#I started doing this piece digitally a year and a half ago. and after something like 14 hours of tracked time and only getting about ¼ of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

givemethelovebitxx · 2 months ago

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250527 10:00 AM~ so i decided to start a blog!! not for an audience, really.. it's for future olivia to reflect on. i'm currenty sat in starbucks writing my rough draft for my first post. the chaotic yelling of names and chatter makes me feel more productive and motivated.

i've always loved journaling but i wanted to digitalize my interest in a way that will last. truthfully, i've been meaning to do this for years. i just wasn't sure where i should begin? i'm using tumblr as my host since i don't want to financially commit to something i might be too lazy to continue. it's funny though, this tumblr is my old simblr account.

my first posts dated back to over a decade ago when i lived vicariously through my pixel people. these days, i don't find the time or motivation. i was on here religiously uploading files for download from my own game and reblogging custom content that i was obsessed with. i even made memes from screenshots from my gameplay with the corniest captions. those were some of the first posts i deleted before deciding to clear everything lol

my drink just arrived! it's my first time trying out their pink drink despite all it's hype. i'm trying to get something different everytime i come here until i burn through my giftcards. i also grabbed a package of madeleine cakes. they were one of my favorite treats growing up and i always find myself feeling intense nostalgia with just one whiff. the drink - just alright. it's served in a real glass, which surprised me. it tastes similar to the dragonfruit refresher though. i probably won't order it again.

i have to leave in about an hour and a half. just enough time to write freely with no edits or filters. :) later today i'm getting two new tattoos! or technically it's three? i'm getting a small crescent moon on the left side of my neck and two twin tattoos on the backs of my elbows. on the left will read "love myself today", the right "let you go today". both of these are pieces i've wanted for years, i just didn't want to make the financial commitment. it's funny how something permanent can ease a temporary feeling of sadness. my last tattoo was only several days ago on the 23rd. that day and experience has now been shadowed by someone else so today is a day for reclamation.

~ pause break to text jp and megan. also, i've been eyeing the new samo ondoh summer collection. they keep dropping new colors that i love, especially the powder, but not in the size or styles i need. i'm determined to get a new bag before my next semester - one large enough to carry around my 16". i'm going to use my awardco to treat myself because if not now, when? lol ~

now back to the 23rd. i got this beautiful bow piece done on the inside of my right arm. it's been healing nicely despite it only being four days. afterwards, i went to hang out with the guy i had been talking to. then come saturday and i'm blocked everywhere. he was one of four people i regularly text: my mom, my boss, meghan, and him. now it's three :p at first, i thought it was bad reception from my job - my text following up about dinner the proceeding evening not going through. i pulled up instagram and it confirmed what i didn't want to believe.

i had spent the rest of the day with him after my tattoo until i had to go home because i had work the following day - the day he blocked me everywhere. we laughed, kissed, cuddled, fell asleep, and watched detroiters together. he told me that he liked me and that he was glad i had stayed over as long as i did. he even invited me to extend my stay and play poker with him and his friends but i couldn't because of work. would it have changed the end result had i stayed longer or would my feelings built up more for the same ending? unless i'm delusional, and maybe i am for putting this much thought into it, there were no tells or signs in that moment. so tell me why you ran from me?

when we were cuddling, i had this weird thought. maybe it's women's intuition lol but i imagined that the moment was too good to be true. i had a sinking feeling he would ghost me or change his mind. again, there were no tells - just my brain telling me to overthink. but it was right. how strange is that..

why do people say things they don't mean? especially when feelings get involved.. was it intentional? or just careless? it almost feels like it was on purpose. it hurts more than i expected. i've been ghosted before but it never registered. i usually don't let my feelings for people blossom quickly enough to miss someone when they check out. this time was different. maybe there was something about the way he kissed me. it made me feel better - like someone really liked me, really cared about me. its nice to feel wanted. it makes you forget the things you hate about yourself. now it's gone.

my last experience dating was when i had recently turned 19. it's something i don't talk about because it still gets me worked up. i thought i was the one in control but girls in my position never really are, not then. and definitely not by people who are that much older than them.

i've built walls and opted out of trying to date or pass my time with talking stages. just trying to dodge feelings from others before they grew out of control. i never want to mislead someone into falling for a version of me that i'm not ready to be. maybe it's a survival instinct now or maybe it's just me sabotaging anything that might get too close to my heart.

this time felt different so i let it slip through the cracks. i told myself that i wouldn't. now i'm left feeling a bit hollow and echoing with curiousity.. i just want to go back and try and mend whatever i broke. would i have been able to make it any better though? i told him i was being nervous. i guess i held important information from my past that could have salvaged things had i been more open. talking about it still brings tears to my eyes though. i'm not ready to open up and i don't think i should have to. i didn't mean to murder the moments we spent together. i'm telling myself i'm better off alone but i haven't felt the same since.

i've tried to meet new people but i've been cold. my heart is looking the other way. just waiting for a message that isn't coming. it's pathetic - i would fold immediately.

anyway, megan introduced me to the pattern. i've been checking it everyday. it's funny how i've never cared for astrology. i never thought the stars could define me or have anything to say. but this app??? it's unnervingly accurate to my life. you know how people say that if you say things outloud, advertisers will give you ads for it? that's how i feel about this app - it's eavesdropping on my thoughts!

every notification and update to my daily feed has felt like a mirror. especially when it talks about relationships in terms of idealizing new people and having a hard time letting go. it has also clocked me on my longing for a new career. it's been less than a month since using it but it's already called me out more times than i can count.

is this how it starts? you go from being a complete skeptic to blaming saturn entering aries for your moodswings. i hope i don't become that person but there's something alluring about letting the celestial band in the sky in. even just a little bit.

#my diary #written by me #250527 #personal blog

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puhpandas · 2 years ago

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Rabbit Burrow

(5180 words) part 2 (1 found here)

Tony Becker, one year after surviving the attack from GGY, tracks down Gregory post-SB. But he has to get through Vanessa and Freddy before he can get to Gregory.

Its only after Tony has run through the interaction with Vanessa ten times over that he realizes she never told him how she knows Gregory.

He'd been nothing but restless since she left. His eyes have been darting to and from the digital clock on the end table on the other side of arm of the couch, and his brain has been so scattered, all he can focus on is the awaiting reunion.

The baking show has long since switched to a new episode since he last checked the TV. Tony's worried that at this point, his fingers will start bleeding if he keeps picking at them like this.

The only saving grace in a long chunk of nothing-but-anticipation is when Tony's phone buzzes at 6:01pm, right when he had started to gather his thoughts and began plan out the reunion in his head like remembering a speech.

Ellis: dude where r u????

Ellis: yr mom said u arent home and she keeps asking me if ur with me and where u r

All Tony does is sigh. He cant even find it in him to feel bad that his Mom and Grandma are probably worried. All he can think about is how his arms are shaking and his stomach feels floaty.

He types back with thumbs that have peeling skin on the edge of the fingernails.

Tony: Remember how I covered for you that one time?

Tony: I need you to cover for me. If you need to tell her that I'm with you and I'm staying over do that. I just need any excuse.

Ellis: yea i remember but why?

Ellis: if a guy covers for u u can at least tell him what the deal is

Tony: I'm doing something really important. I can't tell you all the details yet.

Tony: I just need you to trust me. Please. It'll help me out a lot, Ellis.

Tony: I promise I'll make it up to you next time you need something.

Ellis: dude didnt know it was that important

Ellis: dont worry then. u know i can tell a mean lie when i need to

Tony: Dude thanks. That's a big relief. It wont be in vain.

Ellis: my services will not be for free tho

Ellis: i will need something in return

Tony: What do you want?

Ellis: for u to buy me a cookie next time i see u at lunch

Tony finds it in him to roll his eyes at that. He smiles a bit, and right as he goes to send back I'll buy you two, Freddy Fazbear makes some sort of clunking sound.

Its enough to make his already fluttery heart clench and himself almost fly off of the couch. He jerks and yelps and can only stare Freddy Fazbears black eyelids phwip open, and his pupils glow..

They're blank, though, like they're on but Freddy himself isnt. His body whirs and shifts slowly, as if running a diagnostic, and after his ears wiggle, theres a clear difference.

Tony just sits rigid as a board with eyes wide as saucers as Freddy doesnt notice him right away. He just takes the jump cables off of his ears and sets them on the carpet, and moves his torso to face the window.

Which Tony is blocking. Since hes on the couch sitting directly next to the animatronic.

Theres a staring contest with a distinct lack of breathing for all but a few moments, before the small black plastic pieces that are Freddys eyebrows tilt downwards.

"Wait wait wait!" Tony holds out his hands, but Freddy doesnt get off the couch and attack him like his fears. Freddys eyes dont leave his once, and it reminds him too much of those few times Freddy would stare him down and be hot on his heels in the Pizzaplex during the GGY debacle.

Freddy pauses, not even so much as twitching as he burns an LED hole into him. Tony tries to get over the unease and stutters out, "Um, Vanessa trusts me. I talked to her. She told me to stay here."

For a fleeting moment, Tony believes he somehow said the wrong thing and that Freddy is now going to grab him and beat him into a pulp like he feared back at the Pizzaplex all that time ago. But during the rigid silence, the glow in Freddys eyes flickers for half a second, and some sort of beeping sound emits from a hidden speaker.

"I have just contacted her." Freddy finally breaks the tension, and Tony sighs at how his voice does not sound aggressive. In fact, Freddy hadn't spoken at all when Tony had been afraid of him last year. "You are telling the truth... my apologies."

"Theres no issue." Tony manages when Freddy looks so undoubtedly apologetic theres no doubt that he's not genuine. He scratches the back of his neck. "...I guess I wouldnt be too keen on a stranger being in my house when I wake up either."

"Yes," Freddy nods, and his ears bob at the motion. Theres a split second of silence where the baking show Tony hasn't caught a single second of is the only noise in the room. "so that begs the question; why are you here?"

Tony jerks. "What?"

"You are a stranger in my house, like you said." Freddy points out, not unkindly. "I would appreciate knowing why. Even if you already went over it with Vanessa."

"Oh. Well. I dont know what all Vanessa told you, but... I'm here for Gregory."

Freddy doesnt immediately turn distrustful or wary like Vanessa had. Probably because he already knows Tony is a friend. "She said you were an old friend of his." Freddy confirms. His "So, you are the boy Gregory talks to much about."

Tony doesnt really know how to respond to that. He grabs a fold of fabric from the arm of his jacket in-between his fingers. "Uh...yeah."

"I'm sure you've already talked to Vanessa. So I wont beat around the bush." Freddy says. "But Gregory has tried so hard to remember you."

Tony brows furrow. "...She said he has dreams sometimes. And that's how he knows I-- we exist."

"Yes." Freddy nods."But she probably did not tell you that he tries to figure out what reminded him of you, so he can continue to keep dreaming."

Tony's eyes widen, and he picks at his fingers. No. Vanessa did not mention that. She said nothing about Gregory actively searching for Tony around his life to see him in his dreams.

Freddys LED eyes dim, and his ears and eyelids droop in a clear sign of upset. "It breaks my heart. To see Gregory try to gather the broken pieces of his memories." His eyes stare at the couch cushion below them, before they dart up to look him in the eye. "You were obviously very important to him, if he searches like this."

"He is to me too." Is all Tony can manage. He's suddenly getting a sense adjacent to deja vu.

"Its clear that he is." Freddy is still looking him in the eye, but somehow, Tony feels like he's smiling at him. "If you came all this way to see him."

And he really did come a long way, didnt he? He took a bus to a different county. He spent hours and hours scouring the internet for any mention of Greg after he suddenly up and went missing as soon by the time Tony had recovered enough to look for him.

Greg has searched too, apparently. Tony cant help but be aware of. Even after losing his memories.

"What is your name?" Freddy suddenly asks him.

"Tony Becker." Tony answers easily. "I guess he doesnt remember my name, huh?"

"No. But he has tried. Believe me when I say that." Freddy says. "He wants to know more about his life before what happened more than anything."

"...You think he'll be happy to see me?"

"There is no doubt, Tony Becker."

The last time he had seen Greg, it was in a dusty back room with a knife in his back.

But despite that, it isnt what Tony thinks when he thinks Greg. When he thinks of Greg, he thinks of the sleepovers and the days Greg would show up at school one day with his hair different lengths. He thinks about how He, Greg, and Ellis would Vs. eachother on the air hockey machine. He thinks about the stories they'd come up with in creative writing.

When he thinks of that afternoon at the Pizzaplex, he doesnt think Greg. He thinks GGY. Maybe its that first inkling of separation that got him here.

Theres been a stretch of silence while Tony soaked it in. The rain outside has slowed, and the sun peeking through the gray clouds shines through the window, white lines on the coffee table like the blinds are a stencil.

"But the truth is... I do not think Vanessa feels the same." Freddy suddenly says. "She wants to protect him from the awful memories. I do not have to deal with them like she does, but I assume they... that they haunt her."

His ears droop. "I believe that she does not want Gregory to have to as well."

"So shes trying to keep them from him?" Tony asks, a brow raised. "But that's his choice, isn't it?"

"That is how I feel." Freddy agrees, looking at him again. It's starting to become less uncomfortable. "Listen, Tony Becker. I may not know for sure, but I feel that Vanessa is afraid to let you near Gregory. Seeing you will make him remember so much."

His mind immediately jumps to a thousand implications at that."If shes scared, what does that mean?" He asks. "She'll make me leave? She'll change her mind?"

"I do not think so." Freddy assures. "But my point is that she has been trying for so long to keep Gregorys memories under wraps. It is not with malice, but this is why I ask you this."

"Gregory has long since chosen to remember, even if Vanessa does not want him to." Freddy says havent left his once, and Tony doesnt look away, either. Freddys pupils suddenly appear brighter in a way when he speaks again, "To keep them from him after he has already made his choice would be cruel. Which is why I would like you to help him, Tony Becker."

Tony hasnt forgotten how Greg fought for him that day at the Pizzaplex. He hasnt forgotten how all that mattered was Tony escaping. Not if Greg would get in trouble. Not if something would happen to him.

Gregory has, though. Greg has forgotten a lot of things.

But if seeing Tony in danger that fateful afternoon made him remember himself enough to fight, and win against mind control?

Tony can fight for Greg's memories, too. Even if it takes another year.

"He deserves to remember his old life." Freddy says. "Vanessa has told me that his parents are dead. Any life he had before is nothing but a faint memory." He hums, melancholy. "But it's one I want him to remember."

Me too Tony almost says. Because all Tony has wanted throughout this last year is his friend back.

"Greg was one of my best friends." Tony says quietly, eyes downcast. He counts the threads in the couch cushion. "I want him to remember me and Ellis and... everything. It's why I'm here."

"I have not been able to help him, no matter how much I've wanted to." Freddy responds, sounding sad. "But I am glad you are here. Now Gregory truly has a chance of obtaining what hes been chasing for so long."

"Me too." Tony replies, not knowing which exactly hes responding too.

"So," Freddy pauses. "what do you say?"

"I'll do it." Tony responds immediately. "But... I just have to ask. Why do you trust me so much? Vanessa wouldnt even tell me anything until I answered her riddles."

Freddy hums. "It is exactly as you said." Freddy answers. "You earned Vanessa's trust. So in turn you have earned my trust. I trust Vanessa to trust you."

Tony doesnt respond, for a moment, just taking that in.

The amount of faith you have in someone to trust them that much. To know you can rely on them. To have no doubt...

Tony glances at the hallway he can see just over the back of the couch and down the hall into the room with the slightly open door, with the pens and pencils and bed and desk, and wonders how tightly wound the people in this house are with eachother.

"...Then I'll return the favor." Tony smiles. "You're friends of Greg's, and, well... I was friends with him, once upon an time. And he still seems to think so." He holds out a hand. "Any friend of Greg's is a friend of mine."

Freddys ears wiggle, and his eyelids come up in a way that make him look overjoyed. "Any friend of Gregory's is a friend of mine." Freddy repeats, shaking Tony's hand. "We are in this together, now. We will have to be there for Gregory if he remembers not so great things."

"And for the great things." Tony smiles, going over the few months worth of memories of their three amigos friendship he has in his head. "Its worth it, I think."

After all, if Tony's found a way to seperate killer Greg with his Greg, then he thinks Gregory probably can as well.

"I'm glad we have that settled." Freddys ears wiggle, and his eyes do that dimming thing again for half a second. "Because Vanessa has just contacted me and let me know that she is almost back with Gregory."

He makes some sort of choking noise. Theres a thousand things on the tip of Tony's tongue in seconds. His eyes blow wide as saucers, and he twists his back to look at the clock that reads 6:34.

He immediately feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. He stutters, trying to gather his thoughts, and eventually gets out "How long?!"

"Soon." Freddy smiles. "It wont be long, now. It seems all the work you've done has paid off."

Tony cant find it in him to move his mouth after that. Just too rigid. It feels like theres electricity buzzing up his skin and a wildfire in his chest. It feels like he cold start floating like a balloon at any moment.

He doesnt respond to Freddy, after that. He just twists his body to face the front door (his back twinges. maybe he shouldn't slouch over his laptop and desk so much) and waits.

A few minutes is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Not really when its put up against the year he's taken to track Greg down. But its somehow more agonizing waiting now when he knows Greg is in arms reach, instead of it being uncertain if he'd ever see him again.

It's not uncertain, now. Is the thing. Greg is on his way, and Tony, for once, doesn't even know what to think. All he can do is sit there and be clammy and impatient.

Freddy chuckles. Tony ignores it. He burns a hole into the front door just across the living room, only hearing his own jumbled thoughts and roaring in his ears over the baking show on the TV.

Its Winter right now. So by 6:45, all the light outside has darkened into pitch blackness. The residential street lights outside the apartments make the raindrops on the window glow. The TV is still going in the background.

Freddy is as still as he is, joining him in watching the door as restless as a bored puppy. Listening to the ventilation inside of Freddys inner workings is the only thing that reminds Tony to breathe.

After multiple agonizing minutes, Tony jerks when the slam of a car door is heard distantly outside the window.

"Are you ready, Tony Becker?" Freddy breaks the silence. Looking back at Freddy is the first time Tony looks away from the door. "We do not know how much he will remember at first. It may be messy. It may not."

Messy is definitely a word he would use to describe a lot of the things that have happened, here. So he just nods, a tilt of his head. "I'm ready."

"He is ready, too." replies Freddy.

And that's all that's said until the doorknob begins to rattle.

All that Tony manages is a strangled gasp before he's bolting off the couch, almost tripping over Freddys legs. His converse slide on the laminate wood, and he stands there. In perfect view of the door.

His legs feel cold and his chest airy as he watches. He waits for movement, and cant help the tremble in his hands when the deadbolt unlocks. He can hear voices. Only because hes straining his ears, but he can hear a high pitched voice muffled and faint behind the door.

The doorknob rattles, and Tony watches as the deadbolt unlocks from the inside. His heart stutters in his chest when he hears voices outside, and he can pinpoint one of the pitches as Greg's.

"Come on, Vanessa. Were home. Now tell me what the suprise is!"

"I think you'll want to see it for yourself, Greg."

"Its inside? Well what could it possibly be if you wont even give me a hint--"

The knob twists, and the door creaks open. Its steady and agonizingalmost as if it's in slow motion.

And there he is.

Theres the pale skin and short stature and blue clothes. Tony isnt breathing when he just looks, and sees the boy he'd been searching for so long right in front of him.

He has raindrops in his chocolate brown hair. Greg doesnt look away from Vanessa while he walks in, at first, but Vanessa looks away from Gregory. She meets his eyes, and Tony doesnt have it in him to dissect what the look could mean.

All he cares about is how Greg follows her gaze.

He stops in his tracks, his mud stained Pizzaplex brand sneakers planting him firmly in place.

It's like everything else falls away when Greg meets his eyes. Huge, amber eyes that grow as wide as saucers when they see him. Theres a dark jagged scar wrapped around his cheek that makes it to his nose that wasnt there before.

The silence is deafening, as they just stand there and stare at eachother. Tony thinks he isnt breathing. Theres electricity shooting up his spine. His fingers twitch and tremble. Greg just stares, mouth agape.

Tony's own twitches, and he smacks his lips together, testing if he can still speak at all. His legs are rooted to the ground as he says, just above a whisper, "Greg."

Greg's face shifts ever so slightly, and it's only now Tony realizes his eyes are a bit faraway. Like he's...

Remembering something.

In an instant, they dart and blink, and Greg is looking at him again.

Tony dares to break through the water by taking a step. He never tears his eyes away from Gregory's own.

At some point, Vanessa moved away from the door and somewhere else in the house.

Which means the coast is clear when Tony takes a step, and then another, and Greg is meeting him in the middle.

Hes almost sprinting when they crash into eachother like waves. Immediately, Tony wraps his arms around Greg tight, and Greg clutches back just as desperately.

"Tony." Gregory says breathlessly. Tony can feel Greg's hair brush against his cheek and his hands ball up his jacket. "Its you. That's your name. You're the..."

"The one you've been dreaming about?" Tony chuckles, and to his suprise, it's a little wet. His legs ache from pushing himself into the hug so much, but he ignores it. "Yeah. Me and Ellis. Your friends."

"Tony and Ellis." Greg repeats, and Tony could cry at how it's the same voice in all of his memories. A few things are different; Gregory's face has changed a bit, and so has his hair and clothes. But all of the things that made him Greg back then are still here.

"I--" Greg stutters. "I tried so hard to remember anything about you. I was gonna track you down, I hope you know. Cause you're the only things I remember about..."

"I know, Greg." Tony replies. Greg pulls away from the hug, and Tony still has a grip on his shoulders. "They told me everything."

He jerks his head towards Freddy and Vanessa, and when Greg looks over at him, Freddys ears wiggle and Vanessa does a small little wave.

"Some suprise." Gregory chuckles, wiping at his dry eyes. "Jeez, its just-- I just remembered so much. Just by seeing you, and--"

Greg's eyes turn a little misty as he looks in Tony's own. "We were friends." He says. "And I forgot you for so long."

"It wasnt your fault." Tony smiles slightly. Greg still has to look up at him a bit, like he did last time Tony saw him. "Freddy and Vanessa told me you tried your best to remember us."

Gregory nods, glancing over at them. "I did." He says. "I wanted to know what triggered the first dream so bad. But... I never figured it out."

"I guess it doesn't matter now." Tony says. "I'm right here in front of you, and you remember now. Ellis'll be really glad to see you, too."

Gregory chuckles. "I missed him." He says. "I missed you, too."

"Me too." Tony replies, and it doesn't feel like those two words can encapsulate how much Tony has felt the past year. "Ellis really missed you as well. He still is. You don't know what happened to him when you went missing."

Gregory ducks his head, eyes downcast. "I wish I did."

Tony eyes Freddy from the corner of his eye, and he nods. Tony looks back towards Greg. "I can tell you some stuff, if you want. Vanessa said something reminded you of me one day." He smiles. "I can try to help remind you of stuff enough to remember more."

Gregory's head shoots up, and to Tony's suprise, tears gather in his eyes. As quick as they come, he ducks his head, using the sleeve of his navy jacket to wipe them away. "Yeah." He sniffs. "That'd be great."

"I'm glad you guys reunited." Vanessa pipes up to their left. "But, Gregory, I think you should go take a breather. I wanna talk to Tony anyway."

Greg doesnt answer for a second, but eventually he nods, smiling at Tony as he peels himself away. Tony takes note of how the tooth Gregory had been missing last year is still gone.

Tony watches him go, and his eyes dont leave his back until the door to his room shuts.

"Kid," Vanessa grabs his attention. She gestures to sit down on the couch, and he moves over, sitting in-between Freddy and her. "that went well. Really well."

Tony just nods, not able to shake the trembling in his fingers and the floaty feeling in his chest.

"It doesnt seem like he remembered anything bad." Vanessa points out. "He couldnt have. He wouldn't be so calm if he did, trust me."

Tony remembers Freddys words about how Vanessa grapples with the things shes done, so he does. He nods again, and Vanessa smiles. "So that's good. Listen, kid. If you can somehow have Gregory remember his old life without any of the mind control murder stuff, that would be the best case scenario."

Freddy whirs and straightens out a but, opening his mouth to speak, but he stops at the last second. "It wouldnt be unfair to Gregory if he wasnt remembering anything good, Fred." Vanessa points out.

"That is true." Freddy agrees. "There is no point in Gregory remembering anything harmful to him if avoidable. Vanessa knows that better than anyone."

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but pauses.

Not remember anything bad? As in he wouldnt be able to remember that day at the Pizzaplex?

How Greg had put himself on the line and fought for Tony's life? How he'd succeeded? How Tony always desperately wanted to see Greg again just to talk about it?

Words get caught in his throat, but he pushes them down and shoves his feelings aside. He just nods. "I'll do my best."

"Thanks." Vanessa says, and she sounds more relieved than Tony's ever heard anyone. She puts a hand on his shoulder, offering him a smile. "Really. Thank you, kid. I'd do anything for Gregory to never have to remember the same things I do."

Tony just nods again, finding that for the first time in his life, he has no words to say. "Yeah."

"I am sure you're dying to catch up with Gregory." Freddy smiles. "Go on, Tony Becker. We will give you both space."

Tony smiles, shooting up and shimmying past Freddys legs in-between the coffee table towards the hall. "Okay. Sure." He only lingers for another moment to say "Thanks!"

Its jet black outside when Tony passes a window, and by the time he makes it to Greg's room, the only light available is a small table lamp on the desk with paper strewn about. Greg sits on his bed, deep in thought, before snapping out of it when Tony walks in.

"Hey." Gregory smiles, and Tony grins back when he shuts the door behind him. He cant help how his eyes wander about the room, taking in every detail as he moves further into the room. His backpack is tossed on the floor beside his bed, and theres comic pages and drawings thumbtacked up across every wall. Theres a corkboard with blocky letters written on paper sheets scattered around, and his bedsheets have constellations on them.

Tony's eyes linger on the desk, where there are multiple comics covering every inch, some half-finished and some fully colored.

"You would draw comics when we were friends, too." Tony says, making his way over and peering at all of the different drawings. "I'd call them graphic novels. I'd write the story and you'd draw."

"I think I had a dream about that." Greg says. "We'd go in your room and brainstorm, right?"

"Yeah." Tony smiles. He looks at the dates scribbles in the corners of them all, and notices that most of them are recent.

"Its one of the only dreams I had." Gregory says. "It... it would make me so mad because it never went any different. And it had been the only indication you even existed for so long." He chuckles without humor. "The other dreams weren't much different, but, well, I was never really able to figure out how to trigger a new dream."

As he keeps looking, some of the older comics, like the ones on the walls and the underneath the piles of recent ones have dates from a few months ago.

It's like a tiny lightbulb goes off above his head. He turns to Gregory, asking "Do you remember when you had the first dream?"

Gregory pauses for a moment. "Yeah." He says. "It was a few months ago. The first dream I had was about us drawing comics in your room."

Tony smiles, finding the earliest date to be near October last year. Its February now. "Did you ever think the thing that triggered that memory was drawing a comic?"

Tony watches as the gears turn in Greg's head. Hes silent for a moment, before muttering, "No. I didnt."

Tony looks at the window on the wall by Greg's bed and watches as raindrops drip down the screen on the other side. Crickets are chirping faintly, and he can hear Freddy and Vanessa's voices muffled behind the door.

The days events catch up to him, and right as the first inkling of tiredness creep up on him, he says "So how about we try to make a comic together like the dream? Maybe it'll bring back some new memories."

Gregory is silent for a moment, and Tony watches as his eyes widen, and a grin gradually stretches across his face. "Okay." He says. "Yeah. Let's do it."

So it's in Greg's room, instead of Tony's, where they hunker down for the night and squish next to eachother on the same chair at the same desk and brainstorm a comic. Tony makes a point of calling it a graphic novel like he used to, because Greg would always say something about it, and unsurprisingly, this time is no different.

The only light is from Gregory's small table lamp shoved to the very corner to make room for more papers, and it's only when they have everything ready does Greg finally ask about the story.

"You said you'd write the story and I'd draw." Gregory says. His shoulder is pressed up against Tony's on the chair and his voice is loud in his ear. "So what's the story?"

Tony hums for a second, jumbled thoughts and ideas running course in his mind, then he gets an idea.

He grins slowly as it dawns on him. He glances over at Greg.

"You always liked nonfiction better, right?" Gregory says, voice up an octave like a question. "Real life stuff."

"Yeah." Tony confirms. "This is a real story."

"So tell me." Greg smiles, leaning back to get a good view of Tony. Tony himself does the same, and Greg is doing one of those lopsided smiles that shows off his missing tooth. "And I'll start drawing the panels."

Its only after theyve hunkered down does Tony really let himself revel in the fact that he found Greg, and he's here and okay. It may not be perfect, since Tony never really will be able to speak to that Gregory that saved him that day and thank him, but its content. Tony has his friend back, and he can't ask for any more.

He's long since decided on a story when he finally tells Gregory. He smiles softly, before saying,

"This story is about a kid named Gregory, who once hacked the school PA speakers and started beatboxing."

🔎🐰

Ellis: um so how long will i have to keep this up???

Ellis: would be nice to know

Tony: I dont know how long I'll be gone.

Tony: I'll buy you as many cookies as you want for this.

Ellis: we will negotiate when you come back

Ellis: for now ill uphold my end of the deal mr. becker

Tony: I'll uphold mine early.

Tony sent an image

Image ID: A boy with short dark brown hair and a green jacket angling the camera so by his head is a boy with pale skin and chocolate brown hair. The boy with dark hair is smiling and the boy with brown hair is looking suprised at the camera.

Ellis is typing...

ao3 link

#finally got this done #was struggling so if its evident #my bad lol #my fics #detective rabbit #bell boots #gregory #tony #ggy #tony becker #fnaf gregory #tftp #tales from the pizzaplex #twoshot #3 star fam #vanessa #freddy #ellis #pandas writes

107 notes · View notes

scornedserendipity · 11 months ago

Text

6. The Magic Emporium (Winchester x Younger siblings oc)

yeet so I finally found a face claim for Jamie but you can image her however you want. This is just pretty close to how i see her. but enjoy this chapter. lots is revealed lol. let me know what ya think (yes ik this is actually riley from hellrasier, ignore that lol)

about 6k words some some change

Sam and Dean were gone for a while, they decided just to get a motel room so they didn’t have to plan around visiting hours to see Jamie, not that she minded. She liked being separated from her brothers sometimes. It made her feel like more of an individual than just a Winchester.

Of course, she loved her family and would die for them in a heartbeat but she still enjoyed her own time and secrets. Sam and Dean raised her as far back as she could remember. Dean was more of a parent than her actual Dad ever was. She always knew she was grateful that Sam and Dean wanted her, likely more than Dad ever did. They could have easily left her to be someone else’s problem instead.

“Don’t worry Jamie. Just because you are our half-sister by blood doesn’t make you any less our sister. You are a Winchester and always will be, we will always be your annoying older brothers.”

Sam had said that to her many years ago when she was first starting school and got bullied for not looking like her brothers, just because of her curly hair and tan skin. Kids were cruel but not everyone can chop heads off as a source of anger management.

Jamie sighed as she sipped on her apple juice. She had been staring at her new laptop for hours. She told Sam and Dean that she was going to try and find some more information on Dad’s notes and see if there was anything behind them. Which she did for a short period. Finding a few footnotes and built a reading list of lore that she could correlate to what her Dad was talking about but after a while, she had gone through every piece of paper and it made even less sense to her.

“Okay, so we have angels and demons. Celestial beings that can predate mankind, beings that are a corrupted version of mankind. Different monsters that are only seen in certain parts of America coordinates to multiple locations, and a whole lot of nothing.” She sighed. She couldn’t help but stare at the paperwork. All this time and nothing about her mother, nothing about the woman who brought her into this godforsaken world. Just more monsters.

She sighed and picked up her phone. She scrolled through her contacts till she got to Dean. She dialed and it rang a couple of times.

“Hey, what’s up?” Dean’s voice came from the other side.

“The sky.” Jamie joked. “Any luck on the hunt?” She asked.

“No, we’ve been looking everywhere and asking just about every Jake, Kyle, and Crystal we see every question we can but nothing.”

“Well, I may have found something in Dad’s notes. I found a couple of sets of coordinates and some information on more of our kind of weird. The first set was the road in Jericho where we faced the woman in white, the next place is in Colorado.” Jamie said as she pulled up her digital map where she marked all the coordinates.

“I’ve charted them down but without Dad’s journal, I can’t connect them to anything. It’s all bits and pieces.”

“You did all of that in two days?” Dean asked. There was a pause, she could hear him talking to someone else, probably Sam. “Hang on, I’m going to put you on speaker,” Dean said. There was a beep

“Hey June Bug,” Sam said from the other side. It never failed to make her feel better to hear her brother’s voice.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Jamie asked. She peeked out her window when she saw someone coming by. The door knob never turned so she continued.

“We’re okay, just doing our jobs,” Dean interjected with a scoff.

“So am I went through Dad’s notes and found coordinates, but I need his journal to fact-check.” She summarized.

“Oh okay, well, we are just about done here, we were heading your way anyway,” Sam said.

“Okay. Can you try to get me checked out of here? I feel fine. I even walked around.” Jamie pleaded.

Her brothers scoffed and the line cut off. Jamie threw her hands up in frustration. She hated hospitals. Just like the rest of her family. It was a Winchester curse to have bad experiences with hospitals.

She was already wary of them as a child when her brother had confessed hospitals creep him out. Sam didn’t like them too much because of the smell. It was all to comfort her as she waited for her flu shot, but the real reason she didn’t like them was because the only time she ever got her father to pick her up from school.

Her stomach had been bugging her all week. her brothers knew it, her teachers knew it, and even her Dad knew it, but she always refused the doctors, until the Friday of that week when she couldn’t take it anymore and went to the school nurse. The phone call to her father was terrifying but when the lady explained all of her symptoms and that it could be an infection, he rushed over.

Her Dad was more gentle with her, she always knew it, but he also wanted her to tough it out. At the time it had been a while since her Dad had spoken so gently to her, but was apologetic without even saying it, but the stomach ache wasn’t the reason Jamie hated hospitals. It was that day, at 9 years old, she learned that wraiths love hospitals.

She ended up just having a gnarly stomach infection but it wasn’t anything serious.

Her brothers didn’t believe her till her Dad told them to put their shoes on and follow him. They knew not to question their father and subsequently Jamie. She remembered sticking her tongue out at them as they marched outside with their father leading the way.

“Hey, June Bug.” Dean’s voice broke Jamie’s train of thought. He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, kicking his feet up onto her bed and sighing. Sam rolled his eyes and took the other side.

“Did you talk to the doctors?” She asked, scratching her brow.

“We did. They said they want to run some tests and make sure you don’t need any more in-house treatment before they discharge you.” Sam said with a smile.

“Nice!” Jamie fist-pumped the air. She was still sore but she wasn’t going to get any more limber sitting in bed. Especially when they might have another case.

“So what did you find in Dad’s stuff?” Dean asked.

“Well, it’s a lot and it’s a lot of nothing at the same time…if that makes sense,” Jamie said, raising her eyebrows and picking up a stack of the papers. So there are only a few coordinates for Colorado, Wisconsin, and Pennsilveiya.”

Sam grabbed the journal from the duffle bag he carried in, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

“Right here. it said Blackwater, Manitoc, Catasauqua.” Sam said, pointing at the page in the book that listed the sites.

“Looks about right. What are we going to do?” Jamie asked. The younger siblings looked at their older brother. he thought for a moment.

“Well, the only way too Dad, is to follow him and hope we catch up. We can stick around for another day or two, see if we can find out anything else about Jess’s death and then we hit the road.”

It sounded easy, but things never were.

When her brothers left it was just her again. Jamie stared at her new laptop, she wondered if she would even find anything. It started with simple name and location searches. Research on psychics and what they did. She found a website that told all the secrets of fake psychics and magicians, a page dedicated to some kind of weird mind-reading role-play.

“Hmm, maybe if I narrow down the search to Texas?” She asked herself, aimlessly scratching at her neck.

-time break-

“Finally, fresh air!” Jamie said as she walked out of the hospital. The doctors cleared her to leave and she was out faster than a worm in a pickle.

“Calm down, we still have to get back to the motel,” Sam said as he watched his sister.

“yeah, yeah whatever. Say that after you spend a week in bed.” Jamie said, stretching her arms. Sam and Dean watched for any kind of wince or limp in their sister as she stretched.

“Guys, I am fine! One little tumble isn’t enough to keep me down! Relax a little.” She joked. “I want to do some shopping before we go. I need a few things.” She said approaching her brothers. They were still outside the hospital but when she stopped they did. A terrible habit they had.

“Why?” Dean asked. Jamie could tell he was still upset about the money, but there was nothing she could do about that. The majority of it was made after they dropped her off at Bobby’s.

“Well, I need a laptop bag and I’m in California! I want to get a pin from every state for the bag.” She said, which was mostly true but she figured she would have more time to do what she wanted before they went to Colorado.

“I don’t see the problem. We can drop you off downtown, that’s a good shopping area.” Sam said, shrugging.

“Whatever,” Dean said, walking past them and to the car.

“He’s mad at me isn’t he Sammy?” Jamie asked as they followed shortly behind Dean.

“No, he isn’t mad. Don’t worry.” Sam said. Jamie sighed. The drove was silent, just Black Sabbath

“We will be back in a couple of hours. We have one more place to check out.” Dean said, looking up at his baby sister.

“Okay, is there anything you guys need?” She asked, leaning down to look at both of them. Sam and Dean looked at each other, she always knew that life on the road wasn’t easy and packing light was always rule number one.

“Toothpaste.” Dean huffed.

“Toothpaste, okay. Anything you need Sam, never mind, I’ll just get you the basics.” Jamie said. She had completely forgotten his apartment burned down. He probably didn’t have anything but the clothes he packed.

Sam nodded, he was still very upset and was trying to stay strong.

“We’ll be back at 7. So we can avoid traffic.” Dean said, taking a quick look at this watch. Jamie nodded and stepped away from the curb. Dean saluted and pulled off the curb. Jamie watched them for a moment before turning to the mall.

“Alrighty Jamie. Here’s to a 4-hour adventure.” She said to herself. All she had was her backpack, 800 dollars, and high hopes. As Jamie walked she made a mental checklist.

‘toothpaste, deodorant, toothbrush, comb, shampoo, conditioner, body spray.’ All things she had to buy but not the reason she wanted to have some alone time. She was on a hunt.

“Okay, let me get their stuff first so I don’t forget. Gotta find somewhere with pie before 6:45.” Jamie continued to mutter to herself as she walked down the street. Looking for a store that wasn’t her entire budget for a cardigan.

She found a small grocery outlet and grabbed a hand basket, most of it was pretty cheap, it was just a few things here and there. She handed the cashier thirty dollars and looked around, seeing some candy and lottery tickets. Nothing she could concern herself with right now. She still needed her alibi receipt.

Jamie thanked the clerk and left, looking around again. There were lots of outlets, lots to choose from, where she got the bag didn’t matter, so long as it would fit her laptop without letting anything slip out.

Having to run for your life is usually part of the job.

She found herself in a small boutique, it had a very barnyard aesthetic, star hats, and flannel. Flannel was okay, it kept you warm but she preferred something a little less, lumberjack. She browsed for a moment, walking around the shopping area once and assessing where the cameras were. There wasn’t a sensor on the door so in theory, she could walk out with just about anything she wanted.

“Do you have laptop bags or pins?” She asked the woman at the desk. It was just the two of them.

“We have pins but for bags we mostly sell purses.” The woman answered not looking up from her newspaper. The front page was the fire that killed one and demolished an old apartment building.

Jamie looked away and walked out. There wasn’t anything there that matched her style. Plus expensive things are more likely to be stolen if you live on the road.

She found a California Bear pin she liked, only five bucks. She purchased it and kept her receipt.

While she was in the hospital, she was doing more research than just scouring through her Dad’s notes. She had her own hunt to worry about as much as she wanted to find their Dad and whatever killed Jess, she had to focus on herself now.

Sure, her Dad being missing and possibly dead should be a top priority, and it is but she just needed some information. Luckily there was a psychic that worked nearby, only a few blocks due east.

When she was researching, she couldn’t help but use her new laptop to search for her Mom, she had done it before with little results and this time was an even less fruitful search. Her next guess was that another psychic knew her and she was sure this one did.

Histor De la Croix. A 50-year-old fortune teller, mind reader, and magic practitioner. Who was based out of Texas the year Jamie was born. How she got so lucky to find him in the same town her brother was in was nothing short of a miracle.

“I hope he knows something about her, even a picture would help.” She muttered to herself and she read the shop names. She had mapped it all out while in the hospital.

Did Jamie know why she was looking for her mother? Yes and No. Her family was her family and she didn’t consider her mother's family, she would be okay if her Mother still wanted nothing to do with her, at least that’s how her father and Dean made it seem, but at the same time, she couldn’t ignore the facts.

She had some kind of power and it was making things worse. Waking up in fields, feeling like she didn’t know who she was, losing time, all things that happened once she turned 17 and Sam left. She never told her brothers, they barely talked. Bobby knew he was the one who found her in the junkyard at six am.

It wasn’t just a few weird occurrences. She never liked violence and only killed when she had to, she has only killed a handful of monsters but it never stopped making her sad. They have to eat just like she does. When she killed her very first vampire, she was 12. It was out of necessity since Sam had refused to go again. When she faced him, and swung her machete like her father taught her, she felt the fear he felt. The way his body reacted to the swing of death she delivered. How she felt it for several minutes after his head had rolled to her Father’s feet.

Despite the experience, it was one of the few times her father had patted her on the back with a smile.

“Good job, June Bug. Let’s not wait around next time though.”

The way Dean bragged to Sam about her when they got home, claiming he knew she was always the better hunter, even Dad had piped in when Sam started digging back at Dean.

“Boys. Watch TV or sleep, Jamie still has homework to finish since someone chickened out.”

Jamie stopped in front of a small shop, barely decorated with blacked-out windows. It sat alone on the corner of the block. minimally decorated compared to the other magic shops she had seen online.

“The Magic Emporium.” She said to herself. It was the right place, but it didn’t look to be occupied. Compared to the rest of the shops, this one looked abandoned.

She tried to open the door but it was locked. Closed. Jamie tried to peek into the windows but the shades were too dark. She sighed and went around the back of the shop, looking around in case anyone saw her or her brothers managed to tail her.

There was a small window that wasn’t covered, about two feet by two feet in size. She could easily fit through it if she left her backpack. She grabbed her pocket knife and carefully slid the lock out of place, using the gap between the sill and the seal. It took a few tries but she managed to move it enough to open the window.

“Here goes a misdemeanor.” She muttered to herself as she peered her head in. There wasn’t anything blocking the window. She went in feet first, holding her backpack in one hand as she entered the building, shutting the window behind her.

She took a moment to listen for any sound. The lights were off but the window provided just enough for her to see the silo of small statues and large plants. Jamie walked around for a moment, heading towards the door she had seen earlier, doing her best to make as little noise as possible.

Jamie was about to flip some kind of switch when she heard the familiar sound of a gun cocking. She froze in her place, in the dark.

“Who a’e ya?” A male voice asked from behind her.

“Uhm, nobody.” She said, turning around with her hands up. She moved slowly, just like her father had told her. She didn’t bring any weapons except for her pocket knife, but what good was a knife in a gunfight, in the dark?

“What a’e ya doi 'n in my shop?”

“I’m here for Histor De la Croix and I’m a student. Are you him?” She said. A partial truth but she couldn’t help but want to avoid an unnecessary risk. A man is less likely to shoot an innocent with no name, versus a burglar with a name he may not like. If he truly knew her Mom, there is a chance he knows her Dad.

“Well if nob’dy askin why would I be tell’n?” The man shuffled to the side, not taking his eyes off Jamie, he flipped the light switch on and the space illuminated. Jamie looked around the statues, shaman masks, paintings, and framed documents scattered on the walls. Copious amounts of plants and miscellaneous supplies. Histor was a lanky man, looked like one gust of wind would knock him over. Dark, messy hair and ungroomed facial hair.

Jamie had no choice at this point. If he wanted to shoot her he would have done it already. Called the police and said someone had broken in, what’s an old man’s word to a dead girl? She had to gamble that the truth would set her free this time. It was her last chance.

“My name is Jamie Winchester. I’m a hunter and I need your help.” She said, hands still in the air. She watched the man like a hawk. He stepped closer, rifle still aimed right at Jamie.

“Why should I help a hun’er?” He asked suspiciously.

“Because I am also the daughter of Frida, did you know her?” Histor’s expression changed when he heard Frida’s name. He slowly lowered the gun, furrowing his brows as if to look at her face. Jamie could tell he was getting overwhelmed just at the mention of her mother’s name.

“You are the baby arem’t ya? That ole’ hun’ers bastard” The man asked, he was still holding the gun but it was lowered enough for Jamie to lower her hands as well.

“If you mean, John Winchester, then yes. I need your help, I just need information.” Jamie said, taking a step. Histor sighed and looked Jamie up and down. He wasn’t impressed.

“She warned me this would hap’pn s’mes day. Come on with me child.” The man beckoned as he walked deeper into the building. Jamie couldn’t help but be taken aback by his sudden calmness.

“What kind of magic practitioner are you?” Jamie asked as she took a few steps forward. The hallway Histor was heading towards seemed menacing, deeper than it should be. Like it almost wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Spells and material magic. I study magic that can be car’id in objects. But cha mama, she was in a diff’ernt league. She was magic all on ‘er own.” Histor explained as they walked, not even bothering to look back at Jamie as she watched the walls around her. They weren’t moving, but they weren’t solitary either. She felt like she was about to enter a room that was the love child of a fun house and a house of mirrors but as Histor spoke about her Mom, the feelings of unease and fear drifted away as she latched onto whatever positive emotion she was feeling from Histor.

“Uhm yeah, so I’m looking for her and I was wondering if you knew anything else about her?” Jamie said as they walked. They seemed to be going much deeper than the building allowed.

“You won’t fin’ her I can tell you that. The night she left you she only did it for you’s and those pesky hun’er boys safe.” He said with an irritated tone. “All yous woulda been mince if she hadn’t. I havn’t the faintest how she had a soft spot fo’ dem boys.”

“For real, they are douche bags. But you said she was trying to keep me safe? Safe from what?” Jamie asked.

“Ya mama was one of the last of an ancient bloodline. Do you know wha’ a Witness is?” Histor asked. They entered an even smaller room, just a table and a few chairs with a chest of drawers and a TV stacked on some boxes.

“A witness? Like at a crime scene?” Jamie asked. Histor took a seat in the rolling chair and got comfortable.

“No, more in the biblical sense. A witness is a mem’er of a powe’ful bloodline datin’ back to the time of Jesus and the disciples.” Histor said. “Come sit. We have much to talk about.” Histor waved at her. Jamie grabbed one of the chairs and sat on the other side of the table.

“Is that why I have Empathy?” Jamie asked. For a moment Histor seemed to pause before speaking up.

“Yes, being a witness does have its perks. Let me guess, it seems like you can pick up just about any skill like you’ve master’ed it?” Jamie considered for a moment. To think about being good at everything made her feel vain. For a moment she looked back on all the new things she had tried and how they were never as difficult as people made them out to be. Reluctantly she nodded. Histor scoffed.

“Just like ya mama, ya is. ya get visions of the to be o’e the al’eady been?” Jamie nodded. “It will just get wo’se ya see. Ya will get strong but that’s not the only thing. Throughout hist’ry, there have always been two witnesses. When one dies, the next ones powe’s awaken. A continuous, cosmic cycle. Your powe’s will grow as your mind does because of ya soul.” Histor explained.

“Wait, so what I’m a reincarnation?” Jamie asked.

“No clue. But, when ya born, Frida and the second witness, a fool they called Marshall. They was in a bad way when you came along ya see. So the night ya born Frida placed a spell over ya. Protection from the witness’s eyes. So he couldn’t find ya.”

“Wait so, is he going to come after me?” Jamie asked.

“Yes. It is a fate very few are destined for. You are a protector of sorts.” Histor was staring at her intently. How her eyes shifted and her expression changed ever so slightly as he spoke. “The man, Marshal came and asked me about ya, he was convinced yous were his blood.”

“Wait, my dad might not be my dad?” Jamie asked. This was the moment her world started rocking. John might not be her dad, then Sam and Dean aren’t her brothers… she was reeling. “Am I? of his blood?” She gulped. Her hands were starting to sweat.

“Oh, baby child, no yous is ya Daddy’s. There is no question about that. Ya, mama would neva lie about something as se’rious as family..”

“What was Marshal?” She asked.

“He and Frida used to be thick as thieves till he was corrupted by a bunch of old dark magic. Frida managed to get away from him, ya came along and she had to do something. That’s why she made that spell of hers. She told me when ya pow’rs full awaken one of em would be dead but she couldn’t take the risk that it wouldn’t be him. So she cast the spell that night in Texas. She said it would suppress your soul’s power so he couldn’t find ya.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Jamie was absorbing all the information, she felt like she had just been tossed into a grain mill and her brain was being milled to mush.

“ya think i’m ly’in to ya dont ya child.” histor said, leaning back with some kind of smirking smile on his face.

“I’ve heard a lot of crazy and this takes the cake but no, Histor. I know you aren’t lying to me.” Jamie said, blowing air out of her cheeks. “I can feel it. I always say Lady Luck has a crush on me, but now I don’t even know what to think.” She shrugged.

“It’s like turmoil isn’t it. In ya heart. It’s the call of the witness. The way Frida explained ‘er powers. It was like being connected to eve’ythin’. But she knew she had a greater purpouse, she met Marshal and learned even more. Her abilites grew and grew and I bet yous will too but listen to me now child. This is as true as the sky is blue. I may be an old fart but you broke into my home looking for answers. you think that’s just chance?”

Jamie considered it for a moment. She felt no malice or deceit from Histor, he had no reason to lie to her at this point. Either of them could have made a move. Jamie sighed. She definitely couldn’t tell her brothers about this, if her Dad knew this whole time was he ever going to tell her?

“You said my abilities will grow? How are we talkin?” Jamie asked. If it was real, she had to take it seriously. It’s her only lead after all. She had to treat it just like she did the Shapeshifter, leaving no stone unturned. She would interview every psychic, medium, or shaman that was in Texas at the time whether they were dead or alive if she had to.

“Yes, they will. What they will be I have not the faintest of clues. Ya Mama could move objects and people with her mind sometimes, compelling them to tell her the truth. I know that as your powe’s grow, the spell she cast will try to fight them and there will be negative side effects until the spell is eventually broken.” Histor explained. He turned around in his chair and opened one of the trunks.

“Negative effects like… sleepwalking?” Jamie asked, leaning forward and trying to see what he was doing.

“No clue, ya might get sick, might experience prophetic nightmares, explode, might explode people around you. Ya might just flat-out drop dead. The spells Frida used were ‘er own. This is all I have left of ‘er.” Histor said as he placed a metal box on the table. he undid the latches and opened it. “I knew ya mama since we was youngins. She was always talented and very grown up for her age, but when she turned 18 things started to change. She had nightmares and would often completely forget where she was. It may be the same for ya. Frida neva explained er’thing to me, but by the time we par’ted ways, she was as strong as a demon.”

Jamie was on the edge of her seat. This was the closest she had ever been and she had no idea where she could go from here. What could it be? A letter, a photo, some kind of book, or a clue? What exactly was Frida getting at? Histor said she knew Jamie would come looking for him in search of her. How much does he know?

Millions of questions ran through Jamie’s head like a high school mile as she watched Histor. Everything felt like a dream, she tried to take in every detail she could, not miss a single thing the man had said.

Histor reached into the box and pulled out a small gem, strung on twine. He looked at it deeply before placing it on the table.

“I know how this all must seem to ya but ya mama was only doin’ what was best for ya given ya’lls situation. She left me this and told me to “give it to my gal when she finds you.” and I ain’t seen ‘er since. You are the only gal who has come to see me since 1999.” he confessed.

“I am in way over my head…” She muttered, reaching for the gem. “I need two more favors and I will pay and be on my way, Histor,” Jamie said, pulling out the bills she kept in her pocket. Histor was shocked for a moment but when he saw the amount he couldn’t help but accept.

“Ya Frida child, I give ya the discount.” Histor winked and nodded for her to continue.

“The spell. How do I break it?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. I do know a spell that could undo any spell. It’s not easy though and you could die. When spells like the ones ya mama cast are broken, often they take somethin’ to remember ya by.”

Histor was watching Jamie intently the entire time. He knew this day would come because Frida told him. He stared at Jamie and she stared back. She had the same thick curls and tan skin Frida had, even her freckles matched. He felt like he was staring at a time machine.

“Ya look just like ya mama ya know that?” Histor said. Jamie looked up, surprised and then sad.

“Really?” She asked as she fiddled with the gemstone. It was probably a jade if she had to guess but now it was so much more than just a jade, or just a pendant. She put it around her neck.

“I was in love with her since we was babes. I could never forget her face.” Histor stood up and walked to the other side of the room. Jamie watched as he shuffled through old files.

“You were in love with my Mom? What was she like?” Jamie asked from her seat.

“Oh, she was like a breath of fresh air and a burning fire at the same time. Ya Daddy didn’t get to know er too well before he beat it but she was one of a kind, and loved ya very much. Thats why she did what she did.” Histor said, pausing from his tasks and looking up, as if reflecting on a momemory.

“Here, I drew this the year ya mama vanished. This is ya mama.” He said, bringing over a piece of parchment. It was a drawing of a woman. Jamie was shocked at how much she looked like the photo, just a younger version.

“That’s my Mom?” She asked. She cautsiouly took the photo in her hand, hoping she would experience some kind of vision but nothing happened. Her mother was a pretty woman, A strong jaw line and nose, deep eyes and dark, unruly curls. In the photo she looked about thirty.

Histor reclaimed his seat on the other side of the table.

“Her Daddy was a black guy from over the train tracks, her mama was immigrant hunter who moved to America to live a normal life. When ya mama’s powers came along and her parents found out, they kicked her to the curb and she stayed with my family for a long time. Then she met Marshal and he told her about this ‘great purpose’ she served in a Holy War. A load of bullshit if you ask me but that’s how it happened. After she met Marshal we talked less and less. He tried to indoctrinate her but it was a whole mess when ya Daddy came along and accused him of being some kinda witch. Not to far of the reservation if ya ask me.”

Jamie nodded as she stared at the photo. She was learning things even her father didn’t know. She actually had no idea how her parents met or how long they knew each other.

“Life is weird.” She muttered, shrugging her shoulders.

“Say that you won’t go looking for ya mama.” Jamie looked up with furrowed brows. Her sadness quickly turned into anger when she heard his words. “Lis’en to me, Jamie Winchester. If ya go looking for ya mama, Marshal will come looking for ya and that man is fa’ more powe’ful. I will help ya break the spell but if somethin goes wrong don’t blame me.”

“Histor. I can’t even begin to thank you for everything you’ve shared with me. I’ve spent half my life searching for her. For answers. If someone wants to come after me, they can try, if they try to stop me, I will kill them first.” She said, her gaze was hard and bore into Histor’s soul like a drill.

Histor’s gaze remained steadfast. Beady blue eyes were hidden behind a heavy brow and messy hair. he wore a heavy frown but he never looked away from Jamie.

“Very well. I warn’d ya. To break the spell you need to be in the same place it was created. Likely in that house in Texas. You will need Ague Root, the ash of a Holy Object like a cross that has been dipped in Holy Water, and the caster’s DNA.”

Jamie nodded as she listened. Writing everything down on of of her receipts.

“After you have all ya ingredients. On the night of a full moon, you must be in the exact location the spell was casted to reverse it. Grind and mix all your ingredients, and chat the following.” Histor instructed, motioning for her to pass the paper and pen. As he wrote he continued to explain the spell.

“When you cast this spell, there is no way of knowing it will work. There may be more consequence than gain when you do this, nothing may happen.” He explained.

“You just told me if I don’t break this spell I might drop dead, I can deal with the consequences later. I refuse to leave my brothers alone in this world but I will be careful. Thank you Histor.” Jamie said as he passed the paper back. She stuffed it into her pocket and got up. She stood by his side and crouched, looking up at the old man with tears in her eyes.

“It’s a possibility. Unless you’ve already started experiencing the side effects?’ Histor questioned. Jamie nodded, she didn’t want to admit it but deep down she knew he had been telling the truth and what’s been happening to her for the past year was because of her mother.

“I can never truly repay you for your help today. You have given me things that my family has tried to keep away from me for years. Here is my number, if you ever need help, call me, for anything” She said, giving him a quick peck and the cheek and standing up. Holding a smaller piece of paper to him.

Histor smiled at her and accepted the paper. “I think I have one more thing that might help ya.” Histor stood up again. Jamie was worried he’d lose his footing but he managed just fine. “When ya mama came and saw me that night, she left me with more than just that pendant. I don’t think she wanted me to give to ya, but I’ve never been good at following rules.” He chuckled, walking to the same chest he grabbed the picture from. he pulled out a small book-sized box.

“Here, I got no clue what that is. She said to protect it with my life though. It’s probably safer in your hands than mine.” Jamie accepted the box. She looked at it, there were some runes on it but nothing that looked too serious.

“To get out, just walk straight and pass through the front door this time. It’s illusion magic ya mama woulda seen it” he said with a scoff. Jamie shrugged and waved before making her way out.

“You did it, Jamie.” She muttered to herself as she passed right through the front door, coming out onto the street. Jamie looked back at the box that she stashed under her arm, using her free hand she wiped the tears that peaked from her eyes.

“Maybe I’m psycing myself out but if I touch this and get a vision I’m going to look very weird just falling on my ass.” She muttered to herself before placing the box in her backpack, making sure to put it at the bottom, under everything else she had bought. A shoplifting trick she learned in high school.

She her hand through her hair and sighed as her fingers got caught in the naps of her curls.

“Dammit. I thought I was doing pretty good keeping it untangled.” She muttered to herself before making her way down the road.

---

a/n there it is. honestly i am way to lazy to make these look nice like the other authors so enjoy the bare minimum for presentation lol. let me know what ya though and thank u for all the likes. it feeds me.

#supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #oc #winchesters x sibling #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister

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chutefullofholes · 10 months ago

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would love to know more about teen ollie and when he makes his way back to jamie and benny. is this the final straw for jamie and alyssa’s relationship or are they still in contact

there’s his teen/young adult pinterest board <3

- something rachel and i wrote in DMs forever ago that i liked so much i think i’ll make canon is that he ‘came back’ via meeting sawyer at school. was in a group home a little further upstate in the same school district.

- alyssa and jamie stopped talking frequently after she got him back. half because of the drama surrounding her almost not getting him back half because alyssa kinda went ghost on him. never went no contact fully but almost every conversation she ever had with him after she got ollie back was an argument.

- let him and benny see him again maybe twice and then never again. acted like she couldn’t let him see ollie again because well i don’t know jamie what if you takeee him. i don’t trust you anymore. ):<

- anyways he’s a bit older than sawyer but got held back once so they aren’t too far away grade wise. meet and become friends at school. and sawyer has *always* struggled to make friends so ev and helen are so excited. glad their sawyer has someone watching out for him at school etc etc.

- both of them met ollie when he was little but he was 3 years old and they only saw him a handful of times so the pieces don’t click for any of them. outside of ev and helen thinking his name is familiar (lmao you guys are so close!!)

- but it *does* become clear that ollie does not have a good home life. is in and out of his mom’s custody and has been in multiple foster/group homes between being back with her. and because he’s such a sweet kid who is good to sawyer, ev and helen have no problem letting him spend a lot of time at their house.

- then one day he’s over there and ev has one of those digital picture frame things and. world fucking stop when ollie walks by it while it’s on a photo of ev with his uncle jamie that he hasn’t seen since he was 3 years old <\3

- and who he was fed a looot of lies about. never tried to reach out on his own because as far as he was told/lied to about everything by alyssa they wanted nothing to do with him.

- freaks out and is panicking asking sawyer how they know him and digging in his backpack for *one* physical photo he had of himself with jamie and benny when he was 3 that he held onto for all those years.

- and then sawyer’s freaking out and gets ev who starts freaking out and yeah lmao it’s quite the fuckin chaotic night.

- but godddd. when jamie gets that call from ev. gets hysterical fast, tears and hyperventilating and all. ev ends up having to explain to benny too because jamie. can’t talk.

- everyoneeee in ev’s living room cries a little when ollie sees the two of them for the time in at that point 13+ years. jamie and benny never forgot about him for a second. always hoped he’d call or something when he was old enough to contact them on his own. always hoped he’d be okay and find his way to them when he could.

- and yeah jamie never talks to his sister again when the dust settles and ollie is with them for good. is so angry he can’t see straight that she let him bounce around the system instead of allowing him to come back to them. doesn’t forgive her for that and benny is on his side there.

#young vets au #ollie douglass #douglass x demarco #sawyer blakely

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suethesocks · 1 year ago

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Do ya watched the new Spider-man across the spider-verse's cartoon?

Hello person who asked me a question all the way back in november of last year, im so sorry for making you wait so long for such a basic answer 😭😭

hopefully to make up for this, if i yap enough itll be like a years worth of answer, so strap in

To answer the question though yup!! I watched ATSV around a month after it came out. At first i wanted to watch it asap in cinemas but unfortunately it was banned here in egypt because of the fricking. Trans pride flag that appears for 2 seconds in gwens room in the blurry obscured background so that sucked

After waiting a long time for it to have a digital release eventually i gave in because the spoilers were getting too unavoidable and just watched a camrip with my friends in their house. Which was very unfortunate but i still enjoyed it. And i definitely enjoyed rewatching it like 5 times since then when the digital release was out

I think the movie visually innovates even more than the first one did. Theres nothing i feel was lacking they really did build up on everything from ITSV and then some. Everything was so beautiful and full of life and all the designs be it new characters or old are just so good and the animation and aesthetics are top notch. Its the kind of movie you watch frame by frame on purpose

I do think the movie was hurt by being a half movie though, as it does very much feel like half a story. I do like that gwen goes through something of an arc in this movie so at least *something* gets concluded. And its nice to have an implied transfem character take center stage!

I enjoyed a lot how grown up miles feels in this movie, especially when you contrast it with some early production deleted scenes and the teaser clip they released a long while ago. There he felt like he was still his ITSV self still sort of needing to prove himself, but in this movie he really does feel like he has grown. And for that im thankful i wouldnt want the movie to basically just repeat his arc twice

I mean it kind of is the same arc but its from different perspectives (which i dont think is ideal tbh and i wouldve appreciated a third direction but oh well) in the first movie he felt the need to prove himself and that theres a chance he could be Spider-Man. He wanted the other spiders' approval and to get to be just like them. But in this movie hes more confident and knows his place, this is a kid that knows he's Spider-Man, and he dont give a fuck what you say. Hes got the whole world telling him he doesnt have it figured out and maybe even his brain is saying that to him too but hes still gonna be like "no, im right youre wrong. debate over"

And at the same time it doesnt feel like stubbornness. He takes the time to understand the situation, assessed it smartly, comes up with his own conclusions, and acts accordingly. This miles is definitely not just a kid anymore (so much so that to this day im actually still suspicious that miles was meant to be 17 or 18 but they decided last minute they didnt wanna have that big of a timeskip)

Spot was pretty great in this movie too. I knew from the start that despite being sort of a nothing-villain in the comics spiderverse was gonna have a looot of fun with him, especially ever since i saw that one piece of art they released way back before even the teaser i believe, which had spot with sketch lines above him like the shapes guidelines you draw when doing a rough sketch. And they certainly did not disappoint there hes definitely reality warping with a capital R W. Really i got no complaints about spot i think hes a fantastic villain, though i wish the movie took him a little more seriously. Just removing that "i think he kicked his own butt haha!!!!" scene wouldve made all the difference in the world imo

miss cheng cameo goes hard

Miguel is probably the most conflicting thing for me in this movie, i cannot decide if i like this adaptation of him or not, though im leaning towards not i think. I will say im glad to finally have a piece of media where Spider-Man 2099 is like the main focus finally, hes the main character next to miles and gwen. Ive been a fan of his 90s comics for as long as ive been a fan of comics, and other than SM Edge of Time he never got his moment to shine really. Now this absolute unit of a man is coming in and absolutely stealing the show whenever hes onscreen. It was nice, as a longtime SM2099 fan to see now in 2023 just miguel fanart and miguels ass n titties everywhere on my timeline

They do get a lot of stuff right with this adaptation, even small stuff i wouldnt expect just anyone to get. Like his talons!! Most people draw them like long nails like typical claws but they actually extend from under his finger like a hook, and i was so glad to see the movie get that right haha. He also has.... a cape. He doesnt really use it which like i hate but maybe capes are too much trouble to animate idfk. He has his fangs and was gonna use them on vulture (loved vultures design so fucking much btw) so clearly they remembered he can inject paralyzing venom so that gets huge thumbsup from me even if he doesnt get to actually use it

This movie also gets miguel so right in terms of characterization. Nothing will ever beat Chris Daniel Barnes' take on miggy but Oscar Isaac does a great job in his own right as well and is definitely a take i can accept, im just probably too used to hearing chris barnes' voice playing EoT so many times over the years. And its great to have a hispanic actor doing the voice this time!! In general i love the fact that he has darker skin and speaks a bit of spanish in this movie, atsv rememberes miguel is half hispanic more than the comics themselves seem to sometimes haha

This miguel talks like how comic miguel talks he quips how he quips he has the same sarcastic deadpan humor hes funny and snarky and talks like hes smarter but not in an arrogant way because he can kind of back it up. He also fights how i imagine miguel would fight he uses his claws he gets brutal, shits AWESOME. When it comes to dialogue and interactions, this miguel definitely lives up to how i imagine Peter David wouldve written him

Whats really bothering me about miguel is how, despite them nailing the characters personality so so well, the movie also seems not that interested in him and his lore and world at all. He just doesnt have the love and care and history that Peter B Parker seemed to have

I mean, if its still in the year 2099 then wheres Alchemax? The whole point of SM 2099's comics is that Alchemax is a megacorporation thats infected most corners of life. It should have a looming presence EVERYWHERE, but its not even here as an easter egg. Which i have to say is quite bizarre considering Alchemax ALREADY exists in this universe front and center so why not even a reference. I think this is such a crucial part of SM2099's mythos that removing it is genuinely a problem for adapting Nueva York. Not to mention the complete lack of any sort of cops or security at all, again a looming presence that should definitely exist in 2099. Without those aspects Uptown becomes just like any generic futuristic city (when it should, at least, be a generic DYSTOPIAN futuristic city, lmao)

Also the movie's lack of interest in having any references to Gabriel or Conchata or Dana what so ever. I get that this is bordering on fan service but idk, at the very least Dana right??? I mean she dies in the comics, surely part of what miguel longed for in that alternate universe he went to was that Dana still lived there so why not nudge to the fans a little. At least through the form of having miguel comic scenes show in the slideshow thing he made for miles (though i get not having any miguel scenes there, since miguel probably wouldnt intentionally reveal his past to someone just like that)

I mean come on this movies so uninterested in any fan service in general when it comes to miggy. No references to comic covers or something no calling miguel S-Man he says shock ONCE, i feel like its the little bits of fanservice like that that dont like overbear on the story but really add a lot by nodding to the fans and showing that you did a lot of homework

Theres also the weird way they revise his powers here, seemingly working in the form of regular doses he takes to give himself powers rather than be powers he has like the comics, and the lack of organic webbing. Theres also no reference to his enhanced vision as far as i remember. And i have NEVER been a fan of miguels suit having advanced tech built into it. The watch is one thing, the holographic cape and nanomachine esque suit which uses energy and the laser webs and energy spikes he uses to latch onto stuff its all just ehhhh i never vibed with that in the comics and i definitely dont like it here (save that shit for the white suit at least if youre gonna go that route)

This lack of interest in his powers also means, if theres no alchemax looming existence in the world, and the movie intentionally REFUSES to give us a "my name is miguel o'hara" moment to go over his origin, then we are left with actually nothing to imply alchemax even exists in this world

Just no real interest in what made Spider-Man 2099 work so well in his world, as a privileged man who went down and saw the real world and realized how wrong he was about just everything and that he must rebel against those privileged like him and more. Who works with a suit made of fabric just like any ol human against super cops armed with armor and guns

Instead he runs a whole society himself (ironically, the only thing to imply alchemax's existence now. maybe this movie is a miguel from after the point in the comics where he takes over alchemax, which would mean alchemax's only implication in this world is that miguel runs a multibillion dollar corporation and uses its resources how he wants. not good...), hes not aggressively anti corpo anymore, he has a teched up suit, and he just ACTS like a ceo. This guy is basically spider-punk before spider-punk was a thing, and yet here he is being in the exact opposite side to hobie!

Honestly if it werent for a few factors like the powers thing id have actually said "wait let them cook" because i wouldve then thought that miguel being so wrong is the POINT of this whole thing like miguel is a sellout and theyre gonna call him out and reference how he USED to be in flashbacks, but i honestly do not believe that was actually their intention despite it actually fitting so well in an almost genius way if it WAS on purpose

It comes off a bit MCU-ish how they almost dont have faith in how cool 2099 is and think the only thing worth "salvageing" is miguel and his attitude, when the world is pretty rich with things fans like me wouldve loved to see either recreated in the spiderverse style or innovated on and made into something completely new and interesting; and also non-fans wouldve loved to see to learn more about SM2099 and his world. I mean half the fandom thought Miguel is a vampire because he has fangs, thats how much this movie doesnt do anything for the world of 2099

Wew that was a doozy, sorry for rambling so much about miguel when talking about movie-not-about-miguel, its just between Miles Gwen and Miguel he was the one i was most starved for content for and he was the one im most educated on and on what i would want to see when i see him onscreen haha

hope this longass post full of insane ramblings of a mad woman was worth the yearlong wait in my tumblr asks shdsjhdsdhs again sorry it took me so long to look at my asks

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justasmolliv · 2 years ago

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L3: Venba

This cooking, narrative puzzler is more of an appetiser than a main meal.

This short piece contains spoilers. Do not read on if you plan on playing Venba without any prior knowledge of plot and gameplay.

After attending a digital preview event for Indian cooking and narrative game Venba, I was intrigued to see what the overall experience would bring me.

Having now played the game, the immediate feeling I came away from Venba with was one of warmth. Its colour palette, rich with reds and yellows and greens, really help to convey a feeling of comfort throughout, even when its characters are feeling something that's the exact opposite of comfort. Its homage to Tamil culture and attention to detail is astounding, something which I touched on in my write-up of Venba's preview.

The gameplay is split into two halves - first, the narrative is told through a cutscene, before we're presented with a cooking puzzle to solve. The story follows Venba and Paavalan, a married couple who emigrated to Canada from Tamil Nadu, and their son Kavin. The game spreads its narrative across three decades, and I feel that this allows developer Visai Games to use its puzzles to cleverly reflect how connected Venba's characters feel to Tamil culture and their ancestry.

We start off playing as Venba in the 1980s, who has to rely on memories of her mother's cooking to work out the recipes in a slightly destroyed recipe book that's been passed down to her. Sometimes it's unclear what order to add ingredients, or how much of each ingredient we need to add. As we experiment with the order of steps, Venba will offer up observations on what went wrong, and how your end results differs to the dishes she remembers. It's a great way to seamlessly include a hints system in a puzzle game.

Fast forward 20 years, and we're now playing as Venba in the early 2000s. The game removes the puzzling element of the cooking here, instead highlighting what the next ingredient to add or what the next step is. It makes sense within the context of the game - by this point Venba has spent years restoring her mother's recipe book, and is experienced in cooking these dishes - but it peels away a lot of the "puzzle" from the game.

The game progresses to the 2010s, where we then step into Kavin's shoes. Kavin posesses Venba's recipe book, which she left to him once she returned back to her hometown, but his problem is different. Although the recipes are restored, he can't read them as they're written in Tamil. He's able to translate little bits here and there, but it's up to us to experiment again and figure out each step.

I ended up feeling like I was almost replaying the same puzzles I had done half an hour ago. Even though the obstacles faced by Kavin were different, I was able to use my experience of playing as Venba to help Kavin cook. By fast-forwarding to playing as Kavin and stretching the narrative across such a long period, Venba touches on themes of generational trauma - how the decisions and actions from our parents can affect us, and how culture is passed along down generations of immigrants - but only manages to scratch the surface.

I'd estimate Venba would take around two hours to complete at a stretch - I was done in just over an hour. This short runtime isn't enough to properly characterise Venba, Paavalan, or Kavin beyond their grapples with culture and identity, nor is it enough for the game to delve deeper into these issues.

Overall, I enjoyed the cooking puzzles and atmosphere of the game. The sound design is brilliant - each sizzle and crackle of ingredients frying is sharp and crisp - and I love the soundtrack. I also appreciate how many nods to Tamil culture and history have been packed in. But the game is unable to truly explore its themes of immigration and reconnecting with culture in its 90 minutes.

What I will say is if you're interested in playing a game which tackles the treatment of immigrants of colour in a western country, Venba is a great game to play. If you're looking for something short and cosy to play through on a rainy day, Venba is perfect for that - it's a game that's been lovingly crafted and that comes through with its presentation.

For me, the lack of characterisation given to Venba's cast, particularly Kavin, is regrettable. Visai Studio's decision to not show the characters grappling with culture and identity, issues which are inherent to the experiences of immigrants, beyond a brief "10 years later, they all lived happily ever after"-esque ending for Venba and Kavin left me wishing the game had been just a little bit longer, and a little bit more willing to give its characters space to really get into the meat of these matters.

#venba #l3 #indie games #nintendo switch #pc

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cubur · 3 years ago

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Hello all!

Firstly I hope everyone is well and safe there! I'm fine here except that I miss some things alot... Ok, as you guys know I mentioned a while ago that I will write an article about why I haven't been active since July 3rd, what's going on and what I've been thinking so far. Yes it took me a while to feel ready (but the truth is, I wanted to give myself some time) So i think i feel ready now!

A reminder before starting, this article will be mostly personal and if you don't like "negativity" please stop reading after here !

Let me summarize everything briefly...

When I decided to draw Narusasu, no one was with me. I never thought that someone would follow and even love my art. At first I only had tumblr and twitter accounts. When someone asked me to create an Instagram account for my fanarts, I thought who would want to follow me on Instagram? Yes I probably thought that way at first because I don't trust my style, ideas, drawings. But the main point here was to have fun, right? Then yes I could take a step too... Back then I used twitter only to follow artists, and not many people knew about my arts on tumblr. But after creating also my instagram and facebook accounts i started to feel like i have more responsibilities now. People were saying they wanted to see more arts from me and that made me very happy! There's someone out there who really likes what I draw (?)

No, I never expected this much!

After that, i decided to get some commissions. And all slots taken in one day! That was great!! But all of that also meant more of responsibilities... After a while, I started preparing for snstober while I couldn't complete all the commissions yet. Because I've never participated in a challenge like this before! And I wanted to do at least a few pieces. But things just didn't go as I expected... My pc crashed suddenly as it is now. Well, I said OK! Things like this can happen. I can draw the themes I missed next month. But this time i had a serious argument with my family about it. And that made me have to cancel the plans completely. It also broke my motivation and excitement. It took me a while to get back to work but I did after all. Before long I was faced with another but serious problem that will affect my life. I involuntarily hurt myself mentally... But i managed to get past that too (also thanks to you guys) ...and by sacrificing some things. Again I said OK! I found some motivation to work again. But almost a month later my pc suddenly shut down. So now... It's been one and a half months. I don't remember any time I had to go this long. Ofcourse I'm aware that there are a thousand problems in the world! And I'm never saying I have bigger problems than anyone else. But when you read all this together, doesn't it seem strange to you too? As if someone or something is bothered by my being around and wanted me to leave... I don't know...

All I know is I'm out of patience now!!

And i can't take it anymore !

That's why I thought about quitting digital art entirely for a moment. But to be honest i can't do that... Even if i leave my fanart accounts one day, i don't feel like i can leave drawing completely...

Yes because I was already drawing something before I started drawing narusasu. And ofcourse I do the drawing for fun at some point, but also this is my job. Since I often only draw Naruto and Sasuke, some of you are talking about i can't draw girls. Ofcourse i can draw girls too, just this account was made for fanart and i'm trying to stick to my decision. And i have other art accounts that you guys don't know about. I know i never mentioned this before but here some of my other commish works:

I gave my years for this i can't give up drawing that easily... Yes, I'm telling you all this because I feel better when I share it with someone. And this is the only place where I feel like myself.

I often don't get along with my family and they don't understand me at all. So it mostly makes me feel lonely... But here I have really great and thoughtful followers! And thanks to Naruto and Sasuke i had the opportunity to meet so many great artists too!! I would never have imagined this if I hadn't joined this fandom... I owe a lot of things, i know. That's why I feel close to you guys... Yes I could go on my way without saying anything. But i can't be selfish! You guys are the ones who motivate me most of the time!

So I wanted to tell you about myself and my future thoughts (nope I won't say "my future plans" 'cause that word is cursed to me...)

This constantly breaking computer has been with me for 8 years. I know this time sounds too long. But it went by so fast for me that I didn't realize it was getting old... For the last 1 year, it doesn't want to continue with me anymore and I ignore this fact...... I'm someone who can't get used to innovations easily. When I love something I can't leave it, can't give up on it easily. But unlike me, I've seen my computer give up on me so easily... And ofcourse I'm aware that the computer is just a technological tool. But... I loved my computer... I have accomplished a lot with it! I started drawing Naruto and Sasuke first with it... I fell asleep next to it many times... I laughed, I cried... and many more things that I can't say. But just now... I hate my pc, yes! I also hate myself for loving a tech gadget!! Because it's not worth it OKAY !!! I sacrificed a lot for it, even my eyes (like many artists)!

I mean... What does "take care of yourself" actually mean?

Can we really do this or are there things we can't prevent?

Well, I've never mentioned it before but I've been getting dizzy from time to time for a long time... when I'm using my pc, drawing or doing daily work. And a few days ago i went to the doctor for it, I found out that I have astigmatism in my eyes. I didn't realize it but I've been seeing blurry all this time...and it causes dizziness. But don't worry! Now I have a pair of glasses and everything seems clearer. (Wow !) Also I have a serious problem of stress and anxiety. I tried to do many things, even yoga, but I couldn't be successful at that either. Plus, I have some physical problems i don't want to say all of them. And the main thing is that I've just seen that all this sadness/stress doesn't hurt anything or anyone except me...

"Don't think too much! Don't care too much!"

These are the things I say to myself often but I can't help it... Maybe now you think I should go see a psychologist and even think i'm crazy somehow... And maybe you are right. Because this is not the first time i hear these words. Just, I have a brain that thinks things differently. And when I express them, there can be people who don't want to understand as much as those who are understanding. This is so normal! But it also makes me feel like i'm bothering people with my thoughts... That's why I swallow my feelings. And when i do that after a while my feelings explode inside me and start to hurt me physically and emotionally.

I'm not happy.

This is the only place i feel happy. And somehow when i have to stay away from here... everything gets worse and I unintentionally hurt myself, i'm sorry.

As for the repair issue.

So as I guessed it was the motherboard. I mean motherboard is the main reason my computer shuts down. And that's why it took so long... Since it is an 8 year old computer, it was very difficult to find a suitable motherboard for other parts. The motherboard has been changed three times and it kept doing the same problem over and over, yes, so on the third motherboard it finally worked!! But I'm not as happy as you expected... Because this is much worse than my old motherboard, and it's running so loud right now. Yes i can replace the motherboard with a better one. But I also need to change the processor and ram to replace the motherboard inside now. And maybe i can do that in the future but i think i won't...

'Cause I've given up on it!

Sounds ridiculous but my sister is opening my pc everyday. Just... I can't press that power button anymore. Because now I have a fear about it... no i'm serious. I'm seriously tired of losing my files and constantly writing articles about my pc breaking down! So I decided i couldn't work with a desktop computer again for my mental health. This will be the first and last for me! So now i will try to buy a laptop... But I can't afford it right now since I spent a lot of money to get my pc back. Also, those in my country know that the technological items here are twice the price. I mean a $1000 laptop sells for around $1500/2000 here. It will take a long time... That's why I won't have time to finish some free art for a while and i'll only take commission until i buy a new pc. And since I haven't been able to finish previous commissions here for more than a year, honestly I wasn't thinking of getting commissions once again from here... But for now if i don't get commission then i can't be active here at all. So (after finishing a few pieces) i think i'll reopen commissions...if you are still interested.

So yes my pc is working now but it has had such a problem once and that doesn't mean it won't do the same problem again in the future. That's why I also prepared a plan B for myself in every situation so as not collapse mentally once again !

I REALLY don't want to make anyone worry about me... Because I know how unhealthy this is since I'm a person who worries about every single thing. Just don't please... I'm trying to be fine, I'm really trying... And look I said before that I'll come sooner or later, and I'm here now as I promised! So please don't worry !

Okay then I guess that's all I have to say...

If you've read my long weird article this far, I congratulate you !! I always appreciate your patience and understanding with me! (but you already know that) Even so, let me thank you for everything!

A month and a half may not sound like a long time, but it taught me a lot... What i want to do in the future, what i really want, what i miss, what i like, what i will never give up, what i will give up, the limit of my patience, the limit of my strength... And even though I feel tired enough to start a new page again, i think i'll start anyway. Just I know what I really want to do so I still have the strength to go on!

And so... Endless thanks to everyone who is still here with me !! 🙏

See you all asap ! ( Just I hope you haven't forgotten me and my art yet ^^; )

#text post #personal #nice to be here again after a month!#long article #But this time it's really long...#And if you managed to read till the end I congratulate you!!

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years ago

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♡ — tags/warnings: afab!reader, breakup sex, oral sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), a lot of tears— both sexy and sad, timeskip ofc

♡ — a/n: my first long piece for tokyo revengers! and ofc my beloved draken had to be the first one <3

♡ — masterlist

He shouldn’t have come.

That’s the first thing that comes to Draken’s mind when you pull away from his lips to take off your shirt. He’s already half-hard and his pants only get tighter at the sight of your bra right in front of him.

Less than ten minutes ago, he had been sitting on the same couch where he was lying now. Only you weren’t grinding your hips as you were now― your lower lip was trembling as you handed him one of his old sweaters you always used to wear.

He could have chosen to have this conversation any other place. You would have said yes to meeting at a café or strolling down the street. Yet he was the one that asked if he could come over and you were the one that agreed.

Your lips slid against his again, the kiss you shared rough, demanding, but mostly, needy. His skin burnt for you just as the first time he had you and he couldn’t help but bite your bottom lip, making a soft moan leave your lips. With his back on the couch and your hands slipping under his shirt, he could barely remember the reason he came to your place was to finally put an end to your tumultuous relationship.

Well, that and because he couldn’t bear not seeing you any longer.

You had seen this day coming long ago. You woke up one morning to the news of an assault on Draken’s motorcycle shop. No matter how many times you asked him, he never gave you any explanations, even if you were sure he was well aware of what had happened. Every time he got a call from his friends he would leave the room and talk in hushed whispers and he started coming up with more and more excuses to avoid spending time with you.

His gentle nature around you had turned harsh and cold with you ever since that day. Draken had remained silent when you asked him about his change of behaviour, and during one heated night where you had ended up yelling, asking if it was something you had done, he finally spoke, only to assure you you hadn’t done anything wrong.

In your search for answers, you reached out to his friends. But rather than that, what you found was even more questions than before. All of them got visibly uncomfortable when you approached them and it didn’t take much to understand they also knew what was happening but refused to talk about it. The only one who gave you a little more information was Chifuyu, during a late-night talk after his store had closed.

“Talk to him,” he advised, ordering the files from the day and avoiding your eyes.

“I tried, he won’t tell me what happened,” you sighed, resting your chin on your hand as you watched him work. “But this wasn’t a random attack, right? It was something personal. If it was random, then someone would have said so. But everyone just shut ups and gives me a pitying look.”

Chifuyu raises his eyes at you.

“Yeah, exactly that look”, you say, passing a hand through your hair.

“It’s… complicated,” he finally said, putting the files aside. “And not my place to talk to you about it. All I’m saying is everything Draken does is to protect you.”

“Yeah?” you huffed, a dry laugh leaving your lips. “Treating someone badly and pushing them away is a way to protect them?”

Chifuyu gave you a sad smile. “Sometimes it can be.”

Even if you knew Chifuyu did his best to keep loyal to his friend while also trying to dissipate your worries, it hadn’t worked. You were sure any day from now Draken would break it off with you. And when you got a call from him asking to come over after almost a week of not seeing you, you understood the time had come.

The next time Draken came to his senses, he had his face buried between your legs. His nose brushed against your clit as his tongue was buried deep within you. The whimpers you were making were music to his ears. He swore he could recognize his name in between your cries a couple of times, but tried not to think much about it. He didn’t want to come to terms with the fact it may be the last time you would call for him like this.

Your legs closed against the sides of his head as you threw your head back in pleasure. Draken put one hand on your inner thigh and forced your legs open, eliciting a sweet gasp from you. He pulled away, the sight of your soaked pussy making his head spin. Fuck, was this really going to be the last time he got to have you like this? Draken slid two fingers across your folds, gathering wetness and then using it to circle your clit gently. He felt your leg twitching under his big hand.

If this was going to be the last time, then he was going to give you something to remember him by.

Draken bent down again and started pressing open-mouthed kisses on your folds. A soft hum escaped your lips as he worked his way around your pussy, making sure there wasn’t a part of it that wasn’t covered by his eager lips. He purposely left your clit for last, his hot breath hovering over it. Those few seconds were enough for you to lift your head, looking down at the man you had just agreed to let go.

His dark eyes met yours, widening just the slightest bit as if he had been caught. He held your gaze for a couple of seconds before taking a long lick, from your entrance to your clit, where he sucked gently, your juices mixing with his saliva.

“You taste so good,” he muttered against your core, slurping like a starved man. His words sent a shock of pleasure between your thighs, making them close against Draken’s head. However, his hands were stronger and they kept you in your place, watching you helplessly wriggle underneath him.

“I love you,” you panted, your thoughts getting cloudy. As a reply, Draken pulled his face away and inserted two of his fingers inside you. Your walls clenched around them, a broken moan stuck on your throat.

The many years he had had you weren’t in vain, as he curved his digits just the right amount and hit that special spot in just a few tries. You threw your head back, hips rising and breath hitching, losing more and more control of your body with every thrust of his fingers. He bent down once more and let his tongue play freely with your clit, his lips circling and sucking just when you needed him to and the tip of his tongue making you see stars.

“Ken— fuck, fuck—,” you whimpered. You put a hand over the one that was holding your thigh open and squeezed it. “Stop, please— I can’t— I don’t— stop. ”

Immediately, Draken pulled away, his concerned face glistening with your arousal. He crawled up until his face was hovering over yours.

“Shit, sorry. You okay? What happened?” he asked in a whisper, inspecting your face as he tried to find a clue of your discomfort. You placed your hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look back into your eyes.

“No, it’s okay, I’m okay,” you reassured him, noticing his eyebrows relaxing a bit at your words. “I just— I don’t want to come— I mean, I do, I want— but with you inside. Please, I need you—”

Draken crashed his lips against yours, and you swallowed his moan when you shuffled your legs so he was resting between them, his bulge pressing against you. His shirt was already long forgotten on the floor and now he was fumbling with his pants as he rocked his hips against yours, the kiss getting more and more desperate with every second.

Once his pants joined his shirt, he fished his wallet from one of his pockets and took out a condom. Your chest rose up and down as you watched him put him on, a small warning inside your mind that this was the last time. Emotions were pouring out without you being able to control it, a knot forming on your throat and your heart clenching in pain. Draken hovered over you again and rested his forehead against your shoulder. his breath making you shiver as he slowly started pushing himself inside.

He left small kisses alongside your neck, trying to ease the pain of the stretch that he knew you were experiencing. In all the time you’d been together, he always managed to make your breath hitch every time he slid inside you. You clutched onto his broad shoulders, one of your hands removing his hairband and undoing his braid, letting his long, blonde hair flow free. You repeated his name like a prayer as you rocked your hips, trying to get used to his size.

You ran your fingers up his spine and threaded them with his hair, closing your fist around it around the base of his neck. Draken took it as a sign to start thrusting against you, making more moans leave your mouth and your hand pull his hair a little tighter. Both your legs circled his waist and you locked your ankles with each other, creating a new angle that made tears form in the corner of your eyes. It was too intense and even if your feelings always poured whenever you two were intimate, you could feel as if every fibre of your body was holding onto him, innocently hoping he wouldn’t leave after you were done.

Draken grunted against your neck, his hips picking up the pace and finding the spot his fingers were brushing against just moments ago. You cried out and tightened your legs around his waist, feeling him so deep that you thought you would be reaching your high quick enough. At this, you put your hand on his right shoulder, pushing him away. He turned his head, his nose brushing against your cheek and his hips slowing down.

“Hey,” he said, just a little out of breath. “Talk to me. What do you need?”

You grabbed both sides of his face, bringing him closer to you. The small resistance you felt as first disappeared as he let you manoeuvre him how you wanted. When his dark eyes were hovering over yours, his hips had already stopped, his eyebrow slightly raised as he looked down at you.

“If this— If this is the last time, I want to see you,” you said, your thumbs caressing his cheeks. His eyes widened at your words and you could feel him tense up. However, a moment later, he nodded and pressed a kiss against your lips as his hips resumed their movements.

For the first time, you were able to see Draken’s small expressions as he fucked you. How his lips were parted as he breathed through his mouth and how his eyes were darker than ever, fixed on your eyes. You had never noticed how his nose turned the loveliest shade of pink when he was fucking you so good. Your heart swole and once again you felt too much at the same time. You loved him, you loved him so much. Why couldn’t you make it work?

Draken took your legs and put them over his shoulders, the new position making you whimper. Soft pleas filled the living room and he rutted into you, each of his thrusts getting you closer and closer plus making your brain foggy. There was only Draken, only him, only your boyfriend Ken who was so wonderful and who had made you fall head over heels for him from the moment you had met him.

Your hands were still on each side of his face, your breath colliding against his as you whimpered. Draken started grunting, his hips snapping faster and harder against your core, setting all your body on fire. It was too much— every inch of you was yearning for the man on top of you, not feeling him close enough even if he was buried deep inside of you. Your hands lowered to his shoulders, nails digging on his pale skin. You wanted him, there wasn’t anything else in the world you wanted as bad as him and you knew as soon as this was over, the more and more pleasure you got from him, then the sooner he’d walk out the door.

Tears started prickling on the edge of your eyes and it wasn’t long until one of them rolled down your cheeks, your moans mixing with small sobs. Draken grabbed your jaw with his big palm, forcing him to lock your eyes with his just as you had before. You saw him moving his lips as if preparing himself to say something, but no words came out of his lips. You noticed concern in his features, yet he seemed distressed as he tried to find the right words.

“I love you,” you panted, feeling another tear fall from your cheek.

And that was when Draken knew.

He knew he had to leave you.

Nodding, he pressed his lips against yours. “I love you too,” he muttered, before picking up his pace.

After that, it wasn’t long before you were reaching your orgasms, clenching around your boyfriend and bringing him to the edge as well. He didn’t let go of the hold on your chin as you both climaxed, eyes locked on each other as you crumbled apart and breaths colliding between parted lips.

It took a moment for both of you to catch your breath. As your body started relaxing under Draken’s weight once more, the reminder of your previous conversation where he was putting an end to your relationship came back. You felt a know forming in your throat and by the sad look on Draken’s dark eyes, it was clear he was thinking of the same thing.

He pressed his lips against yours once more, but this time it was softer, gentler, as if it was the first time he was kissing you at all. It didn’t last more than five seconds but it was enough for your eyes to fill with tears again. Draken pulled himself away from you and turned his body as he started putting his clothes back on.

You saw him stretching to pick up the old sweater that you had returned to him a moment ago and picked it up before he could reach it. You put it over your body, covering yourself, but it wasn’t enough to make him look at you.

“Please, stay,” you mumbled. You noticed your lover’s arm tensing at your words, but he still started walking towards your door. “Ken.”

The way you whispered his name made his heart clench, his step faltering for a moment. He stood in front of the door, looking at the handle and gathering all the strength he had left.

“Just for tonight,” you insisted. “You can leave in the morning if you want, just… I want―”

“You know what happens if I stay,” he interrupted you. “If I stay, I’ll never leave again.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Draken finally turned around. You looked so small, covering yourself with his old sweater and a part of him was glad he was leaving something behind. The idea of you remembering him even a few years as you find the sweater on the back of one of your drawers brought peace to his heart. He just hoped this goodbye wouldn’t taint the memories you had created together the last couple of years.

“…I’m not losing you,” he sentenced under your confused gaze.

“Ken—”

Cutting our sentence short, Draken finally opened the door and left your apartment. In the silence that filled your living room, you could only listen to his muffled steps as he walked down the hallway.

You couldn’t understand why he was leaving.

But you knew you were never going to see him again.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #draken x reader #ryuuguji ken x reader #draken tokyo revengers #ryuuguji ken #draken smut #draken angst #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers angst

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secretlywritingstories · 3 years ago

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I’ve been thinking about the [AO3] You've got kudos! emails today. It was a stray thought at first, a little flicker of something swishing past me but I was at work and looking for a distraction so my brain grabbed it.

Held it tight for a moment and let it really sink in what it means that I get emails like that on the daily. Yes, daily, almost consistently for at least a year or two, maybe even more. It’s been over five years since I started using that site for my fics, shepherding over group of “old” favourites from Wattpad and tumblr and now it’s exclusively the site I use for my fic.

And bless AO3 for so many things (the tagging system, the include and exclude options for searching, the OTW fighting for fic writers, and more) but also something as simple at those daily automatic emails. I always open them. Always check on what fic(s) got a new kudos. How exhilarating it is to see a new one shot or a new chapter get a little chunk of new kudos and how heartwarming it is to see that even “old” fics still get kudos too.

I’m fortunate that so many people read my works, and that a fair few of them having decent numbers means that it is easier for new people to find them too. I’m not sure why I was lucky like this - I know some of it it must be my talent at writing and crafting, but some of it must also be dumb luck, and it’s definitely aided by me being consistent and prolific too. I am do not feel big enough to be considered a “big name” in any of my fandoms, but I have people who follow and look forward to new stuff from me. It’s very lovely. Every single reader is a gift.

The daily kudos emails today really reminded my brain that every single day there is at least one person - likely a fair bit more than just one with silent readers or re-readers - reading my words. A little piece of me spilled out onto the digital page. Kudos can never reach the same euphoria as getting comments and getting to hear what someone thought of your works, whether it be a simple “nice, liked it” or literal thousands of words of analysis or detailed thoughts. Those are unbeatable, but I still treasure the kudos.

Writing is “just” a hobby for me. A creative outlet that makes me feel good. A way to get the stories sprouting in my head into something tangible. I’ve been writing since I was a teenager, I’ve been posting my works online for eight years. The last few years I’ve mostly stuck to a daily schedule of writing. It’s a set part of my day, at least half an hour, just me and my laptop. Writing a line in a fic that will go on to live on AO3 for years to come.

A fic whose title I’ll see in a kudos email in a handful of years, delighted to be reminded of words I wrote long ago. Words I might even have mostly forgotten. After all, I write them to get them out of my head and into a better home where they will not be forgotten. But the readers do not forget. They will find it and it lives on. I think that’s bloody brilliant. Bless fanfic, bless AO3, bless the readers. I’m not sure I could ever have predicted being able to write the fics I have without the fandoms and the online community welcoming me with open arms. And now millions (yes, over 2.5 million just on AO3) of my words live out there for anyone to find.

#writing #ao3 #fanfiction #spilled thoughts #my tumblr dabbles

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buckybarnesdiaries · 4 years ago

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; i'm coming home

bucky barnes x reader ⎢ masterlist.

bucky and you met six years ago in romania, but he disappeared. now, he's back.

word count: 1.8k.

warnings/tags: none.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

requests are open.

Six years had passed since the last time he was with you, before disappearing overnight. He didn't give you any explanation, he didn't even leave a note. He needed to protect you, but he also knew how stubborn you were and that you wouldn't let him take that decision for both. So Bucky simply left, breaking your heart in one thousand pieces. You wanted to understand his reasons, but you couldn't. He promised you eternal love, a life together, moving out of New York —maybe to a remote place where anyone could recognize him and have peaceful days, without having to be worried about someone coming after him. About someone trying to hurt you.

Since the very first moment you met in Romania, Bucky fell in love with you. Sometimes you still remembered how he started talking to you in Romanian, guessing you were from there until you laughed and replied in English. The next few weeks were like a daydream. Walks, romantic dates, nights of stargazing. Then, you came back to New York and kept in touch by letters, as in the forties or fifties. Until one day. Your friends invited you to a museum and what you discovered there was unbelievable. James, your James, was Captain America's best friend. And he was supposed to be dead.

You wrote to him. You told him you knew it. You told him you didn't care, that you could figure out how to escape from that situation. Together. But he never sent you a letter back. You weren't able to forget him after all that time, still sleeping every night with his red shirt, stupidly fantasizing about the idea of Bucky coming back to you. And your hopes increased when you watched him on TV. The Avengers found him and, even if you tried to contact them somehow to defend your James, you never got it. Nobody believed you, not even when you showed them the letters, not the only picture you conservated of both of you in Bucharest. You prayed to God to help him. You begged God to the world seeing him as you did.

But when Bucky was released on parole, he never tried to look for you. He did know you lived in New York and, with his resources, he'd have known in less than five minutes. One year had passed, and you ended up losing the most minimal hope wrapping your heart. All those things he told you once, were just lies. Lies to inventing a parallel life until you left Romania. Only replying to your letters to have something to lean on for his own good. That's what he demonstrated to you.

bucky's pov

Like every night since he earned part of his freedom, Bucky stared at the windows of your apartment, from the opposite sidewalk hidden behind a tree. Like a ghost. Like he was trained to see but not be seeing. Every night, he wanted to cross the road, call to your door, kiss you, hug you, feel your touch and your love —hold you, and never let you go again. But he knew it was risky, he knew he had to wait for the right time. And it came. Tonight it came. His year of therapy had ended and he was free. Bucky was free to come back home.

He had been watching you since it started, making sure you were safe and sound. He also was aware that you never rebuilt your life with another man, that you tried to find him. That you slept every night with his shirt. Bucky was also aware of all the times you cried for him, that you always walked the same way from your job to your apartment expecting to meet him in some street close to it. He knew you better than you knew yourself.

Taking a deep, deep breath, keeping his hands inside the pockets of his coat, the soldier put a step on the road. The first step to happiness. And then, no one could stop him. He continued to the front door of the building, not needing more than a push to open it. Third floor, fifth door at the right of the corridor. Bucky licked his bottom lip nervously, swallowing as he took a master key from one of his pockets and a small metallic stick to force the lock of your house. He needed to be fast and stealthy, ringing the bell wasn't an option for very obvious reasons. Breaking into the apartment, he closed the door quietly behind his back.

The lights were all turned off a couple of hours ago when you went to sleep, after sitting on the window of your living room waiting for someone who wasn't going to show up, as every night for the last six years. The whole place smelled sweet like you used to. Bucky never forgot your scent, using it as the encouragement he needed to continue fighting for his freedom, for a life together. Now, his heart was racing so quickly that the whole city could hear his beats.

Slowly, he toured the entrance, the living room, the hallway straight to your dorm. The door was half-closed. Not a single noise coming from the inside. Bucky walked towards it, pushing it in slow motion, trying to not wake you up. And if he knew before that could be that easy to watch you sleep —for creepy that it sounded— he would have watched you every night since he landed in New York.

Bucky wasn't sure about what to do. If he should wake you up, if he should let you sleep and come the next day after you finished your work. When he wanted to realize, he was running the nail of his index finger on your soft cheek. Your skin was still warm, which meant you fell asleep crying again. And that broke his heart, his soul. Being conscious of all the pain and the suffering he made you being through all that time was killing him from inside. And he wished he could have handled your relationship in another way. But there wasn't another way without you being collateral damage of his past.

Bucky was about to leave when he suddenly felt a hit to his collarbone, stumbling to the bed. He didn't have time to react when your right leg was beneath his cold arm and pinning down his neck, as your left leg was laced around it. Your hand gripping his wrist, immobilizing him, pointing at him with a loaded gun between your free fingers. Your breathing became erratic, your pulse was beating faster than ever, but you were ready to shoot if the occasion required it.

In the middle of the gloom you glimpsed at those deep oceanic blue eyes you had been craving to look at for years. The same eyes on the picture on your nightstand. It has to be another dream. Another nightmare where Bucky came to tell you that everything was going to be okay. But his touch felt so real that it hurt like a million flames burning down your body to ashes. You were paralyzed. Your brain collapsed. In a very slow motion, James —your James— raised his right hand from the mattress to above his chest, bringing it to the gun aimed at his head. You couldn't stop him. You tried with all your strength. But the commands sent by your neurons never reached the finger supported against the trigger.

His flesh digits made their way to your trembling hand, as the tears started to sprout out from your eyes. Bucky took the weapon, not needing to ask you to release it, to put it away from the two of you.

“It's okay, draga mea, it's me…” He whispered with such an angelical and melodic voice, over your dolorous sobs. “May I, uh… get my arm back?”

Bit by bit, you obeyed as if it was some kind of polite order, loosening the grip around his arm and over his neck. Stepping back till your body collided with the headboard, you curled up your knees to your furious chest rising and falling, hiding your face between the gap of both. Your cry became louder, agonic, painful, ripping your throat.

“No— Not again… Not again, please… I c— can't”. You implored sorely.

Bucky didn't need to be a genius to understand you firmly believed it was just part of another of your dreams. Another of your nightmares. He sat upon your bed, coming closer to you and landing his cold metallic hand on the back of your head, urging you to raise it. You did. You did raise your burning face because of the tears falling, running down your cheeks. Your blurry gaze focused on his pale blue eyes, begging you silently to forgive him.

“I'm here… I'm back”. Bucky murmured, gently touring your skin until reaching a side of your neck, caressing your throat by using his thumb. “This is not a dream, draga mea. This is real”.

His intentions weren't to scare you, speaking to you with such a honeyed tone of voice as he shortened the distance between his body and your legs yet curled. You pouted unconsciously, watching him leaning above your legs to press his lips on the bridge of your nose. Slowly, fondly. Wanting to transmit to you that the flame of his love for you never went out. Resting his forehead against yours, your right hand flew straight to the back of his neck. You had never needed more than you needed him at that precise instant, trying to believe that that wasn't a trick of your subconscious.

“'M so, so sorry… I had to protect you… I had to protect you”. Bucky explained while closing his eyes, lacing his free fingers with yours. “But, uh… I know you still drink black coffee with mocha and a stick of cinnamon every Thursday. I know you… rent a book from the library and sit on the stairs in your free evenings… I know you sleep with this same shirt every night”.

Discovering he had been watching you all this time provoked your lips to shiver, as your cry became lower and your breathing was calmer. He guarded your days, in the shadows, till the right moment. And it came. Tonight was the right moment.

“I'm free. I'm not an enemy anymore… I'm not a target”. Bucky couldn't help but chuckle to hold back his own tears. “I'm so sorry”.

“Will you…? Will you stay now? With me?” At first, you doubted asking, being afraid of his response for a second.

“No one will ever set us apart again. No one”. He promised you, his heart speaking, telling the absolute truth. “Everything I told you in Bucharest; everything was true. And I… I want it”.

Bucky leaned forward enough inches to make disappear the less distance between both of you, pressing his lips in yours, tenderly caressing your jawline with his thumb as his tears met yours in the corner of your lips. Neither of you could believe that you were reunited after all these years, after all the pain, the loneliness. And like James, your James, said so: no one would ever set you apart again.

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years ago

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in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

#ffcc #wincest #dean jr #my writing #this is again just sort of a collection of paragraphs #and it's--mostly what you asked for i think?#but mainly it's me musing about the unknowability of parents and children #so uh #that's what i was able to manage #hopefully i'll remember how to construct a story soon lol

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mega-city-dismal-blog · 2 years ago

Text

MEMORY_002

The Memory Farm. Today was my twelfth anniversary here.

I watched the spotlight of the departing ship scan the town as it hovered away over an empty ocean.

Headed Home to Mars.

The square, clay buildings and brightly lit ruined skyscrapers were the shining evidence that people still lived here. Rolling ash choked the walls and barricades outside. I liked staying inside the walls. When I was a younger man, card hunting for this long-term contract made sense.

But nothing of it remains after twelve years. The company I worked for no longer exists, for instance; the byproduct of two centuries of war crimes tribunals finally wrapping up.

The contract got handed over to someone else, and then someone else again. Then the NTO picked it up, and that was it.

The people still living in this hellhole and their ungrateful descendants on Mars had no physical record of why and how the planet became a bio-toxic mess two centuries ago. Everyone has a pretty good idea--something-something megacorporations, something-something androids--but no one’s story is concrete evidence. The kids are taught hearsay and old war stories.

And to clarify, Earth is doing…Fine. It’s fine, I guess. Nothing fucking grows and the sky is either gray or black but we’re still kicking, fuckin’ ay.

People live and play, go to school, get jobs, fall in love, get drunk and scream and hit each other all the same. The clouds just rain poison sometimes and the once cramped, disgusting, sprawling mega-cities of old have largely crumbled in on themselves, leaving behind patches of life.

And in my Ancestors’ trash is an interplanetary ticket off the heap. At least out of this box next to the tech dump.

Oh but of course, my job and what little resources I was first given were administered by a hellishly bureaucratic central council on another planet. I didn’t even know that the Dinosaur Committee was still around, but there they were, administering refugees.

Little red stars on the hats and everything. Can’t make that shit up. The contract was of severe cultural significance, according to a newly appointed handler I only spoke with once.

I stayed on. I still believed in the NTO then. That was six years ago, with no luck finding anything significant since. But hey, they still raise my ration card limits every year without question, so either I’m still worth something to them or they’ve decided this is my retirement plan, either way the lights are still on. It only makes me feel worse, though, like I really owe them and everyone else something.

Maybe two months ago I caught myself going nuts in my own physical archives in the back of the shop; rampaging through my glass neurocard cabinets like a chip fiend, hunting for that little sliver of data that held the next piece of my puzzle.

A Neuro-Digital nightmare, I had tens of thousands of hours of peoples’ memories, and barely an idea of what happened. I’ve cross-referenced and debunked every corporate lie and it doesn’t mean very much because half of these greaseball megacorps don’t even exist as some kind of liquidating trust anymore, let alone a single soul that was ever employed by them. Of course the ones that left Earth in shambles had no archival backup of what happened.

Of course! Me being the naive little prick that I was at the time, I thought I would scorch a cauterizing path to knowledge in the wounds of sacred Mama Terra. I thought I’d be the one to bring back the record of just how we ended up here like this, to educate the rest of the inheritors of what appears to be some tacky ring of Hell.

So we started really getting out into the Ruined Earth, out into these steel corpse Mega-Cities. And everything just blew up in our faces. Expeditions started disappearing, the myths became true tales of horror beyond the walls. Thompson-Jaeger’s original expedition of two hundred thinned out to three people, with one of us ending up a living casualty.

This poisoned land and its last city, a watchful dot upon the planet, devoid of heroes. Here I was cleaning out the childhood house. You have to stay cynical, in a twisted way it makes me still care about this place despite it being long gone before I was born.

“They owe us a planet, cousin. Don’t ever forget that.”

Someone I knew once said that to me. Bastard’s still on Mars, what does he know?

Live in the trash or live in a tunnel on Mars. Get high underground, under a retina-melting cold white light, or get high and watch the tuner ships race around in low orbit. Watch the corporate shipbreakers make fireworks cutting up tethered orbital habitats, abandoned by the same companies a century before. The same people are now pitching the between-planet stations as the next hottest real estate. It’ll fizzle out, with a trail of body bags following, like always. You tell yourself you’ll get used to the smell here, just wear your mask every day, with options like those.

#cyberpunk #cassette futurism #fiction #writing

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steel-sunlight · 4 years ago

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Ooo, you're doing fic requests? Would you consider writing a Ninjago piece with something angsty about Ice Emperor Zane? I've been craving that lately!

sir yes sir, and that's another fic request finished. send more, guys, I only have one left and it's basically done. sorry for the wait!! set after S11, Zane is no longer the Ice Emperor and is back in Ninjago but still has the memories from when he was.

tw: ptsd, flashbacks, ice, anxiety

zane deals with ptsd from the never-realm, causing him flashbacks. and lloyd, but just a little.

• • •

Faces. That's what Zane remembered most out of all his memories as the Ice Emperor. Faces of the people he captured. Hurt. Froze.

He'd never forget how they looked at him. Like he was the monster that lived in their nightmares, the devil who lurked in the dark shadows.

He probably was their biggest fear. That part hurt the most—

"-ne. Zane!" Jay called, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Are you okay?" he asked, deep brown eyes filled with concern.

Zane forces a small smile towards the lighting ninja. "Sorry, Jay. I was...thinking about something."

"Okay, well, we better get to training." Jay said, returning his smile.

"You are right. We should go." Zane responded, grateful the other teen hadn't questioned deeper.

Their footsteps echoed across the empty hallway they were following, and Zane was eerily reminded of the wide, hollow castle he'd lived in for so many years.

Reaching the training rooms, Jay pushed the doors open, dark hazel wood creaking slightly.

"Hey, you guys are late." Lloyd said, looking up. His eyes found Zane, and his sensors picked up a rising heartbeat. He allowed a small smile at him, and it slowed.

"Uh, Master Wu said we were practicing sticks today." Lloyd nodding towards a pile of a sticks leaning against the opposite wall,

"Staffs, Lloyd, not sticks-" Kai cut in.

"Okay, okay, staffs, whatever-" Lloyd interrupted him, rolling his eyes.

This all went unheard to the ice ninja, staring at the weapons, lost in thought. Staffs. He hadn't picked one up ever since the day he returned from the Never-Realm. Not even anything remotely like one.

Jay was fiddling around with them, finally picking out two and walking back to him.

"Here." He hands Zane the staff absentmindedly, still distracted by something else.

The weapon felt familiar in his hands. Way, way too familiar. His memories dragged him back to just a few weeks ago, when-

His fingers tightened around the frigid metal, raising it above his head. Ice cracked sharply around his grip, already frozen for years, decades on end. A blast of magic flew out from the staff's head, and-

"Zane?" He snapped out of the dream- no, memory, and blinked, world in blurry darkness for a second.

His teammates stared at him, gazes full of worry. And fear, he saw.

With a start, Zane realized he'd broken the staff, splintered half lying on the ground.

"I-" He stuttered weakly, thoughts muddled and confused. He dropped the other half, wood clattering loudly against the floor in the silent room, and backs out the door.

How could he have let himself slip like that?

• • •

A month after the accident, winter visited Ninjago. Jay and Kai were pressed up against the window, watching the heavy snow fall. The rest of the team were spread out around the living room, engaged in a video game.

"Guys, it's snowing even more now!" Jay exclaimed, pointing out the window. Cole sighed heavily, putting down his controller.

"I know, you're only said that three times before." He said pointedly, and the screen suddenly flickered and flashed, digital bomb exploding in the game. Cole's avatar was thrown out of his car, flopping onto the ground humorously. Lloyd laughed in victory, lifting his headset off his ears. Nya put down her controller

"I won!" He said proudly, and Cole gaped at him, jaw falling open in dramatic shock. "You little- I was talking to Jay!" Lloyd shook his head, crossing his arms. "How is that my fault?"

"Oh, I'm going to-" Cole scrambled up from his seat on the wood floors, and the other teen stood up from the sofa hurriedly, blanket falling off his lap in his hurry. Zane leant down to pick it up, folding it neatly again while Cole chased Lloyd out of the living room.

"Okay, I'm going out."Jay decided, sliding the curtains across the window. "Why not see the snow in real life?"

"It's still snowing, you might catch a cold." Zane interjected, twitching a corner of the curtain open and looking out.

"It's fine, it's like, lighter now!" Jay defended himself, and Zane gave him a look, seeing that the snowfall outside was heavier if anything.

"We'll be fine," Kai said, pushing the lighting ninja out the door. "Go-get out of here. Wanna come, Zane?" He asked absentmindedly, picking up a abandoned jacket off the ground.

"I want to come!" Lloyd chirped excitedly, appearing at the doorway next to Jay. The brunette jumped back in surprise, crashing into Kai standing behind him.

"How did you get here?" He shrieked, and Lloyd grinned mischievously. "Uh, ninja skills? Did you forget those exist?" He snickered, adding a afterthought. "Actually, I think you do forget those exist."

"What's this? Bully A Jay Day?"

"Everyday is Bully A Jay Day."

A disgruntled fire ninja picked himself off the floor, annoyed. "Out, both of you." He ordered, and they traipsed out the door obediently, chattering excitedly to each other.

"I'm making a snowman-""I'm making a snow family-" Their voices faded away, Kai tugging on a jacket before following them out. Zane put down his book, deciding to follow them out. He did love the snow, after all.

Once he's outside, he sees the sparkling white covering the earth and is convinced he made the right decision. It's so beautiful, after all. Lloyd is being chased around the courtyard by Jay for whatever reason, and the small boy slips against a small frozen puddle, landing with a small 'oof."

"Now who doesn't have ninja skills?" Jay shouts triumphantly at him, and Zane smiles amusedly, walking over to help him up. He holds out a hand, and Lloyd reaches up gratefully, expression changing mid second. To fear. His gaze is looking a million miles away, and it sends him back to the memories of—

—Lloyd watching his slow movements with wide eyes, unbelieving, as General Vex taunts him. A jagged edge of ice traps him unmoving on the floor, as the Ice Emperor approaches closer. He feels the power, the frigid cold power building up in the scepter, and it is almost about to-

"-protect yourself, hm?" His general's cruel voice cuts in, and the Emperor blinks, slowly. Protect. Protect the those who cannot protect themselves.

You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

His memories slam back into him like a wall, smashing whatever hold the scepter has held over him these past few years—no, decades, decades of surviving in the icy wastelands, of holding the awful, terrible scepter, of hurting people—

The world fades back in around him, and he blinks, legs suddenly feeling like they can't hold him up on the ground. Lloyd is looking with him with wide eyes, now standing next to the nindroid. He can feel the other's stares piercing them behind him, the grounds now silent.

"Are you okay, Zane?" The teen says, words coming out as white mist, clouding his face.

"My apologies." He straightens up, forcing a small reassuring smile onto his face. "I was distracted."

The snow littering the courtyard around him suddenly seems less bright, and everywhere he looks, he can only remember the plain white of the Never-Realm.

His fingers have gone numb, and he flexes them instinctively, confused when they don't move. A block of ice encases each of his hands, and he automatically panics, smashing them against the wall besides him.

The ice shatters immediately and splinters onto the ground, sharp shards flying everywhere. Lloyd flinches behind him, and he redraws his hands quickly, sliding them into his coat pocket.

"Sorry." He says dazedly, hurrying into the monastery, and leaving behind the three confused ninja. Once inside, the reality of what just happens sinks into him, and he leans against the wall, head spinning hazily.

Nindroids weren't supposed to mess up like this.

Not ever.

Somehow, someway, he hadn't returned from the Never-Realm the same, Zane realized. Memories were forcefully taking him into flashbacks from the smallest things, powers malfunctioning.

He was broken.

#zane julien #zane #the ice ninja #master of ice #ptsd fic #flashbacks #memories #angst #ninjago #ninjago fanfic #ninjago one-shot #slightly proud #thanks for reading!#send more fic requests y'all im craving angst and I can only come up with so many ideas on my own

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 5 years ago

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💙Fri 11 Dec ‘20◟̽◞̽

Louis' big show is TOMORROW but that may not even be all we have to look forward to from him! Producer Alex Oriet (half of the duo Saltwives, who have worked with Zayn a lot, and he got his start working with 1D) reposted Louis' “new song” tweet to his insta with a caption- “soon”. OMG. Billboard had a 'year in livestreams' feature and wrapped up with Louis', saying “the best is yet to come” and reporting that Louis' show is Veeps' bestselling of the year “in excess of $1 million” (so either over a mil so far or a mil over the next best, hard to say, but it'll be well over a million by the end for sure so either makes sense).“I can't wait for tomorrow!” Louis tweeted, SAME, and “feels so good to be back with the boys getting ready. Can't wait for you all to see what we've been working on!” He included the brand new special Live From London twiiter emoji (!), it's a really cute lil vintage TV with the xx smiley on it, and a pic-- it's him looking over the backstage prep (so many screens) and you can see his hair flowing free and long and lovely! You can also see a piece of paper in front of him with 20 lines on it-- even if it is a set list I imagine some lines say “banter with crowd” and such like (as we saw on Louis' tour set list) but that's still soooo many lovely songs :))). Charlie Lightening says “this is going to be special, can’t wait for people to see what we have planned” and LTHQoffical is hitting us hard with the hype, posting another rehearsal pic (he's holding a beer and they didn't even scribble it out! wow almost like there's nothing wrong with that), and a time zone guide showing 66 cities around the world, and a digital fan pack, and they said more merch will be out tomorrow (heeelllp), and there's a show day itinerary-- ticket sales cut off 4 hours before the stream but much more interestingly, don't reopen (for the 28 hours of rewatch) until TWO HOURS after the start time. While they could (probably should) be allowing time for technical difficulties I much prefer to believe it's because we're getting a LONG SHOW YES PLEASE! I like my Louis shows like I like his hair, as long as he can possibly manage!! So that's plenty that we DO know to be excited about at the moment but the mystery of Louis new label also remains a hot topic nonetheless, with the known high cost of a twitter emoji stirring questions of who footed the bill (not something we're ever likely to find out sadly). If his team really understood us in the least they'd set up a viral video style Q and A where every Q pulled out of the bowl was an intensely detailed bookkeeping or promo strategy type query- tbh the faces Louis (or any one of the boys) would make would be 100x more entertaining than they get from any tired trying-to-be-cheeky standard Q and the answers sure would be!

Harry's prerecorded (months ago!) Jingle Ball performance aired at last and OH MY GOSH! SO GOOD! I think we can all agree (I know right?? I can't believe it either) that the backing band, Free Nationals, were phenomenal, and Harry's performance was terrific, just simply next level versions of the songs and Harry's sound in general. What more could we ask? For me, not much. For the Jingle Bell Ball organizers, well, they might have liked something Christmassy I suppose, maybe a holiday cover song, or a “tour of his home and holiday traditions.” LOL too bad! Whatever, they DID get vocal variations all over the place and oh did they work, a little lyric change in Golden (“I'm hoping someday I'll open”?), Harry in a sunny LA backyard (whose? who knows!) and everyone in not remotely festive Gucci. There were some decorations though! Not xmassy though- they were, can you guess, yes that's right: sky blue. And there was TRUMPET! A horn section, like revenge, is best served cold apparently: all these years on we can only assume Julian Bulian is good and sorry for denying Harry his trumpets cause DAMN did that sound GOOD. Julian may not say it but I will: you were SO RIGHT Harry, trumpets on every song!! Please! In fact, if you just took that guy on tour with you... or any of those people really? He can just have a really BIG backing band how about, then we won't have to argue about whether wanting this to be his band is mean to the old band. Anyway I hope the fan who ran into him in LA this morning told him how much we liked the show-- she did take a distanced pic, Harry is in his running gear (mostly black but bright fruity shoes) and holding a beverage. Oh yeah and Fine Line is now available to stream in “3D audio” (there's a moving in a New Direction from 1D joke in here headline writers, have at it) which is something that apparently only works with an Amazon device and is strange because physicists assure me that all sound is 3D, but what do they know. Anyway I'm sure it sounds great to those who can access it but luckily for me the album sounds great in plebian unbranded sound as well.

In the wake of Liam's no-show livestream yesterday fans are full of theories about what could be going on to cause such a thing, except actually it's only one theory; everyone is quick to ascribe the glitch to management struggles. May I simply say: there are so very very many things that could be happening in a person's life, even in a 1D member's life, that could cause a missed event and reducing any of them to 1 Dimensional figures who only have work related problems does them (and rigorous theorizing) a disservice. I hope we can all agree on wanting what's best for Liam, and that that extends to supporting him even if things are going on that are less glamorous than management villainy. I will ascribe one thing to management though-- I do believe the guys do the bulk of their own tweeting etc nearly always, but @Liam's tweet that yesterday's live didn't happen due to “technical difficulties” and they are “looking to reschedule” is one that I will make the exception for, sometimes you can just feel the PR person behind the screen! Tik Tok said it was rescheduled for next Tuesday, but the tweet was after that sooo hmm. The Billboard article about Veeps of course also talked about Liam (his Halloween show had 3.7 BILLION chat messages my god) and Liam's prerecorded alarm content today is Roman teaching Liam to do a Harry impression. How come when Roman does it it sounds like Harry but when Liam does it he sounds like Roman? Tip to Liam, just call it a Roman impression and you've GOT it!

Meanwhile, Lewis Capaldi weighs in on Niall and whether he (Lewis) enjoys golf with uncharaceristic delicacy; “we have different interests,” he says, and he sympathizes with a fan who said they'd slap him to meet Harry: “I understand.”

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