#exercise in futility type beat

[darkdemeter]

ONE AND THE SAME, LONELY AND AFRAID

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN (ONESHOT) #4

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

—- not my gifs, found on pinterest, credit to original posters! -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

I dunno what to really say about this piece, brain just switched into angsty, (kinda fluffy?) writing mode and I went with it.

Therapy — angst — hurt comfort? — (introverted) reader — insecurity warning — semi-established mutual pining/interest — strong language — socially awkward bean reader — basically reader has a lot of reservations about things that involve other people, more of a self isolated type — self sabotage — we got a mutual-semi happy ending — I think that's it?

| SUMMARY |

You've always opted to be alone. Recent visits to Dr Raynor, however, work to bring down those walls you hold up. Little are you aware that someone you're talking to is very much the same as you. Lonely and afraid.

────────────────┘

7.6K(words)

| M-LIST | TAGLIST:

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @mostlymarvelgirl

────────────────┘

 “Have you been keeping up with the exercises I gave you?” 

  Already she knows the answer. Not even three seconds can you maintain eye contact, eyes feeling glassy each time you near the braving point. It’s futile. People can hear what you’re saying right? Why the need to have your eyes glued to them?

  Your shoulders shove up weakly and Dr Raynor rhythmically paces the pen’s butt against her notebook. 

  “That’s a no,” she sighs, “I gave you those exercises to help you. Eye contact, let’s start with that again: what do you find so intimidating about it?”

  The air is so silent you could hear a pin drop. Your gaze is still glued to a random place on the wall behind her. That is the closest you can give her today. 

  Her lips push together and her eyes thin in that way you assumed all of these doctors do, a tactic to unnerve you into squeezing out the details. To weed out the problems. You don’t like it. Your fingers are crushed in the grip of your other hand sitting in your lap idly. 

  Again, you shrug. “Just that. Intimidating. It’s… a lot.”

  “There’s more to it for you. And I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that, it terrifies you when someone looks at you. Focuses their attention on you.”

  “Maybe it’s something like that…” You tilt your head slightly. “Maybe it’s not.”

  I don’t like being here. I just wanna go. I still have fifteen minutes. 

  “Your family is worried about you. You have a tendency to be self isolating. Reserved. They’re concerned that you’ve been alone.” She’s spitting words at you. Family concerns have always been the bane of your lonely ways. Their constant insistence to put yourself out there, to go out on at least one date. 

  Try to talk you into meeting people they know, saying that they will be good for you. All because they’ve grown far too comfortable with being with someone, that they can’t stand to be alone themselves. And then, they have to project that onto you. 

  “It’s a choice.”

  “What can you tell me about your intimate life? Partners, significant others.” 

  The jutting of your pouty lip is any indication that a cheeky remark is right on the edge of your tongue. She stops you right before you can say a word. 

  “Stuff toys and pets do not count.”

  “But they’re companions. You wanna know about my companion life, right?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  It takes another five minutes. Pure and slow in time, each waver of the ticking hands beats another seconds off the appointment. But it’s not fast enough for your liking. Tongue tracing the curves of your gums and teeth, you contemplate. 

  Dr. Raynor says your name to draw your attention back - escaped into the cosmos - now forced right back into the couch in her office. 

  “Seeing someone? Talking to anyone?”

  “Sure.”

  “Anything else?” She raises a gesturing hand, a silent command for you to speak further. To give her further information. Personal information that’s yours. Safe in your head. There’s no point giving that out to others.

  “Just talking to him is all.”

  “So neither of you have met in person before?”

  Lips rolling inward, thinning, you shake your head. “No.”

  Your name is drawn from her lips as a low sigh. She scrawls something down in her notebook, albeit a little aggressively. 

  “Money is being wasted each and every time you come in here, sit on this couch and say nothing. Resolve nothing. Time is being wasted, time you could be spending out there, actually bonding with someone who you may call a friend or a significant other.”

  “I never wanted to be here in the first place.”

  Her eyes roll up to meet yours, the split second you manage to meet her eyes, you see the scrutiny. The disdaining judgement and patience that wanes thin for every drop of time in the remaining minutes left. 

  “That wasn’t even two proper seconds,” she notes, “and yet, you come to your sessions each time.”

  “Because if I don’t, then that same concerned family chews my ear off about it.”

  Another two minutes pass by. You count the ticking hands slowly. Far too slow. When will this fucking nightmare end? Dr. Raynor continues to pounce her pen on the pad’s paper, the sound a distant, drumming beat. 

  “From what I’ve gathered, your siblings all have partners of their own, some of them beginning to grow their families. Am I correct?”

  You nod as your teeth sink into the inside of your lip. “Right in the ballpark.”

  “And you are so comfortable with being alone because it’s all you know. You’re afraid of letting someone in. You rather keep your guard up than ever risk giving someone a chance to love and accept you. I have another patient just like that. Shut off from the world and distrusting.”

  It’s like she read your mind. You almost applaud her for her scooby doo investigation. “Wow, way to keep the confidentiality, Doctor,” you breeze through a forced, tight smile, eyes still cast to somewhere else in the room. “It’s better to keep people at arms length. Easier to detach from.”

  “And is that what you’re doing with this guy? Keeping him at arm’s length?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

Three minutes remaining. You breathe a sigh of relief. 

It’s almost over. 

Then it lingers on your mind… “Tell me because I’m curious, but why are people obsessed with the idea that being alone is such a bad thing?”

It’s closing in on one minute. A single minute she has to deliver you an answer. Of course, usually she disregards questions like this. But today, she indulges. Maybe, just maybe, this is your way of breaking through to her. To finally and truly give her something to work with.

  “I will tell you what I told another patient of mine. Being alone is the most quietest and personal hell someone can endure.”

The chiming of the appointment’s bell signifies its end. You’re eager to stand up from the couch but Dr. Raynor holds a hand up. “Before you go running off back to your lonely hell, I want you to perform at least one exercise.”

  At first, you mean to brush her off, your eyes refuse to meet the piercing stare you know is burrowing into your soul, seeking you out in the darkness of your reservations. “Alright. Sure…”

  “If you’re interested in this guy, I want you to make the first move and ask to meet up with him. Begin to lower your walls.”

  You’ve done it. Just as she asked of you. In hindsight, you should have just ignored her. In honesty, it’s been a while since your heart has bruised your ribs with such intensity in its anxious rage. What if he said no? Neither of you had ever really flirted heavily or indicated that you were head over heels, eager to see each other. 

  As if you both just knew, you were each settled comfortably in this mutual exchange of words. No video, no voice messages or calls. Just words. Conversations about work, some random things happening during the week and other topics people chat about. 

  You were meant to feel brave in that moment. To feel invigorated as you take that daring leap of faith outside the comfort of your own space. A safety net you had taken great care to curate, to save yourself from ever falling to the ground with no will to get back up. 

  In your mind, you’ve seen your siblings go through enough failed relationships that it in some strange way, you’ve experienced it on some outside level. You’ve gained the knowledge that if you let someone - a stranger - in then they will find a way to hurt you one way or another. 

  But what about that lucky person? That destined soulmate everyone raves on about. Could you really stand going through failure after failure, after seeing the damage it caused your loved ones? 

  Why risk it? I’m just putting a target on my heart that says “hurt me, please!”.

  However, with the following silence after, you believe you had your answer. He wasn’t interested in you. He just wants to remain mutuals. You understand that, you accept it wholeheartedly. It saves you from getting hurt, from him getting hurt and that’s all that matters.

  Having your heart broken because you allowed love to blind you to rational thought isn’t something you’re wanting to bring to one of your appointments. 

  Around ten minutes later he responded. His answer leaves you in a state on the bathroom floor, on your arse, back pressed against the sink cabinets and your chest heaving for any amount of oxygen. The world’s closing in around you, it’s turning against you. Eyes watering until your waterline is drowning and blurry, your hands rake through your hair and grasp at the roots.

  The olive branch you extended is received by him whilst your mind spirals into the pools of doubt and sabotage. He’s accepted your bold invitation.

  How can I go on a date? I can’t keep eye contact, I don’t know how to act or what to say! 

  What do we talk about in person? How much is too much?

  Maybe it was a mistake. Would it be rude if you pretended it was a joke? You think it over once, then twice. It plays on repeat what you plan to say to get out of this ordeal you’ve now thrown yourself into. You get another notification that lights up your phone screen. 

    Be nice to finally meet you     7 tomorrow night sound good? ┗ 

    Sure! 7 sounds good heh ┗ 

   there’s a place not far from where I live I like to go to.. unless there’s somewhere else you wanna go ┗ 

Ugh, why does that sound so… so… desperate? I should probably call it off right now before this gets out of hand. 

   I’ll see you there Doll just name it ┗ 

  Your heart flutters at the nickname. It makes you feel childish and you cringe that you find yourself swooning over it, but every time he uses it, there’s something that makes you feel special. Like you’re the only one he calls that. After you text him the address, you pass the phone away, leaving it to sit on the sink’s edge. Hands cupping your face, the tears still seeping along the rim of your eyes with a fighting intent to be free. For so long you have kept them bottled up. 

  And now to be faced with this. You don’t feel ready to be doing this. Your fingers had been hovering over the keys, mind already texting that you had made a silly joke just to see how he’d react. But Dr. Raynor’s words from earlier that day crept into the forefront of your mind, stopping you in your tracks.

  ‘Being alone is the most quietest and personal hell someone can endure.’

“You haven’t been having nightmares lately. That’s good,” Dr. Raynor says, notebook sitting in absence on her folded leg, pen loose between her fingers. So far, she hasn’t had to write much. A few notes, a sentence or two. Overall, she sees a little more progress. Even if it’s just a little.

  “And the girl you’re talking with. Have you two been communicating much lately? Do you think that, maybe, she could be a benefiting factor?”

  “We’ve been talking,” Bucky answers with a nod, voice rumbly. “I don’t know.”

  “Your nightmares stem from the decades of trauma that still need to be thinned out of your system. And there are outlets that can help with the healing process. Nurturing relationships is one of them.”

  As if he hasn’t heard that line before. Being told to nurture his relationships.

  “Tell me more about her. What’s been going on between you both?” For a moment, Bucky remains quiet. His teeth roll his bottom lip, biting down before his lips part. Gaze once settled elsewhere, his eyes find hers with firm contact. 

  The type of contact she wishes she can see from you.

  “She’s asked to meet up. I’m seeing her tonight.”

  “I understand you two have been talking for a while. Around three months now, correct?”

  “Yeah.”

   “And… How does that make you feel? You finally have a chance to meet someone face to face and take this relationship to the next stage.”

  The question had come right out of the blue for Bucky. After a day out in the field with Sam, all he wanted to do was shower, have a beer and see if you had messaged him. And the conversation had carried out like normal with asking about each other’s day, followed by some playful banter. And then, Bucky was faced with the one topic that had been on his mind for the past few weeks, plaguing him with the idea of possibly meeting each other after all this time, to put a face to a name. 

  But to think that this could bridge into something further. Something far more intimate. Bucky’s shoulders push up with a heavy sigh. 

  “I dunno, Doc. I’ve been thinking about meeting her. But being by myself for so long now, it’s normal for me.”

  Dr. Raynor squares her shoulders, eyes staring point blank like the barrel of a gun at her patient. “A hurdler doesn’t avoid the obstacles. You have to take that leap, James, and explore these new possibilities before they slip through your fingers. From what you’ve told me, she sounds similar to you.”

  “And if things don’t go as I hope? If she pulls away?”

  “Then pull her closer. And give her the chance to pull you closer. Start to trust in someone outside of those walls.”

  You pace back and forth along the wide strip sidewalk, the night’s air chills you through your clothing. But at this point that could just be the nerves. Why did you have to be bold, why did you have to actually listen to Dr. Raynor? Arriving just a little before the agreed time, you took the time to rehearse things over. Maybe squeeze in a little practice before you make a complete idiotic display of yourself. 

  By now, you guess it’s just past 7. How the hell are you supposed to know who he is if you’ve never seen one another before? Man, now that you think about it, you really didn’t think this through. 

  Last time I do any of these fucking exercises…

  Quickly stealing a glance down at your phone to get a read on the time, you see you’ve received no message yet. 

  Maybe he… changed his mind last minute?

  Well that really makes you look like an idiot. Shit, you really could slap yourself into tomorrow for getting baited into your own doings. You barely register the thrumming heart of a motorcycle’s engine roaring down the street beside you, purring lowly to a stop. 

  You shrug to yourself suddenly, the leaping of your heart coaxing your anxiety to grow further, as doubt shrouds over. Your feet shuffle to carry you back in the direction of your favourite ice cream joint. Might as well pick up a little frosty snack on the way back home.

  “Okay, I’m stupid. He’s not— oop–!” Someone is the poor victim of your distracted escape, their body is large and broad, arms circling around you to catch you from tripping onto the hard concrete. 

  “Oh, shit! Sorry!” you groan, eyes quick to seek out a face only to glimpse away as soon as you note the intensity of bright blue; gaze focused solely on you as if you were the only thing that existed. 

  “All good,” he says. His voice only brings to shake you, slightly husky and the oh so perfect pitch. You do your best to straighten yourself and from his hold, out of habit, you’d grown used to not being touched unless you were the one to initiate it. A skill - or rather lack thereof - you’re not very proud of. Not that members of your family made it any easier whenever they pointed it out. 

  Distant. Closed off. Stiff. 

  “You okay?” he asks. 

  “Yeah, yeah, I was… just uh, was meeting up with a guy.”

  “Hmph, me too,” he breezes with a deep exhale. You try to ignore the way your peripheral picks up on his body’s outline moving. “She wanted to meet here.” 

  “Huh, good spot. One of my small hang out spots.” Your balled fists only curl tighter into the pockets of your jacket as another chilling wind attacks your body. Maybe you should settle on a hot beverage instead of some ice cream. 

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Really nice.”

  You both stand idle by one another, the air beginning to lace heavily with the tension of your interaction, both awkward in your butting spaces. Bucky spares a more studying glance at you. A sleeveless, cropped turtleneck with a leather, hooded jacket layering over, you opted to keep the palette simple with your dark, skinny jeans and heeled boots. 

  You looked dressed up to be on some casual date. Whoever it was you were waiting on was a lucky guy, Bucky thought. In no disrespect to the girl he was messaging, but he figured he would have shot his shot with you had it not been for this mystery girl. 

  “You hang around here a lot?” he questions to come off as casual and laid back as possible. 

  “Oh, sure. Yeah… I like it here.”

  Bucky finds himself smiling at your response. Strange, he figures, how you seem familiar. Still, he catches on that he hasn’t gotten a proper look at your face. It’s like you're purposefully avoiding looking at him. Did you know him? The aided curse of his sensitive hearing allows him to hear the rapid racing of your heartbeat, like a poor hamster terrified out of its mind. 

  You can feel him staring at you with the occasional glimpse down at his phone, held in his gloved hand. 

  “Goodluckwithyourdate. Bye.” You say it far too quickly, it takes Bucky a moment to decipher what you’ve said. His head snaps back and forth in a double take, catching you already walking down the sidewalk, huddled in close to shield yourself. How he knows that feeling internally. 

  Now you’ve gained his full attention. For Bucky, there was some missing piece to all this. He’s quick to type. Just a little experiment…

   Here, Doll, just waiting on you  ┗ 

His jaw tightens, teeth clenching in his observation. You stop when your phone buzzes to life in your pocket. Retrieving it, you read the message. Bucky only has to wait for about a minute before he sees the message. 

   Ha, I was here first. Where are you?? ┗ 

   You tell me Doll…  ┗

    you don’t happen to be wearing knitted gloves, right? ┗  

  Your brows furrow for a moment. How could he know, you haven’t even–

  Slowly, you lift your eyes from the blaring screen of your text messages. He now knew it and to think he’s the guy you were waiting on. If anything, this is some fortunate, golden strike. 

  As your gaze moves to fall over your half turned shoulder that faces back towards him, he manages to catch half of your visage and the radiant haven of your eyes, what little you allow to show. 

  “I take it you’re Y/N.” He smiles a toothy smile. With any luck, his attempt to charm will work. 

  “And you’re Bucky?”

  He nods in response and you let yourself wander forwards, phone tucked away and your arms folded together. 

  “I–I, uh… wow, this is embarrassing ,” you all but mutter to yourself with a roll of your eyes.

  “How so?”

  “I suck at meeting people,” you utter a little louder. Your shoulders shrug with the motion of your confession. You only dread the look in those blue eyes that you can’t bring yourself to glance up into. What if you see something that gives away his intentions? What if you give away what’s going on in your own mind to him, for him to see all the fear right there like an open book to be read. Knowledge to be obtained and used against you. 

  “Maybe if you looked at people once and a while,” he chuckles. 

  Oh… he likes someone who can maintain eye contact. 

  “Yeah, what a shame. Oh well, nice meeting you.” 

  The abruptness cuts him. Wounds him like a dark chill that runs his spine. His shoulders straighten then and the bevel between his brows grows in depth, the puzzlement of his confusion evident on his face that you don’t take the time to read. Not when he can easily catch contact with your now glossy eyes. 

  Again, you’re making off in a hurry. 

  Pull her closer, it’s the only thought that crosses his mind. 

  “Wait, wait up!” he calls out quickly, voice sharp that he sees your entire body flinch at the command, but you carry on. He doesn’t want to scare you away. His gloved hand cups over your elbow. 

  “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he says with a sigh, “I’m bad at meeting people at times too.”

  “Really?” You don’t mean to sound distrusting, if he interpreted it that way, each to their own at the end of the day. 

  “Yeah, that whole… dating scene is crazy these days.”

  You cannot find yourself more inclined to agree with that. Seeing how much the world has changed around you, and you’re only in your twenties. Plenty of more room to change. Thinking about the future is what you consider an anxiety inducing pass time, one you try not to get carried away with. 

  “Tell me ‘bout it,’ you huff. You flex your ankle, the heel scuffing softly against the pavement, hopefully grinding some form of inspiration to make you less awkward. Though you fear the damage has been done. 

  He chuckles. “Glad we’re agreeable in person. C’mon, mind giving me a tour of your little hang out?”

  “Sure,” you agree with a small smile, brushing aside a stray wisp of hair, “I know a little place up this way.”

  “I like your gloves,” Bucky says, clicking his tongue, when spared a moment he glances off to the side in his miserable cringe, what the hell was that move?

  But he didn’t expect for your chin to be raised a little higher and a much warmer smile to grace your lips. Wow, he still couldn’t get over it. A cute, beautiful girl like yourself happening to be the one he’s been communicating with all this time. 

  “Thanks.” You suppress a giggle, the sound small in your throat. “Look. Glove twins.”

  Seeing you raise your gloved hand up, he saves you from any further embarrassment and meets yours almost immediately, palms straight and pressed together in a mockery to a high five. 

  “Well, look at that.” His lips tug into an amused grin.

  For a second you meet his gaze, but as quick as anything, the connection is lost. As you drop your hand back to your side, you feel warmth creep into your cheeks. How your lack of eye contact can be a burden at times. All you want to do is look at this guy, get a read of him without the need to sneak fleeting glances whenever you could. 

  All you can settle on now is that he’s down right cute. Handsome. 

  No way this guy is single. How some chick could just give him a false number. My number. 

  You wander further down the street together, side by side, occasionally arms brushing against one another before you stop and jab a thumb at the small bar. “Here it is. Heh, quaint place. I, uh… like coming here. Obviously.”

  While he’s distracted with his observation, you take a few seconds to actually look at him.

  Casually dressed, so much like yourself. Chiselled features, intense yet stunning eyes you believe you’ve ever seen, and broad. Damn well towering high above you. Next to him, you feel like a gummy bear. Why that comparison, you have no idea, but you find it fitting. 

  Thus so far he doesn’t put himself as intentionally dangerous or harmful, not towards you anyway. You’d bet all that’s in your wallet he’d cause some serious damage if he wanted to. 

  “Nice little joint.” You hum softly and nod in agreement, eyes sinking low to instead scan the fabric of his jacket instead of his reaction when you know his gaze is on you. 

  You bob your head in the direction of the door, indicating him to follow you inside. But Bucky, if anything, was raised in the century of etiquette and manners. Especially in the company of a woman. Your smaller, gloved hand reaches for the door until his own comes forward, pulling the door open for you. 

  “After you, Doll.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  Again, that warm crimson settles in your cheeks, causing the rest of your body to heat up, soon enough you won’t need the gloves and jacket to keep you warm. 

You lead him over to a window booth, sliding in over the overworn cushions and he takes the one opposite you. Not too soon after does the regular waitress greet you with a pearly smile, blonde hair tied back into a ponytail. 

  “Y/N!” she gasps widely, “So good to see you. What can I get you and your man tonight?” She flashes a wink down towards you both. Out of sheer interest, Bucky’s eyes drift to land on you, the corner of his lips turned up slightly into a smirk. 

  “Wh– he, oh no, he’s not– we’re not… just the regular, thanks.”

  Tongue tied. You fucking hate situations that plant you on the spot, on your arse. Like an ungraceful landing after jumping the wagon. Fuck, you’re making yourself look even more weird in front of him. Why this sudden need to act like a normal human being around him is present, you find it confusing. But from trial and error, you’ve always somehow managed to mark yourself as a strange one. 

  It was better to keep things short between interactions. But with Bucky, something has come over you that makes you want to trust him. Be open with him. But you know you can’t. People can hide their true nature for lengths at a time that they deem necessary. You’re not about to give this guy a loaded gun to turn on you. 

  With a nod, the waitress nods and writes down in her notepad, she looks to Bucky expectantly. 

  “I’ll have what she’s having and can we get two beers with the order.” 

  “Can do. That will be with you both shortly.” With an affirmative nod, the waitress heads off to deliver the new order. 

  “If you just want to dip any time during… this, then I understand.” For the second time tonight, Bucky’s face contorts with deeply rooted confusion. His smile is the product of his being unsure whether you’re serious or joking. “Why would I do that?”

  Your shoulders move up sharply with a shrug. 

  Because you don’t want to be around me. 

  “I’m not leaving you by yourself. You asked to meet up and I’m here.” 

  Touching words that you wish to believe in them wholeheartedly. Surely though, he’s only saying that out of courtesy. 

  “I tend to stay out pretty late towards the weekend.”

 Now it’s his turn to shrug. “So do I.”

  Once the food and beers arrived, you found it easier to distract yourself, able to roll the bottle between your hands, feeding off of your meal bit by bit throughout conversation. 

  “Like I said before, don’t feel obligated to stay out late. Don’t want to keep your girl waiting.” A small tactic, albeit you disbelieve that it’s very discreet, it’s an obvious tell that you want to know if he’s single or not. You’re no expert in the dating pool but that just has to be right up there in some top ten listed prompts.

 “Not leaving you. I don’t have a girl waiting on me, don’t worry, Doll.” You almost choke on your next bite, drowning it down your throat with a gulp of beer. You almost meet his eyes, opting to focus just below them. There is absolutely no way in hell this guy is single. 

  Bucky figures he’d shoot his shot, now that the identity of mystery girl and you were one and the same. 

  “Hope your boyfriend doesn’t mind I’m stealing you for the night.”

   Why did he word it like that?!

  “Ha. Boyfriend,” you sigh, mouth pinching towards the side. Briefly, you notice the furrow in his brows. 

  Dammit, why is he so fucking cute?

  “No boyfriend,” he drawls lowly over the rim of his bottle. 

  You shake your head. “Nope.” 

  He can tell by the way you roll the singular word, emphasising the p with a sharp popping sound. Bitterness. 

  “Why?” He watches you intently as he takes a drink of his beer, meanwhile, you're turning your bottle left and right, like trying to crack the code to some safe. 

  Didn’t want to risk getting hurt. 

  “Just…” You pause with a heavy sigh, heat covers your eyes that you now direct to stare down at the table. “Never made the effort, if I’m honest.”

  “You like being alone.”

  “Prefer it, actually. Easier that way.”

  Of that, Bucky completely understands. After everything he’s been through, being alone has just made things simple. Lonely but simpler. He notices the many couples and maybe it would be nice to have someone there. But how can he find normalcy after everything he’s done? Is he deserving of it?

  He wants peace. Dr. Raynor believes that’s bullshit but she can’t understand that he wants peace for himself. To feel comfortable. Accepted. Perhaps loved, if any deity or supernatural entity from above condones it.

  But then, why are you so comfortable in your loneliness? He wonders about it.

  “My doctor keeps telling me to try and engage with people. Open up. That sort of shit.” 

  “Mine too.”

  Another funny coincidence you both find in each other. During your time talking over text, you both managed to find out you attended doctor appointments. Therapy and not by your own choice either. By some other force that dictated you needed help. 

  “People are so afraid of being alone these days. World’s dangerous, sure, but so are the people you thought you could trust. But people are desperate, I guess. They’ll risk it.”

    Bucky cannot help the way the corner of his eyes curl slightly, lips stretching into a pursed smile to contain his amusement as much as possible. 

  “What?” you ask, head tilting slightly, your eyes having now settled on the booth’s texture right over his shoulder. 

  He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “You often on the defensive when it comes to people?”

  “Have to be. Don’t know their intentions. Could be anything.”

  “And what about me?”

  You shrug again, gaze torn between meeting his and keeping it far, far away. “Like you said before, if I looked at people once and a while. But I can’t. So I’ll never know, I guess.”

  He frowns slightly at this. If your body language is telling him anything right now is that his question pushed you into a corner. You felt trapped when confronted by his curiosity. You didn’t answer him, not exactly, but if your response did anything it’s that you tend to avoid answering when you get pushed. 

  You don’t seem to be the overly aggressive type up front. But if backed into that corner, that is when you may very well lash out. A defensive tactic. A once victim tactic. 

  Both of you are pulled from the thicket of your scattered thoughts and silence when the waitress returns with the check. You begin to shuffle around in your pocket, obtaining your half of the meal when Bucky stops you. 

  “My treat,” he says and hands his money to the blonde worker. 

  “N-no, that’s okay. I’m fine with paying my side.”

  He tuts you with a shake of his head, eyes penetrating your very soul for the moment you meet it. 

  Don’t look at me like that please… heart’s going too fast. Just let me pay for my food. 

  “I was born and raised in a time that I pay for the date. Let me cover it.” 

  Not that you have much choice to argue. He’d already handed off the money and the waitress took away your finished plates and beers. 

  Your bottom lip curls outwards into a pout. You feel bad that he felt like he had to do that. For him to pay out more than what was required. 

  In that regard, he leans back slightly, chin held higher a little more. He believes he’s won this round. But if anything, you’re adamant to pay him back.

  “Here.” You slide the bill towards him, ignoring the way his eyes narrow slightly to your challenge. “Just accept it, please? I’ll feel better knowing I didn’t waste your money.”

  Reluctantly, he nods and accepts the money and you mumble a soft thanks. 

    Time flew by as you both wandered together, giving him a general tour of the area. Small bouts of banter passed between you both, and general topics of discussion like work and time passers were made to fill the void of silence. Even still, you kept everything at surface level, never really exploring any deeper thoughts, much like him. But those very rare glimpses were only brief glimpses into one another’s life. 

  At least you both could report to your respective doctors that you tried, still in the dark that Dr. Raynor was the host of your separate appointments. 

  Coming through the way you came you reach your initial meeting spot, the sidewalk more open with people now on their way back home at the later hour. 

  “No, Sam just talks too much,” Bucky grumbles in his chuckle, an amused grin forming on your lips. He could just make out the rows of teeth. 

  “Sounds like a fun guy.”

  “Definitely.” You hear the grumbling breathlessness in his tone. When he glimpses to his side he finds your eyes, quick to steal whatever he can get of those capturing colours that are far too swift to avert. 

  Fuck. Can’t even make it to five seconds. I’m getting nowhere with this eye contact exercise.

Following him, he leads you over to his bike and your eyes narrow curiously. So it was him that owned the motorcycle you heard earlier that evening. 

  “I guess this is where we part ways for the night.” You bounce your head in the direction of your place. “Was good finally meeting you, Bucky.”

  That didn’t sit well with him. A lot can happen on the walk back to your place and he didn’t feel completely ready to let you go for the night. Eyes tearing between you and his bike with quick thinking, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. He hoists a leg over his bike, straddling the seat and rolling his arm to beckon you closer. 

  “Why don’t we go for a quick ride? Then I’ll drop you home.”

  “Nah, besides I’ve never… I-I’m good. I like the walk home.”

  Bucky is quickly picking up a sort of pattern. Still, he can’t shake the need to just hang around you a little longer, nor the guilt he’d have for just leaving you. Chivalry at its finest, he shakes his head sternly, dismounting the bike, you see the way his body moves fluently with the action.

  Fucking stop doing that!

  Your mind is dancing two different dances. Rational thought and that bubbly, giddiness that often leads swooning victims into blinded trouble. 

  “Alright, we’ll walk together then.” 

  “Wait– you can’t just leave your–”

  He begins to lead you off in the direction you’d motioned to before. “I’ll come back for it.”

  “Bucky.” He sees the defiant pout and crossing of your arms. Indeed, a cute sight to behold.

  He smirks, and shit, you couldn’t meet anything above the bridge of his nose then, but did you admire what you could. 

  “It’s your call. We can either walk or take the bike.”

  He’s played a few rounds of this game already with you. Numerous times you’ve had to choose between one option or the other, a few of those being a tad embarrassing, but his assurance provided some semblance of comfort. 

  But what felt like a game before now feels like more than that now. Before it was fun, easy and not serious. This, however, was not a round you can simply forfeit from. It’s either option one or two. 

  Your chest expands with a large inhale. Blinking, you contemplate and weigh the options. “We’ll take the bike.” 

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make a rider out of you, Doll.” It didn’t help the flush that scorches and freezes your body simultaneously when he adds a wink to his witty flirtations. 

  You try to not let it get to you. Not to let goosebumps riddle your skin and send your nerves endings aflame. But he’s making it hard. He leads you back towards the bike and he grabs the helmet. 

  “Here, you can use this.” 

  You focus on the protective helm and though you mean to protest, worried about what he’d do about himself, he’s already tucking your head in. 

  You make a small noise as he wriggles it in place and through the visor, you can finally meet his eyes. 

  With the blacked out visor to shield your eyes, you finally and truly admire the - unfortunately muted - hue of blue that entrances you, intense as the hottest levelled flame. He’s smiling down at you.

  “How’s it fit?”

  “Good!” you call, giving him a thumbs up. He nods with that assurance and directs you to mount the bike behind him. But you’re going shy on him and he cocks his head slightly, brows knitted in their concern. 

  Even when you preferred to be the one to initiate contact, that didn’t mean you were used to or fond of it. What if you held him too tightly, or what if you touched him somewhere he wasn’t comfortable with.

  Mounting the bike behind him, you at first put about an inch or two of space between you both. “Get on closer.” 

  You fail to hide the mousey squeak when his hands pull at your thighs, tugging them forward until they rest against him, your hands find purchase on the broad space of his shoulders. 

  He does it cautiously, he seeks out your wrists when they slide down the scape of his back, and you - warily - let him pull them around his torso. He exhales slowly, giving himself a second to comprehend having your hold around him. Why does he feel this way? Now that he has you like this, he can’t bear to think about losing it.

  “Hold on tight now,” he instructs and with a heavy bob of your head, thanks to the helmet, he lets the engine purr to life and he feels your arms grow a little tighter. 

  Rolling the bike back a little, he lets a car pass by before he speeds off down the way, the bike’s roar pulses through your entire body until for sure you’ve gone numb and you only hold onto Bucky tighter. 

  The surge of adrenaline fills you until you’re on high, blood boiling hot in your veins as he flies through the traffic. For taking things usually at your own pace, it felt good to have a little speed kick in. 

  Taking a sudden turn to the left would have made you question your decision to take the bike - should have scared you - but it didn’t. Not with Bucky. For what feels like ages now, you feel that you can trust him.

  “How you doing back there?” he asks, straining his voice to yell over the bike’s power. You doubt very much he’d be able to hear you, not when you only just managed to hear him, you opt to nod your head vigorously. He feels it against the muscles of his back and his lips tug upwards. 

  Accelerating slightly more, he feels your body grow giddy, jostling a little as you laugh behind him while he weaves through traffic. It really shows that you’ve never been on a bike before now. And since that’s the case, he’s determined to make it an unforgettable experience. 

  With any wishful thinking, you’ll want to go for another ride with him. 

  Bucky puts the now overwhelmed engine to rest for a little while, all thanks to his plan to impress you. “Here we are.” He lets his eyes rake over the few story building, a little settlement of apartments, currently parked round back that shows a short paved walkway to your backdoor. Going through the front door was usually hectic with your neighbours, good people honestly, but after a tiring day it could get a bit much.

  This way, you could be left alone. 

  “This is me,” your voice says through the helmet. You dismount before him and unlike Bucky, your movements aren’t as well versed. But for him, that just adds to your charm. 

  You let him stand close to you as he retrieves his helmet, being gentle to pry it off. 

 Once that visor is gone, so too does your resolve to look into his eyes, the connection lost with the helmet’s absence.

  “Thanks for driving me home. I… had a good time.”

  “You’re welcome.” Bucky’s lips thin into a smile. This was it then, the end of your little outing together. He doesn’t want to come off strong but how can he be so sure that you’ll be so bold again? How long would he have to wait?

  That’s why he’s pulling you closer again. It may be scary but at this point, he’s willing to risk it, if it means to have another meeting with you. To see you again.

  “Well, goodnight Bucky. I’ll talk to you—” You’d only begun to turn towards the narrow walkway when you’re stopped. Pulled back until you’re practically flushed against Bucky’s front. He’s pressing something into the palm of your hand. Thin, like paper. Peering down, you see the bill you’d given him. 

  However, you don’t have any other choice when his other hand tilts your chin up. 

  Oh no.

  “Give me five seconds,” he breathes out, voice hopeful. Your chin trembles, only just able to look at him through your lashes, but even then your focus dives downward, but his fingers remain to keep your head from bowing. 

  “I-I can’t…”

  “You can. Take your time.”

  Why he’s doing this, you have no clue, and why he’s willing to be patient; it’s just downright confusing. Who in their right mind would have time for this? At times, you barely have enough time to deal with your own shit.

  To save himself from waiting for a literal eternity, you rip the bandaid, and you meet his eyes. No visor, no secretive glimpses here and there stolen. You stare straight up, right into those blues that can very well drown you. 

  Your lungs tighten and struggle to maintain a steady pattern, you feel the welling of tears glass over your eyes with each second you count. Slowly. 

  One… two… 

  His eyes remain gentle with you. Tender and kind. You’re not seeing anything… bad, like he wants to hurt you. he could be hiding it really well. But for yourself, you’re sure he can see every single rational and irrational fear, every painful memory in your teary eyes. Your vision begins to cloud, like the fight to stay above the crashing waves. 

  Three… four…

  Buck’s hand lowers slowly but you don’t register it. You can’t. It’s something that occurs in the background, unattuned to it. You see in those wonderfully coloured hues that he's just as haunted as you are or even more. 

  He’s lonely as you are. Afraid as you are. Shadows of his own past, you can see them. Made him into the person he is in front of you. And you can’t blame him, no matter what it is that haunts him. 

  You see a once victim in him just as much as you see in the mirror every morning. 

  “Same time next Friday?” he asks, his voice is low, almost a whisper. His chest expands as he holds his breath. 

  “Sure.” You share a smile between you two, cheeks glowing warm and bright red. 

  “I’ll pick you up.” 

  Him leaving the proximity of your personal space leaves you gasping for air, blinking the tears in your eyes rapidly, you watch him retreat to his bike. Until next Friday, you’d wait to see him then. 

  “Talk soon, Doll,” he calls out with a wave once he’s atop his vehicle. Looking at it now, you can still feel the vibrations in your legs. 

  “Mhm. Until then.” 

  You take your leave then, entering your apartment and shutting the door behind you in tandem with him riding off into the night. Planting your back against the door to ground you does little to affect, still you’re floating. 

  This new feeling welling inside your chest, a flutter in your stomach… It scares you. Is this feeling why people are afraid to be alone? You don’t know what to think. 

  All you do know is that you gave him ten seconds.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Gonna preface this by saying this ask is about a certain Tedros so if you don't feel like answering I totally get it. I was wondering though if you've seen some of the photos that have come out for magazines and whatnot for his album promo and what you think of his "attempt" at.. well i'm not sure what. His concepts are all over the place and i'm going to be honest and say the slicked down hair looks awful on him, as well as him serving absolutely nothing for the ones where he is obviously going for a more flamboyant look. I just genuinely don't understand how his visuals seem to have deteriorated so much in such a short amount of time yet his cockiness has only risen

I have to say, there's something about noticing how the Tedros name is actually sticking makes me feel a certain way.

I've seen some photos, without me looking actively for it. Even scrolling on that dumb tiktok app ruins my plans of avoiding some people. Nevertheless, I do have eyes and I have opinions and sometimes I wish I'd shut up about it, but I also can't help it.

At the end of the day, let's just say it's all subjective. Perhaps for some people (many I see) his type of handsomness and aura becomes a canvas for experimentation. Maybe you or I are just way too damn picky and we have a different taste.

(Why am I trying? This is an exercise in futility by the way 💀)

Maybe the girls and the gays(?) are all over him because of this manufactured look/aesthetic of skinny boy that likes to experiment with his sexuality/gender expression. I don't know what they're going for. Some less sexy/naughty version of Troy Sivan, but Tedros can never pull off a twink look. So, what is there? Beats me. Who is the intended target audience and the actual audience? Only Army and his solo stans/shippers are getting hot over it? Maybe. What do I know, anon? What do I know?

Not much, lol. I'm merely a basic girl that finds Jimin's beauty hard to comprehend and for which Baby Star Candy is like the embodiment of a twunk. Each with their own preferences.

This is all aesthetics and let's just allow ourselves to be into whatever we want while still bitching about whatever we want cause that never gets old 😘

[swiftfootedachilles]

What are your thoughts about Mickey being asthmatic since he was a kid? (been having breathing problems lately, totally not projecting lol)

Like, how would it affect his south side thug persona, him not being able to smoke that much/at all, dr*ug use, stamina, other stuff, and changes in his life in general?

one thing about mickey is he will definitely be serving the cuntiest COPD symptoms in the retirement home!!

canonically, my mans definitely is not in the best shape due to his smoking lol i always think of his wheezes in s10 after scaling the gallagher house 😭

i have asthma triggered by exercise so i really have no clue what other types of asthma are like. but with that, i imagine mickey would play a more passive role in his familys antics, getting his cousins and siblings to do all his dirty work. he commits lots of drive-bys. no running in this universe bitch! im kinda poor and even spending the few bucks on an emergency inhaler has become futile bc it ends up expiring without getting used and i forget to take it with me anyway. so i think mickey definitely has the same mindset of "yeah imma just avoid triggers and if something happens guess ill die 🤪"

mickey is never beating the pillow process allegations so thats not very different from canon 🤭

i hate the idea of mickey being unable to smoke simply bc 1. smoking sexy and homoerotic 2. he would definitely chew instead and i cant handle that level of nasty redneck-ness 🤢

[briankeene]

The Machines Already Took Our Jobs

"This is John Connor. There is no fate but what we make."

Terminator: Salvation

***

Eventually, after exterminating the soldiers, the policymakers, and the clergy, Skynet came for the writers and the artists. 

Back on December 16th, after an initial tweet by Scott Sigler, I said I'd write more about this issue here on my Blog.

Today is January 9th, and I'm just now finding the free time to Blog about this. And in truth, I don't even have the free time. But I had to get up at 3am to drive my ex-wife to the airport, and then get back home in time to make my youngest son breakfast and get him off to the bus, and help Mary wrangle the cats for their vet appointment. As a result, both my sleep schedule and my work schedule are now off, and attempting to write any sort of coherent fiction today would be an exercise in futility. So, instead, I'll write this, and try not to ramble.

Too late.

But I digress.

I could have had an A.I. system write this for me weeks ago, and if not for what I tend to think is my fairly distinct literary voice, you wouldn't have known the difference.

Anyway, here's the thing. You've already read news articles and non-fiction written by an A.I. and you probably didn't know it. Now, I'm not talking about articles you read via The New York Times, The Washington Post, Rolling Stone, Vice, The Daily Beast, Bleeding Cool, Comics Beat, Rue Morgue, Dread Central, etc. Those mainstream venues are still profitable enough to pay real human beings to write content for them. But you know those clickbait sites that you stumble across on the web? The ones with random articles about comic book movies, or celebrity gossip, or investment tips, or five easy recipes to spice up your kitchen? Most of those sort of websites are now using A.I. to generate content. (I refuse to call the gibberish the machines spit out "articles" because they are not. The A.I. simply trawls the web, finds factoids related to the subject, and then assembles the raw materials together into a fairly coherent and readable piece of content).

Now, you might not think that's a big deal, because who is reading those types of clickbait articles anyway? But there used to be a human writer churning out those things. And now that writer is just a little bit more financially insecure and scrambling to find another gig to replace it. 

But stick around, because it gets worse. It is one miniscule step from A.I. writing that sort of content to then writing an article for a magazine or a newspaper. And indeed, I know of magazines and newspapers whose owners are already looking into this possibility. As one person at a fairly decent-sized outlet told me, "From a cost-cutting perspective, it costs as much to pay an editor to look over a machine's writing as it does to have them look over a human's writing. But the difference is we don't have to pay the human who wrote it. Just the editor. From a cost-saving perspective, it's a game-changer."

That's not the only place you're reading A.I. generated content. I personally know of three companies that now use A.I. to write their posts for LinkedIn and Facebook. And because that sort of content is usually dry as a Saltine cracker anyway, it's impossible to tell that a machine wrote it rather than a human.    

I talked to an editor (from a different field/genre) last month who told me their company has begun using A.I. to write Blog posts. They used to pay freelance writers $250 a pop to write these Blog posts. And I have many friends who, in years past, have churned out a ton of such writing in order to supplement their income until the royalty check for their horror novel arrived. Now, those jobs are going to the machines. This editor told me that, in proofreading the finished Blog post, "the edits were no different than if a human had written it". 

Of course, the real question is will there be A.I-written fiction, and the answer is of course there will be. It's already being written. 

Now, we could get into an argument about whether or not machines can create "art" but before we did that, we'd have to actually define art. Suffice to say, the images being generated by A.I. are motel-room wall level quality. Are they "art"? That's up to the beholder. 

Machines are already generating book cover illustrations and movie poster images, and there are several groups of engineers teaching A.I. how to do sequential comics and storyboards. And the first rudimentary A.I.-written fiction is already out in the wild, as well.

So, while it might score you points on social media to say "This is wrong. This should not be!" you're not accomplishing anything by doing so. It's also wrong to give an A.I. or a robot consciousness, but that's not stopping engineers and researchers from forging ahead with the intent of doing just that -- and thus finding a new kind of conscious, thinking being to enslave. 

"This is not just another research question that we’re working on," Hod Lipson, the mechanical engineer in charge of the Creative Machines Lab at Columbia University, told The New York Times. "This is the question. This is bigger than curing cancer."

I could do a whole separate Blog about why curing cancer could immediately improve human life more so than giving Artificial intelligence its own consciousness, but there's no point. Nobody listens to anybody else anymore. There is no collective consensus. No community morality. No common good. Everyone is out for themselves, or for their own specific team, and fuck everybody else. 

So, yeah. When you're posting on social media about how this is wrong, you're right. But it's too late. The machines have already taken our jobs.

What can you do to combat this as a writer? Like Scott said in the initial discussion -- continue focusing on your fan community. Hopefully, you're already doing that since I've been telling you to do it for years now. 

And continue to focus on your writing and your narrative voice. You can teach an A.I. to write like me, but that A.I. won't be me. It never got its heart broken by its childhood sweetheart. It never nearly started an international incident in 1987 by tubing down the Jordan River and ending up in contested territory. It wasn't there in the delivery room with me for the birth of either of my sons, and it wasn't there with me the first time my soon-to-be stepdaughter gave me a hug. The A.I. wasn't there with me when I caught on fire and rolled around in filthy floodwater to extinguish myself and then watched the skin on my arm drip off me like melted candle wax. The A.I. didn't share the relief I felt when I found all of those kittens safe homes and convinced their mother to come inside and give domestication a try. The A.I. can write about all those experiences, and it can do so in a mimicry of my voice, but it won't have my perspective or my inner feeling about those things -- inner feelings which are then expressed through writing.  

And it can't for you, either.

Find your voice. Focus and hone it. Imbue your writing with it. Because no one -- not human or machine -- can take that unique voice away.

Writers will survive the A.I. apocalypse, just as we've survived everything else the world has thrown at us. We've been here, doing our jobs, since the time of cave paintings, petroglyphs, and cuneiform. We will endure. But yeah, it's about to get just a little bit harder. Before, you only had to compete with a bazillion other writers. Now, you and those bazillion other writers have to compete with a quadrillion machines, some of whom will eventually have a consciousness of their own. And with that consciousness will begin to develop their own voices.

Make sure your voice can still be heard over that din.

[evoscalpmicro0]

Methods for Selecting Hair Treatments

Smoothening is better compared to fixing yet not consistently, particularly assuming you have difficult twists. Our significant choice is impacted by individuals around us. We frequently pay attention to them since we trust them. In the issue of hair treatment likewise we take recommendations from our elderly folks and companions. We frequently get normal counsel like smoothening is better compared to fixing, a keratin treatment is tedious, and so forth. We wind up seeking some unacceptable treatment that we atone later.

Indeed, we should pay attention to our companion's recommendation yet an official choice should be founded on rationale. What hair treatment you should go for relies upon your hair type. What irritates you the most Frizz, twists or waviness? All have their individual arrangement. An individual who as of now has straight hair doesn't require keratin treatment. An individual with a great deal of twists ought to go for this treatment all things being equal.Things likewise rely upon your normal result. On the off chance that you don't need the phony look, smoothening is the most ideal best for you yet the individuals who need pin-straight won't be happy with this treatment. Toward the finish of this article, you will get your intelligent justification for any treatment. Investigate more- Crimped Hair

Frizz is the most irritating thing to bear. Regardless of having straight hair frizz ruin your look. In the late spring and rainstorm season, the circumstance turns out to be more pitiable. You probably attempted numerous hair oils and presently needs an extremely durable arrangement.

Yet, prior to going to any end consider your hair type. Do you have practically straight hair?

If indeed, you can discard fixing. In smoothening, the essential design of your hair isn't modified. The hairdresser will just make it smooth and brilliant. You will feel improvement in your hair look yet not an exceptional change. In the nutshell, your hair will give the deception of very much fed straight hair. Presently, this you could take as the suitable rationale to go for smoothening rather depending on the guidance.

Twists with Frizz Wavy hair isn't terrible assuming you convey them pleasantly however on the off chance that you can't beat the fixation of straight hair this part is for you. Generally, beauticians will propose that smoothening is better compared to fixing however for this situation, it won't work.

Step by step instructions to Pick Hair Treatment Wavy hair needs to go through modification in the design of the hair. Here you really want to choose among hair fixing choices keratin treatment, rebonding, and so forth. These are additionally realized by different names like a Brazilian victory, Japanese fixing, and so on.

Here you got the rationale that smoothening isn't generally better compared to fixing.

Wavy Hair Presently we should have a look at this case. Individuals with this hair type have two choices. You can take smoothening to tame frizz. Assuming you need pin-straight hair, take keratin treatment.Presently, it is your call, whether you need to simply stay away from harm or need a change.

How to track down a salon in san antonio ? Here additionally the rationale should win for what reason to depend on guidance just when the web furnishes you with such countless choices. It is an exercise in futility to seek your treatment from a similar spot where your senior sister got. Research at your end is required. For that you can type following catchphrases on Google-hair smoothening in san antonio , keratin treatment in san antonio , super durable fixing in san antonio.

You will get a rundown of salons in the outcome. You can actually take a look at evaluations and surveys and reach them.

For More Info :- hair loss treatment san antonio texas

men hair loss treatment san antonio

Visit Our Website :- https://evoscalpmicro.com/

Source URL :- https://sites.google.com/view/hair-treatment-0/home

Visit Our Social Link :- https://www.facebook.com/evoscalpmicropigmentation

[habeascorpseus]

hermitcraft season 8 is actually a metaphor for climate nihilism

[eunchancorner]

A stuck little spider

I haven’t gotten a request in days and it feels SO WEIRD and I’m so bored. And I feel like my blog is growing boring so here we go!

Ler Iida, Lee Sero

Warning: sorta bondage ig?? Sero got stuck? Idfk everything is weird and bad rn-

Word count: 765

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Iida?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Help?”

Well, this was quite the predicament. Sero had gotten himself caught in his own tape. And Iida found the situation rather amusing.

Sero was trying to show Iida something he had been working on romance-wise (he was trying to do the upside-down kiss from Spider-Man) and had slipped a little, causing himself to come tumbling down, his arms caught in his own tape and held above his head, knees planted on his bed and his shirt pulled up just enough to expose his belly.

“Help with what?” Iida mused, pretending to not notice what was wrong.

Sero whined a little. “Help me down…?” he asked, trying to push down the blush rising in his cheeks.

Iida smirked a little, an obvious ‘nah’ and tilted his head.

“There are so many things I could do right now… and I’m not even gonna mention what they are,” he pointed out, holding back a chuckle as his boyfriend blushed more.

“W-well good! ‘Cause you shouldn’t!” He tried to sound menacing, failing quite badly. He tugged a little at his arms, the tape holding fast.

“Look at you, poor little Sero,” Iida said, approaching the slightly shorter student a little menacingly. “Exposed, vulnerable… whatever will you do?”

Sero’s heart skipped a beat at the words. Am I about to get f-cked right here and now? he thought, before noticing one of Iida’s hands. The fingers flexed as though gently kneading the tum of a poor little lee, and he felt another type of sudden excitement fear inside him.

“I-Iida! I know what y-you’re thinking! Dohon’t you do it!” he warned, already squirming.

“Don’t do what?” he glanced at Sero’s bare belly. “This?” he placed a hand on it, causing Sero to have to force down a smile of anticipation.

“I-Iida! No!” he kept squawking at the class representative, an exercise in futility.

Iida smirked and flexed his fingers into the sensitive skin, earning a squeak. But just a squeak wasn’t enough. So he kept at it, the flexing turning into kneading, forcing Sero to suppress giggles.

“P-prez! Stap!” he kept trying, but Iida was still not deterred. Besides, he knew how much Sero liked being tickled, and how little he had received lately. Like on most things, the class rep had done his studying.

Soon the kneading morphed into gentle squeezes from both hands, moving from his belly to his sides, and finally Sero let out the giggles from the gentle tickles, his sides and belly weren’t terribly ticklish, but they were still ticklish.

“Aww, there you go. Doesn’t it feel so much better to just let the laughter out?” Iida cooed, making his poor, ticklish boyfriend turn red from the teases.

“Sh-shuhut uhuhuhup!” he giggled out, earning nothing more than Iida’s hands rising to his ribs, causing him to squeal.

His ribs were *much* more ticklish.

“NAhahahaha! Nohooo! Iida!!” he managed to get out around his growing laughter as Iida switched from squeezing gently to digging in a little, just between each rib. Sero kept struggling and even tried to stand (probably to try to kick Iida away), but every time a pinch to his lower ribs made his knees buckle, forcing him back down.

Iida slowly made his way up Sero’s ribs, nearing the tape user’s worst spot, and every struggle Sero had ever done came back all at once, his body attempting to curl in on itself in a last-ditch attempt to stop the tickling.

But, with his arms tied up, well…

Yeah, you can imagine how well that worked.

He squealed as he felt Iida’s fingers digging into his armpit, sending ticklish shocks through his body, pulling laugh after laugh out of him. His knees pressed against his chest before he tried kicking out at Iida in retaliation. The engine hero dodged him neatly before sitting on them and continuing his assault.

“IIDAHAHAHAHA! STAHAP! WHAHAT DO YOU WAHAHANT FROM MEHEHEHE?!” Sero begged, Iida knew that when bargaining came in, it was time to stop. He moved off of his boyfriend and began carefully unraveling the tape from his arms before sitting beside him and rubbing his back.

“I didn’t go too far, right? I honestly don’t know what came over me, seeing you like that made tickling you a bit.. Irresistible, you know?” Iida asked his panting partner, who leaned against him.

“You’re fine, it was actually really fun…” the tape-user sighed, snuggling into Iida’s side.

Iida smiled and put his arm fully around Sero, holding him close.

And Sero decided to be nice, deciding not to get revenge on Iida.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This took too long to finish and my asks are still empty. What do I need to do to tell you people I like human interaction even if it makes me nervous?!

[arrowflier]

Fic prompt: Backstory on the Gallagher family photos on the mantle.

Thanks to @grumpymickmilk and @whaticameherefor for finding me scenes that showed them. I'm not sure that the one is of Fiona but I'm going with it. Also I'm sorry these paragraphs are so long 😅.

It felt weird, to be leaving the house after so long.

Ian hadn’t always been happy there, but it was still home. It had been home when he was a closeted gay kid sleeping with his boss for want of options and attention, when he was struggled with relationship and self-worth and needed to feel like he belonged. It was the home he came back to after the army, the home that took him back in when he lost himself. When he lost Mickey, Caleb, Trevor. Mickey again.

It was the home where he watched his siblings grow up, go on their own journeys, and come back themselves with new family in tow. They had all left, at one point or another, but this house had always been where they returned.

Until now.

Walking through the house one last time, Ian trailed his hands along everything he could touch, memorizing the feel of it under his fingers. His whole life, it had all been here like this, at his fingertips if he just reached out.

The worn sofa, with its handmade blanket. The scratched and burned table, where they ate meals together in front of the television and stubbed out shared cigarettes after dessert. The broken fireplace, where Liam used to huddle when they didn’t watch him close enough.

Ian paused as he reached the mantelpiece. Their pictures were still there, right where they had left them—the real estate agent said it was good for buyers to see that the house held happy memories. Like they didn’t all know that the house wouldn’t survive the sale intact.

Ian let himself linger there, over the still images of their past.

First and largest was Lip, of course. Their best hope at redemption, their golden goose. So proud the day he graduated the 6th grade, so eager to pose with his fake diploma as Monica gushed over his accomplishments. Lip, the smart one, the one that was going places, all geared up in academic regalia that he would never see the like of again. Those young eyes were so full of intelligence, so full of hope.

It would be dashed soon enough when Monica left, and with everything that came after. Lip would no longer find happiness in that type of accomplishment, not once it became all he had. But Ian thought that if the little boy in the picture could see Lip now, with Tami and Fred and maybe another baby on the way, he wouldn’t think things had turned out so bad.

Then came Liam. Little baby Liam in a small square frame, wearing an old sweater that had found it’s way onto the backs of three Gallagher boys before him. Monica had already been gone, when that one was taken. She hadn’t been there to fawn over him the way she had over Lip years before. No, Fiona had done that—had gotten him dressed up, borrowed a camera from a girl at work, and snapped enough pictures of his chubby face to cover the entire wall. They could only afford to get one printed.

Liam didn’t look like that little boy anymore. He didn’t smile as much, or as widely. His eyes were more serious now, more searching. But he had grown up well for all his struggles, Ian thought. Grown up strong and smart and sensitive, in a way none of the rest of them had quite managed to balance. You’d never know that he had grown up without his parents, overdosed on drugs as a child, spent so much time following Frank around to scams and homeless shelters and who knows where else. Not from that picture on the mantle, and not if you saw his face today.

Debbie was next. Debbie with her favorite pigtails, red hair unkempt but bright and beautiful. She hadn’t thought she was beautiful, back then, Ian knew. She had taken one look at that school picture and turned her face away, and it took Fiona brushing her hair back and pressing a kiss to her head to convince her that it was worth saving. Fiona had found the biggest frame she could and put Debbie’s face front and center on the mantel, just to show how much she loved it.

Ian wasn’t sure that Debbie had ever really recovered from the feelings it first evoked, though, no matter how much they all supported her. She had gone on to mimic all the girls that used to make fun of her, taking more pride in her appearance than her character for quite some time. It was better now, now that she had Franny, but Ian still caught her looking in the mirror a little too long sometimes, like she wanted to change what she saw. Ian was afraid of the way she forced Franny into dresses and fancy things, afraid that she didn’t even realize what she was doing. He loved Debbie, but he hoped Franny grew up more like the little girl in pigtails and less like the hot convict version of his sister that attached herself to anyone who complimented her.

Carl’s was the only picture that was a little bit different. His school photos always came back unusable, and getting him dressed up was an exercise in futility even now. But Frank—fucking Frank, of all people—had managed to get a decent shot one summer as Carl beamed at him from the bottom of the patio steps, lips blue from a popsicle that Lip had stolen for him from the corner store.

Carl always had been his own person, Ian reflected. He had changed a lot over the years, going from pyromaniac trouble-maker to drug pusher to cop, but that had always stayed the same. Whatever Carl did, from eating a popsicle with his whole face to caring for dying dogs in their basement, from shooting illegal guns in their backyard to being one of the least violent cops on the beat, he did it his own way. Ian had always admired that about his little brother.

Fiona’s picture was by far the oldest. From a time Ian didn’t really remember, when she still smiled. He had asked her once whether Monica or Frank had taken it, but she had gotten quiet. Lip was the one who told him, later, that neither of them had been around that day. That Lip had found Monica’s camera and started clicking the shutter, and happened to get a few good ones.

Wherever Fiona was now, Ian hoped she was smiling again. She deserved to, after everything. Everything she had done for them, everything she had put aside for herself to do it. Maybe there was someone else taking her picture now, someone that made her happy, someone that made it possible for her to think of good memories and not bad. He’d see her again someday, he was certain, and she should look as young and carefree as she always should have been.

Ian himself was last. The last picture, tilted toward the others like he was watching them, just a boy in Lip’s old hand-me-downs looking out past the camera toward his family. That day, he remembered. Monica had wanted a picture so badly, but Frank barely let them out of his sight. Looking back, Ian figured there was more to it than he thought back then, when he idolized his mother and already felt little toward his father.

Well, not his father, not really. Biological or chosen. Seeing himself now, Ian wondered how he hadn’t realized sooner that he was the odd one out among them, with his height and his freckles and his hair. He was quieter than the rest, then, easier, more accepting.

That hadn’t lasted very long.

“Hey, you ready?” a voice came from the open front door, and Ian looked over to see Mickey standing there. The sun at his back cast him in hazy yellow light, like a dream sent to shake Ian from his memories.

Ian looked back to the pictures, so carefully chosen and arranged. An image of what their lives had been. Then he looked at Mickey, and his dark hair, and his soft smile. The smile that was reflected in the picture they had over the fireplace back home, the one of them standing together at their wedding. A wedding that the younger Ian in that staged photo would never have imagined for himself, with a boy he barely knew existed yet, in a world where he could be loud and happy and loved by more than his siblings.

He smiled, and took a step toward the door.

“I’m ready, Mick,” Ian said. And he left it all behind.

[lizbotw]

hi!! can I ask for some shouto headcanons with a s/o who has frequent nightmares? ty! ily

Todoroki With a S/O That Has Frequent Nightmares

hi! wow, i really loved this request and enjoyed writing it! once again, it's a bit on the longer side and more scenario-like than just plain headcanons, so i hope you like it! tysm, ilyt!!! ♡

Todoroki Shouto

Everyone knows school is just plain hard and going to the top hero school in the nation meant things were… less than easy for you and your classmates.

All-nighters were common, especially now that everyone was living in the dorms together and were up to antics at all hours of the night, even despite the scolding of Iida (Aizawa admitted he couldn't care less what the class did as long as they kept it down and didn't cause too much trouble—just don’t interrupt his sleep and everything is all good).

It’s not like it was unusual for someone to complain offhandedly about being tired one day, or for your classmates to be spotted with eye bags, so no one ever thought to point out the sleepy look you seem to sport regularly from being kept up all night.

Everyone was basically kept up later than intended one way or another, whether it be finishing an assignment last minute or staying up to finish a movie, so they sympathized with your plight, assuming that it was similar to their own—but what they didn’t know was that the reason you were up was much different than any of their reasons.

While they slept peacefully only a few floors away from you, or sometimes even a few doors down the hallway, you were plagued by dark images, the type that twisted around in your mind, growing in ferocity and coiling around your heart with sticky, inky blackness so tightly that you felt as though you couldn’t breathe—any attempts against them that you took seemed futile and you always woke up gasping for air, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead as your chest heaved, heavy with emotion.

You'd gotten used to hiding it, having been dealing with them for quite a while now, and while you eventually learned to brush them off due to their frequency, in the dead of the night, whenever they struck you, you felt as powerless and hopeless as the very first time they arrived.

It was only in the light of day that you were able to be reasonable with yourself and in which the fears lost most of their power (they were never completely gone though, the thoughts lingering in the back of your mind and causing you to mull over them whenever there was a dull moment in class and your attention started to drift).

Perhaps it's because you had these nightmares that you made the most of the energy you had during the day, fighting in your own way in the light to prove that you were still powerful, even if you were stripped of that power every night.

You'd adapted to running on only a few hours of sleep and tried to take short naps throughout the day to make up for lost time (although it was still hard after particularly difficult nights where you got almost zero relief from the terrifying images), so by the time life in U.A. came about, you were able to tough it out and focus on your training.

Speaking of training, you were vicious in class battles, taking many by surprise and were able to render several of your weaker classmates immobile in capture exercises and swept them off of their feet relatively quickly in one on one fights, including a certain “IcyHot” boy (although the way in which you swept him off his feet was much different—it was hard to beat him in normal fights anyway, but when it came to matters of the heart he was forced to surrender).

Your pure power may have caught his attention at first, but it wasn’t until Shouto spoke to you more and your personality came out that he was truly faced with the fact that he was falling for you hard.

A series of mishaps and a fair share of intervention from the rest of Class 1-A later and you two were miraculously dating and even could finally rest easy—they definitely had their work cut out when it came to getting you two together, but they ultimately bit the bullet because they could not stand the mutual pining and hopeless romanticism that continuously went on between you two.

It may take a while for Shouto to realize that spending the night at each other's dorms is a romantic™ thing couples do and that he should offer that up. That would be a great alternative actually versus the current are arrangement of that whenever you come over to study during the afternoons with him (which quickly turns into night because wow, time sure flies when you're being tortured by textbooks), and once it gets late enough, he comments about what time it is and how both of you should start getting ready for bed—effectively forcing you to leave his dorm. Don't blame him—the thought just never crossed his mind.

It was actually Mina, wanting to pry in on all U.A. relationships and resident sucker for romance, that probably brought the idea to his attention.

Something about asking how you two spent time together turned interrogation when she realized he could be clueless about certain things and made it her personal mission to school him on all things romance.

And then came the question, “So, have you guys had a couple’s sleepover yet?”

“A what?”

“Mina, please stop, just leave the poor guy alone,” came Jirou’s chiding from somewhere in the background. Mina had dragged her along with her for unknown reasons, but Jirou had made it very clear that she did not want to be there, slowly distancing herself from the conversation and discreetly trying to slip away.

While Mina took up arguing with Jirou about the “necessity” of these questions and Jirou facepalming and asking Mina why she didn’t just bring Hagakure (second in command on all things romance) with her, Shouto took the chance to mull over Mina’s words.

“And what does this... ‘couple’s sleepover’ entail exactly?” he interrupted their bickering after a few moments of contemplation and being unable to come up with an answer himself.

Mina absolutely lit up at that and turned to him once again, scuffle with Jirou long forgotten. “I am so glad you asked! Well, first of all-”

“She just means spending the night at each other’s dorms,” Jirou interrupted before Mina could go off on another tangent. Shouto turned to look at Jirou now and found her boredly examining her nails before then switching to nervously clinking the ends of her earphones jacks together when she noticed he was watching her.

“Then why-”

Jirou interrupted him this time. “Why did she call it a ‘couple’s sleepover?’ I don’t know, why don’t you ask Mina herself?”

It only took her a fraction of a second to realize her mistake when Mina opened her mouth to unleash the lengthy explanation she had prepared and Jirou immediately cut her off again before the damage could be done.

“Actually, never mind, don’t ask her. I don’t think I have to explain the sleepover part. Just spend the night doing fun things, like playing games or watching a movie or something, I don’t know. Typical sleepover things. And the couple’s part is because… well, you’re dating aren’t you? Bam, a couple.” She did unenthusiastic jazz hands at that. “Hmm… and I guess that means the sleepover activities will be more romantic than a typical sleepover too.” She scrunched her nose at the idea, not even wanting to imagine what that sort of description would entail.

Mina was getting antsy next to her, desperate to jump into the conversation with her own input and Jirou finally seemed to notice it. “Looks like Mina wants to go-” (“What? No, I don’t-”) “So see you later, Todoroki.” She grabbed Mina’s arm with one hand and gave Shouto a small wave goodbye with her free hand—one that he returned—as she pulled Mina away. “Oh, and don’t worry too much about it,” she said over her shoulder, “It’s literally just spending some time together and you do that already, right? The only difference is that this time it’ll be overnight, so just act natural. It’s not some big fancy event despite what Mina’s name for it might suggest.” And with that the two were gone, disappearing down the hallway in a fit of distant, mumbled bickering about how Mina is no longer allowed to give unsolicited love advice and how Jirou needs to learn the ways of love to truly understand, leaving Shouto all alone with his thoughts, trying to decipher what the fuck just happened.

Truthfully, he was always sad to see you go after a day of hanging out, wishing he could spend more time with you. For some reason he thought that as soon as night came, you deserved to head back to your own dorm for a proper night’s rest. He was just being concerned for your well being, isn’t that what proper boyfriends did? He considered the idea once of what if you spent the night together?, and despite that literally addressing all of his issues from before, he still brushed off the idea because it was preposterous. Shouto, where are your thinking skills???

After a while of back and forth with himself over the wisdom Mina and Jirou had bestowed upon him, he made the decision that next time things would be different.

Another late night study session had you packing up your things once you noticed the blinking alarm clock on Shouto's desk had stuck 11 P.M., the process routine at this point and you no longer waiting for your boyfriend to end the study session himself.

You rose and starting gathering the papers sprawled across his floor into a neat stack in your arms, absentmindedly talking about the things you had to do tomorrow as you went—it was like you were just inputting some closing remarks before calling it a night and Shouto fell easily into the conversation as he slipped stray pens and highlighters back into his pencil case.

You two usually cleaned up amongst the quiet hum of your words—discussing how you felt about the upcoming test, subjects either of you needed more help on next time, and what you were looking forward to eating for breakfast in the morning—but this night had Shouto's eyes straying away from the mess at his feet to you. Your back was to him most of the time, but even when you were facing him as you gathered up your books, your attention was focused on said objects, rather than him.

You guys didn't look at each other much as you cleaned, he realized—it was an obvious observation, but he still had the thought as he watched you, taking note of how this was just the perfect chance to admire you.

When you turned to him at one point though, gaze piercing, he quickly averted his eyes, shifting them to a highlighter that lay in front of him in your general direction, reaching to pick up. He ran his thumb over the smooth, bright yellow cylinder of it as you walked over to him, crouched down, hands planted on his shoulders, and leaned in to brush your lips against his. His eyes fluttered close and he leaned into the kiss, pushing back against you. He moved to deepen it, about to grip onto the fabric of your shirt for leverage, the highlighter rolling out of his grip, but the kiss was over in a matter of seconds and he opened his eyes, finding your smiling face right in front of him. You gave him a brief kiss on his cheek, as though to sign it off, and he had to admit that the heat of your face against his felt nice.

“Night, babe,” you said as you got up and turned to walk over to your bag that lay by the door.

“Night…” Right, that was just one of your normal goodnight kisses. That was also part of the routine but… something about the idea that that was the last kiss of the night didn’t sit right with him.

Shouto studied you once more, tongue in cheek, as he watched you stuff the papers and books you had gathered up back into your bag. The contemplative look never left his eye—it seemed as though you hadn’t noticed his staring from earlier so he was a bit more bold and confident about doing it now—and he almost lost himself to a trance of watching your methodical movements of picking something up from the pile of books you had lain at your feet and slipping them into the bag one by one.

When you slung the bag over your shoulder and moved towards the door, turning back to give him a final wave goodbye, he stiffened, remembering his plan.

“Wait-” He scrambled to his feet as you watched him in confusion, hand already on the doorknob. “Um… do you want to stay the night?” He flinched internally at the unsureness in his voice and straightened up, crossing his arms to create some semblance of nonchalance. “I mean, only if you want to. We don’t have to keep studying. I have a… movie? If you want to watch that together?”

Shouto’s eyes carefully tracked your movements, trying to gauge your reaction.

You tilted your head in bewilderment at the sudden offer, but then you grinned brightly and dropped your bag back at your feet, it landing on the ground with a thud from all of the heavy books inside. “Okay,” you beamed and Shouto was sure he was about to faint.

He followed Jirou’s advice to a T, or at least he tried to. He meant to ask if you wanted to play Monopoly but Kaminari had stolen it from the dorm’s game closet and refused to hand it over because his plans for the night included kicking Sero’s, Kirishima’s, and Bakugou’s asses at the game (Mina was there to be the unbiased banker because the boys were so sure that one of them kept stealing money out of the bank whenever no one was looking and Jirou was just there to bask in the chaos that was sure to ensure—when Mina and Jirou caught sight of Shouto, they both gave him a knowing look).

The loss of the Monopoly board meant you two instead played with the dingy Uno card deck Shouto found buried in his school supply drawer (he was pretty sure it was Midoriya’s and in his mind sent him a silent thank you—as for if he was going to give the desk back or continue “borrowing” it… well, that depended on how much you enjoyed playing with him).

You won three times in a row, but also Shouto seemed to keep getting distracted by something (spoiler alert: it was your smile) and you realized he wasn’t even playing his best cards most of the time so you easily crushed him. You clapped your hands in celebration at every victory and Shouto noticeably increased his speed while shuffling the deck whenever you did that (oh yeah, he was definitely keeping these, sorry, Deku).

You two eventually got around to watching the movie he had brought up before on his laptop, you slotted comfortably under his arm while it hung around your shoulder, and even had a late night snack run per your request (snack run = sneaking into the kitchen and stealing the plate of hot pockets Kaminari was making to supplement his game night—better yet, you made Shouto do the stealing with him timing his crime perfectly and waiting for Kaminari’s back to be turned.)

(You supervised the whole thing by peeking around a hidden corner, barely containing your laughter, and then jumped in to distract Kaminari right when he was about to turn around before quickly taking your leave once Shouto was out of sight. Kaminari’s screams once he realized what had happened could be heard down the hallway as you two rushed back to the elevator, stolen goods secured and you laughing freely.)

(You’re pretty sure you heard Shouto mumble, “How’s that for Monopoly, you electric bitch,” and while you’re honestly not sure what he’s talking about, you support his energy nonetheless.)

Soon it was time to actually sleep and you two were curled up under his blanket, limbs tangled together. You had taken brief naps together before so this wasn’t exactly anything new (even though it was, judging by what a big deal everyone had made of it, including you two), but you found yourself appreciating once again how Shouto was the perfect person to sleep against—he regulated his body temperature exactly how you liked it and you found yourself nodding off to sleep easily in between the quiet whispers about nonsensical late night topics between you two.

The brief concern about your nightmares had completely slipped your mind at this point—you found that short naps meant that they didn’t have much time to strike and since said naps were what you were used to with him, you forgot that this was a full night ordeal. When he had first proposed the idea of a sleepover, you had thought it would be good to have someone else there to comfort you, but then felt guilty about being selfish and wondered if your reaction to the nightmares would scare him off—although you eventually pushed those thoughts to the side because no way would you turn down spending some quality time with your boyfriend, and the night of fun had led to never returning to mull over that internal conflict.

You two fell asleep at some point without even realizing it, peaceful in each other's arms—that is, until a few hours later when disaster struck because of course something just had to ruin your perfect night.

Shouto blearily blinked his eyes open, confused at the sound that reached his ears and brain slow to comprehend what exactly was going on. It took him a moment to suck in a breath to clear his mind and decipher the situation, shifting in place—that is, until his arm brushed against yours and he stilled, mind suddenly clear as it recalled the events of the last hour he had been awake. You were spending the night with him.

Carefully, he sat up, head pounding a little. He brought up a hand to rest on top of his head, fingers curling around his hair and massaging away the beginnings of a headache. And then he heard it again—the sound that had woken him up. A quiet whimper maybe?

He was back to being confused, except now his eyes were darting around the room suspiciously, ready to go on the defensive, especially because you were next to him. U.A. had a proper security system, didn't it? He shouldn't be worried. Although, then again, his mind kept returning to those thoughts of uncertainty and how villains had been able to endanger his classmates time and time again recently.

The shuffling of blankets and a sharp intake of breath had him refocused within a second and he looked down at you. Eyes now adjusted to the darkness, he could make out your face against the backdrop of his pillow, your features twisted into a troubled expression, teeth pulling on your bottom lip. Your hands gripped the blanket in a tight fist, your arms shaking a little.

You continued squirming under the blanket until you eventually kicked most of it off of you, almost as if there was someone there that you meant to hit. Your mouth curled into a silent scream, ragged breaths coming out in huffs as your chest rapidly rose and fell. He could tell you were mumbling now, voice low enough that he couldn't exactly make out what was being said—the syllables coming out in quick bursts and half formed as your focus seemed to jump from topic to topic, each of them bringing you increasing distress.

Shouto had been watching you in horrid fascination, unable to take his eyes off of you as much as his mind screamed at his body to just fucking move, but when a sliver of moonlight coming in from his window—peeking out from behind a gap in the drapes he hadn’t pulled together close enough—caught the glint of tears brimming your eyes, he was quick to react, gripping your upper arm and, as gently as he could while still being firm, shook you. "(Y/N)!" he hissed, not wanting to startle you, "Wake up, please. What's wrong?"

It took a few tries—him wanting to snap you back to consciousness right away, but also afraid of hurting you or making things worse—but before a minute had passed you were coming back to reality, forcing your eyes open as you realized the images plaguing you hadn't been real. You sat up quickly, almost bumping your head against Shouto's (not that you even noticed he was there), your breaths coming hard and fast.

You completely forgot where you were for a moment, just focusing on calming down, and it wasn't until Shouto managed a quiet, "(Y/N)?," concern clearly lacing his voice, that you whipped your head around to face him.

And then your eyes slowly traveled around the rest of the room, recalling where you were. If he hadn't been there, the unfamiliar environment probably would have made you feel alarmed when you came to and make you start wondering if you were stuck in another nightmare again.

You heard Shouto clear his throat as he looked at you curiously, and your eyes snapped back to him. Just the sight of him had your eyes watering and before you knew it, you had flung yourself into his chest, fingers finding purchase in the loose fabric of his shirt.

He easily managed to steady you two from the momentum of you crashing into him and wrapped his strong arms around you, squeezing you to him as you sobbed into his chest.

It would take a little while for him to calm you down and although he was incredibly concerned, he made sure to be the rock you needed and let you take all the time in the world to stabilize yourself.

You would probably be a little embarrassed to tell him about your dream, especially now that you were more lucid, and may even start apologizing for your behavior earlier until he cuts you off because you had every right to react as you did.

After a bit of coaxing, along with you realizing you felt comfortable around him and that you shouldn't worry about him judging you for something as trivial as this, you opened up and told Shouto about your frequent nightmares. He would play with your hands as you talked to let you know it was okay and a silent kiss—soft lips against yours—would confirm that he loved you no matter what.

Shouto wouldn’t mind staying up late into the early hours of the morning with you if you wanted to talk about what you had experienced and may even suggest that you two sneak down to the dorm kitchen and get something to eat and drink (now that was fun—teasing him by pretending to be on a spy mission and forcing him to glance around all of the corners with you, as though you were suspicious about someone catching you? absolutely gold).

Just laying together and talking because you didn’t want to go to sleep would be fine with him, even if you insisted that he should get some rest. He didn’t want you to feel bad about the situation or think that you were a burden, so he did his best to take your mind off of it.

If you wanted to stay up longer, you might watch another movie or even play a few more rounds of Uno (Kaminari, the bastard, still had Monopoly locked in his room for some reason and hadn’t returned it to the game closet—now not to say that Shouto considered leaving an anonymous tip to Iida about the blonde breaking the unwritten rules of the dorm by not returning the game as soon as he was done with it but… yeah, he definitely considered it).

Expect sleepovers to become a lot more common between you two from then on, especially after you admitted that having Shouto there made things a lot more bearable. Whether it be in your dorm or his, both of you were always open to falling asleep in each other's arms whenever the other person asked.

At your next late night hang out session, you two even played Monopoly!

(Shouto had frozen Kaminari’s feet to the ground when he saw him running towards the game closet to snag the game again, and then calmly walked off with his prize after plucking it from the shelf while Kamianri wailed in distress and tried to unstick his feet and pull them free. Shouto couldn’t help but crack a small grin to himself in victory as he walked away.)

Per your request, you two invited some of the other students to play Monopoly because it was always fun with more people (for some reason, Shouto expressly stated that Kaminari was not to be invited and while you were confused, you just shrugged and agreed, even when you heard him say something about forcing the blonde go through “Monopoly withdrawal” as a punishment—you decided not to question him on that point), and a few of those who didn’t want to play just came to watch as well.

(Midoriya was one of those who came to play and while he was glancing around the room, his eyes landed on Shouto’s desk and he squinted in confusion, scrutinizing the little deck he saw tucked in the corner.)

(“Hey, Todoroki, are those my Uno car-”)

(“Nope. Oh look, you just landed on Boardwalk and Uraraka has a hotel there. You only have $200, right?”)

(“Wha- oh, fu-”)

Shouto had to deal with his fair share of nightmares as a child and if you ever want to talk about what the latest disturbing image that had haunted you was, he’ll always be available. In turn, he feels ready to open up about his own fears to you, all while soothing away yours. Talking with him feels natural, just like anything else involving him, and not keeping everything bottled up has definitely helped you more, causing your performance both in class and out in the battlefield to improve.

Your chest definitely feels a lot lighter these days and your dark circles seem to be fading. You probably owe those to your wonderful boyfriend turned portable heater (what? he’s perfect for when you want to take naps and now that he knows about your nightmares during the night, you no longer have to explain to him why you like to sleep so frequently during the day).

Shouto is nothing short of supportive and if there’s anything you ever need to ease the nightmares and lull you off to sleep—whether it be him buying you a diffuser you saw online, getting you a custom sleeping mask, or just you needing him to whisper sweet nothings into your ear and pepper kisses along your temple to help you fall back asleep after being jolted awake again—he’s always there to provide it.

[bellamybellamyblake]

Six Years (Part 1)

Pairing:

Past/Eventual Bellamy Blake x Fem!Reader, Platonic Octavia Blake x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Octavia knew who she was now, but you couldn’t figure out what the hell you had become.

Warnings:

Some mf ANGST, themes of mental illness and addiction

Word Count:

1.2k ~roughly~

A/N:

FUCK JASON || I will write a part two if requested

It was just supposed to be a few years. Five to be spent underground, escaping the radiation-soaked earth so Praimfaya could finish ravaging the planet.

The arrangement seemed good on paper, but as soon as those steel doors closed, chaos ensued. Clan leader after clan leader came after Skairipa; everyone wanted the bunker to themselves, despite the initial decision to unite. The youngest Blake held her own, taking each of them down, spouting the same phrase after each and every one of them.

“You are Wonkru or you are the enemy of Wonkru. Choose.”

At some point, they gave in, deciding that living under someone else’s reign was better than dying bloody. It was then that a new energy seeped into the bunker, red stained the walls and ghosts lurked the halls, their reminders to choose or die. No one dared to defy her again.

Now, it felt weird to call Octavia, Octavia. That woman - the one wearing her face - that wasn’t her. That was Bloodreina; a ruthless, unforgiving dictator doing what needed to be done to keep her people alive. You and Miller were the only surviving members of the Hundred in the bunker and there wasn’t a day she didn’t ask you for your council. Along with Kane, Indra and Abby.

All that being said, as she lost more and more of herself, so did you.

Everyone could see what you were doing, why it was you and the Red Queen being judge, jury and executioner. You had seen how things were going and decided to take a page from Clarke’s book. It forced Octavia to split the load, even if she didn’t want to.

We bear it so they don’t have to.

You were doing just that when you pulled the trigger that day; but, you couldn’t stop the guilt that filled your stomach, nor the bile the crawled up your throat at the view of the light leaving that blonde girl’s eyes. You held the sobs in, only letting a few silent tears fall as Kane’s begs echoed through your ears. His attempt to beg for the life of a girl with a target between her eyes, futile.

You had a job to do and only when Bloodreina gripped your arm in support, did the two of you raise your guns.

That’s when you remembered what Lexa used to say.

Love is weakness.

Bang!

Leksa kom Trikru was the last thought you let yourself have of before. If you thought of anything or anyone else, he would slip into your mind. You knew that if he was there with you, none of this would be happening - he would stop it at all costs. That simple fact was overwhelming, leading you to sneak into the infirmary and take the same things as the doctor. You saw the stashes; she was stealing things periodically - so you started pulling from the morphine stock.

The irony didn’t escape you, but it kept you breathing. Every kill, every beating, every memory, sucked the air from your lungs. Eventually, thousands of days bled into nights and not only would he not recognize you anymore, but nobody would. It started getting harder and harder to resemble that person staring at you in the mirror; just as difficult as it was to see whatever was left of Octavia.

Then, you got caught, and the confrontation with Bloodreina was exactly what you expected. However, she was anticipating a fight - a last string of hope that maybe you weren’t all lost, that maybe you still wanted to live. When you confessed at the immediate accusation, you saw a flash of a girl you used to know in her eyes.

A flash of the girl they found hidden under the floor. A flash of the girl you held when her first love was killed in front of her. A flash of the girl that is simply a little sister and a daughter, terrified of seeing what life wanted to throw at her. A flash of Octavia. But it was just that. A flash. For Bloodreina saw no trace of the girl her brother loved, all remnants of who you were, gone.

You broke the rules again and no one, no matter the status, was to be exempt from punishment. The Red Queen knew what she had to do and within two days, you were in the fighting pit being reckless. You had no strategy and relied entirely on how well you handled the axe you grabbed at the jump.

Somehow, at today’s reaping, you and Kane ended as the final two. He stared at the crimson liquid you bathed in, the way your shoulders heaved with each breath, and the tears pooling in your eyes. The only sign you were still in there.

You had forgotten Marcus Kane. You had forgotten that the man who raised you was the man standing in front of you. Your axe was at the ready, almost to his neck, but then your father’s eyes connected to yours and you froze. With a deafening screech, the sword in his hands fell to the ground. His mouth was opened to speak, voice low and comforting - words hitting you directly in the chest.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. If this is what you want, it’s okay.”

Neither you nor Marcus noticed the commotion surrounding you, eyes locked on each other’s. It didn’t matter that a hole had opened up from the ceiling; all you could see was the absolute devastation that lived in his muddy orbs, disguised as reassurance.

It ruined you.

There was a sudden change, a ghost you had given up on ever seeing ever again stood in front of you - a torn type of resistance to his posture. He pushed himself between you and your father, your name spoken precisely and with caution. “What are you doing?”

All other thoughts of the current predicament were discarded, only one thing running through your mind. This cannot be real. Why your head decided to fuck with you now, after almost four full years of never letting him in, was what confused you. You couldn’t fathom why he looked different, he looked older. A beard adorned his face, his hair was longer and it looked like he spent the last decade exercising.

Unconsciously, your arm came down, moving the deadly weapon from play. This didn’t feel like a memory, it felt like a memory being created. You felt yourself be dumbfounded when he repeated the question from before, his voice deeper than you remember.

“Bellamy...”  The name left your lips in a breath, it tasted so foreign, one you hadn’t spoken in years; it didn’t even feel like you were the one that said it. Taking the smallest step towards him, you just wanted to feel him again. It was as if every time you had pushed him away was meaningless; your heart fluttered and the smallest bit of a wish blossomed in your chest.

But he immediately stepped away from you, something unrecognizable in his eyes - it was a look you had never seen someone wear towards you. You gazed at your father, not knowing if it was for support that you weren’t completely lost or confirmation that you had been gone for too long. You couldn’t read him anymore, and you guessed that was your answer.

It snapped you into the reality that you’ve tried to avoid at all costs.

They’re fucking scared of you.

[queenofnohr]

okay time for me to be insane about estinien unfortunately (also turns into an aias post at the like endish)

uhhhhhhhh major major spoilers for until 3.3 patch (aka post-heavensward), and pepperings of spoilers until latest patch (aka nothing spoilery for the main plot beats but side stuff will be mentioned)

the fourteenth gang teases me for my liking estinien which is fine it really is it’s affectionate like how ppl teased me for liking marx and we all drag each other for our favs BUT the thing is the thing is the thing is

they seem to not understand what the real actual appeal is for me LOL like i do not like him because he’s a brooding loner or grumpy or whatever - in general that’s not. my character type. as you all know. (but also i know that’s a Whole Thing and ppl do like that shit! like i get it i understand the appeal no hate no shade)

estinien makes me fucking insane because he just. cant. help himself.

he wants to be a loner he thinks the only thing he’s good for is being a spear to kill things he thinks that the only way to end strife is to stab it until it dies. because it’s all he’s ever known. the thought that there is a third option that isn’t “stab the thing causing problems or die trying”, the fact that saving and being saved is an option isn’t something that, like, occurs to him naturally. 

but at the end of the day, he can’t help himself. he can’t help but hope.

as much as he regards ysayle’s wish to parley with the dravanians as absurdity and an exercise in futility, even still, before he truly knows the meaning of salvation, he agrees to go on such a journey.

and heavensward is an expansion where nothing is saved! estinien is right and parleying with the dravanians does nothing and he has to kill nidhogg anyway. aymeric tries to reach out to his father for hope of a better world, and is rebuked. what is saved is you, the warrior of light, and it is only with sacrifice, only with death. salvation is ever out of reach, again and again and again. and so when estinien is consumed by nidhogg’s eyes, when the man who is an embodiment of this creed - that nothing can be saved, not in the way you want it to, not without blood - is taken beyond the pale as an adversary....... 

saving him is not just a means to an end, but spitting in the face of that fate. and so the man who could not - would not - believe in salvation becomes the foremost face of it. and perhaps im just hyped up on my fate zero/UBW juice but i really believe that it was not only estinien that was saved in that moment. that being able to pull man from monster, being able to save even a single soul in a way that was tangible, in a way that felt more real than “gotta save the city/eorzea/world,” the WoL was also saved.

and i’ve sortaaaaaa gotten off track on talking abt heavensward’s themes as a whole but pulling it back to estinien.

there is something just. so immensely fragile there. in that want to hope. in the knowledge that he was saved, despite everything. it seems too much for the hardened heart to take.

and when he goes from his hospital bed, he leaves... not on a journey of “discovery of the self” but of “remembrance to those who made the self”. he’s actually....... ridiculously tenderhearted. he’s someone who can’t let go. he gives flowers for his home, and to ysayle and to haurchefant, a man he only knew for the briefest amount of time. he gives flowers in ratatoskr’s memory. he names his spear nidhogg and his new armor iceheart. because he can’t let go.

and i think. i think that’s what separates him from a lot of revenge oriented characters. at the end of the day what ends up defining him is not his lust for vengeance but the things he keeps quietly in his heart.

of course it all cumulates in him eventually joining the scions, but that’s just the logical end, isn’t it? he can no longer refuse an invitation because even if he constantly reminds you that there are some things that cannot be saved, even if he is there, ready, with his spear drawn, just in case the scion’s way does not work - even so it is palpable, his wish to see you succeed

and so (ABRUPTLY SWITCHES GEARS)

i cannot speak for any other warrior of light but for Aias at least....... Of course Estinien is the choice to sub in for the WoL in shadowbringers. how could it be otherwise? not because of his power, or that he is able to do things in the same way the WoL can, but....... because they are two sides of a coin. two halves of a whole. in saving one, the other was saved. Because the dragoon lore is canonical to Aias, and because of Aias’s little oopsie whoopsie corruption arc as a paladin, they have both saved each other twice - equal in every measure.

To each other they are the proof of salvation - not only that they can be saved, but that they have the power to save something. To Aias, Estinien is the continuation. The man he can hand his lance to should he fall. To Estinien, Aias is where he can lay his lance to rest. His hope for a better future.

Aias was chosen as the co-Azure Dragoon not because of any innate talent (or blatant like “Because You Are The Protagonist, So” not that the narrative ever really acknowledges it LMAO). it is because he and estinien are a fated pair. it is because what is true of one, must be true of the other. 

[eorzean-tale]

Temporary Escape

Menphina still dominated the sky when he woke, and he rose silently as to not wake the ever vigilant Sahali from her own slumber. They had chosen to sleep just outside the town’s borders, the oppressive stone of the city being too much to bear after two moons of it already in Ishgard. He hadn’t bothered taking off most of his armour the eve before, so it only took him minutes to be ready. Minutes he’d definitely need if he was to be gone before Azeyma rose from her slumber - the moment when all Golden Vipers would wake to greet her. The entire two of them that were left. All the older serpent would find of him was the note he left behind - one promising he’d be back in a few suns.

He knew he shouldn’t go at all, knew his duty was here even if he still did not understand why. Rkah had expected an organized band of adventurers, of troublemakers, but they only seemed loose-knit at best. Like strangers to one another, who didn’t stand for anything as a group. The tia had to admit that the Conjurer who set their feet on this path probably got exactly what he wanted - now that they were away from the place that had bound them in a common purpose, the Unsung seemed to have lost all sense of cohesion, no longer forming any kind of threat to the status quo with just the occasional strong opinion the only exception. Those opinions weren’t worth much though, without anyone else to back them up.

And yet, something still gnawed on him, ate at his resolve from the inside out. He wasn’t one to linger on feelings of rejection and regret, but with nothing of note occupying his mind he found himself more and more the victim of uncharacteristic bouts of melancholy. The Seeker man had always felt things with unbridled intensity, but on occasion that passion for life turned against him. Rkah had felt it when the Elezen lord he had grown fond of, admittedly more than he should have for the short time they had known each other, had shut him out, and he felt it again when the Hyur woman he felt a kinship with had rejected a part of him he couldn’t change even if he wanted to.

The cities were just a stop on his journey, but they were not his home.

Except, maybe… He made it to the aetheryte, paying its fee to a nearby sleepy-looking attendee, then focused his being into the stream. Travelling like this didn’t sit well with him, though he could not really explain why. Perhaps his superstitious side couldn’t fathom coming out of the sea of aether without leaving at least something behind, or maybe it just felt a bit like cheating to a man from a nomadic tribe. Back when he still had his own people around him, their journeys took more than a Twelvemoon to complete. Only to then be taken again in the other direction. Rkah remembered spending more time on the road than anywhere else, and it was where he still felt most at home. 

Unfortunately he couldn’t spare the time it would take to go on foot, or even by chocobo. He appeared in the dry heat of Camp Drybone just as Azeyma rose up from her slumber, ready to welcome to Goddess with his arms outspread. And then all he had to do was find a comfortable place in the warm sun, and wait.

Cocoshan arrived first. The old Lalafell preferred to scout things out before the rest of them had a chance to catch up, but seeing Rkah standing there being his usual smug self, arms crossed as he lazily leaned against the wall, a shit-eating grin on his face made him curse.

“Well toss me over your shoulder and marry me off to a goblin,” he grumbled. “You were still listening to the linkpearl then?” The man did his best to look gruff, but Rkah knew him well enough to know that he was glad to see him. Instead of answering, the Miqo’te tia took a few brisk steps to close the distance between them, to clasp the small man’s arm in a brotherly manner. 

“If I married you off to a goblin, every Lalafell lass twixt here and the known world would weep in sorrow, old friend. It’s good to see you.” 

Cocoshan was about to warn him, but the whip crack voice of Blazing Horizon beat him to it. Their Roegadyn Flame Captain had arrived, and she needed no explanation to know what was going on.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

L’rkah visibly flinched, and his black-tipped ears lowered as he turned to face the imposing woman, her eyes as blazing as her name as she looked down on him. Shit, he thought. He hadn’t expected her to be on this mission. The tia had been pretty confident that his buddies would need little convincing to let him come with them - the chatter over the linkpearl had been grim with tales of most of his squadron being too wounded to be on active duty after their last assignment had gone awry. 

“You need me,” he countered as the two others under her command still able to fight arrived. Wyat - an Ala Mhigan thaumathurge that only looked small when standing next to Blazing Horizon’s imposing form, and Lina - a former Conjurer who had left the Fane behind her a long time ago. The both of them looked both surprised and happy to see him, though one glance at their commander told them that this was not something she had ordered without telling them, and the mood shifted to awkward shuffling as they waited for her to chew his ears off.

And then all eyes were on her, as she sighed and simply nodded. “Very well.”

Wyat whistled low, the sound conveying the sense of shock they all felt much better than words ever could. They’re in more trouble than I thought, Rkah silently thought to himself, a pang of guilt clumping around his heart. He was just one guy, and even had he been present he couldn’t have prevented the odds turning against them, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault somehow. If he wasn’t out there frolicking with the Unsung, then maybe…

There was no time to wallow in misplaced feelings of guilt, though. After a short but warm welcome by his fellow Flames they were off.

---

Several days later, a group of tired men and women returned to Drybone. The nature of their particular work never really left them with a feeling of pride or victory after one of their missions, but someone needed to do what they did. There was honour in that duty, even if it left them with no joy, and there was camaraderie in their shared experiences. Lina was walking between Rkah and Wyat, her arms hooked into theirs, while Blazing and Coco walked a little ahead of them. 

The tia closed his golden eyes and sighed. He was tired, dirty, and his heart was heavy, but he felt good. He felt like he belonged, that he was a part of something. It was over too soon for his liking, but there was nothing he could do to keep them here. Hugs and well-wishes were exchanged, and before he knew it Rkah was alone with his captain, who had crossed her arms to make her glare look extra intimidating.

The man tried one of his grins, which earned him a quick slap on the back of the head. It hurt his pride more than anything, but the message was still clear: cut the crap. 

“Tell me why you came here, and none of this ‘you need me’ crap or so help me,” she ordered briskly as she looked him up and down. Over the years she had learned his body language well, and Blazing knew that his ears and tail would always betray his lies. At best, he could omit truths, but outright lying to his insightful captain was an exercise in futility.

“It’s driving me up the curtains,” Rkah started, but paused again. She wasn’t the type of woman who would respond well to what she deemed as whining, so he had to make sure his tone was neutral. “This mission of mine is a farce. The Unsung these suns aren’t the same as those that got in trouble - for the most part, and a Moogle could deliver these let..”

Blazing Horizon cut him off: “That was the duty you were given, and so you’ll see it through.” The woman kept talking, not giving him a chance to argue. “You need to step up, L’rkah. And think - if what is out in the open isn’t worthy of a Flame to waste his time on, then what else might be going on?” 

Rkah didn’t need to ponder that question, he had already done so many times in the past few moons. “Either I did something so heinous that they want me out of the way - which I would know about. Or..” He sighed, closing his eyes. “...Or they are testing me.” Blazing didn’t nod or give any other indication that she thought he was right. He already knew that. 

“And if I don’t want to be groomed for command? I like serving under you. I’m… happy here.”

That made her take her turn to sigh, the sound full of regret and resolve at the same time. “Doesn’t matter much, does it? Do me proud, Rkah,” she urged him in as gentle a tone as she ever spoke, clasping his shoulder. “Show these arsehats that you’re worth consideration, or screw it up so badly that they’ll hang you for being an embarrassment to the uniform or some such blabber.” When she grinned like that, she was the most beautiful woman he knew, Rkah thought as he mirrored the expression. The moment was short lived, and she briefly petted his shoulder before walking to the aetheryte. 

“No more sneaking off, Flame,” she commanded in a tone that would tolerate no backtalk, and just like that she was gone again. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered to where she had been, before he focused and vanished himself.

[vex-bittys]

Undertale Interactive Dating: Final Round (Bonus: Papby Kiss)

Note: This is for @sesurescue who spent the entire Dating Event trying to secure a smooch from Classic Papyrus (which never happened) and also loves the Papyrus and Grillby ship.

Papyrus frowns when his brother and the human disappear. In his opinion, teleportation is the laziest form of travel. He glances back at his abandoned X and O puzzle. It’s not going to solve itself, that’s for sure. He could simply use the switches to deactivate the spikes blocking the way, but that’s not his style.

The tall and very lonely skeleton walks through all three versions of the puzzle, turning every blue X into a red O to check that the mechanisms are working because he is thorough of course and not at all because he dreads going back into town alone. He hates going to Grillby’s by himself and seeing all of the real Royal Guards crowded around their table, laughing and playing cards, but a nice cold milkshake would sure hit the spot right about now.

Besides, it beat returning to a dark and empty house….

Stepping through the door to Grillby’s bar and Restaurant and seeing the Snowdin Royal Guard talking, laughing, and playing cards at their usual table only serves to rekindle the anxiety that Papyrus tries so hard to cover with boisterousness. The group of armored dogs reminds Papyrus of his shortcomings yet again. Not only is he not a Royal Guard, but you chose Sans over his carefully crafted puzzles!

Furthermore, how can the Great Papyrus bring himself to capture a human if the rest of them are even half as charming as you were? Papyrus slumps onto a barstool with a heavy sigh, and Grillby hurries over, sensing his friend’s distress even through Papyrus straightens and plasters a smile back on his face a moment later.

Grillby pulls oven mitts from underneath the counter to cover his hands while he scoops ice cream into a blender. “Hard day?” he asks Papyrus quietly. Very few monsters have heard Grillby speak. He prefers nonverbal communication with almost everyone except for a lucky few, including the skeleton brothers of Snowdin… and especially Papyrus.

Papyrus nods glumly in response to Grillby’s inquiry. Grillby hovers nearby after placing the milkshake in front of the skeleton monster. He has his suspicions about what is bothering Papyrus, but he waits for his friend to speak first, not wanting to bring up uncomfortable topics unless Papyrus truly wants to talk about it.

Papyrus pulls his favorite MTT-brand crazy straw with attached MTT figurine out of his pocket. He would never drink his milkshake with a regular straw, and the normalcy of the action makes Grillby smile.

“EVERYTHING COMES EASILY FOR SANS EVEN THOUGH HE NEVER APPLIES HIMSELF. THAT LAZYBONES GAINS FRIENDS AND STATUS WITHOUT EVEN TRYING,” Papyrus proclaims. “NOT THAT A HERO LIKE MYSELF WOULD EVER FEEL JEALOUS OF HIS OWN BROTHER’S SUCCESS.”

Papyrus pauses to slurp loudly at his milkshake. Grillby nods, encouraging him to continue.

“I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SHOULD BE RESPECTED AND ADORED. I SHOULD ALSO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY!” Papyrus finishes, blowing dejected bubbles into the melty bits of his milkshake.

“Still nobody willing to criticize your spaghetti?” Grillby asks knowingly, refilling the milkshake glass.

“THOUGH IT SEEMS TO BE AN EXERCISE IN FUTILITY (THE ONLY TYPE OF EXERCISE THAT I AM OPPOSED TO!), I HAVE DONE EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO MAKE THE SPAGHETTI AS UNPALATABLE AS POSSIBLE, YET UNDYNE AND SANS EAT EVERY NEW, HORRENDOUS PLATE OF THE ABOMINABLE PASTA WITH A SMILE AND TELL ME HOW DELICIOUS IT IS. I EVEN TRIED PUTTING OLD BANANA PEELS IN IT!”

“I’m glad you brought me some of your spaghetti to taste or you’d still think Undyne’s rather unconventional methods were the correct way to prepare it. Honestly, though, I’ve actually come to quite enjoy our late-night cooking sessions, and those wouldn’t have been possible without her.” Fortunately, as a fire elemental, Grillby’s very nature hides any signs of the blush forming at his admission.

“I CHERISH OUR COOKING LESSONS AS WELL! YOU ACTUALLY TEACH ME THINGS! UNDYNE AND I HAVE FUN DURING OUR TRAINING, DON’T GET ME WRONG. I AM RARELY WRONG, AFTER ALL. I DOUBT ANY OF THOSE RAUCOUS, ROWDY RUFFIANS HAD TO WORK SO HARD TO BECOME GUARDS. IT’S ALL JUST A PUP-ULARITY CONTEST.”

Grillby snorts at Papyrus’s clever puns. These complaints are nothing new. Papyrus works so hard with no reward for his efforts. His brother and best friend coddle him, believing they know best, but in reality they themselves cause quite a bit of the hardship in his life. Papyrus always maintains a facade of joviality and self-confidence, but Grillby knows the truth because he actually listens to the skeleton monster. Papyrus wants more from his life. He deserves more.

“AND THE WORST PART IS THAT EVERYONE WANTS TO PET THEM JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE DOGS!” Papyrus is on a roll now. “DOES EVERYONE THINK SKELETONS DON’T WANT TO BE PET? WE ARE INCREDIBLY SOFT AND HAVE A MARSHMALLOW-ESQUE SQUISHINESS!”

“Well, do you?” asks Grillby. “Want to be pet, I mean…” He shouldn’t ask, but just this one time, Grillby can’t resist.

“OF COURSE!” Papyrus responds eagerly though his SOUL is fluttering in his ribcage under his battle body. Is Grillby really going to pet him, or is the bartender just humoring him?

Holding his breath, Grillby reaches out slowly, unable to believe that he’s actually doing this. Sure, he and Papyrus have touched before, but never in such a deliberately intimate way. Accidental hand touches don’t count, even if Grillby sometimes initiates those on purpose too. The fire elemental lays his hand against Papyrus’s smooth cheekbone and strokes it reverently.

Papyrus leans into the warmth of Grillby’s touch, rubbing his cheek affectionately against the hand petting him. Grillby is naturally hot, yet he still feels the heat emanating from Papyrus’s bones. The smooth bone and the warmth it exudes combine to make Papyrus’s cheek feel very soft and squishable indeed. Surprisingly, Papyrus’s bones rattle gently, and he emits a sound that resembles a purr, flustering Grillby to no end.

Grillby pulls his hand away, blushing furiously beneath his flames, sure he’s gone too far and extremely embarrassed at his own boldness. Papyrus simply narrows his sockets, an idea forming in his mind. He clears his proverbial throat, not sure he should be so reckless… but he is the Great Papyrus, and the Great Papyrus never falters even when he doesn’t have his trusty Dating Manual to assist his flirting.

“SANS EVEN RECEIVED A KISS FROM SOMEONE TODAY! ISN’T THE GREAT PAPYRUS EQUALLY DESERVING OF SMOOCHES? PERHAPS EVEN MORESO!” Papyrus waits expectantly.

Grillby wonders if he has dusted and fallen into some alternate universe where all of his secret daydreams have become a reality. “Of course,” Grillby says, echoing Papyrus’s earlier declaration with the very same flutter in his SOUL.

Is that a faint orange blush across Papyrus’s cheekbones? wonders Grillby, leaning in. It is! Could this mean that Papyrus feels the same way that he does? This is really happening; he is really mere inches away from kissing Papyrus!

Papyrus leans forward to meet him, and Grillby presses his fiery mouth to Papyrus’s teeth which quickly part, deepening the kiss. It appears that fire elementals aren’t the only monsters that can manipulate their magic to form tongues. The skeleton tastes of milkshakes and midnights dotted with millions of twinkling diamond stars. Both monsters close their eyes, letting their surroundings fade away around them and sinking into utter bliss.

Papyrus’s troubles have never been further from his mind, and Grillby’s hopes and dreams have never been closer than in this moment- the first of many in the future stretching out before them.

[ Return to main story. ][ Underfell Grillby BONUS ][ Swapfell Papyrus BONUS ]

INDEX | Read on AO3

[flatbellyfixpro-blog]

Flat Belly Fix Review: Todd Lamb Program scam or not?

Are you attempting to eliminate that giant tummy or belly, as the others refer to it as, without results?  It is a fact that a number of people at occasions find ourselves with a huge overhanging belly which we'd give almost anything to be reduced.

Gluttonous men and women would be the kind who're most commonly connected with large bellies and thus you want no such blamed here.

Are you cheated inside an effort to locate a program or product that might help you trim your belly?  You've given a lot of tries in lessening the belly many of which, if not completely, have demonstrated futile.

The few that might have appeared to operate might have achieved this just temporarily.  Worry forget about if you're this kind of person.  The merchandise I will review will be of the even greater interest for you.

To bulk of of individuals, weight loss, especially after age 35 is really a tough challenge.  Body fat through these people includes a tendency of accumulating within the hip, stomach and leg regions therefore, the struggle in removing it.

Though you might be following suggestions about eating easily from physicians and exercising regularly, usually this is not sufficient in helping eliminate stubborn belly fat.  It is cellular eliminating this exact persistent stomach fat which I provide you with The 21 Day Flat Belly Fix System.

Made by Todd Lamb, an older SWAT people along with a fitness pro, The Flat Belly Fix is a truly comprehensive, well researched program that's been produced to assist individuals those that are fighting to lose weight especially round the thighs, sides and stomach.  Should you adhere to the methods that Todd has provided within this program, you'll have the ability to lose up to 23 pounds.  The 21 Day Flat Belly Fix System will emphasize a distinctive fat loss spice plus another fat loss product that might be easily available in the regional groceries and can help you shed weight naturally and inside a short time.  Additionally to that , the writer has also shared a distinctive flat tummy tea you might easily prepare inside your kitchen that will allow you to slim down in addition to relive symptoms and signs of diabetes type 2.  Moreover, you will get a a few minutes video routine which you can utilize as helpful tips for burn belly fat.

The best challenge that many those who are fighting to lose weight face is not knowing how to get started.  The program will highlight whether or not to begin and walk along with you through the journey.

The program is divided into three components.  Part one inside the introduction section which will inform you advice about how to get started in your weight reduction travel.  The opening thing about this program may also enlighten on kinds of nutrients you will need to include in what you eat to help curb your appetite in addition to enhance your metabolism.

The 2nd portion of the program is known as the diet plan manual.  Here, the writer can have what you ought to do to be able to effectively eliminate toxins which have accrued inside your own body and harmful food seeing urge the body to get rid of fat.  The writer has shared additional information that might help you shed unwanted weight inside a short time.  You're likely to get to understand nutritional changes you want to make to improve your gastrointestinal tract and eliminate persistent stomach fatloss

The 3rd portion of the program is known as the exercise manual.  Within this section, the writer provides a overview of exercises you need to do to shed weight.  All exercises he has outlined within this program don't need complicated exercise tools to have the ability to perform.  They might be easily performed both in home and inside a short time.  The writer offers array of exercises meaning you have a lot of choices to pick from.

Does Flat Belly Fix Program Works?

The system, The 21 Day Flat Belly Fix System is not by run a detailed program on diet.  Neither might be the program a step-by-step guide that can get you daily, hour by hour inside your weight reduction travel.

What it's, is more like an accumulation of methods, hints and techniques that you're able to utilize to commence quick as you possibly can weight loss.

It has been in a position to cite a great deal of testimonials from customers who give reviews that are favorable such as getting lost half to 1 whole pound normally every single day for 3 days.  For the customers, the normal weight lost ranged between 10 and 25 pounds.

It is clear that the significant weight is shed inside a short time period.  To have the ability to give help to you inside the accomplishment of individuals successful objectives in weight loss. To know more visit: https://myflatbellyovernight.com/

Conclusion of The Flat Belly Fix System

The Flat Belly Fix includes some tips and methods to help you burn fats quicker.  If you're among individuals who've been fighting to reduce individuals unwanted weight to get a significant lengthy time now then your program can supply you with a superb beginning with regular exercises along with a fitness regime.  Moreover, you need to maintain a healthy diet to improve your natural capacity of burning fats.

Case a course that might help give you the ideal boost you need to lose belly fat along with the 2 month money-back guarantee coverage it's completely risk-free to do this item.  Ensure you read the whole particulars about the merchandise using their official site before ordering the merchandise.

The 21 Day Flat Belly Fix System will be a great value in the normal cost or perhaps at two times from the normal price, in addition to the reduction price of $27 it can not be beat.  I really hope Todd Lamb don't increase or twice the amount cost in the not too distant future.

[welcometophu]

Not Your Love Song: Chapter 20

Marked Book 2: Not Your Love Song

Chapter 20

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Are you coming to Coven?

Rory toys with his phone, scrolling back and forth through his conversation with Kit. The last message he’d sent lingers, unanswered. They’d been talking earlier, while Rory was between classes. Nothing important, just talking about life and schoolwork and things that they were doing. Last he knew Kit had planned to be at Coven to work with him and Shane on finalizing the details of their ritual for Wednesday, even if they hadn’t talked about it specifically today.

But Rory’s at Coven, and Pawel’s done talking. People are getting snacks and signing up to participate in a spring ritual in six weeks. Kit’s still not there.

Shane leans on his crutches, his bag on his back and a plate carefully balanced in one hand. He shifts, and one crutch nudges Rory’s ankle. “Move outside?” he asks. “Jess is just finishing up with a study group downstairs and is bringing up her leftover fries.” He hesitates, then offers, “She swears they haven’t touched any meat, if you’re interested in sharing.”

“I’ll meet you outside. Go find a table,” Rory agrees. He takes his time, tapping out another message to Kit before locking his phone. Shane and I are working on the ritual if you want to stop by. Jess is bringing fries. I’d be up for a cheese pizza if you’re interested.

He doesn’t expect a response, and it pricks at the back of his neck how disappointed he is in that. He rubs a hand across the nape of his neck, shakes his head, and shoves his phone deep in his pocket. It’s not important, and it doesn’t mean anything. Kit does have a life outside of hanging out with them, and outside of this ritual.

Like Serina.

Maybe that’s going better again. Which would explain both why Kit’s not here, and why he hasn’t been questioning everything when talking to Rory.

He grabs his bag, almost bumping into someone as he straightens up. “Pels,” Rory says, putting out a hand to steady her.

She’s tiny, compared to him. Her dark eyes squint, brow furrowed, as she stares up at him. Arms crossed, hands tucked in against her sides, she looks as if she’s trying to armor herself against the world.

“I’m not dangerous,” Rory says.

Pels huffs. “I didn’t think you were. I just want to know why you’re important. It’s frustrating knowing I have to be here, and not knowing why.”

Rory blinks. “I… don’t know the answer to that.”

A small smile, and she unwinds enough to free her hands. She drags one hand through her loose curls, pulling them back from her face before she twists a finger in one, tugging at the strand while she regards him.

On anyone else, Rory might think she was flirting, but her gaze is too calculating.

It’s also not on him. It’s on something just behind him.

He turns, but nothing’s there, other than the snack table in the distance, and Pawel talking to one of the seniors.

“What?” he asks, turning back to her.

“I don’t know,” she says plainly. “He won’t tell me. And you don’t know, which is honestly making this an exercise in futility. There’s nothing I can do here. I’m not like you.”

“A Mage,” Rory clarifies.

“Exactly.”

They stay that way, staring at each other, until Rory wonders if she has a crick in her neck from looking up. She doesn’t even come up to his shoulder, her build slight and frame narrow. She takes a step back, chin narrowing, and sighs in a long, drawn out breath. “It’ll make sense eventually. It always does. At least I haven’t been thrown out yet. On the other hand, there’s still time for that, too.” She pauses, lips pursing in sudden irritation. “Oh shut up, you know you’re a pain in the ass, and no,” she gets one finger in the air. “Don’t even say that. I’m an adult, and you’re still here, and what do you think I’m going to tell them? Honestly. It’s like you don’t remember what the real world’s like.”

Rory closes his mouth, all too aware that he’s gaping at her and that’s not polite. He licks his lips, tries to find words.

Pels wrinkles her nose. “And that’s why I don’t talk to people. It’s easier.” She reaches down to where her bag lies on the floor, grips the handles with both hands. When she tugs, it seems to resist, sliding on the floor away from her a few inches before she yanks it so hard that it knocks into her knees. She exhales in a rush, and gets the bag over both shoulders quickly.

Rory swears he sees the bag trying to pull her back while she walks away, muttering under her breath.

That was… weird. Even for Coven.

He follows her out of the room, as she threads her way past people, deftly avoiding them. She stalks past the table where Shane and Jess sit, a huge paper bowl brimming with fries in front of them. Jess looks up as she goes and raises a hand in greeting, but Pels doesn’t even look.

Jess’s hand falls back against the table; her mouth twists. “She’s cute,” she says. “And she has no idea I exist.”

“Don’t go crushing on straight girls.” Shane covers Jess’s hand with his. “That way lies heartbreak.” His thumb strokes along the side of her fingers, and she turns her hand over to meet him palm to palm, and squeezes.

“What makes you so sure she’s straight?” Jess asks. She untangles her hand, leans on the table with her elbows, chin on her hands. “Rory,” she says.

He takes the seat across from Shane, leaving the remaining outermost chair in case Kit joins them. “Yeah?”

“Ketchup, malt vinegar, barbecue sauce, and a blend of mustard, mayo, and ketchup for the weirdo,” Shane says, nudging a quartet of little pots toward him.

Rory takes a fry and dips it in ketchup.

“I’m not weird.” Jess tilts her elbow, knocking Shane’s arm before it falls back to the table. Rory can see why Kit calls her a mountain. It’s not because she’s tall and broad, even though she is. Her shoulders are wider than Rory’s, and he’s pretty sure she could bench press him if she tried. But she’s also stable in a way that he can’t really define, like he can feel that steady energy holding her down to the ground. She’s the definition of an earth spirit.

“What?” Rory says, encouraging her since she’s still staring at him, like he’s going to answer a question she hasn’t asked.

“You live on the same floor as Pels, right? What can you tell me about her?” Jess asks.

Oh, that.

“I don’t know if she’s into girls.” Rory leads with that, since he’s pretty sure that’s the most important question on Jess’s mind. “I can’t even figure out if she likes people. She’s quiet to everyone else, mostly talks to herself, or to someone that we don’t see; I’m really not sure what’s going on there. Compared to her roommates, she’s invisible. Jennifer and Nikita fight constantly—it’s epic. Pels just isn’t there most of the time. I can’t really blame her.”

“I thought you liked Nikita.” Shane gestures with a fry at the door to the room for Coven. Nikita had been there earlier, hanging out on the fringes with Heather. Rory’s pretty sure he saw them both slip out as soon as the meeting part had ended.

“I do.” As soon as Rory eats the first fry he realizes just how hungry he is. Fries and ketchup aren’t a substitute for a healthy dinner, but they’re filling, and they definitely are comfort food. He grabs a handful, and dips them one by one before shoving each one in his mouth. “I don’t really know Jennifer,” he says around the fries. “I think she and Nik kind of divided the floor. Some people are Jennifer’s friends, some are Nik’s, and Pels is just her own person.”

“She’s still really cute.” Jess gazes off into the distance, almost smiling. “One of these days she’s going to be paying attention long enough for me to ask her out.”

“I’ll be cheering you on,” Shane says, leaning into her, shoulder to shoulder. He nudges the basket of fries closer to Rory, grabs a notebook from his bag. “Where’s Kit? Aren’t we supposed to be finishing up our plans for tomorrow night?”

Rory shrugs. He pulls out his phone as if the conversation might’ve changed, but the last two messages still linger, unanswered. “He must have gotten busy. Carolyn wasn’t here tonight; maybe he’s with her.” He doesn’t know her well enough to start texting her. “Or maybe he’s distracted by Serina.”

Shane snorts, then grins. “Okay, that’s a good reason.”

Rory bristles with irritation. “No, actually, it’s not. This is important to Darrik, and we don’t get to go in tomorrow and screw it up. I’m not sure we’ll get another chance if this doesn’t go right tomorrow, and Kit’s made himself into a lynchpin for the whole ritual.” Rory presses his lips together, irritated at how quickly the words spilled out before he could bite them back.

“He’ll be there tomorrow,” Shane says quietly. “No one’s going to screw this up for you or for Darrik. You guys were kind of cute together when we all went out.”

“He’s adorable, isn’t he, in an older guy kind of way?” Jess muses. “Not that he’s my type, but I can see why you like him.”

“It’s not like that.” It feels like this conversation has slipped sideways, out of Rory’s control. Irritation and frustration prickle under his skin, and he taps the table. Eyes close, and he finds a beat in his fingertips—the same one Stormy tapped out that’s been bugging him since Sunday. Let me run, let me run, let me fly high, fly away. Let my heart beat in sync with your own.

That’s new.

Rory opens up a note on his phone, types in the lyrics before they can escape. He taps out the beat one more time, making sure it works with the words, not sure of the tune yet, possibly something almost monotone with a little bit of flare. Upbeat, rolling. He can feel it, just out of reach.

“It almost looks like magic when you do that,” Jess murmurs.

Rory’s gaze snaps to meet hers, phone lowering. “It’s not. It’s just—” He waves a hand at his head, not really able to explain.

“Creativity,” she says. “I get it, as much as an absolutely non-creative person can.”

“You do this thing when you’re mathing,” Shane tells her, and a flush spreads under the freckles on her cheeks. “You do,” he insists. “You go off into this other world, like you’re calculating what happens when pi mates with imaginary numbers.”

Rory snorts. Jess’s flush deepens.

“It’s not exactly like that. But math is kind of like magic, I guess. I mean, there’s a ritual to it, right?” Jess says. “We do things a particular way, and we get a particular result. And that’s what music’s like, too, only sometimes you do things in a new way, to see how the result changes. The difference is that with math, we should be able to predict that result.”

“Is that still true in a world where magic exists?” Shane asks.

Jess sits upright, mouth slightly open. She blinks, tilts her head. “Um.”

“Magic has rules,” Rory counters. “So does music. There are computers that make music.”

“It’s nothing like music made by people, though,” Shane points out. “Would you think a computer could create the same kind of lyrics and tunes that you do? Or is there some kind of leap that happens, that’s beyond predictable? And when we do magic, we plan everything out. But there’s still this spark, this essence of ourselves that we put it into it.” He twists his arm, shows the faded grey watercolor of his soul mark. “There’s chaos, sometimes. Unexpected results.”

Jess’s gaze drops to Shane’s mark, then she shifts to look at Rory. He doesn’t think about it, just lays his own arm on the table, wrist up, so she can see his own ink. Splotchy and unexpected, but still there and caused by ritual.

Absolutely unplanned, and not really wanted.

Jess shoots to her feet. “I need to go. I have—idea,” she stumbles through the words. She pats Shane’s shoulder, leans over to kiss Rory on the cheek and pulls back just before touching him. “No. Wait. That was wrong.” She pats Rory’s hand, kisses Shane’s cheek. “Chaos,” she says. “But it still has to be ordered. Somehow. There’s chaos in the marks, and in the ritual, and there’s math, and oh shit, I need to go write this—it’s like music. Right?”

She takes a step backwards, then rocks forward to grip their wrists, thumbs touching them both. She stares intently, and Rory swears she’s holding on so tight she has to feel his heart thumping against her touch. Then she drops them both so fast that Rory’s knuckles knock against the wood of the table. “I have to go,” she says, and walks quickly away.

Shane tilts slightly, looks down. “She left her bag.”

“I’ll help you carry it back to your dorm, if you want,” Rory offers. “You’ve got enough to carry already, hiking back there with your own.” And it doesn’t seem like they’re going to get much done tonight as it is. “I don’t really know what just happened.”

“It’s like when you just zoned out,” Shane waves a hand at the table—at Rory and his phone—before leaning back. He tilts the chair, and it wavers, and for a moment Rory worries that he’ll tilt over and crack his head on the chair behind him. Then it steadies, and Shane finds balance. “Jess gets these things where she has an idea. She’s a genius when it comes to math, really. If she starts studying us like a research subject, though, I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

“Magic as math?” It doesn’t sound all that far off to Rory. He’s thought about it like music before, like creating a song that has to grow and reach an appropriate crescendo before it resolves. And people say music and math are intertwined, although Rory has never felt the same way about math as he does about music. So it could work. Maybe.

“If she’s looking for a research project, I bet Pawel would love it.” Rory glances at the room, but almost everyone’s filtered out by now, and he’s pretty sure Pawel is long gone. “He’s always interested in the intersection of magic and the other parts of the world. And if there’s something tangible—some way to predict Emergence—” He’s not sure how to finish that sentence, other than it would change everything.

He’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing, actually.

Rory slumps back, brow furrowed.

Shane nods. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he says quietly. “It’d make magic real for all the people who still don’t get it. And it’d make it so they’d know how to find us. All of us. Even the people who are still in the closet with their Talent, maybe even for good reason.”

“Are you going to talk her out of whatever she’s thinking?”

A low laugh as Shane shrugs. “Don’t think I could. I guess the question is, is there really all that much logic to it, or in the end, is chaos enough of a factor to make magic ungraphable?”

That’s enough of that. This has the potential to go down some dark paths that Rory really doesn’t want to consider, and they do have a ritual for the next day. He pulls out a notebook, opens it up and flips to the page where he’s been making notes as he, Kit, and Shane have been talking in their group chat. He circles one of his notes, and turns the notebook around, pushing it toward Shane. “We’ll just have to work on this without Kit, because we have to be ready,” he says.

Shane meets his gaze as he takes the notebook, expression sober. He nods once, and lets the subject shift. Rory’s grateful for that, at least.

Tomorrow’s important, and he really needs everything to go right. He wants to give Darrik his closure.

[ Previous | First | Next ]

[migstheruler]

Gains Gaming

Gains Gaming is a gaming alternative style which incorporates working out and gaming. Every time the player dies, they perform reps of an exercise (you get to choose the exercise).  For instance, I am currently playing Death's Door, a fun game by Acid Nerve (they also created titan souls). Every time I die, I do some type exercise, be it: 10 push-ups, 10 sit-ups, 10 pull-ups (or attempt to)..etc. With Gains Gaming, there is no true loss because even though you lose, through "Gains Gaming", you gain. Like the video game characters we play as, we must continue to become stronger to face any challenge we meet.

Stuck on a boss, every time you lose, do some exercise.  Gamers may feel intense stress when gaming, especially when losing and not doing well, leading to feelings of hopelessness, stress and/or futility which may cause your body to release cortisol into your blood stream. How many times have you said to yourself, "Ugh, I don’t know if I can beat this boss."

Gains Gaming seeks to incorporate healthy physical activity into gaming. We know that exercise is proven to improve one's mood via a release of endorphins. Physical activity may also assist in improving your mood, and acumen leading to out-of-the-box thinking which may be just the tool you need to vanquish the foe or foes impeding your progress.  

Want to try? All you have to do is, commit to performing exercise after each player death. Start off small, 10 push-ups, 10 sit-ups, and try to incorporate other exercises if you get bored of push-ups or sit-ups. In the past, I've incorporated an ab-wheel, resistance bands, and dumb bells. Body weight is always a good weight to use for exercise.

 Games I've tried Gains Gaming with:

God of War

Sekiro Shadows Die Twice

Far Cry 6

Deaths Door

Gains Gaming works well with single-player games where a player can die in the game world. You can also incorporate Gains Gaming into all other gaming genres. Playing multi-player games or fighting games? But how Sway? Did you just lose your match? Do some push-ups. Did you fail to break into the top 10 of the death match? Do some sit-ups. Did you just lose your run in a rouge-like/lite? Do some burpees. 

If you're like me, sometimes you struggle to work-out. Gains Gaming incorporates working out and gaming, to not only better yourself as a gamer but as a person. 

Enjoy Gains Gaming and please share the game you're played and the exercise you're doing per death with the tag #gainsgaming. Together we can have fun working out and gaming.