#but also the thought of him turning to socialism. to punk. to genuinely believing in his heart capitalism and imperialism is Evil. and then

[cowboy-alfred]

been thinking a lot about punk!arthur…

whether that’s human au or not…i think a canon au would almost be more interesting…

arthur turning to punk in the 70s…what values would he ascribe to it? ik no one agrees with how nations relate to their governments (whether they’re complicit, or if they’re even consulted, comes to mind especially), but how would this arthur feel about the queen? would he subscribe to the same punk that the Sex Pistols subscribed to? all shock and no actual value? smiling and having tea w his queen in the day and going out at night in homemade crust pants (which. ok. i think he could genuinely pull off the homemade look. he’d for sure MAKE his clothes and patches and stuff)?

i love the look of punk!arthur & punk (generally) is v superficial in its politics (all rage and shock but no actual solid politics outside of explicitly political bands) (anyone that says you can’t be conservative and punk knows nothing about the history of punk as a subculture) so he’d fit right in, i think. having political patches that he knows the meaning of and vaguely hypothetically agrees with…saying punch nazi’s and meaning it but the important part to him isn’t in being a safe person for Jewish people to talk to, but in violently picking fights in public.

(does that make sense? the same sentiment that’s behind “rb to make a terf mad” and not “rb to make a trans person feel safe. feel loved.” the importance isn’t placed in the marginalized group. the importance is in the violence and hatred that’s socially acceptable to flaunt. anyway,)

would he feel himself hypocritical? bc for all i say that punk is generally un-political, there is SOME politics that are agreed upon generally—at least, if you’re not a skinhead. and the british monarchy Being Bad is one of those things. would he clench his teeth hearing people say fuck the queen?

or would he 100% be fully on board. genuinely believing every moment of anti imperialism, of protest, of anger. and then a decade later he’d take out his piercings and cut his hair properly and shove his crust pants and battle jackets in the back of some closet, wipe his hands and go back to his government job. which is worse, do we think?

[drdemonprince]

That ask about small talk and fear reminded me: a few days ago my partner and I were at our local café. I went to use the restroom and found the toilet seemingly backed up, so went and told a worker since I didn't want to try using it and then make it worse. A random guy who'd been there for a while came over and said "Want me to take a look at it?" We all thought it was Weird and Creepy but he genuinely just wanted to help, and managed to fix it! It was great! He was just a kind stranger wanting to help. And as we left later it hit me how sad it is that fear was our initial reaction. I wish I would've thanked the guy instead of being awkwardly frozen. But it also gave me a little hope and a reminder that most people are just like me, just a person trying to enjoy the life we have and be nice to others.

Yes, I really do believe that if we are invested in mad pride and disabled liberation at all, we gotta take that initial knee-jerk reaction of "this person is weird" or "this behavior is breaking unspoken social scripts" and throw it into the fucking garbage.

No one is a bad person for feeling wary in that way, it is a socially conditioned response -- but it is very dangerous. It's the same kind of thing that leads to people covering their homes in security cameras and calling the cops on children knocking on their neighbor's doors in search of their missing cat. You probably would never do anything of that nature, of course! But it's all part of the same social ideology. And that ideology keeps you isolated and less likely to seek help -- it doesn't keep any of us safe.

Personally I LOVE talking to fucking WEIRD PEOPLE. I spent an hour this summer at a picnic table talking to a tweaked out guy covered in facial tattoos and scales about my aura and the psychic journey he was on and shit. It turns out that he was a trans woman in the 1980s but he didn't have the language for it! He was drawn to me because he could tell I was gender-weird too, and because he said I had a very open looking soul. I could scoff at that or I could be afraid of him, but why??? He was fucking cool! he had a ton of fascinating life experiences and is friends with a lot of the other people I see on the streets in my neighborhood. Turned out we were both Aries' and we talked about that a ton too.

I also met a guy in a dusty old cowboy hat in the park by Loyola beach who told me he is the official 'patriarch of the park' and gets to decide who he allows to pick up litter there. He pointed to a very clean-cut white woman stabbing at trash with a stick and a needle and told me that he had given her personal clearance to clean up "his" park. She might seem like a fussy white suburban type lady, he conveyed, but she was interested in making the space better for everyone and wasn't doing any Kareny shit, so she was welcome.

Last weekend I was going to a free concert in Ping Tom Park and edgy 19 year old punk kids danced next to 70 year old Chinese retirees and middle-aged yuppie parents and their toddlers and homeless people and 50 something Mexican old head techno fans and it was the loveliest fucking thing in the world. A guy up the street from the park was selling dozens of old back packs and coats and electronics on his front lawn and I dug through them and chatted before getting there.

Living in a city and spending a lot of time outside, I meet people like that a lot, and my life is immeasurably enriched by it. It makes me sick and sad that so many human beings never get to talk to strangers like this, recoil from homeless people or people on drugs, and fear any stranger's intrusion into their life. I think even a lot of left leaning, queer people harbor these reactions and chalk them up to things like "being afraid of men" or "being afraid of straight people" and we even promote that kind of thinking within our communities at times. I find it very damaging. Some of the most wholesome experiences in my life have been random nice/warm things cishet men on the street have done for me.

[redgoldsparks]

September Reading and Reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut.

The Princess and the Grilled Cheese by Deya Muniz 

Lady Camembert is the only child of Count Camembert, but as a daughter she cannot inherit unless she marries. She refuses, and after her father's death takes up a different life in the capital city, far from her hometown: she pretends to be the male heir to her father's title. This feels like the perfect solution, except then she meets Princess Brie, and as feelings begin to develop between them, Cam despairs that her secret identity means she can never be anything more than friends with the Princess. This is a beautifully drawn book, sweet and silly, full of cheese puns and historical anachronisms.

The Yakuza’s Bias vol 1 by Teki Yatsuda 

Yakuza member Ken Kanashiro's life is changed when the daughter of the clan leader he works for takes him along to a kpop concert. Ken is moved by the kpop idol group's commitment, hard work, passion, and loyalty to each other and their fans. His introduction to fandom, and new social media friends, bring a breath of fresh air into his violent and dangerous life... and like most fervent fans, he starts trying to convince the people around him to stan the group to greater or lesser success. This manga series is very much in the same tone as Way of the House Husband but I appreciated the slightly longer chapters and the growing ensemble cast. It's a silly concept but with moments of genuine feeling as it shows how loving something can connect you to a whole new community.

Of Thunder and Lightning by Kimberly Wang

This is a beautiful, meta deconstruction of battle-robot manga; it plays with POV, with format, and theme. Two corporate nations struggle for dominance in a ruined world. Each spreads propaganda about the other; each has developed a pop-star like AI robot avatar, which battle each other in televised combat with custom costumes and snappy catch phrases. These robots, Magni and Dimo, exist only to destroy each other, but also find in each other their only equal. They both savor their violent encounters, but both are pushed by their creators and handlers to destroy the other. The story is half devastating elegance, half tongue-in-cheek satire. This title is most easily available through the publisher's website and I highly recommend it.

Blackward by Lawrence Lindell 

Four friends, Lika, Amor, Lala, and Tony, bonded in a bookclub over being Black, queer, weird and punk. They clearly see the need for a community space for folks like themselves, but struggle with how and where to build that space. After their first attempt is ruined by trolls, they ask for guidance from a local bookstore owner and zine fest organizer. So the idea for the Blackward Zine Fest is born, an event to showcase creativity, make new connections, and maybe even find dates. This book doesn't shy away from the negative sides of existing and creating as a minority in public, but it is also a celebration of friendship and community and the power of comics!

Assassin’s Quest by Robin Hobb read by Paul Boehmer 

What an exciting, explosive end to this trilogy! Fitz starts this book as low as a man can be, having returned from near death, with nearly every person who has ever known him believing him dead. He has to learn how to be human again, and learn how to care, and figure out his plans now that he has hypothetical total freedom. But the Red Ships are still pounding the Six Duchies shores, and Regal has withdrawn the strength and wealth of the Duchies inland. Verity is still missing on his endless quest. The beginning drags a little, but after the mid point of this book it is CONSTANT action and adventure, with so many twists and turns, and such a payoff at the end. If you like high fantasy, I highly recommend this series, and I'm so glad I chose to revisit it this summer.

I Thought You Loved Me by Mari Naomi

This is a long, thoughtful look at a friendship breakup, told through prose, letters, diary excerpts, collage, and comics. Mari met Jodie in high school where they bonded as rebellious teens seeking freedom from parental and academic rules. They loved the same music, both dropped out of school, and moved in the same circle of Bay Area folks for years. They were best friends- until Jodie cut Mari out of her life suddenly and unexpectedly. Years later, Mari was still trying to piece together what had happened, from lies, misunderstandings, secrets, affairs, communications lost in transit or responded to by the wrong recipient. Friendship breakups can be equally as devastating as romantic breakups- sometimes even more, as there's no societal norms on how to mourn them, and because we often expect friends to remain in our lives forever. This memoir was honest about how memory fades, how easy it can be to remember only the good or only the bad of a person colored through a specific lens, but also hopeful about the possibility of reconnection. No memoir is over while it's characters still live, and this one took more twists and turns than I was expecting! Beautiful and thought provoking.

Enemies by Svetlana Chmakova 

This fourth installment in the Berrybrook series is just as charming and warmhearted as the previous volumes. This one focuses on Felicity, an artist who struggles with time management and deadlines, and with comparisons to her hyper-organized, science-fair winning younger sister. Wanting to prove herself, Felicity joins a competition for kid entrepreneurs. But coming up with a winning idea proves more difficult than she expected, especially when her partner keeps suggesting completely impossible ideas. Also, one of her best friends from elementary school stopped talking to her and now glares daggers at Felicity and she has no idea why. It's hard to keep your head up in middle school with all of the swirling emotions, homework, personal projects, and still maintain high scores in the most popular new online multi-player combat game. But Felicity has the love and support of her family- all she has to do is be willing to ask for help.

Skip by Molly Mendoza

The art in this book is absolutely gorgeous, and the page layouts are stunning. The story opens with a child, Bloom, and a nonbinary adult, Bee, surviving in a post apocalyptic world. But Bee goes off to help a stranger and then Bloom falls through an Alice-in-Wonderland like rabbit hole into multiple different trippy, strange settings were they are generally much tinier than all the other inhabitants. There's a nice through line about friendship and trusting yourself, but ultimately I found the story too ungrounded and loose to have a deep emotional impact.

Alexander, The Servant and The Water of Life book 1 by Reimena Yee

I am so impressed by the scope, artistic skill, and inventiveness of this work! The author weaves together multiple, at times conflicting, tales of Alexander the Great. It's drawn in rich colors and a wide variety of styles, many of which reference specific historical manuscript traditions from medieval European to Islamic to East Asian. I love the way the flashbacks are worked into the frame narrative, I love the shifting art styles, I am awed by the size of this project. And you can read most of this first volume online for free here on the author's website.

Ocean’s Echo by Everina Maxwell read by Raphael Corkhill 

This is a creative and gripping follow up to Winter's Orbit. Set in the same larger universe but focusing on a new set of main characters in a new sector of space, this extremely slow burn romance is satisfyingly dense with military and political intrigue. Tennal is the nephew of the Legislator of Orshun; he's also a Reader, or someone who can telepathically read the emotions and surface thoughts of the people around him; he's also the black sheep of his family, a party boy and general fuck up. His aunt forces him into an army position with the intention of having him permanently mind-linked to an Architect, a soldier with the flip side of Tennal's skill- the ability to control people's minds. Tennal is horrified and begins to think of every possible way he can avoid this fate. But much larger forces are at play around him, from the mystery of a semi-destroyed scientific lab relocated in the middle of chaotic space, lies about the creation of Readers and Architects, and a coup in the making. This book is heavier on the sci-fi elements than the relationship progression, but that suited me just fine and I look forward to hopefully reading more installments in this series!

Sunshine by Jarrett J Krosoczka 

When author Jarrett Krosoczka was in high school he had the opportunity to volunteer for a week at a camp for kids with cancer, their siblings, and parents. Jarrett had no idea what to expect, but he packed his sketchbook and an open mind. The experience changed his outlook forever. He had his own problems back home: a family affected by addiction and absent parents which lead to him being raised by his grandparents. But in the company of children facing life-threatening illnesses his own concerns fell away. He built relationships with some families that lasted for decades after his time at the camp. Painted in soft gray with hints of yellow and orange, this book offers an honest look at families facing the very worst circumstances and still heading out into woods to find community, friendship, and a breath of peace at a nature camp.

The Out Side: Trans and Nonbinary Comics edited by The Kao 

A really charming collection of nonbinary and trans stories! Most focus on coming out, but a few talk about a later in the process piece of trans life, such as getting top surgery. I enjoyed seeing which pieces of the stories echoed each other, appearing universal, and which stood out as unique to an individual's experience.

Hard Reboot by Django Wexler read by Morgan Hallett 

Set far in the future, this sci-fi novella follows a researcher from an extra-terrestrial human settlement on a scientific tourist trip back to "Old Earth". A misunderstanding leads to her accepting a very large bet on the outcome of a mecha battled, and when she losses and can't pay, she has to team up with a mecha fighter to try and win the next round to get her money back. I was able to predict the majority of the twists of this story within the first quarter of the book, but it was still fairly entertaining as a short audiobook listen.

Best. Ceremony. Ever: How to Make the Serious Wedding Stuff Unique by Christopher Shelley 

I just officiated a wedding for the first time in my life, and this book (while cheesy) did actually help me get started writing the ceremony speech. It gave me the general outline of the beats I needed to hit, and some smart ideas of little touches or moments to include. The book is very inclusive of same-sex couples, which I really appreciated. Its also padded out with a completely unnecessary 50 page glossary of terms, so I only really read/skimmed the first three quarters of it, but I'd still recommend it if you are either planning or officiating a wedding.

[dijoin]

<18:07>

genre: high school students, strangers to lovers

pairing: student! heesung x student!gn! reader

warnings: none that i’m aware of

✦ inspired by day6’s “what can I do” mv !

The cold air from the night and the bad music that was playing on the store only made Heesung feel more bored while sitting behind the counter, only companied by a couple of older man who were eating instant noodles, truly not the most pleasing night.

He leaned on the counter allowing himself to rest his upper body there and scroll trough social media, some cat videos here and there and the same guys asking him were the thrash can was before leaving seemed to be all he would have for that night but the door bell rang one more time indicating another customer had come.

“hello, welcome to seven eleven. Can I help you?” the phrase came out almost as a dialogue he had practice constantly for a play, his eyes scanning the person in front of him and recognizing the school uniform as his school’s but not their face, maybe they weren’t on the same grade.

y/n smiled softly at them “uh yeah, do you have chips right?”, their cheeks turning pink from the cold air coming from the ac above them, staring at each other for a little bit until he broke the silence “yes, in the corner over there” he pointed and y/n thanked him while getting closer to the colorful plastic bags full with delicious chips and leaving him alone again to bear the basic music playing on the radio or so he thought, his boss unexpectedly came inside the store and after a quick hello he went past him and opened the cashier machine.

“whats this?” his annoyed tone tinted by growing anger made heesung rise his view from his phone with a confused expression. “this little punk.” he raised his voice “you stole the money didn’t you?” heesung took a glance at the machine only to see it was completely empty, with the black color of its material showing. He was genuinely as surprised as his boss, his shift started only a couple of hours ago and jihoon looked as relaxed as always when he saw him, he even bought himself a drink before getting out. Or was that what he saw until he entered the back of the building to change into work clothes?

“i think there’s a misunderstanding” heesung tried to say as calm as he could to not rise the tension but his boss who faced him directly clearly didn’t believed him and the anger on his face was showing more fiercely now. It was scary, not only for the fact that the old man was probably over 6’0 feet tall but that he also seemed to be really strong, at least enough to brake his nose from a single punch. “a misunderstanding? cmon I caught you red handed!, there’s not a single dolar or penny there!” he answered with boiling annoyance building up in each word, heesung not knowing what else to say to his boss remark just mouthed an “eh-“, letting the man to keep yelling and asking him where the money had gone until he started threatening to call the cops but poor heesung had gone completely blank to say anything else on his defense. He had never stolen anything on his life and as much as he needed money for university he wouldn’t steal to get it, he work for it fair and square. That only left one person who could be the culprit, but he was too nice to throw him under the bus.

Those thoughts gathered in his mind just until he felt a grip on his arm, it was y/n who worriedly looked at him. “Sir what are you doing?” they said cutting trough all the threats and curses coming out of the old one’s mouth “you cannot accuse him of anything just like that!, did you truly saw him with the money on his hands?” Heesung was totally surprised at their bravery, y/n who was a lot smaller compared to his boss and a lot more skinny and probably weak didn’t flinch an inch while taking down all of the accusations his boss was hitting him with.

“let’s just get out of here, it’s useless” they said dragging heesung out despite still being in the middle of a fight, they walked trough the empty streets of Seoul, feeling the fresh air hitting their skin, in complete silence only stopping to take a seat in the closest park swings. He had not spoken a word since they got out of the store while y/n who was really bothered by how the man accused heesung like that, was now ranting all about how unfair it was to accuse him and make a whole scene if he had no proof of him stealing, how if they were stronger they would have made them close their mouth and more with some punching and kicking into the air as a representation of it.

“Cute” was the only thing that came to heesung’s mind, looking at the person to their right and moving back and forth softly on the swing he laughed a little gaining y/n’s giggles in return, they also knew how childish they must looked while performing a whole karate show worth of the ninja turtles appreciation to elaborate on their frustration with heesung’s boss reaction.

Just like that, the night went on with both of them talking and laughing as if they have known each other from way back, letting the cold air be the only thing that bothered them.

! hello it’s azul, im back with this little scenario i thought of after watching day6’s what can i do mv again! hopefully you enjoy it <3.

[hyunjilicious]

what is and what should never be [bucky barnes]

A/n: ok, so. Im really fucking insecure about this. I literally poured my heart into this fic. I'm genuinely unhappy with the beginning, but I promise you, it gets better!! I don't have it in me to rewrite it for the 4th time. I really hope you'll still like it though. If you ask me, this is the best fic idea I even had. Please, please, if you enjoyed it, let me know!!!

Summary: It was you and Bucky. An unlikely couple that shared equally disturbed pasts. When you get a day off, your paradise turns into hell as Bucky's nightmares return, leaving you alone to deal with The Winter Soldier. (FLUFF, SMUT, ANGST) 12k

Warnings: 2 smut scenes - they're graphic but not extreme, fluff, angst, violence, mentions of death and suicide, blood, a fight scene - also quite graphic but it was written to serve the angst. I don't want to spoil the ending, but if you really connect with the characters, you will not hate me!!

This day had been long awaited. After months of back to back missions and endless efforts to climb up the greasy pole of US social standards, words failed to describe how ecstatic you were to know, that for the next 24 hours, your whole schedule would fully be in your hands.

You had the freedom to do just about anything you wanted, and the simple fact that the rest of the avengers left to deal with some paperwork excited you to no end. You woke up when it was time for them to take off, and made a snarky remark about heading to the gym - something along the lines of having a productive day centered on self development.

Just about 20 minutes later, you and Bucky, now also alone in the Stark Tower, decided to start off your day on the right foot. He offered to make protein smoothies as you changed into something comfortable and fitting for a workout, but neither of you got their job done.

You had no idea how that happened, but before you knew it you were wearing your sports bra and still had your pajama pants on, moaning on the counter of Tony's kitchen as Bucky had lodged himself between your legs, hungrily exploring the heated skin of your neck, peppering you with bruise marks that represented his adoration for you. "You heal fast anyway" he shrugged, pulling you closer and digging his teeth into your flesh, sucking profusely and eliciting an erotic moan from your lips. 

With every new hickey he left, another one would disappear, which in turn would make him even more frustrated, “The hell should I do? Tattoo hickeys on you!?” he groaned, moving up your neck. You caught his cheeks into your palms and kissed him back, smiling as he kept getting more and more aggravated. 

It didn't come as a surprise when the blender went berserk, splattering fruit pulp, almond milk and protein powder all over the pristine walls of the room - both of you have long forgotten about it. 

The way Bucky cleaned the mess was the epitome of not giving a shit, and you couldn't find it more endearing. He bitched and whined his way through the whole process, and tears formed at the corners of your eyes at the ridiculousness of the half assed job he just did. 

You eventually reached the gym - of course, against all your pouting and begging to put off this session. "Doll, you're the only avenger who can't fight. A punk on the street could snap your purse and there would be nothing you can do"

Wrong, he was not. You couldn't fight - but at the same time that didn't mean you were defenceless. It was your immense power that for months on end made your teammates consider you a liability. The energy that surged through your veins had been too great for you to handle, and in fact, it still was, but now, thanks to the joined efforts of Tony and Bruce, there was a way for that power to be contained. Their solution came in the form of two massive shackles wrapped around the length of your forearms. They were made of dimeritium and kept all kinds of energy from leaving your body. But, even so, that energy was in full form, buzzing inside every fiber of your being. And so, while wearing them you couldn't attack anyone, but there wasn't a way for them to harm you either. That field of energy protected you from every kind of damage and wounds you had ever encountered, ranging from fist fights to automatic rifles to guided grenades.

"I'm the only one that doesn't need to know" you huffed and puffed, annoyed but still determined to get this first training session done with.

But that never happened. Halfway through your warm up rounds, your teasing side awoke and it took you about ten minutes to go from batting your eyelashes and flaunting your ass, to nonchalantly cupping his cock into your hand.

No one could blame Bucky for not even trying to stop you. Bless him, he did everything he could, but he was never able to resist you. And probably never will be.

By the time you were done at the gym, both your bodies were coated in lecherous layers of sweat, no of them being from actually working out. It was only a matter of time until you managed to break his self control and he had you sprawled on all fours in the middle of the boxing ring, moaning your soul out as he pounded your pussy. 

The momentum made your whole frame rock back and forth, your hair falling around your face, "Holy fuck-" 

The room vibrated with the vulgar slaps he afflicted on your bare ass. You arched your back and cried his name out loud, "Come on, Bucky- I- harder please-"

"How are you already so needy?" he chuckled, caging your waist between his strong arms and pulling you up until your back reached his chest. "I ate this pussy this morning before we got out of bed"

"You know I love your tongue-" you giggled out of breath as you tried to look at him over your shoulder. "But it doesn't compare to your cock"

"What does?" Bucky rhetorically questioned before picking up his pace. He kept slamming his hips into yours, fucking you at full force as with each thrust, his cock rammed against your walls hard enough to make you see stars.

"I'm really fucking close, Buck" you whined, feeling your knees start to refuse to maintain your weight any longer. 

"Don't cum yet" he panted, "Wait for me"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" you cried out loud, liquid pleasure seeping out of you in the form of fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. "Please-" you whined, "I can't hold it anymore, I'm-"

"Not yet, baby" Bucky groaned, easily stopping you from wiggling around in his hold. His thrusts became sloppy and the orgasm got the best of him. He buried his face deep in your shoulder as his high forced guttural moans to rip from his throat. 

As he filled you up with his cum, as much as you wanted to comment about him making you wait and then not even bothering to tell you you could cum, you couldn't. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure and your chest heaved as the spiral of bliss seemed to go on and on, tons of ecstasy propagating in long painful waves across your body.

"Fuck-" Bucky panted as helped you up, "I could get used to days like this. We should retire"

"I'm not retiring-" you teasingly shook your head, "not until you find a way to give me a baby"

"I'd give you all the babies" he retorted, tugging your hand.

It caused you to lose your balance and stumble into his chest, "I love you"

"Love you" Bucky kissed the top of your head and spun you around. With his palms on your hips, he started guiding you towards the door, "Let's get you cleaned up"

And then, another wave of unproductivity followed. You showered, ordered pizza, whined about how there was still some smoothie left on the floor, and after you warned him about it, your face fell as Bucky stepped directly in the middle of the puddle of almond milk. He was fuming, the incident wiped any traces of happiness off his face. He mumbled something about that being the last pair of comfy socks he had left and something about Tony's devices being a constant pain in the ass. 

He went on and on until you ambushed him with kisses up his neck and shoved your hands under his shirt. In an instant his bickering turned into soft giggles as he innocently relaxed under your touch. You eventually cleaned up the mess and tried to make yourself busy. Nothing worked, you weren't in the mood for anything and at the same time, even though you did absolutely nothing all day, you felt a wave of tiredness envelop you.

At about 4pm, and you Bucky had already been lazily laying in bed, a mess of tangled limbs under the fluffy duvet. Your conversation started from the tactical gear he swore would look better on you than on him and then wondered how you didn't know how to sow.

"I'll hit you" you threatened.

"I'm sorry" he laughed, holding onto your forearm as it was resting on his chest, "But you know how much I love it when you get angry at my misogynistic jokes"

"It's rude" you scoffed - you didn't mean his jokes, but the fact that when he grew up, women were not anywhere near where they are today. 

"You know I don't mean it"

"I know you don't" you laughed, "Otherwise I'd have actually hit you"

"Don’t worry" Bucky said, "I'd hit myself if I was that stupid"

"Cute" you smiled, kissing his shoulder. Looking up at him, you promoted your chin against his chest, "Do you miss it? The 40s i mean"

He thought about it for a second. "Nah" there was a bit of nostalgia in his tone, but you believed him. "I've kinda made my peace with the fact that everyone from my old life is gone. I wouldn't want to go back now. I got you. I got all of you guys. I'm good now, really good"

"I'm glad" you beamed, feeling yourself warm up from the inside just thinking of the progress he made. After a few seconds, you spoke up again, "But what about the society? Like the day to day life? How do you like the 2010s?"

"I can't lie" Bucky laughed, "I liked Romania better. Much simpler."

"You lived in a dead beat apartment, hiding everyday" you scoffed, "How was that better?"

"I don't know… maybe it was the simple life. Apparently I'm all about that"

"You'd move back there?"

"If you came with me?" he questioned, looking down at you. There was genuine sincerity in his eyes and a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. "Wouldn’t even think twice"

"Maybe one day" you sighed with content. You snuggled back against his side, and closed your eyes. "We're not done avenging yet" you mumbled.

He didn't say anything to that. You didn't know whether he was getting lost in thoughts or if he was starting to drift off, but you would have been fine with either. When he spoke up again, you didn't expect the conversation to take this route.

"About Romania…" he sighed, "What made you come with Steve back in 2016?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean-" he muttered, rubbing his light stubble, "I know why Steve came-" Bucky chuckled, "And Sam's all up his ass, so there's that. But what about you?"

"I-"

"I'm aware of the rift I caused between you guys back then. So that's why I'm asking. What made you stand by Steve from the beginning?"

"I knew how much you meant to him. And I know how this is going to sound, but I felt sorry for you, Buck. I know what it's like to be alone, to have everyone turn against you. You deserved better"

"Love-?" he called softly, his voice nearly breaking. "What do you mean you know what it's like to have everyone turn against you?"

As you maintained the eye contact, you felt tears prickle, "I know it wasn't fair of me to keep my past a secret, but-"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to-" he said softly, his eyes warm. The pain was readable on his features, he hated how your whole demeanour changed.

"It's not that I don't want you to know, it's just that I hate talking about it. Gives me nightmares."

"Then we can just drop it" Bucky murmured, gathering you closer.

"I wish you could know without me telling you" you laughed, "You make everything better and easier. I should've told you, I know. It isn't fair to you. We've been together for almost two years but as far as you're concerned I didn't exist until I joined the avengers. I don't even know how much they know. We never talked about it"

"Love, listen to me. I'm here whenever you want to talk about it. You didn't do anything wrong. There are a lot of things about me that you don't know either. We're not those people anymore. No one can blame us for trying to escape out past"

"Yeah, you're right" you sighed.

Gathering your power, you pushed yourself up and settled beside him, with your legs crossed. You grabbed his hand pulling it into your lap, and intertwined your fingers with his as you spoke.

"Forget the official story, there's no truth to it anyway"

"I really didn't believe your mum was a criminal and that you were in a mental asylum" he joked.

"Good-" you smiled, his words lifting the atmosphere a bit. "Truth is, I don't know anything about my parents. But I have my assumptions. I grew up in that soviet facility so I never met them. I was told it was owned by a group of socialite scientists who wanted our help"

"Our? Who's we?"

"There were 7 of us"

"Did they have the same power as you?"

"Approximately. When we were younger, we used to comply and do everything we were told but as we grew up, things started to change. We weren't happy. Who could be? Considering we were being held in cells and studied like lab rats. We started to act differently and some might even say we tried to rebel, but that didn't work obviously, and that's when the restrictions began. For the last 3 years I spent there, there hadn't been a day where the temperature passed 0°C." 

Your skin crawled as you recaled the endless nights you spent shivering your way to sleep. Everything around you was ice cold. But it wasn't for the sole purpose of torturing you. It was your only weakness. As the temperature dropped, so did the movement of the atoms that made up your body - eliminating your powers to the point where you were barely alive. 

"One day, as spring came, we wanted to break out. We made a plan, and figured that as soon as we were out, we'd be fine. We were wrong. We were off about the weather and they got us before we even exited the perimeter. That's when the avengers heard about us."

By now, Bucky's eyes were wide with genuine curiosity, his mouth agape as he took in the information you provided. With every word you spoke his grip tightened around your fingers and his eyebrows gathered even further. There was discomfort and anger in his features, but he didn't interrupt you once.

"After that, the restrictions got tougher. We realised there was no way out. A lot of things came together in that small time frame. I realised what that place actually was days after we tried to escape. My friends - or that's what I thought they were, figured out another plan. Why fight when you can just eliminate the premise?"

Bucky moved his lips but no words came out. He cleaned his throat and sat up a bit, "What- what do you mean?"

"They tried to kill me" you said, plastering a sympathetic smile on your lips, hoping it would make it easier for him to hear.

"What the fuck. Why?"

"I think my dad used to be part of that team. And I think he made me the way I am. Now I don't know why he wasn't around anymore, but that team wasn't trying to get us to do anything. They were trying to make more of me. So if I was dead-"

"There would be no reason to keep the other kids…" Bucky finished the sentence for you.

You nodded.

"And what happened?"

You bowed your head trying to find a way to put your words together. Bucky didn't rush you, just reassuringly rubbed his thumb across your knuckles, waiting. When a tear from your cheek slipped and landed on the back of his hand, you looked up and took a deep breath. "I killed them. All of them."

He didn't say anything. Didn’t move a muscle, as he waited for you to continue. 

"I didn't even want to do that, Buck" you sobbed, breaking down. "I killed over 20 people because I was afraid. I didn't even move. I was in the corner of my room the whole time, but everyone who approached me was fried to death. I don't even know how I did that. I was just scared"

"Oh, baby" Bucky cooed, pushing himself up to wrap his arms around you. You fell against his chest, crumbling in his embrace. "I hope you know that was not your fault, ok?" he asked, rubbing your back. "You were just a kid, alone and afraid. It breaks my fucking heart, those bastards. Please don't feel sorry for them"

"I feel sorry for the other kids"

"They tried to kill you, Y/n" Bucky countered, "If you hadn't killed them, I would've gone after them. All of them"

"They were desperate..."

"So were you!"

"I can't help but feel like a monster sometimes, you know? Like I'm reckless and out of control. There are times when I'm all happy and excited about what tomorrow would bring, and then i remember what I did, and I have a hard time fighting away the thoughts that try to tell me I don't deserve that"

"What you deserve is the fucking world ok?" Bucky said, tilting your chin so you could see just how serious he was. "This past couple of years, you saved hundreds of lives and I know for a fact you did it out of the pure kindness of your heart, not because you wanted to make up for anything in the past. You're a fucking angel. You're the embodiment of good, you hear me? I know you. You'll never understand how much respect I have for you, and how in awe I am with the kind of person you are. Please, don't ever think less of yourself. Ever, ok?"

Tears rolled down your cheeks as his words proved to be much more than you were able to hear at that moment. "Thanks, Buck. That's sweet of you to say-"

"It's not sweet of me to say, it's the fucking truth" he scoffed, but he somehow managed to make it sound loving. "You didn't even fucking try, but just being around you made me feel like a person again. You're amazing, Y/n. We're all lucky to have you. I'm lucky to have you."

"You're gonna make me cry" you sniffled, curling yourself into a ball against his chest, "I know you were in a dark place when we met. I'm glad I managed to help you through it"

"You pulled me through it" he sighed, tightening his hold around you. "I went from wanting to die, to thinking that I didn't even deserve the easy way out. Look at me now."

"Buck, stop"

"I love you so fucking much" Bucky laughed. 

His whole frame shook as he pulled you back down, safely holding you between his arms, "You're amazing" he added, kissing the top of your head, "Perfect"

"I said, stop" you chuckled, slapping his side, "I get it, you like me, can we-"

"I adore you" Bucky cut you off after grabbing the sides of your face between his palms. "And thanks for trusting me. I know it wasn't easy for you to talk about your past, so thank you. I'm always here for you. If there's anything ever, I got you, ok? Forever"

"I got you too" you added, kissing his cheek and then moving along his jawline, "No matter what happens, you'll always have me on your side. I'm all yours, Bucky"

"Yeah, you are, doll. All mine"

After that talk, how you managed to fall into a deep sleep will always remain a mystery. Nightmares didn't make their way into your mind, and you settled for a dreamless slumber, actually fully content for the first time in a long while.

But not everybody processed grief the same way. And if Bucky mentioned earlier that he was lucky to have you, as you were pulled out of your sleep, you realised that he wasn't as lucky as you were when it came to the mysteries that creep up on you when you least expect them.

-

"Wake up sunshine"

The sound reached your ears, but it wasn't Bucky's voice, so you just groaned in response and rolled over to the other side, completely pressing your face into the pillow.

"Buttercup, it's time to wake up"

The voice seemed uneasy, as if the person speaking was actually terrified. You opened your eyes wearily, and were met with the usual, complete darkness of your room. 

"Come on, Y/n" they spoke again. You turned to see one of Tony's maintenance robots hovering above your body, one small screen lit up on its front. Blinking a few times to rid yourself of the sleep still lingering in your eyes, you managed to make out the faces of Tony and Steve, both staring at you.

"What's going on?" you mumbled.

"You've got incoming," Tony announced, and then shook his head at whatever someone next to him had said. The microphone wasn't performant enough for you to hear what the other person said, but it was not like you cared.

"Incoming what?" you questioned, still confused out of your mind.

He turned his attention back to you, "The asshole"

You frowned and Steve scoffed, "Y/n, it's Bucky. He's not well"

"Wh-" you mumbled, your head snapping to the side, only then realising his side of the bed was empty. You shuffled your arm around the sheets, still warm. "What- what happened?"

"He's gone rogue, Y/n" Steve announced, genuine worry and guilt audible in his voice, "You need to make sure he doesn't leave. You need to stop him"

Tony's workstation. You needed to get the shackles off your arms if you wanted to stand a chance, "Tony? How do I take these off?" you asked, pointing to your cuffs.

"Already taken care off" he nodded, "Get to my desk, it's unlocked. All you need to do is actually get there. If you can"

"If I can-?" you began asking, but a loud explosion sound cut you off, causing the bed to shake as a wind blew through your room. "What the fuck!?"

"He may have found the grenade launchers" Tony smiled bitterly.

"Y/n," Steve called for you, "Please, be careful. And call us. Me and Nat will take the jet but I don't know-"

"Don't worry" you shook your head, jumping off the bed and rushing to your closet. You chose the first clothes you saw laying before your eyes and put them on, ready to go look for Bucky. "I got this, I promise"

"Oh, and Y/n?" Tony said, making you turn to him at the last minute, "Try not to fry my tower"

You nodded and refrained from making any promises you didn't know you could keep. 

As soon as you walked out the door, the sound of automatic rifles going off became deafening. Stepping over piles of broken glass, you made your way to the emergency staircase, heading to Tony's lab. You did so with maximal caution, knowing that if you were spotted, there would be no going back.

Descending the last remaining flight of stairs until his work station, a rush of adrenaline surged through you, knowing just how close you were. Silently rounding the corner, your eyes landed on Bucky's frame, easily holding one of the remaining SHIELD agents up by the neck.

He turned to look at you, eyes cold and empty. Not even rage. There was nothing there. No expression, no empathy, no feeling. It was as if he was dead. This wasn't him. 

"Buck-" you panted, raising your hands up in the air, signaling surrender. You eyed Tony's desk, determined to stall him until you managed to free yourself of the cuffs.

You took a cautious step to the side, hands still up in the air. Bucky watched you as the man struggled against his hold, legs spasming uncontrollably as he kicked and squirmed, even though it was so clearly in vain.

"Don’t mind me-" you smiled, sweat flooding your pores as you slowly approached your destination. "I'll just-"

"You'll just what-?" Bucky groaned, flinging his victim with impeccable ease. The agent's body flew across the room, crushing into the only device that had the power to help you get through this. As the work station crumpled under his weight, so did your hopes of getting out of this. 

"Bucky, hey-" you mumbled, afraid of pissing him off, "I-"

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he frowned, starting to march towards you. Your blood ran cold, knowing you didn't have what it took to keep up with him. You were never able to dodge anyone's blows, let alone his. When he reached you, his hand instantly reached around your neck, lifting you off the floor, "SHIELD?" he asked after taking a look at your attire. Although not carrying the emblem, it was probably the only explanation that made sense to him.

"Well, um-" you huffed, holding onto his wrist in hopes of not running out air, "No, not SHIELD"

"Then who are you?" he growled, tightening his hold on your windpipe.

"Fuck-" you gasped, kicking your legs, even through he didn't even flinch when you hit him. "You're not gonna believe this but, um-"

"Try me"

You looked into his eyes, hoping it would serve as some kind of a memento, that maybe he'd remember you. "You know me, Buck. It's Y/n, I'm- your girlfriend?"

Even saying it made you feel weird. This killing machine, apparently hell bent on wrecking havoc, was not the man you loved, and you cringed just imagining his reaction to hearing your words.

And it did turn out to be worse than expected, as he spun around, doing a complete 180° with your body before slamming you down on the floor. The wood cracked under your bones, knocking the wind out of you. The pain of the impact was excruciating, propagating along your body in waves of some physical agony you had never felt before. The sound of your bones cracking made you sick to your stomach. Your ears caught the sound of your arteries being torn as your organs collapsed.

And if you felt every inch of your body being shattered and destroyed, it was God's way of making you pay for your parent's mistakes, as when your wounds healed mere seconds later, the pain did not go away. Your nerve receptors still registered damage to the tissues, and no matter whether you were actually as good as new, your brain couldn't process that.

What consumed you the most was the fact that as you struggled to stand up, the pain of broken limbs lingered on. But you fought through it, gathered yourself and stood up, facing him again.

You winced with every muscle contraction, but eventually your eyes met his. He showed curiosity, along with something else. Something else which you wished wasn't determination to finish you.

"Can we-" you whimpered, extending a hand, "Can we talk?"

"Talk!?" Bucky raged, grabbing your wrist and twisting your arm to the point where he spun you around, your back pressing against his chest. "Not here to talk" he growled into your ear.

The hairs on your body stood as you heard his voice. Even though it was technically the same voice you loved more than anything in the world, it made you now shiver with a fear you've never experienced before. 

You didn't get a chance to sink too deep in your thoughts before Bucky raised your arm, dislocating your shoulder and busting your humerus into pieces. The pain cut your legs at the knees and you screamed in agony, falling to the floor at his feet.

"Stand up" he commanded, slamming his foot into your side. The momentum made your body roll away, until you settled back on the ground, face deep in the rubble. Your muscles pulled you to your feet with ease, but the pain coursing through you was immense, nowhere near close to what you thought bearable. You felt the skin being ripped from your body and when you looked down, your clothes were torn, soaked in blood, but your skin was intact. It was what you needed to keep going - to get inside your head the fact that you were fine, because at this point, the pain was one bruise away from making you faint.

"Bucky, please-" you cried.

"Stop calling me Bucky!" he yelled, starting to approach you again.

With every step he took, you slowly backed away. "Please, listen to me, just a second, please!"

He shook his head no, a demented smile on his lips as he closed in on you.

"Bucky-"

As a reply to your question, his fist flew up, slamming into your jaw, hard enough to throw you to the ground, "Why do you keep calling me-"

"What else do you want me to call you, huh?" you yelled at him, vision blurred under too many layers of tears. "Tell me, and I'll do it if it'll get you to listen to me."

"I don't want you to call me anything-" he cocked his head to the side, unstrapping a handgun from his thigh. He loaded it as you barely managed to crawl away, "You can take the pain. I respect that. Let's see how well you do with these lead bullets"

You saw them in slow motion, barely managing to duck your head behind the remains of what once was a heavy wooden bookshelf. The bullets missed your chest and face, but you saw them, felt them penetrate your skin, ripping through your muscles. 

The sound of your tissues being pulled to shreds made you feel sick to your stomach. As the bullets left your body, your wounds closed back up, leaving you a crying mess on the floor. Your throat constricted due to the wave of shock that hit your body, and your lungs started hyperventilating. Lightheaded and gasping for air, you struggled to crawl away from him, tears marching down your face and ending up on the floor, nothing but diluting the droplets of blood that had fallen from your body mere minutes before. Your heart was in overdrive and your vision blurred as every fiber of your being threatened to let you down. "Please-" you screamed, your voice breaking as you raised your hand for him, "Let's talk, please. That's all I want. Give me a minute"

But he didn't. He didn't even consider it. Instead, the force that controlled the body of the only man that ever managed to make you feel safe, tortured, destroyed and consumed your body for what felt like the better part of an eternity.

You had been thrown through walls, shattered windows, had glass shards lodged into your body from all angles. He unloaded cannon after cannon on you, used up all the ammo he had on him, only growing more and more annoyed when you refused to give up.

There was no way to know how much time had passed. Now you were standing by the window, inches away from the spot where two nights ago, you and Bucky clicked your glasses, smiling at how far you both had come. He laughed, saying he wouldn't have made it without you. And then he kissed you, confessing that the thought that maybe you couldn't have made it without him either, was what kept him going. 

And then there you were. 48 hours later, again, just the two of you. But now there weren't any champagne glasses between you, just his metal arm, wrapped around your neck, this time, as he said, for the last time.

"I don't get it-" he scowled, teeth gritted and frustration in his voice, "Why don't you fight me?"

"I can't fight you" you whimpered as your tears poured down against his cold hand, "And even if I could, I wouldn't."

"WHY?" Bucky screamed, and for a second, you thought you saw a crack there, a glister of emotion hidden deep in his otherwise beautiful eyes.

"Because I love you" you cried.

But there was none. He rolled his eyes and pushed you back, your body slamming into the window. You should've thought faster, been more witty and considerate, but terror washed over you and in the heat of the moment, you grabbed onto him for dear life, pulling him down with you, plummeting to the ground from what looked like the 70th floor of the Stark Tower. 

If until now you had been afraid of what you'd have to endure, it was now that you met true terror. You'd survive the fall, but he wouldn't. 

Even in the air, approaching the ground at a dangerous speed, he kept fighting you. Even in this state, you admired his determination - he had a job and wanted to get it done - even if that job was killing you. A man of his word.

By now, the pain was unnoticeable. If you wanted to keep him alive you had to act fast. Clinging to his body despite his vicious protests and ruthless blows, you used your momentum to turn the two of you around. And you did so at the last second, as before you knew it, your bodies crashed into the boulevard below, sinking down into the asphalt as it crumpled under your weight. 

The impact cut your breath away and there was a gnawing feeling all over your body, as if you had blades under your skin, pulling your body apart fiber by fiber. But you snapped out of it.

"Bucky!" you yelled, slapping his cheek.

He had fallen completely on top of you, his head pressed against your chest. He didn't move and the continuous buzz in your ears made it physically impossible for you to tell whether he was breathing for not.

"Bucky, please-" you cried, trying to move him so you could see his face. 

Nothing.

"No, no, no!!" you screamed, "You can't die, baby, please! Not like this, love. Please come back to me, Buck, I'm begging you!!"

You remained there and wailed, with him glued to your chest. Your arms had wrapped around his motionless frame, keeping him as close as you could. Nothing could have gotten you to stop. Tens of people gathered around the crater your fall created around your bodies, police showed up, cameras were pointed at your faces, but you didn't care. If he died, so would you. 

"You're all I have, baby-" you muttered, voice hoarse and dry from all the wailing and crying, "Please, you can't leave me. This can't be the end of us. Please, I don't know what to do, Bucky, please!"

You were soaked. In blood, and you didn't even know whether it was his or yours. God, how you hoped it all belonged to you, how the pool of blood you laid in was all yours. Tears soaked your face, pouring down your temples as your whole frame shook with your sobs, that was the true agony. You'd rather spend the rest of your days fighting for your life if it meant he got to see the sun again. You wished he'd hate you, rather than not feel anything at all ever again.

"Please-" you said again but this time your voice didn't even reach your own ears, you didn't hold that power anymore, "Please, you need to come back! You deserve so much better than this. You're the best man I have even known, you can't die like this, not today, Bucky. Not today!"

By now, the people around you had scattered. They knew your identities and for all the wrong reasons, feared you both. You were grateful for that now, you were alone with him again, as the sun began to set and a chilly New York night began to settle. 

Still, you didn't move. You still had faith. Or you were just stubborn. There was no way you'd pull away until someone either pried him off of you against your will, or someone that you trusted showed up promising they'd help.

None of them came, and you remained there, cradling his frame to your chest begging whatever God was listening, to bring him back. You didn't know if one of them heard you, or if it was just blind luck or fate, but you only realised his metal arm was lodged under your body when he moved it.

"Buck!" you cried, cupping his cheeks in your bloodied palms as literal life cursed through your veins. "Oh god, you're ok, you're alive!! You came back to me!"

You managed to hug him close one more time, before he pushed himself off of you. In the process of standing up, his eyes met yours for the briefest second. Again, nothing.

He gathered himself to his feet, wordlessly bending down to grab your hair. He forced you up and you instantly obliged, following him back into the building.

Once inside, he knocked you through a glass door, your body once again absorbing his fury. The pain had dissipated into a dull ache, and this time, you stood up faster. "I can do this all day" you sighed, the lie slipping past your lips with such ease, as if the energy inside your core wasn't running dangerously low.

"What did you just say?" he questioned.

He seemed taken aback, "I said that I can do this all day"

"Who are you?" Bucky yelled, marching towards you, determined to get answers out of you through nothing else but brute force. He slammed you back onto the floor, only to straddle your thighs and pick you up by the collar of your shit. "Why won't you just fucking die!?"

Circling your fingers around his wrists, you searched for his eyes, "Wanna know what keeps me alive?"

"Are you stupid enough to tell me?"

"I might be" you shook your head, "but I'll still tell you"

"Why?"

"Because I know you won't kill me" you cried, "I know you know me. I know you're in there somewhere. The man I love. I know you don't have it in you to kill me"

"Try me" he laughed, drunk with the power you were so willing to give him.

"These-" you panted, raising your arms in the air to show him your cuffs, "These are what's been keeping me alive but I know you won't-"

But you never finished the sentence. He didn't even think twice before ripping them off your arms and throwing them onto the floor, along with all the other mess you two had made.

You never thought he'd actually spare you. So it wasn't a surprise when the first thing he did after freeing you, was reach for his knife with the sole purpose of driving it through your chest.

But you were faster. You framed his face into your palms, releasing the energy from your body and allowing it to flow through his. It felt weird, wrong and chaotic, and the power surge wiggled itself out of your control, until a blast between your bodies sent you both flying back across the room, falling down onto the floor.

And this time none of you stood up.

-

"I leave them alone for what, a day?" Tony sighed, walking out of his Iron Man suit. 

"Holy shit!" Steve cried out, his knees betraying him as he tried to rush to you.

"No, wait!" Nat stopped him, "You can't wake them up until we get them somewhere safe. We need to make new cuffs for Y/n, and find a way to keep Bucky contained in case, you know… he's still not Bucky"

Steve was fuming with anger, nostrils flaring, "These are my friends you're talking about!" he exclaimed, pointing to your bodies on the floor, "Your friends too, Nat. You see them like this and the first thing you think about is restraining them!?"

"We need to make sure we're all safe" she sighed with sympathy, grabbing his hand for a comforting rub.

"You make sure you're safe-" Steve scoffed, "I'll make sure they're alive"

"Hey-" Nat stopped him, "If you touch her and startle her in any way, you die!"

Her words hurt him but he knew you never would. Steve felt his heart shutter just imaging what you must have gone through. He was ablaze with pure determination to prove Nat wrong, and to do right by you and Buck. "I carried her in my arms while she was passed out when we rescued her from that facility-" he fummed, pointing at you, "She never knew a man that didn't try to hurt her before. And when she woke up, she was afraid. Scared for her life. She cried in my arms and begged me to not let them take her again! She was never anywhere close to hurting me! She's good. So good. There's only good inside of her, I trust her to not hurt me more than I trust myself, ok? If I'm wrong, so be it. I die. I don't care. She deserves someone to look after her. If I had to chose, saving her would be the way I'd want to go"

His rant left Nat speechless. She just gave him a simple nod and stepped back. 

Carefully, he picked you up and carried you upstairs, as Tony put his suit back on and carried Bucky.

-

Never in your life had you woken up this fast. Your eyes snapped open and you sprung to your feet. 3 pairs of anxious eyes watched you, all of them ready to jump into action in case the situation called for an intervention.

"What-" you gawked, scanning the room, "Where is Bucky? Is he- is-"

"He's fine, Y/n" Steve assured you. He stood up and slowly approached you, arms outstretched. Your first instinct was to go for it, but when you reached him, you placed both your hands in his, and looked up at him with teary eyes.

"Are you sure?" you whimpered, "Can I see him?"

Sympathy took over his features, but Tony jumped in, "Absolutely not"

"What-" you turned to him, "Why? Did I-?"

"You didn't do anything wrong" Steve hummed, engulfing you in a hug even though you remained stiff in your spot. He rubbed your back, eager to soothe your worried mind, but you were too out of it.

“Can I just go?” you whispered, pulling back just enough so that he could see how serious you were, “I need to see him, please”

“Are you mad at him?” Nat asked with caution and your face fell.

“No!” you gasped, stepping away from Steve’s embrace, “No, not even one bit. I know that was not him, I know it’s not his fault. But when Bucky wakes up-”

“If he wakes up-” Tony sneered, roaming around the room. He nursed a glass of whiskey, as a mixture of disgust and exhaustion was readable on his features. 

“When he wakes up!” you spoke through gritted teeth. Determination coated your words and the hairs on your body stood as you refused to even think of the alternative. “He will wake up. And I have to be there”

“What if the Winter Soldier wakes up?” Nat asked.

“That didn’t stop me last time”

“Oh, no!” Tony butted in, stepping in between you and Nat, arms outstretched, “You know I’m not one to cry after money, but you and your pal left me with $37 million worth of damage. You two are one broken cup away from getting thrown into the streets”

The sum he mentioned made the skin on your back crawl. You didn’t even have $37 dollars to your name, but it made sense. Your body alone crashed through three TV’s, one gamma ray projector and if you thought about it, you remembered Bucky pulling apart one of the Iron Legion robots, and only the thought made you flinch. 

“So-” Tony said, “You two? Never in the same room again!”

“Take these off then” you suggested, pointing at the cuff on your wrists.

“Ha” Tony exclaimed, “A big chunk of that money comes from you frying all my electronics up until the 12th floor. Absolutely not”

“Tony, I’m serious” you whined, “He will hate himself. I need to be there! I need to make sure he doesn’t take all the blame on his shoulders”

He frowned, and sighed. He wasn’t an unreasonable man, and you hoped that core deep inside his chest really made up for a heart. And… it did. None of them were happy about it, but they finally accepted. Nat and Tony would have never probably given up if it wasn’t for Steve - right now, like so many times before, he really did seem like your guardian angel.

They ended up monitoring the room, and Tony waited for your signal, one hand on his cigarette, the other on the Iron Man suit. He was all talk - if anything was to go down and you would actually be in danger again, he wouldn’t even think twice before tearing his towers into pieces if it meant he could get you out alive.

And so you left, thanked them in the form of a simple nod, and headed down the dark hallways.

Oh, how you hated this.

What consumed you now had nothing to do with the pain you had endured in the past 24 hours. Its source was not physical, yet your whole body ached. You felt the weight of the world on your shoulders - and in some way, it was - Bucky was your whole world, and the fear of losing him breathed down your neck.

It had been about 20 minutes since you stopped in front of the door that led to the room he'd been confined in. When FRIDAY announced that Bucky woke up, you rushed over, only for a hazardous sense of anguish to stop you dead in your tracks. Judging by the way he sat in the corner of the room, his fingers aimlessly tracing every indentation in the handcuffs Tony had restrained him with, you had no problem telling which one of him woke up. He broke your heart. His room was equipped with 5 different cameras and 2 microphones. Completely unaware of them, he sat inches away from one, and your heart shattered, sinking 3 stories below when you heard him whimper.

It was soft and quiet. His whole frame shook as he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. He was hunched down, brown hair covering his perfect face, but still, his sadness brought you to tears. 

You heard him again. He sniffled as he laid back against the wall. His eyes were bloodshot, lips almost white and dry as his chest raced up and down. His muscles clenched and his feet bounced against the metal floor, it was a sight you never wished you see ever again. 

Softly, you raised a hand, and thought twice before finally knocking.

"Go away," Bucky called, voice all hoarse and dry as it broke halfway through.

You were able to see him on the small screen next to the door, but he had no idea who came to visit.

Out of instinct, you knocked again before typing in the password and ever so slowly walking inside.

Instantly, he looked up. He was surrounded by an air of darkness and despair, ever so obviously tormented to the peak of his capability.

He stared at you for a few seconds as his eyes watered, and then he gathered his lips into a straight line, shaking his head. "Please, go"

"Bucky, I-"

"Please" he cried, head falling forward as he toyed with the metal edges of his prosthetic arm. He shook his head, "Please, don't do this. Just, go"

You took a deep breath, only then entering the room far enough to actually be able to close the door behind you. Slowly turning back to him, your palms sweated as you had no idea what to say to him. 

"Can you talk to me, Buck? Please?"

He chuckled, "About what?" 

"About whatever it is you think you did wrong, I-"

As he heard your words, his hands instantly flew up to cover his face. He was, however, stopped, as the cuffs on his left wrist kept him from moving too much. While a new row of tears flooded his cheeks, his eyes met yours, "Look at me.. I need to be restrained while you're alone with me"

"Those cuffs would literally do nothing to stop you from escaping, and you know it"

"Maybe it's just a sense of reassurance"

"To who?" you scoffed.

"To them" Bucky responded, nodding his head towards one of the cameras. "I'm a monster" he added, wiggling his cuff restrained hand, "I'm a danger to everyone"

"Oh for fucks sake" you rolled your eyes, marching up to him. With absolutely no remorse, you grabbed his hand and harshly pulled apart the metal that had him restrained to the bed. Before he got a chance to say anything, you bent down, unclipped the microphone from the foot of the bed, threw it on the floor, and stepped on it, until it was nothing but a small pile of shattered plastic.

And you kept going, destroying the second microphone along with the 5 cameras on the walls as Bucky watched you with surprise. You finished by going for the door and locking it from the inside. "You think I'm afraid of you?" you asked softly, "For 6 hours you did your best to kill me and failed miserably. Look at me, I'm unscathed"

"Did you hear yourself?" he cringed, shaking his head, "I tried to kill you"

"Ok, I know I said that you did your best-" you said, mentally scolding yourself for the error in communication. "We both know that wasn't you. That wasn't you, Buck. It was Hydra. It was the winter soldier, not you. My Bucky would never-"

"Y/n-" he stopped you, "I know you don't see things the way I do-"

"But I see them the right way"

"Listen-" Bucky sighed, driving his hands through his hair. For the first time that night you actually saw his full face, his cheek and signature scowl, his blue eyes and the tilt of the corner of his mouth - your soul melted when you associated the picture with the words that came out of his mouth. "I can't blame you for being here. I can't. If the roles were reversed, I'd be doing the exact same thing. But, holy fuck-" he sighed, pausing to gather his thoughts. Bucky looked you up and down. His lips quivered and his head fell to the side as a sad smile appeared on his lips. "Remember this morning? How we talked about our hypothetical child?" he laughed and shook his head, "Even if I know we could never have a kid because we're both sterile, it was still the most beautiful thought that ever crossed my mind, Y/n''

"Mine too, Buck-"

"And what did I do?" he dismissed your empathy, "Two hours later I was unloading an AK-47 into your stomach, like the brainwashed maniac that I am!"

"Don’t say that!" you exclaimed, "Don't you dare think about things like this!"

"Why wouldn't I?" he threw his hands up in the air, "What does it matter whose fault it is? I get to live with the consequences."

"But-" you breathed out, "We can work through this. You did it before. You can't let something that hydra did dictate your life, Bucky. You deserve so much better. You deserve to be happy!"

"I tried to kill you!" he screamed, for the first time losing his calm and standing up to be at the same level as you.

"That was not you!"

"So what?" he huffed, "I was there, Y/n! I will never, NEVER get the feeling of crushing your bones out of my head! I felt your neck snap! I choked you with my arms! That is not something I can live with! I can't live a life by your side if every time I look at you I'm reminded of those horrible things I did to you!"

"Buck-" you cried, looking at him from behind too many layers of unshed tears, "Please, don't say that"

"I'm sorry" he responded in the same fashion, his pain coating every word he said. "When I close my eyes I see you laying in a puddle of blood. I can't stop hearing your screams of agony. Agony that no matter how you put it, was caused by my hands. That's not something we can live with, Y/n. You were not made for this. You really do fucking deserve someone that won't wake up one day and try to murder you in cold blood"

"And what do you deserve, Buck?" you quietly asked, searching for his eyes, "To live your life alone? Forever? If you had been with anyone else, this would have turned out so much worse. That cute barista three blocks down that always scribbles a heart on your coffee cup? She's cute, yeah. You deserve to be loved by someone, but if that someone was her, you wouldn't be drowning in guilt right now, Bucky, you'd be mourning her. Yes, you got troubles. Yes, you've got a past more fucked up than anyone else I have ever heard about. That's the kind of shit you can't change. But whatever you do from now on, is in your fucking hands and yours alone. Don't try to tell me you're not worthy of having someone, because that's the fattest load of crap I've ever heard. You're a good man! With a fucked up past! And a dark side that you need to fight! And you have me! I don't care you dropped Tony's piano on my legs, apparently I can take it! I'm here for you no matter what! You don't want to be with me anymore? Fine. But don't you dare push me away, thinking that a ruined future makes up for a ruined past"

"Who's to say I won't try it again?" he asked, "I don't know what triggered the transition. But what if once a week I end up trying to kill you-"

"Apparently you can't!" you laughed bitterly.

"Ok, so I can't" he nodded in approval, "Is that what you want? I should be your rock, your best friend, I should always be there for you. Do you want to have your whole world turned upside down whenever my brain decides to go berserk?"

"See, Buck" you sighed, "Of course I don't want that. I can't fucking stand here and tell you that I do. What kind of credibility would I have then? But you know what I want? You. You and whatever nazi shit that comes along. I want you. To help you. To have you with me. To see you everyday. If every Saturday at 10am you decide you want to kill me, you best believe I'm sacrificing my morning coffee just so we can kung fu around the living room"

He looked at you for a long second, the corners of his lips fighting a hard battle against the hint of a smile that started to show on his features. Eventually he caved and chuckled, shaking his head, "That was a bit funny"

"And fucking true," you cried, going for his hands and bringing them up to your chest. He winced, but you spoke up again, determined to not let his mind torture him.

"I love you, Bucky"

"How do you not hate me?" he choked, shaking his head in disbelief. "Can you seriously look at me and not get even the slightest instinct to run away?"

"Bucky..." you breathed out, cupping his cheek. "How could I run away when I've never seen you in more pain than right now?"

"You're an angel, you know that?" 

"I've been called a lot of things" you giggled, "Angel isn't one of them, but if that's what you want, I'll take it"

"Come here" he whispered, wrapping his arms around your frame. He had you nuzzle against his chest, his hold keeping you tight and secure. His heart beat against your cheek and your eyes watered again. There wasn't one thing in the world you wouldn't do for that heart - to make sure it keeps beating, and that it keeps the man you love alive. And content, above all. All you wanted right now was for him to accept the things that happened. You wanted to take whatever weight he was carrying on his shoulders, and put it upon yourself. "I love you so much, Bucky" you cried against his chest as your hold tightened around him, "I hate to see you torn like this. I don't want anything to ever happen to you. It terrifies me. I love you with all that I am. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. You deserve the world, baby"

"So do you" he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

You felt his chest shake, a deep rumble echoed from the depths of his lungs. You looked up to see him fight back a sob, his eyes wide open, glossy and red, trained down on you, "I love you too much to do this, Y/n. I'm sorry, I don't think I can"

"No!" you gasped, pressing your face back against his shoulder, "Don't do that. You can't do that. No"

"We won't work, Y/n" Bucky said as he brought you even closer, "I can't look at you anymore. I can't look at you without dying inside. You don't want to live with me like that"

"Yes, I do!" you sobbed. "I'll work with anything you give me, I swear there is nothing more I want. Just you. Just you and me. Bucky, please don't do this"

He held you close for what felt like half a second, but rationally speaking, your legs were getting numb. You just stood there, clinging to his body, taking in his scent and listening to his breathing even out until he pushed you away. Oh, how you didn't want to let go. Ever. But you did, and choked back a sob as soon as you felt the cold air of the room brush against the part of your body that had been pressed to his.

"We should get some sleep, Y/n"

"Are you coming with me?" you whimpered, afraid of the answer he might give you.

Bucky shook his head, "I think I'll just sleep here tonight"

That broke you. The shock and terror cut your breath away. It felt impossible - the feeling of losing him. The amount of pain that surged through you. At that particular moment, you felt like cracking your chest open to grip your heart into your hand and pick apart the broken parts. But not even that felt good enough, you were fairly sure you'd be left with nothing. It felt like a slap across your cheek, like a cloth had been placed over your mouth and your legs cut at the knees. It felt like the end. 

Optimistic by nature, not even you could deny the reason he wanted to sleep alone. It was clear as day.

"If-" you mumbled, tears coating your face at their own free will, voice shaking as you barely managed to articulate the words over the violent sobs that ripped their way out of your throat. "If I promise to not do anything to try and convince you to stay… can you promise me that in case you decide to leave, you'll come and tell me first?"

"Oh, doll" Bucky broke down all over again, throwing himself at you again. He collapsed on top of you, molding his body around yours. "I promise, angel"

You just nodded. That was all you could do. It took another few moments for you to gather yourself and stop wailing, but you did, and then, with nothing else other than a sad smile, you left. 

Your feet carried you to your room, and you were ready to collapse on top of your bed. Eager to cuddle into his pillows. They smelled like that shower gel you got him and you hated it. You wanted his scent. Not even caring how ridiculous it sounded, you padded over to the chair in the corner of your bedroom, the one Bucky uses to discard all his worn clothes. 

You wanted to find a shirt he wore, one that smelled exactly like you knew him, but before you reached the clothes pile, your attention was drawn to the window.

Steve was standing there, facing the busy streets outside, hands in his pocket and his head turned in your direction.

"I didn't see you, sorry" you gasped, as your eyes accommodated to the darkness.

"It's fine" he shook his head, "I just figured you'd turn on the lights, you know, like the normal people. Didn't think I'd scare you"

"Yeah, sorry" you sighed, plopping down on the edge of the bed. "I did even think about turning the lights on"

He didn't say anything, but you saw him nod. He knew your pain. He lost enough in his life, and seeing his best friend sink back into his darkness was surely not easy for him either.

"Is he ok?" Steve eventually asked.

You shook your head, "He's too good of a man to be ok"

"That is Bucky" he laughed, and you couldn't help but do the same. The irony.

Steve's curiosity was palpable in the room. Words could not describe the appreciation you had for him for respecting your boundaries and not pushing you in a moment like this. But he deserved to know.

You opened your mouth to explain to him what happened, but as your mind processed everything all over again, you broke down. "I think he's gonna leave-" you cried.

Steve was quick to gather you in his arms, engulfing you in a bear hug, helping you stand on your own two feet. "What do you mean?" he asked, concern tracing his tone.

"I understand him, I do. And I promised I won't try to get him to stay if he doesn't want to. But- but I should've done more, Steve. I should've shown him somehow how much I love him. But I'm afraid he'll leave, and I don't want to live-"

"Hey, hey, hey" Steve hurried to stop you, petting your head softly before urging you to look up at him. "Bucky loves you more than I ever thought possible, ok? There's no question about it. I'm sorry I'm doing this, but I think he'll postpone it anyway"

"What?"

"The man wants to marry you, ok?" Steve smiled, "He asked Tony if he had any work for him so he could raise money. Can you imagine how that went down? He was red like a tomato, but he didn't think twice. James Barnes used the computer to look for rings for you. The Bucky I know? Never would've done this. You brought to life a part of him that no one else has seen before. He loves you. With all that he is. And trust me when I tell you, he won't stand to be away from you. You're his whole world, Y/n. He's my best friend, trust me when I tell you this is something you'll work through. I'll help, we'll all help. You're not gonna lose him, Y/n. He's so beat up about all of this because he loves you this much. He's all yours. If he decides to leave, I need you to be strong because he will be back. I got him back 70 years later. You just need to trust him. Trust his heart, ok?"

"Oh my god" you cried, "I don't know what to say"

"Don’t say anything" he chuckled, "We've been through so much together. All of us. Even if we try, nothing pulls us apart, ok? How many times has Loki died, hm?"

"God, Steve!" you scoffed somewhat amused and pulled back just to hit him, "Did you seriously compare Bucky to Loki!?"

"It got you to smile, didn't it?" he laughed. "But I'm serious. You've both been through so much worse than this. You'll get through this one too. And in case you ever feel like you won't, I'm here, ok?"

"Ok…"

Funny as it all was, it worked. He calmed you down - to some extent. Gave you hope you didn't know existed. If it wasn't for Steve, you probably would have not been able to fall asleep. And even though dreams didn't visit you, and you never relaxed enough to actually get some rest, you just dozed off. All clothed and curled diagonally on the bed, you cuddled Bucky's pillow to your chest as your eyes slowly fell closed.

When you opened them again, it was still dark out. You had no idea what pulled you awake as you struggled to sit up on the bed, but then you heard Bucky's voice again, from the doorway.

"Y/n?"

“Buck?” you gasped, turning around. Only his silhouette was visible, head hung low and hands deep in his pockets. He was leaning against the doorway, silently awaiting your response.

Right then and there, you felt your world collapse. Steve’s monologue made you actually fucking believe things would be fine, but here he was, keeping his promise. In the buttcrack of night, he kept his word, bidding you a much feared farewell.

“Is-�� you sobbed, jumping out of bed and rushing towards him. You almost knocked him off of his feet when you flung yourself at him, but he was quick to reciprocate, caging you between his arms. “Is this it? You’re leaving?”

He didn’t say anything which frankly made everything worse. You broke down even further, clinging to his shirt as if it was the only source of oxygen keeping you alive - it sure felt like it.

“Look at me” Bucky urged you, tilting your chin up, “Please?”

You slowly lifted your head, your eyes meeting his.

“I’m sorry, I will make it up to you” he whispered, a frown settling above his tired eyes, “You’ll see”

“What does that even mean?" you questioned, tired and sick of this ongoing conflict that should not even have been an issue to begin with. "You don't have to make up for anything"

"I know you see things like that" he cooed, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. He spoke softly, his breath fanning against your skin, somehow, even in this situation, managing to calm you down. "But you can understand me too, right?"

"I don't want to" you shrugged, "I don't care. Why does it matter if I understand you or not if you're gonna leave anyway?"

"I'm not leaving, doll"

"What!?" you beamed, pulling away from his hold and grabbing his face in your palms, "You're not- but you're-"

His whole frame softened, "I'm not here to say goodbye, Y/n. I'm not going anywhere"

"Oh god" you gasped.

"Come on, come here" Bucky chuckled softly, bringing you back into his hold, "I'm staying here. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. You're the most badass woman I know and I managed to break you"

"I love you, Buck" 

"I love you more, Y/n" he sighed, "I'll make everything right, I promise"

"Oh, fuck" you breathed out relieved, "Just do whatever you want, I don't care. You're here. That's all that matters."

"And we also need to teach you to fight-" he added, "For real. And find a way for you to take those goddamn shackles off in case this happens again"

"Tony won't be too happy about it" you laughed.

"Fuck if I care-" Bucky said strenly, pointing at you, "Next time, you need to be able to stop me. And fast"

"Maybe it won't happen again"

"Maybe not" Bucky nodded, "But if it does, we need to be ready"

"Thank you" you said, "I know I didn't play this right. I know I literally dismissed everything that you must have gone through today. I'm sorry"

"You don't get to be sorry" Bucky stopped you, "Not after-"

"Then you don't get to, either!"

"Meh" he shrugged, "We'll see"

"Bucky!"

"I love you" he laughed, bending down to pick you up. He planted his hands on the back of your thighs, picking you up with ease and walking you over to the bed. You plopped back against the fluffy mattress with a huff, and giggled as he crawled his way on top of you. Instantly, his lips met yours. It was exhilarating, the kind that made your chest ache. You moaned against his lips as love transpired through his touch. It was overwhelming and the first happy tears of the day streamed down your temples as you arched yourself against him.

"I'm so weak for you, fuck" Bucky groaned, his right arm reaching around your back and pressing you against his chest. "You're everything" he added as he kissed his way along your neck, "I'm all yours forever, Y/n. I love you too much"

"I'm here, baby" you moaned, hiding your face into his shoulder, "You're mine, Bucky. All mine."

His lips didn't leave your body as he pushed himself up just enough to be able to reach the buckle of his jeans. The sound made your core ache, and your mouth watered.

There was no patience in his movements. He barely pulled his jeans down to his knees before ridding you of your pajama pants. He lodged himself between your thighs, his mouth instantly back on yours again.

"Come on" you panted, steading your arms against his strong back. Your legs found their way around his frame, ready to pull him closer.

When Bucky guided his hands between your bodies to align the tip of his cock with your opening, you whimpered in anticipation. Agonisingly slow, he trailed his tip along your folds before reaching your clit. With a blissful moan, he reached further up, tapping his cock against your bare cunt a couple of times before returning his attention back to you. 

"I got you, baby" he hummed, pecking your lips. "You ready? Is this ok?"

With eagerness, you nodded and wiggled under his weight, your pussy aching for him. "Yes, yes"

When you felt his cock push past your folds, you moaned out loud, your voice cracking with the pure pleasure that took over your being.

He eased himself in, going all the way until he all but knocked the breath out of you, and he stopped. Bucky reached down to kiss you again, his cock motionless, balls deep inside of you.

He bit down on your lip and you giggled.

"Felt your pussy clench around me, doll" he laughed, "You're good to me"

"You may be all mine, Buck, but I'm all yours too"

"Holy shit" he panted, shaking his head in disbelief. It was as if you weren't real. He'd have pinched himself, but if this was a dream, he really did not want to wake up. So he kept going.

Nibbling at the skin of your neck, he started to pull himself out of you. The slow pace was driving you insane. Your need grew so strong you felt everything. His breath, the way his hair tickled your chin, his strong around around your shoulders, his massive thighs rubbing against yours, every small vein along his cock that drove you closer and closer to the sweetest bliss you had ever known. 

He got you all worked up at an agonisingly slow pace, before his thrusts became more and more aggravated. You moaned with each thrust despite your struggles to keep quiet.

"You know how much I love hearing you, doll" Bucky shook his head as he drove himself back inside of you all the way, "Moan for me"

"Fuck, ok" you gasped, and closed your eyes as you started to fall apart. You gripped the bed sheets into your hands and pulled as he kept fucking you, deep and hard.

"You're so good, baby" he groaned, "So, so good for me"

He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, fervently sucking deep, maroon marks all ice your skin. Gutural grounds betrayed his air of self control as a plethora of curse words escaped his lips. "Taking me so fucking well. I can't keep going like this, you're too fucking tight-"

"Cum, baby" you encouraged, voice low and tender as you spoke against his ear, "Cum for me"

"Don’t have to tell me twice" he chuckled.

His thrusts started to become sloppy and irregular, as his eyes flew closed. You missed the blue of his eyes, but his mouth was slightly agape as he panted his way to an orgasm.

His chest heaved against yours, "How do you feel so fucking good?" Bucky cursed, eyes still closed as he barely managed to mumble his words between the numerous grunts of pleasure that forced their way out of his throat.

You gave him no answer, instead just clung to him tighter, "Fuck, Bucky, I'm close-"

"Come on" he encouraged, hurrying to rub your clit. His fingers found your bud in an instant, working experienced, familiar circles that almost drove you over the edge. "Cum with me, ok?"

You nodded, gathering your lips between your teeth. He kept fucking you, harder and faster until he had turn limp under his weight. You came as his name rolled off your lips, and he followed seconds after, pumping his juices deep inside your pussy. 

You felt his absolute pleasure as he breathed heavily against your shoulder. He kept going until you were both spent, and then fell down beside you. 

"Bucky-" you whined, turning over and curling into his side, the lack of contact making you more needy than ever.

"Yes, darling?" he panted, tapping your chin.

"Nothing. I just love you"

"Love you too, doll" he huffed, spinning you around so you laid on your back.

He effortlessly helped you out of your shirt and plopped down on top of you, his head resting on your bare chest. His warm, right hand cupped your breast as he closed his eyes. He wrapped himself around you, "Hold me" he muttered, "please"

"Always, Bucky" you said, engulfing him in the tightest hold you could muster. Only then did you feel him calm down completely, and there was nothing in the world you could ever ask for.

-

If you liked it, please reblog and tell me what you thought? :)

[anystalker707]

It’s not going to be alright

Pairing: Gerard x Reader Word count: ~ 2 300 Genre: Angst, fluff, comfort TW: Anxiety attack, sort of Summary: (Y/n) brings Gerard to meet their parents. It doesn’t go as well as expected. Requested by @thegnotecannothurtusanymore​ a/n: I hope this is what you wanted and that you like it

"Do I look fine?" Gerard still sounds insecure as he stands in front of the mirror, adjusting his jacket lightly while also checking his hair and makeup, turning his head from side to side slowly a few times. He repeatedly runs his fingers through his hair, a sharp sigh escaping his nose.

"Of course, you always do," I say with a smile, standing behind him and observing him through the mirror. "C'mon, you don't need to be so nervous. I don't even care if they don't like or approve you, this is just because they're curious about you." Wrapping my hands around his wrists, I pull his hands away from himself in an attempt of helping Gerard with calming down. He's already perfect.

"But... Still, what if they try to separate us?" To say Gerard is worried is a euphemism.

I push Gerard to sit down on his bed and place my hands on his shoulders. "Listen, they're just my parents, not me. It doesn't matter whether they like you or not. They can't control me the whole time. We can, dunno, run away if we need to, don't worry about it!" I smile in an attempt of cheering him up and it seems to work.

Gerard noticeably relaxes under my touch. He wraps his arms around me and brings me closer, his head against my abdomen.

"It's going to be alright, Gee," I tell him softly as playing with his hair. He nods hesitantly.

We've been together for around a year now and, from hearing so much about me having a boyfriend and never seeing him, my parents decided that I should bring him home for dinner. Gerard almost freaked out because of it at first, something I completely don't judge him for. He was desperate about finding formal clothes for the dinner, but I told him to dress... like himself, just a kinda formal due to the occasion, but not completely. There would be no point for him to dress up in something he is uncomfortable with and to pretend to be someone he isn't just for my parents. If they're going to accept him, they must accept him the way he is and the way I love him.

Not to mention that we wouldn't be able to sustain a lie for too long. It's relatively easy hearing rumors about Gerard – after all, there aren't many other punk kids in the city. Also, if they hypothetically liked him like that and called him over for dinner more often, it would be an even harder thing to maintain. He can't hide all the scars or wounds all the time neither lie about some of them.

"What time is it? Maybe we should get going," Gerard says as he reaches for his phone and checks on it without letting me move away. "Yeah, we should," he answers himself and looks up at me, smiling a bit.

Soon, we are in my car and heading over to my place. I had come over to help him with getting ready and just to make sure he wouldn't mess up with anything because of getting too anxious.

"It's going to be alright," I repeat myself before we leave the car. Gerard does his best to smile in response while nodding. We leave the car and move to the front door, where I reassure him once again by giving his hand a light squeeze then I walk in. "Hey, we've arrived," I call to my parents as Gerard closes the door behind us.

"We're over here in the dining room, dear," my mother's voice comes from the said place.

The table is nicely set, the trays and pans filled with food we usually just eat on Sundays or certain occasions, what makes me smile at the same time I see it. Gerard seems just as pleased, an also appreciative air over his features as he looks at everything, cheeks growing red when his eyes meet mine.

When I look at my parents, however, their reaction isn't in any way pleasing. They look at Gerard like if they were expecting gold, but were just given a cheap copy instead or something completely different.

"Um," Gerard breaks the tense silence, seeming to not really have noticed my parents' reaction. "I'm Gerard, Gerard Way. It's nice to finally meet you." He smiles, looking at the two with nervous eyes. Well, now he's noticed it.

"Oh, so you're Gerard." The word sounds bitter coming from my father. He looks away, lips pursed and he doesn't make any effort in hiding his light displeasure. My mother takes the same path, a clearly forced smile decorating her lips as she slowly nods, drowning the room in awkwardness. I hate her for it. I mean, they don't even know Gerard yet.

A sigh escapes my lips as I just pull on Gerard's hand for him to sit down already as I do so myself, concluding my parents won't tell us to do it. Annoying. My parents do the same.

"Okay, so... Gerard," my mother speaks up first while everyone is serving themselves. He hums questioningly, smiling a bit. She continues. "Do you work? Do you do anything besides studying?"

"I actually don't need to work," Gerard replies, pushing his chair closer to the table after taking all the food he wanted. "I draw a lot in my free time and I've been trying to publish a comic."

Approval? No. The same displeasure shows itself on their faces, poorly hidden by fake smiles.

"Oh, that's... interesting," my mother breathes a chuckle, looking down at her food. Her chuckle sounds more of a 'look at how stupid he is' thing. Okay, okay, maybe I'm imagining things, right...? Let me avert my attention away from it.

"Gerard is excellent at drawing." I smile proudly and share a look with Gerard, who seems more relieved with my comment.

My mother makes an unconvinced face, but she doesn't have the opportunity to continue talking because my father speaks up next. "And you're off school soon, right? Have you already applied for any college?" He seems a bit more friendly than my mother, something I believe to be a brief impression due to how he's barely talked until now.

"Yeah, I've been accepted in the school of visual arts in NY," Gerard breathes with a proud air, already concluding how tiring it's all gonna be. In a social battery sense. The two will probably question Gerard until he walks out that door. It's going to be exhausting.

"Arts?" More reproval. My father raises his eyebrows amused after Gerard nods and my mother holds back a sigh, moving to sip on her glass of soda like if she can't handle it all. "That's peculiar, certainly. Something really difficult to get a future in, isn't it?" He says in clear mocking and looks at my mother. Look at this fool; I can practically hear them thinking. I don't know if it makes me angry or sad or both. Honestly, I already predicted things weren't going to turn out well, but this is just terrible.

"Like if Gerard would ever fail in anything while he's got so many talents like that," I roll my eyes. My comment goes ignored apart from how Gerard blushes and grins.

"Oh, but I've got a band in case anything goes wrong!" Gerard shrugs in a sudden wave of confidence.

"His band is awesome," I add. Ignored. Hah.

"A band!" A laughter comes from my father and my mother follows suit. They spend a moment laughing, but reality seems to hit them again before the fact Gerard and I remained in silent, both of us observing them in disbelief.

My mother shakes her head in dismissal as covering her mouth for a moment – at least making an effort, what seemed to be too hard to my father. "Erm, that's wonderful! Wonderful," she says.

A sigh escaped my lips at the thought I'll probably pull Gerard out of here myself soon if things continue like that.

Thankfully, some minutes into the dinner, we've got some peace, but all the evil comments and mocking continue right after. Sometimes my parents do apologize. Not genuinely, tho. For real, I feel like it would've been easier if they just got angry and kicked us out as soon as seeing Gerard or something instead of opting for psychological torture. I'm feeling attacked myself.

The dinner being over almost feels like a miracle to me – I quickly stand up from my chair and pull Gerard along with me.

"So, I'll be heading to Gerard's tonight. I'm spending the night at his place, like I promised," I say as giving his hand a light squeeze, running my thumb over his knuckles softly.

He seems really uncomfortable.

"Oh, you are?" My mother sighs, shaking her head to herself. "Okay then, just remember to come home. Love you, dear, see you," she says to me before she takes a good look at Gerard, then walks away to the kitchen with the dirty dishes in hands, not even bothering to tell him a goodbye or anything.

"Goodbye..." I mutter, starting to walk.

"G-Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. (l/n)! Thanks for the food and for receiving me," Gerard calls, the nervousness starting to show when we're about to leave the house. If I were him, I wouldn't even have said anything.

Feeling the cold night air embracing me is extremely relieving. Being away from the two is relieving. I'm still revolted about everything that has happened; it wasn't kind at all. I look at Gerard, worried. "Are you alright, love?"

"Yeah, sugar, don't worry," he reassures me. His words sound empty. I don't question.

Gerard tries to keep the tough posture until when we arrive to his place and we're already in comfortable clothes, lazing around on his bed. He's clearly not fine – you can notice it through how he acts, his glassy eyes, difficulty on keeping his focus... We will talk about it whenever he is ready.

At some point, my phone starts ringing. My mother. I sigh.

"I'll be right back, Gee, my mom's calling." I press a kiss to his cheek then leave the room and the house, heading to the back porch. It will be uncomfortable having anyone else listening to this while Mikey and Donna are also so nice to me.

"(Y/n)," the angry tone comes from the other end of the line as soon as I answer the call. "That boy is terrible. I'm sure you've noticed how we didn't enjoy him any bit. He's stupid, he's just got no future. You deserve something better, my love," her voice softens. "We just let you go over to his place because it would be impolite to not to after everything."

Ah, there it is. The hypocrisy.

"Well, and I'm sure you've noticed that I don't care about what you two think. You liked Gerard and everything I told you about him until you saw him. That's stupid. You guys didn't even allow yourselves to get to know him properly and already got like that." No, I've got no patience to deal with this. I groan to myself as leaning against the railing and observing what I can see of the back garden.

"We know that kind of people, okay? Trust us, you're not gonna-"

I hang up. And set my phone in the do not disturb mode. I'm not listening to bullshit about Gerard while he's so sweet and loving and...

Putting my phone away, I rub my face and try to get rid of the stress before walking back in.

Gerard is startled by me walking into the bedroom suddenly, eyes widening once they land on me while I close the door. It looks like he's been crying; eyes puffy and red, makeup smudged. "(Y/n)," he cries, reaching his arms towards me as I approach, "don't leave me, oh God, I love you so much. Without you I can't-" He interrupts himself with a sob, starting to cry again.

"I'm not going to leave you!" I sit beside him, pulling Gerard for a hug. I wipe his tears away before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I would never, I've told you! Their opinion about you isn't relevant to me! They don't know you like I do! I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that."

"Sorry," he sobs against my neck, arms wrapped tightly around me like if I would disappear if he let go. "I wish I was different, damn, I'm sorry."

It's always terrible when Gerard's anxiety attacks, but things seem to be going way worse now and I curse my parents for it. They had literally no reasons to have acted the way they did. Even if they dislike Gerard, everyone must be respected. Seeing Gerard like this hurts.

"You have nothing to apologize for," I rub soft circles into his back as continuing to hold him close, doing it for a few moments in an attempt of getting him to calm down. "Gee, Gerard, listen to me," I say once he's calmed down a bit and take a gentle hold of his face, making him look at me. "All that matters is us and nothing more. I don't care if my parents don't approve of our relationship or if the world does, I just care about us, if we are fine. And, of course, if you are fine. I hated that you needed to go through all of this, I'm so sorry." I press a kiss to his cheek, starting to run my fingers through his hair.

"Don't apologize, it wasn't your fault," Gerard says softly. He is silent for a moment before the tears start again and he buries his face in the crook of my neck again, clutching onto me tightly.

"Let it all out, Gee, it'll help you." I comfort him, pressing kisses to his neck and going back to rubbing his back. "I love you, okay? And that's all that matters."

[f1fantasy]

F1 drivers as parents ✨

Lewis - Takes the kids camping so he can teach them about nature and the environment. Super supportive and does the right amount of spoiling so he makes them happy but do not ruin them. Going to the park to play with the dogs and drink slushies is a family favorite.

Bottas - Is the kind of dad that has the picture of his baby daughter in the wallet and wants to show everyone ALL THE TIME. Quiet type of dad but so in love with his baby he would do anything for her. Would definitely wear the #1 dad shirt.

Max - Confused stonks all over the place, does not know how to make a baby bottle, burns his hand, spills it on the floor and makes the kid a fruit salad, discovering afterwards that it was the healthiest way out. Calls the mother EVERY TIME to make sure he’s doing things right.

Alex - Young dad material. Masters every single parenting skill without effort, plays with the kids for hours without getting bored and is a pro at putting them to bed. Afterwards cooks dinner and organizes the toys, perfect guy.

Carlos - Gives balls to the kids even before they are one month old. Teaches a two year old girl soccer and succeeds at it. Mini golf is the go to plan for a Sunday afternoon. The kind of dad that plays sports with kids because he genuinely enjoys spending time like that with them and not because he has to. Hot dad.

Lando - As silly as his kids. Weird faces and dances are his way to make them smile. Super focused on work but when he’s home he gives his undivided attention to the children. A bit overly competitive on videogames but now and then lets the kids win so he feels good at parenting.

Seb - DAD MATERIAL. The kind of dad that sits on the floor and let the girls paint his nails and do makeup and still looks really masculine and lovely. Teaches the kids how to eat healthy but sneaks lollipops and chocolate bars for them without the mother seeing it. Could sit a whole day just watching Barbie and pay attention to the movies.

Charles - HOT DAD pt2. Would dress his kids in the cutest clothes, like they had just jumped out of a magazine. Would sign then up for horse riding and piano classes and subtly cry at every recital or competition because he’d be so proud and that’d be so pretty. Would now and then show up in a different car to pick his son at school so the other kids would go “WOOOOOW THAT’S SICK”.

Checo - Mexican daaaaaaad. Loud dad, kinda strict but super in love with his family. So proud of his children, would skip job to watch his son’s soccer match even if he stayed on the bench the whole time. Everything would be a valid reason for icecream and taco night. Support and validation would be his way to show love.

Lance - Super loving and caring. Would raise his kids by talking and explaining everything, never raising his voice, so they would understand the things and make their own decisions. EXTREMELY patient with everything, in an almost supernatural way. Would be so happy to throw family parties and tell some dad jokes. Family man!!!! Popular among the daycare moms because he looks so charming and is so polite, popular among the kids’ friends because he’s extremely good at EVERY SINGLE SPORT and is willing to teach everyone.

Daniel - That dad who plays soccer with his teenager son and his friends, wins and laughs at their faces. Gets the teens beer without the mother knowing and is a big time friend. The kind of dad that kids are proud to say they have. Had some trouble with the mom in the early years because he taught the kids how to cuss, but learned his lesson and has a key role in education, not just the fun part.

Ocon - Goes from “Look, that’s my daughter! You look amazing! Spin, ballerina” with tears of joy in his eyes to “Mess with my kid and I’ll kill you slowly and painfully” in 0.0000007 seconds. Would dress up as Prince Charming in Halloween and take his little girl’s hand on his and go trick or treating proudly. Would love everything about the kid and be so supportive even on the weird phases (do you want to go EMO? Let’s paint this hair purple! Dad’s got your back!)

Pierre - Treats his daughter like a baby even after she gets married. Is kinda confused about the parenting stuff in the beginning but figures it out as it goes. Takes A LOT of pictures of irrelevant stuff because he just cannot believe that a perfect little girl like that is his daughter. Spoils her a little too much but she grows up to be an amazing brave and kind woman, mirroring her dad.

Kvyat - Kind of dad that laughs when the son falls and runs to help if he starts crying. Wants the boy to play hockey or football or rugby but when he decides to play chess he goes to every match and cheers the hell out and screams his lungs out in support. Absolutely hates boybands but would (angrily) wear a Harry Styles headband to take his babygirl to a concert and to see her happy.

Magnussen - Punk dad that scares the shit out of his kids’ friends (and their dads too). Tries to be strict but melts whenever his daughter makes puppy eyes and asks for dessert before dinner. Jealous and overprotective, also scares the shit out of the daughter’s boyfriend, but tries to socialize with him because she asks to.

Grosjean - Silly dad material. Would try cooking some weird baby food because the specialists say it’s good for the growth process. Smiley pancakes for breakfast and would always tie the laces of his kid’s shoes, in a sign of how much pure affection he has in that heart. Extremely thoughtful about the well-being of his kids and how they’re doing in school and with friends. Super focused on not embarrassing the kids but now and then lets a “daddy loves you, munchkin” slip.

Kimi - Hates everything kid-related except his kids. School meetings? Hates. Parents reunion? Hates. Father’s day soccer match? HATES. Is the kind of dad that TRULY loves that ugly ass coffee and watercolor paint drawing just because his daughter made him. Has tons of folders to save every piece of art, letter, video or school project he ever received and now and then goes and look at them to feel happy. Values hardwork so much he watches 5 times the terrible theater play his son is presenting only because he rehearsed for three months.

Gio - Popular among the daughter’s friends because HE CAN BRAID HAIR!!!! Cooks the same pasta 4 times a week because is his son’s favorite. Chill and respectful dad, super likable and actually funny, but in a cool way. Cool dad. Helps his kids with school projects but by actually helping and not by making everything himself.

Nicky - Shows classic music and movies for the kids so they grow up jamming to the 80’s songs he himself grew up listening. Takes them on snowboard vacations and surf trips even though he looks like a boring dad. The family has a whole “just chilling” aura but he invests and values education - be it socially (being polite, resourceful, kind) or academically (focusing on school, college and learning in general).

George - No one doubted he would be a good dad but everyone got surprised when he turned out naturally gifted for it. He’s not too serious but also not too playful, he educates his children well but also has so much fun with them. Really into father and son long term activities, like building a car from scratch or fully remodeling the backyard garden.

[plumoh]

[SK8] down the waves of august

Word count: 4035

Summary: Skating under the scorching sun, sitting on the porch and eating popsicles—this is summer, and Kojirou doesn't take his eyes off Kaoru.

Note: AO3 link. This is high school era, so there are strong vibes of one-sided Kojirou/Kaoru, and a lot of pining Kojirou. They're still having fun though!

It never starts with Kojirou dragging Kaoru to a new skateboarding spot or an ice cream shop, even though he recently got his license to legally drive a bike that will allow him to go anywhere he wants.

It always starts with Kaoru showing up at Kojirou’s house with a grander than life energy and never-ending excitement that transforms every one of his steps into a skip. He’s smiling and shining, like there’s nothing more valuable than taking the biggest breath of air and swallowing it whole to absorb the freedom summer is giving them.

“Let’s go,” Kaoru says, shoving his fist against Kojirou’s chest with a grin. “Take your board.”

It’s nine in the morning on a summer day of their last high school summer vacation, and Kojirou doesn’t even think about his homework or his cram school classes as he follows Kaoru’s extended hand, guiding him towards a world where nothing matters except the smell of fresh flowers and the sight of a back showing him the way.

***

They’re sweaty, exhausted and hungry but Kojirou finds himself grinning like a fool as he collapses on the stairs of his house porch, skateboard in hand. Kaoru follows suit, placing his hands on the cool stone of the stairs, and lets out a long sigh as he tips his head back, some of his hair falling out of the low bun as he does so. Kojirou glances at the curve of Kaoru’s exposed neck, then quickly averts his eyes.

“We should go back to that skatepark tomorrow,” Kojirou suggests, still high on adrenaline. “I’ve got classes until 3 pm, we’ll have enough time before my mom starts calling me to get home.”

Summer classes suck, and Kojirou would have gladly spent his days lazing around and eating junk food while watching shows on TV, or skateboarding until his legs couldn’t take it anymore, but university entrance exams aren’t going to be passed without extensive studying. Simply thinking about them is enough for Kojirou’s good mood to drop.

“We should,” Kaoru answers slowly.

Kaoru’s face is turned towards the reddening sky. Even though the sun is setting, drowning the white facade of the houses into warmer shades, it’s still hot and way too humid for Kojirou’s taste. All summer is going to be like this—uncomfortable, sticky and heavy, but nothing he isn’t used to. He’ll complain about the weather until Kaoru gets annoyed and complains about him, then they’ll buy a week’s worth of popsicles to eat in one afternoon as they do their homework and they’ll go skating at night, once they’re free from obligations and the crushing heat.

This is what summer is supposed to be like. The view from his porch, from his family’s army of bicycles near the gate to the neighbor’s wind chime hanging on the first floor’s window and to the cat wandering on the roofs, is familiar and reassuring in its immutability. Kojirou has spent countless hours sitting here with Kaoru until dinner time, until one of them starts fidgeting because the stairs are stiff and uncomfortable and really not the place to sit on for a prolonged period of time. Kaoru’s traditional house would be a much more logical choice to hang out at; but both of them know it wouldn’t be the same.

When Kojirou stares at Kaoru’s figure, still looking at the infinite stretch of sky and gaze seemingly lost somewhere that Kojirou is not allowed to enter, he realizes that this summer will be different.

“You’re staying for dinner?” Kojirou asks, scraping his shoe against a hole in their paved pathway leading to the stairs they’ve never bothered fixing. “For some reason as we grow older, my family gets more excited when you stay for dinner. Eisuke is even asking for you.”

Kaoru shifts and turns fully towards Kojirou, his face the slightest bit surprised before his lips are curled into a smirk. The light of the sunset makes the color of his hair and of his eyes even more vibrant, like he was meant to be seen at this time of the day, when the sun recedes and the stars arise, and Kojirou almost misses what Kaoru says.

“That’s because I’m way cooler than you,” Kaoru snickers. “I’m a better role model for Eisuke than you are, you’re a lame big brother.”

Kaoru’s laugh comes from within, resonating deep in the front yard, filling it with the image of a breeze strong enough to make people sway and stagger, knocked off their feet by how genuine it is. The weight pulling at the strings in Kojirou’s heart grows bigger and heavier with each passing day, but no more painful.

Kojirou shakes his head. “Excuse you, he doesn’t need to be taught how to be a delinquent at twelve years old. You’re not even half the delinquent you pretend to be!”

“Still cooler than you are, stupid!” Kaoru retorts, and jumps to his feet. “I’m gonna eat everything in your fridge. Do you still have ice pops?”

Kaoru doesn’t even wait for his answer as he darts towards the door, easily sidestepping Kojirou and jumping over the last steps of the stairs in springy leaps. Kojirou, momentarily dazed, scrambles to get up but he’s not fast enough to stop Kaoru from turning the doorknob and dashing into the house like he owns the place. Shoes are carelessly thrown aside in the genkan while loud footsteps on the perfectly polished floor resound like an entire class of toddlers are raiding Kojirou’s home, which is not too far removed from the truth. Kaoru is laughing like a maniac.

“Don’t act like this is your house, you punk!” Kojirou shouts, making just as much noise as Kaoru in his chase, down to the kitchen. “Who said you could take the ice pops in the first place!”

“Your stuff is also my stuff!” Kaoru replies, almost hitting his face against the fridge when his steps screech to a halt in front of it.

“Stop stealing my food!”

“Hey, you have Papico ice cream too, nice!”

“I thought you didn’t like Papico—”

“Boys, play nice.”

Both of them jerk away from the fridge and swivel their heads to Kojirou’s mother, who is watching them with the kind of fond exasperation and amusement she adorns only when she thinks they won’t remember any of her words as soon as she leaves them be. Kojirou clears his throat and grabs Kaoru’s arm, pulling him along and shoving him to the front like a shield, ignoring Kaoru’s grunts.

“Kaoru was stealing our ice cream,” Kojirou says flatly.

“You’d let me starve?” Kaoru gasps.

“We’re going to eat dinner soon enough, you glutton!”

“You eat way more than I do! And after skating all afternoon we need snacks to help us cool down!”

Kojirou’s mother sighs, mutely shaking her head. She lifts her hand and points at the bathroom at the end of the corridor, tutting.

“No ice cream before dinner, go wash your hands, and help me set up the table. Kaoru-kun, don’t leave your bag in the front yard and bring it inside.”

“Yes,” Kojirou and Kaoru chorus.

Once they brush past Kojirou’s mother, they start kicking and pushing at each other to get first in the bathroom, then they flick water at the other’s eyes like it’s some sort of childish competition before they remember that Kojirou’s mother is waiting for them and probably expecting them to be on their best behavior (as behaved as they can be).

Kaoru goes to retrieve his bag and opts to drop it in the genkan beside his still carelessly thrown aside shoes. Were it someone else’s house, he most likely would have neatly put them away—but this is Kojirou’s house, always loud and welcoming and warm. Kaoru then bounds towards the kitchen to give a hand to Kojirou’s mother, moving with the confidence of someone knowing where the cracks on the pavement are and choosing to dance around them. He’s allowing himself to be extravagant in the company of people who are, at this point in his life, basically his relatives.

Kojirou watches the ease with which Kaoru reaches into cupboards and rummages through drawers under his mother’s orders, and he thinks it strange how natural Kaoru’s presence is in his house. Strange, but not unpleasant; Kaoru brings a warm gust of wind and slips into every rift left open for him to poke his head into. Kojirou sees the way his mother smiles and guides Kaoru like he has lived here all his life, waving a wooden spatula around and telling him to go fetch this and that, and Kaoru complies without a single complaint. It does something funny to Kojirou’s stomach, which he squashes down by breathing in deeply and rubbing his temples.

It’s fine. Kojirou is eighteen years old, and this is the last summer he can spend with Kaoru before responsibilities catch up to them. It won’t change anything.

***

Kojirou doesn’t ask why Kaoru wants to skate every day, despite their obvious amount of workload that barely diminishes as the long days of summer stretch into the end of August. It’s simply easier to pretend that everything pushing them around like they’re trapped in a train full of people, from the urgency to get grades above 80 points to the quiet expectation of finding a more socially acceptable hobby, doesn’t exist. For a few hours in the hot night of the city, Kojirou lets himself believe that this freedom of choosing will last for a while longer.

Kaoru starts to skate differently; he brings a notebook with him and scrawls remarks and numbers of his performance, comparing the different results of complicated tricks, and asks Kojirou to evaluate how accurate his predictions are. He looks so focused and sure of himself, unravelling this perfectionist side he’s kept under layers of piercings and aggressive language. Kojirou has never understood why Kaoru was so adamant on accomplishing things that contradict other, more established achievements of himself—like that time he said he wasn’t aiming at a better computer science university outside of Okinawa, despite his excellent grades and hunger for learning all he can; or the obvious question of why he keeps doing calligraphy with such dedication when the love he has for this art is nowhere near the amount of love he’s pouring into artificial intelligence.

“You know, I’m not a computer,” Kojirou sighs, trying to make sense of Kaoru’s instructions. “I can’t calculate all these things as fast, and I don’t even understand what you’re trying to do.”

“That’s because you skate without finesse,” Kaoru answers, an argument he’s repeated multiple times these past weeks. “You can turn anything into art, or something graceful and technical if you put effort into it.”

“Huh. Sounds like a lot of unnecessary trouble.”

Kaoru glares at him but keeps skating, going up and down the spine, jumping at the last second to flip his board and landing smoothly without making his wheels cry in agony. Kojirou doesn’t think it’s as satisfying as hearing the screech of the wheels against the asphalt—hearing how close the board is to the ground makes his performance even more spectacular and boisterous, like fireworks bursting into colors.

It’s past dinner time. They both warned their families they wouldn’t make it home on time—Kojirou received a message from his mother telling him to be careful, and Kaoru was asked to get back not too late. The skatepark is empty save for the both of them and two kids accompanied by their father at the funbox, all of them foolish enough to continue sweating after hours spent under the scorching sun. Kojirou is sitting at the top of the half-pipe, elbow propped up on his knee and chin resting in his hand, observing Kaoru. There is tension in Kaoru’s shoulders that wasn’t there before, slowing him down and making his skating stiffer, stilted, like some sort of insurmountable obstacle stopping his progress.

“Hey,” Kojirou calls, tone softer than usual. “Still no signs of Adam?”

Kaoru comes back at his side, gives him a single glance, and shrugs.

“Probably stuck at home or something. We can go a few days without him.”

And he goes down again, this time even faster and correcting his trajectory. Kojirou rolls his eyes and resists the urge to call on Kaoru’s bullshit, because it’s so infuriatingly obvious how upset he is at not being able to skate with Adam. Kojirou doubts it’s the sole reason for Kaoru’s bad mood, but it is definitely a factor and he doesn’t wish to ponder on it longer than necessary, lest he starts having ugly, intrusive thoughts.

“Hurry up, I’m hungry!” Kojirou says. “We’re getting ramen and you’re paying!”

“Why am I the one paying—”

Kojirou doesn’t ask why Kaoru is skating like his life depends on it, why it looks like this is the last time he will touch a skateboard. He waits, like he always has, until Kaoru is ready to tell him what’s been bothering him.

***

Cicadas are screaming and making a nuisance of themselves, even if the patch of grass and trees is two blocks over Kojirou’s house. He listens to them as he eats the popsicle he’s legitimately won by beating Kaoru at janken, idly thinking that maybe it’s counterproductive to sit on the porch when they have an electric fan in the living room to fight against the heat. Kaoru, leaning all his body weight against Kojirou because he likes being insufferable, is cradling his can of cola in one hand and playing some game on his smartphone in the other, looking deep in thoughts. Kojirou specifically does not think about their proximity and the warm point of contact between them.

“You’re heavy,” Kojirou mumbles.

“That will help you build muscle,” Kaoru says flatly, not budging at all.

It’s too hot to continue arguing, especially since Kojirou’s brain feels fried and unavailable for the next twenty-four hours. This is probably one of the hottest summers they’ve had, blinded by rays of sunlight and reduced to mush by the heavy air, dragging their feet from one point to another and doing at most three tasks a day, including attending classes and doing homework. Which doesn’t leave enough brain space for mundane activities like deep thinking.

And yet Kaoru still has that troubled look on his face that Kojirou wants to douse with cold water. Long strands of pink hair are falling over Kojirou’s shoulder—he can smell the stupid floral scent of his shampoo that drives him insane, the one they’ve chosen after spending thirty minutes comparing a dozen different brands at the store. He lifts a hand with the intention of touching them before remembering himself, and withdrawing just as quickly. How simple a gesture it is, and how easy a shift it would bring in their relationship.

“Say, Kaoru.”

“Hm?”

“We’re not going to drift apart once we graduate, right?”

Neither of them is going to leave Okinawa, for the time being. Their universities, if they get into the one they want, will be in opposite parts of the island. They can text and call each other, and they will most likely come visit their parents during breaks—it’s not like they are leaving for another country.

It dawns on Kojirou, then, that he and Kaoru have never spent a prolonged period of time apart since they met in middle school. The thought gnaws at him and wraps a tight hand around his chest; he chances a look at Kaoru, and finds golden eyes staring at him with incredulity and faint amusement in equal measures.

“I think it would take something bigger for us to stop talking,” Kaoru says. “Your flip phone looks ugly but at least it’s working.”

“Not everyone can get a smartphone of the latest technology,” Kojirou grumbles, though his entire posture relaxes. “I’ll detail in my emails the ingredients of my delicious meals while you’re eating instant ramen or sandwiches bought at the convenient store. I’ll even send you pics!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, maybe your meals will look pretty but they won’t be tasty.”

“I’ve never heard you complain about my food before.”

“There’s a first to everything, you naive idiot.”

Kaoru presses himself closer to Kojirou and almost manages to tip him over the porch, but Kojirou simply laughs and grips Kaoru’s shoulder to steady the both of them. Perhaps this is why they choose the porch and not the crowded space of Kojirou’s living room; a moment shared between the two of them, listening to the cacophony of nature and suffering the heat solely for the opportunity to exist together.

Kaoru doesn’t say anything else, returning his attention to his game and Kojirou thinks that maybe, as long as he lets himself believe it, this is the peace they will always carry within themselves.

***

Their bikes were left abandoned on the sideroad, out of the way for people to circulate freely but still parked in a haphazard manner that would have made their parents yell. It’s not Kojirou’s biggest concern though, and this is hardly the most unforgivable inconvenience they’ve perpetrated.

The sun is hanging low in the sky, kissing the edge of the sea and covering the entire beach in warm tones. The elevated highway running across the water sounds just as noisy as usual, bringing some sort of twisted rhythm to their footsteps on the soft sand. It’s quiet; not many people are agglutinated on the shore, and even less are taking a walk alongside the waves.

Kojirou’s bare feet are crunching the sand and the pebbles in slow and measured steps, following Kaoru’s trail in front of him. They left their shoes somewhere near their bikes, throwing aside what was in the end a dead weight they would have had to carry. They don’t come to the beach nearly enough—it’s a place where nothing seems to matter, all worries drowned by the steady sound of the waves and by the tickling breeze caressing their hair. Kojirou walks and lets his mind rest.

Kaoru is walking backwards, tracing a path he’s the only one visualizing one step at a time, carefully and gently. He doesn’t exude his usual fiery energy that burns everything around him; he’s calm, but not in a worrying way. Kojirou’s eyes never stray away from Kaoru’s figure.

“You’re going to trip,” Kojirou says.

“There is less risk of tripping in walking backwards than in skating,” Kaoru replies with a snort. “And even if I do, the sand’s not going to hurt me.”

“I would catch you anyway.”

Kaoru looks up from his feet. For one short, miraculous second, Kojirou thinks that there is hope in Kaoru’s eyes, but it vanishes in a blink and he’s left with a crooked grin.

“Maybe, if you’re fast enough,” Kaoru teases.

Kojirou’s shoulders lift in an overt, deliberate shrug. “I’m as fast as Adam.”

It’s half-petty, half-true, but Kaoru doesn’t pick up on the obvious disdain in Kojirou’s words and chooses to burst out laughing. His voice carries high and far, as clear and limpid as water, and his face breaks into an expression of pure joy that lights up his eyes. Kojirou stares, mesmerized and feeling stupid for still being caught off guard by all the alluring facets Kaoru is willing to leave open to be scrutinized.

“You’re trying to show off?” Kaoru asks, mirth in his eyes.

“I don’t want to hear it from mister I’ll-steal-your-thunder-anytime,” Kojirou snorts. “I’m not showing off if it’s true.”

“Then prove it.”

Kojirou raises an eyebrow, momentarily confused. Kaoru is still grinning as he splays his arms wide, something wild glinting in his golden irises. It’s only when Kaoru starts tipping backwards that Kojirou understands what kind of crazy shit he’s come up with and he leaps into action, his left foot kicking the sand and his right arm shooting forward. One or ten curses fly out of his mouth as he forcefully grabs Kaoru’s arm in one hand and grips his shoulder in the other, then yanks him towards himself.

For a few seconds, this moment floats in the air and remains suspended. Kojirou’s feet are half-buried in the sand in his rush to catch Kaoru, covered in an odd veil of warmth that somehow feels comforting, making him take root in this spot. He’s completely drunk on the sight of Kaoru, face too close and illuminated by the faint light of the setting sun, hair out of his eyes and piercings gleaming, his lips curled into a satisfied and lazy smirk. The sound of the waves is but a distant noise to Kojirou over the hammering of his heartbeat and the ringing in his ears. And for a few seconds, he wants nothing more than to lean down and kiss Kaoru.

The spell shatters and breaks when Kaoru lifts his hand and flicks Kojirou’s forehead, tearing a long groan out of him.

“That hurts, you know!” Kojirou grumbles.

“That’s only a tickle, you big baby,” Kaoru says, rolling his eyes. “Well, I guess you prove you’re not completely useless.”

Kaoru wrenches his arm back and straightens up, making a show of dusting off his shirt and smoothing the wrinkles. Kojirou silently lets his arms fall at his sides, fingers still burning from the contact.

The wind is picking up. Kaoru turns his face towards the sky, and this—Kaoru’s profile, shining bright against the orange hue of the beach and the sky, devoid of worry and looking serene, is what matters the most to Kojirou.

“Summer’s ending,” Kaoru sighs, closing his eyes. “We still have a few months left together. And then it’s another kind of life entirely.”

“We’ve already established we’re not going to stop being friends,” Kojirou points out as he extracts his feet from the sand, tracing formless shapes in it instead. “Or are you already forgetting things from like, two days ago?”

“I was just making sure you remembered it, bastard.” Kaoru pauses; the sudden silence finally leaves space for the muffled noises of the water running on the sand. When he speaks again, his voice comes from the deepest well of his resolve. “You’ll become a cook and I’ll become the next renown calligrapher of Sakurayashiki studio. That’s how we’ve decided to grow up.”

Long days of unconcealed frustration, helpless screams about not being able to pursue a more profitable career and disappointment at his own inability to fully let go of something that has been transplanted in him since birth, leading to defeat simmered in rage—these memories come back in Kojirou’s mind unbidden and leave a bitter taste in his mouth. The puzzle pieces of Kaoru’s mood scattered across all summer move into place. But Kaoru is smiling and determined not to show weakness, even if the lines of his eyes are still angry, and who is Kojirou to not fall a little bit more in love with this flawed yet beautiful person that is Sakurayashiki Kaoru?

“We’ll grow up and become boring adults, but we’ll still be the same people,” Kojirou says with a smile of his own.

Kaoru slowly opens his eyes and looks over. Kojirou lifts his closed fist, expectant, and Kaoru obligingly bumps it with his own. A silly, mechanical gesture that accompanied them for years, like a sign of their bond that does nothing but strengthen and bloom with each passing day.

They are both sporting a grin as if they’ve just completed the best races of their lives. For once, Kojirou lets himself wholly acknowledge the pleasant fire that travels from his stomach to his chest, spreading a tingling sensation all over his body that makes him feel like he’s skateboarding at the highest speed with the certainty of victory under his wheels. He could get addicted to this quiet storm with the scent of spring brewing in his heart.

“Boring adults with boring friends,” Kaoru adds.

“That’s only natural,” Kojirou laughs.

The sun is dipping farther into the sea now—the colors are changing, gradually engulfing the beach in colder shades, but no less stunning.

Summer is ending, and new resolutions are starting.

[sunsetinmyvein]

The Radio Station - Chapter One - Think About How to Think

"I’m still not quite used to these proper radio interviews.” He said as he reshuffled the headset over his clean shaven mohawk. “It all… feels so professional.” She laughed in response to that, “Well, it’s nice to know I’m doing my job right, then!”

Eyyyy, I’m back! A sort of different story compared to what I've done in the past. Small snippets in time, across quite a bit of time, focused around radio interviews. Almost all of Matty's interview answers are verbatim transcribed from various interviews, but it's what happens around those answers that's the important stuff.

Taglist: @dot-writes​ @imagine-that-100​ @robinrunsfiction​ @tooshhhy​ and feel free to give me a shout if you wanna be added :D

6th of December, 2012

Adjusting the microphone in front of her, she watched while the last few seconds of the song played out. “You ready?” She asked the man sitting in front of her. He looked up from picking at the sleeve of his jacket, nodding apprehensively as she switched the microphones back on. “That was Sex by The 1975 - and as promised, we have here Matthew Healy of The 1975 with us in the studio this morning.” She spoke, turning on the radio presenter voice.

He leaned towards the mic slightly before speaking, “Hi.”

“How are you doing?”

“Yeah, erm… good?” He said with a small laugh, sounding unsure of himself. “A bit nervous.” He admitted as an afterthought.

“About your show tonight at Barfly?” She asked, remembering her conversation earlier in the day. Her managed warned her not to drag the interview out too much as they had a gig later that evening to prepare for.

“Uh, yeah, that, and I’m still not quite used to these proper radio interviews.” He said as he reshuffled the headset over his clean shaven mohawk. “It all… feels so professional.” He shrugged, looking around the studio for the millionth time. When he’d come in, the process of actually having to check in through a receptionist and wait before he was ushered through was fairly intimidating.

She laughed in response to that, “Well, it’s nice to know I’m doing my job right, then!”

 She figured it would be best to just get the ball rolling to try and give him something better to talk about than his nerves, “So, you guys have two EPs out now. How many more are there on the cards before an album?” She questioned, glancing down at the sheet of question prompts in front of her.

He appeared instantly more comfortable as soon as the topic switched to something that he had better familiarity with, straightening up in his seat and looking more engaged, “There’s probably another couple to come out before we bring out the full album.”

“It seems that the band is getting some good traction with what you already have out.” She pointed out with a nod. Over the last few weeks at the station she’d had a chance to hear the EPs in passing, and she thought that they were pretty decent. But the station itself had been receiving a fair number of requests for them and pretty good feedback whenever they were on the air.

“Yeah! We’re really humbled that we’ve been given the opportunity to live this past year, and we’re only getting closer as a band.”

  “Is there a strategy with how you’re releasing things?” She asked. “Is this all part of some grand plan,” She saw him smile at that, “or a secret to getting your name out there?”

He thought about that for a second, “Kind of a bit of both? When we wrote the first EP, shortly after we’d written the majority of the album, we kind of… I dunno, we just wanted people to…” He paused, taking a short breath as he recomposed his thoughts. “If we were gonna do it, it’s such a personal endeavour, this band. If people are embracing the music, we wanna do it properly. We want people to fall in love with a band the same way you fall in love with a person – the more you know about somebody over a longer period of time, the more you both invest in the relationship.” She was taken aback somewhat by his statement. For a band just starting their career, that was a pretty profound thought process. “That was kind of…” He continued, clearly debating over his words slightly. “We had ideas for a lot of material. We wanted records that went against the grain of most EPs nowadays that are just a single. We wanted to release these little records that kind of almost culminated in a debut record.”

  “That all sounds pretty well figured out.” She noted, still rather surprised at the extent of his answer. It was intriguing watching him stumble over his choice of words to try and get across exactly what he meant. “Does that mean that the tracks from the EPs are going to be on the full album?”

“There’s a lead track off each EP on the album, yeah.” He nodded eagerly as he leaned forward in his seat. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding that our material works chronologically. We wrote the album pretty much before we wrote the EPs. We took singles off the album and wrote EPs around that to take a bit of the story and embellish it a bit. Create a feel for what the album is gonna be like.” He explained, his hand motions getting more enthusiastic the more he spoke.

She made a soft noise of understanding at his answer. Thinking back to the vibe of the two EPs she had listed to, what he was saying made sense. “From what we’ve heard from you so far, it seems The 1975 has a knack for creating upbeat music with fairly deep lyrics in comparison. Is there a reasoning behind that? Is the album going to be similar?” She asked as she flipped her notepad over.

  He let out a sigh as he stared up at the ceiling of the studio, “I dunno… we’re just a band… for ourselves? We just wrote music for ourselves and have since we started when we were kids.” He started, leaning back into his seat. “Because we grew up in punk and pop punk playing around, we were kind of a bands band? Our music just became very, very personal and very, very kind of…” He made a vague gesture with his hands, “I suppose, it’s our only expression? It’s the only thing we’ve ever known how to do. It’s the only form of honest expression we’ve got. A lot of the time it’s quite self-deprecating for me – lyrically. I kind of find solace in it. But I suppose now it’s been romanticised a little bit.”

She wasn’t entirely sure if that answered her question, but pressed on. “Certainly songs like Sex seem to have a lot of girls romanticising you.” She threw in with a laugh. He cracked a grin at her remark.

“I think that is a reflection of our music – coming across as sexy. Not just because of, y’know, all this.” He shot back with a wink as he held a hand proudly on his chest. Any awkwardness he had been carrying at the start of the interview seemed to have dissipated now.

  “All right, we are gonna play another 1975 song and then we’ll be right back. This one came off of the first EP. This is The City.” She announced, happy to segue away from having to discuss whether she thought Matthew Healy was or wasn’t sexy on live radio. As the track started, she lowered her headphones to sit around her neck, the man across the desk from her following her lead. “You’re killing it.” She reassured him.

“Yeah?” He smiled.

“Yeah.” She chuckled, his enthusiasm now that he was on a roll was contagious. “You obviously know what you’re about.”

“Well, I’ve been fuckin’ thinking about it all for long enough.” He laughed loudly. “We spent ages working out what to do before stuff finally started happening for us.” He added for clarification.

“You’ve been the same group since you were kids?” She asked out of genuine curiosity. He looked like he was in his early twenties now, which would mean that they’d already been a band for quite some time. It seemed odd if that was the case, that they’d only had these two releases.

“Yeah, the four of us since we were fourteen or something. Just messin’ about trying to work out what sounds good.” He confirmed.

“Fourteen? That’s pretty young to start a band.” She said in astonishment.

“Yeah, well… I’d just moved to Manchester; I grew up in the very north of the country…” He started, looking like he was about to launch into another story. Part of her wished she had saved this line of questioning for the interview, but another part of her was secretly mildly honoured he was only giving this information to her. “But I went to high school and there was this kind of thing that was going on where the council were letting old people’s kind of bingo halls be used by kids to start bands. And after a couple of weeks it became this scene and everyone started making punk bands.” He explained.

  “So, you got dragged into it by your mates?” She asked.

“Well, in the end our whole social group oriented around that scene.” He shrugged. “We started there at fourteen just because of how fun it was. The fact that we realised we could be genuinely creative but also really indulgent? It was the most fun we could have.” He had a fond smile playing on his lips as he spoke.

“Plenty of time to experiment and work out what you want to be as a band.” She nodded in understanding.

“Exactly.”

“And clearly it’s starting to pay off.”

“You reckon?” He had a genuine look of disbelief.

“I’ve liked what I’ve heard,” She admitted, “and we’ve had nothing but good things coming in about the EPs.”

He scoffed as he ran a hand through his hair, “That’s a lie and you know it. I’m not oblivious to the critics.” He rolled his eyes, but was still smiling. “Thanks, though.”

  They had some more casual chit chat between them until the song came to an end and she switched the audio back over. “And we are back!” She said into the microphone, pulling her headset back on. “Still here in the studio with Matthew Healy, the lead singer of The 1975. Now, I believe that you guys had a few name changes before you finally settled on this one?” She asked as she crossed that prompt off of her list. In an effort to be prepared, she’d tried her best to find out as much about the band online as she could to form some half decent questions. She hated feeling like her interviews were just the same as everything else out there.

“Yeah, we did, but that was when we were just a live band, really. We didn’t really wanna put any music out officially until we were really ready. There were also issues with the old names that we had picked. One of ‘em there was another band called that already, Big Sleep, in America, so we couldn’t call it that. Another we didn’t really like, The Slow Down…” He said with a shrug. “People like to idealise quite a lot of things… in the end, it kind of became our thing? Changing our name. We didn’t really think people cared about our band, anyway.” He laughed softly.

“They certainly do now.” She smiled across at him, earning what appeared to be a delighted look in response. “So, is there any importance to what you finally settled on?”

  “The date doesn’t have any, no.” He said as he shook his head. “It’s this story, that’s been quite over dramatized, to be honest. When I was like… nineteen? I was on holiday with my family. There was an artist who lived in the village who was kind of a local drinker who befriended everybody. I spent a couple of days with him at his house, and he gave me loads of literature to leave with, like Kerouac and beat poetry, you know. Basically one of the books I ended up readin’ six months later, and it had kind of been treated as a diary by the previous owner. And it was dated ‘first of June the 1975’. The use of ‘the’ I felt was quite interesting.” He answered.  “It just stuck with me as a kind of… why? What made them write the 1975? I don’t know, but I think it really works with the fact that we were discovering a lot about ourselves, and we weren’t really sure who we were.” He gazed off into the middle distance for a second, looking like he was zoning out. “George felt it was a bit long at first, because you know, seven syllable band name. But once a band name becomes a band name it’s just there. It’s like that Pavlovian reaction. But I think when we went in for a meeting with our publisher, we’ve always liked to pitch things left of centre, we said ‘we’re gonna call the band The 1975‘ and they said ‘absolutely no way, it’s too long and there’s never been a big band that’s just been numbers.’ And then we looked at each other like ‘that’s the name.’ so I went and got it tattooed on my arm that day.” He laughed loudly. “Sent them a photo of that-” He held out his arm to emphasise the numbers inked there, “-like ‘that’s the name of the band now!’ As soon as they said there’s never been a big band that’s just numbers, we just thought… excellent.”

“The impulsivity worked in your favour, then.” She noted with her eyebrows raised in surprise. To go out and get something like that tattooed as an act of defiance to your creative project was impressive. “Good thing you’ve not had to change it again since.” He just chuckled.

  “It seems to fit in quite well, though, the name. What with the whole black and white aesthetic that you guys have created.” She continued, eager to hear what he had to say on this image that they had surrounded themselves with. Everything she had been able to find out about their ‘look’, how they presented themselves, it all seemed highly thought out and planned. But thinking back to what he had mentioned before, if they’d been a band since they were fourteen, it probably had been.

“If you’re quite altruistic in personality, that’s normally twinned with a certain amount of self-awareness. Because you’re exposed to many situations where you’re putting yourself out there a lot.” He started as he fiddled with the cord of his headset. “I think if you’re an artist and you’re like that, you find solace in maybe… detaching yourself from reality a bit? Because you’re not as exposed as normal. We find a lot of comfort in everything being in black and white, because… Yeah, that’s it, you’re not fully exposed.” He explained as if he was mostly talking to himself, or trying to sort out his answer as he said it. “But it really works for our band because it makes it… a bit out of reach?”

“How do you mean?” She frowned.

He hummed thoughtfully to himself before speaking, “There’s a great quote by Kafka, which is that ‘a camel is a horse designed by a committee’…” He said with a pointed look. “Which is like… one person’s vision is always going to be a lot more concise than something that’s been diluted or compromised by a committee. If you want to project a certain image it needs to be an individual’s own vision in order to be really palatable and really concise and really consumable. So, it’s all about creating something that isn’t that accessible, because we live in an industry where accessibility is paramount.” She was starting to realise that this man truly had very roundabout ways of answering questions. However, it was fascinating listening to his unfiltered thought process as he tried to work out what he wanted to say. She couldn’t say she’d had a lot of interviews with people are interesting as Matthew seemed to be.

  Taking a quick look at the time, she could see that they had to wrap this up shortly. Between the long-winded questions and the songs, her twenty minutes had gone by quite fast. She’d better start winding this down. “What’s next on the agenda for you guys?” She asked, looking back over to him.

“Uh, let me think…” He racked his brain for what their immediate plans were for the near future. “We’re heading out on tour after Christmas, and then pretty much we don’t stop ‘til sometime next year.” He confirmed.

“Sometime?”

“We’re in high demand, what can I say?” He said with a laugh.

“That’s not surprising, I’m sure it’ll only get harder to get a hold of you guys in the future.” She concurred. “Well, it’s been a pleasure chatting with you, Matthew. All the best for the tour and for the next EP.” She nodded. He looked caught off guard for a second. Glancing down at his phone, he was surprised to see how much time had gone by. “Thanks for coming in.”

“No, no. The pleasure’s all mine, truly.” He grinned. “Thank you for having me on.”

“I’m sure we’ll be hearing again from you soon.” She finished up, switching his microphone off as she did her outro spiel. He took his headset off, stretching his arms up above his head before standing up and heading towards the studio doorway. It took her a second of seeing him linger in her peripheral vision to realise that he was waiting to say goodbye. As she started the next track, she slipped her headset off and spun her chair to face him.

“Erm, thanks.” He said as he scratched at the back of his neck. “I’ll see you around?” He asked hesitantly. It was curious to see him go from charismatic interviewee to nervous guy in her studio so fast.  

“As I said, I’m sure we’ll be hearing from you soon. You’ll be back here in no time.” She assured him. He nodded to himself, looking pleased as he headed back outside.

  It was another twenty minutes after Matthew stepped out before her shift ended. Thankfully, she was able to get out of the office pretty quickly. Sometimes she ended up being held back for up to a couple of hours if there were meetings and such that required her attention. And today wasn’t a day that she wanted to deal with any of that. It had been a pretty shitty Thursday to start with. She’d had terrible traffic on the way in, couldn’t find a parking space, had to trudge her way to work in the cold, dropped her coffee when someone ran into her on the way – she just wanted to end a long day. It was approaching evening as she stepped out into the brisk winter air, letting out a sigh as she looked around the street. She started making her way to her car only to catch sight of a familiar mohawked man standing at the side of the station building, smoking with a few other guys. As soon as he spotted her, he shouted her name and waved her over. She debated whether she should go over and talk to a group of more or less strangers or not, but he seemed pretty keen on her joining them. He turned briefly back to the guys he was standing with and as she approached she heard the tail end of him explaining what had happened in the interview.

“This is the band!” He said excitedly.

“Oh!” Instantly, that made a lot more sense than him larking about with a bunch of random people. She took in the other three men he was standing with, noting that they were all quite a bit taller than he was. “You guys could’ve come in to the interview, you know.” She said as she wrapped her arms around herself to try and block out some of the cold threatening to seep in through her jacket.

“Nah, it’s fine.” One of them with somewhat of a beard shrugged.

“We’d rather let him do the talking.” Another quietly agreed.

“He’s loud enough for all of us.” The last one, that also had a kind of mohawk thing going on, spoke up.

“Hey! Fuck off!” Matthew shoved the last one with a loud laugh.

She stood around with them for a bit while they smoked, listening to Matthew talk about the interview and answering the odd question that the band members had for her. This man seemed far more sure of himself than the uncertain one she kept seeing in the interview. He prattled on excitedly about tour and the next EP and just generally seemed more confident. The band only spurred him on as well, encouraging him and getting into in-depth conversations about the tiniest details. She could see where those long-winded answers had come from in their interview. If he held this level of passive confidence and enthusiasm in a casual environment, it was only a matter of time before that started shining through in his career. And it was truly no surprise after speaking with them that this band was getting popular at the rate that they were. They were obviously talented, and had enough drive and direction to push themselves through whatever challenges they faced. She could tell that The 1975 were only just beginning their music industry journey. It was after about fifteen minutes that she figured she had better excuse herself and actually go home – she didn’t really have any reason to hang around here, even if it was nice to chat with such an interesting group of people.

  She waited for a lull in the conversation (which wasn’t very forthcoming) before finally making her move, “I might get going…”

Matthew’s face fell a little before he recomposed himself. “Why don’t you come down to the pub with us for a bite?” He suggested.

“Ah, thanks for the offer but I’ve got places I need to be, and I don’t usually mix business with pleasure as they say.” She chuckled lightly. “Nice to keep things separate.”

“It’s also nice to make exceptions sometimes.” He shot back; a challenging eyebrow raised. “But it’s cool.” He said with a shrug as he dropped his cigarette onto the ground, snuffing it out with his shoe. “For real, though, thank you for all the kind words about the band and the music in the interview. A station with as many listeners as yours… your words mean a lot.” He nodded, looking pensive about whatever was going on in his head.

“It’s really no problem. I meant everything I said.” She smiled back at him. Before she could get on her way, he pulled her into a tight hug. She hadn’t overly expected that from the man she’d known all of about an hour, but she hugged him back regardless, happy for the brief warmth after standing in the icy street. “I’ll, uh,” She cleared her throat, attributing the heat she could feel in her cheeks to being in the cold for so long, “I’ll see you at the next interview.” She said as she finally headed towards her car, leaving Matthew staring after her before heading back to his band mates.

Next Chapter

[cycbean]

Hello there

Wanted to dip my toes into this pairing. Don’t mind me...

This is a really (really) rough draft of the first chapter of a concept I had. 

Quiet Minds

Chapter 1

‘…there she stood in the doorway,

I heard the mission bell,

And I was thinking to myself,

This could be heaven or this could be hell…’

“Sir? Is that all?”

The cashier behind the counter looked at Ichigo expectantly. Ichigo couldn’t hear her thoughts but there was definitely disapproval in her eyes, probably due to the fact that he had not removed the headphones from his ears when he had come up to the counter, and his music was so loud that she could undoubtedly hear some of it. Ichigo was unbothered by this. He was already used to receiving this look.

He nodded. “Sure.”

“That’ll be four-hundred yen, then.”

Ichigo watched the way her lips formed the words and withdrew the correct amount of cash. Waving off her proffered plastic bag, he pocketed the cigarettes and gum and stepped out of the convenience store to the sound of Don Felder’s electric guitar.

When he was a bit away from the store he retrieved a cigarette and lit it, trying to relax himself.

Standing on a street corner, he watched the other people milling about. Some of them were also freshmen and would be his peers for the next year, and perhaps even the next four years. He considered, briefly, if he should remove his headphones and listen for a bit. Three years ago, he had similarly stood before the front gates of Karakura High School and thought the same thing. Back then, he hadn’t started smoking yet.

Ichigo put the cigarette out, stuffed a piece of minty fresh gum in his mouth and headed off to the Student Accommodations office.

&&&

“I’m sorry, Kurosaki-kun, there’s nothing we can do.”

The bespectacled woman, Ise Nanao, her staff badge read, shuffled through his papers like there might appear information there she hadn’t already been through.

“Though your circumstances do seem somewhat special, it’s not enough to warrant any special kind of accommodation.”

Though Ichigo still hadn’t removed his headphones, he had turned the volume down, so he could hear her voice a little. She sounded genuinely regretful.

“I understand,” he said. “Thank you, though.”

He got up, accepting the file of his documents from the woman. She gave him a sympathetic look.

“Although,” she said suddenly, “If there is a short number of lodgers this semester, I can make sure that you get a room to yourself. However, I don’t want to get your hopes up for this. Admissions this year has already reached capacity, so it’s unlikely it will happen.”

“Thank you,” Ichigo said sincerely before he left.

When he had been applying for universities far away from his hometown, he had known that this would be an issue. The dorms didn’t allow for single rooms, not for freshmen at least. To be by himself, he would have to rent outside the campus, something the rich kids did with ease but which was too expensive for Ichigo, considering he would be paying for it himself given that his scholarship only covered tuition and books. He had expected, with his luck, he would end up rooming with someone. Despite this expectation, he hadn’t quite figured out how he was going to survive that yet.

Outside Ise Nanao’s office was a small reception room. Walk-in meetings took place here, with more staff members seated behind small wooden desks with a few chairs before them. One meeting caught his attention.

It was a small family, what looked like a grandmother and two grandchildren.

The grandmother and her granddaughter, a pretty young woman, were seated before the staff member. Behind them stood the grandson, a boy about a head shorter than Ichigo but probably around the same age. He stood out by his rather stark white hair.

At first, Ichigo just gave them a passing glance. But as he did this, his eyes caught the movement of the young woman’s lips and he stopped short.

Able to read lips.

That was what she was saying. It struck Ichigo as funny that the thing she was talking about was what he was doing to her right then. Intrigued, Ichigo continued to observe her, basically eavesdropping. From his angle, he could only see the face of the young woman and the staff member.

From what he could gather, the young woman was describing a person who could at least be able to read lips, while the staff member was, regretfully, informing them that that was a skill they had no way of knowing if other students possessed, as it wasn’t usually mentioned on any official documents.

The staff member could only suggest that they put out some sort of advertisement for such a roommate.

This caught Ichigo’s attention. So, one of the grandkids was a student then, and they needed a roommate who could at least read lips. Though he couldn’t hear her, it seemed like the granddaughter could speak and hear just fine, so it probably wasn’t for her. It had to be for the boy then.

Ichigo lingered longer. At this point, the granddaughter shifted her body and Ichigo could no longer see her face. He hesitated for a moment and then did something he hadn’t done in public in years—

He took off his headphones.

Hanging them around his neck, he was immediately assaulted with the sudden influx of noises—a copier somewhere nearby whirring, the squeaky wheels of an office chair being rolled across the floor, and of course, the indistinct sounds of people chatting. Worse than that, though, were the sounds of thinking.

Lucky for Ichigo, there weren’t many people around. Behind him, he thought he heard Ise Nanao think about whether she should have lunch with her uncle or not. A maintenance man working on an elevator nearby was wondering where his screwdriver was. And of course, there was the family before him.

Ichigo focused in on the granddaughter, just in time for him to hear, quite distinctly, Poor Tōshirō.

Tōshirō, he assumed, was the white-haired boy.

The staff member: I wish I could help, but I can’t do anything for you.

The grandmother: Tōshirō, this school is so big, will you be okay here?

The granddaughter: Don’t worry, Shiro-chan, it won’t be so bad. We’ll put a message up on the freshman Facebook page and work something out.

Ichigo couldn’t pick up anything from the boy himself, so he tried to focus on him, almost burning a hole into the back of his head.

But there was nothing. Not even white noise.

But then the granddaughter thought something that lit a lightbulb in Ichigo’s head.

Shiro-chan’s been deaf since he was born, he’ll have to get use to things like this sooner or later.

As Ichigo watched, the girl turned to the boy and signed this to him.

So he was deaf, and had been since he was born. Was this why Ichigo couldn’t hear his thoughts? Because he had never learned how to verbalize them?

Ichigo would have continued to listen, but then the door behind him opened and Ise Nanao stepped out. Ichigo became aware of her presence because he distinctly heard her think Oh, Kurosaki-kun’s still here, and he swung around.

“Kurosaki-kun? Was there something else?”

Ichigo quickly returned his headphones to his ears, to which she raised her eyebrows.

“Is there a freshman Facebook group?” he asked.

“There is,” she replied, surprised. “There’s a flyer in my office of all the social groups, give me a moment.”

She quickly retrieved the flyer and handed it to Ichigo. By this time, Tōshirō and his family were leaving the office. Ichigo watched them go, catching sight of the other boy’s face for the first time.

He had a very young face, one that hadn’t yet lost the last of its childish roundness. His frown made him seem very serious though, thin white brows furrowed over rather large green eyes. He was signing something to who Ichigo guessed was his sister, though they didn’t look alike, so quickly that Ichigo was only able to discern Don’t bother.

“Will that be all, Kurosaki-kun?”

Ichigo turned his attention back to Ise and nodded.

“Yes, thank you.”

Ichigo didn’t see the small family when he walked out of the building, but he took the flyer with him back to his aunt’s car, slipping it into the folder with his other documents.

When he was safely inside the car, he finally took his headphones off and tossed them in the passenger seat. It was a long drive back to his aunt’s house and he was looking forward to relieving his ears of the headphones. Instead, he turned the radio on.

Adele’s Rolling in the Deep was just getting into its first chorus. He turned the volume up to a level he knew couldn’t be heard outside the closed windows and pulled out from the parking lot.

When Ichigo turned into his aunt’s driveway, his uncle Ganju was waiting for him.

This uncle of his was born too late for Ichigo to call him uncle—he was only a few years older, after all, though when the man wanted to be a special pain, he’d harass Ichigo about his lack of respect for his elders.

Ichigo quickly put his headphones back on, clicking the little Bluetooth button to connect to his phone.

The heavily synthesized beats of Cher’s Believe slowly built up in his ears, effectively deafening him to the sounds around him. Ichigo retrieved his things from the car and stepped out.

“About time you got back,” Ganju greeted him, holding a hand out for the keys. “I’m late for a movie with the boys!”

Ichigo dropped the keys into his palm. “You sound like a girl,” he said flatly.

“What was that, you punk? What part of boys sounds like a girl?”

“Whatever.” Ichigo walked away from him. It didn’t look like his aunt was home yet, so if Ganju was going out then he’d be alone for a few hours.

Behind the wheel, Ganju laid on the horn for a moment, the only way to get Ichigo’s attention when he wasn’t facing him.

“What?” Ichigo yelled at him over his shoulder.

“Give. Bonnie. A. Bath.” Ganju enunciated to him.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure his Aunt Kukaku had told Ganju to bathe Bonnie this morning.

Bonnie, the little pink pig, was in her playpen in the living room. Neither Kukaku nor Ganju had children, but they did have a pig.

Bonnie squealed and bounded up to Ichigo when he came in. He reached down to pet her head, smiling.

Animals couldn’t think, at least not in a way Ichigo could pick up on, so he removed his headphones and set about filling the bathtub with water. While Bonnie happily splashed around, chewing on some squeaky rubber toy, Ichigo pulled out his phone.

He had been staying with his aunt and uncle for a week and had been mostly ignoring the texts and messages from back home during that time. He had only replied to the ones in the family chat, since it was usually Yuzu checking up on him and it wouldn’t be in his best interest to needlessly worry her.

But his friends had been sending him messages too, and Ichigo had left those unread.

The most recent was from Tatsuki in the group chat: Let us know what time you get back into town, we’re having dinner at Orihime’s.

Ichigo hesitated, but the message had already been open so, at least in a group chat, they would be able to see that he had read it.

Not sure, might be very late, he replied and then quickly put his phone away.

While Bonnie was rolling around on the towels Ichigo had laid out for her on Ganju’s bed, he opened up his laptop. He wasn’t much of a Facebook person, preferring platforms like Reddit and Discord for his online socializing, mostly because he didn’t know another person who used them. But he kept the account around because his friends and family were very much active on it. Bypassing the unchecked notifications, updates, and game requests, he retrieved the flyer and searched for the university’s freshman Facebook group.

It was a very active page, mostly stylized, preppy posts by the admins welcoming the new students and advertising the freshman orientation events that would be running for the next week or so, and also people asking questions.

It seemed like Tōshirō’s sister had wasted no time putting a post up on the page. Her name was Hinamori Momo and her post was asking for a male roommate who knew sign language or lip reading who could room with a deaf person for the next semester. If they were interested, they could contact her via her Facebook profile.

There wasn’t much engagement on the post, a few likes and reactions, but no replies. Ichigo figured anyone serious about it would message Hinamori-san directly. Clicking into her profile, he found pictures of the young woman he had seen at the office before. He had to trawl her page for a moment before he found one with the white-haired Tōshirō.

The picture had been posted only a year ago but had been clearly taken long before. Momo and Tōshirō were much younger, probably in their early teens. They were sitting behind a Harry Potter themed birthday cake, dressed in Harry Potter robes (complete with the pointed hats and all), with Harry Potter decorations in the background. Tōshirō was wearing the iconic round glasses and he was holding a wand. His face was serious even back then but one side of his mouth was tilted up in a little half smile.

Hinamori-san’s caption was:

‘Spent my day celebrating with this guy. Don’t blame me for the picture guys, this is the only one I have. Yes, really.’

And then she followed up with a line of smiling, laughing, and birthday-themed emojis.

Unfortunately, Tōshirō wasn’t tagged in the photo, and a search of Tōshirō Hinamori didn’t yield any results.

Nevertheless, Ichigo opened up a chat with Hinamori-san and quickly typed up a message, letting her know that he knew sign language and lip reading, and was looking for a roommate himself.

He left it at that and closed the laptop.

Bonnie had taken up chewing on the edge of the magazine Ganju kept hidden under his pillow. Ichigo picked her up and brought her back downstairs. The front door was opening, and Ichigo scrambled to get his headphones on while balancing a squeaky pig.

His Aunt Kukaku stepped inside, toting in a few shopping bags.

“Ah, Ichigo, come help me with this.”

Ichigo deposited Bonnie on the couch and went over to her.

“How was registration?” she asked.

“Fine, mostly hassle-free. My move in day is next Wednesday.”

Kukaku leaned a hip against the kitchen counter. “That doesn’t give you much time to spend at home,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe you should leave today. I don’t mind driving you tonight.”

“No, it’s alright,” Ichigo quickly said. “It’s already late and you just got home from work. Plus, there’s an issue with my roommate I want to sort out here first before I go back.”

“You didn’t get through with the administration then?” his aunt asked, frowning.

He shook his head. “It won’t be so bad though,” he reassured her. “I think my roommate is a quiet guy. I’ll manage.”

Aunt Kukaku looked like she wanted to say more but Ichigo turned away from her, putting away the groceries.

After they had eaten dinner and Ichigo had showered, he opened up his laptop again. There was a message from Hinamori-san.

‘Hello, Kurosaki-kun! Thank you for messaging me! We’ll be on campus tomorrow…how about we have lunch together at the café in the Student Building? Around 12? Let me know. Looking forward to seeing you!’

Hanging his towel over his shoulders to catch the rest of the water dripping from his hair, he quickly typed out a reply:

‘Sure. See you then.’

&&&

Oh, my God, they were roommates. What Hogwarts House would Toshiro be in?

[copperbadge]

Do you have any thoughts about the announced adaptation of 'the City Watch' books by BBC America? Opinions seem pretty mixed in the fandom and I'd love to hear your take?

For a show I was almost definitely never going to watch from the outset, I have more thoughts about the Watch adaptation than I really know what to do with, to be honest. It’s actually hard to assemble them coherently. 

There are basically three strands of opinion I have about watching The Watch: personal, critical, and literary. 

The personal: 

I don’t have a great history of enjoying media adaptations of Terry Pratchett’s work. One reason I didn’t watch Good Omens until a month or two after its release is that I knew this about myself and I didn’t want to turn it on, get disappointed, and turn it off, as I’d done with The Hogfather (we need not speak of The Animated Soul Music, lord). Granted, the Death books are not my favorites, so I was never going to deeply engage with The Hogfather, and then they came out with The Colour Of Magic, another non-favorite, so I skipped it, and so I was super disengaged by the time Going Postal came out (though I should really give Going Postal a chance because I do love Going Postal as a book). So I acknowledge this isn’t objective, this is personal, but it’s still a factor.  

So I’m not coming into this whole situation with The Watch as someone who actually wants, or enjoys, TV adaptations of Pterry’s books, Good Omens notwithstanding – and let’s be real, Good Omens is an outlier. It was a collaboration, one of the original authors had deep control over the adaptation, and also Good Omens isn’t a Discworld book. It’s much more thoroughly rooted in our known reality, which makes it easier to convey to television. But my ultimate point is that when I hear about a Discworld book being adapted to TV, I shrug and move on. I have the books. I don’t need the shows. 

The critical: 

I think it is a bad habit of fandom that we extrapolate a lot of inference from a relatively small amount of data – we tend to take a couple of photos, a press release, some casting information, and very quickly make a large set of assumptions. It’s not necessarily that these assumptions are wrong, but we jump to a lot of conclusions. I’m thinking of early backlash over Good Omens, which I don’t even remember what it was about but I remember Gaiman having to get pretty stern about “could you wait until at least the trailer is out before jumping down my throat”. I’m also thinking of the casting of David Thewlis as Remus Lupin, which was not well-received until we saw more than blurry set photos. 

Now, all that having been said, some of the casting news has been…difficult. On the one hand, a Black Sybil Ramkin? Sign me the fuck up. On the other, I know that for a lot of people, having a Sybil who is both large and older is really important (I think it’s important too). Especially if Vimes is older, it’s creepy and backwards to have Sybil be young and hollywood-idea-of-pretty (even if the time travel element is involved, it gets into a weird area). Also, I’m really over only ever casting people of color as villains or supporting-role-women. Vimes canonically comes from a “poor but respectable” neighborhood that could easily be reframed as an ethnic neighborhood, which would be especially pointed and interesting given his family’s long connection to the history of the city. An Indian or part-Indian Sam Vimes would be really, really interesting and cool, for example. 

There’s also a lot of discussion about casting a nonbinary person as Cheery and explicitly setting Cheery up as nonbinary, as opposed to explicitly a trans woman*, especially since in the books she identifies as a woman, not as nonbinary. But I’m not entirely sure if Cheery as nonbinary is actually going to be canon or if that’s just the reporting on the show not knowing how to handle the whole Female Dwarf situation. Not everyone interprets Cheery as trans at all, either, because of how dwarf gender identity works, which complicates matters somewhat, so I’m not going to wade too far into these waters. I do think it’s great enby actors are getting work in enby roles, but there’s some issues there that need further examination. 

(* Note -- corrected the above after it was pointed out to me that NB are not trans light; I’ve changed it to trans woman rather than trans-as-umbrella-term, more here.)

So I think overall it’s early days to make a lot of calls about what The Watch will and won’t be, but I also think there’s a lot of reason to be concerned and annoyed, and that brings us to the real, hardcore reason that I saw the first reporting on The Watch and immediately noped out: 

The literary:

“Punk rock thriller.”

Oh go fuck yourself. 

Despite everything I said above about not making snap judgements I immediately read that it would be a dark punk rock thriller police procedural and went “Well, guess that’s that” and walked away from the idea of being even vaguely excited about this show, because what I read demonstrated a basic, fundamental lack of grip on what the Watch books are about. 

One, the Watch books aren’t about crime. They really genuinely aren’t. The crimes are macguffins on which to hang social commentary about other things entirely. Even in the very earliest Watch books, when Pterry was still mostly making fun of high fantasy, the crimes the Watch investigated were committed in the service of a larger discussion about things like totalitarianism, interculturalism, and civic life. There’s at least one moment, and I believe several but I’d have to re-read the books to be sure, where Pterry explicitly makes fun of murder mysteries where the hero Solves Crimes Like Sherlock Holmes. Vimes hates clues. Feet Of Clay has an extended subplot about how you 100% cannot trust clues even when the author is the one feeding them to you. I do not want a Watch series that is about Clues.  

Two, the Watch books are explicitly the antithesis of the action genre. They have action in them, but the point is that nobody in these books are action heroes; they’re ordinary people attempting to go about their jobs in a situation where that constantly becomes increasingly difficult. I read “punk rock thriller” and I thought to myself of the dedication of Guards! Guards!: 

They may be called the Palace Guard, the City Guard, or the Patrol. Whatever the name, their purpose in any work of heroic fantasy is identical: it is, round about Chapter Three (or ten minutes into the film) to rush into the room, attack the hero one at a time, and be slaughtered. No one ever asks them if they want to. This book is dedicated to those fine men.

This does get a bit tricky because by the end of Snuff, Vimes is very heroic, almost too heroic for my comfort, but at the same time his heroism is of a very specific sort: he is heroic not because he slaughters the palace guard who get in his way or shoots the baddie or blows up a cop car with a helicopter (or vice versa) but because he deeply, intensely hates those things, and wants nothing to do with them. He is heroic because he is forced into it by circumstance, but spite in the face of monstrousness is what powers him. I think of The Fifth Elephant, where Vimes has just killed a werewolf: 

There were a lot of things he could say. “Son of a bitch!” would have been a good one. Or he could say, “Welcome to civilization!” He could have said, “Laugh this one off!” He might have said, “Fetch!” But he didn’t, because if he had said any of those things then he’d have known that what he had just done was murder.

I don’t trust someone who thinks The Watch should be reimagined as a thriller to understand Sam Vimes. Like, there’s room for interpretation as to Vimes’ character, but there is a fundamental underlying bedrock Vimes is built on and if you don’t grasp the broad points of that, you’re just writing a cop show with some names stitched on.  

Three, the Watch books aren’t a static series, they aren’t like cozy mysteries where the circumstances change but the hero rarely does. That’s nothing against cozy mysteries; I love mystery novels and some of my favorites involve characters who don’t even age over the course of the forty years the books were written in. But you cannot pastiche the Watch and expect it to work. 

Again this is a bit of extrapolation based on low amounts of data but I think it’s probably accurate – the casting indicates that either we’re dealing with the events of Night Watch or at the very least heavily engaged with aspects of it. But Night Watch, while I think it’s one of Pterry’s best books hands down, doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It is one point in a very specific developmental arc, not just for Vimes but for the entire Watch. If we’re dealing just with the plot of Night Watch (which I don’t think we are) that’s tough to pull off. If, as I suspect, they’re going to be pulling from various aspects of various Watch books, then that’s just fucking nonsense. 

Even Carrot, who is a very constant figure, undergoes some fundamental shifts in personality between Guards! Guards! and, say, The Fifth Elephant. Vimes, while maintaining his personal moral and ethical code, undergoes a radical shift between Guards! Guards! and Night Watch, and he continues to develop emotionally and in some ways spiritually up until Snuff. The Vimes who bitches about diversity in hiring in Men At Arms will not react to any given situation the way the Vimes who befriends the goblins in Snuff will. 

And because these books also all address very specific issues, you can’t just slam them all together and expect to get anything resembling the Watch as Pterry envisioned it over the course of the books.

So while I love the comedy, the characters, the plots, even the macguffin crimes, I believe that a Watch book – a Discworld book of any kind – without that satirical bite is just a high-fantasy husk. There’s no point to it, nothing that sets it apart from a bad Saturday Night Live skit about Game of Thrones. The tv series might actually turn out great and all my concerns will have been unfounded, but first looks aren’t promising on a number of really basic levels. 

So we’ll see. If I’m wrong, great; the show will probably electrify fandom in the same way Good Omens did. If I’m right, well, I had no hopes to begin with, so I’ll just enjoy re-reading Night Watch, which is the book that got me back into fandom and which you can all blame for my presence here today. :D

[dylansfm]

       〔 ZOEY DEUTCH, 22, CISFEMALE, ODIKINESIS 〕╰  _DYLAN O’SHEA _ just  came  over  half - blood  hill .  you  know ,  the  child  of  ARES  who  was  claimed  3 years ago ?  i've  heard  chiron  say  that  pronoun  is  COURAGEOUS & INDEPENDENT ,  but  if  you  ask  the  aphrodite  kids ,  they'd  say  they're  COMBATIVE & SPITEFUL .  i'd  say  they  remind  me  of drinking whiskey, broken glass, the glow of a flame, bruised knees, split lips & basking in the feeling of victory, especially  since  they're  AGAINST THE NEW CABINS.  (  ✎  tobi ,  20 ,  she/her ,  mst .  )

hello everyone ! i’m tobi, 20 years old, and this intro post is really late but here it is ! i haven’t rp’ed in forever so i’m probably going to be a bit rusty, but i’m excited. you can find some quick wanted connections at the bottom of this. i’ll reblog some wc gifsets and try to write up a proper post later. if you want to plot, like this post and i’ll message you, or you can get me on discord logan lerman's side bitch#7115 !

name:     dylan alexandra o’shea  

nicknames:    her mom calls her dyl pickle, call her that if you dare

birth date:    january 2nd   

gender:    cis female

pronouns:    she/her

ethnicity:    kinda obvious i think

nationality:    american

hometown:    memphis, tennessee 

demigod abilities:    odikinesis –– the ability to arouse feelings of anger, hatred and bloodlust in others

cabin number & godly parent: cabin five, ares

edie o’shea is your average southern belle. little rich girl, ex-beauty queen, ex-cheerleader, known around the neighbourhood for her beauty and being the definition of southern hospitality. but when she was 18, she went through her rebellious, punk, 90s grunge phase ( or at least, as grungy as you can get in the deep south ). and it was during this phase that she had her fateful encounter with ares. they met at a bar –– or was it a club ? concert ? she can’t even remember anymore –– and he introduced himself, didn’t even bother to hide his name. edie assumed it was a nickname or a joke. 

they had a brief, intense, torrid love affair for a few months before edie became pregnant. ares gave a quick explanation of his situation ( edie was so infuriated nothing he said even registered ) and he split, leaving edie with dylan as a goodbye gift. edie quickly went back home, got back into her parents’ good graces, and tried to forget ares and get her life back together for her little girl. 

dylan’s grandparents are similar to emily and richard gilmore from gilmore girls –– they’re snobby, controlling, and a bit too invested in their granddaughter’s raising. dylan loves them both, but her complete lack of care towards social status and reputation is a constant battle. 

dylan o’shea is very much the opposite of your average southern belle. seemed to have inherited both her mother and father’s wild ways, going against all of her mother’s attempts to tame her. she’s aggressive, coarse, and tactless. she’s attended and been expelled from damn near every school in the city, gotten into more fights than she can count, been arrested enough times that she knows quite a few officers by name. she’s been uncontrollable from day one, a hurricane that constantly leaves destruction in her wake.

her mother never intended to send dylan to camp half blood, she thought dylan was bound to get herself killed if she was left by herself. but dylan’s demigod ability, odikinesis, began to manifest when she turned 14. she had always had a penchant for getting into trouble, but it seemed like she was constantly being provoked into fights. her family never believed her when she said that she wasn’t doing anything, that people always came at her. they figured it was her nature, per the course as a child of the god of war.

the day things went to utter shit –– she doesn’t remember much of what happened now. it was over something stupid, a guy saying a stupid, shitty comment that shouldn’t have made her as angry as it did. next thing she remembers she’s face down on the ground, held down by 3 police officers and thrashing around like a wild animal. she’s told she beat him near to death ( or maybe –– ? she never asked, never really wanted to know ) and she lands in juvie. it was run down, under supervised and overcrowded, and her powers only grew stronger with time. a year of fighting ( both inmates and guards ), getting sent to isolation, and doing it over and over again finally broke her. abruptly, the fights stopped, and like a switch, instead of constant anger, she felt nothing at all.

her mother saw her state and knew both that something was wrong, and that she wasn’t the one who would be able to fix it. for the first time, she swallowed her pride and prayed to ares to guidance, help, anything. dylan was released soon after, something about early release for good behaviour ( ha ! ) and she immediately goes on the long drive to camp half blood. only when they get there does she learn that she was being haunted by a ker ( female spirits who personify violent death ), which was drawn to her ability and underlying power. she arrived at chb when she was 15, and has been there ever since.

some quick facts about dylan !

she has a thick southern accent and possibly the smoothest voice you’ve ever heard –– expect more than a few y’all’s here and there, though i’ll try not to be too obnoxious

she likes using nicknames –– lamb, pumpkin, june bug, the works –– just to be condescending

she’s quick to insult and even quicker to anger, but not necessarily unfriendly. she genuinely doesn’t mean any harm –– most of the time

she has a awful temper. as in, had-to-take-anger-management-classes awful. it genuinely takes a toll on her and she constantly struggles to keep her rage in check. she’s had enough years of learning that on a good day, she’s fine. on a bad day –– whew.

her inspirations incl: jessica jones ( jessica jones ), katarina stratford ( 10 things i hate about you ), reyna avila ramirez-arellano ( the heroes of olympus ), clarisse la rue ( percy jackson & the olympians )

despite how she comes across at first ( idiot jock ) she’s generally very intelligent. she especially likes history

she’s very flighty, her mind never stays on one thing and she’s constantly doing, forgetting about that, starting that, dropping that and –– you get the point. talking to her can be a bit daunting because she’s constantly changing the subject on you

the only time she’s really focused is when she mid-battle, on a quest, or thinking about strategy ( she’s a bit of a stereotype, she already knows )

from her time in juvie she’s learned quite a few –– skills. how to pick a lock and how to sneak contraband being the most relevant ( less relevant: how to turn a battery into a lighter & make booze using just bread, sugar, and fruit juice ). she’s managed to get some contacts whenever she’s permitted to leave camp for a quest, so she always has a decent supply ( weed only, she used to run with bad crowds, seen the damage the other stuff can do )

after her experience with the ker, she’s has a genuinely, almost debilitating fear of spirits and hauntings specifically. it’s a trait about herself that pisses her off to no end, and she’d die before letting anyone find out about it. 

& now for the ·。ﾟ𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 ! as i said above, i’ll write a proper post when i’m a little less tired

platonic

rivals –– friend version ! dylan is quite possibly the most competitive person on earth, it’s in her genetics. she thinks of everything as a competition and she always has to win. however, a victory is only sweet when it’s against a true adversary. she spends a lot of time with this person and she’s convinced herself that it’s so that she can eventually prove she’s their superior, but she actually just likes being around them.

           ( bonus points –– sparring partners no rules sorta deal, out in the woods, scratches                from twigs, bloodied rocks, anything to let some of her aggression out )

opposites attract –– this person is different from her in almost every way ( grumpy, combative, wild vs friendly, sweet, caring, etc ) and by all accounts should provoke her ire and contempt. yet somehow, she instead genuinely care about this person and their wellbeing ( and it makes her sick to her stomach ).

romantic

crush –– oh it’s just so pathetic. dylan prides herself on being untouchable, with a dark black hole where her heart should be. however, this person is a very unwanted reminder that she is, in fact, a real person with emotions and feels and ugh. she’s carried a torch for this person from the day she met them, and she’s been unable to rid herself of these feelings despite her best attempts. this person definitely doesn’t know ( she tries to convince herself of this ) and she plans to ignore the nervousness, unconscious smiles and, ugh, butterflies until the day she –– dies, i guess.

antagonistic

rivals –– enemy version ! dylan is probably the most competitive person on earth, which also makes her one of the sorest losers you’ll ever meet. she hates losing, and she finds it difficult to keep that sentiment to herself. for whatever reason dylan doesn’t respect this person, and therefore can’t handle losing to them as graciously as she might otherwise. despite her temper she’s usually not the type to hold a grudge ( more the fight and forgive type ) but her hatred of this person is a giant mental block.

[ckret2]

“You’re so vain” “Give em hell kid” And “I hope you die” I’d love to hear those explanations

Righto! Okay so recap for the people who might have missed it, this is about the radiosnake playlist I mentioned/linked a bit over a week ago, Serpentine & Demonswing. When I posted it I also added an “and if you wanna know why any songs are on the playlist you’re free to ask.” The playlist is a work in progress so some of my answers are gonna be “so here’s the explanation for why it was included but tbh I’m not 100% on keeping it.”

Important things to mention before getting into it: the playlist is build specifically off my headcanons from “Cold Day In Hell,” and so all of the songs act on the assumption that CDIH is “canon.” (tl;dr: they’re exes, because Alastor got scared of emotional intimacy, told Sir Pent he never actually liked him, and ran off after blowing up all his airships.) The first chunk of songs is from Sir Pent’s perspective, the second chunk is from Alastor’s, the third is from them both or about them both, and the last few songs are “I like the vibe but honestly am not sure this fits the playlist.”

Also, y’all are welcome to keep asking me about songs, because this is a lot of fun.

I’m absolutely sure that tumblr is going to delete this read more out of the post but I’m going to put one anyway, maybe it’ll let this one work just to be contrary. If it doesn’t, I apologize for the dash stretcher, that’s just how tumblr do.

So! Explanations:

You’re So Vain (Lyrics)

This one is on the Sir Pentious side, so, although it’s not directly/accurately about Alastor, it is about how Sir Pent sees him in light of their catastrophic breakup.

Verse 1 is less on the nose in its description of Alastor, but you get the impression of someone who is obsessed with how he comes across to other people, and who is far more interested in himself and the image he’s giving off than he is in any of the people he’s trying to impress. A great deal of Alastor’s personality is—or at the very least, comes off as—completely performative. As though to this day he’s still nothing but a radio host performing for a listening audience, even when he’s only talking to one person. The fact that he’s always wearing a fake smile and pointedly providing his own sound effects adds to that impression of a performer who never breaks character.

And the fact that the character in the song is still wholly self-absorbed even when he’s dancing with a partner gives a nice little glimpse into how Sir Pent’s retroactively reinterpreted his last evening with Alastor.

Verse 2 is the stanza that comes closest to completely accurately reflecting what went down between them. First, the alliance between them, the implicit promises that they the were going to conquer Hell and then Heaven as partners in crime—“Well, you said that we made such a pretty pair / And that you would never leave”—and then, the breakup—“But you gave away the things you loved / And one of them was me.” It’s the one line that acknowledges that the character in the song did, indeed, actually love the singer, and wasn’t just performing a role/playing at being in love.

It’s also a line that would ring false to Sir Pentious, because in the aftermath of CDIH, he genuinely doesn’t believe that Alastor ever loved him. He completely buys Alastor’s claim that he was just screwing around with Sir Pent’s emotions for his own entertainment. Words to the effect of “one of [the things you loved] was me” would never come out of Sir Pent’s mouth.

However. Of all the lines in all of the songs in Sir Pent’s portion of the playlist, that one line is the most accurate thing that could be said about Alastor, the blade that would stab into the core of who he is and the role that he played in this story. Because of his vanity—his selfishness, his pride, his obsession with his own independence, his fear of love, his fear of vulnerability, his fear of sharing his life with someone else, etc.—he didn’t just lose what he loved, he did very deliberately and intentionally give it away.

(I’ve always found that line to be the most interesting in the song, for the hint that this vain person did indeed truly feel for someone else, so I’m glad that line fits so well here.)

Verse 3 is just more “what Alastor is like as observed by Sir Pent,” except even more accurately than the first stanza. Constantly running around, constantly moving on from one brief source of entertainment to another (just stuff “threw his support behind the Happy Hotel” somewhere between “gambled on a horse race” and “watched an eclipse”), constantly socializing with dangerous people and people whom he’s going to hurt without caring in the slightest.

Okay so that’s the lyrics.

Making sure the aesthetics/styles/genres of the songs match the character they’re for is one of my high priorities on this fanmix—not to the extent that having the wrong style is an instant dealbreaker, but I’m going to be hesitant to include a song that doesn’t at all match the sound I’m going for. For Sir Pentious, I’m kind of running with two styles.

The first style is “sounds Victorian-ish enough to get a shrug and a nod from anybody who doesn’t actually know/care about Victorian-era music,” so that’s gonna be just about anything orchestral/symphonic that doesn’t clearly fall into a different genre, symphonic metal that sounds symphonic enough to satisfy me, instrumental covers of other songs (string quartets, piano, full orchestra...), things with harpsichords (LISTEN i know that harpsichords are more baroque but they’ve got the right Vibe, you know, they’ve got the Feeling), and things with organ—but like, it’s gotta sound like pipe organ (pipe organ—sounds like a church) and not like Hammond organ (Hammond organ—sounds like a baseball game). Also steampunk, except a lot of “steampunk” genre music sounds swingy/jazzy, so those songs get ruled out because that’s Alastor’s aesthetic. And also, like, actual classical music, but I’m not into a lot of actual classical music, so I don’t think any’s actually made it in yet, lmao.

The second style is based on what the creator herself said about Sir Pent’s music preferences: “Sir Pentious would listen to Blink-182. Pentious would literally listen to stuff like Linkin Park, Green Day, the emo stuff.” So I took "the emo stuff” as “oh okay cool so the stuff I listened to at 15 got it” and ran wild with that. I’ve been most heavily drawing from My Chemical Romance, Panic! At The Disco, and Mindless Self Indulgence to represent that half of Sir Pent’s preferences. (MSI because I feel like that fits an in-your-face and morally jaded villain, P!ATD because their newer stuff fits his flamboyance and exuberance and egotism, and MCR because... because I know them best.) I haven’t yet made much time to carefully comb the discographies of the other bands listed or look into other more traditional emo-associated acts.

Carly Simon’s original “You’re So Vain” matches neither of these styles.

I combed through about 60 different versions of “You’re So Vain” on Spotify looking for ones that meet one of these aesthetics. Like 90% of them were, I’m pretty sure, just various singers adding their vocals directly over a karaoke version of Carly Simon’s original.

In the end, the only one that came close was Marilyn Manson’s cover. He’s a bit outside of the bounds I try to stick in for Sir Pent, but like, okay, he’s industrial metal, but in a particularly goth way, that’s close enough to emo. To my mind, “Sir Pent listens to emo” is like... Sir Pentious’s musical preferences are going to be, 1) counterculture, the kind of stuff that causes conservative Christian moms to go into moral panics, but also 2) mainstream counterculture, the kind of bands that produce huge hits & get featured in major blockbuster movies, but also also 3) slightly dated mainstream counterculture, i.e., at the end of the 2010s he’s listening to the bands that may still be popular but that peaked in the mid 2000s, in keeping with the way he’s trying to keep hip and modern but always seems a little bit behind.

So, in the 2010s, he’s listening to 2000s emo acts. In the 2000s, he was listening to the 1990s’ biggest metal acts (like Marilyn Manson) and possibly grunge acts (things like Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins). In the 1990s, he was listening to the 1980s’ biggest post-punk and new wave acts (like The Cure, Joy Division/New Order, Depeche Mode). Always evolving his stylistic preferences, always trying to keep up, but always a little behind. So that’s how I justify putting Marilyn Manson in lmao.

Although that was the only version of “You’re So Vain” I thought fit well enough, I also found a version by Trash Pour 4, a version by Les Reed Orchestra, and a version by Giant Sand that were all very good. Trash Pour 4 is driving me crazy because I can’t quite figure out what genre they are, I just can’t place them—but they’ve got several other good covers that I’d like to take advantage of at some point.

I also found a song called “You’re So Vain (Christian Dior)” by The Energy Commission that’s not a cover of Carly Simon’s song, just a new song with the same name. I’m lowkey considering including on Alastor’s side of the playlist. It’d serve as a very sharp critique of how image obsessed Sir Pent is, there’s some snappy turns of phrase that seem like they’d appeal to Alastor’s sense of humor (my two favorites are “He went off the deep end ‘cause he’s so shallow” and “He’s got a timepiece on his wrist and it says ‘watch me’”), the fact that it’s a critique specifically of high class materialism fits with the fact that I headcanon Sir Pent as coming from British nobility while Alastor’s ancestry is both racially and socially mixed (including at least one close relative who was a slave, I’m thinking a grandparent but haven’t settled on my headcanons yet), and I love when there are parallels like that in playlists about the relationship between lovers/partners/rivals/siblings/any-combo-of-two-people.

The reason I haven’t added it yet is because, by the end of the song, it’s not just a critique of being a rich shallow image-obsessed douche, but specifically of how that culture ties in to exploitative capitalism that’s wrecking human lives and the world—which, in the context of the characters we’re talking about here, would translate into a criticism of Sir Pentious’s very-imperialist-sounding take-over-the-world villain ambitions. Which isn’t something I think Alastor cares about. He probably should, but like, he just doesn’t. He’s a villain himself. I’m sure he’s got his own morals and standards and hard limits but “take over the world” isn’t on his list of dealbreakers. What’s taking over the world include? Mass murder and subjugation? Yeah, he’s cool with that. So that’s why I’m still on the fence about adding it.

Give ‘Em Hell, Kid (Lyrics)

So remember how I said that My Chemical Romance is one of the bands I’ve drawn from most heavily so far in looking for emo Sir Pent songs? Yeah for about a day there were six different MCR songs sitting in Serpentine & Demonswing as I slowly whittled them down to the ones that I thought fit best. “Give ‘Em Hell, Kid” is one of the last three, and actually one that I’m constantly on the verge of cutting.

Lyrically, it’s an Alastor song. There’s mentions of the singer having come from New Orleans (listen... i am a sucker for songs that mention New Orleans, it automatically earns five points on the imaginary “is this an Alastor song?” rubric in my head). The singer is singing about a love interest who’s gone, and he’s making no moves to pursue/reclaim the love interest, wishing them well (“So go on, live your life”), but he’s a wreck and a lesser person without them (“If you were here, I'd never have a fear,” “Well I'm a total wreck and almost every day”), and it’s just getting worse with time, not better (“But I miss you more than I did yesterday”).

The line “Some might say we are made from the sharpest things you say” although directed toward “you,” i.e. the love interest, i.e. Sir Pentious, in my head actually reflects more on the things Alastor said to Sir Pentious: the cruel things he said to Pent—that he’s weak, ineffective, behind the times, a has-been, never going to conquer hell—ended up a self-fulfilling prophecy, because that’s exactly what Alastor’s rampage made happen. Today, as he is now, Sir Pentious is made from the sharpest things Alastor said.

“Your dreams and your hopeless hair” makes me think of Sir Pent’s wild efforts to conquer hell (and, of course, his ridiculous cobra hood), and “We never wanted it to be this way for all our lives” is a perfect expression of Alastor’s regrets/remorse over what his actions have done to both of their lives, but especially to Sir Pent’s life.

And all the references to violence—murder scenes, firing squads, sharpest things—fit with the fact that both of them chose to live lives soaked in blood.

So it’s a perfect Alastor song. The only problem is, it’s an MCR song, which is sooo far outside of my acceptable genres for him. (I’m not gonna get into Alastor’s genres now bc there are better songs to do that on, just know emo ain’t it.) And not only is it outside of his acceptable genres, it’s in the OTHER character’s acceptable genres, which is very messy. I can vibe with “lovers’ songs borrowing from each other’s aesthetic” a LITTLE bit when it’s used to represent, like, emotional synchronicity or the like (ex: both “Roustabout” and Vernian Process’s “Maple Leaf Rag” are on my “Alastor+Sir Pent style fusion songs” list). But MCR is a big departure from Alastor’s acceptable styles.

Plus, the playlist already has two MCR songs, and do I really need three songs from the same band? Unless there’s a really good reason, I try to avoid having repeats from the same band on one playlist—I feel like a good well-rounded fanmix oughta have a diversity of sources. (With “a really good reason” being something like “I’ve got the playlist divided into five sections detailing five phases of the character’s life and each section is introduced with a different track from the same band” or “I’ve got an instrumental version of the song to kick off the playlist to serve as ‘foreshadowing’ for when the version with lyrics shows up at the most dramatic moment” or something like that.)

If I was going to, like, make it a thing, I could. Justify it like “there’s one MCR song that represents them when they’re together, one MCR song from Sir Pent’s perspective, and one MCR song from Alastor’s perspective, like a little triangle,” but like... if I was going to do that I feel like I’d want to do it with a style that’s either representative of both of them or else independent of both of them, and MCR is so heavily a Sir Pent sound. Basically, having three songs from one band would be okay if it was a band that vibes with the overall tone I’m shooting for in the playlist—but it’s not. So I’m very torn on “Give ‘Em Hell, Kid.”

“El Tango De Roxanne” + “Overture” + “I Hope You Die”

Okay before I can talk about “I Hope You Die” by itself, I kind of have to explain its exact position in the playlist and its relationship with the other two songs I just listed.

While MOST of the playlist is chunked up into the four sections I mentioned earlier (Sir Pent, Alastor, both, undecided), within those sections the songs aren’t really in any particular order. The one exception is the very first three songs on the playlist/the very first three songs in Sir Pent’s section.

These three songs, presented in that order, all as Sir Pent songs, serve as Sir “in war, the side remembered is the side with the most style” Pentious the Super Villain making his big entrance like:

“El Tango De Roxanne” starts slow/quiet, and then (with a couple of brief dips) it gradually builds in volume and pain and intensity, getting faster and more emphatic, switching from mournful longing to nearly-angry anguish, until it ends with a pained scream, steampunkish percussion, howling background singers, and a wailing violin.

And then it pauses, for just a moment.

And then “Overture” hammers you with the most dramatic opening chord you will ever hear on an organ in your life, perfectly matching the energy at the end of “El Tango De Roxanne” and maintaining that level of energy throughout the song.

And then it stops so quickly it’s like someone gasped, holding its breath for a split second—and then some dude yells “You must die! I alone am best!” and the guitars kick in for “I Hope You Die,” leading into a depiction of the most intense, vitriolic, disgusting sort of loathing imaginable.

The build-up from “El Tango De Roxanne” and “Overture” really revs up “I Hope You Die,” the intensity of the organ in “Overture” highlights the intensity of the guitar in “I Hope You Die,” and all together it hypes up what could have been just a dark humor song about hating someone into something that sounds like a very genuine demonstration of hatred.

And taken all together, it makes for a fantastic intro for Sir Pent.

It also serves as a perfect intro to the current state of affairs between him and Alastor—sort of expressing his personal emotional journey on the morning Alastor betrayed him, as his reaction transforms over the course of three songs from grief/despair to fathomless fury.

There’s more I could say individually about “El Tango De Roxanne” and “Overture,” but I won’t, because it’s “I Hope You Die” time.

“I Hope You Die” (Lyrics - warning for a whole stanza dedicated to hoping someone gets raped in prison)

A small handful of the songs in my Hazbin playlists were discovered in and added from existing Hazbin character playlists I found on Spotify before I started making my own. “I Hope You Die” was one of them, found here. Which is why it was added even though it doesn’t fit my strict genre standards, it won me over before I narrowed down the styles I’m working with lmao.

(I feel like “El Tango De Roxanne” was one of those too, but I can’t now find a Spotify playlist containing it that added it before I did. Where did I grab it from? It’s not something I would’ve looked up on my own, something must have inspired me. IDK what though. None of the other songs mentioned in this post were found on other playlists.)

So this song is, obviously, just about how much some dude hates somebody else and wants extremely horrible things to happen to them. It’s sorta... *eyes lyrics uneasily* ... sorta tasteless; but, tasteless in a way that I feel like reflects back on the character singing the song. The feeling I come away from after finishing the song isn’t “the band wants you to think the person they’re singing about deserves this to happen to them,” because it doesn’t even give a reason why the singer hopes this person suffers; but rather, “the band wants you to think that this is the kind of hatred that the character/persona the singer is portraying is capable of, this is the kind of vile stuff that character wants to see done to their enemies, this is representative of the depths of that character’s rage.” Which is why I’m like “yeah... okay, sure, that fits” even though I’m real iffy about the last couple stanzas.

Because for a character who’s in Hell surrounded by people who have stomped on the last dredges of their civility and decency, and a character who’s patterned after a super villain (and, because the series creator dropped the idea that there are heroes/villains in the living world, the only super villain in this setting), and a character who gleefully boasts about being evil, and a character who we know demonstrates very rapid/extreme emotions and expressions of hate/outrage... Yes, I can absolutely see this song as the exact sort of hatred Sir Pentious would level at somebody who’s slighted him. And Alastor blew way the hell past “slighting” him. Alastor, without exaggeration, has ruined his life (afterlife?) and over fifty years later Sir Pent is still unsuccessfully struggling to get back up to the level he was at before he even met Alastor. Right now, Sir Pentious really and truly and deeply despises Alastor.

A song like this—sheer, frothing, unrestrained, vengeful contempt—tells you a whole lot about what kind of emotions Sir Pentious is capable; and it tells you a whole lot about the kind of effect Alastor’s actions have had on him, to inspire this level of reaction from someone who was very close to him for fifteen years and increasingly in love with him for probably a good amount of that time.

Plus, the “You must die! I alone am best!” is such a very, very Sir Pentious sentiment.

So that’s those songs! Again, y’all are free to ask me for my thoughts on more. Yes, most of them will probably be like this, lol.

[silentwaters4]

Hi!Can I have a male Avengers,HP marauders era and X-men ship please?I'm 5,7 with long brown hair and brownish grayish eyes.I'm an introvert/INTP/Slytherin.I'm not good with emotions or kids.I love drawing,reading and listening to music.I like to learn and tend to be a smartass.At first I'm shy(thx social anxiety)but once comfortable,I'm sarcastic and more open.I'm not good at making friends so I only have one,but she's the best.I prefer rock/punk music and I want to be a tattoo artist.Thanks😄

Sure thing sugar goose! I ship you with:

Bruce Banner/The Hulk

The two of you often took walks and sat in the park. Most people weren’t entirely familiar with Dr. Banner, which you were alright with. The two of you enjoyed the anonymity with your adorable boyfriend. There would be days where the two of you were quiet. Other days, he’d be telling you about his projects and how they work. Even other days you’d both just enjoy a nonsense conversation. This is mostly where your sarcasm shined. You loved how it made him snicker. When he had been worried about hurting you, you told him to remember these days. “If the Other Guy can save people, he can recognize that I’m not a threat. Besides, he’s a part of you, and you’d never hurt me.” That conversation resulted in your first kiss. Bruce loved giving you hugs. He’d just hold you as you walked around and did stuff. You didn’t mind; he was never in the way. You loved showing him your art and some new music you found. Most of the music you’d show him were the calming type (though you’d show him other genres). The two of you were in similar company, and that made things wonderful. Even when you disagreed, you two trusted your love for each other enough to push through the rough times. Your hearts belonged to each other. 

Sirius Black

Sirius would watch you from afar. He could tell you were a shy person, but he loved it when you were with your friends. You lit up like a Christmas tree and had a few smart ass remarks. When he’d catch those, he’d smirk a bit. Overall, the two of you slowly became friends. It wasn’t forced, but it wasn’t passive. You’d share the occasional class together and run into each other here and there. A couple of times, your group of friends would be around his group of friends. What he didn’t know was that you had been asking Regulus about him. Of course, the brother couldn’t resist. So when you made a sarcastic comment relating to something a tad bit more personal, he was already planning to punch his brother in the face. “Why’re you mad at me? She’s the one askin’ about you.” This lead to Sirius straight up pulling you aside and asking you on a date. It took you a couple minutes given how you froze from the unexpected turn of events. Once you were able to get your heart rate down, you shyly accepted. You ran off to Regulus with excitement the moment you could. The brother chuckled before teasing you. He knew Sirius and you would work. After all, you brought the best out in each other.

Erik Lensherr/Magneto

You and Erik met after he had left the X-Men. You didn’t know who he was and he was alright with that. The moment he saw you, he found you stunning. He couldn’t believe he found the nerves to speak to you. Thankfully, he recognized your shyness as social anxiety. So, he asked if you needed anything. That threw you off a bit. There were a few moments of silence, but you eventually asked for a recommendation on what drink to get. He asked what kind of flavors you enjoyed before pointing one out. He couldn’t help but grin when you genuinely expressed how amazing the drink was. He quickly paid for it before asking your favorite foods and drinks. You complied, asking for his favorites as well. During that conversation, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly at ease. It was strange but a welcome feeling. The subsequent dates also felt easy. As you two spent more and more time with each other, he told you about his life. Of course there were some things you weren’t sure was right, but from his point of view, it made sense. He also shared with you what he wanted in his life: peace. And that’s where the two of you ended up. The two of you shared a home. Him practicing his magnetism while you drew the scenery around you. There were days he was nervous it’d all blow away. In those moments, he purposefully thought to Charles, “Please, don’t ruin it.”. And it seemed to work.

[aspire-to-the-light]

Some personal thoughts on alcohol

I’ve always been a little scared of alcohol.

I have good personal reasons to be a little scared of alcohol. My father was something of an alcoholic; he’d stay out late at the pub, drive home drunk and yell at my mother (at least until he was given a DUI with me in the passenger seat, at which point my mother made him stop). Many of the people I knew in school started drinking very underage, at not-really-that-secret parties in back gardens and attics and locations which weren’t usually literally ‘behind the bike shed’ but are well described by the phrase. Those alcoholic parties caused problems. This was an upper class kind of thing, so nobody really got arrested, but a lot of girls were repeatedly raped. I was a lonely miserable nerd who never ever drank and I was pretty attached to that because it seemed like it kept me safe.

I also have good non-personal, fairly objective reasons to be scared of alcohol; it’s a fairly dangerous drug. It’s not that inherently dangerous, but the culture around it makes it more dangerous. Many people and spaces will encourage or pressure you to drink more than you really consent to drinking, downplay the risks and fail to implement safeguards, and normalise intoxication to the point that doing stupid things while dangerously drunk seems funny. Plenty of people get hurt or die, all the time, because they got drunk and ended up in fights or car accidents.

Earlier this year I decided to try alcohol anyway, for a myriad of reasons. Partly I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Partly I wanted to stare the demon in the face, and understand more about this terrible substance that fucked up so many people I knew. Partly I was interested in the general idea of a drug that might make me relax for once in my life, and alcohol was the only really legal one.

So I had three units - an amount I calculated as enough for someone of my body weight to be affected but not be at any real risk of poisoning - of cider, at home with somebody I trusted to take care of me and ensure I didn’t do anything stupid. My sitter was fantastic and made sure I didn’t spend any money, post anything publicly, or send badly spelled emails to any potential employers.

So I washed up all my dirty dishes, because as it turns out, alcohol lowers your inhibitions. I was really fucking inhibited about touching that pile of mouldy plates. Alcohol made me want to clean them all.

And then when it was wearing off I lay down for a bit, and had this incredibly lovely experience of just lying down being enough. See, I have the kind of ADHD where boredom is literally ever-present and must be fought against constantly. I can’t ever just lie down and relax, because I wouldn’t be stimulated enough, so I’d be bored, and I’d get the urge to jump up and run around and sing loudly and do stuff. I can be listening to loud punk rock music and talking to friends while playing a fairly intense video game and still need to pick my phone up and multitask a bit more so I won’t be understimulated. Scrolling social media can provide a sort of brief respite by being hypnotic enough that I don’t care that I’m incredibly bored, but usually I struggle to feel really good and happy if I’m not hosting a party where I’m juggling cooking five different meals, singing along to music and talking to guests about difficult academic problems. I think a good life for me would be, like, a 24/7 high speed car chase with the radio blasting and people fighting hand-to-hand through the car windows.

So there I was, just lying in bed looking at the walls and the ceiling and daydreaming quietly, and.... it was okay. It didn’t take any active effort to suppress my urge to be loud; it was just natural to be quiet. It wasn’t painful to stay still. My brain didn’t itch. The silence wasn’t deafening - if anything it was a pleasant kind of quiet, and I could appreciate the little rustles of carpet underfoot and the breath of air through the cracked window. I didn’t need to get up and jump around and do something, because it was perfectly fine to just be there where I was. The way my lamps honeyed the wood of my cabinets was pretty, and my own thoughts were engaging, and the blankets were warm, and that was interesting enough that I didn’t need to go seek out more.

That was really good, and wasn’t at all like the experience I had imagined. I had imagined alcohol as this thing that strips away your civility and gives you random impulses to do stupid things, with the particular impulses varying from punching people to trainsurfing to lying on the floor giggling depending on unpredictable facts about your brain. It does affect everyone differently, but for me it mostly just magically created the kind of state of relaxation that I’d normally have to work very hard on building the circumstances to achieve.

Okayness with the world has been easier to achieve, I think, since then; I have a better idea of what it feels like, so I know what I’m trying to achieve.

I’d said beforehand that I was just going to try it once, just because I wanted to know, and then never again. It was sort of difficult to admit that I was wrong. Partly because it’s just always difficult, when you’ve been very proud of Not Conforming To Normality for many years, to admit that normal people kinda had the right of it. Partly out of what I think is still a legitimate concern that trying something and finding it good is not good evidence for doing it again if that thing is known to be addictive. It is useful and important to be able to commit to trying only so much of an addictive thing and then stopping.

I changed my mind because I trust myself more than I did before. I was fixed on the idea that I needed to never have alcohol, because that was the only way to ensure I didn’t have a bad amount of alcohol. Sometimes commitments like that are necessary, but only if you have a good reason to be afraid that there’s a slippery slope. I know that I need to play no Minecraft at all today, because if I say to myself “just five minutes” I’ll play Minecraft for hours; I have lots of experience and evidence that tells me this will be the case. I decided I believed in my ability to discern what a sensible amount of alcohol to consume is, and stick to it, and so far I haven’t had evidence to the contrary.

I’ve been able to relax the limits as I learned more about alcohol, in a way that genuinely doesn’t feel like I’m ignoring my commitments as I get addicted; it feels like growth. The first time I tried it I was adamant about a lot of limits. I bought a single can of cider so it would be impossible to have more even if I wanted to. I made sure I had a sitter I trusted. I did not leave my room. I ate beforehand and drank a lot of water during. I did a lot of research on alcohol content and my body weight. I didn’t take my normal medications because I wasn’t sure if there’d be any interaction.

On subsequent occasions I’ve tried alcohol outside the house - again with the same person I trusted to look after me, who held my hand carefully to make sure I didn’t stumble in front of any cars. I’ve tried it relatively unplanned, after an ordinary day where I took my meds (I looked up possible interactions and found none) and did normal things, again with the OK of someone I trusted just to make sure I wasn’t making really dumb decisions. I’ve tried it on a day when I had also drunk caffeine, after I was confident the caffeine had all worn off and I wasn’t having enough of either to hurt me.

I’ve tried alcohol without anyone physically present to take care of me, just friends on a voice call, and had an insanely good time playing video games with some other drunk people who all thought it was hilarious to play the game how it was absolutely not meant to be played. I knew by that point how alcohol affected me, I was fairly certain nothing bad would happen, and I knew I would be capable of calling for help fairly nearby if something bad did happen. I knew I would be staying inside the entire time, and I had water and well-stocked food cupboards.

Most recently I had a glass of champagne for New Year, outside of the house, without a pre-designated person to look after me. I was with friends, and I made them aware that I’m a lightweight and checked in with them that they’d be okay with taking some responsibility for making sure I got home alright, and they were. I ate a decent meal beforehand, drank plenty of water, and had a fairly small glass.

I’ve learned that I have not, whatever my fears, inherited some kind of genetic alcoholism. I don’t need absolute, deontological rules to prevent any chance that I might do something stupid. I am capable of not doing anything really stupid, even when my rules allow me to do things that are stupidity-adjacent.

I’ve definitely fucked up with alcohol. I shouldn’t have accepted half a glass of wine when it was offered at a work celebration; I knew I was going home immediately afterwards, but didn’t realise how incredibly overwhelming and intimidating alcohol would make navigating the Tube, and I got quite distressed and had to take a taxi to the rail station. I tried using it as a study drug once, on the theory that I’m inhibited about studying and maybe it would help, and I fucked up by choosing someone to watch me who has severe depression. Her mood influenced my own a lot more when I was tipsy, so we both just kind of sat around and felt miserable and I didn’t get anything done.

I think I’m okay, though, with having rules that don’t try to prevent anything bad from ever happening, but just minimise how bad things can really get. I’ve fucked up with alcohol and it’s cost me the price of a taxi and a half-day of productivity. I learned things. It was okay.

I can still count the number of units of alcohol I’ve ever consumed, but it will be okay if I lose count, because I don’t need to be able to tell people that number to prove I’m not my father’s daughter. I know I’m responsible. It is healthy if I don’t feel the need to prove it.

I have rules about alcohol which I genuinely don’t think I’ll ever relax, no matter how experienced with it I get, and other rules which I’ve added as I learned that some things are bad ideas. I won’t have alcohol in the company of people who I don’t like and trust. I won’t have alcohol with other people unless they’ve consented to taking a little responsibility for me. I won’t have it alone, though physically alone is fine if there’s people connected by voice or video. I won’t have it if someone I respect tells me it’s a bad idea to do that right now. I will not be pressured into having more than I intended to have. I won’t drink it at work, or in big cities, or when there’s a difficult transit system between me and home. I make sure that I have food and verifiably-not-spiked water available, that I know how to call for help and that it’s nearby if needed, and that I don’t have important or difficult tasks that I’m responsible for.

I’m still horrified when I witness things like... I did an internship in the City this summer where our bosses took us for drinks and then people banged on the tables chanting to pressure an intern into racing to drink an entire bottle of wine faster than his supervisor. That was very bad. And I expressed my horror at the time, and frankly I don’t care that I didn’t get the job.

But I like alcohol. So, once a month or perhaps even fortnightly, it’s okay to have a drink. Even two drinks, on rare occasions. I have carefully studied the literature and concluded it is unlikely this is enough to cause me significant harm.

And I’m actually really pleased with this development. It feels from the inside like a healthy relationship to alcohol. It feels okay to let go of some of my younger self’s fearful commitments and rules. I’m proud that I can have this, that growing up around such unhealthy attitudes towards alcohol does not mean I have to be abstinent forever.

Being teetotal fit in with the identity I built for myself, once. I was the good kid in school, the one who never drank and never dated and got good grades and never swore. I think I needed that identity as a crutch when I wasn’t so sure of myself, and as help to resist peer pressure when I wasn’t so good at boundaries, and as a simple way of making choices when I wasn’t good at that either. But it turns out it’s okay to, piece by piece, let go of the entire thing.

I do not think this is grounds to recommend alcohol to everyone. I recently had a pretty appalling experience where someone in my friendship group got drunk and we all made the delightful discovery that excessive alcohol gives him psychotic episodes where he worships a mad death god who wants him to kill people. I have set a hard boundary that I will leave if this friend has more than a couple of drinks because I do not enjoy the experience of a friend giggling while graphically describing exactly how he’d love to slowly murder me. There are people who should not drink, not ever, not even with all the rules and limits that have successfully kept me safe.

It’s just... my experience, I guess, which I wanted to share because I feel like I’ve learned a lot through the entire process. Sometimes things that are scary can be genuinely dangerous, and yet if you navigate them carefully and responsibly, you can extract the wonderful part without ever placing yourself in much danger. Sometimes you don’t need hard rules that wall off the stupid things you could possibly do, if you trust yourself to just not do stupid things. Sometimes taking pride in never being tempted means you’re cutting yourself off from something good.

Alcohol still scares me a little, and that’s fine. It should. Just not irrationally so.

[ldarchive]

all or some of: 10, 18, 19, 20, 25, 28, 30, 35, 36, 39, 40, 41, 42 for the ask meme =) lay all the ari facts on me

ty indigo ilu… shepardposting no limits (HOPEFULLY THE READMORE WORKS?)

10. What kind of friend is Shepard?

the “will give you shit but also go to the ends of the earth” for you type i suppose…he shows his affection thru gentle bullying. he can also be kind of genuinely an overbearing asshole at times, but he gets better with it; it takes him a while to, uh, adjust to having “friends” in the first place. he’s a dad friend if your dad is kind of a grumpy punk with a rude and morbid sense of humor

18. Share a headcanon about Shepard and their LI.

[struggling to come up with something i haven’t talked about a million times] uhhhhhh

kaidan wanted to propose with one of his dad’s old rings but he figured out it wouldn’t fit ari’s finger, so (with his mother’s blessing/assurance that his dad would have been more than happy abt it, etc) he had the gold melted down to make a new ring. in my mind it looks smth like this and yes ari totally cried a little

it also took kaidan weeks of near-misses to work up the nerve to propose even tho he Knew ari was gonna say yes, he was just really worried about getting it right. eventually he just did it on their balcony and ari got surprised and dropped his cigarette and kaidan got a cool new engagement burn scar on his arm but it was nice

19. Why did they fall for each other?

ari fell for kaidan bc he’s not just intelligent, but perceptive; he’s a realist who errs toward optimism and making the best of bad situations; he believes people can and should be better; he has a surprisingly understated sense of humor; he can keep up with ari’s teasing; ari asks him if he’s a romantic and he denies it and then gives, like, the most romantic answer in the world. he’s cute.

kaidan fell for ari bc……. he has big arm. ok but uh i think it’s because he’s, pretty practical and matter of fact and doesn’t care all that much about the social trappings that kaidan continually tortures himself with… he makes kaidan feel Seen and Understood but doesn’t make a big dramatic deal out of everything kaidan tells him, he just treats him… like a person. for someone who’s been living with & defining themselves by their issues for as long as kaidan has, it’s pretty incredible to find someone who just makes him feel like a human being again

20. What are their common interests or hobbies?

a lot of their relationship is like, meeting each other in the middle haha, but there are some things they both enjoy a lot with no caveats:

- cooking! kaidan’s a foodie and it becomes ari’s therapy hobby after me3, so it’s smth they enjoy doing together a lot. they try to do it more often if possible, but their general friday night tradition is to come home, crack open a couple beers, and cook a big meal together

- they are both outdoorsy Adventure Dads… it takes a while before ari can handle more than a walk around the park but eventually he and kaidan can go hiking again and they both rly love it. i imagine theyd be into stuff like camping, swimming, kayaking, etc too dfjnfg

25. Is there something they fight about?

well, everyone gets into arguments occasionally, but i don’t really think they fight all that often… not that they agree on everything all the time, but they’ve both gotten pretty good at talking things out and also deciding whether or not something is even worth arguing about in the first place. when you are dating someone during the apocalypse and don’t have to any time to waste those are both pretty valuable skills haha [i think the most they ever fought in their relationship was post-me3, when ari got out of the hospital and they’d both started to ‘settle in’ to their new lives but it was a bumpy adjustment and they were both going thru a lot of trauma and stress and bottling it up etc. it wasnt a great time but they worked thru it]

28. What would they like to change about the other?

it’s a double-edged sword, bc it’s part of what attracts kaidan to him as well, but sometimes kaidan really wishes ari had more a self-preservation instinct!! sometimes his tendency to charge headfirst into trouble is sexy, sometimes kaidan is tired and sad and it just gets really old

ari wishes kaidan would loosen up a little although, again, the straight-laced military thing (unfortunately) kinda does it for him. he would also take away kaidans chronic pain if he could

30. When did they realise they fell in love?

fr kaidan it was shortly after virmire and it absolutely scared the shit out of him ahaha

ari is dumb so he didn’t really realize until after horizon, which was probably a bad way to figure that out,35. Is there anything they dislike about the other?

ari appreciates how thoughtful kaidan is but sometimes it’s like… a bit… much lmao, he’s not as navel gaze-y as kaidan is so sometimes the process of having to talk everything out gets tiring. for kaidan it’s kind of the opposite, he sometimes perceives ari’s lack of forethought as a lack of care, which isn’t really true, he just works differently

on a much pettier level, ari gets annoyed that kaidan wants to sleep in all the time and kaidan gets annoyed that ari drowns all his food in hot sauce. hello, i worked hard on that steak36. What are their best memories together?

advtykefd cheesy but i like to think they got to take a little bit of leave after me1 so… they rented a log cabin somewhere (not sure if they went back to earth or just a colony planet somewhere?), turned off non-emergency comms on their omnitools and just chilled for a bit… went hiking, had drinks at the tiny bar in the closest small town, holed up in the cabin all day and had sex lmao it was probably the most peaceful week of aris entire life and it left a big impression on him

ofc later there’s stuff like their wedding day, their son’s birth, adopting their daughter etc. kaidan would probably even say, with the emotional distance provided by time, that horizon counts cuz even tho it sucked at the time nothing could have been better than realizing ari was alive

40. Is there someone in the squad of ME/ME2/ME3 Shepard dislikes? Why?

MIRANDA LOL… they just. do not see to eye or get along at all. i find their relationship very entertaining for this reason bc the dynamic of commander & XO who are both trying to be professional but do not respect e/o even the tiniest bit is so funny. theres a convo w her in me2 (i think it might be the one where you can initiate her romance?) where if you choose the renegade dialogue is hilarious to me… miranda makes some snide, passive aggressive comment about shepard based on their background (it’s like “it’s amazing how you’ve managed to succeed despite being _____” lmao) and then shepard is like “OH i get it, you’re jealous bc i’ve been more successful than you and TIM likes me more even tho i’m a big piece of shit idiot?” i love it it’s so funny. they both suck. eventually they do build some kind of mutual respect btwn them but theyre still… not exactly friends. i think in me3 ari was like “damn i hope miranda’s ok” and then when he actually met her again remembered why he used to be so pissed at her all the time lmao. (after me3 tho she saves his life Again and they probably have a lot of time in the hospital to just talk so maybe they do become genuine friends)

41. Are there any important relationships in Shepard’s past that defined their character? /42. Is there someone who had a great influence on Shepard?

just gonna try to combine these i guess,

- his parents, although he only got an unfortunate short time with them, he takes after both of them a lot, and the things his parents imparted on him stuck with him, but especially as he gets older he’s also really aware of the mistakes they made

-the reds, in general. not a really positive influence lmao but. they were his home for years & he learned how the world works through them, for better or worse… it’s why he’s a bit of a cynic, although later he is able to characterize it more as “this shit sucks But we can make it better” rather than just “this shit sucks”

- anderson was the first person ari ever felt saw him as a human being, and it was… a slow-going thing to learn to trust him ahah, but wanting to be worthy of anderson’s approval shaped a lot of his career decisions