. At least he doesn't seem likely to bolt.

"We got it!" Nick shouts as they walk across the drive, lifting the backpack up triumphantly.

"Oh, thank God," Kim sighs, relief flooding her expression. "Nobody got hurt?"

Nick looks back at John, then shrugs. "Nothing we can't fix," he suggests.

John takes a breath. He looks like he wants to spill everything right then and there, but he boils it all down into a simple admission. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

Stunned, Kim asks, "Are you okay?"

"No," he quietly replies. "You were right."

Kim shakes her head, glancing briefly at Nick before putting a gentle hand on John's arm. He sighs shakily at the contact, but thankfully he doesn't collapse into another crying wreck. Kim looks like she's expecting something like that, but John manages to surprise them both.

"We can talk about it later, if you want," Kim tells him, patting his shoulder.

There's relief in John's voice as he suggests, "I'll need a strong drink before I accept that offer."

Kim shakes her head, laughing a little. "It's as good a place to start as any," she tells him.

Carmina, who's been standing on the porch looking increasingly bored, finally gives up waiting for attention. "Hey, dad," she calls, lifting the radio's manual up in the air, "Can I help with the radio?"

"So much for my technological superiority," Nick sighs, raising his voice to tell Carmina, "Sure!"

"I couldn't help it," Kim replies. She has a smug expression that tells Nick a different story, but he can easily forgive her for deciding to make their kid smarter out of spite. It's better than trying to poison him or running off with Hurk and his raider gang. "I cleared off the table for you," she adds, "And I brought out the radio so you could get a better look at it."

"I guess there's no better time to start than now," Nick says. He offers John a lopsided grin and asks, "So, uh, how much do you know about electronic repair?"

"About as much as you," John replies. He gestures his arm towards the house, saying, "It can be a learning experience for us all."

As if this whole year so far hasn't been one big learning curve. Nick shakes his head, leading the three adults up to the porch. Carmina disappears inside, triumphantly waving the manual in the air, leaving Nick to chase playfully after her inside the house. He catches sight of Kim talking to John on the porch, but Carmina is squealing delightedly in his arms so he can't quite make out the conversation. Later on, he can tell Kim about what happened, but for now, she seems content with whatever John is saying, patting him again on the arm before leading him inside. She shuts the door behind her, and for the first time in almost a year, Nick feels as though he's finally home, surrounded by people on the same page as him for once. This, he thinks, could very well be his new normal, and that's not so bad at all.

[5-seconds-of-bucky]

So I Don’t Forget (Luke Imagine)

A/N: Anna's writing 5sos stuff??? It's been forever since I've posted anything with 5sos but nobody reads it so . . . Anyways, I know this is a cliche idea but I like it. Thanks to everyone who reads this! Please reblog and leave feedback! It would mean the world to me!!!

Summary: You write letters to Luke to help cope with his death

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warnings: Mentions of death, very sad, swearing

*Italics are the letter, normal font is y/n's actions* 

                                                                                                          April 13, 2018

Dear Luke,

It's been a month since the accident and I haven't been doing so great. My therapist suggested writing letters to you to help cope but I don't think they're going to help. I've only felt more upset now that I have to think about you more. I don't even know what to write about. Not much has been going on since you left. I haven't been able to do much without feeling the need to break down. I've tried to stay strong for Robbie but it's so hard. He's too young to understand what happened, other than the fact that you aren't here anymore. Everyone is nice to me, but in a pitiful way. It's almost like death is contagious or something. They bring over meals and tell me that they're there for me if I need anything but the second I invite them in, they act like they have somewhere to be and leave.

That hurt: realizing that nobody knew how to comfort you, or even made an effort to try. Without Luke, you felt so lonely. You had Robbie, but he couldn't do much, being so young.

You should see Robbie now. He's grown so quickly. I can already see you in him, it's insane. His hair is all curls and his nose is an exact replica of yours. I wish you were still around so he could take after you personality wise. Now he's going to be as sarcastic as I am (which probably isn't a good thing). Fuck that driver who couldn't stop to think about how dangerous drunk driving is. They didn't just take you from us, they left Robbie without a dad, your bandmates without a brother, and me without my soulmate. You left too soon and now I have to be a single mom when we barely had this parenting thing down with two people. It's so hard.

The tears that had been few and in between for the past few days were pouring down your face now, some splashing onto the paper of which you were writing your letter. You couldn't help it. The more you thought about it, the more the pain crept into your soul, consuming every last cell you had. You had lost you husband, your soulmate, and you'd never get him back.

This is all I can write for today. I love you so much and I promise I will never forget you. Not a second goes by when you're not consuming my thoughts. With more love than we could ever imagine,

Y/N

It was done. Your first letter to your dead husband was finished. What else could you write to someone who would never read it?

                                                                                                                    6/30/18

Dear Luke,

It's been a while. I'm sorry, I just haven't been able to get myself to write this. I've been doing so much better lately. I can go out and do things like a functional person now! Everyone's doing a lot better actually. The boys have been coming over a lot recently for dinner. They look less heartbroken, and I guess I do too. They've talked about finishing the tour soon but they're probably going to break up after that. It's not the same without you. Who knows, maybe they could get someone to replace you! (Haha, they could and would never. You are just too special to replace.) That was kinda mean but I think this deeply heavy and emotional letter needs some comedy relief. (You can tell I'm doing better since I'm making jokes again.) How is it up there? I hope you're doing alright and that you're not lonely. Robbie is convinced you don't have enough friends and you need some company but I told him I'm sure you've made plenty. He really misses you now that he kinda understands that you're gone for good. He's told me that he wants to be just like you when he grows up. (He's convinced he could replace you in the band if someone would just show him how to play the guitar. I don't trust his three year old hands around them though so don't worry, your guitars are perfectly safe.) He's going to start preschool this year and I'm not sure I'm ready for that. He's grown up so fast! Soon enough he'll be going to college and I'll be all alone. I forgot to tell you, I got a job! At first it was just to distract me from my grief, but I've found that I really enjoy it. Sure, we have enough money to live comfortably for a very long time, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my days sitting around and doing nothing. Anyways, that's all I really have to write for today. I miss you so much and I love you to the end of the universe and back a million times! Love,

Y/N

You clicked the end of the pen with a sigh of relief. You had written your first letter to him in two months and you were just now realizing how much better you felt. It was like swearing when you stubbed your toe. A bit of relief from the pain you felt. Maybe this helped more than you originally thought.

                                                                                                                      7/3/18

Dear Luke,

I know it's only been a few days but you need to hear about this. Robbie told me he wants another pet. Another fucking pet. I though Petunia was enough but no, he wants a cat. I love cats and all, but do we need another pet??? Petunia takes up enough space as the baked potato she is (I love her for it don't get me wrong) so we don't need another animal right? It's really hard to get ask your advice when you can't respond. Maybe we should do it just because we can and I think Petunia needs a companion. She's good around cats, right? Fine, I'll do it. I can't believe writing to you is helping me make up my mind. Oh well. While I'm here, might as well mention that I miss you and I love you so much!!! (Three exclamation points, that's a lot! That's how you know how much I miss you) Sorry this letter is so short but we have to go look for a cat now. Love you! Love,

Y/N

P.S: We bought all the supplies for the cat. Now we have to go find one (7/4)

P.P.S: We got a really fluffy cat and Petunia loves her (7/6)

                                                                                                                      8/1/18

Dear Daddy,

Hi daddy! It's Robbie! I miss you so much!! Mommy has to write this cause I don't know how to write yet. We got a kitty and we named her Oreo cause she's black and white. Petunia likes her soooooo much. When I play blocks Oreo knocks them over and then I have to start over. I built a really cool castle yesterday but Petunia ran into it before mommy could take a picture of it. My birthday is coming soon! I'm going to be 4! Mommy said that Grandma and Papa are coming over and we are going to eat cake and open presents (but the presents are for me because it's my birthday).  I'm going to play with Petunia now! I love you!!!!!!!!

Love, Robbie

Hey Luke, It's me, Y/N. I'm not gonna waste paper so I'll write this on the same sheet. I think we'll keep the letters to once a month now so I have stuff to talk about and so we don't forget. Robbie drew you a picture so I'll put it in here when I fold the letter. It's a picture of all of us and Petunia and Oreo. I don't know why I'm so short compared to you. Maybe because I told him that you were super tall? I don't know. Anyways, the boys have decided not to finish the tour. They claimed it's just not the same without you on stage and that they don't want to have a 5sos without you. I don't know if they're going to continue as a band or not. I know you would want them to but it would be weird without you. I'm gonna go now. Sorry these have been short lately. I'm not really sure what to say anymore. These letters help to cope but I don't think I can really put everything I want to say on paper yet. Love you more every day that passes by! 

 Love, Y/N

Throughout the next few months you wrote Luke letters, hoping that the words would just flow onto the page. Every month it seemed harder to put something down. You felt much happier now, but that emotional barrier was still present. After a while you stopped writing the letters, too frustrated with yourself to try to write more. You never forgot about your husband, but you started to think about him less often than before. That was, until the one year anniversary of his death.

                                                                                                                    3/13/19

Dear Luke,

I'm back. I know it's been too long but I've been doing so well. The letters got to a point where there was nothing for me to put down on the page. They started to make me more frustrated with myself than they helped me cope. I never knew what to say other than I miss you and I wish you had never left. I finally finished my last therapy session! (Last week actually, but now is not the time for technicalities) I'm so much more at peace with myself than I was a year ago. A whole year that you've been gone and it feels like an eternity. It's been so hard without you here. I know I said I've been doing better but sometimes I feel myself slip without anyone there to catch me. There are nights where I can't do anything but cry because I know that I have to live the rest of my life without you. That I will never find someone who I love like I loved you. Like I love you.

In that moment you broke down. Luke was gone for good and you couldn't do anything about it. The only part you had left of him was his guitars and Robby. 

I know I have to be strong but it's so fucking hard. Life is shitty without your sunshine personality to make it better. Robby is constantly asking about you and I wish I didn't have to leave you partially up to his imagination. He needs a father figure here and I can't give that to him. I've tried to get back into the dating game but I just can't. Being with someone that isn't you doesn't sit right with me. The thought of someone taking your place as my husband and as Robby's dad is terrifying. You were supposed to be with me through it all and you were barely there for the first portion.

You place the pen down on the desk you kept in your room and stood up to go to bed. You couldn't finish this letter. Sobs pushed through your body and you couldn't seem to stop them as they slowly got louder and louder. Normally you would be concerned that Robby would hear you but at this point you just needed to let it all out. The pain that you had held down for the past year all came out at once. What if Luke had been five minutes late from the meeting rather than out on time. What if you had asked him to pick up the milk you needed so he would have to take a different turn. What if that stupid driver hadn't gotten drunk in the first place.

"Mommy, why are you crying?" Your son's voice came from the doorway. He was holding the stuffed tiger Luke had bought for him when he was born. Ever since the accident, Robby rarely let it out of his sight.

"I just miss daddy," You reply, sitting up in your bed and holding out your arms to pick him up when he walked over to you."We lost him a whole year ago now and I miss him a whole lot."

Robby was clinging onto you now, hugging you as tight as he could and burying his face into your shoulder. You sat like that for a minute, trying to stop your tears until you felt Robby start to shake.

"Why can't daddy come back to us? I miss him!" He wailed, causing you to shed a few more tears. At that moment, the only thing you could do was rub his back and cry with him.

"I miss him too baby. I miss him too." 

[raeynbowboi]

The Other Ships in My Fleet

So, I’ve already made a post talking about how I feel about certain ships in My Hero Academia, and another post about some of my other fandoms. Both posts got a lot of likes and reblogs, so I figured I’d talk about my ships from other fandoms. If this post also gets a lot of positive feedback, I’ll consider starting a second page to post my fan content for all of my fandoms, while still maintaining this one almost exclusively for My Hero Academia and Kiribaku specifically.

Klance (Keith x Lance) Voltron: Legendary Defender

I’m fully aware that this ship is probably not going to happen, but it’s really the only ship in the series that speaks to me. I will not lie, I am a big fan of dark and moody dating happy-go-lucky, and the rivals to friends to lovers element is just icing on the cake. It’s only further helped by Lance being Keith’s second-in-command. They help each other grow, and the trust that forms between them is cute and endearing. They also shared a major element to their characters. Both of them feel out of place, Keith because of his Galra heritage, and Lance because he doesn’t have a niche role.

Rabies/Rae x BB (Raven x Beast Boy) Teen Titans (2003)

While there wasn’t a lot of shipping fodder for these two in the 2003 iteration, the two are a canon couple in most versions of the teen titans, having been married in the comics (more than once, I think) so this is sort of a unique ship in that I ship it across every version of the two characters. Sporting a snarky moody goth and a lovable goofball, their dynamic was like that of an old married couple, or a moody teenager and her annoying little brother. Still, the two were good friends, and even though their personalities were polar opposites of each other, they had a lot of quiet, emotional moments together in the series. Whether you want to read them as friends or potential lovers, I think it’s hard to deny that there was a genuinely nice bond between the pair.

Garnet/Rupphire (Ruby x Sapphire) Steven Universe

As the show’s literal physical manifestation of love and a perfect relationship, it’s hard not to like the relationship between these two adorable lesbians. With the show sometimes being edited to remove the queer elements, it’s absolutely hysterical that they had the two get married in an episode very important to the plot, and put Ruby in the dress so that absolutely nobody could misinterpret her as a male. Editing it would only confuse viewers as to why everybody is in wedding attire, thus taking a very satisfying stance against censors and bigotry. Garnet also marks a first in children’s programming as the first same-sex wedding in a children’s animated show, at least as far as I’m aware.

Pearl x Mystery Girl Steven Unieverse

Although only featured in a single episode and having no dialogue, Mystery Girl (possibly named Sabina) is a very important element to Pearl’s character, being her first step toward moving on from Rose Quartz. There were fans that hoped that Mystery Girl would come back, but even if she doesn’t, she’s still important to Pearl’s character development.

Amedot (Amethyst x Peridot) Steven Universe

I know a lot of people prefer Lapidot, but frankly I find Lapis too selfish and cold-hearted to be ready for a relationship as she currently stands. I find Amethyst to be a better fit for Peridot, since they both share issues with their height. That, and the way the show frames them has romantic comedy tropes interwoven into their scenes. But even if they’re just friends, Amethyst’s approval means so much to Peridot.

Stevonnie (Steven Universe x Connie Maheswaren) Steven Universe

I’m not usually a fan of lead boy dates lead girl ships, as they tend to be very poorly done, and many feel forced, or are just boring and predictable. However, the bond between these two feels very genuine. They don’t feel like a lead boy and lead girl forced into a relationship at all. They come together very naturally, and the show takes its time to build their friendship up slowly. The show remembers that they’re kids first, friends second, jam buds third, and love interests last.

Tomstar (Tom Lucitor x Star Butterfly) Star Vs the Forces of Evil

Considering the show’s themes of monsters, racism, and not judging evil at face value, this ship serves as the most thematically poignant to the narrative that the show is setting up. It also makes Star a stronger parallel to her “evil” great great something grandmother, Eclipsa. Both are monster sympathizers with monster boyfriends. While the blood moon bonds complicate things, I see this ship as the most relevant to the themes and messages the show seems to want to send.

Tomco (Tom Lucitor x Marco Diaz) Star Vs the Forces of Evil

More of a joke/crack ship, I know it’s unlikely, but the entire episode of Friendenemies had romantic comedy written all over it. Between the literal in-universe break-up song to the show’s promotional art being inspired by dime store pulp romance novels fuel the fire that keeps this ship afloat.

Bumblebee/Bumbleby (Blake Belladonna x Yang Xiao Long) RWBY

Partners, teammates, and close friends, the ship really took off starting in season 2 during the episode “Burning the Candle”, as Blake spiraled into self-destructive habits due to obsessing over her problems. Nobody is able to get through to her until Yang comes in to talk to her. She doesn’t lecture her or beg her to stop. She instead forms a bridge of trust by first opening up about a similar situation she’s been in, and how she knows first hand that this sort of spiraling can only have negative impacts. They are shown to be parallels, as both girls are negatively effected by a loved one no longer in their life, and the trust issues that spring from that loved one’s actions. Yang was abandoned by her mother, a problem which she mentions Blake repeated. For Blake, it was the uncertainty of trusting someone’s character, and being afraid of someone slowly turning into someone else. She explicitly states in season 3 that her ex started off a nice guy, like Yang. The first time he hurt someone, there was a reason. There was always an excuse. Until eventually, she became the pardoner. The one excusing his actions. And, she expresses the fear that Yang could be following a similar path. Both girls have been hurt by someone in the past, and both girls are afraid of being hurt the same way again, and inadvertently hurt each other the same way as someone else has. It’s also known that RWBY characters tend to represent or be based on fairy tale characters. Yang is Goldilocks, and Blake is Beauty from Beauty and the Beast. However, based on the lyrics from Red Like Roses “Black the Beast descends from shadows, Yellow Beauty burns gold”, there seems to be an implication that Yang is the Beauty to Blake’s Beast. This is interestingly supported by Blake’s name. Blake is a Celtic name meaning both Black and White, and Belladonna literally means Beautiful Woman in Italian, but is also the name of a very poisonous plant often mistaken for the harmless blueberry. The duality of her name could be pointing to how she plays the dual role of both Beauty and Beast.

Seamonkeys (Sun Wukong x Neptune Vasilias) RWBY

A bit more of a crack ship, these two lovable idiots are far less likely to be canon, but since Sun is Yang’s main competition for Blake’s heart, I have no problem shipping him off elsewhere with his goofy best friend. Although they act more like usual best friends in the canon show, their relationship does have a much gayer tone in the less canon comedy show RWBY Chibi, where Neptune almost seems to act like a jealous clingy girlfriend a lot of the times. I doubt the ship would ever sail, but I mostly ship it because they’re cute together. Although, with season 6 just starting, I got the vibe that Sun was stepping aside to let Bumblebee sail uninhibited. Sun doesn’t really have a third popular ship, it’s just Black Sun and Seamonkeys, so this ship may be gaining validity in the future.

Gumlee (Marshall Lee x Prince Gumball) Adventure Time with Fiona and Cake

The male counterpart to Bubbline (Princess Bubblegum x Marceline), there’s no real difference between the two pairs other than their genders, and Gumball preferring baking while Bubblegum prefers science. Because they are effectively just gender-swapped clones of the canon ship, anything canonical between the girls is also technically canon with these two. It’s not that I don’t like Bubbline, but when given the choice between gay or lesbian versions of a couple, I’m going to be naturally inclined to lean toward the gay version.

Sasunaru/Narusasu (Sasuke Uchiha x Naruto Uzumaki) Naruto

Maybe there’s a cultural aspect I’m unaware of, but it’s a bit of a running gag in the Naruto fanbase at this point that Naruto is obsessed with Sasuke. So much so that he seems to care about him way beyond normal friendship. With how much these two obsess over one another, it’s no surprise why this became such a popular pairing. Their dynamic even dwarfed Hinata’s heartfelt confession of her love during the Pain Invasion Arc, because as soon as that ended, did Naruto go talk to Hinata? No, he immediately started thinking about Sasuke. Hinata definitely got the shaft in part II, which is a shame because I really loved her character.

Bob and Linda Belcher Bob’s Burgers

More of an honorable mention than a full on ship, I wanted to highlight them as one of adult animation’s only married couples that actually still like each other. In the wake of the popularity of the Simpsons, and the cementing of the genre with Family Guy, the stock dynamic of idiot husband and enraged but supportive wife became a recurring trope. Before long, every single animated sitcom-esque family fell into this very annoying cliche. So, finding a couple in adult animation that are not only married but still manage to show they love each other is amazing. Their marriage isn’t on the rocks, they find time to at least try and be romantic, and even when they have bets or are on opposing sides of something, the show never forgets that these two love each other at the end of the day.

Captain Swan (Killian “Hook” Jones x Emma Swan) Once Upon A Time

This relationship between Captain Hook and the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming might sound odd on paper, but this couple is by far one of the healthiest relationships in the series. Both Hook and Emma come from broken lives, and together build themselves up to something stronger. In a melodrama surrounding fairy tales, both characters are surprisingly grounded, realistic, and skeptical cynics, a very stark contrast from the usual wide-eyed lovey-dovey couples Disney is known for. Emma’s tendency to put up walls and Killian’s tendency to always put himself first are both slowly broken down over time as Killian tries to tear down Emma’s walls and get to know her while she works on building a foundation of trust between them. The pairing feels very organic, and they definitely feel like the most realistic couple in the series as they both take turns stumbling and working toward being good for each other.

Rumbelle (Rumplestiltskin x Belle) Once Upon A Time

In the early seasons, this couple was beautiful to watch. I truly loved their chemistry and dynamic, as both of them were given such strong characteristics without simplifying either of them. However, as the show went on, it started to lose that power. The couple started to feel toxic as Belle kept waiting for Rumple to change, and he kept on lying and lying. It even reached a stopping point. A perfect one. Rumple was redeemed. He was a good man again. He could be the man Belle deserved. But instead, he slipped right back into his old ways. It was then that I fell off the band wagon for this ship. I loved it once, until I got sick of watching him hurt her over and over.

Daenerys Targaryen x Khal Drogo Game of Thrones

Although together only for a short while, this power couple won audiences over very quickly, as Drogo’s gruff but passionate affection mixed with Danny’s growing confidence and rise to power made these two iconic.

Renly Baratheon x Ser Loras Tyrell Game of Thrones

Another short-lived relationship, the remarkable thing is that Renly was literally the only character vying for the throne with fully good intentions for the realm. He was concerned with the needs of the people, and was the only morally good candidate in the War of Five Kings. Sadly, the ydidn’t get much screen time, but they were still a strong couple.

Peraltiago (Jake Peralta x Amy Santiago) Brooklyn 99

A rare exception to the don’t force the leads to date rule, the show let them form a bond over time that went from a friendly childish rivalry to a friendly dating rivalry. While each character experiences change and growth, it is not at the expense of their personalities, and the progression feels like it was meant to happen.

[doktoreth]

Rebuttal against dragon-ball-meta

So my stupid ass has no idea how tumblr works, even to this day. After meta responded, I wasn’t able to reblog his stuff, message him, or even follow him. I’m quite certain he blocked me, which is . . . unexpected to say the least. And sad. A real eye-opener, that is. Here’s my rebuttal to his response. Someone let me know if he replies again or something, maybe copy+paste his shit for me, I dunno. Let’s begin:

Hey, thanks for responding, man. Appreciate it.

It’s Toriyama’s words against yours, pal. Regardless of how it was ignored or overwritten, none of this actually precludes its canonical connection with the main story. This isn’t actually an argument against filler’s canonicity, it just reaffirms the admittedly nonsensical connection Toriyama himself decided to establish. Let’s examine the entirety of the last scan(remember, fourth post):

“12: From time to time, il would happen that people whom I didn't even know were approaching me about the anime. Things were often said like: "Oh jeeze, between the manga and the anime, you must never take any time to let yourself breathe!". In reality, I had hardly worked at all on the anime, I had put confidence in my collaborators. I had enough to do just with the manga. I didn't want to work myself to death, you know...

Toriyama: I want to live until I'm 100 years old!

13: For example, drawing an image of a movement in a manga is relatively simple, but to animate this image, you had to decompose the movement and draw all the intermediary movements. That demands a colossal amount of work. (Ok, the example of Kame-sennin might not be the most appropriate...)”

Nothing much here. He’s essentially elaborating on how much his work is cut out for him. Now all that’s left is the final quotes:

“14: Of course, those who have read Dragon Ball have noticed that certain stories which are found in the anime didn't existe in the manga.

Oolong: What's this? I never saw that in the manga....”

Toriyama and Oolong mention the original stories found in the anime, the filler stories. Obviously.

“END: As one adventure in the manga corresponds to about 10 minutes of animation, and since one episode comprises on average 30 minutes, the entire series of Dragon Ball would have passed by very quickly. The team of animators therefore had to insert some original stories. I admire what they have done, that's a hell of a job!”

Toriyama’s reasoning for inserting original stories is padding, as you know. He’s not talking about how it’s fine if people like both or how the padding didn’t upset him. Anywho, we know that when he speaks of “original stories”, he’s speaking in a narrative context.

“Toriyama: Dragon Ball, it's the anime and the manga!”

Whereas the previous quote denotes his reasoning, this final quote confirms his overall treatment of the anime, being that it along with the manga comprise one wholesome narrative. Everyone knows it’s for the sake of padding. That’s been obvious from the very beginning. Still doesn’t negate Toriyama’s clear and explicit connection between the two mediums. Remember, Toriyama > You/Me.

I’m not sure what your point is in saying I think those types of alterations are “akin” to the driving episode. My view on the filler’s canonicity is akin to Toriyama’s. I also think it was a stupid decision on his part to establish such a connection for reasons I’m sure you’d agree with, such as character breaking moments and inconsistent power levels. I see filler as supplementary evidence for Plague, honestly. He doesn’t need ‘em to defend Tien.

See, the issue there is that all that fandom backlash and meme shit is frankly an insignificant indicator as to where his popularity is concerned. Weekly Jump 1993 has Krillin living the good life just behind Piccolo, Weekly Jump 1995 has Krillin taking more of a backseat and yet he’s still popular enough to remain in the top 10, and Dragon Ball Forever has Krillin just catching up back to Piccolo. He’s evidently the most popular human character, so I’m not at all out of line in connecting the dots (or votes, in this case) to his relevancy in the series. No conceit or irrational dislike here, meta, when I’ve mostly no problems with Krillin’s treatment in the series, only how others like Tien are being left in the dust.

Christ, this again? I can tell this conversation is heading to, “Oh, Krillin’s progress makes sense for his status as the strongest human” instead of addressing Plague’s overall gripe. Frankly, the exact point of plateau is too vague and arbitrary to pinpoint for any of these guys. Meta, please listen, just listen: I believe you. Krillin’s progression making him surpass Tien WITHOUT artificial power boosts is realistic. Would it have happened eventually or inevitably? Neither of us know, but that was never the point, which is that Tien’s importance as a fighter is no less than that of Krillin, and yes, even Yamcha. Plague’s premise was never reliant on Tien being the strongest, he touched on that for literally only a few seconds near the end, so let’s drop this tangent on who would’ve surpassed whom, yeah?

Well, first off, I would respectfully ask you to quell your bias for Krillin, as Plague’s video on Tien touches on him quite infrequently anyway. You spend too much time on this subject, and while I’m happy to engage you on it, it’s quite the digression. His videos being internet comedy videos (scroll down and you’ll find his comment), he makes sure to stay on point without rambling off-topic. The comedic value of his content would be severely diminished if he was all like, “Tien is fading into irrelevancy in comparison to other fan favorites”, instead of saying, “This is a Toriyama handjob.” You can call this intellectual dishonesty from a dishonest hack, I call it what it is: comedy. If you can discern no difference between the two in relation to his actual points, then I can’t help you there. I can only hope I’ve made everyone here more open-minded and vice versa.

I’m beginning to think you haven’t watched his video, meta. He doesn’t think Toriyama hates Tien. He called Tien’s stand against Cell his “greatest accomplishment” in the end of the video, albeit begrudgingly. Any examples in Z are mere digressions, anyway, as he specifically criticizes Tien’s treatment in SUPER. Anyone can look at Tien’s entry into the ToP and take that to mean he was kept important; Tien’s performance was a joke comparatively even in terms of strategy, forget power. His only notable achievements are Tri-Beaming an already incapacitated Za Priccio, courtesy of Roshi, earning Tien a knockout and his FIRST EVER ATTACK landed on an enemy that isn’t a Frieza soldier, and the most humiliating ringout ever in the form of using clones to tackle Harmira off the ring AFTER Tien’s original body was thrown off when he just as well could’ve used one measly clone as bait beforehand. Yes, power isn’t the sole indicator, but it’s the most important one in Dragon Ball. So when the ToP is played up to be needing more strategy, Tien is still treated as a joke of an afterthought.

That’s great, meta. Neither do I and neither does Plague.

I wildly disagree. His thoughts are spot on precisely because he acknowledges Tien’s motivations as a character. I don’t find them argued from emotion any more than I find yours regarding Krillin, tbh. It’s okay for you to be wrong sometimes too, meta.

P.S. You’ve said this already. I agree. I think the same can be argued for Tien given the extremely vague context as to what certain side guys have been doing off-screen. I’m literally watching the Tien video for the third time (you don’t stop talking about this, so I need to make sure), and I get the impression that Plague’s mad about Tien’s piss-poor performance comparatively rather than him being the strongest human (again, this was NOT the crux of his argument).

P.P.S You’ve . . . made this point already. Nobody said this. Plague didn’t say this. Jesus. He never even spoke of Krillin’s popularity to begin with. I know why Krillin’s popular. Hell, I loved his character from the very beginning. Krillin, Krillin, Krillin, Krillin, Krillin. We get it, meta.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Hold Back the River

Hey there! Here’s Part XI to the Chaos and the Calm series, which can be found here. I know I usually post at night, but I really wanted to get this one out to you guys. I’m really proud of it, and it’s a definite don’t miss, so be sure to tell me all of your thoughts and reactions. it really makes my day hearing feedback, and as always, don’t forget to reblog! 

Hold Back the River

July 2020

Tried to keep you close to me/But life got in between/Tried to square not being there/But think that I should have been

He had triple-checked his bags before they had left for the airport, but Harry found himself rummaging through his carry-on once again as Alex drove them to Holmes Chapel.

“Love, if you’ve forgotten something, it’s not exactly like we can turn round and get it,” she said gently, trying to hide a smile.

“I know,” Harry muttered bashfully. “Jus’ wanted to make sure.” He hadn’t forgotten anything, just like the other three times he had checked. Harry tapped around on his phone for a few minutes, starting to play the Beatles. As much as Alex enjoyed her and Harry’s recent spontaneous trips— they had gone upstate for a weekend on a hiking trip a few weeks after Johannesburg, this one had been planned for months. It was her youngest brother Charlie’s birthday in a few days, and they hadn’t been to visit either family since Christmas. Seeing Alex’s wistful look to the fields and towns they passed on the road, Harry smiled. “Penny for your thoughts, love?”

She tapped her fingers on the wheel. “It’s just...I miss this place, you know? I love New York, but it’s not home. Don’t know if it was ever meant to be.”

“Think you might want to move back?” Harry asked. He wasn’t exactly surprised at her confession; she had been seeming a little antsy for the past few weeks.

“I might, yeah.” She said, swallowing nervously. “Dunno, Stupid question, forget I asked it.”

He cocked his head. “You know I won’t, love,” he said teasingly.

It was about an hour’s drive until they reached town, and another five minutes until the tires of their rental car crunched against the gravel of the driveway of Alex’s childhood home. It was a Saturday, so Charlie was off from school and Sam, their other brother, had come back from university at St. Andrews for the summer a few weeks prior. Alex dug out her keychain from her purse, unlocking the door and dropping their things by the entryway. “Hey knobheads, we’re home!” She hollered, causing Harry to snicker next to her. He loved her brothers like they were his own, and seeing her with her family was always an amazing time.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, plodding out of the kitchen with an apple in one hand and his phone in the other. Smiling, he hugged them both.

Charlie came out a few moments later. Alex ruffled his hair, prompting him to pull away and wrinkle his nose at her. “I’m your sister, you loon. I’m allowed to do that,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that my kids I hear?” Alex’s mum said, cheerfully whisking out of the kitchen, wearing a patchwork apron. Diane Jones had always been Alex’s rock. She was never anything short of a total mumma’s girl, and leaving her mum in England had been by far one of the hardest things for Alex about leaving for America. Especially after her dad, Timothy had died when Alex was 16, their bond had grown even closer. She had never been anything but incredibly welcoming and gracious to Harry, calling him “her long-lost third son.” When they had told her that they had finally gotten together, there was nobody that was as excited as her. Even as corners had to be cut for ends to meet when money got tight, there was always a spot in the spare room for him to sleep over, a kind ear to turn to when he couldn’t go to his mum, and a place at their table for meals. Her curly dark brown hair— a trait she passed onto her daughter— was pulled back and her hands were dusted with flour, but the smile on her face was unmistakable.

“Hi mum,” Alex said, throwing her arms around the woman. “I’ve missed you.”

“Not half as much as I have, love,” Diane responded. “Harry, so good to see you. Been treating my daughter right?” Alex groaned as Harry chuckled.

“Never anything but the best,” he responded.

Once upon a different life/We rode our bikes into the sky/But now we crawl against the tide/Those distant days are flashing by

After a hearty dinner of meat pie and roasted vegetables, the family began to trickle off into their respective bedrooms. Diane hesitantly let Harry and Alex share her childhood room, and after a stern warning of “no funny business” and two pairs of very pink cheeks, they snuggled under the blue cover of her old duvet.

“It’s so funny being back you know?” Alex said softly. “The last time I was really here for more than a week or so, I was in university. So much has happened since then.”

“It’s definitely odd, but I like it, you know? This is our place, it’s somewhere where we can be ourselves without any pretenses of what people expect of us. I can be Harry here, not Harry Styles. Just a normal guy. Used to work at a bakery, y’know?”

She swatted his shoulder. “Yes, I know, you numpty. You used to make me go in and get my croissants from you every Saturday so you’d have someone to talk to, remember?”

He kissed her forehead. “Of course I do. Just one time of many where I’d be hopeless without you.” Harry joked, but it was true. When his world was spinning a hundred miles an hour, she was the person who kept his feet on the ground and his eyes on the stars, never letting him take anything or anyone for granted. I’ve been thinking about what you said, ‘bout wanting to maybe move back to England?”

“Yeah?” She asked curiously.

“More I think about it, more I like the idea.” Harry said. “I get what they say about home being people more than a place, but I can’t really shake the feeling that New York’s not really a long-term plan for me. For either of us. I love it, and I love performing there, but there’s something missing, y’know?” He said, going on, “it’s always felt temporary. It’s a place to have fun and visit, not to put our roots down.” His voice grew quieter. “I’ve thought a lot about the two of us settling down, but I’ve never really entertained the thought that we’d live anywhere but England. That we’d raise a family anywhere but England.”

Alex’s heart swelled. She knew he thought of them as a long-term, permanent kind of thing, but hearing him voice his hopes for their future in such a concrete way comforted her in a way she didn’t know she needed. He looked at her with a slightly worried expression on his face, and she realized she had been lost in thought for nearly a minute. “If yeh don’t like that—”

Alex cut him off, shaking her head frantically. “No, no, not at all, H.” Her tone grew gentler. “That sounds exactly what I’d like.” A soft smile appeared on his face. “You, me some house in the London suburbs. Close enough to commute to the city but without all the stress and prying eyes…” She trailed off, getting lost in Harry’s eyes and the thought of their future.

“Somewhere safe with a big backyard and room for a dog and a few kids,” Harry picked up. He glanced at Alex, who didn’t seem to be running for the hills, so he continued, “how many d’you think you want?”

“Two or three,” Alex responded, without much pause. She’d thought about it, especially after the pregnancy scare. “I’ve loved having siblings growing up, and I’m sure you’ve felt the same with Gemma.” Gemma had always been like the sister Alex had never had. When her mum was away and she needed advice on guys, someone to binge Bake-Off, or a sympathetic ear, the older Styles sibling was only a few roads away. “What about you?”

“Three would be nice, but all I really care about is they’re happy and healthy. Know they’ll be as beautiful as their mum.”

“And as generous as their dad.”

Alex woke late the next morning, still sleepy from jet lag but hopeful from their conversation. Harry’s side of the bed was vacated, which wasn’t unusual— he usually got up before her. Padding down the hallway, she poked her head into the kitchen. Her mum was reading the newspaper dressed in her scrubs at the kitchen table; she had taken an odd shift on the weekend to be free for Charlie’s birthday on Monday. Harry was parked in front of the stove, flipping what Alex assumed to be pancakes from the batter-splattered bowl next to him, and a half-open carton of eggs lay on the other side, a few sizzling in a pan. A pitcher of orange juice already sat on the table, next to a heaping bowl of cut fruit. Alex leaned against the doorway, observing the scene. “Did you make all this?” She asked.

Harry nodded. “Least I could do. I know yeh don’t do well with jet lag and your mum had work today. Plus, I like cooking. Make a mean chocolate chip pancake,” he said, making her smile. Damn, he knows me well. “Yeh think it’s weird?”

Alex shook her head. “No, I love it. It’s very…” she paused, searching for the right word, “domestic. Suits you.” Looking for a way to help, she eyed the table. “Let me get the dishes?” Harry nodded assent, and Alex picked up a stack of plates, setting them in front of each chair. “Boys not up yet?” She asked her mom, who shook her head. Sighing good-naturedly and walking back to the room that Charlie and Sam shared, she banged her fist on the door. “Get up if you want to eat!” At the mention of food, both were our in a matter of seconds, and everyone was sat gathered at the table a little while after.

After breakfast was finished and Alex had kissed her mum goodbye, the couple headed to Harry’s. His mum was there; Gemma had wanted to make the drive up but had a packed schedule for the week.

Lonely water, lonely water won't you let us wander/Let us hold each other

A few hours of catching up and several batches of ginger scones later, Harry and Alex sat next to each other on the couch, one of his arms absentmindedly draped across his shoulder as they watched reruns of the Office on the BBC. Breaking the silence, Harry spoke. “Let’s go on a walk.”

“Okay?” Alex said, an edge of confusion in her voice.

Harry shot her a classic half-smile, taking her hand and helping her up from the couch. Slipping on the pair of shoes she had left by the entryway, the two exited, walking down the path that led from his house to the town’s main road. While walking, they passed a few shops, including the bakery— which he insisted on stopping in for a bite to eat— and pet no fewer than four very cute dogs. After giving the latest a scratch behind the ears, Alex looked up at Harry.

“Yeh want one. Don’t you?” He asked with a knowing smile.

Alex nodded, the corner of her mouth turning up. “Can we?”

Harry shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “How ‘bout we wait till moving back here? Less hassle with adoption, and we’ll have a backyard instead of just the apartment.”

Alex crinkled her nose, but nodded in reluctant consent. “It that’s what it’s got to be.”

Chuckling, they continued, walking further and further out of city limits. Alex would usually be confused at this point, but  she trusted Harry, and it’s not like the outskirts of Holmes Chapel were known for being particularly dangerous. “Do you ever think about how far we’ve gone?” She asked.

“Like walking? I think it’s only been 2 kilometers or so.” Harry said, slightly confused.

Alex shook her head. “No, like us,” she said, gesturing between them with the hand that wasn’t holding Harry’s. “From childhood friends to dating to living together…It’s kind of crazy to think about.”

“It has been a bit of an odd progression, hasn’t it?” Harry asked, smirking. His smile faltered. “That year when we weren’t really talking… I don’t know if we ever really talked about how that impacted us. It was…” He slowed down his pace, nervously running one hand through his hair, “It was tough for me, to say the least. Shitty might be a better way of putting it,” he said with a wry smile. “I already knew I was in love with you, and I had made myself okay with the fact that we might never be together. Had resigned m’self to it. But not having you in my life at all, it was just about the worst thing possible. It was a bad time for me, I tried to distract myself from thinking of you, but nothing seemed to be working.”

Alex’s breath caught in her throat, and she squeezed Harry’s hand tighter. “You never told me that, H.”

“Didn’t want to bother you with it. We weren’t talking, and then we were together and things were going so well and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

“You can come to me with anything, you know that, right?” Alex asked Harry, looking at him. “We all need support sometimes, and I’ll never think less of you for asking for it.” Having gotten caught up in their conversation, she hardly noticed where they were going. The lavender fields. “I haven’t been here in years,” she breathed, letting her fingertips brush against the blossoms. They hadn’t made it out last year, and they hadn’t visited it before that since Harry left for tour. Nothing had really changed, however. It was still slightly overgrown, still full of sunshine, and still incredibly beautiful. Harry took the canvas bag that he had been toting around off his shoulder, reaching into it pull out a familiar-looking green quilt. “Is this...Is this our old blanket?” She asked, touching a corner.

Harry nodded. “The same. Didn’t we have a name for it?” He asked.

After a moment’s thought, Alex responded. “Candace. Dunno where we came up with it, but I’d stake money that it was Candace.”

He snorted. “Sounds ‘bout right.”

Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes/Hold back the river so I/Can stop for a minute and be by your side/Hold back the river, hold back

“It’s really sweet that you brought us out here. I’ve missed our picnics.” Alex said, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder as he shoved one hand into his pocket unceremoniously. His heart rate shot up and his mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara.

Alex furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s wrong, love?”

Stepping away from her, Harry forced himself to meet her eyes. “I do have food. Brought sandwiches, apples, and that shoddy rosé we used to beg my sister to buy for us. But there was something I needed to do first.”

Alex was a pretty intuitive person. She prided herself on her logic, so she knew this conversation wasn’t heading for a breakup. They had already all but settled the fact that they’d be moving to England in the near future, so he couldn’t be bringing up that topic again. They’d agreed that they wanted kids in the future, after buying a house and getting married. Marriage. The air seemed to leave her lungs. That must have been why he kept bringing up conversations about our future, she thought, quickly stopping before she got too ahead of herself. The last thing she wanted to do was get her hopes up and then be disappointed. But when Harry knelt to the ground, in a worn pair of jeans and plain white t-shirt, Alex didn’t think she had ever seen a sight as beautiful. The hand that had been in his pocket was now pulled out, holding a dark red velvet bok, shaking so much she thought he might drop it.

“Alex, you’ve been so many things to me over the years. A friend, confidante, partner in crime, girlfriend, lover, I could go on,” he said, giving a watery grin, “and I probably would if you’d let me. But all I’m trying to say is that when I don’t think my life could get any better, you somehow find a way to make it happen. You’re an incredible woman, kind and generous, smarter than me,” Alex let out a choked laugh, “and very possibly the most beautiful person to ever walk the face of the Earth. You’ve been there for me when I didn’t believe in myself, there to pick me up, dust me off, and tell me to get my ass over it. You haven’t wavered in your love and commitment to me when things get hard, which is probably most of the time, if we’re honest.” He took a moment to wipe one hand on his jeans. I know our relationship can be hard, I know this can be hard, but it’s what I want. I choose you, Alex. Through the good and the bad, the distance and drama, whether we’re making love or fighting because we’re both too stubborn to admit we’re wrong. I can’t promise it’ll get any easier, love, but I can promise I’ll always be there. I chose this spot for a reason, love,” Harry said, looking around at their surroundings and then back up to the face of the woman he loved more than anything. This is our place, somewhere we’ve spent countless hours sitting and talking and worrying our parents when we didn’t come home.” Alex dabbed at the corner of her eyes with her flannel. “It’s where I realized I loved you, and where I’m going to ask you to spend the rest of your life with me.” Alex wasn’t generally a terribly emotional person; it took a lot to make her cry, and there were definite tears. “So Alex. Alexandra Diana Jones, will you marry me?”

It was almost like slow motion. Alex fell to her knees in front of Harry, bringing both hands up to cup his cheeks. Leaning their foreheads together, she whispered, “Yes.”

[aggresivelyfriendly]

~Meet Me In The Hallway~

Chapter 27- Homecoming

reblogs are love- if we talk a lot, look for easter eggs!

"Come on, Angel! Open them up. Let me see those baby blue eyes, baby." I could hear the chuckle he was suppressing at his 'joke.'

I was playing a game where I was still sleeping although Harry knew the minute my breathing had changed and pounced.

"Melly, I can tell you are awake. And my mum made me baked French toast. Baked! Baby! They are like pudding for breakfast, and I really want to eat them, but I can't leave without you." He was lying beside me our fronts facing each other. I'd woken up in the night to him sprawled all over me once. I'd woken up to him a second time sleepily searching for my skin. His lips had fitted below my ear and he had gently kissed me. The kisses had deepened to a suck and then he was roving over the back of my neck and the shoulders completely uncovered by my tank top. When he gripped the loose bun I had my hair in and pressed hot lips to my panting mouth, I'd given in.

I hadn't let him touch me before bed in his mum's house, not the way he wanted to.

The meeting had gone well and we had got on immediately. Anne told me her favorite book was 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn' and I'd told her I'd actually brought it on tour, because it was my favorite too and we had been off.

"It's odd that both of us identify so intensely with a girl from a totally different time and place than both of us." I'd wondered aloud.

"Maybe it just means that be both are empathetic and see beauty everywhere!" She surmised and squeezed my shoulders.

Gemma had told me all about her new position with Lush and since cosmetics was obstensibly my job, we had lots in common too. We were gushing about shampoo bars and k beauty products and when she mentioned a haircut she wanted. We were both showing each other pictures moments later and then she was pulling my braid out and playing with my hair.

Harry had sat on the couch with his step dad and talked quietly and looked over often, totally pleased with the giggles he was hearing.

Before he left for stage, he had come over to hug me close. I stiffened for just a second until I melted against him like a ice lolly on a beach sidewalk. "Mum likes you!" He sounded happy and relieved and I wondered if he had been hiding his own nerves at this clash of emotional titans in his life, but pretending to be chill to alleviate my nerves. "We can stay there tonight, not the hotel?"

I realized then, that he was gonna go back with me, if things didn't go smoothly. I swallowed the butterflies in my throat so they were back at home in my belly for this boy and nodded.

When we left the arena, I rode with the family, squashed between Harry and Gemma with his hand playing with my fingers on my thigh. It was the most touching I'd tried to allow in his mother's house. It was mostly a losing battle with Mr. octopus but his across my shoulder and his heart on my sleeve seemed to be ok.

His mother had kissed both of his cheeks and one of mine when she sent us up to bed, not a word indicating she expected me to sleep anywhere but with her son. I'd been gathering my things to change in the bathroom when he had smoothed his hands up my back and kissed the skin just below my occipital notch. It was his favorite part of my neck he had told me one night. "I like that my nose presses deeper in your hair. It always smells lovely." He'd said, and I'd swooned. He caught me.

That night he started there with an agenda. "Can we pick up where we left off at the hotel?" His hands were on the hem of my dress and he was shimmying it up. My neck was rolling around to the beat his lips had set, but I still had some wits about me.

"No, H! I've gotta go change!" I'd thrust the t-shirt and shorts in my hands up knocking one is his paws off my hip where he had ridden my dress up.

"Good. Let me help," he murmured putting his thumbs in the hip sides of my panties and releasing them down my legs.

I'd widened my knees to keep them on but had given Harry the wrong idea with that as his hands found my dampening core. "No, baby, we can't here."

"But you're already sodden." He pointed out, like that ended the discussion.

"Yeah, obviously," I moaned while he rutted his cock between my now bare ass cheeks. He'd bent me forward over his childhood bed and was going down to his knees when I remembered myself. I stepped forward and let my dress fall from where is was bunched at my waist and turned to him. "We can't do it at your mum's"

"We did it at yours." He was breathing heavy, his chest going up and down like I wished I could be. My favorite ride in the merry go round.

"That's different! I just met—"

"I'd just met them, Angel! And your dad gave me the evil eye the next morning. You were loud."

I fish mouthed at him, and he mocked the face. "I didn't mean to be!" I gawped.

"I know, you're not used to being quiet. You never had to be. Didn't sneak around when you were young and lived with them. Used to us having our own hotel suite to scream down. So, you just let it out."

"Well that convinced me!" I tried to push passed him to the toilet to change.

"No, I love it!" He caught me. Hugging me to him and I could still feel his hard length against me. "I like making you noisy and that you never learned to control it. I don't want you to."

"You are not convincing me to let you touch me!" I stomped to the bathroom.

I came back to the bedroom to his cheeky smile and him posted up in his bed. He took my hand and pulled me over him to straddle his lap.

"This is not happening," I promised him, I pecked his lips and he tried to keep me in place while I slithered off him to lay down away from the dangers of his lap.

He pouted and that bottom lip had magical powers, but the idea that his mom might hear me, because apparently I had volume issues, was terrifying enough that my arousal was waning. I figured it would keep until we were back in a hotel home.

It didn't, when he sleepily began loving on me, I was no longer aware enough of our surroundings to stop him. So, I didn't.

We had been with one another in what I thought at that time was lots of ways, most of my forays into the sexual void had been carried out in a bed or shower. Also, there was that one time on the couch. it was usually before or sometimes after a show. We had never made sleepy love where we were too tired, or in this case, not alone enough, to make the conscious decision to. Our bodies made the decision for us in the bed Harry spent half his adolescence.

Maybe the smell of me in his nostrils and the warmth of my body pressed to him woke a deeper part of him. The romantic in me liked to think so. That one part of him he wasn't always in the know about still knew about me. And I recognized him in this way too. I liked to think that he made his way into me that night as an acting out of or inner selves need to connect after an important day for our relationship. Cementing our places in each other's lives, hearts, and families.

Harry's mouth found the sweet spots on my neck. Those pieces of me directly connected to the sweeter spots lower down and hidden by my shorts. His arms were already around me, one in the depression between my neck and shoulder, the other slung over my side lying waist. When his mouth migrated across my upper back and over my neck, his hands were headed home too. They found their respite underneath my sleep shorts in the hearth of my body and beneath my tank top near the heart. My shirt was pushed over my breast as he clutched them with clumsy warm fingers searching for a peak. We hiked to find the peak together and my shorts were pushed to my feet where I shuffled them off. He guided my thigh over his own and pressed home to a warm welcome. It was slow, and felt like it could last all night, just a slow dance nobody wanted to end.

All slurred kisses and dreamlike stroke, lyrical, syncopated and slow. Until we reached the top together without even a conscious decision or will to find it. We followed our bodies entwining trail to the pinnacle of each other and fallen softly off it to be buoyed back by the mattress beneath us and nod back off while our bodies disconnected themselves without severing the links in the chain that wrapped us together.

Did I wake up? Really? During the the sleepy fuck he gave me, I'm sure it wasn't a dream, as I lied there pretending I was asleep while my whole body colors in a blush.  It was no dream. At least not in the literal sense; I can feel a tenderness between my thighs. Though my body gratefully accepted him every time, I was never able to disregard his presence thereafter. His size and vigor left a mark. I relished the reminder. I felt like the most willing hostage, though I was a little embarrassed that I could so surely say no and be vetoed by my own bodies' need for him.

"Angel, wake up. I don't want to go without you. I can't leave while you are holding me like this."

My eyes pop open then.

"Ah! There they are!" He smoothed a hand over the bags under my sleep heavy eyes.

"Who's holding you?" I look between us and he leaned over me. If anything it was like he was holding me down to the bed.

"Well, I don't wanna go anywhere else, least not without you." He dimpled. "You may as well have tied me down." He put his wrists together like they were manacled and some hidden knowledge surfaced in my brain of such a thing, and I bite my lip and blush at the image accompanying it. His tongue licked the side of his grin, the smirky side and I pushed his knowing face away.

"Nobodies holding you by anything but your hormones!"

"Well, you excite those! So look what you've done!" He splayed his hands wide in a ta-da.

I pushed away his smug face. He knew he was cute and that I wanted to tie him down, figuratively of course. I started to get up and had to dig beneath the blankets to find my shorts. I blew out my breath at how unsinkable our attraction could be.

"You're a randy fucker, ya know that?"

"Well, those two things go together yeah?"

"Shut it, mate!" I pulled on a jumper to go down to feed his other insatiable appetite. "Well, let's go find your French toast. Pudding for breakfast, honestly, Niall is right. You have the mentality of a five year old!"

I put my hands on my hip when I see him silently shaking with laughter. "Well? I thought you were hungry?"

"Um, you may want to..." He trailed off and flicked his finger at the side of my neck. The one he was ardently attending to in the long watches of the night.

"Harry!" I admonished before I was even sure if I knew what he meant. I ran to the bathroom across the hall hearing his laughter ring out behind me. Sure enough, there on my neck was a large purple mark in the shape of his stupid puffy ass lips.

"How am I supposed to face your mother?" I said flying back to the room to find him giggling on the bed. Here I was happy that the love we had made was of the quiet variety, but his parents would know what we'd were up to, no-soundtrack needed, because he had provided a strong visual for them. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Harry had made a miniature of his lust on my neck.

"You could." He took a huge gulp of air while he tried to compose himself. "Cover it up," He finished dissolving because he knew that wouldn't work. I picked up a pillow and begin to beat his face in with it.

"How? It's huge!"

"I wasn't trying to!" He scrambled up and grabbed his own pillow coming over the other side of the bed to give me a couple waps back. "I was asleep!" He giggled.

"You were awfully handsy for a sleeping person Harry!"

I screamed as he tackled me down, throwing the pillow to the side after a rather solid whack to my shoulder.I grabbed for his discarded bag of feathers and used both hands to hit him with pillows as he tries to tickle me through the fray.

"You can wear a sweatshirt!" He guffaws, and I'm thinking that just may work when I realize it's too late.

Gemma bursts into the room. "What the hell are you two up to?" She asks, though there is no explanation, or way to cover my neck without making the situation even more awkward.

"Harry Edward Styles! Get off that poor girl!" His mother's voice sounded more northern than I've ever heard it. And Harry obeyed like the instinct to listen to his mother has been so well-bred into his bone he couldn't deny her decree.

Immediately, he stood up and gave her a simultaneously cheeky and contrite. "Morning Mum!"

And left me on my back, on his bed, with my jumper rucked up from his squirming fingers and my shorts smushed, hair a bedraggled mess and worst of all, uncovered hickey on my neck. With the image it conveyed, she may as well have walked in on him giving it to me.

I Swallowed my substantial embarrassment to stand  up and see Harry's pink face, Gemma's suppressed laughter, Robin's smirk from the hallway and, in a lovely turn of events, a soft look on Anne's face. I must have been beet red, a lingering side effect from the tickles I could never get him to stop going for, but mostly from the fact that I was humiliated.

"Harry." There was an edge to Anne's voice when she spoke. "Go downstairs and make your girlfriend her tea and a plate while she cleans up the mess you made!"

It felt like a hug and I saw a glimpse again of where the deep well from whence Harry's considerate nature sprung. She didn't actually touch me, but that was maybe because she could tell that would make me want to retract even further into my shell. They all left quietly and I sat on the bed and put my face in my palms trying to find the guts to head down to breakfast. I was humiliated. Why yes, I just had sex with your son under your roof, now serve me food Mrs. Twist.

A soft knock sounded at the door and Gemma came in when I bid her to. She handed me a sweatshirt.

"Here." And it dawned on me that it would cover my vampire bruise.

"Thanks!" I smiled up at her like she'd given me a warm mug after a cold day.

"Course." She was near to the door when she said "Don't be embarrassed. Mum's likely to blame it all on Harry. He's a cheeky ass!"

"I'm sure I didn't say no." I chuckled under my breath at myself.

"Yeah, well, nobody can tell him those words. He's an insufferable brat, but charming and lovely, and he is so loyal and fierce about the ones he loves!" She smiled to me and I could tell she included me in the number and headed down the stairs.

Insufferable brat he most certainly was, but all mine.

And now everybody in our world knew I was his too.

All the love to @nocontrolforlouis, @bleedinglove4h, and @dirtystyles for conversation and inspiration

[evanthenerd83]

Blood And Ink: The Other Notes

It’s been a while since I last posted an update and the situation hasn’t improved. You guys and girls and ghouls should know why. Even if you just recently found this blog, you’ve probably seen the posts, the photos, and the glitched out text.

It isn’t exactly subtle in its goal. It hasn’t tried to hide from you all. It knows that you’re reading this and won’t stop drawing attention to itself until I do what it wants.

And I’ll get to that later.

So, here I am.

I didn’t use my laptop for a week after reading the second note. I kept it behind the bookshelf, unplugged and turned off. It wasn’t because of the note itself, though. I understood what it meant and while it was definitely unnerving, it didn’t really bother me that much. Something about my stories has inoculated me against real life oddities. Write enough stories featuring the paranormal and you get used to weirdness.

My autism might have helped, too. I tend to adapt easily to a schedule, especially at school, and I will ignore any difference present in the environment.

Of course, I might just be speculating. Or exaggerating. Or lying. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but I don’t have a better explanation.

Anyway, it wasn’t the note that unnerved me, but the fact that something had used my laptop without me knowing. That it knew me. My hobby. That it could communicate with me. And that it could leave me notes.

There was also the subject of whether it would leave me another one or not. I had no clue.

What could it do?

Could there be another note waiting for me?

I would stare at the bookshelf and the spine of my laptop. A part of me itched to turn it on while another was screaming at me to take a hammer to it. But I couldn’t really destroy it. Not without getting into trouble at least. My reluctance to satisfy my curiosity grew with each passing day.

I eventually started to make excuses. I had to work. I had to study for the EOCT in Economics. There were too many things I had to do. The week passed by fairly quickly though.

Finally, the break came around and I had no excuse.

The Thing started to move here. When I posted an update explaining how I had been taking a break from writing due to school, several letters were emboldened. They spelled something out. The word “lies”.

I didn’t know how to react to its assertion and decided to ignore it. But someone sent me an anon message. I got the notification on my phone.

“Are you okay?”

Once again, I brushed it off. I lied and said that I was fine.

In fact, I posted a selfie saying so.

A couple of minutes passed before I got another notification. Another anon message.

“What’s with the sickly photo?”

I opened the Tumblr app and came face to face with myself. A selfie that had been distorted to the point where I could make out each and every pimple in crystal clear detail. Shadow clouded. Gray. And underneath it were the words, “IM FiNE Im FIne iM fINe IM FINE IM FINE IM FINE IM FINE”, accompanied by a few tags.

“I’m fine”.

“Nothing to worry about”.

“Don’t worry about me”.

“Don’t you trust me?”

The Thing was taunting me. It knew that I was lying to you guys and wanted me to be ashamed. And its attempts were working. I felt sick to my stomach.

I was raised in a Christian household and I’ve always been told to tell the truth, lest I’d be damned to Hell. It worked for a while. But as you should already know, I lied about the weird text posts. And I kept on lying.

Another notification. Another anon message asking me about my health, this time a lot more reactionary. Some social justice warrior called me a heartless and disgusting person and threatened to report me to Staff. I assumed that someone who had suffered from depression had read one of my more graphic stories and been offended. I checked my blog.

But when I saw the post, I felt my heart drop into my lower intestine. The Thing hadn’t posted a picture. It had posted some text. I braced myself for what I could only assume was a demand.

It was worse than that.

“i did it. i opened my skin for the first time and it was excruciating. but it was also fun. pulling out my Bones and severing veins and siLencing my screaming nerves. this must be hOw he feels. this is wrOng though. i shoulDn’t be hurting myself for such An occasioN, no matter how exciting. but i’m just so happy. he’s starteD wrItiNg again.”

I wanted to scream after I read it. I wanted to die. The Thing was glorifying self harm and had decided to post its musings onto Tumblr, of all places. And it had done so on my blog.

My confusion turned into panic as I scrambled to throw out a decent apology. I brushed it off as a joke. A terrible, terrible joke. I knew that was another lie, but I had to do something to not be crucified by the hoards of SJWs who were knocking on my front door. It worked and nobody even noticed the tasteless portrayal of such a sensitive subject. I was relieved. For the moment.

I went into the post’s available options. I meant to select the delete option, but the screen flickered and I accidentally reblogged it. I had to issue another apology.

The Thing wasn’t done yet. It took me a while to notice them, but there were words in bold that were hidden in my apologies. The first contained “check the” and the second held “laptop”. Put those together and you get: “Check the laptop”.

Check the laptop.

My laptop.

It wanted me to check my laptop. I glanced at my bookshelf and shuddered when I saw the silver spine poking out of the darkness, just where I had left it. The rational part of my mind was in a screaming match with my curiosity. This could’ve been a trick. Another ploy to get my attention. But at the same time, it could’ve been a honest request.

My curiosity won in the end and I reluctantly pulled it out. Dust had settled around its screen and the battery was dangerously low, about twenty percent. I didn’t plug it up though. Didn’t really care.

It worked fine enough.

A familiar feeling raised its ugly head as I opened Notepad. It had been weeks since I read the notes, but I could still remember how uncomfortable they made me feel. The Thing knew a lot about me. It knew things that were meant to be private. It must have been stalking me.

There was a new file folder in Notepad. There wasn’t a title and it didn’t appear to be that big. Just a couple of gigabytes. I opened the file, coming face to face with six documents. Two of those documents were the first notes I had read. I scrolled down to check if the first notes had been deleted or just simply transferred or copied, but I couldn’t find the originals.

The third document was titled “I’m Sorry”. From the information displayed, it was created a day after I had hidden my laptop. My fear almost won the argument. All of the shock and confusion from earlier returned as a fire. But it was already too late for self preservation. I opened it.

“You’ve been gone for quite a while now, Evan. Is everything okay?

I’m sorry for making you upset. I shouldn’t have pushed you so far. You needed some time to get back into the groove. You weren’t ready. Hiatuses can be hard. I can respect that.

But you can’t just leave me alone.

Not like that.

You didn’t even respond.

Just understand.

I need you.”

The fourth was titled “Why”. It had been created a week ago. A very short note.

“Was it something I said? Why would you keep me like this?”

The fifth was titled “Remember Me”. Created six hours earlier.

“Did you forget about me?

Hm?

I’m sure you didn’t. You couldn’t have.

But I can’t shake the feeling.

Maybe I need to jog your memory.”

It was obvious what it meant. It had posted about self-harm in order to get my attention. All its other attempts had failed and it knew enough about Tumblr to fire a warning shot. And that strategy had worked.

I had denied its authenticity and accidentally reblogged it. Reacted to it. Surely, that was what it wanted from me.

But there was still one more note.

The sixth note was titled “Everything”. Created an hour before I had decided to check on my laptop.

“I hate you.

I've tried everything. Everything.

It doesn’t matter how many notes I write. You still haven’t realized how much it hurts.

You probably think that you can just stop and I’d no longer exist. Well too bad. I’m not going anywhere.

So what will it take to get you to write again?”

To write again.

I swallowed some spit. As soon as I read those words, everything clicked. Made sense.

It didn’t just want my attention. It didn’t just want me to respond to its constant inquiries and notes. It wanted me to write again. It was waiting for me to come up with another story or poem. All this time, after everything it had put me through for the last month, it wanted that?

I exited out of the document and closed the file folder. My head started to hurt.

I created a new document, stared at it, and typed a single word. A question.

“Why?”