#I don’t want to hear shit from people saying how to cope if they’ve never had a fucking pistol to their head

[oroniusn]

thanks dad for leaving a loaded gun around the suicidal teenager in just about every fucking room, totally didn’t fuck me up long term!! /sar

[chimaeraonwards]

DownDectector x AO3

To celebrate AO3 coming back online, here is the fic I wrote to cope with the Great AO3 Shutdown.

_____

“DownDetector, what is your emergency?” 

Sharp, shallow breaths come through their headset. A panic attack, unfortunately not that uncommon in Emergency Website Shutdown Reporting.  

“Hi, can you hear me? Take deep breaths, slowly,” Dow continues, their training kicking in immediately. When the caller sounds a little deeper, longer. “How can I help you?” 

A small frantic voice rushes out, “I was on Ao3 reading a 400k hurt/comfort fic, and then, they were finally going to make up after all the angst, and now”. A sob wreaks through the other end of the line. “It's gone, it's all gone. Ao3 is down.”   

A shudder pierces through their heart. No, wait, focus on the call - you’re on the job damn it. 

Automatically DownDetector replies, “Thank you for your report. Not to worry, sometimes servers go down but Ao3 usually bounces back in at most, a few hours.” Down glances at the screen. Usually Arch messages Dow quickly with an update, they know how much Dow worries. 

“I just feel like something is different this time. It feels wrong.”

Oh right, the call. Dow quickly types through the report in front of them. “I understand how alarming this may be. Please check Ao3’s official Twitter account for any updates. Can I have your location to complete this report?”   

Dow goes through the motions but there is a blaring alarm going off in their mind. 

Ao3 is down. 

Ao3 is down.

Ao3 is down.

Ao3 is down.

Ao3 

is 

down.

A glance at the screen shows no messages from Arch but the usual flood of reports that follow any of Ao3’s technical issues. 

The caller was right. This feels wrong. The notification sounds are the only thing that graces the dreaded silence hanging in the air. 

Dow’s finger hovers over the call button. It would be so easy to call Arch right now and find out if they’re okay. Dow doesn’t talk with Arch often, just a few pictures of the bumps and scrapes Arch sends after each tussle with technical issues (often accompanied by a selfie with a thumbs up and a goofy smile). 

It's not professional to directly message websites that get reported here, but Ao3 is different. 

Whenever a website goes down, so many people barge into DownDetector with complaints and anger, but with Archive of Our Own, it's only love and worry. Looking at their previous messages which consist of mostly Arch sending memes and fluff fic recs, Dow smiles at the screen. When Ao3 goes down, so many people come in with care and understanding, and it's easy to understand why. What’s not to love about Ao3?

The contact image of Arch putting French fries up their nose comes with a call. Dow would lie to you if you asked them how fast their picked up Arch’s calls every time. It's always borderline impossibly fast. 

Dow is greeted by a flurry of wet coughs. Okay, shit shit shit this does not look good. 

“Arch? Arch? Are you okay?” 

The coughs die down. 

Arch’s voice sounds so small, smaller than it has ever been. It's unnerving. Archive of Our Own is a titan - more than 11 million fics, over 57 thousand fandoms. Time, love, and care has put been fed into the website, making it the envy of most. Dow doesn’t think Wikipedia’s rants about donations can get worse but it takes a step higher every time Ao3 has a donation drive. Arch was never meant to sound so small. 

“I don’t have a lot of time, but I wanted to call you first”, Arch’s voice is raspy like they’ve been screaming while eating glass. “I’m going to be gone for a while.” 

“What’s going on? Everyone says something is wrong.” 

Dow hears a deep tired exhale down the line like Arch is thinking about the words to say. Just like their users, sometimes words don’t come easy to Arch. “It was an attack, they came out of nowhere. A DDOS.” 

DDOS – the weapon of cowards trying to take down a titan, a deity, worshipped by so so many. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay. I’m more worried about everyone else.” Even at the brink of a meltdown, Ao3 always put everyone else before themselves. “Maybe Fanfiction.net or Wattpad can take them back, huh?” 

Oh, this isn’t a warning, it's a goodbye. 

Dow takes a deep breath. It's all in the handbook, you cannot panic in a time of crisis. Breathe, breathe deeply. “Archive, what’s going on? Something’s wrong.” 

“Hey hey don’t worry, alright? The volunteers are coming, you know how well they take care of me.” 

“Down, they’re going to take me offline for a while. 

“Take you offline?” Dow exclaims. “For how long? You can’t go! It's not even been 5 minutes and everyone already misses you.” 

I will miss you goes unsaid. 

A pregnant pause fills the room. Dow can hear the rush of blood behind their ears. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Arch please –” 

Dow is cut off by shouts that come down from the other end of the call. Before they can say anything, Arch rushes out, “I have to go, the volunteers are here.” Tears can’t stop rolling down Dow’s face. “Take care of them for me, will you?” 

Dow looks back to the screens on their desk. The overwhelming cries of terror, care, and worry fill the comments section. 

“I will,” spills off their tongue without hesitation. 

“Thank you,” whispers Arch, their voice clear as day amidst all the commotion. “Goodbye, DownDetector.” 

The disconnect tone plays. 

“I’ll see you soon, Archive of Our Own.”  

Silence fills the room again. 

For the first time in their lives, Dow gets down to their knees and prays. 

Please, whatever entities are out there, please. 

Bring them back.  

[a-supernatural-writer]

Hiii this is my first time requesting anything so sorry if I’m really annoying, but could you do a poly lost boys helping the reader (preferably female but gn is fine too) with an anxiety attack? I had a really bad one earlier and just want some comfort from my favorite boys.

But if not then i understand! Don’t feel pressured to do this ❤️

Hun, you are not annoying at all! And request anytime, and I don’t feel any pressure at all to do this, so you are more than okay. I actually have severe anxiety to the point where I lose clumps of hair and my entire body starts turning red and itches. So, I completely get it dealing with anxiety attacks. They’re no fun, so I am completely happy doing this. I hope this gives you comfort and I hope you are doing better. A lot of what I mention in this is just from my experience and I know everyone has different forms of anxiety and different ways of coping with it, so I will do my best writing this. Much love! 

Word Count: 1,507

Warnings: talk of anxiety attacks, mentions of weed

The Lost Boys x FemReader with Anxiety Attacks

Anxiety attacks were no fun. No fun at all. They were terrifying to say the least. Whether you had just a small one or a big one that made you hyperventilate and struggle to breathe. 

You were usually good about coping with your anxiety, especially around your boys. They were overprotective and you knew that if anything happened to you, they’d be all over you, worried about you. And you didn’t want your poor boys worrying about you. 

Though, one day, they witnessed you having a bad anxiety attack. Like a really bad one and it wasn’t pretty.

Something set of alarm bells in your brain as you and the boys were just hanging out on the Boardwalk. It was the middle of summer so that meant tourists packed the place. Usually you were okay with medium sized crowds, they still made you freak out a little, but it was magegable, but tonight, it was huge. People were brushing up against people, the heat was unbearable, at its record high, and the noise was too loud. All of your senses were being overloaded and you hated it. 

It’s when you started shaking that David noticed you were slowly panicking. Your eyes were wide, hands shaking, and you started to breathe rapidly. He quickly notified the other boys, all of them sudden;y very concerned with their questions of “Are you okay?” totally went unanswered. 

They quickly got you to a secluded spot on the boardwalk just as you started to struggle to breath. They could hear your heart slamming in your chest, going at a pace that terrified them. 

Dwayne took the lead and directed you to lean your back against the wall and crouch a little, putting your head between your legs and instructing you to follow his breathing movements, slow and steady.

Paul didn’t really know what to do; he was freaking out more than anything on the inside, but did the only thing he thought could help and rub your back in circles. His babe was hurting, and he didn’t really grasp what was happening at that moment, but he was trying his best. 

Marko was sort of on the same level as Paul but keeping it together better. He was holding one of your free hands and he was shocked at how strong you were squeezing. It was almost on par with his own strength. He looked at you with soft eyes, he knew what you were going through but he felt bad that he didn’t know how to fully help you. 

David, just like Dwayne, had a general idea what to do about anxiety attacks. Though they’ve never fully witnessed one or dealt with one before, they were certainly doing their best. David spoke softly to you, telling you to breathe and reassuring you that it was just the five of you and nobody else. 

Your rapid breathing subsided, but it didn’t stop tears from falling as your entire body just wanted to give out. You were thankful that Dwayne immediately took you in his arms, holding you tightly to him andletting you hug the shit out of him as you cried your eyes out. That was when they took you away from the Boardwalk and back home, in the safety of your soft bed. 

After calming down with your boy's words of comfort and cuddles, you felt better about explaining what happened. Once you told them that you have really bad anxiety and that you sometimes have anxiety attacks, they took the time to really listen about what triggered your anxiety and what you usually did to cope with it. But now with your boys knowing, they now have their own ways of easing your anxieties. 

Your anxieties were a range of things. Sometimes you had really bad social anxiety and large crowds terrified you to no end, or even attending social events. Even some forms of public transportation triggered you. You never stepped foot in a taxi in your life, having a person that you didn’t know drive you around was scary and made you think about the worst possibilities. Hell, even nothing sets you off. Your heart and mind would just start freaking out for no reason whatsoever and you would start shaking. 

Cuddle piles helped you alot, just having your boys all on your at once and whispering comforting words to you as they wiped away your tears helped immensely. When all of them worked together, they did their best to distract you and make you focus on something that made you happy. A favorite movie, book, music, anything. 

Paul was definitely more observant than you thought. If the two of you were just hanging out in your room and you felt an anxiety attack coming along, Paul would be able to tell the signs. He made it a thing to pretty much engulf you in his arms, hell, his whole body. He pretty much became your own vampire weighted blanket. It made you feel safe having his body weight on you as he gave you soft kisses on your cheeks. 

Another way he would help is weed. (Honestly weed helps me sleep and greatly helps my anxiety. This isn’t for everyone, but it helps me. And if you’re going to do it, do it safely and from a reliable source). It relaxes your brain and makes everything feel fuzzy, not in the sense of seeing, but everything kind of just mellows out and you feel like you don’t have to worry as much. Plus, it helps you get some great fucking sleep. Paul finds it adorable after you smoked with him, having you curled up in his arms and smiling to yourself in your sleep. He feels like he’s helping his girl. 

It kind of goes without saying, but all of the boys have a certain way of holding you, Paul being a weighted blanket, but Marko likes to hold you from behind and have you sitting in between his legs as his arms are wrapped around you. Or having you sleep with your head on his stomach as he plays with your hair. He very much has gotten into the habit of giving you little scalp massages when you start getting anxiety in your sleep. It helps tremendously. 

Marko is very much into distracting yourself. Gets a bunch of art supplies and sets up an art date. Art is anything you want it to be, you can do anything you want, so have fun with it and let go of things you were worried about. It’s honestly so sweet and it usually ends up with the both of you having a paint fight. It helps you let go of everything for a little bit, forgetting about responsibilities and just having fun. 

Dwayne is deficiently more on the research side of it, the reason why he knew what to do when you were having your bad anxiety attack. Very much about having quiet time with you or even just listening to some mellow music. Like for you to feel at ease and just relaxed. He’s read about some side effects of anxiety and it makes him worried. There’s a lot of fear that runs through your brain when your anxiety kicks in and he does his best to make you feel safe. 

He is probably the only one that helps you reason through your anxiety and helps you figure out what caused it, not that the others don’t, they’re just not as good as Dwayne. He speaks to you gently as the two of you lay together, chest to chest so he can feel your heartbeat and walks it through with you one step at a time, letting you take pauses if you get too emotional.

David likes to lay you across his lap, your head in the crook of his neck and his arms wrapped around your waist. It honestly makes you feel special when he holds you like that and he knows it. He lets you talk about how you're feeling and what’s going on in your life. He rarely makes a comment, maybe a small one here and there, but he mostly lets you talk, letting you unload what’s upsetting you.

David definitely takes you to the beach to sit near the waves, letting the sound of the water crashing on shore lull you into a state of relaxation. Or even taking you to a quiet hillside with fields of flowers and just enjoy the sounds of crickets singing into the night. Very much takes you anywhere that is a comfort place for you or any place that just makes you happy. He’ll even get you little gifts that he’ll know you’ll like and that will make you smile. 

Overall, the boys help your anxiety in any way they possibly can and they will always be there for you when you have an anxiety attack. They, themselves,soon become a method of coping and they are more than welcome to do anything for you.

[buttonsey]

“how come suddenly everyone has did’ how about you start asking why so many people have traumatizing childhoods to the extent where their brain feels that it needs to cope and close off memories in the form of fragmented selves. this argument is shit, did/osdd is nothing new and the main reason it’s become more prominent is because of the perpetuating and continuous stigma made around it. it’s less of ‘more common’ and more so that more people are finding out about it. often times people don’t have a name for their symptoms, and because did/osdd is so covert, the majority of people will probably never find out they have it. so when lots of people start hearing about it, some are bound to find out that it aligns with what they’ve been experiencing. we’ve known there were ‘multiple people’ (to put it in a broader sense) for a long time, but because there wasn’t anything to call it, it stayed like that. now that it’s reaching lots of people, a fraction of those are bound to be systems who don’t know. this doesn’t mean that everyone who says they are a system or have did/osdd actually has it, ofc some won’t, but that doesn’t mean they have nothing going on. maybe this disorder is the closest way a person can get to labeling a set of symptoms they feel, plus every single system functions differently and no two will function the same and have the same set of ‘rules’ for how it all works.

“the condition occurs in anywhere from one-half percent to two percent of the population…” one half percent is forty million, which is a whole fucking lot btw. (therecovertvillage.com) but it is suggested that as many as seven percent of the population may have it and go undiagnosed throughout their whole lifetime. i bring this up because one of the main points people bring up when trying to discredit systems is that it’s “very rare”. whilst this is true, rare doesn’t mean impossible to have, stop acting like because something is incredibly uncommon it means anyone you run into doesn’t have it. there is no reason anyone should be fakeclaimed unless they are actively harming other people or themselves within the process, this included alter count. people will see one hundred plus alters and think that the person is faking, in most cases those with more ‘personalities’ do not have complete ones. among these alters most will be able to show limited emotions, feel limited feelings, and may only be there to fulfill one specific purpose that may not be frequent. there will be few people that are ‘complete’ within systems of larger numbers. why do alters form? from the start, they come from trauma, that’s a given. alters split of / form because a lot of reasons, strong emotions, substance use, impactful events, stress, etc.

everyone responds to trauma differently and you can’t look at the amount of alters someone had and determine “oh the abuse must’ve not been that bad” or whatever. anything can be traumatic depending on how an individual reacts to things, and because people’s brains respond differently to everything, what may be a typical tuesday for one may be a life changing event to another. this isn’t a reason to put down others feelings, if someone is affected by something badly then they are, that isn’t an excuse to call someone sensitive. some systems split easier than others, that’s just how it is, this doesn’t make them more or less than other systems. even a slight change in routine can cause stress to split, whether that’s ridiculous or not is besides the point. but this also doesn’t mean that every alter within the system is there. something that i want to stop seeing is people looking at a system and thinking they’re multiple functioning people, when instead they are dysfunctional. this is a psychological disorder, these people aren’t ‘normal’ or ‘okay’, delusions can happen and is easy to assume the presence of another alter when there in fact isn’t one or that they’re someone else. if they’re not real then they’re not real, not a big deal and it’s not harmful to have small delusions like this. being a system is always confusing, there will never be a point where you know everytbing no matter how hard that is to accept. bottom line is that the only thing harming the community are fakclaimers mocking common symptoms experienced and creating more stigma around it. “umm how come i’ve never met someone with did irl” why the fuck would they tell you? that is very personal information that’s hard to be vulnerable about, especially since peoples perceptions of the disorder is so skewed, telling someone would risk their entire relationship. plus, they don’t really need to tell you unless it’s information that could help with understanding. systems don’t own anyone any explaination for anything, go fuck yourself.

ofc, faking is never justified. having this disorder is actual hell and i don’t understand why anyone would actively want this. it’s scary, someone’s i’ll front and have no idea what is happening. “just a little confusion” no, we’ve had alters front and go into break downs wondered why their covered in blood or why there are tears in our eyes or where they even are, that is terrifying. i hate never remembering anything, how easy it would be for people to tell us “you did blah blah blah and feel blah blah blah” because i wouldn’t know if that’s a lie or if it’s something i judt don’t remember. we get triggered over the littlest of things and we’ll never know why because of lost trauma memories. there is so so much im going to miss out on and i hate trauma and i hate people. faking is a conscious decision, if you’re worried about faking then ur probably not. it’s okay to question whether ur a system or not. this is such an inconsistent disorder, remmeber that. -?? ? unsure

[sortasirius]

“Carry On” and...Yikes.

Well clowns, looks like the clown calls were coming from inside the house this entire time.

I so desperately wish I wasn’t writing this right now.  I so wish that I could be writing something better, something joyful, something happy about this fifteen year journey with these characters.  It seems as though the show had other ideas, so in we go.

So...the dog was cool.  Also interesting that Dean was back to his breakup/grieving coping mechanisms: not making his bed, messy room, beer all over the place, Sam making breakfast, etc.

So I guess I better just start off with how...off this episode felt in regards to Dean specifically. Idk why he suddenly wanted a dog and Sam had no real interest in one, since the opposite has been true for, idk, fifteen years, but whatever, I was willing to let it go.

I thought the pie thing was a sweet scene, it was funny and nice and a good button on Dean’s pie thing.

Weird to, you know, bring up Cas and not mention his tragic ass deal and why he got got, but whatever.

I cannot physically believe that this MOTW aspect was, quite literally, so much of the plot.  Like...we figured that it was going to be an aspect, but for it to be SO MUCH?  Bruh.  I am such a fucking fool lmfao.

Again, cool to see Cas’ coat in the back.  Too bad it wasn’t addressed.

Jenny.  Bitch.  Come on.  Of ALL the villains in the FIFTEEN YEARS of Supernatural.  Jenny.  Who was in....one....episode.  Ok.

I mean that line about the high school thing was funny, I did laugh at that moment.  Fuck I love Dean Winchester.

I cannot believe I specced so much about the barn scene.  Are y’all telling me that “The Night We Met” is being claimed by......Sam and Dean.  Fuck off.

I mean, I thought Dean was going to die, and the scene actually did play out pretty similarly to how I thought.  It was probably the most powerful moment in the episode.  I am very glad that it was Dean’s choice, his choice and his peace to let go. 

“Let me look at you.  There he is.  I am so proud of you, Sam.”

I do love this, I love this because Dean is able to look at his work, the man that he raised, and tell him these things.  He was Sam’s parent, he raised Sam into the man he is today, and he should be damn proud of that.

I do love this most of scene, I really do, I love my boys, these brothers so damn much, and at least, at the very least, I have this scene of them.

Forehead touch was weird, I’m just gonna say it.

I feel like most of this episode was montages lol.  I mean I always hate sad Sam but at this point I still fully felt like we were going to get closure and we just...didn’t.

The Austin number was a cool detail, I liked that bc I picked up on it right away (since, you know, my phone is a 512 number lmao).

What a lackluster goodbye to the Bunker.  I had no clue that was going to be the last time we saw it ever.

FUCK AT LEAST I GOT MY DAMN HEAVEN BAR.

The scene with Bobby was nice, it was good to see him.  We did get our remade Heaven, that’s also nice to know.

“It ain’t just Heaven, Dean.  It’s the Heaven you deserve.”

He does deserve this.  An open Heaven, the people he loves, finally some peace, he deserves that, and I am glad that he got it.

Our second Cas mention.  Great.  Thanks guys.

I mean thanks Jim and Jensen for the microexpressions I guess lmao.

So I am supposed to believe.  That Dean.  Whose entire arc has been speaking his truth, specifically speaking his truth to Cas.  Where he has been stopped twice before this season.  Is going to just drive around in circles for forty years until Sam gets there?  Yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me, dawg.

And Sam gets married and has a kid that he names Dean, and the unspecified dark haired woman in the back of the ten minute montage is supposed to be enough for me to buy that it’s Eileen?  Bruh.

Also it’s BACK TO BACK MONTAGES???  WITH TWO VERSIONS OF CARRY ON WAYWARD SON?

Sam’s age makeup????  Hello????  AT FIRST THEY DIDN’T EVEN AGE HIM THEY JUST PUT HIM IN A WIG?????

That cover of Wayward Son did slap but was it enough?  No.

Even that bridge moment didn’t hit right because Sam didn’t cross it?  He was just suddenly there.

It just fucking sucks.  It sucks that their reunion doesn’t land right because they...didn’t do anything when they were apart.  Sam had his kid sure but Dean literally just drove around.  No mention of Cas or of Eileen.  Nothing.  So the last moment of this show I love feels tainted and hollow and just wrong.

It sucks.  I’m not going to lie.  But the worst thing about it?  Is that it doesn’t make any sense.  I have not spent two years of my life picking apart the writing rooms in Supernatural, lauding this current team for what they’ve accomplished for it to end like this.  I know many of you will regard me as a complete tinhat freak right now, but this, to me, does not feel like an episode that Andrew Dabb wrote.  Hell, it doesn’t feel like an episode of Supernatural.

None of the arcs were completed: Dean didn’t get to speak his truth to Cas, Sam never got to become the leader, the legacy hunter he was meant to.  We don’t see them with Cas or Eileen, we don’t even hear about them.

Listen, there’s a lot that...simply doesn’t add up to me.  First of all, the episode was SHORT, and most of it was montages. They had four montages AND the episode was only 38 minutes.  The series finale of the show was shorter than any other episode and had four multiple minute montages.  Okay.  Make it make sense.  Newsflash: it doesn’t, there is simply no way I can believe that there weren’t massive cuts and reworks done to this episode on an executive level.

I know there are people who will tell me that the writers are just bad and I need to accept that they gave me a shitty ending, but after all this time with this story, especially with Dabb’s arc, he just...doesn’t do shit like this.  His arcs are always complete, always tied up well, always have a button.  But this mess?  This confusing episode that left everything hanging with a cover of Wayward Son hanging in the air?  It just doesn’t add up to me.

This wasn’t the story they were telling, this hasn’t been the story they were telling all season, and I stand by that.

So, I sure do wish I could give you a better post. I wish that we had gotten something better.  I still, after everything, love this show, and will still be here in the morning.

Thanks guys.  Love y’all.

[cas-rivaille]

HELLO, DEAR!

Undertaker here! How are you today?

I was thinking the other day and I remembered an idea of mine I requested some time ago to another blog and I wanted to see your point of view as well, if you're comfortable with it ofc! I'll change it a bit because I have more ideas about it than before.

What if, hear me out, Obey me!MC was Sukuna's vessel??

I was thinking about a Female!MC but if you want you can keep them gender neutral (I don't mind!). So let's get into it, shall we?

Some facts about MC before the Devildom:

- They've already eaten all Sukuna's fingers

-But they are able to keep him calm inside themselves because over the year they've been together, MC decided to approach him more (Ya know if you have to die with/for someone, at least know them better)

-Sukuna took a liking to the MC, even though he would never admit it. (I mean- They always visit him in his domain to talk to him, read together, play cards (yes. You heard me. The king of curses loves Poker and UNO) or chess, they always ask him where would he like to go eat something, offer him some of their food to let him try new things, ect. Sometimes, but only SOMETIMES, they let him take control (not fully but they both can talk from the same mouth and he has control over one side, while MC has control over the other one))

- Having said that, Sukuna's still a stinky sassy bastard King. He's still rude, acts like he doesn't care about them and always finds a way to let them down when they're too happy. If they're sad though, he doesn't hurt them more. Sometimes MC even asks him advice whenever they're in doubt and after his bulling he actually gives pretty good advice (if you consider extreme violence a good advice that is)

Anyway, MC was going to get executed when suddenly they fell into Devildom. Their file didn't mention Sukuna at all and MC noticed that because when they arrived covered in talismans and chains the demons were confused about it. So, they kept the King a secret until lesson 16.

After Belphegor's crushing hug, while MC (the one from the original timeline) is in Mammon's arm, before Barbatos Thanoses the other timeline, Sukuna heals them and takes fully control of their body (the tattoos, the fangs, the long black claws, the other pairs of eyes and arms appear).

Now, HOW would the brothers, Diavolo and Barbatos react?

If it is too much or I did something wrong, feel free to ignore this! It's okay! Love you and have a good day!

OH MY GOD ?? THIS IS FANTASTIC THANK YOU OMG !

(i think i'm gonna do it hc style for the individual characters feelings but also some dialogue n stuff and each hc thing for each character is written as like in the game like they all like MC except belphie for obvious reasons)

tags: swearing, lesson uhhh smth spoilers ?? i think like 16 ?? (lmk if i need to tag anything else)

also hi ‘taker🥺🥺 i’m good today,, had a bit of a rough morning but i got to see my partner so i feel better !! how are you ? :D

and without further ado..

MC who is Sukuna's Vessel

- hold up

- hold the fuck up

- it was confusing enough when there were two MCs and one of them was near death in mammon's arms

- but now the injured MC gets healed and comes back to life ? but has another set of arms and eyes and is covered in strange tattoos ?

- then the other MC disappears ?

- when the demon MC starts talking, their voice is different and what-

--

"What the fuck did you to do MC?" Sukuna hastily spits out, checking the body for any other injuries. MC's voice is back and talking out of the same mouth.

"Sukuna, stand down," MC says.

"But he almost killed you ! Without me we wouldn't be standing here right now !" Sukuna argues back.

"I'm aware of that, but we have to be civil about this and talk to them," MC responds sternly.

"Then I want to be present for it. I'm not letting anything happen to you- I mean me. Yes me because I die if you die and I'm too godly to die," Sukuna rambles out before retracting the other set of arms but leaving the tattoos. He opens one of the eyes and forms a mouth on MC's right cheek to watch and participate in the conversation.

All the brothers and Divolo looked stunned at the scene that just happened.

"Questions ?" MC jokingly asks.

--

Lucifer -

- what ?

- questions ? is MC joking ?

- who the fuck is talking out of MCs body and what jurisdiction does he have

- isnt MC supposed to be human ??

- what does this mean for their relationship ?

- why did MC keep it from him ?

- he looks at dia and barbatos with the most confused face

- looks back at MC equally confused

- def hurts his pride that he didn't know

--

"Explain"

Lucifer's confusion turns to anger because that's the only way he knows how to cope/react to this.

Sukuna starts talking.

"Show a little more respect. I'm a king after all."

"Don't be an ass," MC shoots back. MC looks at Lucifer a little embarrassed.

"Uh, so this is Sukuna. He's the king of curses ? We kind of share a body because... uhh... it's a very long story but i mean the gist of it is I ate his thousand year old fingers ? There was 20 of them because he had two sets of arms like you saw before- it was very gross- but i had to because of the energy they posses ? When you brought me here and I was covered in seals and chains, was when I was about to be executed because I have all of Sukuna in me. So,, he can do stuff like heal my body and give me cool powers ? I don't really know what else to say." MC rambles using awkward hand motions and finishes by scratching the back of their head.

"Way to make me sound like a total fucking loser," Sukuna glares at MC.

"For the love of god stop talking-" MC shoots back.

--

Mammon

- huh ? someone has been sharing a body with his MC the whole time ?

- were they present the whole time ?

- did they see him acting like an idiot in love ?

- was sukuna there during e v e r y conversation he's ever had w them

- never felt more insecure and betrayed tbh

- why wouldn't you tell him ? he was your first

</3

- wants you all to himself

- doesn't want to share you with some four armed idiot

--

"So he's just, there all the time ?" Mammon asks.

"Not really? He has a headspace and he usually just chills in there but he can watch what's going on if he wants to." MC responds.

"That makes me sound lazy," Sukuna complains.

"Well if you don't like how I describe you then maybe you can talk about yourself. You're very good at it," MC smirks.

"Fine. I can do whatever I want. We can trade who has control over MC's body. I have a large supply of cursed energy and will beat the shit out of the next person who touches MC," Sukuna glares at Belphie.

"Yeah beat them in poker maybe. But not mariokart. You suck at video games in the headspace," MC laughs.

--

Leviathan

- was that how MC was so good at video games ?

- because they spent hours on end with this guy in their head playing video games ?

- why didn't MC come to him to play games ?

- why is MC okay with sharing a body with Sukuna ?

- why can he be the one to share a body with MC ?

- why was MC playing video games with literally anyone else ?

--

"So let me get this straight, you are his fingers and now you share a body ? How does that even work ? That sounds like something out of the manga 'My best friend ate some ancient object and now shares a body with an immortal warrior'" Levi questions MC.

"Okay so, Sukuna lived a really long time ago. When he died, the only thing that survived were his fingers. They each hold an incredible amount of cursed energy and it's only his fingers so from there you can imagine how powerful he was with the rest of his body," MC explains.

"Okay but that doesn't tell me why you ate the fingers ?" Levi raises an eyebrow.

"Oh. So I went to a high school for Jujutsu sorcerers, which are people who can manipulate cursed energy, and once I ate the first one to save my friend from dying, my choices were to die now or eat all of Sukuna and then be executed because he would die with me," MC says as if them dying was nothing.

--

Satan

- why has he never heard about Sukuna in any of the books he's read ?

- he historically doesn't exist in anything the devildom has book-wise

- so who is he ?

- needs to find out everything he can about him

- is there a way to separate MC and Sukuna ?

- his blood is boiling at the thought of MC sharing a body with someone

--

"So you've basically had super human powers this entire time and elected to not tell us ?" Satan glares at MC.

"Well, when you put it like that it sounds bad. I just didn't want you all to meet Sukuna because he has a lot of anger issues and is quite an asshole and I was trying to avoid this entire conversation that is happening," MC sighs.

"Rude," Sukuna says.

"Anger issues. You think we couldn't deal with this ? Are you serious right now ?" Satan asks.

MC shrugs their shoulders nervously.

"How much do you actually know about what sharing a body with him does to you ?" Satan asks while looking at the small mouth and glaring.

"I mean, I get these marks because he had them when he was alive. He was also so powerful to the point he had four arms and another set of eyes, like you saw before. I get those when he takes over mostly, but I can kee him restrained. But the eye thing is why I've always had slits under my eyes because the eyes are the most common thing to show up. The arms don't really. But it's entirely painless so don't worry," MC somewhat calmly explains.

--

Asmodeus

- those marks make MC look so good wtf-

- not the time

- so this Sukuna person lived a thousand years ago ?

- what was this about jujutsu sorcery ?

- what even is that ?

- asmos not the brightest on the block but from the looks on his brothers faces none of them know what the fuck MC is talking about either.

- they've explained a little bit of it b there's still some missing info

- what is sharing a body really like

- how much of MCs body can change to be like Sukunas ?

--

"So how much of your body can he control ? What can he heal ? Could he bring you back from the dead ?" Asmo curiously asks.

"He can't control much because it's my body and I have a lot of raw power by myself. I don't know if he can bring us back from the dead. I don't think so though or else the Jujutsu school wouldn't have tried to execute me. He used to be able to bring us back when I hadn't eaten all of his fingers, but now I don't think he can," MC explains.

"So why do you let him live in your body if he can't do much for you ?" Asmo questions.

"Well one, I don't think there's a way to get him out-"

"I'm still here you know," Sukuna interrupts.

"You've made that clear," MC says before continuing, "And two he can do stuff for me. It's like a symbiotic relationship. I give him a host and he protects me."

--

Beelzebub

- protects MC ?

- that's his job

- why is someone else protecting MC ?

- overall confusion

- even tho MC has gone over it multiple times, he doesn't get how or why Sukuna is in MC's body

- maybe it's the shock

. was this why MC could challenge him to armwrestling and almost win ?

--

"So how long has he been in you ?" Beel asks.

"About a year," MC responds.

"Can he make you live longer aside from healing you ?" Beel asks hopefully.

"I'm sorry, I don't think so..." MC says while looking at the ground. They cross their arms. They look small, as if they aren't small enough compared to him already.

"So, what does this mean ? Now that your secret is out... are you going to stay in the devildom with us ? Or do you have to leave ?"

" If I leave I'll surely be executed when I go back to the human world. If I stay I don't know what will happen to me, but it's not up to me. It's up to you guys if you want me to stay. I understand if you want me to go, I was harboring a big secret and it's probably unnerving to know that you're never truly alone with me, but Sukuna actually cares about my boundaries even though he acts like he doesn't. There are some pluses and there are some drawbacks but ultimately you have to decide." MC responds, looking from brother to brother then at Dia and Barbatos

--

Belphie

- MC ? dead if you back to the human world ? doesn't bother him

- he doesn't care

- he hasn't known MC long enough to care

- diavolo may have told everyone that MC was a descendant of human Lilith and he told everyone the events that actually happened, but why should he have any attachment to MC

- MC isnt Lilith, and MC sure as hell doesn't like him after the events that happened today

- from what he's heard, MC dying would be good for the human world

--

"I say send MC back. What happens to them isnt our problem any more," Belphie says while under his magical restraints Diavolo put on him.

"Of course you would say that," Satan glares at him.

"Shut up Belphie !!" Mammon and Levi yell.

"You don't have any right to an opinion in this matter." Lucifer states.

"Belphie that's mean," Asmo says.

Beel frowns.

"I vote they stay. I like MC regardless, and if all I have to do is adjust to Sukuna then I'll do it," Beel says while looking Belphie dead in the eye.

There's a beat of silence.

"Me too," Mammon says.

"Hey ! I was going to say that !" Levi protests.

"Oooh~ Count me in !" Asmo says with a smile.

"I also think they should stay," Satan says and looks at MC.

"My personal preference is also that they stay, but Lord Diavolo it's up to you," Lucifer says and looks at Dia.

--

Diavolo

- he knew there was something off, but couldnt place his finger on it

- he also constantly got a powerful vibe from MC and this explains it

- he was very fond of MC and enjoyed their presence

- he knew what he was going to do

--

"Barbatos, what do you think ?" Dia asks him.

"The decision is up to you m'lord," Barbatos responds.

"Well Id also like the input of my trusty all knowing butler," Diavolo laughs.

"Then, I see no reason to send them back to the human world. They can live out their lives here and safe from the school that wants to execute them. It also wouldn't be an issue to get anyone from the human world here if MC so desired," Barbatos replied.

"Then it's settled ! Welcome to the devildom for the rest of your life MC!!" Diavolo smiled and welcomed MC with open arms.

MC smiled and accepted the hug.

--

Barbatos

- he didn't know all along, but he know when the timelines crossed and he had to erase the other

- MC was very near and dear to his heart though and he wasnt about to let them be killed

- just wants to keep MC safe

--

I HOPE I DID A GOOD JOB AND THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST REMEMBER TO FRINK SOME WATER ILY TAKER <3

- mars :)

[ussgallifrey]

The Kids Aren't Alright || 1.3

✦ Summary: Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy but, between the three of you, there’s enough lyrics to write an anthem. Bucky falls first for the blue-eyed artist with a fighter’s spirit, then for the girl made from stormclouds and spitfire. You’re doomed from the very start.

✦ Pairing: Steve x named!Female Reader x Bucky

✦ Warnings: Angst, descriptions of injuries, drinking, grief, hurt/comfort, mild violence, minor character death, non-explicit smut, pre-serum Steve; references to child abuse, consensual underage sex, murder, suicide; underage drinking and smoking, unhappy ending, unhealthy coping mechanisms, WWII.

✦ Word Count: 17.1k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Author’s Note: The reader is named for convenience (and it comes from a specific song in the playlist), though - as with all of my reader-centric stories - her looks are never described in detail nor is she white-coded.

[MasterList]

[ S W E E T H E A R T ]

No one pays Steve Rogers much mind.

He was a real spectacle when he showed up last year though. New faces were a rare sight around these parts, so him and his Mama were the talk of the town for at least two months straight. Not to mention, he had that strange city accent and a sickly lithe body that had kids wondering if a light breeze would knock him over.

But now, no one gives a damn about the scrawny boy.

He’s got an artist’s soul, but kids ‘round here don’t care much for that. Where the older boys tend to spend their free time throwing a ball around the barren field next to the school, Steve’s always sitting on the stoop with a book full of drawings - good ones too.

At least, Bucky thinks they are - having spotted a page covered in beautiful lines and strokes.

Sometimes, he longs to join the smaller boy on the steps of the school, with his charcoal smudged fingers. But he knows how that would look and he’s already got enough of a reputation surrounding him.

And I’d promise you anything for another shot at life.

It’s a small town and people talk.

And perfect boys with their perfect lives.

His Momma always tells him to keep his chin up, to not let the words and stares grind him down - it’s not his fault his Daddy went and did what he did. And he’s got his sisters to worry about so sitting on the sidelines, drawing fanciful pictures, isn’t a way to get himself up on the ladder - so to speak - in a place like this.

Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy.

He can turn a blind, but still envious, eye to boys like Steve. It’s the other kids, the bigger kids, that don’t like it one bit.

On a day at the start of the school year, he finds the little blonde boy with a fresh shiner and blood dripping from his nose under the old willow tree next to the school’s woodshed. A sopping wet sketchbook at his feet and angry tears welling up in his eyes.

He doesn’t want Bucky to see him like that, quickly rubbing his snotty face with the back of his bloody hand.

He’s seven years old and he just spits out a glob onto the ground and says, “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

“Oh, I bet, pal.”

It’s no wonder the kid gets the ever-living shit kicked out of him at every turn.

He’s about thirty pounds lighter and a foot and a half shorter than even Bucky. Guys like Will Marsden and John Sicamore, who throw hay bales all day long, they’ve got enough strength to push back a grizzly if they wanted.

Doesn't matter that they're twelve, someone like Steve is an easy target.

With his quiet voice and soft blue eyes and heart of aching gold that likes to weave stories through charcoal sketches. Even at eight and a half, Bucky knows - deep down - that Steve is something special to him. Just doesn’t have the right words to name it yet.

Maybe that’s why he knocks John Sicamore flat on his backside and pummels him into the dirt with a raging fury of threats that sends even Steve running to pull him off the older boy.

“He’s not worth it! Bucky, he’s not worth it!”

The only reason Steve’s able to pull him off the other boy is because Bucky lets him - after taking one look at his pleading blue eyes - collapsing back on the ground with a grumble.

“Had him on the ropes.”

He gets a ruler to the hand and a letter home to his Ma for his troubles. But from that point on, everyone knows; if you mess with Steve, you’ll have Bucky hot on your tail.

So, the kids tend to leave them to themselves. Bucky likes it that way though: just him and Stevie.

Their own little world somewhere beyond the old country schoolhouse and miles of nothin’ but yellow wheat fields.

Steve’s got enough stories rolling around in his head to fill a lazy afternoon under the willow trees. With the passing clouds, Steve gives him tales of stuff he’s never heard before - a place called Tír na nÓg, fairie rings, battling gods - real mystical folklore stuff.

Bucky could listen to him talk for days.

And if he finds himself staring just a little too long at the other boy’s pink lips or sweet ocean-colored eyes, then that’s no one’s business but his own.

No one ever prepared him for you, however.

Little girl, you got me staring odd.

You show up on a too-hot day in late September, with scraggly pigtails and a dress so dirty no one can tell the original color from the grime. You’ve got a bloodied scrape on your cheek and a look in your dark eyes that says you don’t care who sees it.

Or was that just a telescopic camera nod?

Admittedly, it’s a little frightenin’.

The teacher makes you get up next to the desk and introduce yourself to everyone and Bucky goes a little red in the face when you inform the class of twenty-six other kids that your name is Winona Bennett and you can spit farther than anyone there.

It’s crude as hell and the boys break out into gasping laughter. Given it’s your first day, you’re not reprimanded for it but he can tell you’re already being placed on a list in Miss Perry’s mind with that stern, discontented look of hers.

In that first week, he never catches you tryin' to play with the other girls like his sisters. You had tried to join a game of ball with the rest of them but had gotten shoved out of the way before you could even make it to the makeshift home base to try.

Bucky watches you from the outfield, during lunch, as you sidle up next to Steve on his usual stoop, pointing and saying things over his shoulder in a real animated way.

The poor kid has his shoulders hunched up to almost his ears and Bucky just wants to laugh at the scene. Talkative little you’s not even aware of the effect you have on the other boy. But you’re on your knees and you’re touching the page now - just talk-talk-talking away.

Steve’s mama raised him right though, so he just lets you rub your dirty finger over his drawing - like a goddamn pushover. Every day plays out the same after that. You sit next to the blonde boy. Sometimes talking, sometimes drawing your own pictures with a stick in the dirt.

You scare off the older kids whenever they come stomping 'round - shouting out threats that Bucky somehow knows for a fact that you’re willing to act on. He’d pay good money to see Will get a handful of worms shoved where the sun don’t shine.

Between his fists, your tough demeanor, and Steve's sharp wit, no one so much as thinks about touching any of you.

Oh, I'm a loose bolt of a complete machine. What a match - I'm half doomed and you're semi-sweet.

You’re two years younger than him, a year younger than Stevie, but you’re reading about five levels ahead of either of them.

You can’t do arithmetic to save your life and history lessons always leave you struggling to keep your eyes open. But you have a knack for spelling though your way of talking is plain. It’s all just up there in your head during the end-of-term contest.

Miss Perry has to pull out the giant dictionary from her desk to find new words to go through just for you. Since Thomas Baddon - who’s sixteen - had gotten as far as solemn before flubbing it up at sincerely. Then there you were spelling things like mercurial and pulchritude like they were real words that Bucky definitely knew the meanings of.

Steve had shot him a dumb look from across the room as if to say: are you seeing this, pal? And Bucky wasn’t all too sure that he was. He was lost somewhere in that gap-toothed smile of yours.

No one’s all too sure when it happens, just that it does.

It’s definitely sometime after that weird week in late October when he’s getting dressed up in his Sunday best, despite it being Saturday, and escorting his Ma into town with their prettiest glass dish topped to the brim with a rhubarb pie.

Your house is on the outskirts of town, past the charred remains of the old flour mill near the county line marker. You’re standing behind your Daddy when he opens the door and his Ma gives him their deepest sympathies for your recent loss.

“If there's anything we can do - there's a line of fine cooks in this town just waiting for the chance to lend a hand, Carl.”

The man snorts a pitiful smile, nodding his appreciation with a misting of tears in those dark brooding eyes of his.

Bucky hadn’t seen you in school for a whole week up until then, but now it all made sense.

The funeral was on a Sunday but it didn’t have that large of a turnout, even with their close-knit town. There wasn't much of a body to even bury, or at least that's what the man standing next to him had muttered under his breath. Apparently, hogs don't leave much meat on the bones.

When he looked over at you, it was like you were a million miles away with that distant stare of yours. With your Pa's hand clutched down on your little shoulder like a bear trap's vice.

In all the time he's known you, Bucky's never seen you so small before now.

After that, it seemed like all the adults would say the last name Bennett like it was a dirty word, quickly ending the conversation whenever a curious kid came 'round.

“Well, I heard that he didn’t want her to go in the first place. Mrs. Johnson said she heard shouting from the barn that night and I wouldn't be surprised if - oh. Jimmy, you’re home. How was school, darlin'?”

He was used to that too, especially in the year after his Dad did… well… what he did. Barnes was tarnished every way this side of Chicago and it was only after several months that the community would look at his family with more than fleeting glances.

They had come all the way here, middle of nowhere Iowa, to start over. It only lasted a few months before a hail storm killed off most of their crops and the bills started racking up. Him and his Ma never could scrub all the blood off the barn wall.

When you do come back to school, you’re off more than ever. You pick fights with the girls and even some of the guys.

You cut off a lock of Dot’s pretty red hair just for mispronouncing the word regardless as irregardless and you smacked Evan McCormick with his own baseball bat when he said you couldn’t even hit a ball if it was right in front of your face.

He kind of loses sight of you after that - sporadically coming to school here and there. Steve mentions it, once or twice. But Bucky just brushes it off - what did he care, after all? You were just a kid in a sea of people.

Sometime in early December, when the rain’s pelting down on everyone, and the prevailing wind has a sly promise of snow in the distance, is when it happens.

Bucky lives about two miles away from the one-room schoolhouse, whereas Steve lives a little closer - more towards the center of town. He’s got Becca and Grace trudging alongside him, trying to keep themselves dry with their books over their heads when you come running up to them - in nothing more than a summer dress.

“What’re you doing?” he asks with a little too rough of a tone.

You were more Steve’s pal than anything. The closest Bucky ever got to talking to you was when morning roll was being called and your name came directly after his on the list. Or when he escorted his Ma to your house with another pot of stew or freshly baked bread.

But it had been almost two weeks since the last visit.

“ ‘m walking with you,” you state, as though it’s obvious.

Becca shoots him a look. The girls had wanted to wait back in the coatroom, see if the storm would pass. But when the weather refused to let up, they had to hightail it out of there, so now they were running late for their afternoon chores.

You had been the only other kid waiting around when they left.

He huffs, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead, “Why’s that?”

“Want to.”

Your hip bumps against his as you move into his side. He bites the inside of his cheek - not sure if he’s feeling more embarrassed or irritated by it.

The four of you wade through the mud puddles of the country road in complete silence.

You had been there before him when he came to school that day when, usually, you were the one running late. He hadn’t paid the back of your head much mind throughout the day. And hell, he didn’t even see Steve try to start a quiet conversation with you during lunch like he sometimes did.

So, Bucky’s not all too sure why you want to tag along with him in the middle of a rainstorm, but he figures you’re not planning on telling him anytime soon so what would be the point in asking?

Rebbecca and Grace run ahead to the house, screaming like chickens as the rain picks up - muddy footprints clinging to the white porch steps.

He’s stuck in that strange place next to the front gate and you’re sopping wet and looking at him like a stray when he loses the nerve to ask you in.

“See ya tomorrow?” he says instead.

“Not inviting me in, Buck?” your teeth are chattering.

He shrugs, taking in your dirty dress and mud-caked shoes - thinking of the pristine rug in the dining room, “My ma wouldn’t be all that keen.”

Your brow creases and your eyes, even in the downpour, seem to spit fire.

“Fine.”

You’re still standing next to the gate when he goes inside. Letting the water cascade around you in the middle of the open, hands locked on your bare arms when the chill wind picks up.

He’s on his knees, staring over the back of the couch at you, feeling that strange feeling turning in his stomach like whenever he’s skipped out on his chores and told his Ma otherwise.

“You’re not too bright, are ya?” Becca comments from next to the woodstove, patting her braids down with a towel.

He huffs an angry sigh, turning back around and plopping down on his bum.

“Momma! There’s a girl outside and Jamie won’t let her in!” he hears a second later as Gracie tattles on him.

Winifred Barnes comes storming out of the kitchen with a bewildered expression, wooden spoon in hand like she’s ready to tan his hide, a baby on her hip.

He’s quick to stand, moving towards the door, “She just followed me home, Ma. I don’t even know why she did it.”

She peers through the windowpane, “That’s that poor Bennett girl. She looks like a drowned rat out there - go get her, Jimmy. I’m not going to have that child freezing to death outside so long as I’m still breathing.”

Bucky never noticed the bruises on your arms before, not until you’re drying up in front of him in his living room. You're swimming in his Ma's dress, but she insisted on scrubbing your’s up and mending the back seam.

“Sending a child off to school in this, I swear.”

After that, he tends not to ask why sometimes you never want to go back to your house after school. And from the looks of it, his Ma doesn’t care too much if you’re trailing behind him when he comes home either.

Some nights, you stay 'round long after the sun goes down for the day. You end up wedged in bed next to his sisters because his Ma doesn't have the heart to send you back to your Daddy.

You must not like the arrangement much though because sometimes Bucky catches you sitting in the living room or in the kitchen. Just staring at nothing. Sometimes he sits with you, other times he doesn't.

He only ever broaches the subject once.

He had 'a run into town to wake up Steve's mama to get the bottled treatment for you - his Ma didn't have none and you didn't want to go bugging the Doc with your troubles, no matter how much his Ma insisted.

Bucky had sat there at the kitchen table, watching as she wrapped your palm up with a tannic acid compress. The burn had looked downright nasty - a big old blister bubbling up on your small hand.

“Your old man do that to you?”

You’re sitting on the couch now, with a blanket wrapped 'round your shoulders, staring at the embers of the wood stove that he had just put another log into.

You blink, face scouring up into something fierce as you try to keep your tears back. Bucky inches closer, arm on the back of the sofa - fingers nearly touching your shoulder.

“Pretty girls like you shouldn’t cry like that,” he says softly. He’s not sure why he says it, just that he thinks it sounds right.

Under all that hard stone-faced demeanor, you’re real pretty. And he doesn’t think it’s fair that someone like your dad should make you cry at all. He’s not worth crying over.

You make my head swim. I’ll keep you warm and not ask you where you’ve been.

You sniffle, leaning your head against his arm, voice little more than a whimper, “Hold me?”

Bucky’s not all that sure how to comfort you proper-like, but this seems like a start.

He’s ten years old and you fit perfectly against his chest, head nuzzled in under his chin as he keeps a steady eye on the fire. Fingers splayed over your back as your breathing slows to little warm puffs against his sternum.

Between you and Steve, Bucky’s surprised you make it as far as you do in school with all your combined absences.

You for your own reasons that he tries not to think about, and Steve for his constant illnesses.

If he’s not sitting on the school steps worrying about you back home, then he’s sitting in a chair next to Sarah Rogers at his best friend’s bedside - waiting to see if this fever will pass, if his breathing will settle, if the insulin will act in time.

Sometimes he reads to him. Stories out of that fairy tale book that Steve pretends he's too old to read from. He's not as good of a storyteller as the younger boy, and none of them are as wonderful as the stories Steve used to weave, but he does his best.

He'll try and change the names up - silly things like Peganormasus von Winklebottom, or he'll make the princesses gag at the thought of kissing the handsome prince or something.

“You better watch that coughing, pal, or I'm gonna make the prince kiss the woodcutter instead.”

Steve hacks into his elbow, forehead damp with sweat as he gives a delirious smile, “Now there's a real story.”

He coughs, feeling a sudden blush erupt across his cheeks, “Anyway…”

Either way, it usually gets the blonde boy laughing and smiling that nice smile of his, so Bucky counts it away as a win for himself.

He's woken up with rocks on his bedroom window more often than naught. Pushing up from his bed, rubbing the sleep outta his eyes as he opens the latch for you before plopping back down on the edge of his bed.

You've got it down to a sort of science now after one too many close calls with his Ma and sisters. Climbing up the old drain pipe next to the house to get on the roof over the porch before making it to the second-floor window.

He's already got his arms open, waiting, when you crawl through the window and land on the cold floor.

“Come 'ere, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a tired yawn.

It’s the first time he ever calls you that - he won’t remember that fact a few years down the line, but it’s definitely the first of many. Why he says it, much like with everything else when it comes to you, he's not all too sure. Just that it seems right in the moment.

This had been going on for the past five months now - ever since your Pa went and decided to get married to that young new shopkeeper.

It’s not every night, not even every week. But just often enough to have his Ma worryin' over getting authority figures involved when she’d find you, inevitably, on their living room couch. You never got caught sneaking out of his room each morning though.

The town talked 'bout it all the time in their quiet gossiping whispers, but hell if any of 'em wanted to get in the middle of that mess. Folks were weird like that - they’d turn a blind eye to the bruises but still scoff at your too-small shoes or uneven braids in the same breath.

You melt into his arms as he pulls you down onto the bed, kicking his legs to get the blankets back up and over you as you curl into his left side.

He doesn't know when you weaseled your way into his life like this, but he's not complaining much about it. There’s just something with it that feels right. Like some part of himself, way deep down, just knows that this is the way things are supposed to be.

Bucky's not sure what he believes in when it comes to the idea of fate. But he figures there's gotta be something to the concept when your arms feel so right wrapping 'round his middle.

Sometimes you stay up all night, letting his soft stories keep the two of you from drifting off. Other times, you draw lazy patterns on his arms and hands with your finger, humming an old song he doesn't recognize.

“ 's pretty,” he says one night, voice cracking from disuse.

You stop the gentle tune, licking your lips, hands clutching his shirt, “Thanks.”

“What is it?”

Your knee knocks against his thigh as you try and curl in further, mouth muffled by his chest, “Dunno. Mamma used 'a sing it.”

When he isn’t torn between you and Steve, he’s at home fixing things on the farm. Mending the fences, tinkering with the tractor, rushing to help his Ma with the late harvest. His grades are slipping fast, but the crops don’t plant themselves and he’s the only one strong enough to haul the water and split the wood.

He’s thirteen when he decides to leave school at the start of winter break.

He had heard his Ma talking to someone the other night - his Dad's spirit, apparently, from the sounds of it - contemplating selling off her good pearls to get them through till the spring. And that had been the nail in the coffin for him.

“Oh, George. What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?”

George Barnes left them hell to deal with when he blew his brains out and going to school all day wasn’t helping them out of that situation any time soon.

She doesn’t put up as much of a fight as he thought she would.

“I’ll take up odd jobs, work down at the mill or somethin’ - Winston’s had a for-hire sign in their window last week, I can deliver groceries and feed. I’m gonna make sure we’re fine, Ma. I promise.”

Steve, on the other hand, has a string of words for him when he returns to school for that last week of instruction.

“Don’t worry about me, pal. You got a bright future ahead of ya - ”

“So do you,” the younger boy snorts indignantly, slamming the sketchbook closed on his lap.

Bucky scuffs his boot on the ground, avoiding the other boy’s gaze as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets, “Steve - ”

“No, you got a chance to get out of this place, Buck. A real honest to God chance. Don’t throw it away like that.”

They had talked about it before, on one of those hazy summer nights. A few years out and he could go to trade school, maybe become a mechanic or somethin'.

If they studied their asses off, they could try and get into the university downstate. It had an art program there that had Steve nearly salivating at the idea of joining. Best in the state, he had said.

But now… now that just seemed like a young farm kid's dream. Visions of leaving the only thing you've ever known.

“I gotta do this, Steve. There’s five of us and my Ma can only do so much. Martha's never even had her own clothes before - she’s three and every dress she’s got looks like a quilt from all the patchwork. She needs help and I oughta be the one to do it.”

Steve sighs, long and low, “ ‘m gonna tell Winona.”

Bucky’s eyes flash towards the other boy’s in an instant, “Don’t you dare. I’ll whip your hide, pal.”

He gives him a contemplating look, slowly nodding, before taking off ‘round the schoolhouse in a sudden burst of energy, screaming your name.

“Shit - ” Bucky takes off after him, stumbling over the willow's snow-covered roots, but it’s already too late.

You’re stomping ‘round the corner with a storm brewing in your dark eyes as you level him with an unordinary sternness, “James Barnes, you better listen and you better listen to me good.”

There’s only one girl who could take him down with nothing more than a single scathing look. Sometimes, he’s afraid to admit he’s grown a bit of a soft spot for you.

He’s thirteen and his chest aches when you don’t follow him home on that last day at school. You don't come 'round at all. No more rocks on his window, no more gentle humming in his ear.

Bucky catches sight of you, three weeks later, when he’s helping out the widower in town with her leaky roof. He’s precariously balancing on a wooden ladder, trying to patch up the spot above the kitchen, when you come down the snow-covered street with Steve on your arm. The other boy’s cheeks are bitter red from the cold wind, but he’s smiling - laughing at something you said in his ear.

He doesn’t know why, but with his icy hands struggling to grip the hammer and nails just right, seeing the two of you sends a hot rush of anger coursing through him with such a sudden intensity, it makes him nearly vomit.

Steve spots him because of course he does. You, on the other hand, are very pointedly looking at everything but him.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Steve.”

The blonde boy shuffles his feet awkwardly, “How was your Christmas?”

“Fine,” he spits, slamming the hammer down too hard, bending the nail.

The younger boy had been absent from church for the past two weeks - probably held up in bed once again. And you weren’t there for Christmas mass either, but he was trying real hard not to think about why that might have been.

“You workin’?”

Bucky tosses the hammer down on the shingles, exacerbated, “That your first guess, pal?”

Steve’s eyes widen, bright blue against snow white. Bucky’s stomach lurches.

I’ve got troubled thoughts and self-esteem to match.

You step in, grabbing hold of your companion’s elbow, “Come on, Steve. Barnes is a big boy now. He doesn’t have the time of day for kids like us.”

The hammer goes skidding across the roof, sliding down until it lands in the snowdrift next to the house, words spitting out like venom from his twisted lips, “You think you know everything, don’t you, sweetheart?”

What a catch. What a catch.

You scowl, blowing him a raspberry before dragging Steve along by the arm.

Something deep inside of Bucky breaks as he watches the two of you trudge through the snow.

And all I can think of is the way I’m the one who charmed the one who gave up on you.

Part of him wants to take off down the ladder, go running after you both with a flurry of apologies. Instead, he digs the discarded hammer out of the foot of snow and climbs back up to the roof to finish the patching job.

Who gave up on you.

It’s Easter Sunday when he sees you walk into the church with Steve and his mother.

You’re never there for Sunday service - nor is your Pa and his young wife, but it is a holy day so he imagines Mrs. Rogers was able to convince you to come along with them.

Steve looks scrawny in his ill-fitting tie and too-greased hair. Whereas you are clearly wearing a new dress. And, Bucky suspects, it didn’t come from your own family. The fine lace collar looks like the handicraft of the fragile woman next to you.

The three of you come down the row where the Barnes’ are sat - because, of course, his Ma and Sarah Rogers were still the best of friends.

“That’s a lovely pattern, dear,” his mother says to you before the service starts. "Sarah, you did wonders with that lace."

You duck your head, hands fidgeting in your lap, “Thank you.”

Instead of shouting over the row of kids to speak to one another, Sarah moves down to sit between Bucky and his Ma - which makes his four sisters want to sit next to the women, so he ends up getting shoved to the end. Which forces him to sit next to you and Steve without any buffer.

He’s fourteen and he is all too aware of your body next to his. Of that small space where your dress is pressed up 'gainst his hand. The accidental nudge of your shiny shoe against his.

Bucky's also aware that three months for an apology is too little too late. But it’s Easter Sunday and they’re sitting in the house of the Lord, so he’s got to try.

Turning his head slightly towards you, keeping his voice low, “Winona?”

Your eyes flicker up to his, dark and full of simmering hope.

“I’m a real jerk and you don’t owe me nothin’ - ”

You nod, eyes level with the pew in front of you, “You’re right. I don’t.”

Taking a shaky breath, he continues, “Yeah. But I’m sorry. With everything I got, sweetheart - Steve - ” the other boy perks his head up, catching his gaze as well - “I’m real sorry. To both of you. The two of you didn’t deserve a lick of my frustrations.”

Steve’s eyes flicker from him to you, “ ‘s okay, Buck. You got a lot on your plate.”

“Doesn’t mean I should’ve been a jerk - ”

“Oh, you were a real punk,” you say with a sly grin, gently knocking your shoulder against his. “But, if you promise to come ‘round every now and then, I think we might be able to forgive you some.”

He nods, it’s a start.

That following Tuesday, he stops by the schoolyard - much to your surprise. Comin' 'round to walk you both home, just because he can. You fill him in on everything that he’s missed while he regales all the odd jobs he’s done in the time since.

He's got a comfortable arm around the other boy's shoulders while your hands seem to brush together whenever you have to shove yourself over into the two of them when a wagon or car goes by.

Steve bids his farewell, waving you both off when he starts hacking into his arm. Promising he’ll have his mama take a look when he gets home.

And then it’s just the two of you - walking side-by-side down the dirt road to your house on the outskirts of town, fingers occasionally brushing together. He wonders, briefly, why he’s never done this before.

“She cracked my knuckles something good,” you sigh, rubbing your hands together. Bucky can still see the bruising on them.

“Well,” he whistles low. “Maybe don’t go pickin’ fights with people like them and you won’t get yourself a permanent dunce cap.”

You come to a stop, eyes locked on a place far away from here as you gaze out at the empty fields - still muddy from last night’s rain.

“They said my Mamma was better off dead than livin’ with me as a daughter, Buck. Said my Daddy should'a finished the job.”

His brow creases, hands balling up into involuntary fists at his sides. A bunch of words come to mind as he looks down at the top of your head, but nothing comes out. He never seemed to know the right thing to say.

“Maybe they’re right. Didn’t care much either way when I slammed her head into the ground.”

He says the only thing he can, “ 'Nona...”

Your lips form a grimace, eyes briefly meeting his, “Thanks for the company, but I think I’ll go on from here alone, Buck.”

He flounders, unsure of what to do - only knowing that he wants to reach out and grab hold of you before you wander too far from him. But you’re already jumping over the ditch, shoes squelching through the wet wheat field.

Steve is where he finds some semblance of an answer.

The younger boy is wrapped up in bed again, shaking like a leaf every few minutes as the remnants of his latest fever run their course.

“It’s rough, Buck. Ever since you left, she’s been off more than she used to be. Don’t think we’ve gone a single day without something - always getting it from Miss Perry.”

She’s been scolded, sent to the corner, rapped on the knuckles, tanned on the backside, made to write lines and apology letters and promises of doing better. From the sounds of it, she’s a single fight away from being kicked out of the school entirely.

“I’ve tried, believe me. It’s like she doesn’t care if she stays or goes anymore.”

Bucky laces his fingers together, leaning forward on the wooden chair, “Why?”

“Dunno. 'S here more often than not,” Steve admits.

In this tiny one-bedroom apartment above the post office. Bucky takes a look around the room, wondering where exactly you sleep. Wonders if you’ve been finding comfort in Steve’s arms ever since he dropped outta school and stopped being around to help.

You come to Steve’s house, on his thirteenth birthday, with a blooming yellow and purple eyelid. No one says anything 'bout it, but Bucky sees red and he can tell that Steve feels the same flash of anger.

He’s gifted a set of charcoals, a new shirt from his mom, and a batch of over-baked gingersnaps from you. It’s a modest celebration, just the three of you there to partake in the simple raisin cake, but it feels right.

“Gonna have to draw up somethin’ pretty for me,” you say, picking up each little crumb from your plate, savoring the rare treat.

Steve blushes all the way to his ears before replying, “Can’t just draw pictures of you all day.”

Bucky blinks at the boldness of it, surprised to hear it come from his best friend’s lips. Maybe he had missed out on more than he'd originally realized.

You give a small smile, shyly hiding your eye with your hand before looking over at him, “I said pretty, Steve. Gotta sketch Bucky instead.”

That makes both the boys snort with laughter, though his cheeks flush with a surprising heat at the implication. He can feel Steve’s sudden gaze, burning with something still unsaid. It just doesn’t feel like the right time to pry into it though.

Later that night, when the sun’s gone down and the parade has given way to drunken partiers, you’re sat between them both - watching the fireworks going off in the distance. Head on his shoulder, hand on Steve’s knee. Dark eyes shimmering with the colorful explosions high up in the sky.

It’s the first time he ever thinks about kissing you.

He's sixteen when he pays your first bail posting. Four dollars right out of his own pocket to get you outta there. It’s not like your old man was gonna be coming to the rescue any time soon, nor did he probably give a damn.

It had been his kid sister who came running to the mill to tell him what happened - cause she saw it from across the street at the post office with her friend. He had thrown the last six sacks onto the truck and hightailed it into town.

Cut me off, I lost my track. It's not my fault, I'm a maniac. It's not funny anymore, no it's not.

“The hell were you thinking?” he mutters when you're a safe enough distance away from the police station, hand locked on your wrist, cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Dunno,” you reply numbly, allowing yourself to get dragged along - all the fight dissipated from your body.

They said you had stolen a handful of things from Winston’s store. Times were hard for everyone. But he never… never could have thought that you would go stealing things. And it wasn't just food - no, that he could understand.

It was the top-shelf stuff, the things worth an actual pretty penny.

“I need to get away from here, Buck. From this whole damn town.”

My heart is like a stallion, they love it more when it's broken.

You come to a stop at the edge of the main street, where the cobblestones turn to dirt road. He fixes you with a look. He thinks of you and your brilliant brain and you and your drunk of a father. He pictures your life, for a flash of a second, if you remain here in this place for another second.

Do you wanna feel beautiful, do you wanna? Yeah.

You look like you’re seconds away from crying all over your pretty cheeks. Hands balled up into angry fists at your sides.

Taking a drag from the cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a rush as he holds it between his fingers, he asks, “Where you wanna go, sweetheart?”

‘Cause I don't know where you're going, but do you got room for one more troubled soul?

It’s then, when you look up at him with wide wondering eyes, that everything shifts.

I don't know where I'm going, but I don't think I'm coming home.

He’s not sure just what he’s offering you in that moment, he’s only got a nickel in his pocket after all. But he’s looking into your dark, gorgeous eyes and he just wants to give you the world. Whatever it takes.

And I said I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead.

Bringing your hands to his cheeks before rising up on your toes, your eyes seem to assess his gaze for a moment.

And then you’re pressing your lips to his.

This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end. Say, yeah.

A shocked gasp of air escapes his mouth until he comes to his senses and kisses you right. Pushing against your embrace as he tugs you towards his chest with a desperate hand grabbing hold of the collar of your dress.

It’s not his first kiss, but it doesn’t matter none. Nothing before this can even compare.

The cigarette falls to the ground, forgotten, as he grips your waist with his now free hand, dragging his tongue along your bottom lip like you’re not standing in the middle of main street - like he didn’t just bail you out of jail.

Let's be alone together. We could stay young forever.

“Take you wherever you want, ‘Nona,” he promises against your lips, unable to stop himself from pressing another soft kiss to them.

You nod, foreheads rubbing together, tears balling up in the corners of your eyes, “Take me somewhere safe, Buck. Please. Get me out of here.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, tucking your head in under his chin - holding you there, tight, with his hands.

Another kiss to your hair, a little more assured in his own voice, “Okay.”

Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs.

When you turn fifteen, you spend the evening drinking stolen whiskey in the woods next to the watering hole outside of town.

It’s become your own space - hidden away in a grove of wispy willow trees and old cedars. With a really tipsy Steve by your side and Bucky staring down at you fondly with a protective arm around your waist.

You didn't put a name to it, even though it had been a year and a half, everyone just seemed to understand that wherever you went Bucky wouldn't be far behind. And that was enough for the two of you.

He doesn’t flinch, barely even registers it actually, when you lean over - laughing at something you had just said to them, a little slurred ‘round the edges - and kiss the other boy squarely on the lips.

Steve soon discovers that your mouth tastes like fresh-picked blackberries and whiskey.

It’s strange, or he should find it strange, that you’re soon tugging the other boy’s shirt free from his pants. Pulling at his suspenders and unbuttoning his overshirt. Bucky should find it strange that Steve is kissing your neck and looking at him for any sign of distaste or confirmation.

Hell or Glory. I don’t want anything in between.

He should really find it strange, but he doesn’t.

Because none of it is. It’s just always been the three of you, it seems.

So, Bucky rubs your bare calve as you lay on Steve’s chest and exchange lazy drunken kisses. Propping his chin up with his hand as he smiles, feeling a warmth spreading through his chest - igniting his heart like a direct ray of sunlight.

It's only after several more swigs of courage from the bottle that Bucky gets to discover what the other boy's lips taste like for himself.

It ain't like nothin' he's ever had before - can't even compare it to you, it's just that much different. But damn him, the whole thing just feels all that more right.

"I wanna get away from here," you tell him, some odd number of days later, with your fingers rubbing little circles on his bare chest, hooking under the hem of his open shirt.

Bucky's got a hand on your shoulder, drawing idle patterns as the radio croons in the corner. He’s got you all to himself for the next hour and he’s not plannin’ on wasting a second of it.

"Where you wanna go, sweetheart?"

Your expression is earnest when you meet his adoring heavy-lidded blue eyes, "Anywhere."

My words are my faith, to hell with our good name.

He's seventeen when he buys a 1927 Chrysler from a poor chump who was willing to sell it for almost nothing - desperate as hell after his company went under.

Bucky spends three days babying it before he drives into town and grabs the two of you from Steve's apartment. Because if you wanted to get out of town, there was no way you were leaving without the other boy at this point. It was the three of you or bust.

His Ma thinks he's got a job in the next town over. Steve's mama is working a shift at the hospital three hours away - there was another TB outbreak. And your Pa, well, if he wasn't in a drunken stupor he probably wouldn't even notice if you left or not.

At the first crossroad the three of you come across, you just close your eyes and point - no real destination in mind. And Bucky honors your choice, heading south through a never-ending sea of wheat fields.

They cross the Missouri border later that afternoon, with your hand clutching his inner thigh. Leaning against Steve as he strokes the base of your neck, while rows and rows of towering green trees pass by.

You're humming something sweet and lazy and Bucky's not sure if he's ever seen you so relaxed before. He wants to see it all the time now, addicted to the way your smile widens every time you catch his eye.

Stopping just off the roadside, when the daylight begins to wane and Bucky's squinting to see the road in front of him, you set up a makeshift camp. A little fire roars as you dole out the sandwiches you had packed for the trip.

You're resting in Steve's arms, offering him a warm smile from across the firelight.

Sometimes Bucky wonders how it all fell into place so natural-like. He knows this ain’t normal, doesn’t really care all that much about that fact. But it’s never been… hard. No hiccups, no bumps in the road so to speak.

"Play me something, Buck?"

He shakes his head fondly, "Not on your life, sweetheart."

Steve drops his chin onto your shoulder, joining your crusade, "Play something for the girl."

One look at him and the dancing embers reflected in his dark blue eyes has Bucky standing with a lazy stretch, a rush of warmth filling his belly as he grabs the guitar you had made him throw in the backseat. How the hell you had enough money to buy it for him on his birthday is still a mystery, but he’d never smiled so wide before when you handed it over.

He takes his time, fiddling with the tuners for a minute as you run your hand up and down Steve's arm. Giving it a practice strum before situating it the way he likes, Bucky gulps a nervous breath.

"Something sweet," you add, fighting back a yawn as Steve chuckles against your cheek, dropping a chaste kiss there.

"Alright, alright," he waves his hand at you before grabbing up the pick between his fingers.

His voice starts out off-pitch and scratchy, but a cautious glance at the two of you has him gaining a bit more confidence as he sings into the soft night air.

"Every kiss, every hug seems to act just like a drug. You're getting to be a habit with me."

Throwing a wink your way, you giggle against the other man's embrace.

"Let me stay in your arms, I'm addicted to your charms. You're getting to be a habit with me - you know you are, sweetheart!"

Steve whoops in agreement.

"I used to think your love was something that I could take or leave. But now I couldn't do without my supply."

He finishes off the rest of the song with some wild chords and overzealous strumming before carefully tossing the guitar to the side and plopping down on the blanket next to the two of you.

"Am I your habit, Buck?" you ask with a coy smile.

His hands find the smooth skin of your chest, fingers trailing down your sternum to the gentle curve of your perfect breasts.

" 'd say that's a fair assumption," he murmurs with a heavy gravel, eyes gone dark with desire as he leans up to capture your lips with his own.

A teenage vow in a parking lot. 'Til tonight do us part. I sing the blues and you swallow them too.

Bucky wakes up with you in his arms and Steve's hand gripping his bicep from the other side of your sleeping form - still lightly snoring into your hair as you twitch in your sleep.

Watching the two of you for a long quiet while. Lost in this strange new world, dewdrops on the edge of the blanket and soft morning fog still rollin' around, your body curled into the warmth of his chest - Steve not far behind.

He stares at your eyelashes, almost reaches out to touch them. The same with your kiss-bruised lips. When Steve’s eyelids flutter open and they meet each other’s cautious gaze from over your bare shoulder. A silent understanding passes between them as Bucky brings his lips to the other boy’s knuckles.

If they had a choice, if they didn’t have people waiting for them back home, Steve and him probably would’ve followed you to the ends of the Earth if you asked them to.

But you’re young, barely got enough between the three of you combined to afford gasoline and food at a hole-in-the-wall diner on the way. You definitely don’t have the funds to be in the middle of New Orleans, but here you are.

Car parked back on the side of the road amongst the billowing maiden grass, you standing up to your knees in the cool waters of the Gulf - pretty green dress rucked up around your thighs as you stare out at that crystal blue horizon.

Steve’s squinting against the radiant sunlight next to him, gently leaning into Bucky’s side without being too obvious in case anyone comes ‘round.

“She makes me want to do this forever. You too,” he adds after a soft moment.

Bucky affords him a glance, fingers rubbing over the edge of a sand dollar he had picked up from the shoreline, cigarette dangling from his chapped pink lips.

“That so?”

The blonde nods, tucking his hands in his pockets as he looks out at you - you’re bending over now, hands dipping down for something below the water’s surface.

“Place like that isn’t right for her - for us. Never seen her smile so much.”

He takes a long drag, blowing the smoke from his lips before sucking it back in with a sigh, “Gotta make a livin’ somehow, Stevie. Can't just live on corned beef sandwiches and pretty dreams.”

The other boy glances down at his bare feet in the warm sand, voice soft, “I know.”

Bucky hands him the sand dollar, letting his fingers graze across the smooth pads of Steve’s palm for longer than necessary. The seashell gets safely tucked away in his shirt pocket, right above his heart.

You come skipping back up to them then, holding a thing of little shells for the two of them to see. But it’s not shells, it’s a handful of water that you immediately throw into Bucky’s face.

You take off running as he chases you across the beach - swooping you up from behind as your infectious laugh echoes against the gentle tide rolling in.

We are wild - we are like young volcanoes.

Steve watches from the shaded spot next to the small sand dune, laughing as you come charging at him - tucking into his side and pulling him down on top of you with a breathless smile.

“Save me, darlin’!” you cry, smile as bright as the sunlight overhead.

We are wild. Americana exotica. Do you wanna feel a little beautiful baby? Yeah.

Bucky’s eyes flicker from the image of the two of you towards the seemingly perfect scene of the water lapping against the shore. He wonders, briefly, what a carefree life would even look like for the three of you. If it was even possible.

Biting at his lip, he flicks the smoldering bud onto the beach and wanders back over to you both - allowing himself to get dragged down. Sand in his hair, lips on his cheeks, laughter bubbling up from his chest.

There’s hell to pay when they come crawling back into town a week and a half later. The rumors were already flying, apparently, when the three of you up and disappeared. But now? It’s a miracle he can even walk into the church without burning up on the spot.

His Ma's got him banned from seeing either of you. Though you still manage to sneak 'round once or twice to keep his mind from worrying too hard.

Bucky can tell. Steve can tell. They see the way it all eats at you, slowly. While they only hear a fraction of what you get - your reputation, and your Pa’s preceding you, already gives you a target on your back.

When he hears one of the guys pondering if you snuck out of town to go see that kind of special doctor who helps get rid of certain… things, Bucky almost punches a damn hole in the side of the silo - the foreman has to restrain him from beating the guy’s face in when he calls you easy.

You’re fifteen and you don’t deserve an ounce of what’s being thrown at you.

You spend more time waiting ‘round outside the mill than you do at school - no matter how much he tells you off for it. Anytime you’re at the watering hole, you’re reluctant to let them leave for the night. More often than he’d like, he’s waking up to the cool morning breeze and a tree root under his back.

Shivering like a leaf when he draws you and Steve near.

If he just had a little more money, he could get out on his own - get his own place. Then it wouldn’t be late-night rendezvous and freezing cold sunrise wakeups. He just needed a little more.

Drumming his hands on the counter as Officer Pently completes your processing, Bucky fixes you with a stern expression that you choose to ignore completely. Steve’s impatiently bouncing on the balls of his feet next to him, just out of sight from the sheriff’s deputy.

Between the two of them, they have enough for your twenty-nine dollar bail posting.

You’re sixteen and you’ve just been arrested on your second arson charge. Hell, they had passed the blackened remains of the old barn on the way here. Bucky had wanted to stop and help the volunteer firemen lugging buckets, but Steve had pushed him forward.

“Yeah, ‘cause they’d want our help, Buck.”

Things had been getting worse. Sure, he had a steady job working at the mill and Steve had just graduated a few weeks back. But you? Hell, you still felt trapped in this place. Suffering under the weight of your father, of school that you didn’t feel was necessary anymore.

Bucky knew you heard the gossip that surrounded your every move. The whispers of troubled homes, lack of guiding maternal figures, hanging around with delinquent youths like him and Steve. And when exactly were you going to start acting like a proper young lady?

He’s not all too sure why the gossiping bats think you need to suddenly change into something you clearly aren’t. He likes you - they like you - just the way you are.

Rough edges and sly smiles and a perfect body that seems to sing under their touch.

“What was the reason this time?” Steve asks plainly as you step out onto the street, watching as another crew of men haul water from the stables across the street.

You shrug, taking Bucky’s hand in yours, gently rubbing a hand on the back of Steve’s arm for a moment.

“It was an eyesore. Bound to come down eventually.”

Bucky nods, pulling you in by the waist - dropping a kiss to the top of your head. There was no use arguing with you anymore, he learned that several arrests back.

“It was. But, sweetheart, you’re gonna run us dry if you keep this up.”

“Guess I just have to get better at hiding the evidence then, huh?”

Steve scoffs, falling into step next to the two of you, hands stuffed into his pockets, “Or you could just not do it.”

You laugh, giving his shoulder a gentle push, “Sounds dull.”

He cranes his neck behind you to lock eyes with Bucky, “She’s gonna burn this place to the ground, pal.”

For his benefit, Bucky does give you a wary look then - silently agreeing with the sentiment, “Probably, Steve. Probably.”

It’s a few months later, the day after a massive snowstorm rips through the state - covering the tiny town in looming frozen drifts.

Bucky spends the better part of the morning shoveling out a path to the barn, hauling in wood from the shed with Becca. He doesn’t make it into town until well after noon, and by then, Steve’s apartment has got a nice sprinkling of frost on the inside of the window panes.

“Jesus, pal,” he breathes out, watching his breath linger in the air of the kitchen.

“T-tell me 'bout it,” the younger boy mumbles, shivering under a pile of blankets before falling to another coughing fit.

His mama was out of town again - for a birth actually - but the storm had kept her from returning home last night. And Steve was in no fit state to be taking care of himself, bringing in wood, or boiling water.

Bucky, after getting the fire going again, settles in behind the other boy, letting the blankets drape over them both. He’s still got his gloves on when he wraps his hands around Steve’s small torso - resting his cold nose against his soft blonde hair.

He still shivers, even with the extra body heat there to warm him up. His chest seizes up with each painful hack and cough. He’s trying his best to hide the blood in the handkerchief, but Bucky’s not blind.

There’s nothing he can actually do - Steve refuses the aspirin 'cause it'll only make the stomach ulcers worse off. So, Bucky's stuck just holding the younger boy as tight as he can - willing it to pass once again.

He gets so wrapped up in Steve, that it’s nearing nightfall before he even has a second to think about you. Now that the sick boy is finally out, twitching in his sleep, wrapped up in Bucky’s arms. It shouldn’t bother him so much, but the idea of you not being here with them is really picking at his brain.

It doesn’t sit right with him, at all.

You should be here. Or they should be there. Whatever.

You needed a house - a proper house - all your own. He’s not sure if you even want that. You're not the apron-wearing homemaker his mother is. He can't picture you carrying around chubby-faced babes or darning socks for them. You can't cook or bake to save your life.

If he can find you a place though, with willow trees shading your lazy summer days. Somewhere with enough space for a little garden. A nook tucked against a window for you to read in while Steve draws or Bucky dozes.

He can picture the three of you - somewhere away from this godforsaken town in the middle of nowhere Iowa. In a bed big enough to hold you all. Steve’s sketches and drawings on the wall, his guitar in the corner. A cupboard for all the dresses he would buy you.

He wanted you to have the best - the prettiest things. He so wanted you - and Steve - to have more than what this world had afforded you both.

But living on a mill boy's wages wasn't going to get you very far.

Sarah’s back in town the next morning, there to take over on Steve’s usual round of medications, which gives Bucky the chance to head out your way to check in on you. He sneaks a kiss to Steve’s cheek on the way out while his mama prepares the doses, fingers lingering for just a second too long.

The house is nearly seven miles from the center of town and he’s finding himself very grateful for the fact that his Ma got talked into buying a horse last autumn to help with the plowing. Because it means he’s high off the deep snow-covered road, instead of suffering through it in his old boots - risking a nasty case of frostbite.

The ride itself is pretty quiet, passing only one other person out braving the cold on the entire stretch of path. And then, in the distance, he sees it.

The low curling plume of black smoke against the stark white landscape.

“No, no, no, goddamnit,” he’s muttering to himself, kicking the sides of the stallion - making him gallop through the snow as fast as he can.

The overwhelming smell of burning wood hits him like a train car within the next half-mile and by then he's frantic, clinging to the horn as he urges the horse on faster. Past the abandoned flour mill, crumbling into the earth now, the giant dogwood tree comes into view and he’s throwing himself from the saddle to take off running.

The entire house is engulfed in vicious orange flames.

He screams your name - raw and desperate as pure panic courses through his veins - sprinting towards the front of the house. The heat radiating off the building has him stumbling back, wiping his brow before he throws his weight against the door - trying to get it to budge.

The sudden rush of oxygen when the wooden door breaks free of its hinges sends a wave of fire right at him - barely able to dive out of the way in time. Within seconds, the entire porch is aflame and Bucky can do nothing but stumble back into the yard - watching in horror as the second floor begins to creak, support beams splitting in two.

As the top of the house buckles and crashes down onto the main floor, a burst of heat shoots out with a warning whip-like crack. And then he hears it over the roar of flames - howling sobs from around the back of the house.

He slips on the snow, desperate when his boots sink into the drift and his hands clutch the cold, as he goes running towards the back kitchen entrance.

There he finds you, splayed out on the ground, clutching the hem of your bloody dress. Screaming out snot-covered angry sobs.

“Winona,” he sighs, thanking the Lord above that you’re safe, as he takes three careful strides before sinking down on his knees next to you.

Your chest quakes with the torment of your pain. Bucky pulls you ‘round, tucking your face against his coat as your muffled screams continue to wrack your body. Two bloody handprints find their home on his front, bracketing your head.

He spares your Pa a brief glance over the top of your hair. The ghostly wide eyes and massive pool of crimson blood seeping out onto the fresh snow tell him enough.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I got you, come on,” he whispers against your ear, pulling you up into his arms, trudging back through the snow till he’s able to get you up on the horse - still waiting a ways down the road, a little spooked.

When he’s sure you’re settled on right - still crying out, but settled - he goes back to the side of the house.

Your hands instinctively reach out for him, mouth gaping as you try to say his name when he returns minutes later.

“Shhh, it’s fine, sweetheart. It’s all fine.”

You can only blame your problems on the world for so long before it all becomes the same old song. As soon as we hit the hospital I know we're gonna leave this town.

He wipes the blood from his hands out on the snow before dragging his boot through it to cover it all up. Hopping up behind you in the saddle, clicking his tongue and turning the creature away from the smoldering remnants of your home.

Bucky doesn’t take his hand off your middle, even when they arrive at Steve’s front door - to the gasping horror of Sarah Rogers.

It takes three days before the authorities are able to go out and investigate the structure - attributing it to a kitchen accident when they find your Pa’s charred body next to the woodstove.

It takes you almost a week to even utter a word to either him or Steve. But when you do, all you have to say is that the young shopkeep skipped town and that he didn’t take it well. Then you clamp your lips together and stare off out the little window in Steve’s room.

They never bring it up again.

You’re seventeen and your job prospects are nonexistent. They watch you go from place to place, looking for an opportunity only for none to be given out. Steve bites his tongue while Bucky glares at each and every business owner whose store you walk out of.

It ain’t right. ‘Specially when a job that supposedly didn’t exist gets filled by the end of the week by some other desperate sap.

You’re living with Steve and his mama now, but you’re barely around. Finding your balm with the bottom of a whiskey bottle. They don’t know where you keep gettin’ 'em, but there’s probably a good reason why Winston’s wasn’t willin’ to hire you.

Bucky works the long shifts at the mill every day before going home to help out his own family. He’s nineteen and it feels like his back’s already breaking under the weight of responsibility.

He tells his Ma over and over again that they should hire sparehands to tend the fields, but she's not ready to give up on his father's dream just yet. So, it falls to him to do it all.

The dream of several summers past - that impromptu road trip down to the ocean - ain’t nothing more than a distant idea now. Memory’s all clouded over with flour dust and calloused hands that split open and bleed out.

His car’s long since sold off, the horse too now. Steve’s mama is working all the long shifts at the hospital three hours away - sleeping in the waiting room instead of traveling back home each day. They’re struggling to pay for Steve’s new round of heart medication.

And you’re doing real odd jobs to help out - tailoring clothes for the blind widower, filling in for the diner’s chef even though you can’t cook to save your life.

None of it’s amounting to anything and it has Bucky wanting to walk out into a field and scream till someone up above gives him a damn answer.

“What’d that cabinet ever do to you?”

Your voice pulls him from his silent stupor, sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed with a curious look on your pretty features.

“Just thinkin’,” he murmurs, turning away from the wardrobe situated in the corner of the small room.

You hum, “Mhmm. Can see that a mile away, darling.”

With a sigh, he rounds the bed, taking a heavy seat next to you. Steve was picking up an order for his mama across the street.

“This isn’t what I want for us.”

Your soft hands creep ‘round till he’s being pulled into your embrace, fingers splayed out over his stomach, your lips on his neck. A ghost of a kiss to his sensitive skin.

“We’ll run away then,” you whisper, slowly pulling at the buttons of his shirt.

Bucky scoffs, voice catching in his throat as his aching blue eyes meet your gaze, “Can’t live on pennies and promises, sweetheart. I oughta be - shit!”

Your fingers dip down below the waist of his pants, lips quirking up into a pleased smile.

“You sound stressed, Buck.”

He gulps, hands flying back on the bed as his hips thrust up to meet your careful touch, “You’re tellin’ me - fuuuck, sweetheart. Oh, honey, just like that.”

You never give him a real solution to his all-consuming problem, but you certainly know how to distract him and Steve.

The three of you are all just living day-to-day, as much as you can. Saving every bit you’re able to for that all too distant dream lingering in your minds. He gets a minor raise when he takes on a supervisor position at the mill. You find work at the bar across town while Steve sends out a few submission pieces for the county paper.

It’s enough to keep you comfortable but stuck. For a whole year, it stays that way.

And then Steve’s mama collapses on the way to work and suddenly the world comes crashing down on the three of you as you watch her wither away before your very eyes. It’s slow, it’s stretched out, and it’s all too painfully real.

She passes on a Thursday in early spring, chickadees singing a song for her outside the window when she takes her last breath, rosary beads slipping from her frail fingers - landing in a clattering heap on the floorboards.

Steve walks down the back stairs and stalks over to the empty cornfield behind the apartment to stare at nothing for a long while. Bucky holds you by the shoulders as you sob into the bedcovers.

Sarah Rogers had been too damn kind for a town like this. She took you in when no one else would, fixed every god-awful injury you brought to her with teary eyes and a quivering lip. No one but his own mother could compare.

After getting things fixed away with the coroner and the church for the following Sunday, Bucky wanders out in search of you two. He finds you, a short distance away, with your arms wrapped around Steve - who’s shaking like a leaf on the ground as he sobs something awful into your chest.

It tugs at Bucky’s very soul as he trips over his own feet in a rush to get to the two of you.

“Shhh, darlin’,” you whisper, hands tucked into his soft blonde hair, rocking him back and forth.

Bucky kneels down, hesitant for only a second before he folds himself over the other man’s back, wrapping the two of you up as much as his arms can reach. Tears running down his cheeks as he meets your equally solemn eyes.

You had to get out of here, your gaze seems to say, or this town was gonna eat you all alive.

The tombstones were waiting, they were half-engraved. They knew it was over, they just didn't know the date.

It’s a warm night in early August. The crickets are croaking out their usual tune as Bucky leans back on the wooden staircase that leads up to Steve’s apartment above the post office.

The man in question is carefully folded into his side, hand on his chest. Moonlight shelters them from the rest of the world, far from the eyes of the town's inhabitants. The lightnin’ bugs flutter in and out of sight at the base of the steps.

“Should do it,” Steve mutters after a long stretch of silence.

Bucky pauses his hand in the other man’s hair, letting it come to a rest at the base of Steve’s neck instead. Wide dark eyes try to read his features - he hadn’t been expecting an answer so quickly.

“Y-yeah?”

He hums in reply, taking a careful drag of his asthma cigarette, flicking the ashes to the ground below them, forcing back a cough with his fist - pounding on his chest a few times to quell it.

“Can’t get a house together unless you tie the knot.”

Taking a moment to watch Steve’s carefully neutral expression, Bucky reaches out, entwining their fingers together. He inspects each knuckle with quiet contemplation.

“I’d put a ring on your finger if I could,” he muses, voice quiet as he rubs his thumb over Steve’s left ring finger.

That makes the blonde scoff, smiling behind the cigarette, “I’d look awful in a dress, pal.”

“Says you,” he laughs, grabbing at Steve’s waist, pressing a rough kiss to the sweet junction of neck just under his jawline. “Move out to Utah, get me two pretty little wives.”

Steve shakes his head, lightly kicking at Bucky’s leg, “Not on your life, Buck.”

With a quick jerk of his arms, he pulls the shorter man into his lap, giving a playful little thrust upwards. Lips quirking into a Cheshire-like grin, “Just need some convincing ‘s all.”

Steve gasps, chest shuddering as Bucky begins to gyrate his hips all slow-like. He keeps him locked there, hands clamped on Steve’s boney hips.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps down a moan - he’s never looked more beautiful.

“Oh! S-so wrong, you jerk.”

He watches Steve hobble across the room from the rather comfortable place in the younger man’s bed, lighting up a cigarette of his own in the afterglow.

The shadows and rays of moonlight illuminate Steve’s body in a real artistic way - he almost wishes he could sketch as well as the other man could. He’d fill up a whole book with nothing but this.

“Here,” the blonde says a moment later, tossing the ring over into Bucky’s waiting hands.

He catches it in his palm, fingers unfurling to inspect the delicate gold band.

“You sure?” he asks, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. It was his mama’s after all.

Steve nods, plopping back down in the bed, resting on his stomach, “Positive.”

Bucky tucks it back up into his fist, pulling the habit from his mouth so he can lean down and kiss the other man right on the lips, smoke blowing out of his nose and curling up into the quiet air of Steve’s bedroom.

He thinks about it for a full week straight. There are about a million and one opportunities for him to pop the question, but none of them ever feel right. And he’s beginning to wonder if the right moment will ever actually occur.

Thankfully, everything just kind of falls into place one summer morning.

He’s watching you from the small kitchen table in nothing but his pants and boots, suspenders resting at his sides, as you pull the bedsheets from the bed - claiming they needed a firm washin’ after the past week. Steve didn’t put up much of a fight about it, already digging around for the washboard and basin.

But Bucky, he just can’t stop staring at you. That gorgeous early morning glow on your cheeks, sunlight glimmering in your eyes.

Pressing his fist down on the table with determination, he takes two long strides over towards you, pulling the bedding from your hands - tossing it on the floor in a heap - as he rests his large palms over your hips.

“God, I love you.”

You laugh, pushing at his biceps as he nuzzles into your neck, stubble rubbing across your smooth skin.

“Steve! Come and get your hound!” you call out over your shoulder.

The blonde watches from the doorway with an amused smile gracing his lips, arms crossed over his small chest, “Told you to stop lettin’ strays in here, honey.”

And maybe it ain’t romantic like in the stories you love to read, but he drops down onto one knee and grabs your hands together in his, “Think I wanna spend the rest of this life with the two of you.”

He digs out Sarah Roger’s wedding band from his back pocket and flashes it at you, smiling in anticipation as you glance between him and Steve with wide eyes. The other man, for his part, shrugs - biting down his own amusement as you snatch the ring from between Bucky’s fingers - inspecting it with a squint.

Voice a little distant as you say, “I’m not wife material, Buck.”

He nods, standing back up, dusting off his pants as takes the ring from you, just to slide it onto your left hand instead.

“Nah, you’re not,” he agrees with a mischievous expression. “But we love you all the same, sweetheart. And if I wanna buy that farm out on the county line, I can’t have you livin’ with me in sin forever.”

With a shake of your head, you place your hand on his cheek - eyes tearin’ up with what he hopes is joy, “Like we ever cared about that before.”

You plant a kiss to his lips, fast and hard, before bounding over to Steve to kiss him squarely on the mouth - dropping quick pecks to his cheeks as you coo over the ring. Bucky feels the elation bubble up into his chest as he watches the two of you. Grinning at the sudden realization that he was gonna marry you.

The church isn’t the right fit for the three of you, so you end up getting hitched at the county courthouse with Steve and his Ma as witnesses in mid-September - when you finally hit eighteen. His sisters get all dolled up for the occasion, but he can’t stop beaming at you.

“No use in wearing somethin’ that’ll only see the light of day once,” you had told him.

Opting for one of your nicer blue dresses instead - saying it brought out his and Steve’s eyes. You broke out a bottle of perfume for the occasion too, dabbing it just behind your ears so he could become fully intoxicated by your scent when he leaned down to kiss your neck. Hungry, ravenous eyes meeting your knowing expression.

You and Steve were able to find a ring at the consignment shop in town that morning without having to spend too much on it. So, at least he gets to wear one to match yours. It feels strange on his hand for a long while. But soon, it feels like it's always been there - like a second skin.

He spins you ‘round on the front steps of the courthouse, bubbling laughter clear as the sky above as you lean down to kiss him. Steve’s envious eyes from across the way bring promise of what the night will bring you all.

“Could always hop the train over to the next county and get hitched,” you tell the blonde man on the way back home. “They’d never even know I went and got married twice over.”

That makes Steve laugh quietly, shaking his head with a smirk - fingers stretched out just far enough to graze against your own, “Maybe another day, honey.”

For the sake of his family, you play the sweet couple part real well. A peaceful little luncheon put on back at the farm with Evelyn and Grace fawning over your ring.

His Ma quietly asking how far out till she’ll be expecting to hear the pitter-patter of little feet around her house. Bucky gulps down his drink and quickly reminds Steve about his plans to go see the farmhouse later that week - ignoring the question entirely.

The three of you had counted out your savings the other night, you would have just enough to put down a decent payment on the property. No one needed to know why a newlywed couple had their best friend living with them - no one ever seemed to question the closeness of the three of you actually.

“You’re a sight, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your ear, hands wrapping ‘round your waist when he catches you alone in the kitchen.

“Must be that married glow about me,” you retort, swatting at his hand that dares to dip lower on your backside, head craning to look out of the kitchen door where his family is still pestering Steve at the dining table.

With a laugh, he spins you in his arms, eyes flicking down towards your very kissable lips, “And what a glow it is, Mrs. Barnes.”

Shaking your head, you sigh, batting your lashes up at him, “Gonna take a while to get used to that.”

Bucky shrugs, tugging you a little closer, “Got our whole lives.”

The house is well-kept when him and Steve go to inspect it the following Thursday. The old man is vying to move back east to be with his son after the recent passing of his own wife, and at the mention of Bucky’s newly married life, he seems all the more eager to sell it. Clearly, their reputation hadn’t reached his ears.

They end up shelling out almost the entirety of their funds for it, but it’s definitely worth the expense when you see the house for the first time - face lighting up with joy as you plant a kiss to his cheek and then to Steve’s before you take off running for the front door.

He carries you over the threshold before grabbing Steve and dragging him over the front as well, much to the other man’s annoyance.

It’s a nice enough home for a young couple such as yourselves. On the outskirts of town, situated on nearly five acres. The house itself is up a ways on a small hill, with the kitchen overlooking the fields below.

“Good spot for a garden,” Steve muses as you look around the yard.

You’ve got your hands draped over his chest, resting your head on his shoulder, “Wanna plant geraniums up here by the door.”

“Sure, honey. Make it look real nice.”

Bucky watches the two of you from afar, lighting up a cigarette and smiling a wicked grin.

It finally felt like everything was falling into place.

And in the end, I'd do it all again.

You carve out a quiet little existence for yourselves there at the farmhouse. Maybe a younger version of himself would have been eager to break out of the small town - go off in search of something bigger than himself. But now, watching you from the back porch as you rock back and forth in the swing, book in your hand, he doesn’t mind it one bit.

They never have to worry about strangers coming ‘round since the house is far enough away from the main road to keep the rare passerby from spying on them. It lets them feel a little more free from how carefully guarded they’ve been in the past. They don't gotta hide.

Steve’s got his pad of paper out on his lap, chiding him with a stern look for moving his head again.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, trying to get the angle right - chin in his hand, elbow on his knee, looking relaxed while being forced into statue-like stillness.

“Better be,” the other man says with a soft snort, hungry blue eyes flashing up from the page to roam over Bucky’s bare chest. The tip of his pencil circles his lips absentmindedly as he seems unsure if he should be looking at his current sketch or at Bucky.

He blinks, “Keep staring, sweetheart and you might just knock me over.”

That makes him chuckle, apparently giving up on the endeavor as he tosses the book and pencil off to the side just so he can come striding over, “Plan on doin’ more than that, Buck.”

Steve always tastes like sugar when he kisses him.

I think you're my best friend.

It’s honest work that he does at the mill. Earning enough there and from doing the odd tinkering job on the side to keep the three of you afloat. You seem content, for the most part, working at the bar in town.

Maybe he catches that sort of wild look in your eyes every now and then - that thrumming sensation in your chest that seems to say I need to get out of here. You weren’t made for the idle homemaker life - and they don’t expect none of it from you. Steve handles the cookin’ while you keep the garden from being ruined by their ignorant hands.

But when those moments hit, those sudden angry frustrations, you take to the yard - venting your thoughts on the woodpile more often than naught. They turn a blind eye when you reach for one of the bottles in the highest cabinet though.

It wasn't worth arguing over. Him and Steve just pass a cigarette back and forth on the front stoop, smoke billowing up into the softness of night until the moment passes and then they come back to pick up your shattered pieces from the bedroom floor.

You never talk about things before this little existence. Bucky doesn't feel like it would do you any good anyway. Steve doesn't know what to think, but he's always got that sad look on his face when you start hollering at the night clouds.

They've picked up enough broken bottles and wrapped enough bloody fingers for a lifetime. But it's better than handing you over the shotgun and letting you go buck wild on the stray critters that come ‘round to steal things from your precious garden.

"Maybe my head's not screwed on right," you tell him one night, hands wrapped 'round your knees as you shiver on the kitchen floor.

Steve’s already swept the length of it, using a wet rag to pick up the stray pieces of glass. He can’t even remember what set you off - just something or another about his day at work and a new guy - Carl. No, that was it. That was definitely the tipping point. He should've known better.

Bucky settles down next to you, hand on your knee, "Is anyone's, sweetheart? You're my girl and we love you and that's enough for us."

Sighing a deep, lonesome thing, you drop your head on his shoulder.

"Deserve someone better than me, Buck."

He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in, "See, that's the trouble, Winona. Don't want no one else but you."

Steve shows him his sketch later that night, rough dark lines making up your solemn shape next to Bucky's softer figure on the page. It's raw and open and he loves it.

The good moments, the good days, and weeks always outnumber the bad. The fragile mornings, before the world awakens and pulls them out kicking and screaming, are his favorite. Just wrapped up in a pile of warmth and love, someone’s hand in his hair, another over his heart.

You get four years of it before everything goes to hell.

“Buck. Bucky! James!”

He looks up from the tractor’s engine, hands covered in grease and oil, brows rising at the urgent tone in your voice that has him running from the workshed to the house.

“Winona? Sweetheart?” he calls, trying to rub his hands clean on the work rag.

Mind already racing. Steve had just come out of a bad state three days ago - between the arrhythmia and the ulcers, you had wanted to call in the doctor, but the reckless bastard was insistent that he was fine.

He’s tracked in mud and snow through the kitchen and living room, half expecting to see Steve strewn out on the floor, but your demeanor makes him freeze when he finds you sitting in the chair next to the radio - eyes real distant as the announcer’s static-cutting voice fills the room.

“ - The President made a brief statement which was read to reporters by his secretary. A Japanese attack upon Pearl Harbor, naturally, would mean war. Such an attack would naturally bring a counterattack and hostilities of this kind would naturally mean that the President would ask Congress for a Declaration of War. There is no doubt, that from the temper of Congress, such a declaration would be granted - ”

His body slumps against the wall as Steve’s nervous eyes meet his from across the room, hand gripping yours as you continue to stare at the radio.

Don't you know that the kids aren't all, kids aren't alright?

He gets his draft notice a month later.

You don’t say anything then, standing from the kitchen table - as he gazes over the yellow paper - and storming out the back door.

“I’m gonna register,” Steve announces, eyes flickering to the screen door still flapping open in the winter wind.

Bucky’s eyes flash with a sudden rush of anger, “Like hell you are.”

They wouldn’t take him anyway. Despite Steve’s best efforts to try at every recruiting point within a fifteen-mile radius. His anger over it almost rivals your own.

It just makes Bucky’s heart ache.

At night, you cry into his arms. Real angry sobs that make your chest heave no matter how many reassurances he kisses into your skin, no matter how many times Steve smooths his hands over your body.

“Could run away,” you propose one cold January morning, wrapped up in the quilt next to him, Steve snoring softly on the other side of you.

Bucky shakes his head, voice soft, “Not from the government, sweetheart. Not from this.”

On the morning of the twentieth, he spends his time covering your skin with deep lingering kisses. Devoting each part of your bodies with all the attention he can afford to give. He kisses Steve, long and desperate, hands never straying far from his waistband - afraid to let go.

“I love you,” he murmurs, over and over again.

There’s a handful of men at the train station outside of town, a few he recognizes. Most joined up on their own accord, unlike him.

His bag is resting at his feet, eyes scanning the crowd. You’ve got your arm looped through his, face downturned into his shoulder. Steve’s silent on the other side of him, keeping his face as neutral as possible. Hands jammed into his pockets to keep himself from reaching out.

You tense up the second the train whistles down the tracks, fingers digging into his arm like a vice - unwilling to let go.

I'll be yours.

“Hey,” he coos, turning to pull you into his arms - hands moving up to your face, forcing your eyes to look at him.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna be just fine. You got Steve to keep in line while I’m gone and I’ll be making some decent pay that I can send back to you guys - ”

You shake your head, tears welling up in your pretty eyes, the same old assurances didn’t mean nothing to you.

“It’s not fair, Bucky. It’s not.”

When it rains it pours.

He pulls you in close, savoring that final whiff of your perfume as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“It ain’t, sweetheart. But I don’t got a choice about it. So - ” he pulls back, settling you with a look, “You gotta keep that chin up for me, all right? ‘M gonna need those letters of yours to get me by. Maybe a picture to get me through a lonely night.”

That makes you give a pitiful laugh, wiping at your tears before pulling him back into a tight embrace.

Around them, similar farewells are taking place as the men slowly file onto the waiting transport train.

He presses one final kiss to your forehead, eyes fluttering shut as he savors it. Reluctantly, pulling away when the engineer starts to call out - clamping his hand down onto Steve’s shoulder, unable to do anything more than that.

“Gotta keep each other steady for me. Few weeks and I’ll get some leave, come back down here for a day or two, all right?”

Steve, uncharacteristically, pulls him into a tight fast hug. A blink and you’ll miss it kind of thing. It just makes it that much harder to leave.

Stay thirsty like before.

From the compartment’s open door, he watches as you slip your fingers between Steve’s, holding onto each other like an anchor. Bucky keeps his eyes on the two of you, rooted there on the platform until your figures disappear along the horizon line and the tight sob threatening to bubble out of his throat finally quells.

Don't you know that the kids aren't all, kids aren't alright?

He comes back to town in late March with a shorter haircut and a hardened look in his steel eyes. The reports that were comin’ in from command weren’t lookin’ all that promising. But when he sees you there in the yard, on your hands and knees digging through the freshly-made flowerbed, all thoughts about the future seem to fade from mind.

“Bucky?” Steve calls, pulling off from the back stoop, eyes squinting in confusion.

You look up, mouth falling open in shock as you go tripping over your own damn feet to come running at him, jumping up into his arms as you screech with delight.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he croons, dipping his lips down to your neck, beaming from ear to ear.

Nothin’ much has changed about the house which makes him feel like he never really left. That night, you two spoil him twice over. Fillin’ his belly with warm food, followed by an even sweeter dessert in the comfort of the bedroom.

“Gonna miss this,” he comments, voice ragged, as he smooths his palm over your backside. His other hand rucks up the damp sweat-coated curls threatening to spill onto his forehead.

Steve’s sprawled out next to you, drawing idle patterns on your arm. Features easy, body warm and sated.

“Miss you more than anything,” you say, voice muffled by the pillow.

Bucky ducks his head down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade, “Need something to remember me by, sweetheart?”

“Depends,” you turn your face towards him, a coy smile on your disheveled features, “ - what’re you offering?”

You squeal as he flips you over onto your back, a blind hand reaching out for Steve as you head into the third round of the evening.

He has enough time to visit his Ma and sisters before he has to go back. Another, more difficult goodbye from the train platform this time.

“Gotta write us every now and then, you know,” your voice is walking a thin line between fine and breakdown, as you sniffle - looking away from his face because it’ll only get you cryin’ again.

“Just don’t go runnin’ off with my best friend while I’m gone, all right?”

Steve snorts, jabbing his fist into Bucky’s arm.

“Stay safe, Buck.”

“For us,” you add.

He nods, pulling you in for a final kiss, “Always, sweetheart.”

It doesn’t hurt any less the second time around, watching the two of you fade from sight.

The next day, they’ve got him and the rest of the division on a train for New Jersey. He tries to write something down for you on the ride, but the boisterous energy running rampant through the compartment keeps him from it.

From Jersey, they’ve got them headed to the docks in Brooklyn. The tight-spaced buildings and flocks of people are eye-opening for a country kid like him. Almost wishes he had a camera to take a picture for the two of you.

The ship is god awful. He’s running for the bucket every few minutes, guts rockin’ back and forth, sloshing the empty contents of his stomach around. They’ve got the entire 34th Division pressed together in hammocks, five-high. He sketches out a quick picture of it, on the side of one of his letters. It’s not as good as what Steve could do, but it’s enough.

It takes a whole damn week before they land in Belfast and by then, the mood of the men has shifted to something a little more solemn. At least he has two letters to send out by then. Addressed back to Iowa with a prayer.

From there, it's two more months of training then he’s on another ship - down to North Africa. His unit’s in Algeria for nine days before he receives your letter. He reads it by the light emitting from his cigarette, dug into the side of an abandoned village’s wall.

You tell him about the books you’ve picked up from the store. Promises of Steve’s health and well-wishes from his Ma and sisters. He can still smell the hint of your floral perfume on the page, tucking it into his breast pocket - close to his heart.

He’s able to survive off your infrequent correspondence, holding on to the hope that jumps off the page between the curves of your rushed penmanship. Sometimes, Steve’s scrawling writing joins in on the letter.

She’s found a cat, Bucky. I can’t convince her to get rid of the damn thing. It’s leaving its fur just about everywhere. Doesn't even chase off the barn mice - damn next to useless.

Don’t believe a word that punk says. Snowball is perfect - not as good of a replacement for you, but she’ll do all right.

I'm sorry, but Snowball’s a real god awful name, sweetheart, he writes back. A smile cresting his face as he unfurls the sketch Steve’s included of the small white kitten curled up on your lap.

Bucky’s dreamin’ of the day he gets to walk back down the drive leading up to the house. When he sleeps, sometimes he’ll get a quick flash of a memory of the three of you together. It’s enough to keep him going, those presses of normal life against the backdrop of wartime horrors.

That pretty little picture of the two of you resting in his pocket helps ease his troubled mind sometimes too. You and Steve are always on his mind. Even when the remnants of his division get sent up to Sicily for the next invasion wave.

Just seems like a never-ending nightmare.

It's October 1943 and he’s just gotten your letter wishing him a happy anniversary a whole month and a half late.

His heart aches, thinkin’ of the two of you alone, him a thousand miles away. Not the way he thought he’d be spending his fifth wedding anniversary with his beautiful wife. But, he supposes, nothing in life could have prepared him for any of this.

They’re working with the 442nd and 1st Infantry Divisions, as well as a group from the 92nd. This spot is strategic for a number of reasons that don’t much matter to a sergeant like him. All he knows is that he’s been instructed to hold it down for as long as possible until they can get naval assistance in the pushback of troops or evacuation of their own forces.

Something changed in him, about a year back when he made his first kill.

Head like a steel trap. Wish I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't.

He never writes home about it, doesn’t even know what he’d say if he could put the words together to explain it. But there’s something hardened, something dark growing there in his roots. Bucky just hopes he can cut the damage before he comes home to you.

He bore witness to what happened to his own father. The madness that seemed to clutch at his mind. He doesn't want that for himself, doesn't want you to see that same monster in him.

Bucky can only hope and pray it'll disappear when this whole damn war ends. He has to believe it will, for his own sanity.

I don't just wanna be the footnote in someone else's happiness.

They're able to advance their position far enough to make the smallest of dents in the German line. But it never seems to be enough - like a perpetual stalemate.

It's Christmas of that same year when he gets his first real bit of leave - finding himself wandering the streets of an Allied-controlled town twenty miles from the Front. Steve would be creamin' himself if he could see this place - the landscapes here, somehow untouched by the war, would give him weeks worth of drawings.

As of late, Bucky's been seeming to find your faces just about everywhere he looks.

The short blonde-haired fresh-outta-school young-faced private in the newly deployed artillery battalion, who's drinkin' his first beer in the shell of an Italian cafe, has him doing a second take - nearly calling out someone else's name.

Does your husband know the way that the sunshine gleams off your wedding band?

The woman with dark familiar eyes that invites him back to her place with a flash of a smile has him thinking of a much prettier face a few thousand miles away. Even as a man of needs, he can't accept the offer.

Does he know the way? Does he know the way?

Instead, he writes to you and Steve - thanking you for the new portrait you had gone out and taken together. And a more proper thank you for that sultry drawing of you stretched out in bed that Steve had included.

Of the crickets that would convince me to call it a night?

And then it's back to his unit, trudging through blown-out towns, pushing against a strong defensive line that never seems to break.

But I will never end up like him.

It's July, the following year. They're in Anzio and the entire thing is a god damn shitshow. Sometimes, Bucky wonders if there's any point to all this if it never feels like they can dig their damn nails in far enough to make a lick of difference.

Behind my back I already am.

“We got a sniper up there on our three!” the private next to him shouts over the sharp sound of gunfire. “Can’t get a lock on him!”

Keep a calendar, this way you will always know.

He hums, gritting his teeth as he spits out the bud of his cigarette. Shouldering his rifle, eyes peering through the scope, “Where are you, you son of a bitch?”

Slowly tracking across the rocky landscape, he’s able to distinguish the position by the quick flash of sunlight reflecting off a metal cartridge.

“Bingo.”

He’s lining up his shot, waiting for the bastard to pop his head up for even a second.

The last time you came through. Oh, darling, I know what you're going through.

The breeze rustles against his mud-caked cheeks - makes him think of easy summer days under the wispy branches of an old willow tree. A pretty head resting on his thighs, another hand gripping his own.

The last time you came through. Oh, darling, I know what you're going through.

And then he’s being thrown backward - skull rocking with shockwave pain as the sky appears overhead when he lands on the ground. Voices shouting out commands sound all muffled and far away from the darkness that quickly surrounds him.

Oh, darling -

For a strange moment, as the sky and sun seem to shrink down to a darkened tunnel up above him, he wonders - for the briefest of seconds - if the last of your pink geraniums survived the sudden cold spell.

You had written him about it two weeks ago, fretting over the state of your garden - with Steve playfully teasing those worries in the margins.

Oh, darling -

He knew how devastated you would be once the final petals fell. Even if it was just another inevitable part of life.

But then again, Bucky never could stand to see that pretty smile of yours fall from your beautiful face.

Oh, darling.

Next Chapter >>

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[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

I’m sorry, but can I just go on a little rant about the Louis, clouis, and the Clem comic...? 

I didn’t really talk about Louis in my overall review of the comic because I wanted that to be more contained to the content shown on the pages, Clementine’s relationship with AJ, and her as a character.... but the more I think about these comics and Louis, the more frustrated I become thinking about what Clementine abandoning everyone would do to him. 

[... okay it’s not little anymore since I guess I can never just do anything simple when it comes to Louis, sorry my bad]

So, no surprise, we all know the comic’s bullshit by now. Clementine leaving everything and everyone behind because she’s not happy is dumb, AJ just letting her go is dumb, and Clem going to the mountains on crutches and a peg leg to find this so-called happiness is dumb. 

Now that we’ve established it’s dumb, I wanna talk about Louis because I got a lot of built up feelings about how bullshit this storyline is with how Clementine would not only abandon AJ, but also abandon Louis. 

Because let me tell you..... his heart would be broken beyond repair and I need to talk about why.

Sigh.... so.... muh boy. 

Before he met Clementine, Louis was this laidback, irresponsible, but caring and musical person who kept his head down to avoid conflict and never looked at the future. He was the kind of person who took things one day at a time, saw survival as a day-to-day task, and said that the future doesn’t exist, there’s only today. You get the point, he was never too concerned with things because they always seemed to work out, and if they didn’t, then that sucks and that’s why we should appreciate every day while we have it. 

Louis is shown to be charismatic and friendly, he spends his free time playing piano and card games, but no one really takes him seriously. Not even Marlon, his best friend for 8+ years. While he doesn’t seem to be on bad terms with anyone [including Aasim, they just act like people who disagree with the other’s point of view and have had the same argument many times, but that doesn’t mean they hate each other, y’know?] he also doesn’t appear super close with anyone outside of Marlon and possibly Violet, but even then. 

Marlon’s shown to have little faith in him with the way he talks about if Louis will even show up to hunt. He has a controlling grip on Louis that’s prominent during the confrontation scene when he uses intimidation to try to convince Louis to not interfere. Oh, and there’s the fact that Marlon’s been lying to Louis for the past year about the twins and then continued to lie to his face about what really happened to Brody... which isn’t great when you consider how Louis was the only one who had blind faith in him as a leader and, according to Marlon, was the only one who couldn’t see how pathetic he always was. 

Violet, while having a few more nicer moments with him than Marlon, still invalidates him and his feelings several times throughout the first half of the game which makes me wonder how close they ever were, or at least if Violet ever considered him a close friend to begin with. And no, a small monologue in the dorms doesn’t make everything better or confirm they were brotp the whole time... especially when once they’re on the boat, Louis might as well not exist because Violet can’t be bothered to acknowledge what happened to him or inquire about how he’s doing. I guess she just didn’t have time react while standing in her cell for several unbothered minutes-- no wait, it’s she already reacted off screen. Right. Good writing is good.

What I’m getting at here is that even though Louis is surrounded by people who he genuinely cares about, there is an argument to be made that he’s a lonely person. Hell, he’s aware of his loneliness when he says that no one hears past his music and jokes. I mean, how many nights do you think he spent by himself playing the piano because no one wanted to hear it? Are they like Violet and crack jokes about how he doesn’t have actual talent? Probably, given that someone literally carved “you suck at playing” onto the side of the damn piano. 

Oh, and let’s touch on that backstory of his. Louis grew up wealthy with two parents who loved him and each other, and they gave him anything he wanted except singing lessons. Louis says he wanted to be a real musician. But I guess his father didn’t like that idea and told him no, with the [as Louis puts it] dumb dad lesson of, “You get to be happy, or you get to be rich, can’t be both.” ...which is interesting given that Louis and his family were stupid rich but also.... were they not happy? well, that doesn’t make sense because little Louis knew that if he broke up their marriage, they would be hurt. 

So yeah, Louis was so upset that his father continually refused to let him take singing lessons that he broke into the man’s credit cards and faked an affair, which led to his parents divorcing... and then he spit his father’s words back in his face. 

Then they dumped him at Ericson. And the walkers came. 

There’s so much to unpack from the story he tells that it could be it’s own analysis, but basically.... Louis is aware of why what he did was fucked up, and he carries it with him every day. 

He regrets what he did, chews himself out for being such a “vindictive fuckhead” [and the amount of force used in that line tells you a lot, like how it’s not the first time he’s chastised himself like this] and he admits that he doesn’t even know the person he’s talking about. Yet, he still sees himself as bad, saying that they [I assume the staff] told him and the other kids they’re bad people. I don’t doubt that Louis internalized that which played a huge role in the confidence and self-esteem issues he has during tfs. 

Anyway, I’ll come back to this later, but when you take that amount of guilt and regret, and mix it with the fact that they dropped him off at this school that was supposed to make him better.... then the walkers came and those teachers, staff, and headmaster? Gone. Left a bunch of kids to fend for themselves, with the exception of Ms. Martin [but given how she looks when we find her I doubt she lasted that long] and I cannot imagine how horrifying that was for all of them. The dead are up eating people, and if you die you become one of them... and the people you thought you could rely on just fucking left you to die at this school. 

Every kid in that school has trauma and abandonment issues from before and after the world went to shit, every last one, and Louis isn’t the exception here. Over the years, a lot of kids died and they’ve all seen horrible shit. They all knew they were never going to see their families again, and as far as we know, no one came to get their kids at the beginning. They had to find ways of coping while trying to survive, and all they had left was each other. 

Louis copes with music and games and jokes. He’s built up this persona where it seems like he’s unaffected by the comments the others make, that the death and suffering he’s gone through is in the past, that he is confident and open to those around him.

But then Clementine and AJ show up, and Louis grows close with both of them. They had immediate chemistry upon first meeting, he was the one who looked after AJ since it seems like everyone else saw him as a little terror, and he went out of his way to be kind and make them comfortable. 

When they go hunting with him, Louis and Clementine have a moment after taking care of the walker where they lower their guards a bit-- Louis gives her more in-depth reasons for his views of survival, and going off her expression, it gets to her and makes her think.... but they’ve know each other a day and he’s not quick to infodump his life story or let her in, so he cuts the conversation short.

Then we have the Marlon confrontation scene that I have gone over so many times in the past. I won’t dillydally with it too long but..... Clementine appeals to Louis, who curls in on himself because of the control Marlon has on him. He wants to help, and hell, he knows this is wrong but he’s so used to not getting involved that he gets defensive.... plus, he’s known Clementine for two days, and he’s known Marlon for 8+ years.... he wants to believe Marlon but you can tell he doesn’t want this, either. It takes Clementine talking to him to give him courage to stand between her and Marlon’s gun and it’s a lot.

AJ shoots Marlon and everything goes to shit, and Louis is a goddamn mess. His best friend was murderer right in front of him, so add that to the trauma list, and he’s overwhelmed with all these feelings that again.... they keep getting invalidated by Violet because “Marlon was a liar and murderer, therefore you shouldn’t feel bad about his death. Get over yourself, Louis, you can be such a shithead sometimes.” 

Oh yeah Vi, I guess he should care more about two people he’s known for a total of two days rather than for the safety of the people [including you] he’s grown up with and cared about for 8+ years.... makes sense. 

So yeah, little to no support during this time. Alone again. 

And just because I have to make this clear so no one gets a hair up their ass-- both Louis and Violet are wrong here. Kicking them out isn’t the solution, but neither is acting like AJ was right to commit murder just because it was Marlon.

 But plots gotta plot, so they get voted out and you can see that Louis is conflicted about the whole thing. He wants them gone, but at the same time, he knows what kicking them out means. You can see it on his face that he’s not okay with kicking them out. He’s hurting when he’s there in the dorms telling them how the vote went... he literally doesn’t know what else to do. He just knows that everything hurts, Clem and AJ caused it, and he wants the pain to stop. He even tries to justify it to himself by figuring that they’ve done this before so they’ll be fine. Not a great thing to say, Lou. 

Anyway, we know the story, Clem and AJ come back and Louis once again sees the consequences of acting out of pain.... AJ is shot because Louis was hurt and he made a bad decision that he’s gotta live with.... something that he’s done before, and this affirms to him that he’s bad. He wishes he could take it back, and goes as far as to admit that to Clementine during the archery scene. 

By the way, credit to him for his apology to her. It’s rare in these games that Clem gets a genuine apology from someone who hurt her and doesn’t turn around to repeat the hurtful behavior, y’know? Plus, I can think of plenty of characters who owed Clem an apology in the past or if they did apologize, it was half-assed. 

You can feel how conflicted he is with this whole thing-- learning who Marlon really was and what he did, feeling something for Clementine before everything went down and not knowing how to handle those feelings afterward, caring about AJ and understanding why he thought shooting was the best choice but still hurting that his friend is dead.... 

And the thing is.... Louis forgives her for so much, as she does him, and through all of that bullshit, they manage to develop that strong connection that turns romantic. Louis lets himself be fully vulnerable with her and is honest about his feelings, how she listened when no one else did and seeing him for more than just the persona he put on. 

This works on Clementine’s side, too. Clementine has been through her own fair share of bullshit-- trauma, abandonment, loss, injury, you name it. She’s made mistakes, done terrible things, and has been in enough groups to know that romance usually ends in heartbreak.... and yet, she’s willing to open herself up to Louis and admit she feels a lot for him. 

Is it a little rushed? Yep. Could it have been handled better? Of course, most things this season could’ve, but what we got was pretty good. 

So Clementine and Louis are romantically involved now, the raiders attack, and she saves him... and boy does Louis feel guilty about that one, too. He feels bad enough that he questions why she would pick him because he can’t fathom his life being worth saving over another’s. He doesn’t see himself as useful, and even though Clementine is literally his girlfriend at this point, his self-esteem is so all over the place that he can’t understand why she would have him at her side. 

And when Clementine tells him that he’s too important to her, he’s too baffled to even give a response. He looks at her in disbelief like he wasn’t expecting her to say that.  But this shows that at the beginning of their relationship, he still doubts himself, and through her working with him, he begins to build up that strength in himself. 

He becomes brave enough to share what got him sent to the school with her, and he plays Don’t Be Afraid for everyone at the party and like.... for once, everyone is listening to him. Really listening to him. They’re not talking shit about his musical skills, they’re not ignoring him or the feelings he’s putting into the song, they’re sitting there with him and I just..... if you watch him, you can see that his eyes get pretty glossy throughout the song. The moment meant something to everyone. 

There’s also the fact that Clementine asked him to come with her and AJ onto the boat, and to be the one in charge of the bomb... that’s a huge responsibly and he feels the pressure of that. He starts to panic a bit about if he can do it, because what if he fucks up? What if he gets them caught and makes everything worse? What if something happens to Clementine and he can’t do anything about it? 

She’s there to reassure him that she believes in him, and that he can do this. They’re going to get everyone back, and he needs to focus... then he asks her to slap him which why would you? that’s dumb, so Clementine smooches him instead and like.... he physically relaxes into her because he’s comfortable and trusts her in this situation. 

Also, he loves her and cares about this mission enough to cover himself and his fancy jacket in walker guts.... sure, he complains while doing so but how else is he gonna cope with rubbing rotten guts on himself to blend in with a herd of walkers? 

Skipping ahead so that we’re not here all day, I wanna talk about the walk back to the school because it’s one of the most important clouis moments in the game and a huge reason that solidifies why the comic is bullshit.

Louis went off on his own to go out and find them. He didn’t know where they would be, he just knew that he had to go out and find them after making sure everyone was okay back at the school because he couldn’t bare the thought that he had lost them. And the way the AJ gets so excited to see him? and the group hug??

At this point, Louis has grown so much as a character. With Clementine by his side to support him, he’s grown stronger and more reliable. Remember how he never thought about the future? Well, now he is because his relationship with Clementine has given him a reason to long for a future. He talks about building this imaginary house with her, one he knows they can’t physically build... but it’s his way of saying we can build a home together, that he wants a future with her and AJ and everyone else. It’s such a personal conversation that flows so easy between them. Louis is more comfortable talking to her about things from his past, which is something he didn’t want to do back in ep1. 

He confides in her how he’s feeling after he shot and killed Dorian, he tells her that having a home means protecting it and I just.... it’s so good, okay? And from Clementine’s side, you can feel how at ease she is with him, too. Just the way she smiles at him as they’re walking? like he’s the cutest thing and she’s so happy to have him with her? 

But then we gotta deal with Minerva’s crazy ass on the bridge and well, AJ shoots Tenn and Louis is having flashbacks to Marlon and it’s not great. That’s a whole thing, and he ends up separated from them while escaping.

We don’t get to see Louis’ reaction to Clementine getting bit and losing her leg since I guess that puts a damper on the overly happy ending. But, going off of what we know about him and what I’ve explained [which isn’t even all of it, this isn’t a full Louis character analysis. if it was, it would be much longer and in multiple parts... believe it or not, I’m trying to not make this too long and only sorta failing...] we can get an idea of how he would react. 

Um, to say he was upset is an understatement.

Because remember, he had no time to think and climbed over the fence, thinking he could get them to climb over and they could get away, but it didn’t work. He ended up leaving them in order to save himself since walkers were closing in on him.

But you know that he’d blame himself for the bite. A lot of, “if I had just stayed” and “I should’ve climbed back over, I should’ve stayed with you.” I’m sure there were points where it looked like Clem wouldn’t make it and I can’t imagine how much hurt he went through watching her suffer and heal from losing a leg like that. 

Not only that, but knowing that AJ was the one to do it? And him thinking about what Clem’s death would do to AJ after all this? There isn’t a doubt in my mind that Louis would take care of AJ if she died. He cares about AJ, and he loves Clementine, so he be there for both of them, even if he’s still hurting from Tenn’s death. 

However, Clementine didn’t die. She survived the bite and amputation, and when we flashforward, she and Louis are still happily together. Louis is right there next to her at dinner, and he’s the one to help her with her crutches. He’s there to go over future plans to meet the traveling caravan, and Clementine wants him to be the one to go. 

Oh, and Louis once again forgives AJ for shooting Tenn, claiming that he understands that AJ saw something that he couldn’t. Like with Marlon, he’s not happy Tenn’s dead but he can see why AJ did it to save his life. 

I just..... happy ending. Clementine and Louis are together and she’s truly happy to have found a home for her and AJ with him at Ericson. 

....But then the comic thought it would be fun to say “nah.” 

The comic isn’t canon, I’m still insulted that it would ever consider itself as such, but even so I can’t help but feel so frustrated about how this would destroy Louis. 

He finally found someone he would consider his best friend, not just his girlfriend. She saw past that funny man persona and he trusted her enough to let her past this wall he built around himself. He let himself become vulnerable around her, he named his song after her. Their initials are carved into his piano with a heart surrounding them. He loved her. 

Clementine left him feeling loved, something he probably hasn’t truly felt since he was a little boy with his parents before their divorce. She loved him even after hearing his past because she knew that wasn’t him anymore, and she helped him build the confidence he needed to step up. Because of Clementine, Louis wants to enjoy every day while also looking at the future. He isn’t lonely anymore, he has her and AJ. He’s truly happy.

So to tell me that Louis would wake up one morning only to have AJ tell him that Clementine’s gone, she’ been planning an escape without telling anyone because she wasn’t happy...? I’m sorry, but if you think that wouldn’t leave Louis absolutely devastated, then you know nothing about him as a character. 

This idea is just.... look, Louis is perceptive. That’s a big part of his character, he’s perceptive of those around him. If Clementine was showing signs of being unhappy or depression, he would see it. He would notice a change. He would be able to tell if something was off, and he would ask her about it. Louis is the type of person to ask you what you need. What can he do to help? What do you need to feel better? And if you don’t know, it’s okay, he’ll help you figure it out in any way possible. 

Plus, the comic suggests that there are times where she went off on her own but came back [probably doing her escape prep ugh] and you expect me to believe that Louis wouldn’t notice that or wonder what she’s doing? Wouldn’t sense that something’s going on? 

After she’s gone, he’s going to blame himself for not being enough. He couldn’t make her happy and he was a fool to think he ever could. AJ lost the only family he’s known since he was born because Louis couldn’t help her, couldn’t do anything to stop her from leaving. 

And for him to realize that she didn’t love him? Clementine, the girl he thought the world of because of how strong and confident and in-charge she was, because she saw him for who he was..... she left him, abandoned him... and she couldn’t even be bothered with a goodbye.... that says that she didn’t care all that much about him in the end.

You KNOW that he would think he had this coming, too. How could the universe allow him to fall in love and be happy with someone who loved him back after what he did to his parents? He would feel so heartbroken that he would see this as some sort of karma for breaking up his parents happy marriage as a kid years before he ever met Clementine and before the apocalypse.

I fucking can’t.... I don’t have the words to fully explain how much I hate this. Louis wouldn’t be okay afterward, and I doubt he’d ever fully recover. I wasn’t joking when I mentioned before that Louis would stop playing piano. How could he sit there and play when I he can see is their initials and remember the night she confessed to him? When he named his song after her? Clementine left and took the music with her because Louis wouldn’t have it in him... something that he used to cope would be ruined and that’s just.... it’s fucking awful. 

Not only that, but now he has AJ who I assume is hurting just as much [though the comics inaccurately assume he would just let Clem go sooo... yeah] and he would be the only one Louis would really talk to about it, but then again.... what if AJ doesn’t wanna talk about it? What if AJ starts to act out and things just become terrible and Louis is just too overwhelmed? 

I just.... UGH. That’s how I feel. UGH. 

Clementine from the comic? Not her. She would never fucking do this to Louis, AJ, or anyone else at Ericson, and you would know that if you played the tfs. 

Sigh.... sorry, I just needed to get this all out. I haven’t seen anyone talk about how Clem leaving would affect Louis and I’ve gotten some asks/come across some posts about Louis that have left me incredibly annoyed.... well, I was annoyed before because of the comics, so my annoyances with those things were only heightened. So yeah... I wanted to talk about Louis’ character in hopes of explaining why he would be so hurt if this comic was canon. 

Which it’s not. So it’s fine. 

How are we all feelin’ at this point, by the way? I know I’m not the only one still annoyed with the comic, so I hope y’all are doin’ okay. Hope you’re stayin’ chill and thinking about your faves to help cope with this mess hahaha

[connordavidscamera]

Love Will Remember | Connor Brashier x OC

Crumble to Pieces Part 2 

A/n: this took a lot longer than I expected, but my vision for it kept changing

Summary: Luca and Connor meet up for the first time since the breakup

Warnings: I think it’s a tiny bit angsty

Word count: 5.8k

***

Pop Singer Luca Has Moved On… To Her Ex's Best Friend?

Has Luca moved "onto the next one?" Recent sightings in LA with a fellow celebrity are telling us yes.

Written by: Another Know-it-all reporter

It's no secret that Luca and Shawn Mendes have been close friends for years. Luca opened for Mendes on his 2019, self-titled tour and since then the two have been closer than ever. 

But are they just friends or are they more?

With recent news of Luca's breakup from ex-boyfriend, Connor Brashier, fans are speculating that Shawn Mendes might be the reason. The two have been spotted all over LA together in the past few weeks. Sources say that they've even been caught holding hands.

"Shawn and Luca have always been close," a source close to the pair tells us. But if that's the case, is Shawn really the reason for Luca's breakup? The "Summer of Love" singer has said on numerous occasions that he wants love that is built on a friendship, and what closer friendship than the one that these two share.

About Mendes, pop singer Luca says, "He's one of the greatest people I know. I am very lucky to have him in my life."

We're not saying it's true, but signs point to yes. These two are the new hottest couple in the industry and we couldn't be happier for them.

"Are they serious?" I shake my head. "They take one out of context sentence from an old interview and that's confirmation that we're dating?" I throw my head back in frustration, "I haven't even come out and said hey everyone the love of my life and I are broken up, and they’re pulling shit like this."

Shawn shrugs, "Well, I mean… it has been over six months. People just put two and two together."

"How are you okay with this?" I hand him his phone back. “The whole world thinks we’re dating.”

"No one said I was okay with it. I especially don’t want Connor reading this and thinking we're together. I would never do that to him."

I cross my arms and lean against the arm of the couch. "Yeah, me neither. That's why it's maddening. I mean, fuck. I don't even get to cope with my breakup. I'm still finding things around the house that remind me of him. im. And these tabloids just love to add fuel to the fire.”

“You still have some of his stuff?”

I scoff and look down, picking at my chipped nail polish. “I never gave anything back. I was holding out hope that we’d be back together by now. I just, I had my friend collect all of his stuff and put it in a box, hide it in a closet so I didn’t see it right when I got home.”

Shawn sighs, “Luc, I’m sorry this is happening.”

I suck in a breath, “It’s fine. I just thought I’d be over it by now. And I’m not, but I guess this is just how it’s gonna be until I am. Every news outlet will assume that any guy I hang out with is my new boyfriend until I confirm something. But I’m not confirming anything.”

“I know.” He reaches over and pats the back of my hand. “Come on, get your cute butt back in the studio. Let’s record this and get our minds off it.”

I nod, “Alright, sure.”

—

“Con, we’re best friends, right?”

I sit up straight. “I don’t like that question, Sam. What is it? What do you need to tell me?”

He clears his throat, “Well, you know Luca.”

I suck in a breath at the sound of her name. It still hasn’t gotten that much better when I hear about her. I know it’s been  more than enough time to get over it, but I can’t. I made a huge mistake and I have to live with that. “Yes. I do.”

“Well, she texted me the other day. Actually we’ve been texting quite a bit the past few weeks and-”

“Get to the point, Sammy boy.”

“She asked me to shoot her cover photo for her new single.”

“New single, huh? Okay,” I nod. “That’s nice. When?”

“On Friday.”

“Okay,” I grab my phone and start scrolling through my email. I don’t actually have anything to look for, I just need something to do so I seem like this doesn’t affect me. Which it doesn’t. It shouldn’t. I don’t know.

“Do you… do you maybe want to go? You can help me out?”

I clear my throat. I want to go. God, I want to see her so badly. “I don’t think she wants me there,” I tell him.

“I could ask her.”

I shake my head, “No. Don’t. I can… I can show up for a little bit, I guess. Maybe toward the end just so I don’t make her uncomfortable, you know.”

“I think she’d want to see you.”

I shrug, “Maybe. I just… I think I need to see her.”

“Maybe it will help you out. Give you that closure you’ve been looking for.”

Or it will torment me even further, reminding me that, yes, I did make the biggest mistake of my life letting her go. And while I don’t need a reminder, I 100% need to see her in person. If I don’t, I might just lose my mind.

“Yeah, it might,” I agree anyway. I don’t believe it because I’m not trying to get closure, I’m trying to get Luca. I don’t really know how you get back the girl whose heart you broke, but guys do it all the time, maybe  I can too.

 I change my shirt a total of eight times before settling on the shirt I began with. I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous in my life. Not even on our first date. I wore a white button up that night, but it wasn’t buttoned all the way - she loved it, lazily traced my collar bones while we waited for our Uber, hiding in the back of the restaurant so no one saw us. 

Today I wear that same shirt, in hopes that she’ll see me in it and… what? Immediately fall into my arms and take me back? Well, in a dream world, yes. In this world, I just hope she doesn’t leave immediately after seeing me. That would be a win in itself.

I check my phone to see that Sam’s assistant texted me three minutes ago, telling me that they’re eating now and are about to set up for the last shoot. 

I send them back a thumbs up emoji and grab my keys from the counter. “I’m heading out!” I call out to Will, who’s sprawled out on the couch, watching a baseball game.

He doesn’t say anything back, not that I really expect him to. The whole drive there I’m nervous. It’s a drive I’ve taken a million times before, but today is different. Today I’m going there with the sole intention of seeing my ex-girlfriend. Huh, I don’t know if I’ve actually ever said that. I don’t really refer to her much anymore, I guess. In my mind she’s still Luca. My Luca. But I guess, she’s not that anymore either. At least not right now. That doesn’t mean she won’t be again. 

I’m sitting outside Sam’s place for ten minutes, maybe when I get another text from his assistant. 

Starting the last shoot now. 

I sigh. I have to do this. I don’t have to stay long, I just have to see her, even if it’s only for a second. I wait five minutes after reading that text to finally get out of the car. I walk right in. Sam always leaves his door unlocked, especially when he’s doing a shoot because there’s a lot of back and forth, it’s just easier for everyone. That’s why no one even bats an eye when I walk through the door. 

The first person I see is Luca’s hair stylist and makeup artist, Gwen. She’s just a few years older than us and she’s been with Luca since the very beginning. When I see her,I feign surprise and offer a small wave but she gasps and immediately comes over, wrapping me in a hug. “Oh my god!” she whispers. “What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you doing?”

I force a tight lipped smile, “I’m okay. How are you?”

“I’m good. I’m good. But, what are you doing here? I thought you two -”

“We did. I just… Sam asked me to stop by. I didn’t even know you were here.” And for good measure. “Why are you here actually?”

Her smile falters just a smidge. “Sam’s doing Luca’s cover shoot,” she says slowly, as if trying to break the news to me softly. 

“Oh,” I nod. “Oh, so she’s here?”

Gwen nods, “Oh, honey, this must be so hard for you.”

I clear my throat, “It’s good to see you Gwen. I’m gonna see what Sam needed and I’ll get out of here.”

She nods, that look still on her face. I’m familiar with the look. It’s the one that everyone has been giving me since the breakup, that look that says “Oh, you poor thing.”

I’m sick of that look.

I leave her with one last smile and head toward the back of the house where Sam has set up his studio. I pass by a couple other people on Luca’s team, but I’m so grateful when I don’t see Derek there. I’m sure he’d tell me to leave, which he has every right to because I know I messed up. I know that this breakup has been hell for him to try to spin, especially because I know Luca told him to not confirm or deny anything. And when she sets her mind to something, there’s no going back. So he’s probably having a hell of a time not doing anything about the dating rumors. 

They’re rumors. I know they are. Shawn’s told me a hundred times that they’re rumors. And he’s told me a hundred more that they’re just working on music together. I wonder if he helped with the song she’s putting out. 

Sam is busy, obviously, when I come into his studio, so I say quiet hellos to a couple of our friends that are there helping with the shoot. I’ve just walked to the far side of the room, opposite of where I just walked in when I see her for the first time. She’s laying down on her back, on the mattress that Sam’s assistant had most likely pulled in here. She has one of Sam’s vintage polaroids in her hands, another one is laying beside her head. She looks beautiful, as always. Her hair is fanned out around her head. I don’t see much makeup on her face, although she’s never really been one to wear a lot unless she was going on a red carpet. 

Everytime she had a new eyeshadow look, I would stare at her in awe because it wasn’t normal for her, but it looked great on her. I mean, she always looks great, but the heavier eyeshadow gave her a certain confidence that she didn’t carry with her on a day to day basis. It was like a suit of armor, meant to shield her from whatever was to come that night - I think it worked. She wasn’t wearing it the night we broke up, I wonder if it would have made a difference.

She hasn’t spotted me yet, but everyone’s eyes are on me now as mine are on her. Her eyes finally catch me when Sam has her change positions. And when they do, I feel like all the air in my lungs has been knocked out of me. Because yes, she looks beautiful, but holy shit, this is the woman that I love. The woman I haven’t seen for over six months. The woman I completely broke when I walked out on her like a coward. And the woman who still holds my heart in those delicate hands of hers. 

“Connor,” she says softly, almost like she’s scared of speaking too loudly, or she’s scared that someone might hear her. But everyone does, because everyone is watching us. 

“Hey, superstar,” I say back just as quietly, my hands in my pockets. 

“Uh,” she sits up, her eyes still on me as she does so. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing as me, that if she blinks I might disappear. I don’t think I’ve blinked since I stepped in the room. “Sam, can you help me up?”

“Yeah, you got it,” he says, holding his hand out to Luca, helping her stand. 

I’m watching her every move as she comes closer. She stops about two feet in front of me. “Hi,” she says gently.

I smile at her, “Hi.”

“Um,” she takes a final step forward and holds her arms open. 

I immediately reciprocate, wrapping my arms around her. Neither of us say anything while in each other’s arms, but the hug alone says so much. It’s like making up for lost time. She smells the same. Coconut shampoo with that hint of vanilla from her perfume she always wears. She was never one for floral scents. She associates them with the old ladies that used to work in the front office of her school. 

I squeeze her a little tighter before we let go. “You, you look good. You cut your hair,” she says.

Instinctively my hand reaches up for it. “Oh, yeah. A couple weeks ago, actually. It was getting a little shaggy.”

She nods, “I like it.”

“Thanks,” I clear my throat. “And, you dyed your hair,” I say, referring to the lighter ends of her hair. 

“Yeah,” she nods, playing with the tips of it. “I figured it was time for something new,” she shrugs. “Was considering bangs.”

“Bangs?” I hum, “Bangs would look good on you. You have the face for it. I mean, you have the face for anything.”

She nods, “That’s what you’ve always told me.” She looks down, tangling her fingers together like she always does when she’s nervous. “What - what are you doing here?” she asks. 

“Uh,” I look around to see everyone still staring at us. “Can we,” I tilt my head toward the glass door beside us and she nods. I send a threatening glare to everyone in the room when I shut the door behind us, but it doesn’t deter them from keeping a close eye on us. “Don’t be mad, but Sam told me that you would be here. And I,” I shrug. “I know I don’t really have any right, but I had to see you. If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll leave. I just had to see you in person.”

“I’ve been wanting to call,” she tells me.

“Me too. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk to me.”

“I didn’t for a while. I - I was hurt and I knew that talking to you would only make it hurt more. It was a double edged sword because while I was hurting the only person I wanted to talk to was you and I couldn’t do that.”

I nod solemnly. “I know. Same here.”

Neither of us say anything for a couple minutes, but I have to break the silence. 

“I miss you.”

She sighs, shaking her head, “Brash, you can’t just say that to me. You broke up with me.”

“I know, and I’ve regretted it every second of every day since.”

“Then why did you do it? Why couldn’t you wait six more weeks so we could be back home and we could work on fixing the problem rather than causing a much bigger one?”

“Because I thought giving us time apart would help. We were fighting all the time and I knew that was stressful for you, so I thought if we took a break for that last stretch of the tour, we could come back home and we could sit down and work it out. But then I got too scared to call, and at that point it felt like it was too late to. Then Shawn hit me up with the whole It’ll be Okay song and… you used that piano melody that you told me you were holding onto for a love song.” I shake my head, “I left because I was a coward, Luc. And I’m not gonna stand here and act like I wasn’t. Or stand here and pretend that I haven’t thought of you every single day since that night.”

She furrows her brows, “You knew that the fighting was stressing me out so you broke up with me instead? How does that make sense in your mind? I was fucking devastated those last few weeks of tow. I could barely get out of bed in the morning, let alone get out there on stage and perform as if nothing happened. I cried during my performance almost every single night.”

“I know - well, I mean, I didn’t know that. But I know that what I did is inexcusable. I can’t even tell you that the reason I did it was good because we know it wasn’t. And I had every intention of calling you -”

“But you didn’t. Meaning to do something and doing them are totally different, Connor. You, of all people, should know that.”

I sigh, “You’re right,” I nod. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. For everything that’s happened. For everything that I’ve put you through. I’m sorry I left.  I’m sorry I pushed you away when really all I wanted to do was hold on for dear life. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Luca crosses her arms, “No, I really didn’t.”

We are once again engulfed in silence, and I know we’re both painfully aware of the people in the room behind us watching our every move, trying like hell to read our lips. 

“I wanted to hate you,” she says quietly, shaking her head. It stings a bit. “I wanted so badly to hate you for what you did. And for a split second, I was almost able to convince myself that I did. But,” she looks out at the trees that occupy most of Sam’s property. “I could literally never hate you. No matter how angry I was with you, I couldn’t.”

“I want to fix things,” I tell her, turning my body to face hers. 

She turns her head to look at me. “What if we can’t?”

“I want to try. I want to get back to how things were. I don’t know if we can get there, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try my hardest to get us there. We were happy once. I believe we can be again.”

She nods slowly, “I want to try. But it’ll take me a while to trust you again. We can’t - you can’t just run at the first sign of trouble.”

I nod quickly, “I know. And I’ll work on it. If you let me, I want to work on this with you because I can’t see myself with anyone else but you. I need - I need to at least try to salvage what we had.”

Luca exhales deeply, pushing her hair out of her face before crossing her arms again, her body now facing the large window looking into the room of our friends and her team. “Okay, so let’s say we do this. We start over. We have to start from the beginning. Relearning how to be with each other. It’s not something we can just jump back into. I want to get to know you again.”

I nod. “Okay, sure. That’s not a problem. We can do that.”

“And… if this works and we are able to make our way back to each other. If it feels right for us then you have to ask me out again. We can’t celebrate three years in a couple months because we’ve spent so much time apart.”

“That makes sense,” I breathe deeply. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, one thing. And this one is really important.”

“Anything,” I tell her, and I mean it. I will give her anything that she wants, anything that she needs. 

“When things get hard, don’t run away from me.”

I nod vigorously. “I won’t. I won’t, I promise.”

“Okay.”

Another silence. “Well, then I guess I should go. Let you finish up here.”

“No,” she shakes her head, reaching for my hand. “Please don’t. Stay. We can… talk more after. And I want to show you the new song. It’s, well it’s about you.”

“Okay,” I nod. I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of that, but I don’t know what else to do. From inside, I probably look like a fucking bobblehead. “Then let’s go back in so you can finish up.”

I thought I heard his voice when he walked in, but I told myself that I was just imagining it. I didn’t think that when I looked up he'd actually be there, looking as good as ever. Well, for the most part. He had deep dark circles, which makes me wonder how much sleep he’s actually getting. He’s always been a hard worker, but sometimes that meant he was working himself too hard and well into the night. There were many instances in our relationship that I ended up sleeping with him on the couch  because that’s where he fell asleep.

He’s wearing the shirt he wore on our first date. I know it’s just a plain white button up to anyone else, but that was the shirt he wore the night I realized that I was going to fall in love with him. And the second I saw him, I knew that when I got close enough, I would see that tiny stain of my red lipstick on the collar from one of the times he wore it to an award show with me. 

And when I hug him, it’s confirmed. He’s also wearing my favorite cologne, the one that has the undertones of sea salt. It was kind of like a dupe for some YSL cologne he had owned once. We bought it together on one of our outings while we were touring with Shawn. It was on one of those days between shows where we could go out and do whatever. He, Shawn, Brian, Mae, and I had all gone out together. We found this tiny shop that made a scent for you, like right in front of you. I thought it was so cool and we both got scents made. 

I wanted to cry when I hugged him. His hugs still felt the same. Like coming home. I don’t know what stopped me from wrapping my entire body around him and never letting go. Maybe it was the nine other people in the room staring at us, watching our every last move. I hated being watched. And I was bitterly aware of them still staring while Connor and I stood outside to talk. 

I held it together a lot better than I thought I would. In all those nights I had spent imagining what I would do when I did finally see him again (because let’s face it, it was inevitable. We have mutual friends. I mean, one of my best friends in the world is literally his boss. And his best friend is one of my go to photographers. We’re bound to cross paths despite how much we’ve both been actively avoiding it.) I didn’t think that my first instinctual feeling would be longing.

I thought it would be anger. I wanted to be mad at him. Since that night I have wanted to be mad at him, and sometimes I was. But the feeling never lasted like I’m sure it was supposed to. 

And maybe I gave in too easily outside. And people might call me crazy, and maybe they’re right. All I know is that the moment I saw him, my world no longer felt like it was tilted a little too hard to the left. We locked eyes and I swear I felt my broken heart start to mend instantly. Because no matter what’s happened. He’s still Connor. My Connor. 

He’s still the man who stayed up with me all night when I had the stomach flu and I couldn’t stop vomiting. He’s the man who emptied out a drawer for me when I came to visit him for a week when we were doing long distance after Shawn’s tour. He’s the man who uprooted most of his life to live in Toronto with me before my tour started (not permanently, but we were discussing that before the fallout). And he’s the man standing in front of me now who is making me nervous like he did the first time I met him three years ago. 

I remember just about every detail of that day. It was early March and it was uncharacteristically cold for the time of day, about two in the afternoon. Shawn and his team were leaving from LA to Amsterdam, where our tour would start. My team was leaving from Toronto and we’d make it there around the same time. When we met at the airport, Connor was the first person that I saw after Shawn. Not because he was standing close, but because he was cute. I was always a sucker for that kind of dirty blond hair and the way his kind of stuck up from all the gel he had in it was adorable. 

He looked so much younger then, I thought he was younger than me. Come to find out, he was actually two months older. I won’t say it was love at first sight, I will say though, that the moment I met him, I knew he would be important in my life. I just didn’t know in what way. His laugh, in the span of only a couple of hours, quickly became my favorite sound in the world. I wanted to hear it all day, see that big toothy grin that he didn’t give so freely, but he did when we were introduced. 

Honestly, when I look back to that day, I wonder just how smitten I must have looked. Because while I don’t believe in love at first sight, I think that was about as close to it as it could have been. 

It’s easy to think about those things when he’s standing there in the corner of the room, looking at me in the same way he always has. I’ve never seen that look given to anyone else but me and that warms my heart a bit, knowing that even after all this time apart, he can still somehow look at me like that. And I’m sure I’m looking at him just the same, and the photos that Sam’s taking will definitely prove it too. 

“Alright, last frame,” Sam says, and I look up at where he’s standing above me. I know before he’s even taken the photo that this one will be the cover art for the single. “Perfect! That’s a wrap,” he tells his team, holding a hand out to me to once again help me up. “Here, let’s see what we got. I think we have some really good ones.”

I nod, but I’m not really looking at the photos, my senses are taken over by the proximity of Connor. He’s moved closer now, also looking over the photos, even going as far as to point out some of the things that he likes. 

We both point at the last frame though, “That one,” we say at the same time. 

“You like it for the cover art?” Sam asks, looking between both of us.

I nod, “Yes. It’s perfect.”

“Well alright, I’ll do a little bit of editing for it and have it for you tomorrow at the latest.”

“Yeah? Perfect! Thanks, Sammy!” I wrap him in a hug, kissing his cheek quickly.

“Yeah, yeah. Get your cute ass out of here. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

I laugh at that and pat his shoulder. “Let me buy you dinner tonight.”

“Oh please, like I’m gonna let you pay for anything.”

“Come on! Please! Please, please, please, please, please, please.”

“She’ll keep going if you don’t say yes,” Connor tells him.

Sam groans dramatically, “Fine. I’ll let you buy me dinner.”

“Yay!” I look back to Connor. “You’re coming too.”

“You want me there?”

I nod, “Yes. That’s why I’m inviting you. I mean… if you want to go. You don’t have to if you don’t want-”

“No, no, no. I want to go. I do.” he nods frantically. “Thank you.”

I busy myself with helping my team pack up their stuff, but tell them I’ll be staying a while. When all of their things are packed up and in the van, I thank them and go back inside. Sam and Connor are standing in the kitchen, like any normal day - like it had been a million times before. Of course, it’s difficult to not address the elephant in the room. The elephant being me and our breakup. 

If it were any normal day with Sam, I would go over to stand with Connor and maybe (definitely) wrap my arms around his torso, plant soft kisses on the side of his jaw and cheeks. I’d be close. But I can’t do that now, so I go over and stand by Sam. He instinctively wraps an arm around me and kisses the top of my head. “I’m gonna leave you two to talk. I’m gonna edit your photos. We’ll leave to get dinner in, like an hour-ish?”

I nod, “Sure, sounds good.”

And once again, Connor and I are left alone. Except this time we’re actually alone. Most everyone has left, and those who haven’t are in Sam’s studio - which I’m pretty sure it’s just his assistant and his friend Ella. I rock back and forth on my heels, looking down at our feet. 

“So…” he starts. “You wanna, maybe want to show me that song?”

“Oh, yes.” I nod. “Yeah,” I pull my phone from my back pocket. “I uh, I only have the demo on my phone,” I tell him, moving to stand next to him. I hoist myself up onto the counter. “I don’t want to risk my phone getting hacked and the real thing getting leaked.”

He smiles, turning his body to face mine. “I know. You’ve never put the finished version on your phone.”

I clear my throat, looking at the screen. “Uh, do you have your airpods? They should still be connected to my phone. You’ve always listened to it alone first, unless you just want to play it out loud. I mean, Sam’s already heard it, so.”

He pulls his airpods case out of his pocket. “I got ‘em. May I?” he holds his hand out, silently asking for my phone. I give it to him. He puts one earphone in and holds the other one out to me. “Listen with me?”

I suck in a breath but nod. “Yeah.” 

Once we’re both situated, he looks at me for confirmation before pressing play.

Now’s all we’ve got / and time can’t be bought / I know it inside my heart / forever will forever be ours / even if we try to forget / love will remember

I watch his face while we listen, trying to decipher his expression, but it’s blank. Even more so when the next line starts. 

You said you loved me / I said I loved you back / what happened to that? What happened to that? / all your promises, and all those plans we had / what happened to that? What happened to that? 

Boom, gone / yeah, we move on / even if we try to forget / love will remember you / and love will remember me / I know it inside my heart / forever will forever be ours / even if we try to forget / love will remember

I hate not knowing what he’s thinking. He’s nodding his head to the beat as the second verse kicks in, but his face still holds no emotion. I don’t know if he’s upset, hurt, what? Usually I can tell. But then again, I did tell him I wrote this about him, and it’s a breakup song. I’ve never written one about him before (well, “It’ll be Okay” but that one doesn’t fully count because Shawn co-wrote it. This one was all me.) 

I take a deep breath as the second chorus starts to come to an end. This last verse was the hardest for me to write, but it’s also my favorite thing I’ve written.

Break down the walls / let heaven in / somewhere in forever we’ll dance again / we used to be inseparable / I used to think that I was irreplaceable / we lit the whole world up before we blew it up / I still don’t know just how we screwed it up / forever, forever, forever

That’s the first time his face breaks that blank stare. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, but not before I catch something in his eyes - it somehow looks like a mix between hurt and pride? I don’t know how those two go together, but that’s what it looks like, but when he opens his eyes again as the song comes to an end, the look is gone. And he’s back to being blank and expressionless. He stops the track and takes out his earbud. I do the same. 

“Well?”

He sighs, “You write one hell of a breakup song.”

I look down at my hands. “If you totally hate it, I won't release it. I have a few others that I can choose from to put out instead -”

“Release it,” he says, causing me to look back at him. 

“What?”

“It’s a great song, Luc. The lyrics are - they’re real, and that’s what makes it great. Do I wish they weren’t real? Yes, but that’s on me, not you.You wrote what you felt, I’ve always been proud of you for that. So, don’t not put it out because of me.”

“Okay,” I sigh. “Are you - are we okay?”

He nods, taking my hand in his and my breath hitches at the contact. I forgot how such a simple touch always made my heart flutter when it happened. “We’re okay. But I do have to tell you one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Right now, I know we’re just trying to be friends and work on being around each other. But, I want my intentions to be clear. Okay? I want to be with you again. And I’m going to regain your trust. I want you to fall in love with me again.”

I never fell out. “I want that too,” I mutter. 

“I’m gonna fix things for us. I will.”

“We’ll take it day by day?”

“Yeah. Day by day.”

---

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Lucaofficial My NEW SINGLE “Love Will Remember” comes out next week. Click the link in my bio to PRESAVE

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[faggyangel]

One More Time

The last time Ian was on the other side of this glass, he was breaking Mickey’s heart. 

It’s been a couple weeks since he’s gotten out. Despite having called numerous times and being able to facetime occasionally with the phone Mickey acquired, there’s nothing like seeing him in person. Except he knows why he’s been avoiding visiting. 

It’s hard seeing him behind glass, not being able to touch him or smell him. They’ve been stripped of that privilege and Ian doesn’t know how to cope. 

He sits down on the stool before hearing a sharp buzzer go off as a guard opens the gate. Out walks Mickey, dawning his bright yellow jumpsuit and crooked smile as he spots Ian. 

Ian takes a sharp breath, his heart stuttering at the sudden déjà vu. 

He remembers watching Mickey walk out of a gate just like that one not four years ago, feeling a horrible sense of dread because he knew it would be the last time he saw him. Ian remembers feeling pulled to him, he remembers having to fight off tears as he left, convincing himself that it was for the best. 

Mickey sits down and picks up the phone, “Hey, Gallagher.” 

“Hey, you behaving in there?” Ian tries to keep conversation as light as possible but it feels stilted and weighed down by the reality of the situation. 

Mickey’s in jail; Ian’s not. 

They’ve been here a thousand times. They’re separated, forced apart, imprisoned and divided by a thick layer of glass. 

“Mmm, what are you gonna do if I’m not,” Mickey leans his cheek on the phone, tilting his head and smirking. 

Ian laughs but this time around, he doesn’t try to hide it or wipe it off his face. 

“Shut up, asshole. Don’t get into trouble, alright? Don’t get yourself killed,” Ian warns, he tries to make his voice sound threatening and hard but the insecurity leaks through like water through his fingers. He falters, watching Mickey move from behind the glass. There’s a stain right in the middle, obstructing part of Mickey’s face, “Do you need anything? You’re eating, right? No one’s giving you any trouble?”

“Ian, I’m fine,” Mickey rolls his eyes at his overprotectiveness, scoffing, “Say that like I haven’t been here before.” 

“Exactly,” Ian raises his hand, about to reach out and grab at him before he realizes he can’t. He looks down at the table and pretends like he wanted to scratch his face instead but Mickey catches it. 

“I’ll be out soon, don’t be such a pussy,” his voice is gentle and quiet. 

Ian nods, he repeats it to himself, He’ll be out soon, he’ll be with me soon, don’t be a pussy, don’t be a pussy. 

“Fuck off. I just-” Ian breaks off but recomposes himself, don’t be a pussy, “I fucking miss you, Mick.” 

Mickey’s eyes soften and for the first, they falter too. Just like Ian, he’s wary and exhausted.

“Miss you too.” 

Ian thinks that’s the end of it, they’ll go back to talking about nothing important but just as he’s about to move on, he sees Mickey’s hand come up to the glass, splaying his palm over it. 

Ian bites his lip and holds back a smile at the gesture, “Not gonna threaten me this time, are you?” 

Mickey chuckles, “Just put your hand on glass, moron.” 

Ian complies, knowing it’s not much but it’s something. He’s not actually touching Mickey’s hand, he’s not actually feeling his skin against his, instead it’s the cold hard glass touching back. But he’s there, Mickey’s here right behind the glass, looking back at him. 

He’ll be out soon. One more time, then we’re home free. 

“Fucking takes me back, you know?” Mickey breaks the silence. 

Ian’s heart drops, knowing Mickey’s thinking the same thing he is. The last time they were here, Mickey walked away with a broken heart and an infected tattoo. 

“You know, when we were kids and you always visited me like, what? Every other day?”

Ian furrows his eyebrows, oh. He remembers that too. It started when Mickey got shot and thrown in juvie in the same week. Ian first visited him to make sure he was okay but they fell into a routine. Ian checked in every week, bringing him news about his sister, telling him about his day, asking about Mickey’s. 

“Right, I almost forgot about that,” Ian’s eyes drift towards Mickey’s chest, right above the horribly sweet tattoo that Ian used to run his fingers over every night before they slept. 

“You had it so bad,” Mickey wrinkles his nose and smiles, “Christ, you kept looking at me with that fucking look. You made it real hard to cover up in here, you know that? Had to say you were my fucking cousin or some shit to get people off my back,” he looks fondly at Ian in remembrance. 

Ian remembers too. He was infatuated with everything Mickey did, already falling fast and hard. He also remembers feeling heartbroken at not being able to be with him. He used to fall asleep thinking about what it would be like to have Mickey there with him. And everytime Mickey would get sent away, it felt like it was the end of the world. 

But it wasn’t. 

They made it. They’ve been here before but they got through it. 

It was like they were fucking made for each other and nothing could keep them away for long. Ian notices that Mickey’s been staring at their hands and asks, “You’ll be out soon, right?” 

Mickey nods and looks back to Ian, “Gonna wait for me until then?” 

That fucking question. Last time he heard it, he lied. He said yes but he walked away, he left Mickey waiting there. His heart broke in two but he kept walking, thinking he would be able to stay away. 

But he’s never been able to before, “Yeah, Mick, I’ll wait.” 

This time, they both know he’s telling the truth.

[this idea came directly from @ianandmickeygallavich]

[the-cult-of-russo]

Hi!! So i just read your billy headcanon about him and reader arguing and it was so good! I loved how thorough you were and i liked how the stages are so accurate to his personality! What do you think him and reader would argue about?

Once again, my brain is total chaos. It's my chaos and I understand it but trying to get it down for others to make sense of makes my head hurt lmao

First of all, I'm gonna do two sections. One for things that Billy would start a fight over, and one that you'd pick a fight over. Basically, things you do to upset him enough to cause a fight and then things he'd do that upset you enough to cause a fight.

If you haven't seen my other headcanon about how Billy acts during a fight, find it here. I reference his Stages of Rage in this so it'll make sense if you've read it.

Also remember this is my Billy.

-

Billy:

Billy can be impulsive and he has a temper. That being said, he's learnt really well over the years how to push it down. He's got good at stuffing his anger in a box and dealing with it another time somehow. Sometimes people wouldn't even know just how pissed he is. Yet with you, sometimes you do things that drive him to the brink of insanity and he finds it hard to deal with it.

The thing with Billy is, any negative emotion turns to anger. He doesn't know how to cope with it otherwise. And the things you'd do to cause him to fight with you don't actually make him genuinely angry. They've made him upset, hurt, or scared. All feelings he loathes to feel and they morph into anger instead.

The first thing that would cause him to fight with you is jealousy. Its not that he doesn't trust you because he does. He trusts you explicitly. But for all of his outward bravado and confidence, he has a lot of deep rooted self worth issues stemming from his childhood. Those disgusting feelings of not being good enough, of not being worthy of love or happiness, of not being wanted. All of those have been buried down inside of him yet you seem to bring them out kicking and screaming.

He's terrified of you leaving him. He finally has something special, worth every bit of pain he's suffered. He's finally found happiness. He feels like he's got to cling onto you desperately, fingers bloodied as he clutches you so hard like you might float away the second he let's up.

So when you and Billy are out with friends and you go up to the bar, he watches you with a dopey smile because he can't help it. But it gets wiped off his face the second some asshole approaches you. He knows it's ridiculous when the green eyed monster rears its head, he knows because although you smile at the man, it's tense. It's a polite but awkward smile as you shake your head and clearly tell him you're not interested.

Yet Billy's chest hurts. Because what if you see something in this man you don’t see in him? What if this guy is the one who steals you away from him? What if this is when you open your eyes and realise how worthless he is and you leave him?

He's aware his brain is being overdramatic yet he can't help the anger building inside of him. The defense mechanism of turning his pain and terror and sadness into something he can deal with.

And he doesn't want to cause a scene around all of your friends. So he goes the rest of the night being quiet and a little distant. You know somethings wrong and have a good idea what. But Billy suddenly feels miles away.

As soon as you get home, he let's it loose, unable not to. It sometimes starts with The Snark, passive aggressive comments about the man at the bar and how you should have gone home with him. 

But he gets angrier.

Because you don't get it. You tell him nothing happened and that he's being stupid but you don't fucking get the agonising fear that's crippling him because he's not good enough for you. So The Loudmouth stage begins because if he's wounded, he's gonna wound you right back.

But somewhere along the way you see through the anger. You see the pain in his glossy eyes, hear the tremor in his voice. Suddenly you hear everything he isn't saying. Instead of yelling at him that he's being dramatic or stupid, you switch tactics. You reassure him. You tell him he's the only one for you and you soothe his wounds by trying to get him to see that.

Although he still doesn't believe it, he likely never will, it does bring him back to earth. And of course he says sorry for the remarks he made but you know he was only lashing out because he was hurting.

-

The other thing that will get him to fight with you is also because of fear. If you put yourself in situations where you could possibly get hurt, even if it's something small like walking home in the dark, he flips his shit. He hates it, doesn't understand why you'd be so reckless. And while sometimes he's being overboard with it, too overprotective, he doesn't see it that way.

Billy's been through a lot, seen a lot of shit, done even more. He knows how dark this world gets. So if you ever put yourself in danger, even a small bit by being reckless, you're damn right he's gonna lash out at you. He goes through every stage of rage (except the last) if you try and defend your actions because he can't fathom the fact you aren't seeing his side with this. Why you won't let him just protect you. If he had his way, he'd put you in a bubble to keep you safe.

-

Other than that, there isn't much else you do that causes him to really fight with you. He's not petty. He's not the type to pick a fight over mundane stupid shit like you leaving your clothes all over the bedroom. Even if it does annoy him since he's such a neat freak.

Anything that you do that elicits those awful negative emotions are what gets to him.

-

You:

Billy's flirting is certainly a bone of contention. And while it doesn't happen often and it's never really serious since you two got together, sometimes it slips out of his mouth like it's second nature to him. Because it is. An example of this is at an event. He pays a flirty compliment to a senators daughter thats been eyeing him. He doesn't even know he's done it, doesn't seem phased until he sees your face. But he's at work, important business and schmoozing to do and he doesn't want you to cause a scene.

But waiting until you get home only annoys you more. It was an offhand comment and you know deep down he didn't mean it. But it still hurts you because he's with you. And you knew damn well if you did that to him he'd lose his shit. But you patiently wait until you get home, giving him the cold shoulder the whole way. And he knows what's coming. It's happened before.

But the thing with Billy is that he gets defensive if he feels backed into a corner. So when you whirl on him the second you get home, he pushes right back. He thinks you're blowing it way out of proportion and honestly, if you'd approached him calmly about it, he'd apologise right away and tell you he'd do better. But the fact you’re yelling at him has his back up so he can't seem to find it in himself to see it your way at all.

At first you don't tell him the real reason why it hurt you. You're just pissed. But as the argument unfolds you blurt out why it stung so much and his anger gets sucked right out of him. He watches you, devastation on his face as he realises you don't feel loved enough, that you think he'd go behind your back, that he'd find someone else. That notion is absurd to him, like he'd ever do such a thing when he has everything he ever wanted with you. But knowing he's hasn't shown you enough how much he cares wounds him deeply.

So he comforts you, promises he'll make it up up you and it won't happen again and he makes sure to make time to make you see just how much he loves you and only you.

-

Another thing that tends to get you upset at him is Anvil. Billy works a lot, too much most times. The amount of times he's coming home when you're already asleep or has to cancel plans with you starts to weigh on you. Building up until you explode about it.

But once again, Billy feels backed into a corner. Anvil is way more than just a company to him. It's a physical manifestation of how far he's come in life. It's proof that he's come all this way and he's done it all on his own. Anvil is like his baby.

And if it ever came down to picking Anvil or you, yes he'd pick you. But deep down he might end up resenting you for it. Because Anvil is an extention of him and his work makes up who he is. You knew this when you met him. It starts to feel like you're trying to change him and that gets right under his skin. Because if you want to change him, then you don't love him as he is. And that shit hurts.

He's already tried his best to placate you over Anvil. He works less, only staying late if its imperative he does and he tries his best to make time for you. He knows it's hard and he's away more than you'd like but he's fucking trying. So it feels like a smack in the face when you do this, like you can't see how much he's ready done to try and make a life where he can have both.

He works hard to keep the company the best it can be, he has to. But he also works hard for you. Because one day he wants to buy a big house and possibly fill it with children with you. He wants to show you the world and give you everything you've ever wanted. So it makes him feel unappreciated.

He feels stuck between a rock and a hard place every damn time this argument comes up because he doesn't know what else to do. He's trying his hardest to juggle Anvil and you and sometimes it feels like you're making it hard for him. He can't change who he is and if you can't handle it then it kills him. Because he knows if you can't deal with it then eventually you'll leave and he thinks he might just die if that happens.

These arguments get explosive because of all the emotions it makes him feel and sometimes you don't speak for days after. Both of you miserable as you miss the other. Deep down you know he's trying his best and you feel bad because you know how much these fights upset him. Eventually you apologise. You knew Anvil was his world before you met, knew how hard he worked. You don't want to change him and if you're honest with yourself, he's done a damn good job of making sure there's a place for you in his life. And maybe you never imagined you'd settle down with a workaholic, to miss them all the time, but it's worth it.

-

The last thing is how Billy's past seems to have a way of haunting you both. You were well aware of his nature before you met, he'd been pretty upfront about it. But sometimes it's hard when you're at an event with him and one of his past one night stands are there or you both run into one in the street.

This doesn't cause a full blown argument. If anything it's more one sided and Billy soon learns you've been taking tips from his Stages of Rage handbook when you use The Snark on him. You can't help it. The bitter jealousy that creeps in. But he doesn't fight back because for once he's a little ashamed of his past behaviour. He never wanted to settle down, didn't see the point. But that's because he hadn't met you yet. But now he sees your face everytime he's approached by a past lover and it hurts him. It makes him worry that you'll leave him one day.

So he accepts the anger and passive aggressive comments you throw at him because he feels like he deserves them. But his unwillingness to fight back has you sobering up pretty quickly. Because you know realistically it's not his fault and you can't hold his behaviour from before you even met over his head. It comes from insecurity and its not fair to lash out at him. And you hate how sad he seems when you do this to him. So you say sorry and make it up to him.

-

The last thing I'll touch on is his last Stage of Rage that mentioned in my other post. The Snowstorm. I said how this meant you'd done some really bad. Like maybe even break-up bad. This is where he turns off his emotions because you've hurt him that much. I wanted to give an example of what might cause him to do that.

The biggest one of course would be you cheating on him. It would be a knife right through his heart. He'd want to forgive you for the fact he loves you more than anything but betrayal isn't something he takes lightly. Couple that with him already having self worth issues and feeling not good enough for you and you have a very broken Billy on your hands.

Maybe in time he could move past it after some separation and a lot of thinking. But this would be the worst thing to happen to him.

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E121 (Jan. 19, 2021)

Aaaand we're back! The epic pet montage at the start is still the greatest thing ever.

Tonight's guests? Matthew Mercer and Marisha Ray!

We begin with an extensive discussion of waffle farts. As you do.

Matt is asked what it's been like to get to build out the characters in the Tombtakers. Lucien is Matt's favorite, but they've all got some fun traits to them. "It's one of those rare experiences as a dungeon master where you get to watch your players combat with the necessity of playing along. The instinct is: fuck these guys, I want to fight them, we'll take their shit... or I guess we have to play nice. And they begrudgingly grit their teeth and I smile internally."

On the Lucien accent: "You guys are all so mean to Taliesin!" Matt knew his own take would be a "weird mutation" of Mollymauk's accent anyway.

How's Marisha feeling about a lot of her predictions panning out? "Aw, I mean, gee, me? What? Noooo. It's definitely vindicating, I'm not gonna lie, and rewarding, but I also know that I write a lot of shit down in that notebook that's never relevant ever again. It's definitely a good feeling to know that I didn't go on that fifteen-minute deep dive and was utterly wrong about everything I said." Matt: "I was super proud. I was just silently cheering you on as you went on these long tangents."

What does Lucien think of the Mighty Nein? "Lucien is definitely curious about why they're getting involved in his shit and what they're planning alongside them. One, he hates Beau because he doesn't like people who challenge his authority. He gravitates towards Jester to an extent because she's the most open, which from his standpoint makes her easiest to manipulate. He loves toying with curiosity, and so between Jester and Caleb, those are the two people that he's the most comfortable interacting with. Caduceus makes him feel a little weird. He's amused by them. Fjord to Lucien is one of the more guarded and less accessible at the moment."

Is Beau enjoying getting under Lucien's skin? "Beau's picking and poking still kind of stems from her defensiveness and guardedness and her feelings, in a lot of ways, and the way that she's coping with things. It's a few steps removed from her default and what she often resorts to when she starts throwing up those barriers. She still has in the back of her head that she's looking at her dead friend. It's her way of protecting herself if she can go, fuck you, I don't care about you. This isn't too dissimilar to the way she reacted when Yasha was brainwashed." Matt: "It's a unique social sparring match the whole time they're traveling side-by-side. It's unique to have an antagonistic force that you're--" Marisha: "That we're going camping with."

Navigating the Tombtaker/M9 relationship as a DM is "challenging. At any given moment, a wrong statement could escalate matters one way or the other. It's having to pay attention to a lot of things at all points in time to be ready for how those chain reactions can happen and where it might go." He likens it to trying to follow and participate in two different conversations simultaneously at a party.

On the note from Yasha: "Oh man, you guys. Oh, it was so sweet. I don't think Beau was expecting Yasha to be so forthcoming with everything, and so complimentary and eloquent. Beau is awkward with healthy relationships, so she doesn't know how to handle them. She's still processing that and wants to not ruin it. No, it was magical." Ashley told Marisha after the episode that she was trying to think of what to say and wound up basing it on what she would say about Marisha.

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Vax (by stormfeather_cosplay, photograph by travi_b, both on Instagram)!

On using variations on the Wild Magic table: "I wanted to give it some variation to consequences. They took some of the tooth out of it from earlier editions. I knew it would be fun once I gave them the specifications of when these things would happen - players are just waiting for someone to roll a 20 or a 1 at all times."

Why is it so important to Beau that she and Yasha have a proper date? Part of it is a fresh start. "So much of Beau's past relationships have been rooted in some toxic behavior. Beau feels like, well, maybe we should just start from the beginning in the most us way possible: fighting through the tundra with our dead-ish friend."

The sci-fi-ish theme came toward the end of developing Aeor, but it mostly comes from rationalization. Matt is intrigued by how all these different societies want to usurp the gods... which has parallels with modern society. He notes that focusing more on the science of the magic means the aesthetics pull away to "instead facilitate the utility or the most direct route to the answers you want. You streamline as opposed to focusing on the aesthetics."

Beau’s reaction to all the weird magic stuff? “I think Beau’s just so focused on the pragmatic aspects of it all right now. There are greedy people with motives and the will and want to corrupt across all spans of cultures and times. She’s trying not to get lost in the magic, both proverbially and literally, of it all, and just trying to focus on the motives of these people at hand.”

In some ways, Matt was surprised by Caduceus’ strong reaction to the creepy woods. “It was the first major reveal that there are some other sides to the coin that he hadn’t learned about. I had no idea how he would react. It pushed him away more in ways than I expected.”

Fan art of the week: an amazing Lucien! (by oratorkayla on Twitter)

What’s Dagen’s motivation? “He’s definitely a man of his word when it comes to fulfilling a contract and getting the other half of his pay, but it’s not hard to see they’ve grown on him a little bit. He’s really good at getting around the tundra unseen and unnoticed.”

Brian: “In true Sam fashion-” Marisha, instantly: “OH MY GOD.”

Marisha: “Here’s the thing. Here’s the tea, okay? If I ever hear one more fucking person trying to claim that I’m ruining things by metagaming, I’m going to point to Sam. I’m expected to respond accordingly to Veth being a Sam troll. Gods damn him! Raven Queen curse upon him! Let chaos reign! He made me pull out my earphones, I can’t hear anything you’re saying. It’s frustrating because I’d be mad at it if it wasn’t so god damn funny.” Matt notes that at a different table this wouldn’t be great behavior, but they all know each other well enough (and check in with each other enough) that it’s comfortable teasing.

With a bit of a deeper pull, Matt is asked whether he knew Avantika would return someday? “I knew she was a fun, interesting option out there. The M9 still have in their grasp the single most important artifact, in Uk’otoa’s opinion, at the moment. As long as they carry that artifact, his eye of Sauron is upon them.” Matt notes that he has more encounter tables going, so a lot of the time even he’s not sure what’s going to happen.

Caduceus suggested contacting Essek, but Beau and Caleb nixed that idea. Does Beau trust him? “Gods no. Absolutely not. She can like Essek personally. As a person, he’s fine, I guess. But I think a lot of people might be forgetting that he’s kind of a war criminal and kind of set off a lot of bad things in motion with this war with the Empire and the Dynasty, because he wanted power and to know things. So now here he is, also in Aeor. Yeah. Just kinda putting two and two together there. It is another one of those things of, you’re walking that line on trying to keep him on your good side and having a mutually beneficial relationship before it could easily go completely south.”

On the Star Razor being a Vestige: “I don’t want this to be--- the Vestiges aren’t always a thing where it’s like, you get a Vestige and you get a Vestige! I want them to be still considered special and rare. This is one that had to be earned, it had to be reforged. I didn’t know the circumstances that would involve it coming about.” He based it on the circumstances of Fjord’s evolution into a paladin. “In essence, not only did he finish the creation of the sword, but he Awakened it at the same time as he made this transition. It is Exalted at this point, it’s in its final form.”

What does Beau think might lie ahead? “I have no idea. I am trying to abandon expectation when it comes to that. I know what we don’t know, and that’s it. Beau is trying to compensate for the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns. I hope we can keep this tenuous relationship through to Aeor, because we need more answers before it explodes in our face. Beau, and Marisha, is hoping for a little more information before shit hits the fan.”

[flames-tstuff]

Okay so, um, I hope you don’t mind me requesting something! ^.^ 💕 You always support me and I wanna support you too!

So, Uraraka and Ojiro. Fluff & Tickles. The idea is that Uraraka is stressed out and one way she copes is by coloring, and Bakugou or whoever sees her and teases her, then Ojiro defends her and says like, it’s fine to be a kid sometimes, bc they’ve grown up pretty fast. And so like, the next day they go to a park and swing, he gets her ice cream, then they go back to the dorm and color while watching cartoons, and then a tickle scene happens on the cartoon, and then it leads to him tickling her and hugs and cuddles and friendship. Aaaaa 🙈

To Be a Kid Again (BNHA)

Ojiro wants to show Uraraka that it’s okay to be a kid again sometimes.

Pairings: Platonic Uraraka and Ojiro

Warnings: Bakugou being a jerk, some light angst

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: Omg this is such a cute pairing!! I've never even considered them together, either as friends or as partners. What would their ship name be? Ojiraka? Also, I've never written for either of them, so I hope this is okay!

Uraraka was tired. It had been a long day at school, and despite the fact that it was only Wednesday, she was more than ready for the weekend.

After changing out of her uniform and grabbing a couple items from her room, Uraraka flopped down onto one of the couches of the commons with a heavy sigh. She really didn’t have anything to do now that classes were over for the day. She’d already finished her homework and dinner wasn’t for another or hour or so. Despite how exhausted she was, she had just enough energy left to do one of her favorite activities to pass the time: coloring.

She didn’t know why exactly, but something about sitting down and letting herself get lost in the mindlessness of coloring had always been soothing to her. So there she was, sitting on the couch crisscross, using her knee as a table and getting to work. After a few minutes, the brain fog that had been plaguing Uraraka the last couple of hours began to disappear, and her mind was back as ease.

That was, until Bakugou came into the room. Looking just as tired and grumpy as she felt, Bakugou was about to head up to his room when Uraraka accidentally caught his eye.

“What are you looking at, Round Face?”

She quickly looked back down at her lap in alarm. “N-Nothing. Sorry.”

Bakugou continued to glare her way when he noticed the book in her lap and the pile of markers next to her. He came a few feet closer, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Tch. What are you, five years old?”

“Wh… what do you mean?”

At this time, Ojiro had just entered the commons and was just about to step into the elevator when the other students’ conversation caught his attention.

“Coloring books? Seriously? That shit’s for babies.”

Uraraka felt her cheeks start to burn.

“Hey, hey!” Ojiro jogged over to see what the commotion was about. Bakugou tended to pick fights pretty easily. “What’s going on here?”

Bakugou just crossed his arms and scowled at him.

Ojiro looked down at Uraraka, whose ears and cheeks were painted red. He then noticed the art supplies surrounding her. “Is he giving you a hard time?”

Uraraka just looked back and forth between the two of them, not daring to say anything.

“I heard you say something was ‘for babies,’” Ojiro turned to Bakugou with a stern look on his face. “You weren’t talking about coloring, were you?”

Again, silence.

“It’s really not, you know. People draw and color all the time! Besides, even if it was, what’s wrong with that? Everyone should be allowed to do things they enjoy, especially something as harmless as coloring. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem is that we’re trying to be heroes!” Bakugou shot back. “Heroes shouldn’t be doing childish shit like that! If you really wanted to be a hero you’d be out training!”

Ojiro sighed, a little exasperated. “Of course training is important. But rest is important too. Doing things you love is important. If you don’t take the time to be a kid and let loose a little, you’re going to burn out. No pun intended, in your case, Bakugou.” Ojiro smiled, a little teasingly.

“Ugh, whatever,” Bakugou relented and headed back towards the elevator. “Whatever it’ll take for you to shut up and stop lecturing me.”

Uraraka and Ojiro both snickered at that, and in a few moments, it was just the two of them.

“Sorry about that,” Ojiro said apologetically. “Bakugou can be a real pain sometimes.”

“No kidding,” she agreed. “Um… thanks. You really didn’t have to do that. I’m sure I would’ve been okay on my own.”

“Of course you would have! But what are friends for?” Ojiro smiled brightly, holding out his hand. Uraraka smiled back and accepted the hand up. “You hungry? I think it’s about time for dinner.”

~~~

The next day was just as hard, though Uraraka did feel a little better after a good night’s sleep.

After dinner the previous night, Ojiro had asked if she’d want to hang out the next day after classes, in attempt to keep tabs on her since her fight with Bakugou. She assured him she was fine, but he insisted that it was his treat, so she obliged.

“So where are we going?” Uraraka asked walking next to Ojiro on the sidewalk.

“I’m taking you to one of my favorite places.” The two entered a chain link-fenced area.

“…a playground?”

“Yep! This was one of my favorite places in the world as a kid, and it still is. Come on! Let’s swing!”

And before she could argue, Ojiro grabbed her hand and tugged her along towards the swing set. Thankfully there wasn’t anyone else around, so they had the place to themselves.

“So,” Uraraka started, swinging her legs a little. “Why are we doing this exactly? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out! But where is this coming from?”

Ojiro laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “I was thinking, well… I wanted to show you that’s it’s okay to be a kid. To let loose a little. You seemed like you needed it, especially after what happened yesterday.”

Uraraka’s heart warmed at that. She really couldn’t ask for better classmates as friends.

Ojiro’s expression dropped to something a little more serious. “I’ve realized that we’ve all had to grow up so fast in these last few years. It makes me kind of sad.”

“Why is that?” Uraraka questioned.

“Don’t you miss this kind of stuff?” He gestured to the rest of the play set. “As much as I hate it, I think you and I both know there’s some truth to what Bakugou said yesterday. Heroes are supposed to be constantly training, constantly trying to grow and improve their skills. All that’s great, but it leaves no room to be what we actually are… teens. Kids. Don’t you ever feel like you grew up too fast?”

Uraraka couldn’t help but think about her parents. How, as just a little girl, barely old enough to go to school, she committed to helping them make money in any way she could. All the experiences she’d missed out on when she was younger due to her family’s financial situation. “Yeah… I guess I do.”

Ojiro offered a sympathetic smile. “That’s why it’s times like these, in the little spare moments we have to ourselves, that we can take the time to indulge that inner child.”

Uraraka took a moment to digest his words. “I think I understand now.” Then, in a small, hopeful voice: “Maybe... a-after we’re done here, we could... um... get some ice cream?”

Ojiro grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.” He hopped off his swing. “Race ya!”

“Hey, no fair!” Uraraka laughed and chased after him.

~~~

After getting their ice cream—strawberry for Uraraka and vanilla for Ojiro—the two friends happily walked back to the dorms together.

“By the way,” Ojiro said, “I never got the chance to tell you, but I saw your coloring book, and well… it looks really good!”

“Oh!” Uraraka looked down, a little embarrassed. “Hah, thanks…”

He could tell she did believe him. “I’m being serious! I think it’s really cool that you’re into that kind of stuff. Have you always liked coloring? You seem to be good at it.”

“Yeah, but I really can’t take much credit. I mean, it’s just filling in the shapes. It’s not like I drew it,” she reasoned, licking her ice cream.

“Hey, I can hardly stay in the lines, so it’s impressive to me.”

Uraraka laughed, knowing he was probably just saying that to make her feel good, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

“Thank you,” she said, speaking as sincere as possible. They had made it back to the common area of the dorms where they stood, waiting to depart to their own rooms. “For everything.”

Ojiro realized she thought he had brought her back here to say goodbye. “Hey, if you want, you can hang in my room.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! We could watch TV, or if you have homework to work on, I won’t bother you.”

She smiled. “I’d love that. Thanks again, Ojiro, you’re the best.” She threw her arms around him in a tight hug. Ojiro was a little taken aback, but quickly returned the gesture.

The two friends sat comfortably on his bed with their backs against the wall. The TV droned on in the background, mostly forgotten, as they chatted about school and their weekend plans.

Once the conversation died out, they settled down to watch what was playing on the screen, falling into comfortable silence. One of the characters poked the other, making them jump back and laugh. Ojiro smiled at the scene and stole a quick glance at Uraraka to see how she was doing, just in time to see her blush a little at the sight. It was so brief, if he hadn’t looked at just the right moment he would’ve missed it.

Suddenly feeling mischievous, Ojiro darted his hands to Uraraka’s sides and began squeezing, making her squeal and fall back on the bed in a fit of happy giggles.

“Ohohjiroho! Eeeep! Whaha—Why? Hahaha!”

“Because! I wanna hear you laugh! Didn’t I tell you to start letting loose?”

Uraraka was too weak and giddy to respond or do much more than weakly bat his hands in a half-hearted attempt.

Ojiro made the mistake of coming closer to get better purchase on her ribs, and Uraraka pushed through the tickly feeling just enough to be able to reach a hand up and scratch at the base of his spine, making him yelp and jerk away. This gave Uraraka just enough time to gain the upper hand by pushing him down and straddling his waist with her knees.

“Uraraka, wa-HAHAHAIT!” he burst into loud belly laughter as she began kneading up and down his torso the same way he had done to her.

“Maybe you should start taking your own advice, Ojiro!” she laughed with him. “Come on, you shouldn’t be afraid of being a kid again, right? Tickle tickle!”

This made his cheeks turn bright red and his laugh go a few pitches higher.

Uraraka was feeling all-powerful with Ojiro now at her mercy. That was, until she felt a soft, feathery feeling against her neck and under her chin, making her flinch and snort.

“Ohohoh my gohohosh, you snohorted!” Ojrio teased through his own laughter.

“N-no fahahair!” Uraraka stammered out as best she could. “You shohouldn’t be allowed t-to use your tahahail!”

“Wehehell too bahad! I’m using it!”

The two stayed like that, trying to out-tickle each other—Uraraka going at his ribs and belly, and Ojiro trying his best to throw her off using his tail to brush all over her neck and sides, both laughing hysterically. Eventually Uraraka was weakened just enough for Ojiro to get her back one last time before they both collapsed in exhaustion.

“Jeez, you don’t give up easy, do you?” Uraraka panted, a big smile still on her face.

“No,” Ojiro agreed. “But you held out pretty long too, I’m impressed.”

After finally catching their breath, Uraraka opened her arms in offering. “Cuddles?”

Ojiro couldn’t have refused the offer if he tried. “Heh. Yeah, cuddles.”

He scooted closer and wrapped his arms around her torso, leaning his head into her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him in return, resting her head atop his.

And there they stayed for the rest of the evening.

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - The Weird Little Shit

For: @darks-ink

A class discussion held by Wes about Danny’s weirdness was never not going to be an absolute cluster fuck

Wes smacks the board, “alright, fuckers, thank you for coming-”.

“We’re only here because we lost a bet”.

“Shut up, Dash. You shouldn’t have to be strong-armed into learning the truth”. Everyone rolls their eyes at Wes pretty actively. “Anyway, since you all refuse to see or even listen to the truth of what Danny Fenton is. Instead, this. Weird shit about Danny Fenton one oh one”.

Dash snorts, “now this I can get behind, little shit weighs, like, ten pounds or some shit”. Wes points at him aggressively, “exactly”. Scribbling down ‘weighs less than a sack of potatoes' on the board. Star throwing in her two cents, “yeah and I’ve seen Sam just pick him up under her arm and run off”.

Brittney smacks her desk, “half the time he makes food directly in home ec it’s fucking cold, which ew, but also really weird”.

“Oh yeah he does that with his drinks too. He whole ass ‘drank’ a solid chunk of ice, major power move honestly”.

“And remember that snowball fight? I don’t think he ever actually made any snowballs, he just kept acquiring them”.

“Kid made for a great air conditioner when all the windows got stuck shut though; guy runs cold as fuck”.

Wes is just aggressively scribbling more down with a mildly manic grin.

“We should totally invite him to parties so he can keep the fucking beer cold”.

Dash laughs loudly and smacks Dale on the arm, “now there’s an idea!”, deadpanning, “still not inviting freaky Fenton though”. Dale chuckles very awkwardly.

“Well he’s an ice sculptor so that’s not surprising”.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘ice sculptor’? He clearly lifts weights in his spare time”.

“Oh yeah, he lowkey picked up the back end of my car once”.

“James, your car is a tiny little piece of shit. I could lift that damn thing”.

“Hey”.

“Anyway. Like I was saying, people who handle cold shit all the time, you know, like ice sculptors, usually have cold hands”.

“He lifts weights! Not ice sculpts!”.

“Here I though he was a painter”.

“Why the fuck would he be doing that?”.

“Well he’s always randomly splattered in green paint”.

Basically everyone pauses to look at Hanna. Kwan blinking, “the green is ectoplasm, duh”. Emilie shrugging and nodding, “everyone knows that”.

“Well I thought it was paint”.

“Well you’re clearly stupid”.

“Shut up”.

Dash waves everyone off, “so clearly not a painter or weight lifter, because have you seen his goddamn noodle arms?”.

“He lifts weights!”.

“No he doesn’t!”.

“Who cares! Have you seen his dad? Of course he’s a strong little shit! What really gets me is him getting out of locked rooms”.

“Oh he whole ass climbs out windows and shit”.

“All that ecto that gets on his skin makes his hands all sticky, hence why he can climb the side of buildings”.

“When the heck did you see him doing that?”.

“Oh I totally saw him showing off knife swallowing to some elementary kids”.

“I think he hangs out and does drugs or some shit on the roof”.

“So he climbs up the school building to do drugs? Why wouldn’t he just use the hidden steps like a normal person?”,

“I’m pretty sure the kitchen staff actually include him in their budget for missing utensils cause he eats so many of them”.

“Julie, no one’s saying Danny’s close to normal. Also kids got an iron stomach damn”.

Dash has to jump in there, “I totally made him eat my underwear once”. Earning him a round of judging glances. “What? I didn’t expect him to actually do it. I was planning to mock him for pussying out. But then the little fucker went and did it”.

“Power move”.

“Shut up”.

“You fed your underwear to a guy who builds guns?”.

“Excuse me but what?”.

“Maybe him doing so much dangerous shit is why his heartbeats all slow and stuff”.

“Again, excuse?”.

“Well we totally tested everyone’s heart rates and breathing and shit and he’s super low. He blamed his corn supper”.

“That’s stupid”.

“His corn supper had teeth, Todd”.

“Back to the gun making because what?”.

“FentonWorks is a weapon company what do you expect?”.

“James, he made a shotgun out of a pencil, two toothpicks, an elastic band, and a snapped in half penny. The thing was magically welded together”.

“You can’t weld a fucking pencil. It’s wood, moron”.

“Well it was goddamn wielded”.

Wes grumbles, “yeah he welded my binder zipper together once, stupid pyrokinesis”. Star glares at him, “I thought this wasn’t about your crazy conspiracy crap?”. Wes glares at her like she’s stupid.

“Ignoring Wes being crazy again. You guys do know he has laser beam lipstick right? He could totally weld stuff with that”.

“Didn’t he have a tail that one day?”.

“Huh?”.

“That lipstick of his is the plasma peach one right? Because girl I so need some, it makes amazing blush”.

“Oh no a dog just crawled under his shirt. I think he was trying to hide the treats or some shit?”.

“Fucking where? in his shoulder blades?!?”.

“Oh my god that’s right, he can totally pop all his joints out so probably yeah”.

“Since when could he do that? Better yet, why? Fucking ow”.

“His fingers also glow green when he cracks them”.

“Right Right I remember that! We also got him under a black light, totally wild”.

“I wish I could pop out my joints randomly”.

“He probably just eats glow sticks and they leaked into his joints and shit”.

“THAT MAKES NO SENSE”.

“Who cares, take him to a rave”.

“Oh my god yes he does amazing makeup”.

“Wait Fenton does makeup now too?”.

Wes points at Dash, “he’s got to cover up the dead parlour to his skin somehow”. With half the class shouting, “HE’S NOT DEAD”.

Emilie pursing her lips, “but what if he was, that would be hot”.

“EXCUSE ME!?!”.

“Oh get off your vanilla basic bitch high horse, Karen”.

Wes rubs his forehead, “not this shit again”. Smacking the board, “weird shit about Fenton, people! Not y’alls weird necrophilia fetish!”.

“Hey that’s just Emilie”.

Jesse looks genuinely offended, “bitch what? Have you seen a ghost? That glow? Mmmmmh yeah, daddy”.

Star chokes, “oh my god. I love our town”.

Wes sighs, “I should just start blocking you people from seeing ghosts at all. Cover those eyes until you stop BEING FUCKING BLIND”.

“Eyes never stop seeing, they just get covered”.

“NO! NO! BAD!“.

“That weirdly reminds me that Danny can totally walk with his eyes closed”.

“That’s weird how?”.

“How ‘bout you fucking try it then!”.

Dash shrugs, “well his eyes go glowy green all the time so no surprise he can just see through his eyelids”. More than a few people look to him, “why did you not add that to the weird list?”.

“Because it’s not weird”.

“Dash... do you know anyone with goddamn glowing eyes... besides ghosts”.

“Uhhh the entire Defect Quartet”.

“Excuse?!?”.

“Honestly him biting open pop-cans is weirder”.

“Oh god yeah, that’s horrible to hear”.

“He dead ass cut his lip up once doing that and just... kept doing it. There was blood all over his neck”.

“Why the heck didn’t anyone take an edgy aesthetic photo of that? Goddamn”.

“I feel like this is more an off-the-books class on discovering that Danny might actually be hot”.

“You wanna say Fenton’s hot again? I’ll goddamn choke you, motherfucker”.

“Do it you fake ass bear dom”.

A couple of people shuffle out of their desks and away when Dash actually throws a punch at Jasper.

“On a side note, once saw Danny sleeping in a trash can”.

“How is that weird”.

“How isn’t it? It’s a trashcan”.

“And he’s trash, your point”.

“YOU'RE GONNA HAVETA HIT HARDER IF YOU WANT TO MAKE AN IMPRESSION ON YOUR TWINK BOY! HE’S DURABLE AS FUCK!”.

“FUCK YOU!!!”.

“Huh, he did survive falling from the ceiling multiple times and that drowning once”.

“Fucker wasn’t drowned, he can breathe underwater”.

“Excuse me?”.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?!”.

Dash snapping his head around, “IM TEACHING HIM A LESSON!”. Jasper just smirks, “I DON’T NEED BREATH PLAY TIPS FROM YOU!”. Dash tries punching him again.

“This is ridiculous, I mean really, Danny would be the dom”. That silenced the entire room.

“What?”.

“Come on, he ate Skulker once ‘cause the guy was coping him an attitude”.

“DANNY EATS GHOSTS?!?”.

Wes turns around and slams his head on the board, “God fuck this is such a cluster fuck”.

“You’re hosting this and holding us hostage here”.

“YOU’RE NOT MY HOSTAGES! YALL LOST A BET!”.

“Oh suck my toes”.

“WHAT?!”.

“While Wes loses his mind for the fifth time this week, what we’ve got is he’s icy as shit, likes welding and makeup and ice sculptures and weight lifting, weighs fuck all, just vores goddamn everything, and climbs shit weirdly well?”.

“You’re forgetting all the glow shit”.

“HA! Glowing shit”.

“Fuck Todd, you are a dumbass”.

“IN SHORT LOCAL ELDRITCH TEEN BUT HE’S STILL NOT A GODDAMN GHOST WES!”

“FUCK YOU! IT’S SO GODDAMN OBVIOUS HOW ARE YOU PEOPLE LIKE THIS OHMYGOD!”.

Just then Danny Fenton opens up the door, the class going dead silent while he glances around slowly. Him looking to the whiteboard, then slowly back to his fellow teens, speaking “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no”, while slowly backing out and closing the door.

At first, no one says anything before Star snickers, “pffft”; the entire classroom bursting out into laughter directly afterwards.

Wes turning around and smacking his head on the board once again, “why. Just. Why me”.

END.

Prompt: Wacky reveals (ex: Danny drying up too quickly bc intangibility, Danny's drink stays cool way too long, people's electronic devices are always more charged when they've been near Danny, etc)

[imarvelatthesight]

Around Our Heads

A/N: Surprise shawty

Pairing: Vision x Avenger!Reader

Pronouns used: Gender Neutral (they/them)

Recommended Song: Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol

Warnings: sad undertones, reader being overwhelmed, reader uses magic but a specific list powers are never stated, using magic to read emotions, literally 1 swear word

Word Count: 812

Summary: Reader is a new Avenger who becomes overwhelmed after lots of training. How do they cope with it? By laying in the road, of course.

     He couldn’t find you. You should have been in the tower, just where he had seen you an hour, five minutes, and 26 seconds ago. Steve specifically requested that he bring you back for more training.

The synthezoid stepped into the soft serenity of the night. Maybe they’ve stepped out for a moment, he thought. The low hum of the city threatened to smother the sound of roosting blue jays that made their homes in the trees near the compound. The moon, having forced the sun below the horizon, gazed  longingly on the swaying grass. Vision allowed his systems a moment of peace as he scanned around for you, settling on a strange shape in the road. 

“Darling,” He called out, “Y/N, is that you?” His feet moved on their own accord directly to where you lay. Your hands rested together in the center of your chest, your eyes closed with your eyebrows knitted tightly together. “What’re you doing in the road, love?”

Delicately, your hand drifted to Vision’s calf, resting gently on it. Concern seeped out of the man; the feeling sent a wave of guilt through your body. “I’m alright Vis, promise.” You returned to your previous position. Secretly, and perhaps selfishly, you wished he would walk away. Your whole body stung as you twisted your head to identify where the sound that dulled your thoughts was coming from. Opening your eyes, you nearly melted as you realized Vision’s were pouring back at you. He moved his head to press gently against yours. You pulled away slightly, a frown flashing over your face. “I’m okay.” 

Vision knew otherwise. His hands slid across your cheeks, your features softening at the touch. “Y/N, please. I must know what is troubling you. I know you don’t want to say it. Just let me see, darling. Just for a moment.” The end came out in a whisper. You closed the gap between the two of you. Images flashed through the synthezoid’s mind. Tony directing you where and how to use your magic. “Again.” Stark grumbled as you weakly repeated the action. You and Steve locked in mock battle, his shield striking you in the ribs. Sympathy floated across the man’s face, but the training continued nevertheless. Quick red flashes of Wanda’s magic hitting your back.  

Unknowing of his own actions, Vision’s fingers glided gently over each of the wounds while their causes continued to appear before him. You felt a sense of relief when he pulled back. “They’re pushing you too hard, Y/N. You’re notably injured.” 

You swallowed thickly.��“It’s all so much, Vis. I know I’m still new and I know I’ve much to learn, but...” A tear betrayed you by sliding down your cheek. Your lover, now laying down beside you in the road, wiped it away. “I need to rest. It is much to ask, I’m aware, but these bruises need time to heal, as does my ego.” You meekly chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. Vision, however, did not laugh. 

Instead, he launched up, pulling you with him with a yelp. “We will talk with Stark, sweetheart. You will get your rest.” His lips were tender as he pulled you into a kiss. It was peculiar to you. Vision had learned his feelings rather than being...well, born with them-- yet he expressed them much more clearly than other people. 

The two of you intently set off toward the compound, hands clasped together, swinging between you. “Vision?” You muttered.

He turned his head to look at you, nibbling on his bottom lip. “Hmm?” He hummed softly.

“I knew that no cars would drive by.” You had said it in hopes that it would bring him calmness. A smile broke out across his face, making you tilt your head. “What?”

He motioned toward the road with his head. “Nobody drives down that road but the Avengers. There’s no way anyone would have been coming, love.” You impulsively slapped your palm against your forehead. 

“You have got to be shitting me.” Laughter erupted from Vision’s chest. 

“Unfortunately, I’m not. Now, go,” He pushed you into the building, patting your back gently. “Rest. I will deal with Stark.” 

As if he was anticipating hearing his name, Tony poked is head up from seemingly nowhere. “Did someone ask for me?” His random answer made you jump slightly, your back tensing and the muscles in your arms raging with fire. “Oh jeez, kid. Why don’t you go lay down? I’ll take care of the old man.” 

Vision narrowed his eyes. You looked up at him adoringly. “Steve.” You clarified. He hummed in response. You grabbed his hand and drug him to the door of  your room. “Join me?” 

He pressed his forehead to yours again, your noses brushing over each other. The feeling rolling through him was soothing, warm, even a little intense. 

“Gladly.”

[khaleesiofalicante]

ALEC WEEK - ALEC ANGST

“I got this one,” Alec yelled over his shoulder and ran after the demon.

Being the Consul involved a lot of desk work. While Alec did appreciate getting to stay at home with Magnus and the kids…

Well, he was a Shadowhunter after all.

He had kind of missed this. The patrols. The adrenaline.

Most of all, fighting with Jace.

So, when Jace had asked him to join him on patrol, Alec had jumped on the opportunity.

But now of course he was regretting it a little bit.

When Alec had said he wanted to kick some demon ass, he had been hoping for a dozen at most.

Not this.

They had fought almost double that so far and there was many more on the way.

Jace used to call himself a chick-magnet long time ago. But in actuality, his parabatai was a demon-magnet.

Wherever Jace went, they just seemed to hang out in hoards.

They had strategized to find the greator demon that was sending out the little minions. Alec had followed one while Jace followed another. It got darker and darker with every step until Alec found himself drowning in the night. Maybe he had wondered into a cave or something.

He quickly activated his night vision rune. But it didn’t help.

This wasn’t a cave. This was magic. Demonic magic.

“Alec!” he heard Jace yell. “Can you see anything?”

“No!” Alec yelled back.

Jace sounded like he was both close and miles away.

“This is some sort of trick,” Alec said.

“Yeah, no shit,” Jace yelled back. “Let’s get out of here.”

It was then Alec heard a low chuckle.

There was something eerily familiar about it. It sounded like someone he recognized – almost.

They were still plunged in darkness, but somehow Alec noticed a figure emerge. He pointed his bow at the man.

It looked like a man. Tall. Lean. Well built. Strong.

Oh god. Surely not another prince of hell. Haven’t they had enough of those things?

The closer it got, the faster Alec’s heart started to beat.

He knew he should run. But he didn’t.

The presence felt both like a threat and an ally at the same time.

Alec didn't want to hesitate any longer. He let the arrow fly.

The figure pulled out a bow out of nowhere and let his own arrow fly. It was like watching lightening. The figure’s arrow clashed with his own and burst into dust.

“Nice shot,” the figure said as it approached him. “Next time don’t hesitate so much. It can get you killed.”

“Jace!” Alec shouted.

But there was no response.

“Who are you?” Alec yelled at the figure.

He didn’t know why we was yelling. But it seemed like the right thing to do. His shirt was soaking in sweat, his fingers trembling slightly.

“It’s me,” the voice said.

As the figure closer, a small gasp escaped Alec’s mouth. He would recognize the figure anywhere.

Even in the depths of such darkness.

“Or should I say, it’s you.”

Alec took a step back.

It was him.

It was Alec. In shadowhunter gear. His hair out of place. His bow and quiver hanging on his side.

It was Alec and it wasn’t.

Despite all the similarities, Alec knew it wasn’t him.

This one seemed…empty.

Or full.

He didn’t know.

But what gave him away was his fingers - And the lack of his favorite and only piece of jewelry.

There was no wedding band.

“Stay back, you son of a bitch,” Alec didn’t hesitate this time.

“Is that anyway to talk about our mother?” other Alec chuckled.

“This is some sort of demonic trick,” Alec said, mostly to himself.

“Duh,” Other Alec rolled his eyes, the gesture intimately familiar.

Alec let another arrow fly but again – he just wasn’t fast enough.

It was almost as if the Other Alec knew what he was going to do.

“Of course, I know what you’re going to do,” Other Alec said. “I’m you, aren’t I?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I know what you’re thinking too,” Other Alec pointed out. “Right now, you’re thinking if Jace is okay.”

Alec held up his bow again even though it was pointless.

“He is okay,” Other Alec waved him off. “He has his own nightmare to deal with.”

Nightmares.

Baku.

“You’re Baku,” Alec said, feeling slightly triumphant. “Eater of dreams. Greator Demon of Nightmares.”

“Well, technically, I’m Alec Lightwood,” the demon shrugged. “Consul in Exile.”

“Alec Lightwood-Bane,” he corrected out of habit.

“Of course,” Other Alec put up his hands, his bare fingers making him more and more worried.

“What is this supposed to be?” Alec demanded. “A nightmare? I’m not scared of you.”

“Aren’t you?” Other Alec cocked his head. “You are your greatest fear, Alec.”

“Bullshit,” Alec spit. “I’m not afraid of myself. Not anymore.”

“Are we sure about that?” Other Alec asked again.

“Yes,” Alec snapped. “I can’t hurt myself anymore.”

“Well,” Other Alec shrugged. “You can still hurt others.”

Alec stared.

It was like the demon had shot him with an arrow. Right in the chest. 

“I know you, remember?” Other Alec grinned. “I’ve seen your dreams. Your nightmares.”

“You know nothing!” Alec yelled and let another arrow fly.

Useless. Other Alec dodged it effortlessly.

“How many people should keep getting hurt, Alec?” his own voiced asked himself. “How many people should get hurt because of your incomptency?”

His throat felt dry. His head ached.

He heard the questions from Other Alec who was in front of him.

But he heard them echo inside his head too. Like he was thinking these thoughts right now.

As if he had been thinking them forever.

“I’m not incompetent!” Alec said through gritted teeth.

“Say that to Max,” Other Alec sneered.

Alec’s heart clenched.

“Or Dad,” Other Alec whispered.

And then it broke.

“I-I tried,” Alec stammered. “I tried to save them.”

“You weren’t even there,” Other Alec accused.

“Stop it!” Alec let another arrow fly.

Nothing.

“You know, it’s ironic that they named you Alexander,” Other Alec chuckled. “When have you ever protected anyone? All you’ve done is hurt people.”

“Shut up!” Alec yelled.

“You tried to hurt Clary because you were angry and jealous. You did hurt Magnus because you were angry and jealous. You tried to kill Camille. You did kill Meliorn. So, who’s next?”

“I’ve changed,” Alec argued, he didn’t know why. “I’ve grown.”

“Growing into a sorry excuse of a man,” the demon laughed. “Now they’ve made you Consul. What a great opportunity to let your entire race down!”

“I won’t!” Alec yelled, even though he had had already had nightmares about this very thing. “I won’t let them down. They chose me!”

“Oh please,” Other Alec rolled his eyes. “No one would have even considered you if it wasn’t for Jace. He felt sorry for you because you never get the spotlight. And everyone who voted for you did it because they felt sorry for you because you lost dad. It was a pity vote.”

“Get out of my head!” Alec screamed. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything.”

“On contrary,” Other Alec grinned. “I know you better than anyone.”

“Bullshit,” Alec said again.

“I’m your greatest fear, Alec,” the other man said.

“Because your cocky and rude?” Alec demanded, gaining his confidence back. “I don’t think so.”

“Because of this,” Other Alec raised his empty hand.

Alec swallowed.

“I would never remove my ring!” he said, his voice hoarse. “Never.”

“Aw,” Other Alec said. “Not even if Magnus asked you to give it back?”

The confidence that was slowly building inside him felt apart like a wave crashing into land.

“That’s right,” the man said. “He took it back. He took rafe. He left.”

“Magnus would never,” Alec said, clutching his own wedding ring.

The other Alec just grinned.

“Rafe,” Alec said suddenly. “You said he took Rafe. What happened to Max?”

Stop it. This isn’t real! But Alec couldn’t listen to that voice. Just the one before him.

“That name is cursed,” Other Alec said sadly. “Or maybe it’s just you. You’re not good enough to protect anyone.”

“Max is fine,” Alec told himself. “Max is okay. He is in the institute.”

“Not for long,” the Other Alec said in a sing song voice. “You will get him killed too. He will die. Alone and afraid. Just like your brother.”

Alec leaped at himself, but the figure simply disappeared and appeared in a different spot.

“Touched a nerve, huh?” Other Alec chuckled. “I wonder why.”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Alec let arrow after arrow fly.

Nothing.

“Useless,” Other Alec chuckled. “Don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“You will not touch my family!” Alec pointed an arrow. He’d stab the fucking thing to death if he had to. “Do you hear me?”

“I would never!” Other Alec sounded offended. “But can’t say the same for you though.”

“I will never hurt my family,” Alec replied, his voice getting lower and lower.

“You already have,” Other Alec pointed out. “Giving up immortality? Wow. What a slap in the face for Magnus. You know he could have had anyone, right?”

“We made the decision together!” Alec yelled. “Magnus wanted this too!”

“Of course he did, you selfish prick!” Other Alec yelled back. “He did because you did! It’s what you wanted. Because of your precious parabatai.”

“But J-Jace-” Alec stammered.

“You know,” Other Alec’s voice turned into a husky whisper, like he was sharing a secret. “Magnus knows. He has always known you would choose Jace over him.”

“This is just a dream,” Alec whispered to himself desperately. “Just a dream.”

“How about what happened in Thule?” Other Alec asked. “Was that just a dream too?”

Alec gasped.

“Never thought you’d have it in you,” Other Alec whistled. “You’re savage.”

“It wasn’t me!” Alec yelled.

“Wasn’t it?” the other man shrugged.

“All this talk about loving one man and changing the world for him and yet you killed him him with your own hands,” Other Alec shook his head in disappointment. “Magnus deserved better.”

“Don’t talk about Magnus like you know him!” Alec snapped.

“Oh fine. But I do know you, Alec Lightwood,” Other Alec moved closer. “I know your future. You might keep him happy now. But you will be his suffering. You will be his Bane.”

Images of Magnus flashed before his eyes. Magnus coping with his loss. Magnus not coping so well.

“Please,” Alec almost begged. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing at all,” the figure moved back. “I just wanted to talk.”

“You’re not gonna kill me?” Alec asked.

“What’s the fun in that?” Other Alec asked. “I’d rather keep you alive and watch you suffer.

“Get out,” Alec ordered, even though he knew he had no power.

“So sensitive,” Other Alec chuckled. “Fine. I’ll go for now. You better watch out, Alec Lightwood. Bad things are coming.”

“You stay away from, Magnus!” Alec yelled. 

“I could say the same to you,” Other Alec pouted. “Leave him. For his sake. For the sake of your childr-.”

“If you touch my kids-”

“I won’t,” Other Alec raised his hands. “But can’t say the same about their grandfather however.”

“Stay out of my head,” Alec hissed.

“No promises,” the demon of nightmares winked.

Alec felt the darkness slowly dissipate. His heartbeat getting stronger.

The shivers on his arms were just going down when he heard the voice in ear one last time.

“Oh, one last thing,” his own voice whispered. “Give my regards to Izzy.”

Alec’s body shuddered at that and he fell on his knees.

“Hey. Hey. Hey,” Jace was already by his side. “You okay?”

Alec just nodded, still trying to get back to reality.

“Dude, I’d take an army of raveners over this any day,” Jace said, looking rattled in a long time. “This shit was creepy as hell.”

“What did you see?” Alec asked.

“Some psycho version of myself. He kept talking about killing Clary,” Jace laughed, even though Alec sensed the nervousness in his voice. “As if that’s ever gonna happen.”

Alec nodded and slowly got up.

“What did you see?” Jace asked.

Alec thought of Other Alec.

The one without the ring. The one he knew would haunt his dreams every night from now on.

“Spiders,” he said. “Just stupid spiders.”