#i have a break in a week so maybe i can churn out some posts for the queue we will seeee

[feua]

its been so long omfg hi guys <333

[vanteguccir]

All Too Well | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Chris misplace his priorities.

Warning: Fighting, crying, cursing. ANGST with a happy ending.

Requested?: Yes, by anon.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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Y/N felt her heart sink as she watched Chris frantically scrolling through his phone, barely paying attention to her. The silence in the living room echoed the tension that had been building between them over the past few weeks, the memory of the previous day's event still fresh in Y/N's mind.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N sighed contentedly as she set the dark wooden table carefully, placing the plates and cutlery impeccably. She had spent the entire afternoon preparing Chris's favorite dish, with fresh ingredients, for the romantic dinner they had planned to have after the triplets recorded the video that would be posted next Friday. Everything was perfect, except for the emptiness that began to settle in her chest as the hours passed and Chris didn't appear.

At eight sharp, Y/N sat at the table, her heart filled with anticipation and anxiety. She watched the stairs leading to the front door with every sound she heard, willing him to come. But as the minutes dragged on, anxiety turned to despair.

Nine o'clock passed, and Y/N was still sitting alone at the table, her stomach churning with hunger and worry and her eyes staring into space, small tears burning her cornea. She tried calling Chris several times, but every call went to voicemail, as well as her messages going unread.

At ten o'clock, Y/N couldn't take it anymore. Thick tears began to stream down her face as she looked at the still untouched plate in front of her. The romantic dinner she had so lovingly prepared now seemed like a cruel reminder of her dashed hope.

With a choked sob, Y/N got up from the table, feeling completely desolate, her belly hurting from the weight and sobs that made her body shake. She carefully put the food away in the fridge, her hands shaking with disappointment.

That night, Y/N fell asleep in her boyfriend's room with a heavy heart and eyes swollen with tears, wondering if she would ever have the courage to take some initiative, before it was too late.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N was standing in front of the cinema, her heart full of expectation as she held a bucket of popcorn in her hands. She looked from side to side nervously, trying to spot Chris among the crowds rushing along the sidewalk. Time was running out, and her nervousness increased as the clock on her phone showed just ten minutes until the start of the movie, and her boyfriend still hadn't appeared.

And then, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over her, Y/N's phone vibrated, indicating a new message. She grabbed the device anxiously, hoping to see an apology or explanation from Chris for the delay. But what she heard was something that made her shake with rage.

"Hi, baby." Chris’s voice sounded through the voicemail, but instead of an apology, there was a note of indifference in his words. "I know we planned to go to the movies today, but a last-minute party came up that I really need to go to. Do you remember Tara Yummy? It's hers! Well, I'm sorry for canceling like that at the last minute. Maybe we can meet up later, okay? Bye."

Y/N felt her world collapse upon hearing those words. Chris's betrayal, his indifference to her feelings as he sent her the message just to break her as if it was some kind of promise, cut like a sharp knife. She clutched her phone tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

Anger and sadness consumed her, bubbling inside her chest like a volcano about to erupt. With a cry of frustration, Y/N threw the bucket of popcorn and the tickets into the nearest trash bin, tears streaming freely down her cheeks as she felt suffocated by disappointment and pain.

And that night, Y/N walked away from the cinema, her heart broken and her confidence destroyed.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Chris." She began, shaking her head gently to shake the memories away, her voice trembling with the anguish she carried. "We need to talk."

Chris looked up from his phone for a moment, his tired eyes meeting hers briefly before returning to the bright screen in his hands.

"Not now, Y/N. I'm busy."

Those words hit Y/N like a punch in the stomach. She felt increasingly isolated and neglected, while Chris's world revolved around his career and his influential friends.

"You're always busy, Chris." Y/N murmured, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape her eyes. "There's never time for us."

Chris sighed, irritation rising across his skin like a shiver. He closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking up at the girl again, giving her a look full of hatred, which she had never seen before.

"I have responsibilities, Y/N. You know that. I can't just ignore my work to pay attention to you."

"I'm not asking you to ignore it." Y/N snapped, her voice rising in desperation. "I'm just asking for a little time for us. For our relationship. Yesterday you-"

Chris shook his head quickly, interrupting her, the traces of frustration deepening on his face.

"I already said I'm sorry! You always do this, Y/N. You're always trying to change who I am and what I do. You always try to change my priorities, like my world has to revolve around you. That's not how things work!"

Those words cut Y/N like a sharp blade, knocking all the air out of her lungs. She wasn't trying to change him. She just wanted to feel like he cared about her as much as he cared about his fame, but instead, he made her feel like a random crumpled up piece of paper.

"I just want you to include me in your life." Y/N whispered, her voice shaking with pain as her eyes blinked repeatedly, her eyelashes slowly becoming wet with tiny droplets from tears. "But it always seems like there's something more important."

Chris snorted, throwing the phone roughly onto his lap and turning abruptly to face her, an expression of disdain filling his eyes.

"You know what? Maybe it would be better if you took some time to think about what you really want, because it seems to me that everything I do isn't enough, and if you're not genuinely happy in this relationship, maybe you should evaluate your preferences!"

Chris' words echoed in Y/N's mind, leaving her stunned. She felt as if she had been hit by a train of conflicting emotions.

With a lump in her throat, the girl stood up from the couch abruptly, her legs shaking under the weight of her grief as her chest burned intensely, anguish gnawing at her insides.

"Maybe you're right." Y/N muttered, shrugging, her voice cracking with pain. "Maybe I need some time to figure out what I really want... Right?"

Chris watched in silence as Y/N walked away, her tears finally spilling freely down her cheeks, her lips pressed into a thin line tightly in an attempt to stop the sobs that wanted to escape.

The brunette frowned, watching his girlfriend's wet cheeks against the cool light of the room, feeling his chest hurt and his throat tighten, begging to call her back, and apologize, but the words seemed to get stuck.

And so, Y/N left the triplets house that night, taking with her a broken heart and a soul full of uncertainty about the future of their relationship.

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The frigid night air bit into Chris' skin as he walked through the empty streets of LA, his body shaking not only from the cold but also from the anxiety and remorse that consumed him. He couldn't bear another night without Y/N by his side, without feeling her comforting touch and hearing her soft laugh filling the silence.

His steps were heavy and slow, each carrying the weight of days of loneliness and regret that piled up on his shoulders. The memory of Y/N's desolate and disappointed face haunted his thoughts, an image that haunted him incessantly, preventing him from finding peace even at bedtime.

Chris knew he had done wrong, that he had hurt the person he loved most in the world with his negligence and misplaced priorities. He blamed himself for his actions, for putting his work and his friends before her, for leaving her alone and helpless at times when she needed him most, or just wanted his company and love.

The mere memory of coming home on Thursday before everything fell apart, and finally seeing all the lost messages from his girl, along with a plate full of his favorite food neatly packed in the fridge made his heart ache as if human hands were squeezing it.

As he made his way through the deserted streets, the silence of the night was deafening, a cruel metaphor for the loneliness he had caused himself. Each step brought him closer to the home that had once been his refuge, the place where he found comfort in Y/N's arms and where he hoped he could right the wrongs he had done.

Finally, the brunette arrived at the door of the small, simple house, his heart beating wildly in his chest as he hesitated to ring the doorbell. He knew he didn't deserve Y/N's forgiveness, that his empty words and broken promises couldn't erase the pain he caused.

But he had to try. He had to show her that he was sorry, that he loved her more than anything in this world, and that he would do anything to have her back by his side.

With a shaky sigh, Chris finally pressed the doorbell and waited, his heart hammering in his chest as he crossed his arms, shifting his weight from one leg to the other in an act of nervousness, the cold of the night penetrating his bones.

On the other side of the door, Y/N hesitated, her heart beating wildly in her chest as she tried to gather the courage to face the stranger that was there. The last few days had been a storm of sadness and loneliness, her mind spinning in circles of anguish as she struggled to understand what had happened between her and Chris, where everything went wrong.

When she finally mustered enough courage to turn the doorknob, what she saw made her freeze in place. Chris was there, standing in front of her, his eyes red and swollen from crying. His face was contorted into an expression of pain and regret, and Y/N felt her heart tighten even more at the sight of the person she loved so much in a deplorable state.

"Chris." Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to process the scene before her eyes.

Chris didn't say anything, he couldn't. He just sobbed, thick tears flowing freely down his cheeks as he fought to contain the overwhelming emotions that overwhelmed him. His body shook violently, each sob a painful reminder of all the mistakes he had made in the last few weeks.

Y/N felt tears in her own eyes as she looked at him, her heart breaking at the pain she saw reflected in his eyes. Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped Chris in a tight hug, letting him cry on her shoulder as she gently stroked his hair, her own tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

For long minutes, they stayed there, lost in each other's arms that transcended the words and hurts. It was as if, in that moment, their wounded souls found a refuge in each other, a source of comfort and peace amid the chaos their lives had become.

"Baby! B-baby, I'm- I'm so sorry, so fucking sorry-" The boy's words came out in broken sobs, his words almost incomprehensible.

Y/N closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her heart clenching by her own pain. With a sigh, she pulled away lightly, holding his hand firmly and gently guiding him into her house, closing the door behind them, the warmth of the walls enveloping their cold bodies.

Y/N led Chris over to the living room couch, keeping a cautious distance as he sat down next to her on the cushioned seat. Uncomfortable silence hung between them, filled with tension and unspoken emotions, as Y/N waited patiently for Chris to find the words to express what was in his heart.

Finally, after a long moment, Chris broke the silence, his voice still cracked from his recent crying.

"Baby, I... I know I was wrong. I know I hurt you deeply with my actions, and I never wanted to make you feel that way."

Chris sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he tried to find the right words, his right leg bouncing up and down in anxiety.

"I was so obsessed with YouTube, with my success, that I ended up neglecting the most important thing in my life: you. I got lost in the cool lights and the adrenaline of fame, and I forgot how much you mean to me. And I'm so fucking sorry for that." His lower lip trembled slightly, making him trap it between his teeth.

The boy's words cut deep into Y/N, reigniting the pain and hurt she had kept inside. She felt tempted to step away to protect her heart from the possibility of being hurt again. But something in Chris's eyes made her hesitate, something she recognized as genuine regret and love.

"Chris..." Y/N began, her voice shaky and filled with uncertainty. "You don't understand how much it hurt me every time you kept me waiting, every time you put your work and your friends before me. I felt so alone, so unappreciated."

"I know, Y/N. And I'm sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I would do anything to make things right, to prove that you're my real priority." Chris lowered his head, frowning and fixing his eyes on his legs, guilt weighing on his shoulders.

Y/N raised her right hand, taking it to his chin covered with the beard he had let grow in the last few days, pushing it up so that she could look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and desperation reflected there.

She wanted to believe him and wanted to open her heart to forgiveness and the possibility of a future together again. But the pain of everything that had been done brought her such insecurity that she knew she needed time to heal.

"I don't know, Chris." Y/N murmured, the hand that was holding his chin falling with a thud onto her lap. "I'm still hurt, I'm still trying to process everything that happened. I don't know if I can just forgive and forget."

Chris swallowed hard, fear evident in his eyes as his mind screamed at him to do everything, anything. Even if he needed to kneel in front of his girl to get her back.

"Please, Y/N. I promise I'll do everything to make this right, to be the boyfriend you deserve. Just give me a chance to prove that I can change."

Y/N looked at him again, seeing the vulnerability in his gaze. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but there was something about Chris, something she couldn't ignore, something that gave her hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to the way they were before.

With a resigned sigh, Y/N reached her hand out to Chris again, taking his and intertwining their fingers tightly, her heart warming with the touch she had missed so much.

"I forgive you, Chris." She murmured, her voice sounding soft but her eyes carrying an indescribable firmness. "But know that things are going to have to change. Your priorities are going to have to take the right path this time."

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My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @bellasfavbisexual @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @bellasfavbisexual @soso-scarlettolivia @maryx2xx @sturnolio-luvs @sturnsjtop

(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)

[slafkovskys]

tarnished ❈ a golden au blurb

summary: in which not all that glitters is gold

word count: < 1k

warnings: angst, brief language

maybe it would have hurt less if he had said goodbye.

that first summer together was supposed to be them. just them. without the pressures of school or hiding from scottie’s superiors or only being able to share kisses in dark corners of bars or the safety of their apartment. their two weeks in atlanta went by fast with one week in the city and another at her grandparents’ ranch, it was only a matter of time before the boys’ teams came calling for development camp.

ryan went first.

she kept up with everything the caps would post to their socials, feeding it through to the gopher’s various media outlets along with the other boys who were at development camps that week as well. she packs a bag and flies up to minnesota the day before he comes home and the day that jimmy’s due to report to st. louis. she hugs her parents goodbye and leaves them with the excuse of an event she was required to attend.

she spends a few hours with him at the apartment before shuttling him off to the airport, giving him the biggest hug and a kiss to his lips. she’s not really thinking about how he holds on a little bit longer or how he looks like he’s fighting a battle in his own head as he turns to check his bags. she gets back into ryan’s car thinking she’ll be back tomorrow to pick up the aforementioned man and she’ll be back for jimmy in a week.

it would have hurt less if they hadn’t found out through social media.

ryan and scottie were both practically itching to have jimmy back the next day. it had been practically radio silence from him the past week, which neither could hold against him because they both knew that this was big for him.

a summer storm was sweeping through minnesota and the two were squished in the hammock on their balcony when ryan’s phone lit up. scottie watches as the screen illuminated his face before his eyebrows furrowed, “what the fuck?”

“what’s wrong?” scottie turns her body to stare at ryan, watching as his face morphs through a variety of emotions, “ryan, what’s going on?”

“don’t-” and scottie wishes she had listened as she snatches his phone from his hand. her eyes scan over the same page that he was looking, the one that caused him to go through a handful of emotions within a matter of seconds.

what scottie sees on his phone screen makes her stomach churn. staring right back at her is jimmy’s smiling face flanked by either of his parents. in front of him is a stack of papers and she doesn’t miss the pen in his hand. her eyes trail up to read the caption,

jimmy snuggerud has agreed to terms on a three-year, entry-level contract. #stlblues

“did you know?” scottie’s voice shakes as she can’t tear her eyes away from the screen, “please don’t lie to me. is this some sick joke that you two are playing on me? did he say that he was staying just to go and do this?”

lightning flashes above their heads and thunder rolls through the sky as ryan quickly shakes his head, “scottie, baby, i’m finding this out right now, just like you are.”

“he-” she cuts herself off when a video pops up at the top of the feed. jimmy’s still smiling face takes up ryan’s phone screen once again, only this time he’s smiling at an unfamiliar woman who’s holding a microphone to his lips.

“so, jimmy,” her accented voice breaks through the night, “you originally said that you were going to be staying at minnesota for another year, but here you just signed your elc. what changed your mind?”

“yeah, um,” he scratches the back of his head like he always did when he was nervous, “just the atmosphere this past week, getting to explore the city some, having some talks with the guys, my family-” scottie can’t ignore the sting at those words, “i figured now was the best time. minnesota was great for me, but i feel like i’ve done what i can. nothing holding me there.”

she can’t stop the sob from escaping her lips and ryan rips his phone from her hands, quickly turning it off and gathering the girl in his arms, “he doesn’t mean that-”

“why would he say that then?” she questions, “did i mean nothing to him? did we mean nothing to him?”

ryan stays quiet because he can’t give her an honest answer. he feels as though he was just hit by a train, left exposed and still responsible for cleaning up the aftermath of someone else’s mess. he slips his hand underneath scottie’s shirt and rubs at her spine, trying to let him know that while he can’t explain what was happening, he was still here.

“scottie, it’s going to be okay. we’re going to be okay,” he tries, “we don’t need him-”

“everything is not okay, ryan!” she shouts through tears, “i need him because-”

it would have hurt less if-

“because i’m pregnant, ryan.”

[onceuponastory]

letting you down - rockstar!bucky x reader

Don't you get sick of only hearing your own voice? Talk like you're so damn tough, but you're just a little boy You like to think you've broke the mould, but now I'm sure, You'll crack just like the rest when I break your fucking jaw! - the best thing (that never happened) by we are the in crowd

Edit: Although the girl I used in the original moodboard was meant to be Natasha, I want my fics to be inclusive for all, so have updated the moodboard to reflect this. Plot: Tour romances mean nothing serious...right?

Or, fresh out of a breakup and deciding to focus on her music, Y/N jumps at the chance to go on tour with one of her favourite bands to take her mind off of things. Especially romance. Unfortunately for her, their drummer just can't keep his eyes off of her. Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Emotional abuse and manipulation (not from Bucky), reader’s ex being a dick, self doubt, a tiny mention of violence and anxiety. As always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: Another rockstar Bucky fic, because I do love him so. Also, this was inspired by song above, so I recommend you listen to it (also because it’s a great song). Again, thanks to @staticscreenwriting / @astartothemoon for my dividers. Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

Taking a seat on the cold wooden chair in her agent’s office, Y/N anxiously nibbles on the skin of her lip, almost tearing it off with how nervous she is. Only an hour ago, she was told to come to the office urgently because her agent had news for her, too important to share over the phone. The whole time, she’s been wracking her brain to figure out what she could want to tell her. And each time, her mind has come up with the worst potential outcomes. And after just being dumped, that’s the last thing she needs right now. “So, we have some news.” Helen, her agent, announces, peering at her over the frame of her glasses. Y/N gulps. It’s the sort of look a mother gives her child when they’re caught sneaking cookies out of the jar, or when she knows that they’re the one who broke her vase. Either way, it’s not a good sign. She’s definitely about to be dropped. Maybe Dylan's right. Maybe she’s not cut out for this. Her stomach churns, and she warily eyes the exit, just in case.

“Good news, I hope…?” She chuckles awkwardly, starting to hope the ground will swallow her whole.

“It depends on whether you have any plans in September.” Frowning, Y/N raises a brow. However, before she can even ask why, Helen continues. “Because The End of The Line wants you to open for them on their US Tour that month.” She states casually. Y/N’s mouth drops open.

“WHAT?!” she squeals. “Are you serious?!” The End of The Line is a band she knows very well. Okay, she knows their music. Yet, considering how they’ve got multiple number ones and album nominations under their belts, practically everyone knows who they are. They’re one of the most successful bands going in the scene right now. But she had no idea they knew who she was. What feels like only a few months ago, Y/N was posting her own original songs on her YouTube and performing in her local bar…and now, she’s going on tour with one of her favourite bands. Not even that. Imagine the exposure this could bring. All the new fans and support. She doesn’t even realise how much her heart is beating or how close she is to hyperventilating until Helen passes over a glass of water.

“Don’t be so modest.” She tuts. “The first single you released has been in the Top 10 for weeks, and your album is selling incredibly well. You’re in high demand, and people know it.” Y/N gulps down the water almost in one go, still shaking. “Are you okay? I don’t want you passing out on my floor.”

“No, no. I’m okay! I’m good.” Y/N lies. Helen raises a brow.

“Okay, well I need to confirm your attendance with their team so they can schedule a meeting with them and the band to go over venues. And then there’s merchandising, transport arrangements….” Helen’s voice fades into static as Y/N grapples with the situation. She’s going on tour with one of her favourite bands. They know who she is, and they like her. She pinches her skin a few times, wondering if she’s still dreaming. That she’ll open her eyes and she’ll be a nobody again, her perfect Cinderella story over. 

However, the repeated pinching doesn’t work, meaning that this is real. That revelation somehow both makes her relieved and absolutely terrified. Sure, she’s going on her first tour…but that means there’s more people to disappoint. The band, for a start. But then again, going on tour means meeting one of her favourite bands ever. Not to mention that by getting herself out there, more and more people can discover her music, and she can hopefully do what she loves for a living, rather than waiting tables for the rest of her life. Which means potentially more tours and new albums. And she won’t have to spend as much time in her practically empty apartment now that Dylan’s left. “So? What should I say?” Helen asks, peering over the rim of her glasses again.

Taking a breath, Y/N answers: “Tell them I’d love to tour with them.”

A few weeks later, Y/N and Helen enter the building where she’s about to meet The End of the Line and their agent. Glancing around the vast building, Y/N’s heart rate picks up. A year ago, she could only dream of going to a place like this for a visit, let alone to meet one of the biggest bands in the scene to plan a tour with them. As they enter the elevator, Y/N fiddles with the waistband of her trousers, suddenly feeling more and more constricted. 

“Maybe this was the wrong outfit choice. Maybe I should’ve been more casual?” She wonders. “Actually, maybe I should just go. I definitely do not fit in here. Sure, I’ll be getting out of the house, but is it really worth all this?” Y/N bounces anxiously on her heels, waiting for the elevator to reach the floor they need so she can make a break for it. 

“Y/N, please calm down before you stress me out. That’s the last thing either of us needs.” Helen sighs.

“Sorry. I’m just nervous.” Yet she can tell Helen’s words are not malicious. Helen really does care for her. She just has a funny way of showing it sometimes.

“I know. Trust me, though, they don’t bite. And I made Tony promise that he’d play nice, too.” She chuckles. Y/N doesn’t laugh. The elevator dings, and Helen announces that they’ve made it. Y/N’s heart drops. Although she considered running, she now can’t move. “Come on.” Helen orders, beckoning her to follow. Y/N does as she asks, as if on autopilot.

“That woman must have magic powers.” She thinks to herself.

When they reach the meeting room, to Y/N’s surprise, Helen simply walks in without knocking, giving her no time to prepare. 

“Well, look who finally arrived! It’s wonderful to see you again, Helen.” A man grins, shaking Helen’s hand. He’s dressed in a crisp black suit, one that Y/N recognises absolutely costs more than her rent for a year. Presumably that’s Tony. Y/N steps forward, ready to introduce herself. Until-

“Hey! You must be Y/N!” Before she can even react, Natasha Romanoff is standing in front of her. Y/N gulps. 

“Yeah, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you!” She holds out a hand for her to shake, but Natasha pulls her into a hug instead. 

“There’s one thing you gotta know about Nat. She’s a hugger.” She recognises Steve’s voice, but suddenly realising Natasha Romanoff is a real person to then being hugged by her in such a short space of time is a lot for Y/N to cope with.

“You’re gorgeous! I can’t wait to go on tour with you!” Nat squeals, and Y/N mutters something in reply, still in shock. 

“Nat, let the poor girl breathe and let the rest of us say hi!” a voice speaks, and Y/N is soon released from Nat’s grasp. Then, she meets the rest of the band, starting with Steve and Sam. “And over there is…” 

But the man on the couch needs no introduction. Bucky Barnes leans against the back of the couch, twirling a drumstick between his tattooed fingers. In fact, tattoos cover both of his arms and most of his hands, little of his actual skin showing. He cocks his head, looking over her body with a smile. This man just oozes confidence…and he’s fucking gorgeous.

“Bucky.” She whispers, although not quietly enough, as Bucky laughs.

“Yup, that’s me.” Y/N blushes. Bucky gets up and shakes her hand. Her fingers brush over the calluses dotted around his fingers, and a shiver reverberates through her body. “Nice to meet you.” He smiles, and Y/N gulps. Fuck, this man is attractive, and he knows it. And he probably knows that she knows it too, given how he’s looking at her. Nothing can come of this, though. She’s here to do a job and for her music, not to fall in love. Especially after everything that’s happened in her love life, and especially not with a band guy like Bucky Barnes. 

“Come on, let’s start planning.” Tony orders. As the group takes their seats, Bucky sits right across from her, still smiling. Still staring at her. Y/N’s breath hitches in her throat.

She can already tell…he’s got trouble written all over him.

The next few months of interviews, photoshoots and practice sessions whizz by in a blur. In seemingly no time at all, it’s time for Y/N to go on tour. She looks up at the tour buses, her stomach churning with both excitement and her nerves. 

Is it too early to go home?

“Hey! You made it!” a voice calls. And there go her escape plans.

“Hey Eddie. Do you know where I’m supposed to be staying? Am I with you guys on your bus?" she asks. Eddie is one of the band’s merch guys, and since meeting, the pair gelled right away, something which Y/N is immensely grateful for. Of course, she’s glad she and the band are getting on so well, but it’s nice to have a friend who isn’t in a band, someone she can just talk to about anything. In all honesty, Y/N’s still nervous around the band. They’re lovely, but she’s star-struck and hopelessly awkward whenever she’s with them, which isn’t a good thing when you’re trying to make friends. 

To her confusion, though, Eddie chuckles. “Sorry Y/N, but you’re not with us.” He gestures his head to the other bus. “The musicians are all in there.” Y/N gulps. This isn’t what she expected. She feels like a fish out of water, even now. Like she doesn’t belong. She’s just an opener, a nobody.

“But-” 

“Yes, that means you too.” Eddie cuts her off. “And we’re full.” He continues before she can say anything more. “On you go.” When she doesn’t move, he gently nudges her forward, towards the door of the bus. “You better be fast and get a good bunk!” He calls after her as she nervously steps on board. 

As she makes her way to the bunk area, clutching her bag close to her chest, Y/N looks around the bus, her home for the next few weeks. Its kitchenette is even bigger than her kitchen at home. Actually, this whole bus is bigger than her apartment. Earlier this year, she could only dream of standing on a bus like this, yet alone living here. This is definitely going to take some getting used to. 

“Hey guys.” She smiles when she reaches the bunks. They all smile when they see her, each welcoming her to her new home, which makes her feel a little less nervous. “So, which bunk is mine?” 

“You’re up here, above me.” Bucky answers. Y/N’s eyes widen, and immediately, her nervousness is back. Bucky? She’s sleeping in close proximity to Bucky? The same drummer who’s been on her mind ever since she met him, despite her attempts to block him out? How can this possibly go wrong? “I hope that’s okay. If you’d rather have the bottom one, just say.” He reassures her. Despite her nerves, Bucky’s commitment to making sure she’s okay and comfortable makes her smile. 

“No, the top one is totally fine. Thanks Bucky.” She nods, trying to throw her bag onto the bed, but unable to reach.

“Let me help you with that.” Bucky chuckles. 

“Are you sure? I’m okay Bucky, it’s-” But the bag falls to the floor before she can finish her sentence. Bucky laughs again. Yet it’s not a mocking laugh. It’s a friendly laugh, actually. “Okay, maybe I do need help.” Bucky picks up her bag, lifting it over her head and onto the bunk with ease. As he does, she immediately notices his proximity to her. He’s so close that he’s almost trapping her between the bunks. So close she could reach out and run her finger along every single outline of each of Bucky’s tattoos, touch every freckle and birthmark dotting his skin. Y/N gasps. She never realised how muscular he was at first. “Thanks.” She smiles.

“You’re welcome.” He nods. For a moment, it’s as if it’s just them two on the bus, in their own little universe, each staring into the other’s eyes. But then, a little voice sounds in Y/N’s head.

“Don’t get with band dudes. They’re no good. And they’re the last thing you need, especially now.” And so, she pulls away. As she does, she registers Bucky’s smile faltering slightly. “So, what are the beds like? Are they comfy?” She asks, climbing up to her bunk, hoping to change the subject. 

“Yeah, they’re alright.” Bucky replies, his voice mumbled slightly. As she lays down, Bucky’s smile fading and his slight disappointment replays in her mind. His disappointment confuses her.

This is for her own good.

For both of their own good.

So why does she feel so bad about it?

Early the next morning, Y/N sits alone at the small table in the bus’ kitchenette, staring out at the window and watching the world go by. A steaming mug of coffee sits opposite her. Unsurprisingly, her nerves meant she didn’t sleep well the night before. Especially since tomorrow marks the first night of the tour, and her first time performing for people who aren’t the regulars at her local bar.

“Hey.” A familiar voice speaks, pulling her out of her thoughts as Bucky sits opposite her. Y/N rubs her eyes, mumbling a good morning. “You good? Wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up so early.” He remarks. She waits, a part of her expecting a cheeky or sarcastic comment to follow. However, there’s no malice in Bucky’s comment. In fact, it’s far from cruel. It’s from a place of concern, making sure she’s alright after having her world changed practically overnight. And Y/N appreciates it more than he’ll ever know.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Y/N murmurs, wiping at her eyes. “Just homesick, that’s all. I’m not used to being away from home on tour yet. I mostly just stick to playing local bars.” It’s not exactly a lie. Sure, it’s not the main reason she’s sitting here teary eyed at not even 8.30am, but it’s still part of it. Bucky’s brow furrows. A part of her expects him to judge her, or to laugh at her for being so inexperienced. Like she’s used to people doing. Well…like she’s used to Dylan doing. Or worse, he’ll start prying. Something she absolutely isn’t ready for. However, Bucky simply nods. 

“Yeah, I get that. It took us all a while to get used to it, too. But don’t worry, you’re doing great, and you’re definitely good enough to be on tour.” And for the first time that morning, Y/N finds herself smiling. 

“So, now we’ve established why I’m here so early in the morning, can I ask why you are?” 

“Well, I’ve always been a bit of an early bird, and when you share a bus with three other people, some of whom snore….” He trails off, and he and Y/N laugh. “I usually take this time to write some music, but it’s nice to have some new company for once.”

“Have you been working on anything special?” Bucky shrugs.

“Just some things here and there. Maybe we could plan a writing session.” 

“Just us?” Y/N regrets the question almost immediately. Because who does that? Who asks a cute guy who talks about hanging out with you if his friends will tag along too?

“If you want.” Bucky smiles, and something in Y/N’s stomach flutters. “Okay, I’m gonna get some breakfast.” Bucky announces, getting up. “Do you want some?”

“Sure, what have you got?”

“We have…cereal or cereal.” He offers, holding up two boxes. Y/N laughs.

“Wow, what varied choices. I think I’ll have cereal, please.” Y/N points out the box she wants, and Bucky nods.

“A wise choice.” Y/N giggles again, and he grins. He passes over a bowl and sits back down. The pair chat as they eat their breakfast, laughing at each other’s jokes. Y/N can feel her heart beating like crazy. She never imagined she would be here, doing simple things like eating breakfast with a rockstar, or that they’d get along so well. Especially so soon after having her heart broken. It’s an unfamiliar experience…but it’s a nice, comfortable one all the same. 

As the morning goes on, the rest of the band slowly make their way towards them, and the bus fills with laughter and chatter. Bucky drums a rhythm on the table, and once again Y/N finds herself smiling as she watches him play, and as the others all sing along. Yet, despite how much fun she’s having at that moment, all she can think about is when this tour will be over, and how, when it ends, she’s going to be heartbroken and alone all over again. And she can’t handle that pain. Not again.

She has to limit the risk of heartbreak, wherever possible. 

The next night, Y/N paces around the green room, nervously murmuring to herself. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Oh god, they’re gonna hate me.” She wrings her hands together. “Is it too late to go home?”

“Hey, it’s alright Y/N. Calm down. Take deep breaths.” Sam encourages. 

“Yeah, you’ll be fine! You’ve practised more than enough for this. We were nervous our first time too.” Natasha continues, and the others nod. Yet, Y/N shakes her head.

“No. I won’t. It’s a huge crowd, and I’m not good enough.” A figure stands in front of her, gently taking her arms.

“Y/N.” Bucky. “I promise you, you are good enough for this. After all, that’s why we brought you on tour with us, right, guys?” A chorus of agreement fills the room, alleviating her worry slightly. 

“What if they hate me, though?”

“Nobody’s going to hate you. Did you see the reaction we got when we announced you? Everyone is so excited, and you’re going to go out there and kill it, just like you did in rehearsal.” Seeing that she’s still nervous, Bucky leans in slightly closer. “When you’re out there, imagine you’re performing just for us, like before. Think you can do that?” He asks.

“I guess….” She murmurs, and Bucky smiles. 

“Good girl. Want us to walk down to the stage with you?” He asks, and she nods. When the time comes, the band does exactly that, reassuring her the whole way there. As she waits for the song before she goes out to finish, Y/N takes deep breaths. She registers someone squeezing her hand, and Bucky whispers in her ear. “Don’t worry. Just like you practised. We’ll be right here, watching.” Y/N nods.

And then, it’s time, and Y/N steps onto the stage. Immediately, she launches into her first song. To her surprise, most of the crowd seems to know it, and she can see the people in the first few rows singing along and dancing. Even those who don’t know her look like they’re having a good time. And the same things happen with the second song. And the next song. The crowd seems to love her. 

After a few songs, Y/N takes a minute to have a drink.

“Hey guys! I’m Y/N.” The crowd cheers, and she can’t help but smile. “Some of you may know this, but this is my first actual show on an actual tour, and what a fucking amazing crowd and band to start my tour life with!” More cheers. “So thank you all, but especially thank you to The End of the Line!” She glances to the side of the stage, catching the eyes of the band. All four grin, giving her a thumbs up. Y/N smiles proudly. “This next song is called Crimson. Sing along if you know it.”

Y/N’s set goes by both quicker and better than she expected. As she gets closer to the end of her set, the band leaves to finish getting ready for their own set. However, Y/N doesn’t mind. She already feels more confident than she did at the beginning. As she finishes up her last song, she calls out: “Thank you all so fucking much! I’m gonna be hanging out at the merch table over there for a bit if you wanna come say hi or tell me I was shit. Fuck it, you guys bought the tickets.” She giggles. “Goodnight!”

When she makes it to the merch stand, Eddie hands her a beer, which she almost downs. “Damn girl.” Eddie praises. “That was fucking awesome!”

“You think?”

“Uh, yeah! The crowd loved you. We’ve sold a bunch of your merch already.” She gasps.

“You’re kidding.” He shakes his head, gesturing to something behind her. Y/N turns around to see some girls standing there, staring at her all wide eyed. “Oh sorry. Am I in your way for merch? Just tell me to move. It’s okay.”

“You were amazing! I love your music so much.” One of them grins, holding out her ticket and a sharpie. “Can you sign my ticket, please?” Y/N’s mouth drops open. She wasn’t actually expecting people to want to meet her.

“And mine!” The others chorus.

“T-Thanks!” Still slightly in shock, Y/N nods, signing each ticket and taking pictures with each of them. Soon, a few more fans come to see her, and still amazed, Y/N repeats the cycle. This is her first ever meet and greet, the first time people actually like her.

“Have a good night!” She calls as they go back towards the crowd. “Did that just happen, or am I fucking dreaming?!” she asks Eddie, who laughs.

“I told you. They love you.”

During The End Of The Line’s set, Y/N stands side stage watching them, smiling and singing along to every song as the crowd laps it up, screaming every word back to them. They’re such incredible performers. Maybe one day, that’ll be her, selling out venues across the country. She glances out on the stage, watching as the band plays. Natasha jumps around, her red hair swinging around wildly. Sam and Steve lean against each other as they play their guitars, smiling and joking with each other. And then, she sees Bucky, drumming furiously, his arms moving rapidly. He throws his hands up into the air, twirling his drumsticks between his fingers. Once the song ends, he runs his hand through his hair, strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. Breathlessly, he smiles, mouthing a thank you to the crowd. Y/N feels her breath hitching in her throat. He looks so gorgeous, a true rockstar. 

In an ideal world, one where she and her love life aren’t so broken, they’d probably be together. But there’s no way that can happen. She can see how the girls in the crowd look at him and the others. If he has the pick of any girl he wants, why would he ever go for her?

After all, she’s just an opener. Feeling her heart sinking, Y/N sighs sadly. With one last look at Bucky, she turns and walks back to the green room.

After their set, the band comes back to the green room. To her surprise, though, they’re not talking about their set…they’re talking about hers. “I knew it! You were perfect!” Natasha squeals. “We’re so proud of you!”

“And Eddie told us about your meet and greet. The fans love you.” Sam praises. Before Y/N can say anything, the band envelopes her in a group hug. The overwhelming love and support shown to her throughout the night suddenly reaches a head. Immediately, tears come to her eyes, and soon, Y/N begins crying.

“Oh god, sorry was it too much? We can be a lot, so if you’re uncomfortable, just tell us, sweetheart.”

“No! I’m just…not used to all this, to being shown so much support all at once.” She murmurs, and a chorus of “awww!” fills the room.

“Trust us.” Natasha smiles. “You deserve it.”

“Welcome to touring life Y/N! As a celebration, I say we go get food. My treat.” Steve grins.

“Wow, you’re paying? That’s new. You should savour this experience Y/N.” Sam teases, and the group dissolves into laughter. As she looks around at the band, her new friends who changed her life, Y/N smiles, already feeling her anxieties beginning to melt away slightly.

“Come on then. Let’s go.”

“That was so good. And it tasted even better since I didn’t pay.” Sam grins, and Y/N laughs. 

“Shove off. It’s your turn next time.” Steve replies. As Sam, Steve and Natasha walk on ahead, Bucky falls into step beside her. Right away, she can feel her heart rate beginning to increase.

“I’ve eaten so much, I’m surprised I’m still able to walk.” She murmurs, and Bucky laughs. 

“Yeah, I feel that. We go there every time we’re here, and every time I eat too much too. Join the club.” Y/N looks up, glancing at the stars. She used to wish on them every night, hoping someone would discover her, and that she might actually have a shot at making music, the thing she loves, her job. And now, here she is. Maybe dreams come true after all. “So.” Bucky begins, drawing her focus back to him. “Is there anywhere on this tour you’re most excited to go to?” 

“I don’t really know. In all honesty, this whole thing and getting to tour the country is still mind blowing to me. I’m happy to go anywhere.” Smiling, Bucky nods. 

“Yeah, I was the same when we first started out. You’ll still pinch yourself, even when you get as famous as us. And I have every faith you’ll get there.” Y/N gasps. It’s strange, how he’s so much more famous than her, and yet he still talks to her and treats her like he’s his equal. He really is one of the kindest people she knows. Her stomach twists in knots. And that’s going to make leaving him even more difficult. “I’m most excited to be back in New York, though. Even though I moved away, hometown shows are always the best.”

“You’re from New York too? Same!” Bucky smiles. Her eyes trace along Bucky’s jawline, illuminated by the streetlights. He looks so beautiful. She feels Bucky’s hand brushing against hers, and her heart rate increases.

If dreams do come true...she has an idea for a new one.

“Really? That’s awesome. You know, there’s a really great Italian restaurant I go to all the time whenever I’m there. Maybe we could go.” Y/N suppresses a laugh. She’d love that more than anything, but deep down, she knows he doesn’t really mean it. It’s just him trying to be nice. He’ll forget about her when all of this is over. They all will. And she can’t even blame them for it. Sighing, she nods.

“Yeah. That’d be nice.” 

As the tour continues, Y/N’s confidence continues to grow. Each night, she becomes more and more excited to go on stage. And in turn, she becomes more confident around the band, and spends more time with them, whether it’s writing songs together, shopping with Natasha, or hanging out with Sam and Steve. Basically, her touring life is perfect…aside from one little thorn in her side.

Bucky Barnes.

It’s not that Bucky has been horrible to her, not at all. In fact, he’s been the same kind and welcoming person he’s always been. That’s the problem. He’s so kind that it’s hard to not get close to him, or to want to spend time with him. Especially since she can already feel herself falling deeper in love with him with every passing day. Each time she has to pull away, Y/N feels terrible. 

“So.” Natasha smirks one day whilst they’re out shopping. “When are you gonna put that poor boy out of his misery?” When Y/N raises a brow, Natasha rolls her eyes. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I mean! Bucky is so clearly whipped for you, and you’re obviously into him. I can see it all over you.” She grins. Y/N gulps. Despite how happy she is to know that Bucky might feel the same way about her, this is the last thing she wanted to happen. 

“Nothing is going to happen Nat. And you don’t even know if that’s true.” She points out. Natasha says something in reply, but Y/N doesn’t hear it. All she can think about is how big of a problem this is, and how she’s going to have to break Bucky’s heart even more. Of course, the idea of just telling him the truth and admitting her feelings has crossed her mind a few times. Yet, despite how much she wants to do that, and to stop letting her fear and Dylan ruin her new chance at happiness…she’s too afraid to admit the truth, and to drag Bucky into her mess. Or to lose him, and be heartbroken all over again. And this time, it’ll hurt even more than it did with Dylan.

As soon as they get back, Y/N enters the bus, shutting the door behind them. She climbs into her bunk. Angrily throwing the pillow across her bunk, Y/N grabs her phone. Hopefully, scrolling through social media will make her feel better. And at first, it works as posts from her fans fill her feed. She likes and comments on a few, continuing to scroll. As Y/N reads their words, a smile grows on her face. She’s so lucky to have her fans and their support. But then, another post appears. One of her ex and her ex-best friend. Immediately, her heart sinks. They’re still together, smiling like nothing happened, acting like they haven’t left a trail of destruction in their wake and ruined her life. She’s sitting here, terrified of getting too close to Bucky and the others in case she gets hurt like that again. And the people who did it to her in the first place don't even care. They never did.

Angrily, Y/N grips her blanket, grabbing her songwriting notebook and opening it.

It’s about time she lets out her emotions.

“Is Y/N okay?” Sam asks the next morning, after they arrive in New York. “I didn’t see much of her last night, and she shut herself away as soon as we got to the venue.” Bucky furrows his brow, concern flooding his features. Y/N barely spoke to anyone, only a few words here and there. Natasha shrugs.

“She said she’s busy writing, and she doesn’t want to be disturbed. I guess we’ll find out when her new song comes out.” That makes Bucky even more concerned. He knows all about being in a deeply focused, creative headspace, and how you don’t want to speak to anyone until it’s done. But he also knows how bad it can be when you shut yourself away for so long, especially when she already looks so upset. He’ll have to check on her when he gets the chance.

Yet, the next time he sees Y/N is when she’s getting ready to go on and is in a rush. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? We were worried about you.” He asks, watching as she runs around the room, spraying hairspray and perfume everywhere. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Much better.” She insists, reapplying her lipstick in the mirror and giving herself one last check over. “Right, I gotta go. Talk soon, yeah?”

“But-” Bucky begins, cut off by Y/N placing her hand on his arm.

“Bucky, trust me. I’m okay. Bye!” And then she’s gone, leaving the scent of perfume in her wake. Despite his concern, Bucky chuckles. She sure is something. Tonight, she looks like an angel, glitter covering her lids and outfit. She looks beautiful. But she always does. This entire tour, he’s been trying to find the guts to tell her the truth about how he feels, with no luck. And the way she always turns him down or pulls away at the last second makes him think she doesn’t feel the same. Turning, Bucky follows her down towards the stage. 

Although, if she doesn’t feel the same way, he’d understand. When he gets to the side stage, Y/N is already on, in the middle of her first song. Bucky watches her as she works through her first few songs, smiling. The way she controls and interacts with the crowd is incredible, much better than he could ever do.

“Well, hello New York!” Y/N shouts into the mic, the ending of her sentence being drowned out by screams and cheers. “You guys are fucking awesome. Thank you so much!” Another round of cheering sounds, and Y/N grins, the lighting illuminating her teeth and the glitter she’s wearing. Bucky watches, smiling. “Are you guys excited for The End of The Line?” The crowd goes wild again, and Y/N laughs. “That was probably a stupid question.”

“I wanna try something new with you guys, if that’s okay.” She continues, and Bucky raises a brow. “But it means I have to tell you a story too…. Oh, I can see complete excitement on your faces, so I won’t talk too long then.” She jokes, laughing. And then, Bucky realises he’s laughing too. “So a few months ago, just before The End of The Line invited me on their tour, my boyfriend dumped me over text.” The crowd immediately starts booing, whilst Bucky raises an eyebrow. She never mentioned this. “I know! But unfortunately, it’s not just that, New York. He told me he was dumping me for one of my best friends. The same friend he was cheating on me with for the last few months of our relationship. Apparently, me playing shows was too much for him to handle, and I’d never be famous, so he had to think of his future with a girl who ‘knows what she’s doing, instead of just a bar singer’ like me.” The boos intensify, and Y/N nods, clutching a hand to her chest. “I know! At first, I let his words get to me. Look at me now, though!” The crowd cheers, and Y/N grins. “So, I put all my pain and anger into a song, and I’d like to perform it for the first time for you guys. Is that cool with you?!” The crowd goes wild, and Y/N grins, tuning her guitar. “Okay, okay! I hear you loud and clear. If you’ve ever had to deal with a shitty person in your life, I hope this song speaks to you as much as it does to me…and that you tell them to go fuck themselves.” She smirks, and Bucky laughs. “This song is called Letting You Down.” 

As the song plays, Y/N sings with more passion and fury than Bucky has ever seen. She controls the crowd masterfully, having them hanging onto every word she sings. For only just starting out, she really is a natural. Yet, her admission replays through his mind. Hearing how poorly she was treated infuriates him. Y/N’s such a talented and good-hearted person, and she doesn’t deserve that. Her ex obviously has no idea what he’s talking about. Although going through all that may explain why she’s been pulling away from him so much, and so nervous about being on tour. Y/N needs to know how talented and loved she is. And if she doesn’t, he’ll tell her every day.  

After Y/N’s set, Bucky waits in the green room for her. When she walks in and sees Bucky sitting there, her eyes widen. “Aren’t you meant to be on stage in like five minutes?” She frowns. Bucky shakes his head.

“That’s not important right now. I need to talk to you.” Her face falls.

“You heard, didn’t you?” He hates how small and ashamed her voice sounds, like he’d be mad at her for admitting the truth. Bucky nods, stepping closer.

“I did, listen Y/N, I-”

“Buck, come on, we have to go!” Steve calls, poking his head through the door. Bucky doesn’t even care. He just wants to be with Y/N. “Buck!” Steve repeats.

“You need to go!” Y/N insists.

“But-”

“Bucky. Go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” She promises, gently pushing him towards the door.

Throughout the entirety of their set, all Bucky can do is think of Y/N, and the things he needs to say to her. Things he’s wanted to say to her from the beginning. The second their set is finished, Bucky runs backstage. Y/N sits in the green room, anxiously fiddling with her thumbs. 

“Y/N.” He smiles, breathless. She looks up at him, her face falling. Bucky’s heart sinks. He hates seeing her so upset. “Can I sit?” She nods. “Y/N, I-”

“Look Bucky.” She sighs, finally cutting him off. “You’re incredibly sweet and all, but I just can’t commit to a relationship right now.” She sighs. “You heard the story about my heartbreak, right?” He nods. “Well, I can’t put myself through that pain again. I can’t give my all to somebody and receive nothing in return, I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, he sounds like a dick. And I promise you, not everyone is like that.” 

“It’s not just that.” She murmurs, staring down at the ground. “I know you’re a good person, Bucky. Fuck, I see it in you every day. You’re one of the sweetest guys I know, and I don’t want to think you’d ever hurt me like that. That’s why I’ve been pulling away from you, so neither of us get hurt. Yet, I hurt us both. Honestly, I think I’ve been in love with you ever since we met, and I do want to be with you. But what happens when this tour is over? When the fairytale is over, and we go back to our normal lives, whatever they are now? Sure, we’re musicians, but we come from two totally different worlds. And I don’t fit into your world.” She sighs. Bucky raises a brow, shuffling closer towards her. “Maybe Dylan’s right. Maybe I am just a bar singer.” Bucky gets up from his seat, kneeling in front of her. He takes her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs along her knuckles.

“Y/N. You are one of the most beautiful and talented people I’ve ever met. We could only dream of being able to control and entertain a crowd like you can. Especially tonight!” He insists. “And besides, there’s nothing wrong with being a bar singer, especially when they’re as good as you. Your ex has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about.” As she gazes into Bucky’s eyes, Y/N feels tears building in her own. 

“I want to be with you more than anything. I just can’t. I can’t risk being hurt again.” She whispers. Bucky feels his heart breaking, but he knows he can’t force her to do anything. And so, he nods.

Suddenly, the door opens, and Natasha pops her head in. At first, Bucky expects her to say something about how they’re going out for dinner or something. Yet, as soon as she sees the serious look on Natasha’s face, Y/N frowns. “Nat? What’s going on?”

“Y/N, there’s someone here to see you. He insists he knows you, and even tried to bribe our door staff to let him into the venue. Says he won’t go until you hear him out.” Immediately, Bucky tenses from beside her, and Y/N’s stomach drops. 

“Did he leave a name?” But she knows who it is before Natasha even confirms it.

“It’s Dylan.” Her entire body goes stiff. It feels like someone dumped a whole bucket of ice cold water all over her, plunging her into a horrible nightmare. 

“Wait, Dylan as in ‘Letting You Down’ Dylan? Your ex who treated you like shit?” Bucky asks, and Y/N nods, still numb. “Where is he?”

“He’s in the dressing room. The guys just shoved him in there.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Y/N hisses, already beginning to feel herself hyperventilate. 

“Y/N, we can tell him to go.” Bucky offers. To his surprise, Y/N shakes her head.

“No. I need to do this. I need to tell him myself.” She gulps. Bucky can tell she’s absolutely terrified. “I might need some moral support, though.” She admits, her eyes glancing down at the floor. Bucky finds her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Of course.” He whispers.

When Y/N and the rest of the band enter the room, Dylan turns around. As soon as he sees Y/N, he grins. Immediately, Bucky hates him. His grin looks smug, and the way he looks at Y/N makes him feel sick. If he could, he’d punch that asshole right in his smug fucking face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She gasps.

“Wow, I just didn’t realise you were serious about this whole thing!” Dylan muses, looking around the room. “When I saw you online and on TV, I knew I had to come see you…and talk about what happened. Tell you what, why don’t we go get some drinks or some dinner, and we can just…talk it out?” Dylan whispers, reaching out to stroke her arm. The same way he used to when he was trying to get back on her good side, hoping she’d ignore all the cruel things he’d say about her and her career. Reflexively, Y/N steps back, away from him.

“Oh, so you only care about her once she’s getting more attention?” Bucky demands, earning a sharp jab in the ribs from Natasha.

“Bucky.” she hisses.

“What? He doesn’t give a shit about her or her career at first, but when he sees how popular she is and how he’s probably being blasted all over social media for rightfully being called out, he suddenly cares?” Dylan scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Buddy, this doesn’t concern you.” Y/N’s heart sinks. Bucky’s right. Dylan doesn’t care about her at all. He’s only here to save his ass.

“Actually, it concerns all of us, buddy. We’re her friends, and we actually give a shit about her, unlike you.” Bucky snaps back.

“Can we have some alone time now?” Dylan asks, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Bucky. For a moment, Y/N almost says yes, wanting to just get rid of him as soon as possible with no further trouble. That is, however, until she glances back, ready to tell the band to do as he asks. The entire band looks pissed off, but Bucky is seething. He stands with his arms folded as he glares at Dylan. They’re the ones who care about her and her career. Not Dylan. And then, Y/N realises what she has to do. 

“No. They stay.” She states. Dylan’s brows furrow. 

“But Y/N, sweetie-”

“Don’t call me that. You lost the right to call me that a long time ago. And you have no right to come here unannounced and start making demands, especially after what you did. I want them here, so they’re staying.” She folds her arms. “Now. What do you want?” When he sees he isn’t getting his way, Dylan splutters.

“I just don’t see why you had to make such a big deal out of it, that’s all! And besides, I was just thinking about calling you before I heard the song, anyway. It would be nice to talk again.”

“Oh, you were, were you? Well, you sure have impeccable timing, don’t you? And besides, I know that’s a lie because as far as I know, you were with your girlfriend last night. Have you told her you want to start talking to me again?” 

“Y/N, come on, don’t be like that. I’m trying to apologise. You always were so dramatic. It’s obvious I didn’t mean everything I said.”

“And yet ‘sorry’ isn’t the first word that came out of your mouth.” She hears sniggering in the background, which only spurs her on further. “And it’s not being dramatic. It’s called standing up for yourself and realising that you’ve treated me like shit for as long as I can remember, and I’m tired of it. If you think I’m coming back to you so you can do it again, you’re dumber than I thought you were. So, you can take your apology and shove it up your ass.” Dylan’s eyes widen, and he splutters again. In a way, it’s funny seeing the man who treated her like shit be unable to handle her sticking up for herself. “Now, go.”

“I’d advise you listen to her and fuck off before we call security. Trust us, you don’t want that.” Sam warns. Dylan tries to argue back, but when he sees he isn’t getting anywhere, he groans, beginning to leave.

“Bitch.” He murmurs as he walks by. Bucky, Sam and Steve follow him out, making sure he leaves while Natasha stays with Y/N. 

“That was incredible! You really gave that asshole what he deserved.” She grins. Y/N doesn’t feel incredible though. In fact, she feels like shit. After being on such a high from the concert and finally letting her emotions out in song, suddenly being confronted with Dylan and being reminded of just how little he cares about her is breaking her all over again. Her bottom lip trembles and her vision blurs. Shit.

“I’m sorry Nat, I-I have to go. I’ll be on the bus if you need me. I just. I need to be alone.” She stammers, her words coming out in a rush. She doesn’t even give Natasha time to reply before she hurriedly leaves the venue and climbs back onto the bus, crawling into her bunk and huddling into the corner. As soon as she knows it’s safe, her tears are unleashed, and she shakes as tears stream down her cheeks. She wraps her blanket around her, hoping it hides her from the world.

Y/N lays there for what feels like hours until the door to the bus opens again. “Who is it?” She calls, her voice croaky. 

“It’s just me.” Bucky replies. As soon as she hears his voice, it feels like a weight has been lifted off of Y/N’s shoulders, and she lets out a breath of relief. “I know you said you want to be alone, but we just want to make sure that you’re okay.” She turns around, looking into the pair of blue eyes she knows so well. The pair belonging to the man she loves. When he sees her tear-stained face, Bucky sighs. “Oh, Y/N.” She holds out her arms, and without another word, Bucky climbs in beside her, wrapping his tattooed arms around her still shaking form. 

He lets her cry into his chest for as long as she needs, rubbing her back and whispering comforting words into her ear. “It’s okay. He’s gone. We got rid of him.”

“I’m sorry.” She hiccups. Bucky looks down at her, frowning.

“Y/N, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Yet, she sniffles, nodding.

“I do. I care about you so much. You’re so kind to me, and I’d love to be with you. In all honesty, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But I ruined everything between us because of him.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, sweetheart.” Bucky soothes. “You’ve been through a lot, and nobody would judge you for being wary about dating again.” He kisses her head, his stubble lightly grazing her skin. Y/N feels that same flutter in her stomach again, this time amplified. He finds her hand again, intertwining his calloused fingers with hers once more. He brings her hand to his lips, kissing it softly. “It’s going to be big and scary, but we can take things as slow as you want. All I want is for you to be happy and comfortable.” And as she looks back up at him, Y/N realises that he’s right. Maybe she shouldn’t be scared, and actually let herself be happy again, with someone like Bucky.

“Okay.” She nods. Bucky smiles, softly kissing her on the lips. 

“How about I take you out tomorrow? Properly.”

“Where do you wanna go?” Bucky smiles, chuckling slightly.

“Well, we’re in New York, aren’t we? Like I said…I know a restaurant.”

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[rollercoasterwords]

hi! thank you for the kind words, i'm happy you're enjoying the fic. but i also want to use this message as an opportunity to talk about something/set a boundary that i haven't really known how to discuss, and i've blocked out your name because even though i'm not angry or upset with you, i want to make sure i'm not sending any hate back your way. 

i know that this message is well-intentioned, and i know you likely think it's nothing but a compliment to ask me to write more--after all, you're only asking me to write more because you enjoy the story so much! shouldn't that be a nice thing for me to hear? 

and like. i think that's why this is difficult for me to talk about. i don't want to come across as ungrateful or overly sensitive or like i don't appreciate the compliments, because i do. but at the same time, hearing someone say, "please write more of this fic for me, i love your writing so much!" is still hearing someone say "please write more of this fic for me!" like. 300,000 words is incredibly long. most novels are between 70k-100k words. a 300k word book usually takes years to write--years, and hundreds of hours of labor. maybe you chose that number randomly, or you're exaggerating for emphasis; but no matter how nicely you're phrasing it or how facetious you're being, ultimately this sort of message still puts pressure on me to produce a massive amount of writing in a short period of time. and even if you meant it as a compliment, it doesn't feel nice to me. being pressured to churn out hundreds of thousands of words makes me feel as though i'm being seen as a content-creation machine for the entertainment of others, and i don't like that. writing is a labor of love for me, but it is still labor--hours of time and effort that i'm putting into these works which i share for free, with no expectations of anything in return except maybe a few kind words from those who feel like reaching out. when i get messages or comments like this pushing me to write more, to write faster, it makes me feel as though my time and labor are not respected at all; as if there's absolutely no consideration for the amount of effort it takes to write the stories. which, again, makes me feel like i'm being viewed as some sort of fic-writing machine that can just pump out hundreds of thousands of words on demand for others' entertainment.

and none of this is helped by the tongue-in-cheek comment about how you're "suffering" waiting for updates. again, i understand that this was well-intended and maybe even a playful exaggeration that's supposed to be complimentary. but there are ways to tell me you enjoy my writing and eagerly wait for updates without telling me how much you dislike waiting between chapters. posting once a week is already a difficult schedule for me to maintain, and it's entirely possible that i'll need to take another break in the future or skip a week or something. i've been very clear about the fact that my update schedule is subject to change since i started writing the fic; that's just part of reading a wip. but when i get messages or comments like these with people telling me how they don't like waiting for updates, or comments directly asking me to post more than once a week, or--back when i did take a break--comments begging me not to take a break, it all adds together and builds up and creates this pressure to write more, write faster, post the new ch now now now. if you were the only person making this type of comment, it probably wouldn't bother me and i'd just respond and go "thanks lol" and move on. but the problem is that you aren't the only one--since more people have started reading the fic, i've consistently been getting comments like these, where the backhanded pressure to write more or write faster is couched in compliments. it's just so hard to wait for updates because i love your writing so much! i just want you to write more and post now and write faster because i love your writing so much! i know it's all well-intended, but none of it makes me feel good. it just makes me feel a mounting pressure to produce produce produce.

i feel like there are so many conversations happening in this fandom about how we need to treat writers better, where people go "the fandom is so shitty" and everyone goes "yeah!" but no one ever thinks they're part of the problem. and i think it's because everyone thinks the problem is like...really blatantly rude and entitled messages. and like, i get those too--people telling me they don't like a certain characterization and asking me to rewrite the fic; people repeatedly demanding that i write a certain fic for them; people just outright shitting on things i've written because they don't like it and for some reason think i want to know that. but none of that is super common. what is super common is the steady stream of comments and messages like this one, where they are so well-intended and don't see anything wrong with what they're saying because they think they're giving me a compliment. but all these "compliments" build up and create this pressure that hangs over my head to be constantly producing and writing, which is ultimately what leads to burnout and also makes me feel like i'm not being seen as a person so much as a machine. 

so like. idk. i'm not gonna try to speak for every writer in the fandom; maybe there are people out there who do appreciate this kind of message, who feel like it motivates them to write. but for me, i want to make it clear: i really don't appreciate being asked to write more or write faster or to write a certain trope/ship/etc; i am not a waiter taking your order at a restaurant. writing fic is not a service i'm providing for you that you pay me for in comments or kudos or messages or any sort of attention, because i am not writing for that attention in the first place. so when it comes to interacting with me, i'd ask that you reevaluate the way you give compliments and think about what sort of pressure you're putting on me, regardless of how well-intentioned your message is. again, no hard feelings towards you--like i said, this message probably wouldn't even register as pressuring to me if not for the fact that i get so many little comments like it, all from equally well-intentioned people who think they're just giving a compliment, all of which builds up together. 

anyway. all that being said. to answer your question: the fic will likely be four parts, not three as i originally intended. it will probably end up somewhere between 100-200k words based on the fact that we're already at 80k and i've only just started part iii, but i am not going to put pressure on myself to write a certain amount of words or hit a certain length. i'm just going to write what i want to write when i want to write, and share it as i want to share it. i'm happy to have you along if you want to be here, but if the cliffhangers or waiting for updates becomes too unenjoyable for you then there's no pressure for you to stay, yknow? no hard feelings on my end either way :•)

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

The Lair in the Woods

A/N: I meant to post this yesterday but my day got hijacked by a migraine😭 (I’m fine now but oof my weekend got away from me! I still have to finish making my Christmas tree topper…) (I did however schedule my Insta and FB posts for the week though so there’s that😎)

Warnings: Some anxiety and feelings of fear, reference to stalker, self-image issues, reference to (past) threats, confessions (of sorts)

My Masterlist | Taglist Info or Taglist Request Form | The Lair in the Woods masterlist

Civilian furrowed their brow. “What are you insinuating?”

The more Supervillain asked them, the more overwhelmed and helpless Caretaker’s heart became. They’d asked questions about their childhood, about their job, about the grocery store clerk that usually rang them up, and everything in between. Most of their questions Civilian couldn’t even answer, because how should they know if someone was watching them while they’d walked the dogs at the shelter they volunteered at or if they kept running into the same person at the pharmacy and then again at the mall when they went shopping?

“Maybe we should take a break,” Supervillain smiled warily, as if they should be the one to feel exasperated by their line of questioning.

“Was any of that actually helpful to you, or are we still nowhere near figuring out who my stalker is?” Civilian asked, their voice full of dejection.

Supervillain’s lips pressed into a thin line. They nodded slowly. “I think if we can piece some things together, like the timing of the letters and what…‘event’ we’ll call them, they correlated with, and try to discern a pattern and draw a list of suspects from that, we’ll find your stalker. They will not torment you forever, Civilian. I promise you that.”

Their savior’s words didn’t fill Civilian with any warmth. Their stomach churned with doubt.

Supervillain had asked them a lot of questions. They hadn’t been able to offer their companion many answers.

“It all just seems so random,” Civilian mumbled, leaning back into the couch cushions and resting their head against the top. “Nothing about it makes any sense to me. I’m…I’m really not that noticeable…or…well, you know. Pretty.”

Supervillain scoffed. “People are drawn to different art forms for a reason, so whether or not you’re attractive matters only to your stalker.”

“Thank you?” Civilian turned to look at them, not entirely sure if their words offered any actual comfort or if Supervillain had only offered them out of duty. But Supervillain’s eyes gleamed seriously. The lines of their face had softened with an honest expression. Swallowing, Civilian quickly added, “But I’m not a painting.”

“Who said you had to be painting? You could be a sculpture instead,” Supervillain teased.

Civilian smiled, glancing away. “All right fine. I guess my stalker likes what they see. That’s not very comforting though, given…Their letters were…I wish I could’ve burned them.”

“But it’s a good thing you didn’t. They’re still evidence, and we could use them. Writing is like another thumbprint. Everyone has their own style, so there’s going to be something there to help prove that the person we bring to justice is your stalker. That, and I’m sure we’ll find other evidence to help convict them.”

“They’re typed though. We can’t exactly compare how they cross their t’s.”

“No, but sentence structure, word choice, and spelling can all help us.”

Civilian picked at an invisible thread on their pant leg. They hadn’t thought of that.

“We’ll find them,” Supervillain repeated. “And I think I know exactly how we’re going to draw them out.” Civilian’s breath hitched, fearing what their savior was about to propose. They’d hinted at a plan forming in their mind, and if the excited gleam in their eye was anything to go by, it seemed Supervillain was ready to share it. Pausing at their panic, Supervillain offered them an assuring smile, “You’ll be completely safe, don’t worry. In fact, you’re going to stay right here, completely protected by my team of highly trained professionals and Medic. But…Well, it’s not necessarily a bad thing I suppose,” Supervillain paused, turning away from them and leaning back in their chair. “I have a confession to make before I can tell you my plan.”

“O-okay?” Civilian gripped the arm of the couch. Their muscles coiled, ready to vault them off the couch and out the door. “What is it?”

Supervillain sucked in a breath. “It’s…easier if I show you, but some people find it rather…unsettling.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to show me,” Civilian stuttered, “I’ll believe you.”

Supervillain raised a brow. “If you say so. Either way, I know you’re not going to like what I have to say because most sensible people don’t.” Civilian watched as Supervillain slowly stood from their chair and stepped away from the cozy seating area.

Encouraged by the distance they’d put between them, Civilian nodded uncertainly. “What is it?”

“I have superpowers,” Supervillain said slowly. “And not just any superpowers, I can shapeshift. So I can do this.”

Civilian watched, mystified as Supervillain’s features morphed and rearranged themselves before their very eyes. They weren’t sure if the rock in their throat was from their initial terror or because some part of them was repulsed by the grotesque display of skin and muscle rearranging themselves as Supervillain’s stature shrank, their hair grew out and changed color, and their entire appearance changed. The clothes became baggy and hung from Supervillain’s changed figure, a figure that Civilian had seen everyday of their life, every time they looked in the mirror.

Supervillain had become them.

Civilian gulped.

“You could be anybody,” they said, their mouth dry. “Even my stalker.”

“You’re right,” Supervillain said calmly, “I could be anybody, but right now I’m you.”

Civilian nodded. “So this is how you’re going to do it. You’re going to pretend to be me?”

“Yes…” Supervillain trailed off.

Civilian’s head hurt. They tried to focus, they really did. But all their mind could fixate on was the fact that a perfect copy of themselves stood in front of them, that that’s what their voice sounded like to other people, and that Supervillain had shapeshifted into them of all people.

“Close your eyes.”

They didn’t even think twice, doing as Supervillain said without question. It didn’t stop their temples from throbbing though.

“Okay.” Supervillain’s voice had returned to normal, and as Civilian opened their eyes, they were met with the sight of the figure of their savior as they’d been introduced to. Well-fitted clothes and all. “So yes, as I was going to explain, I—” Supervillain let out a heavy sigh and plopped back down in their chair. “Go ahead. Ask me anything you want.”

Civilian nearly burst, “Why that form? Is that what you really look like? Does it…” They glanced down at their lap, trying to calm themselves before they asked something insensitive.

“I like this height. It’s tall enough to reach the top shelf, but not so tall as to be noticeable and draw attention from people,” Supervillain said, amusement clear in their voice. “I plead the fifth on your second question, namely because telling you either way would risk my entire business, and no. It doesn’t hurt me. It looks worse than it feels. It’s more like…Well I guess it’s that I’m used to it. When I shrink it’s not so bad, but it can feel like stretching sometimes when I shift taller, but other times it’s like I’m pulling a muscle. The, uh, ‘joint pain’ I’ll call it because it’s sort of like that, as my bones shift isn’t fun, but like I said, I’m used to it.” Supervillain shrugged dismissively.

Supervillain avoided their gaze. From where they sat, Civilian could see how their hands clenched the arms of their chair. Civilian stared at them for a second, letting it all sink in and tried to wrap their head around everything.

“So…you can shapeshift and you run a private security firm that has a base of operations in an old ski lodge.”

Supervillain nodded slowly. They still hadn’t glanced their way. “That’s right.”

“I feel like you’re not telling me something,” Civilian said quietly. Supervillain tensed under their gaze, their eyes finally snapping to them. Civilian couldn’t hold their gaze, fearing the answer to what they wanted to ask—what they were going to ask. “Are you…I mean, I know you can’t answer this but…” They hesitated, debating with themselves if they should even ask. “Are you a hero or something?”

The Lair in the Woods Taglist: @just-a-space-rabbit @classicplesiosaur @pigeonwhumps @heninthegarden @kaiwewi @korejon @rivalriotrenegade @alpacamelons @averyconfusedhuman @amerementdoux @istealpants @sweetpeaflower01 @theimportantbreadtraveler @spideyholland @alltimelowing Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed (no reason necessary😊)! You can also fill out this handy dandy form if you’d like to be added too!

[sevlawless]

nothing without you

pairing: m!seven lawless x f!mc (arabella aveiro)

word count: 962

warnings: none just arabella going THROUGH IT

tags: @blainehayes @agentdumortain @valcubust-main

notes: so the @infamous-if brain rot is here and it's very fucking real lmfao- ever since i played i have not been able to stop thinking about it and more specifically, how my mc would cope post break up with seven. something something i still love you i still have to live that but how does ANYONE live with that .. anyway here it is! the song arabella sings is honeysuckle by pom pom squad

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

if i'm nothing without you, am i anything at all?

the chorus rattles around in her head long after she stops singing it. she seems to be frozen in place, her thoughts drowning out the ability to do anything else, although she does notice the faint sound of silence. the rest of dead apple have long stopped playing, but no one says anything. they seem to be doing that a lot lately when it comes to her.

she wasn't even supposed to be at this rehearsal, and she even agreed with her bandmates when they suggested she take some time away to process everything. the music can wait while she figures out how to move forward.

but all she can think about is music, all she could think about while she spent the last two weeks trying to pull herself back together is to write songs.

how do you go through something so traumatic and not write about it?

losing sev- just his name passing through her brain is enough to make her eyes clench shut, gripping the microphone stand in front for her tighter.

losing him is the worst pain she's ever felt in her life. how do you go from talking to someone every single day for the past eleven years to suddenly no contact? how does anyone cope with that? she'd really like to know.

it doesn't help that she was so unbelievably in love with him. she never was one to believe in soulmates but no matter how dumb she thought it was, she considered seven to be her's.

a soulmate who now wants nothing to do with you.

she lets out a ragged breath, which prompts someone reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"arabella-" it's rowan, his voice uncharacteristically timid, and it makes her stomach churn. she shrugs his hand off and turns to face him.

"i'm fine," she snaps, wincing at the tone in her voice. he's staring at her pitifully. if she dared to glance at the others they would share the same look.

they were just as much friends with seven as she was. why are they all so fucking concerned for her in particular? a part of her wants to say that if they were so upset about her, they never would have taken that stupid vote in the first place. the vote that ruined everything.

seeing the look on seven's face, the hurt in his eyes, the betrayal-

she can't think about this right now. she's spent the last two weeks trying to move on and fuck if she's about to cry in front of the band over this.

she turns back around, storming toward the exit. as she yanks the door open and slams it behind her, she wonders if anyone will come after her.

they don't.

she can't even get into the car before she's a sobbing mess, hands shaking as she clambers into her vehicle, resting her head against the steering wheel. her hands are balled into tight fists as she considers if punching something would help the pain subside. it didn't help last time.

last time. that night casts an unbearable weight down on her and makes her shoulders shake as she recalls her and seven screaming at each other in drunken rage, both saying things they can never take back. going to a place they could never come back from. when he left she punched a hole in the wall and her hand flares up as a reminder. her bruised knuckles are starting to heal now, and some part of her wishes they weren't. maybe so she could have one last piece of seven to remember him by. just one last trace of the effect he had on her so it didn't feel like the eleven years she spent with him were for nothing.

they can't just be nothing.

right?

that seems to be what they are now- he hasn't talked to her since that night and every day, every hour it feels like she pulls up his contact info out of reflex to tell him something. a joke, a lyric for a song, a text just to tell him she's thinking of him. she always manages to realize what she's doing before she hits send and she doesn't think that will get any easier.

if i'm nothing without you, am i anything at all?

the lyrics she wrote down one night after getting drunk in an attempt to get him out of her brain dance around in her mind again.

she can't remember the person she was before seven. it's not the one who stares back at her now as she wipes her eyes and looks into the rearview mirror.

would she like that person? would they be friends? she never thought about it until now. she never thought she would have to.

how do you move on from someone that was so inexplicably tethered to you? where there was arabella, seven was right there next to her.

she looks across to the passenger seat that seven used to occupy every day and is met with no one there. she sees the grey headrest where a black mop of hair used to lie. she sees the middle console where his fingers used to drum to the beat of whatever was playing through the speakers. she sees the dash where he used to lay his worn out combat boots on.

emptiness eats away at her until all she can do is let out another sob.

some part of her wonders if he even feels a fraction of what she does. he has to. for her own peace of mind, she hopes this has been as hard on him as it has on her.

but she wouldn't know.

[iamashippinggod]

I Don't Say What's On My Mind Quite As Much As You'd Like Me To

Part five of my mini-fic series is here! @julybreakbingo

Bingo Prompt: “You should be with someone that respects you.” Fandom: My Hero Academia Ships: Kaminari Denki/Shinsou Hitoshi, Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi Content Warning: Explicit Language Tags: Shinsou Hitoshi is an Insomniac, Adopted Shinsou Hitoshi, Adopted Eri, Married Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi, Class 1-A, Established Relationships, Shinsou Hitoshi replaces Mineta Minoru, Shinsou Hitoshi has Social Anxiety, Kaminari Denki has ADHD, Pansexual Kaminari Denki, Bisexual Jirou Kyouka, Gay Shinsou Hitoshi, Late Night Conversations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Stargazing, Latino Sero Hanta, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki is a good friend. Side Note: This is cross-platformed on AO3. What? Two posts within a few days of each other? Shocker. Anyway, welcome (or welcome back), here's part five! I hope you all enjoy <3 P.S: Also, translation for Sero: "Aye, date un respiro, hombre." = "Aye, take a break, man." "Ok, guapo." = "Ok, handsome." I apologize if those aren't the correct translations, I used Google Translate for Sero's spanish.

Masterlist

Summary: “... You should be with someone that respects you, Kaminari, not someone who’s gonna make you question if what you said or did was wrong or make you feel like shit for something you can’t help.”

“Like who?”

Me.

Hitoshi has officially been in Class 1-A for a full month now. 

         For the most part, everything was just about the same as before he was transferred into the Hero Course, with the addition of training and his new acquaintances (not friends, not yet). He still had his normal classes like English and Mathematics, but now he also has the addition of Heroics with All Might and afternoon training in Gym Gemma. He’s gotten better at changing the pitch of his voice changer at a faster speed mid fight. He’s even succeeded in capturing Bakugou mid-fight, and that in itself is a win considering how tough of an opponent he can be.

         And he no longer stays in his room, sure there are days where he separates himself from his class to recharge his social battery, but he finds himself joining everyone downstairs more often than not, especially if Kaminari is around. 

         Speaking of, he supposed that he has him to thank for that little change.

         He still finds being around his classmates for longer than a few hours after classes have ended to be a pain, but he finds it more bearable when Kaminari is around. Maybe it’s because the blond knows how to steer a conversation, forcing the attention onto him rather than the insomniac. Either way, it helps him feel more comfortable when there’s more than just the two of them in the room.

         He still wouldn’t admit it out loud if you confronted him, but he actually enjoys Kaminari’s company. More than he thought he would. Ever since that one Sunday night a few weeks back, he finds himself wanting to be around Kaminari more. 

         A part of him doesn’t like it, mostly because it’s weird to have a friend who doesn’t make comments about his Quirk and doesn’t imply all of the villainous acts he could do with it, it’s new. But that’s also why he does like it. Kaminari isn’t like everyone else. 

         And he likes to think that because they’ve been hanging out so much, and that Hitoshi actually enjoys his company, that he has gotten to know the blond well enough to know when something is wrong.

         Like now, for instance.

         Everyone in the class could sense that something was off with Kaminari and Jirou’s dynamic. Though the dark-haired girl wasn’t affectionate like her counterpart, she did joke around with Kaminari, even though some of the jokes she made something in Hitoshi’s stomach churn. And Kaminari knows she doesn’t like public displays of affection, so he finds other ways to swoon her during class; little gifts like snacks would find their way onto the corner of her desk at random hours of the day, an extra pen in case she forgot hers, offering to carry her bag when going to their next class, stuff like that.

         But for the past couple of days, there has been none of that. They wouldn’t even look at each other for more than a few seconds.

         Everyone knows something happened, they were all at the ramen shop last Friday, they all saw her storm out with Momo trailing after her, eventually watching Kaminari follow after them both. Hitoshi saw the concern and worry on Kaminari’s face that night, but mostly an expression of pure confusion.

         But it was Sunday morning that he knew something went wrong between them.

         Hitoshi had spent Saturday night at the family apartment on campus for diner, he and Eri had stayed up until it was close to midnight watching movies before Shouta had shooed them off to bed for the night, Hitoshi found it a bit hypocritical how he shooed them off to bed only to stay up to grade papers until Hizashi had come down to collect him.

         The next morning, Hitoshi had made his way to the kitchen, following the smell of freshly cooked bacon. He knew his Dad wouldn’t be there, he hosted tutoring sessions in the mornings on the weekends, and knew that if he wasn’t in the kitchen, that he was at the school for one of his tutoring sessions. 

         Half way through breakfast, his Pops spoke up. 

         “Are you heading back to the dorms soon?” Hizashi asked, making Hitoshi look up from his plate. 

         The purple-haired teen nodded, “Yeah, probably once we’re done eating. I left my homework at my dorm, and I need to see if Midoriya will let me borrow his notes again.”

         “Can you do me a favor and take your father his lunch, please?” 

         “Won’t he be done by lunch?” Hitoshi asked. 

         Hizashi reaches over to pick up his glass, “Yeah, he’ll be done tutoring by then, but he has a meeting with a detective for a case. You know he won’t take care of himself if I don’t send him something to eat.”

         So that’s how he found himself wandering the halls of the main school building until he reached his father’s classroom, a bento box in one hand, and his phone in the other while he looked at the news.                

        “Another sighting of the villain known at Dabi has been spotted down at the port last night, our sources tell us that he as well as the League of Villains are connected to the recent explosion in downtown Tokyo. Police are still refusing to make any statements, but are continuing their investigation–” 

         Hitoshi had shut off his screen, deciding that it was best to not read any more of that article. 

         For all of his hopes to follow in his parents’ footsteps, there were days where he wished that they weren’t in the Hero business, especially when he reads news like that. What the hell would they be in Tokyo for anyway?

         Hitoshi had stopped outside his father’s classroom, raising a hand to knock when he heard two voices from the otherside. 

         “It’s B.”

         “It’s A.” He hears his father correct.

         There is a grumble from the otherside. “This is hopeless…”

         A pause, followed by the sound of footsteps. “It may not seem like much, but you have improved since last weekend.” Hitoshi hears a scoff. “... Are you alright?”

         “What do you mean?”

         “To put it lightly? You look like shit, kid.” Hitoshi smirked at that. 

         He hears a laugh. He recognizes that laugh, and he smiles at the sound without realizing it. “It’s nothing to worry about.” A pause, followed by a sigh. “Really, Sensei, I’m fine. I just…” He hears him trail off. He sounded tired. “Why numbers? I understand letters like the back of my hand, but numbers? What maniac came to the conclusion that math was a necessity? Who?”

         Hitoshi knocks, “Dad?” he calls out, sliding the door open. He’s met with the sight of Kaminari hunched over his desk, and his father leaning back against the podium. He stops and examines Kaminari.

         Kaminari did look like shit. 

         Normally, the blond greets him with a smile, a grin, a fucking smirk, his lips would be turned upwards no matter what. But he was met with a frown instead. 

         Hitoshi clears his throat, tearing his eyes away and holds up the bento. “Pops asked me to bring you lunch. And to remind you to take your meds.”

         “Of course he did.” Shouta pushes off from the podium, hiding the small smile creeping its way onto his face with his scarf. “Thank you.”

         Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kaminari looking at him, but when he goes to return the look, the blond looks away.

         Weird.

        That night, Hitoshi texts Kaminari first. 

         I’m hopping on mc, you joining? 

         He was met with the thumbs-down emoji, followed by; can’t. homework.

         This makes Hitoshi frown. Kaminari normally sends him a paragraph for a reply. Are you okay?

         Three dots. i’m fine. He didn’t even capitalize the I. Before Hitoshi could think of a response, Kaminari adds, i’ll text you later. The purple-haired teen stared at his phone for a moment, reading over Kaminari’s responses before he eventually shuts off his screen and goes to log onto Minecraft, expecting that follow up he was promised.

But that follow up never came. And it doesn’t for a few days. 

         From an outside perspective, Kaminari probably seems like his normal self. Cracking jokes, poking fun with his classmates, holding conversations with Sero and Mina over the most random of subjects that have zero context or meaning. Kaminari did seem fine.

         Hitoshi knew he wasn’t. From his perspective, Kaminari was mimicking him and his sleep schedule, as the blond seemed exhausted, quieter in the past week alone. And he wondered if the rest of his friend’s squad had noticed too (he says “his friend’s” as he doesn’t see himself as a part of their group yet), and just hasn’t said anything.

         Hitoshi sees the way he’s sluggish during training, how his response time is off by a few seconds. And he’s definitely noticed the way he avoids Jirou at all costs, and the looks Jirou gives him in return. Speaking of the earjack hero in training, he noticed how she has simmered down in the past week, the daggers in her eyes were more like dull blades used for show now. 

         It all comes to a head Thursday morning. 

         Hitoshi had walked into class, rubbing away the remaining sleep from his eyes. As usual, he walks into the endless chatter of his classmates, some still waking themselves to pay attention to today’s lesson plan, others engaging in conversations that either have zero meaning behind it or are discussing homework or something along those lines.

         As he sits down, he looks to his right and sees the hyperactive blond being not so hyperactive. Kaminari had his arms folded across his desk and was currently resting his forehead on top of his folded arms, he looked as though he was half-way to being asleep.

         Hitoshi thought about reaching over, giving him a shake and asking to see if he was okay. But he already knows that he’s not okay, he hasn’t been okay for the past week, ever since that night in the ramen shop. What good would asking him do if he already knew the answer?

         “Hey, Ji. How are you holding up?” 

         Behind him, he hears Hagakure. Casting Kaminari a subtle but concerned look, he peaks over his shoulder to see the invisible girl talking to Jirou. 

         Now that he’s giving her a good look over, she was almost as bad as Kaminari, but her eyes weren’t as puffy as his. The girl shrugs, “I’m fine.” 

         Hitoshi almost scoffs. Why does everyone keep saying that when they clearly aren’t fine?

         If he could see the invisible girl’s face, he would probably see a frown. “Have you spoken to him since the break up?”

         Hitoshi snaps his head forward, eyes wide in shock. “No… We decided to give each other some space for a bit.” He hears Jirou say. He looks over to his right, seeing Kaminari peeking over his arms, eyes trained on the back of Ojiro’s chair. Did he hear them too? 

         Apparently the whole class heard. 

         “Wait what?” Uraraka spoke up, Hitoshi looked and saw her looking directly at the girls. “You and Kaminari broke up?” Looking past the three of them, he could see Momo staring at them blankly, like she was already expecting this reaction. She already knew.

         But Uraraka’s question stirred up the entire class. 

         “What? Kami, why didn’t you say anything?” Mina frowned at the electric blond, who only shrugged in response and buried his head further into his arms. 

         Bakugou’s frown (one that is practically tattooed on his face) deepened, and reached back and across to poke at Kaminari. “Oi,” He was quiet. “Pikachu?” 

         “I’m fine.” They hear him mutter. Behind them, most of the class was asking Jirou the questions. Only those from their group (minus Jirou, obviously) were checking in on Kaminari. 

         The commotion hadn’t died down when Shouta had walked into the classroom. Even Iida hadn’t bothered telling everyone to get to their seats when he noticed the teacher walking in. 

         For that half an hour, the classroom was tense. If Hitoshi was paying attention to his dad, he would have seen him casting a questioning look in his direction. But Hitoshi didn’t pay attention, he kept his attention on Kaminari instead.

Throughout the entire day, Hitoshi noticed how Kaminari seemed distant from everyone. The blond kept his head down during classes, and he hadn’t even shown up for lunch, Bakugou had to go and drag him into the cafeteria just to make sure he ate.

         In between classes, Kaminari would walk with a notebook and pen in his hand, scribbling things down. Hitoshi had peaked over his shoulder out of curiosity and saw that it was one of his extra assignments. He’s worse than Midoriya. And the green-haired boy would be switching between three assignments while maintaining a conversation with Todoroki in between his unnatural muttering.

         “Aye, date un respiro, hombre.” Sero clasps a hand on the blond’s shoulder, slightly shaking him from his thoughts before switching back to Japanese. “Seriously, don’t stress yourself. We’re doing a study group at Bakugou’s tonight so just join us.” 

         Kaminari looked as though he was giving it some thought before shaking his head. “No, it’s fine. I kind of want to get it done before Ectoplasm’s class.” 

         I don’t want to be around people, right now. Was what Hitoshi heard. He’s well rehearsed in avoiding people, and that was the oldest line in the book. And judging by the look Sero was giving him, he didn’t believe him either. 

         Sero gives him a small smile, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “Ok, guapo. If you change your mind, we’ll be in Bakugou’s room until seven.” 

         Kaminari nods before speeding away from the black-haired teen. Sero frowned as he watched him walk away, and so did Hitoshi.

         When afternoon training came, Kaminari had been excused from the class and was given a permission slip to head back to the dorms early. He knew his father noticed Kaminari’s exhaustion, he was practically mimicking Hitoshi even if he didn’t mean to.

         So during practice, Hitoshi was paired with Bakugou, who he quickly learned was hard of hearing due to his Quirk. About halfway through the round, Hitoshi had to switch to sign-language (something he had picked up for his Pops, who also was hard of hearing as a result of his Quirk), which took the angry teen by surprise. 

         Hiding around the corner to avoid Tokoyami and Dark Shadow, the two of them had a silent conversation. 

         “Which should we go after first?” Hitoshi signed, ignoring the wide-eyed look on Bakugou’s face. 

         “Since when can you fucking sign?” Bakugou asked. 

         Hitoshi shrugged. “Does it matter?” 

         Bakugou didn't reply right away, instead, he grabbed Hitoshi by the wrist and moved them until they were higher up with an advantage. Hitoshi felt a tap on his shoulder, he looked over in time to make out Bakugou’s question. “Have you spoken to Pikachu today?”

         With furrowed brows, Hitoshi looked between Bakugou and Tokoyami below them. “No. Have you?” He was met with a shake of the head. “How long were they together?” 

         “A couple of months. Not sure what happened though.” Bakugou pauses. “... Don’t say anything, but I’m glad they broke up.”

         “Why?”

         Bakugou scoffs. “Because they don’t work well as a couple.” He replies. “You should talk to him.”

         Before Hitoshi could question him further, acid was sprayed in their direction. 

         Unfortunately for Tokoyami and Mina, they had fallen for Hitoshi’s voice changer, and were deemed subdued, leaving him and Bakugou as the winner of this training match. 

         Mina was pouting all the way back to the entrance of Ground Beta. “No fair, how we’re we supposed to tell if that was you or one of us?” She questioned.

         But Hitoshi hadn’t been paying attention to the pink-haired girl, so Bakugou responded for him, “That was the point, Racoon Eyes.” The angry teen rolled his eyes. “You guys aren’t meant to know if it’s him or not. That’s what makes him fucking better.”

         Mina stopped, mouth gaping at Bakugou. “Did… Did you just compliment someone that wasn’t you or Kiri?”

         “Go to hell!” Bakugou sped up, but not before the rush of red colored his cheeks. Mina kept up her teasing while they made their way back.

         Hitoshi didn’t speak up again until they were in the locker room. Their match was the last one for the day, and as a result, they were the last ones in the locker room. Tokoyami left first, Dark Shadow peeking out to say goodbye before leaving them alone. 

         As Hitoshi pulled his shirt down over his head, he looked in Bakugou’s direction, watching as he reached for a pair of hearing aids. Once his shirt was one, he started signing again. 

         “I thought you got your hearing back when you were talking to Mina?”

         Bakugou shook his head. “I can read lips, as long as they’re not moving too fast.” 

         Hitoshi nods, and waits for Bakugou to put in his hearing aids before he speaks. “What did you mean earlier?” Bakugou gives him a questioning look. “About Kaminari and Jirou not working as a couple.”

         “Tsk.” The blond reaches for his bag, pulling the strap onto his shoulder. “Ears had a tendency to take her shitty jokes too far. Pikachu may seem laid back and doesn’t fucking care about what people say about him, but he does.”

         “Why didn’t-”

         “-He fucking say anything?” 

         “Or any of you?”

         Bakugou shrugs, “We’ve tried. She came into our group not too long after they started dating, so we had a little more time to know what was okay to joke about and what he didn’t want us to talk about. But whenever one of us would try to fucking correct her, Pikachu would shrug it off, saying that it was a shitty joke.” He explained.

         “Why me?” Confused, Hitoshi asked, “You said that I should talk to him, but shouldn’t one of you do that? You’ve known him longer.”

         “That’s why it should be you.” Still clearly confused, Bakugou sighed and continued. “He has a tendency to fucking brush shit off, if one of us tried to talk to him, he’d fucking plaster a smile on his face and throw a joke or two. He won’t fucking talk.”

         “That doesn’t explain why I should be the one to talk to him. What good could I do if the people he’s known longer can’t get him to open up.”

         “Damn, you really are dense.” Bakugou mutters, shaking his head. “It’s different with you. ‘No clue why, but he’s taken a fucking liking to you. He’ll talk to you. I know it.”

When they had gotten back to the dorms, there was no sign of the electric blond. When Bakugou had asked (to know how much to cook for dinner), Kirishima had told them that he was still in his room. Hitoshi confirms this when walking into his room, hearing the sound of music coming through the door across the hall. 

         The music stays on until it gets closer to midnight, 11:43 shining in red LED tells him the time. Hitoshi had finished his homework a while ago, and he was back on his Switch playing Mario Kart, trying to beat his best speed when he heard the music cut off abruptly. 

         The teen looks up from the device and looks toward his door. He waits, expecting the music to come back on with a change in song, but the noise never comes. 

        “What good could I do if the people he’s known longer can’t get him to open up.”         “He’ll talk to you. I know it.” Just what the hell did he mean by that?

         Out of curiosity, Hitoshi disregards his Switch and reaches for his phone, unlocking it and opening his chat with the blond.

         What are we listening to tonight?

         Instead of seeing the three dots dancing at the bottom of the screen, he sees the grayed-out check mark underneath his message turn green, indicating that it had been seen. But he receives no response. 

         Hitoshi frowns, laying on his back as he stares at the screen, still expecting those three dots to appear at any moment.

         So Hitoshi starts typing again. Any chance I can make a request? We could be the dorm’s personal radio show. He jokes. But the only indication that Kaminari has seen his text is that green checkmark underneath his message.

         He sighs, shutting off his screen. Clearly Kaminari didn’t want to talk. Then again, he could have not even been looking at his phone, he could just have their chat open and that’s why they were being marked as read.

         No, that’s a stupid explanation. Besides, if their messages were open, that would mean Kaminari was planning on texting him back, so why hasn’t he?         “What good could I do if the people he’s known longer can’t get him to open up.”         “He’ll talk to you. I know it.” 

         He opens his eyes to the sound of his phone ringing. When did he even close them?

         Hitoshi raises his phone, eyes widening slightly when he sees Kaminari’s name on his screen. Without thinking, he immediately swipes his thumb right to answer. “Hey-”

         “Step into the hallway.” Hitoshi almost drops his phone from how rough Kaminari sounded. 

         Curiously (and more so out of concern), he does as told. Swinging open his door and stepping out, frowning at the sight of an empty hallway. “Where are you?”

         “Across from Iida’s room.” Kaminari tells him, Hitoshi walks until he’s standing in front of Iida’s room, and across from his door is an open window. 

         The purple-haired teen hangs up and immediately climbs through it, leading him to the roof that connects both wings of Height Alliance. His feet (thankfully covered by the fluffy socks that Eri had picked out for him at the mall) hit the asphalt, and ahead of him, Kaminari is lowering his phone from his ear. 

         The blond was laying on his back, his knees drawn up as he looked up at the sky. Tonight, the skies were clear, the school was high enough away from the rest of the city that looking up from here, they could see stars shining brightly. 

         Hitoshi is hesitant to move at first, unsure as to why Kaminari was out here, let alone inviting him out here with him. But he finds himself moving toward him anyway, eventually sitting down next to the other teen, drawing up his knees to rest his arms on.

         Neither of them say anything at first. But neither of them seemed to mind the silence, it was a comfortable silence that greeted them, aside from the sound of crickets that echoed in the grass below, and the familiar commotion of their classmates getting ready for bed (unless you were Bakugou, then you were already asleep). 

         “Did you know that electricity has a sound?” Hitoshi looks behind him, looking down at Kaminari, who hadn’t looked to meet his gaze. “Most people don’t even notice that there’s a sound until it’s been cut off. It’s quiet, barely noticeable in general. But when the power cuts off, you can hear the silence. It’s kind of nerve racking.” Kaminari explains. 

         “Is that why you’re out here?”

         The question makes Kaminari bend his head to look at Hitoshi. But he nods. “It’s too loud. Most of the time, I can ignore it. But with my Quirk… it’s hard to sometimes.”         “Can’t you still hear it out here though?”

         Kaminari shrugs. “Yeah, it's not as bad though.”

         Another round of silence falls over them for a minute. Kaminari looks back up at the sky, and Hitoshi lies down next to him to do the same. 

         “What did you mean earlier? About Kaminari and Jirou not working as a couple.”

         His conversation with Bakugou rang in his ears again, nagging at him. He finds himself turning his head to look at the blond laying next to him, Bakugou talking in his ear again.

         “Tsk. Ears had a tendency to take her shitty jokes too far. Pikachu may seem laid back and doesn’t fucking care about what people say about him, but he does.”

         He couldn’t help but to think that there was some truth in Bakugou’s words.         “She came into our group not too long after they started dating, so we had a little more time to know what was okay to joke about and what he didn’t want us to talk about. But whenever one of us would try to fucking correct her, Pikachu would shrug it off, saying that it was a shitty joke.” 

         He bites back a sigh. Just how many times had you shrugged shit off, Kaminari? He wanted to ask him. But he knows better. If the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t want to explain it either. Besides, for the most part, he and Jirou seemed to really have liked each other.

         “... I’m sorry to hear about the break up.” He thought that was a good way to start. “How are you holding up?”

         “I’m fine.” 

         It sounded forced. So Hitoshi pressed. “Okay, now the truth this time.” He found himself repeating the same words his Pops’ used on him a while back, keeping his voice soft in hopes of making Kaminari comfortable enough to talk. 

         The blond didn’t say anything at first, Hitoshi thinks he wasn’t going to say anything at all. He doesn’t blame him though. 

         But then Kaminari sighs, his eyes squeezing shut as he brings his hands up to cover his face. “Not fine.” He groans, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

         “What happened with you two, anyway?” Hitoshi presses, hearing him sigh again. “I’m not going to force you to talk about it but… it’s not good to bottle things up-”

         “What would you know?” There was a snap in the blond’s voice, who dropped his hands from his face in favor of sending him a glare. “You’ve never been in a relationship before, remember?”

         “No, but I have experience with heartbreak.” He kept his voice even. He watches Kaminari deflate a little. “And I know first hand the consequences of bottling things up. Eventually, that bottle cracks, and it keeps cracking until you’re saying all the things you didn’t want to say anyway. So, let it out.”

         Kaminari goes quiet, just like he has been over the past week. But Hitoshi doesn’t push anymore, he wants him to open up on his own. 

         It’s kind of funny when you look at this, he’s using the same tactics Hizashi and Shouta had used on him when he came to live with them a little over a year ago. Even though the situations are different, it feels like the right move. It’s hard to describe.

         “... I fucked up.” Hitoshi looks toward the blond again, finding a look of guilt on his face. “And I didn’t even realize how much I had fucked up until it was over.”

         “What do you mean?”

         “She was jealous-” He cuts himself off, closing his eyes to think. “I um, I talked to Momo after homeroom, and I asked her how Ky- Jirou was doing,” Hitoshi could tell that it was hard to call her by her family name after getting so used to using her given name. “And I know she’s just looking out for her, I do. But she called me out for not being there when I should’ve been.”

         He knew it wasn’t the full story. And he knew that he probably wouldn’t get it, at least, not anytime soon. So Hitoshi nods, processing what he was told, Bakugou’s words from earlier ringing in his ears. “You know… she wasn’t…” He trails off, unsure how to word this. “I noticed how she treated you,” He starts, which as a reward, Kaminari turns to look at him. “I noticed the comments she makes, how you just laugh them off when no one else does-”

         “She was only joking when she called me dumb.”

        “Bullshit.” Kaminari’s eyes lock with his. “You don’t call someone you care about an idiot or make fun of them for how their Quirk affects them, especially when they have no control over it.”

         “I wasn’t exactly the perfect boyfriend-”

         “Well maybe she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend, either.” Disbelief crosses the blond’s face. “Jirou is a nice girl, and she’s a good friend. That I don’t doubt… But-”

         “But what?”

         “I think you two were a bit toxic with each other, not on purpose, but you brought out different sides to each other that weren’t healthy.” 

         Kaminari is quiet again. Hitoshi sighs, looking up at the sky. Above them, he can see the blinking lights of an airplane in the darkness. 

         “... You should be with someone that respects you, Kaminari, not someone who’s gonna make you question if what you said or did was wrong or make you feel like shit for something you can’t help.”

         “Like who?”

         Me. Hitoshi freezes, but says nothing in response to Kaminari’s question. Nope. No. I’m not doing this. “Someone…” Me. “Someone like Sero, or Mina?”

         Kaminari blinks at him before a laugh leaves his lips. And if that laugh did not make something in his chest flip… “Oh please. First of all, they’re into each other and are in denial.”

         Hitoshi huffs out a laugh of his own. “And secondly?”

         Kaminari holds his breath, wetting his lips. “... I- They’re practically family.” 

         “Maybe you can ask Mina to set you up with Aoyama.”

         “Dude, that’s mean.” He turns his head in time to watch Kaminari laugh at the sky above them. He swallows, but doesn’t say anything. “Hey,” The blond looks toward him again, a grin on his face. “Denki.”

         “Uh?”

         “Call me Denki.”

         Hitoshi looks confused. “Why?”

         “You tell everyone to call you by your given name, it’s only fair that someone lets you call them by theirs, right?” He looks more relaxed now, genuinely carefree. I like it. 

         Hitoshi breathes out, “Nice to meet you, Denki.” 

         A gentle breeze cuts through them, reminding them both that it was autumn, almost winter. Hitoshi watches Kami- Denki, shiver, making him notice that he was only wearing sweats and a t-shirt. 

         “We should go inside.” He tells him, sitting up on his elbows. 

         Denki sits up, shaking his head. “No,” He drags out.

         “We’re not even supposed to be out here. And just because I’m the teacher’s kid, doesn’t mean I get special privileges.”

         Then he pouts. Denki Kaminari was pouting, it made Hitoshi crack a smile as he stood up. “Boo.” Denki huffs, moving to stand up. He wobbles, and out of reflex, Hitoshi moves to steady him, his hands on his waist. 

         How he manages to bite down the blush that threatened to show itself, he doesn’t know. But Denki wasn’t as lucky. The blond looks up at him, a grin on his lips and a taunt in his eyes. “Damn, I just got out of a relationship, ‘Toshi. Patience.” He laughs. 

         Hitoshi doesn’t respond, his grip on Denki’s hips were loose, he could easily slip away from him but he didn’t. Now, it was no longer Bakugou’s voice echoing in his ear, but Denki’s. 

         “Like who?” Me.

         “Hitoshi?” Denki looks up at him, brows furrowed. He brings Hitoshi out of his thoughts long enough for him to notice Denki’s hands hovering over his chest. Fucking hell… 

         Hitoshi drops his hands and steps back, biting down the gulp. “Right, sorry. Come on,” He nods toward the window they crawled out of. “If we don’t freeze, my dad will definitely give us detention.”

         Denki stares at him for a moment, before rolling his eyes and begins making his way toward the window. “I’m pretty sure your dad would stick us in a freezer for detention just to make a point.”

         “If only you knew how much of a softy he actually is.”

         Once they made their way back inside, and Hitoshi had closed the window behind them, they made their way back to their rooms. Both stopped in front of their doors, and Hitoshi finally had a clearer look now that they were in the light, he frowned at the sight of the growing eyebags under his eyes. 

         Yeah, nope. 

         As Denki opened his door, Hitoshi slid past him, and the purple-haired boy immediately went to the mess of papers that lay scattered around his bed. Denki watched as he picked up his papers, confused.

         “What are you doing?”

         “Making sure you don’t pass out in class tomorrow.” Hitoshi told him, grabbing an empty folding (which he assumed was where these papers were from) to store his homework. “This is coming with me and-” He adds as Denki opens his mouth to argue. “- I will help you finish it or fix it before class tomorrow. Okay?”

         “Hypocrite.” Hitoshi raises a brow at him. “I know damn well that you don’t sleep either.” 

         “I’m better than I used to be.” He admits, a bit shyly at that. “But just because I do it, doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you do the same shit. Now go to bed.”

         Denki scoffs, playfully rolling his eyes to add to the dramatics. “Fine, dad. I’m going to sleep.”

         And just to play along, Hitoshi pats Denki on the head, telling him “goodnight” before heading back to his room across the hall. 

         As the door shuts, he leans back against the wood and looks down at the folder in his hands.          “... You should be with someone that respects you, Kaminari, not someone who’s gonna make you question if what you said or did was wrong or make you feel like shit for something you can’t help.”

         “Like who?”

         Me.

         A sigh leaves him. Hitoshi sets the folder down on the corner of his desk before jumping into bed. I’m not dealing with this.

[namorslutfanfiction]

Hey Tenoch Huerta Nation/Coven/Whoretas: A Gentle Reminder

I hope you are enjoying my fics, the release of BPWF on Disney+, and of course all the amazing gifs/art/fandom media that is being put out there by other creators just like me.

I got a message with a bit of attitude about me not updating enough. It was rude and dismissive and incredibly entitled so I just wanna address it here.

All my writing is done as a hobby, for pleasure, and for enjoyment. I am not being paid or compensated for the hours I put into my writing and creating. As such, sometimes I do not have it in me to put anything out. Whether I am busy with real life, burnt out, or just not in the mood, there can be days to weeks where I will not be able to post.

You are not entitled to any of my writing. I can easily block you if you hadn't sent the ask as an anon. I share my writing because I want it to be enjoyed but with the caveat that I am respected for my efforts. The same way that we send praises and appreciation to all the wonderful people who make edits and gifs that we all share.

Yes my blog isn't just my fanfiction. I created this side blog and returned to Tumblr because of Tenoch and BPWF. I will post whatever I want, whether it is my personal thoughts, gifs and videos I like, or just random fangirling with my mutuals. IF you do not like that feel free to unfollow. I have a masterlist for a reason and I cross post to AO3.

JUST BECAUSE YOU MADE A REQUEST DOESNT MEAN YOU CAN HARASS ME BECAUSE I HAVENT POSTED IT YET. I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO DENY/DELETE/CHANGE A REQUEST AS I SEE FIT AND NOW YOUR REQUESTS ARE DELETED

I do my best to be as inclusive as possible with all my writing. But I am a nearly 29 year old Filipino female and that will always tinge my writing. All I can say is that if something doesn't sit right with you don't read it. If you can't find what you're looking for maybe you need to write it.

I AM NOT A MACHINE. SOME DAYS I HAVE THE TIME AND CREATIVITY TO CHURN OUT MULTIPLE FICS SOMETIMES ITS NONE. I have had some family medical issues, a death of someone close to me, and a reaction to my own medication in just the past month. I will take breaks as I see fit for my own health.

You are a giant bleeding cunt.

Anyway. That's my rant for the day. Appreciate your fic writers, gif makers, video editors, and artists.

[ddarker-dreams]

hii im really sorry if you've gotten this ask before but do you have any tips for new writers? ^^ have a great day miss lock!

HELLO i'm sorry this was a bit of a delayed response... i just tried to think about it for a while, because i consider giving advice on anything relating to creating art to be tricky 😭😭 i always fear something i say might hurt someone's progress or make them feel like they've been doing something wrong have they not been doing what i suggested. all that to say, please please please take this with a grain of salt! write to enjoy yourself first and foremost!

consider your intrinsic vs extrinsic motivation 

this relates more to if you intend on posting your writing in the public sphere. don’t get me wrong, i absolutely Love feedback and it undoubtedly gives me the push to keep creating at times... but i also frequently assess myself to make sure i’m writing for what i enjoy, first and foremost. i know writers often feel this pressure to keep “churning content out” because of the advent of bite-sized media formats like vine/tik tok/instagram reels/youtube shorts/what have you, but doing this will inevitably make you miserable and burn you out. write stuff that you makes you happy. be self-indulgent. write the trope that’s been done a million times before. go for that super obscure idea that you’re worried no one will want to read if you like it. 

spurts of motivation will come and go

i had to come to terms with this myself the hard way. i’d get really hyped for a project, go ham with planning it, then my interest would kinda dwindle maybe a week or so into the process. at first, i thought this meant i wasn’t as ‘passionate’ about the story as i originally thought, but i no longer think that’s the case. there will be times when you feel like going IN with your writing and other times when you’ll need a break. try to be careful labeling this as ‘writer’s block’. speaking from personal experience ofc, i’ve found doing this kinda dooms myself for a while. i’d open up a doc, make no progress, then go ahh the writers block is at it again. 

the process of writing is more than typing sentences into whatever word program you prefer. it’s can be experiencing and taking inspiration from other art, making mood boards, daydreaming on your walks, talking over ideas that might go nowhere with friends. i try to look at this downtime in writing as a battery being recharged. go easy on yourself.

try to avoid editing as you go on the first draft

whenever i do this, i end up getting snagged on a particular section and making very little process. for my first draft, i just start tip tapping away, getting the foundation of what i want down. you can always come back and clean certain areas up later! you’ll get into more of a flow this way and it should hopefully stave off some of the frustration that comes when you just can’t find the words the first time around. 

[americanrecord]

hiya! do you have any writing tips to share ? i love your writing and your journey is very inspiring to me as a new writer!

hiii, darling! this is so sweet, and i love hearing about new writers <33 welcome, welcome !!

anyway, as for writing tips, i have a few, and some of them are about just like — prepping — whereas others are more writing or editing-focused. also, a lot of these are contradictory, meaning you really have to exert a case-by-case sense of judgment. a tip that make work in one situation/with one piece, may not work with another.

before we break into that — if you or anybody reading this knows they are best writing off the cuff and/or are a pantser who detests making writing a routine/ritual + works more successfully in what is akin to random spikes of energy, some of these tips won’t be super helpful. what works for me is being very constant and thorough.

also, disclaimer, i have no real certifications (yet).

write everyday, or: as often as you can. seriously, practice helps. not only with the cohesion of your work, but with your writing. playing around and engaging with words in some way every day is my biggest tip. and i don’t care if you sit there and churn out 8,000 words in one day or write a 47-word paragraph and call it a night, just touch it. write! sometimes i write 5k in a day and revisit it & it’s terrible, and sometimes i write 24 words before i decided i was too tired & return to some of the world’s prettiest 24 words. if you have time, always try and write.

planning, outlining, editing, etc. is writing. it absolutely is, and don't let anybody else tell you otherwise. however, if you are only planning, outlining, and editing what you have already written, then you will never finish anything. sometimes, you have to take your hands off the work & give it a week. sometimes, with outlines, you have to say fuck it, we ball, and start typing and see what happens. i am an excessive planner, so this is hard advice i had to learn, but there is almost never a necessity for every single comprehensible detail to make it into the outline as a.) the work will start to mirror that bullet-y feel of an outline b.) many of those little details will get cut anyway. just write. get off pinterest and write.

on that note, if you are an outliner, do try to include as much detail as you can into that outline - namely things you know are important to the overall scene and that you may forget by the time you go and write it. most often, for me, that means writing down lines of dialogue as i first hear them in my head, even if they are ultimately changed by the time i go to type/edit. sometimes simply saying: "then valerie explodes in anger" is enough of a cue, other times, i have to remind myself how, exactly, she explodes in anger. this is often because i plan and make outlines in clusters.

speaking of, planning in advance—while bothersome to the pansters of the world—will save you a lot of work in the long run. it's definitely guaranteed to slash your plot-holes in half. what i specifically do is make the outline for like 4-5 chapters at once, or however many chapters apply to maybe one "plot beat" or arc. this ensures that they're as smooth as possible and all connect well because they were all sort of penned in a continuous motion.

share your work. it's scary, i know!!, but share it. i don't mean post it - unless that moves you, then please do - but share it. ask a friend to read it, source out a mutual, search for beta readers on the internet, etc. depending on what level of criticism you ask for, other people's feedback is invaluable. writers are always too close to their work and their characters so things may seem like they make sense and/or are realistic when they may not be. other people may catch what reads awkwardly but otherwise goes unseen because you've read over the piece too many times. they can pick out typos, confusing moments in plot/characterization, or—positively, funny/cute/sweet/riveting/interesting moments that kept them wanting to read more and therefore might serve as some motivation. writers often love criticism, and they like to know how they can make the work better, but they also love knowing what makes the work good and what people want to see more of. for any invested readers or betas tuning in right now: the more specific you can make your feedback, the better. i don't know a writer that wouldn't appreciate some lines/passages/moments being specifically honed in and celebrated, because sometimes a simple "yeah, it was good" is nice, but...not enough.

give some space between writing and editing. a lot of writers will advise somebody not to edit something until they've finished it in its entirety (not to applicable to people like fic writers who are sometimes writing without a schedule, on a post-write-post-write-rinse-repeat schedule), but i don't personally follow this rule...? i don't feel complete moving on from a chapter that may be teeming with typos. i am, however, somebody who would write a chapter, call it a night, and let myself sleep before looking at it again. with this rewrite specifically, i would also only edit lightly knowing i had a massive overall edit later in the pipeline. but do give space. words start to blur when you've been writing for a while, and what reads smoothly when you're sleep-deprived might be alphabet soup when you're not (or vice versa!) [and if you are working on a real book, do try to save as much of the editing as possible for a finished draft, as i can guarantee you'll have to do some rewriting anyway, so there's no use in killing yourself for the shiniest sentence so early on.]

editing is also done best when it's done by somebody else, but don't be the writer that puts word vomit on somebody's desk and expect them to make sense of it. what you give somebody else to edit should always be in its best stage possible (unless it's like: hey, just read over this rq, which isn't really an editing task). wordy is okay. full of red spaghetti, as i like to call it, is not. spell check is FREE. for self-editing purposes: i recommend some grammar aids like grammarly, prowritingaid, and hemmingwayapp. the latter, even the free version, is really good for pointing out things like overly complex sentences/run-ons, an over-abundance of adverbs, too much passive voice, etc. i don't always listen to that last site when it highlights some of my sentences as too complex, however, as...sometimes they are just big sentences while not being difficult to read. always exercise your best judgment or ask for a second set of human eyes.

also for editing, if possible, printing out your work and doing it by hand is a really good way to visualize the work and to reduce screen-induced distractions. i find it especially helpful for cutting words. i don't know why. sometimes, it looks great on a screen, but then i read it on paper and picture what people would be snuggling up in their beds to flip through and have a new sense of "oh, that's not needed," "that's redundant," "that's gratuitous detail that can be summarized in one sentence instead of four," etc.

for massive rewrites, however, i typically abandon a pen and just open up two side-by-side computer tabs and go at it. i end up cutting words this way too usually!! or adding, depending on...

another editing tip: reading your own work aloud is always good. your ear really does pick up on things that your eye doesn't. but if you're like me and you don't want to sit there and read off thousands of words to your poster of insert favorite celebrity, or if you're in public environment/a home environment with too many overhearing ears, then text-to-speech software is amazing. i swear by it, particularly for determining if the flow of the text is good, and there are a bunch of free ones out there. the most realistic voices (AI) are typically ones you need to pay for, which i don't do (looking into this, however, just because it's so helpful for me), so i will make do with voices that sometimes sound like siri — but it works!!! when writers read, especially their own work, i think they have a tendency to edit and rearrange words in their head like a passage is an endless word scrambler, so turning off your visual cortex (besides like, following along with the audio) and just listening to the words as they are read to you sort of cuts that instinct off at the knees and shows that, no, it doesn't sound as awkward as you think it does. there will never be a reader who scrutinizes your words as deeply as you do, so it's reassuring to know that it sounds nice off the lips of somebody else. even if it's a robot.

lastly, don't neglect snacks, water, entire meals, homework, your social life (to an extent, sometimes i get it fr), your health, sleep, the bathroom, etc. you can't write when you're dead.

lastly, part 2, have fun with it!!!!!!

[h2bakugou]

hi there, i know it’s been a while

cut for length, tw: mentions of self-harm, suicide, etc.

i really don’t know how to say what i want too, in a short version, i think i’ve grown past this blog.

not in a ‘i don’t watch anime anymore’ kind of grown past, but more so in a, i want to create longform writing content.

i keep thinking about this blog every time i open a new doc to make some sort of silly one shot i fantasized about the week before doing so.

the only thing i’ve been hanging onto that’s been a consistent piece i’ve been working on is a fucking paul dano!riddler semi-smau (is this even real? does this even count as an smau if part of it is just writing like normal outside of the text convo and twitter post screenshots?)

a part of me also just, wants to move on in a way. i feel as if i’ll never be able to fully return to how i used to churn out content.

outside of tumblr i’ve grown, i’ve been at my job for over a year now and got promoted to an assistant manager, i’ve been with my wonderful boyfriend for six months now, i’ve made new friends, i’m working on getting a driver’s license, i’m doing so much more than i thought i was ever capable of doing two years ago.

but part of me still feels like there’s this piece missing. where i used to take two to three days out of my week sit down, answer requests, talk to you and put out content that made me feel important.

i’ve been battling with my mental health for a while, it really only became super evident maybe around a year ago, close to when i decided to take my hiatus.

i’m so easily worn out by the things i enjoy now, nothing ever really feels fun to me anymore. i try my hardest but even now, that piece i’ve been working on, the one where i’ve imagined myself, a little transmasc guy falling in love with the riddler because smooth brain loves incel serial killers (edit: see shigaraki)

is wearing me out. i’ve already taken numerous breaks in between writing what i’d call the worst thing i’ve ever written.

i can’t say i know what i’m battling, but it’s driven me to an attempt to take my own life a little over 9 months ago give or take? i look back and laugh at my struggle now because it’s something i just have to cope with, especially with humor, which evidently helps everything, or makes it worse i won’t ever know probably.

i just want to write, and i want to write confidently and know that if i’m doing anything productive and worthwhile, it’s this. it’s sitting down and coming up with an idea, putting that idea into words, into sentence, into characters and dialogue and making something entirely new.

i know you’re reading this like why is this bitch getting into suicide while talking about being bored with his life and his writing blog, believe me i’m right there with you

i just feel like i’ve done all i can, at least on this blog. it feels wrong to try and move my audience over to topics they don’t care for. i can’t shift your likes and dislikes, i can’t change what you’re into or not into. 

i want to start again, and i’m still working on the whole process, but for right now, i feel better in saying i think h2bakugou has had it’s run. i think it was beautiful and so much crazy fun and i would do it all over again.

i’ll be sure to stop back in if and when i manage to pull a blog name out of my ass for the next fandom i find myself in, lord knows i’ll think of something.

thank you all so much for literally everything. there’s more coming somewhere down the line, but for now all i can do is work behind the scenes to whip up something i know i’ll be just as proud of.

with love, 

-lev

[manonamora-if]

technically, we haven't passed the 6-months mark but whatev'

Since there's been a bit more activity on this page lately (hello new followers!), I thought it be a good time to have a little retrospect on what has happened the past few months and a couple of my thoughts. Also some milestones passed :D

Note: I discuss some stats of the game, out of transparency and to give people one particular view on how IF games are doing.

It's going to be pretty long, since I'll discuss all projects I have at hands, so under the cut!

If you haven't yet played them, you should :P

Status: Completed.

I am publishing this on the day I released MtP, the first version at least, on itch. This was my first ever IF game and my first 'serious' piece of writing in years. The game itself if pretty light-hearted, but I hadn't written anything substantial (aside from uni papers) in a long while...

Since, I've been wanting to write something light-hearted again, though I neither had the time or ideas... maybe one day, lol. It was really a fun project to start out with this medium and program!

This project had been shelved pretty much as soon as it was published, as it was a completed project and self-contained stories. Still, last January, I gave it a neat UI update to make it neater. I also published a tutorial on how to reach all endings [link]! But it is also officially and forever shelved! For real this time.

It is not my most popular project by far -and that's more than fine!-, but it has passed the 2k plays mark a few weeks ago! Which was really neat!

Other neat stats:

18 lovely people rated it, with an average of 4.2/5

it has been added to 122 collections

it had a ration of 2.2 views per play (when I calculated it)

Compared to the last retrospection, it tripled in rating and in collections (ish), but the average stayed the same. It has slightly gotten a better view/play ration (0.01 count).

PLAY | INTRO POST | RATE | REVIEW

Status: Ongoing/In Beta

Since February, I have been working really hard on this project. I don't think I spent more than a few days away from it, in one form or another, even when my wrists were out of commission. CRWL has seen 2 major story updates and a UI update since the beginning of the year.

I have finally have a clear head/roadmap for the rest of the project and know where I am taking it. It will be a huge project, that will most likely span a few years, looking at my notes and how fast I progress through it. I am dreading a bit how huge it will get, but am also so very excited to see where it goes and how much I will learn from it. I would not be surprised if it crossed the 1M words count at some point, lol -we will pass 100k online in the next update already-.

Speaking of the next update, it should be right around the corner. I know I've been talking about it for weeks now, but the Beta is (or should be) in its last stretch. I have completed all edits/proofreading. All previous bugs have been fixed. The only thing I worry is the formatting, it can get a bit wonky at times. It is frustrating, but I am getting there!

Some neat stats again:

47 lovely people rated it, with an average of 4.7/5

it has been added to 1112 collections

it had a ration of 1.9 views per play (when I calculated it)

Compared to the last retrospection, it doubled in rating and in collections (ish), but the average decreased by 0.2 (got a few haters, lol). It has slightly gotten a better view/play ration (0.1 count).

This is also the only game with a rating on IFDB.

TBH, I'm gonna need a break from it after the update. It's been non-stop this since January...

PLAY | INTRO POST | RATE | REVIEW

Status: ongoing

If you were following me when this game came out (or in its past updates a few months back), you'd know I made this one in less than 2 weeks for a jam. As proud I was to churn out a functionally working game in this time frame, I was never happy with its result. I was forced to scrap most of the story for time constraints and other neat ideas because I did not know how to implement it.

So, when I got frustrated with CRWL since I re-started the project, I've been switching over to this game and worked on it in the hope to release a better version with a proper fleshed out story and better code. It will be a proper Interactive Novel now :P. It really has been bugging me since last year...

Anyway, the new draft has been going really well with 13 out of 30 scenes written. Each character will have a fleshed out background and story. While there will be little in the character creation side and choice (since the game goes forward as you play a round), I wanted to have the story be as least repetitive as possible. Each round/scene has its own story (or 2) and maybe ending(?)

I am also planning to have a new UI! If I can manage to make it work...

Unsurprisingly, this project never took off (but I hope it will after I finish it, cause I think it is really cool -game within a game type-). We just passed 400 plays! It has been rated 4 times, for an average of 4.3 and added to 38 collections. It has a ratio of 2.9 views per play.

PLAY | INTRO POST | RATE | REVIEW (when it updates)

Status: Hiatus

TTTT has been on hiatus almost as soon as I started teasing it. It was intended to be created for the IF Comp of 2022 (but I, like, disappeared for a while). I've always been thinking about this project since, but didn't know how to get back to it. (I wanted to have it out for the Spring Thing, but tbh I was knees deep in CRWL, so yea).

The main problem I had is I pushed myself in a corner by focusing on details rather than the big picture. I have the code ready to go-ish, but the story never took off (because I was too focused on ONE thing). It was so frustrating, I just gave up.

Lately, I've been discussing the project around me, and I got excited to go back to it. It is not a priority at all -I have enough in my hands-, but if I can manage a IF Comp 2022 release, I'd be pretty happy. Otherwise Spring Thing 2023?

PLAY | INTRO POST | RATE | REVIEW | Tag

Status: Completed/Hiatus

This one is also a Jam baby. Created in 1 month during January for the @/interact-if game jam, it made me excited to work on a different genre and different setting. I was also on a Sci-fi binge in my reading list then :P

Still, I wasn't happy with the cliffhanger I gave it (you can ready why here). I also wanted to continue the story in some way. I know the big twists and what needs to be revealed. Also the Robot. I heard the players loud and clear, the robot will come back.

BUT I haven't had the time or spoons for it (made me real sad tbh). I have been working on it behind the scenes here and there. There was some UI concept for the codex (with a working design) and a bunch of notes on my desk.

Before I come back to it, I want to have the story structure clear and ready for writing. I don't have it just yet. So for now, it is essentially on hiatus until I am ready to go back to it.

Still, some neat stats for the way:

10 people rated it for an average of 4.3/5

it has been added to 118 collections

it has been played over 1.5k times (yay), for a ration of just less than 2 views per play.

It took off when released and got a few peaks since, but it is not a popular project either. Oh well :P I had fun with it, it's all that matters.

PLAY | INTRO POST | RATE | REVIEW

Status: Ongoing

Technically The Trials and Tribulations of Edward Haucourt, a Lovecraftian Interactive Fiction (but that's way too long to include in the lil' banner.

Note: I am not writing this project, only coding it. M is taking his time writing it, because this project is for fun and writing is not always fun. I have been trying not to nag him, because it doesn't help.

The story has been mapped on paper by chapters. 2/8 chapters are drafted and 1 is coded (just to see how it looks).

In any case, whatever is written will be uploaded in October 2022. Hopefully the whole game will be done. At worst, I have 2 chapters.

PLAY | INTRO POST | RATE | REVIEW

EDIT: because I posted the unfinished draft like a dummy

Since March, I've become one of the mods of @/interact-if (you probably saw my icon on your feed if you follow that blog, or if you hang out in the discord) and helping out with the events (you should check out the interviews!). It's been exciting to read the different experiences of other authors and be able to share it with so many people. It also meant I taken a bit of a break sharing much over on this page. I should maybe remedy that.

I also have a side blog @manonamora-rb where I reblog stuff that doesn't fit the vibe I want to have on this one. I want to do like I preach by rebloging stuff I like so I usually reblog dump and queue a bunch of stuff there. If I've reblog an old post of yours, it was prob in my likes and I just didn't want to lose it (I've seen a few blogs I follow disappear).

Finally, and I should have added this to the original post. Thank you to everyone who played the games I've made the past year. Thank you to everyone who liked and shared my posts. Thank you to everyone who rated and reviewed and commented on my projects. Thank you to everyone who sent an ask and helped my flesh out some of my concepts further.

Thank you <3

And that's it!

Bye!

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (535): Sun 3rd Sep 2023

I'm a few days in to this "Don't Break the Chain" challenge where I'm attempting to write at least one joke a day for a full year and I've already come up with a few decent ones. The trouble is because I have this God damn job I can't work on jokes in bed at home like I want to so what I've started doing is loading some news stories onto my phone before I go to work and then when I'm walking around at work I'll go over the stories in my head trying to think of jokes. Today I came up with a joke I was really proud of (i know I said I wouldn't post any of them on here but I'm so proud of myself for this one that I have to share it. Also I have to prove that I actually am sticking to this challenge and being productive). As you may have seen there are numerous schools which have been told to close because it's transpired that they were built with concrete that has a limited shelf life and could collapse at any moment. I thought about this for a while and eventually I wrote down "As if things can't get any worse for the Tories now they've found out that kids are going to schools built with weaker material than you'd find in one of Ricky Gervais' Netflix specials". In addition to this decent joke I also came up with a shit one when I saw on the Sunderland Global Network that a bunch of chickens had escaped from a farm in Ryhope and I posted "probably off to the town for a hen party". Now as I said that one is shit but at least it is a joke and hopefully now that my brain is getting used to thinking in terms of jokes it will churn out more actually funny ones than it will shitty Tim Vine-esque puns. Before bed I checked my phone and saw that CM Punk has been fired by AEW. I had hoped that after the last controversy with Punk stemming from Brawl Out and the fact that Khan literally gave him his own show in order to keep him happy and segregated from members of the roster he doesn't like that the issues with Punk would fizzle out. I went to bat for Punk so many times after the last incident but I really can't defend his behaviour this time, you can't threaten the boss and expect to get away with it. I like Punk as a wrestler and as a wrestling mind but the more I learn about the man behind the character the less I like him. I think that Punk's UFC run damaged him as a person more than he realized. This is a guy who grew up believing that if you work hard and believe in yourself then you can achieve anything you want. Then a few years ago he learned that no matter how much a jiu jitsu white belt works and believes in themselves they won't be able to beat a jiu jitsu brown belt in a cage fight. I think after Punk got his arse handed to him in that cage he developed a kind of Napoleon complex to the point where he has to constantly make out that he's the toughest guy in every room. It's like that expression "the weakest dogs bark the loudest". As happy as I was when I found out there would be a second AEW show I was less enthusiastic when I found out that Khan was basically going to let Punk run the show and do whatever the fuck he wanted. In recent weeks there have been reports that Punk had Christopher Daniels, Matt Hardy, Ryan Nemeth etc sent home because he sees them as the enemy which is bullshit and a wrestler shouldn't have that kind of influence over the product. Hopefully Punk's release will give him a chance to work on his ego and his little man complex and maybe if he can prove to Tony that he's a changed man then eventually we might see him back in an AEW ring one day.

[weregreatatcrime]

Oh, I see now, somehow missed that link. Okay, so Changeling Karai and Donnie, and "That's not a scratch" instead, then. Maybe Leo or Splinter in it too if you want.

hsjgdh u must be kinda new to tumblr!! ya there's no real rules to ask memes but generally, ask memes stick to a specific post. They tend to be art related but there's some great writing prompt ones out there. Reblogger will reblog the post with the list of prompts, typically with a tag or comment giving free reign to their followers, and people can send in prompts off of the ask meme.

GENERALLY the reblogger will answer whichever requests they want, but it's not guaranteed as the reblogger just does whichever of the prompts they feel like doing. you know. Personally, I'll keep asks in my inbox if they have prompts I'm interested in doing, save em for if I wanna do them later sometimes. If I don't get the inspiration to use them I'll delete them right off the bat, or delete them like, several weeks later when I'm bored of the ask meme and/or just feel guilty that i never did them and then have to delete them to remind myself that this is all for fun and I can't hold myself responsible for churning out content 24/7 because I'm not a machine

ANYWAYS yeah ask meme this is from here!

"It's just a scratch. Probably." Karai grumbled, ducking down below cover as Donatello rushed over.

"Last time I heard you say that, you ended up losing an arm!" Donnie scolded. He lifted her arms out of the way so he could get a better look at the giant mess on her side.

Kraang laserfire continued to ricochet around them. The other three turtles were providing them safe cover. She hated fighting Kraang. Their stupid guns were actually capable of hurting her more than most human weapons. She hated it.

"In my defense, that was just a scratch." Karai kept an eye on their surroundings while Donnie took a wipe to her side, clearing the soot away so he could see any damage.

"That was a very bad scratch that resulted in you losing an arm." Donnie deadpanned. "And this? This is also not just a scratch." He hissed sympathetically as there was a distinctively large patch of damaged stone underneath the soot. "That one got you really close- it actually cracked up some chunks of stone, here."

Fortunately, he'd gotten more used to her pain tolerance and her lack of... pain response in general. Karai could barely feel this. It was akin to a sore spot. A very sore spot that stung when he kept pressing on it.

"Ah shit." Karai frowned. "They must be upgrading their guns, the old ones did more bruising than anything."

Donnie hummed in agreement as he grabbed a brush and began going over the wound to make sure there was no blood leaking. If Karai was bleeding, it meant the lasers had managed to actually break through her thick layers of stone and they would need to be very careful. If something actually managed to hurt Karai, it would hurt the turtles a lot worse.

Karai hissed unhappily at the bizarre feeling. She snarled and threw a knife at a Kraang that glanced their way.

"No blood." Donnie reported. "I think we can leave it for now and seal it up when we get back to the Lair."

"Great." Karai leapt up without a pause, blades drawn. "I've got a bone to pick with the asshole who got me."

"Is PR okay?" Leo shouted as the changeling became a blur on the battlefield.

"She's good!" Donnie shot him a thumbs up and yelped, dodging a laser blast. "We need to be more careful, they're upgrading their weapons!"

They all hissed sympathetically at the sound of crunching metal as Karai demolished a particular Kraang droid. The poor Kraang piloting it screamed and tried to sprint away on its own tentacles. Donnie made sure not to watch the resulting massacre. Raph let out a whoop.

When Karai had a grudge, she did not hesitate.

[lunagb]

A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x The Walking Dead)

CHAPTER 3: Tell It To The Wolves

Masterlist

Time Frame: Atlanta Arc - Post Rick’s Coma

Featured Characters: Jon Snow, Rick Grimes, Glenn Rhee, Andrea, T-Dog, Morales, Daryl Dixon, Jacqui, Shane, Carl, Carol, Sophia, Jim, Dale

Warnings: Graphic bloody violence, vivid descriptions of gore, death-related trauma, ptsd, flashback episodes

Summary: Jon Snow awakens on a highway outside Atlanta, Georgia with only faint fleeting memories of his last day on the wall. This totally alien world shocks him to his core but he's given a beacon of guidance through it when he spots a man on a horse approaching him. Together Rick Grimes and Jon Snow will set out, looking for Rick's lost family and Jon's lost land. After all, The Wall needs its Lord Commander.

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

The vile smell of rot infected the cramped inside of the truck. Jon paid it little mind. Instead, while the others chatted cheerily without a care in the world, he allowed himself to wallow in his thoughts. Ever since arriving in this strange place, he’d had nary a moment to truly contemplate the situation.

“What purpose could the Gods have by sending me here when I am needed most? Is this some cruel jape? A punishment? Mindless cruelty? No. None of those are right. The Gods are about as humourless as Thorn and I’ve done them no wrong. I said my vows beneath their eyes. I broke hundreds of years of tradition to give sanctuary to their most devout of followers. And I’m trying to be the shield upon which the long night’s attack breaks. What cause would they have to punish me? As for mindless cruelty. The Gods are mysterious and strange. Cruel? Sometimes. Mindless? No.

Then what? If not the Gods, then who? The Night King? Mellisandra? The curse of a wildling shaman?

No matter. Whatever or whoever has torn me from my duty; it has no bearing. I will not play their games. I will find a map, find the closest port to Westeros and head back home. Even if I must walk across all of the four known continents as a lowly barefoot beggar. I will resume my watch.”

“Hey.”

Andrea’s voice dragged Jon from his mind.

“Hey!”

Andrea shoved him.

“What?”

Andrea’s rot-covered face scrunched up.

“I’m sorry. The way I treated you. It… it wasn’t fair.”

“You were scared. I understand.”

“No. Argh… call me a bitch.”

“What?”

“Say, ‘Fuck you, you’re a bitch, don’t ever talk to me like that again,” please.”

“No.”

“Just do it.”

Jon cracked a smile.

“Fuck you, you’re a bitch, don’t ever talk to me like that again.”

Andrea chuckled.

“Thanks, kid. And thanks for saving my life. I owe you.”

“Being saved doesn’t come with debt.”

“I. Owe. You.”

Andrea poked Jon’s chest. Jon thought it best not to argue.

“Thank you for saving my life too,” Jon said.

“All I did was hit the bastard with my gun.”

“Yes. And you also kept a level head and didn’t panic. Even when faced with death. Your attitude saved me, yourself and everyone else.”

Andrea smiled and looked away.

“Yeah, I guess.”

The calm, trundling rumble beneath the truck’s floor suddenly became a bumpy, crunching racket. Jon got up to investigate. Looking out the front window made his stomach churn but he did it all the same. The odd black road had become a winding gravel trail that lead down into a huge pit. At the bottom was a lake and sheer walls lined its shore like those of a giant castle. Forest surrounded the pit on all sides. Nestled amongst the forest, at the end of the gravel road, was a camp. Plastic huts, cars and an especially large, rectangular car lay about in a scattered clump.

“It ain’t much, but it’s home,” Jacqui said.

“How many of y’all are there?” Rick asked.

“Thirty? Maybe twenty-five? People have been trickling out for the past week or so,” T-Dog said.

“What defences do you have?” Jon asked.

“We have a look out on the RV,” Morales said.

Morales pointed to the larger, rectangular car.

“And a patrol group. Day and night,” Andrea said.

It wasn’t enough, Jon knew. They needed walls, turrets, traps, and fortified shelter. But that conversation could wait. There was a more pressing matter.

“When will we go back for Merle?” Jon asked.

Everyone went silent.

“Best not to dwell on it. Nobody’s gonna be sad he didn’t come back,” Morales said.

“Except Daryl,” T-Dog said.

“Daryl?” Rick asked.

“His brother,” T-Dog said.

Rick’s expression soured.

“He’s got water and we secured the door. We’ll regroup tonight, and get him in the morning,” Rick said.

Jon’s jaw clenched.

“Fine. Then you can be the one to tell this Daryl, that you’re leaving his brother on a roof all night in the middle of all that,” Jon said.

“Fair enough.”

***

The rest of the trip was spent in silence and the lingering stink of rot. Eventually, they made their way down the winding, sloped gravel road and arrived at the camp. Glenn had arrived before them and it seemed just about every person was gathered around his red car. All eyes were on the truck as they pulled in and as soon as they were stopped and still, Andrea hopped out the back. Jon followed her out and was nearly barrelled over as a skinny blonde woman threw herself at Andrea.

“You’re okay! Oh my god, what is all this? Is that blood?” The woman asked frantically.

Her soft features were tight with fearful strain. A frantic terror festered in her otherwise calming blue eyes.

“Walker blood, it’s alright, Amy,” Andrea said.

Amy pursed her lips as she guided Andrea off into the camp. Next, Morales got out. A grin spread across his filthy face and he sprinted over to a woman and two children.

“Papá!” A little girl and boy cried and ran to him.

Morales went to hug him but they screamed and dodged him while giggling.

“No! You smell!”

“Get back here! You’re not getting out of it!”

Morales chased after them and the children let out a chorus of screaming laughter.

Jacqui helped T-Dog into the camp and they were greeted by laughter and pats on the back. A group of women swarmed T-Dog and fussed over his battered body as they led him away.

Finally, Rick left the truck.

The camp quietened as sceptical gazes fell upon Jon and Rick; a look all too familiar to Jon. However, three faces in the crowd stood out. Shock and fear stood out like a sore thumb amongst a sea of doubt. A woman and a small lad looked at them with disbelieving, teary eyes, while a man looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

Jon looked at Rick. Tears were streaming down his face.

“Oh my god,” Rick whispered.

“Dad?!” The little lad cried.

Rick flung off his rot-covered, plastic cloak and the lad broke from his mother's arms. They ran to each other and despite the filth covering Rick, they embraced. Rick practically threw himself to his knees as he pulled the lad to his chest. The lad’s short and skinny arms could barely fit around his chest. Crying, Rick picked him up just as the woman threw her arms around him. Rick buried his face into her shoulder, then kissed her and the top of the boy’s head. They stared into each other’s teary eyes. A necklace hung from the woman’s neck. A ring was stringed through it. Rick held it between his thumb and finger as if it were made of gold, grinning ear to ear.

All eyes were off Jon and he gladly faded into the background. He was happy for Rick, truly, but he had more pressing matters. He made his way past a man looking at Rick with a pained look. A tall and burly fellow with a stubbled jaw that could cut glass. Jon slunk by and approached the so-called RV.

An older man in a bucket-shaped hat stopped him.

“Hey, the name’s Dale, are you on your own, son?” Dale asked.

“Are there any maps inside this RV?” Jon asked.

Dale blinked at him.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Great.”

Jon went to step past him but Dale moved into his path.

“Whoa. I ain’t letting you in like that. You’ll stink up the place.” Dale grinned. “More than it does already, anyway.”

“Sorry but it’s important I have a map.”

“Alright. Wait here, I’ll get ya a map.”

“Thank you.”

Dale went inside the RV and Jon peered through the door after him. Whatever this RV was, it seemed to be a small home. A genius contraption really; a home that could move. As Jon waited outside, the burly man who had seemed shocked to see Rick approached and offered a handshake.

“Jon, right? My name’s Shane. I heard what you did for my people out there. You’re a good man.”

Jon accepted the handshake.

“Thank you, but they played no small part either.”

Shane smiled and nodded. He looked past Jon to the RV.

“Dale!” He yelled.

“Yeah?” Dale yelled back.

“We got any spare tents?”

“One or two.”

“Get one and get Jon here set up.”

“Will do!”

Shane nodded, smiled at Jon again and made his way back to Rick. He put his arm around him and guided Rick and his family over to where the tents were set up. Shane and Rick laughed together.

Shortly, the camp seemed to fall back into motion. Some people gathered around Glenn’s car and began poking around. Some sat about chatting and laughing. Some managed supplies. Some handed out food. All was surprisingly orderly. If Shane was their leader, as Jon suspected, he seemed to be doing a fine job.

“Sorry about the wait,” Dale said as he exited the RV.

He handed Jon a thick book labelled, ‘Road Atlas,’. Jon thanked Dale and flicked through the book but all the maps were a bunch of nonsensical coloured lines and numbers.

“I meant a map of the continent,” Jon said.

“Oh, it’s at the back,” Dale said.

Jon went to the back of the book. He froze. A continent unlike anything he’d ever seen was on the final page.

“Th-The world. Do you have a world map?”

“The world? Why-”

“Do you or don’t you?!”

Dale’s eyes widened and he took a step back.

“I’ll uh, I’ll see.”

Dale hurried back inside the RV and came out a moment later with a book simply labelled, ‘Atlas,’. The map on the very first page stabbed Jon’s heart with a blade of ice. It froze him from head to toe. It was all wrong. No Essos, no Sothoryos, no Ulthos and no Westeros. Frantically, he flicked through page after page after page.

“Son?” Dale reached out. “Are you okay?”

“Where is it?!”

“Where’s what?”

“Westeros?!”

Dale frowned.

“There’s no country called Westeros, son.”

“Yes, there is! To the east of Essos and the west of the Sunset Sea!”

Dale looked past Jon. Jon followed his gaze. People were staring.

“How about you come inside, son?”

“I’m not mad! You think it, I know, but I’m not! Westeros is my home! I need to return to my watch! Lives depend on it!”

“I don’t think that. Let’s talk about it inside, okay?”

Dale spoke to him as if he were a child but looked upon him with the pity afforded to a witless beggar. Jon threw the atlas to the ground and stormed off. He needed to think.

***

Jon thought the bottom of the pit would be empty. He thought wrong. Everyone from Atlanta was gathered about the water, washing the rot from their bodies and clothes. Their families helped them, laughing and playing without a care in the world. Children. They were all children; blind to the world.

Jon went to the other side of the lake to clean himself. He left behind their voices and welcomed a sweet silence. One of them followed him, though. She thought she was being stealthy, but she was about as stealthy as a giant in a swamp. When Jon eventually knelt before the water to clean, she approached him.

“You don’t need to do that. Let us,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

Jon took off his cloak and soaked it in the water. Brown rot infested the already murky water. The woman, Rick’s wife if Jon remembered correctly, stared at his leathers. Everything about her was neat and orderly, from her perfectly braided brown hair to her creaseless dress. An utterly impractical choice, Jon thought. As well as vain. A child’s choice. Pants and a jacket would serve her better.

“Did you work at Disney World or something?” She asked.

“No.”

“How’d you come by those clothes then?”

“The night’s watch.”

Jon began undoing his leathers.

“Please, let me do it for you. You've already done so much and besides, it’s women’s work anyhow.”

“Leave me alone.”

The woman’s smile tightened. The corners of her mouth fought to hang on.

“Alright then. Have it your way. My name’s Lori. If you need anything, come to me.”

“Jon.”

“Bye Jon.”

Lori left him. She muttered something as she left and giggled to herself. Jon ignored her and soaked his leather tunic in the water. The rot spread further across the water’s surface. Chunks of rotten flesh floated on the top. As Jon scrubbed, he thought about the map.

“This place is wealthy, undoubtedly. It stands to reason that their explorers may have seen more of the world than any Maester had knowledge of. Sam had often spoken about theories of other lands beyond the Sunset Sea. Perhaps, this was one of them. Westeros and the other known lands may exist somewhere on that map as smaller pieces, under different names. Yes, that must be it.”

Jon decided once he was clean, and his clothes were dry, he would study that map until he found his home. Surely, it would be a laborious task. But it was one he would undertake without complaint. Jon wished he’d paid more attention during Master Lunwin’s lessons on the world.

Once his cloak, leathers and gloves were clean, he folded lay them out to dry on some rocks under the sweltering summer sun. Truly, this land’s sun would leave even a Dornishman lusting for a cool bath. Jon knelt before the lake again and removed his mail. Then, his undershirt. But as he did, he caught a glimpse of his chest. The rot hadn’t found its way to his skin, leaving it clean and pristine. But what the rot left uncovered terrified Jon more than any white.

From his collarbone to his navel, stab wounds littered his front. Healed and scarred, but stab wounds nonetheless. Jon’s breath caught in his throat and he dropped the shirt as memories flooded back.

Harsh words. Drawn blades. Threats and promises. An apology. Pain. Awful, unbearable pain. The pain of the flesh. The pain of the heart. The pain of the soul. Then finally, a cold release.

Jon touched a scar above his heart. His chest tightened. His breaths became short and sharp. Then, fast and rapid. His head spun. His stomach churned. His heart pounded with a stabbing throb up his dry throat. He wanted to cry and be sick but found himself unable to do anything but kneel before the rot-infested water and stare at his murky reflection. A ghost stared back at him.

There was no going home. The Gods had given him a second life in this world. Perhaps to torture him, perhaps for their own amusement. For, what kind of life would it be? This world was a broken one where the dead ruled and the people frolicked among the rot like the spoiled children they are. Jon punched the water and looked to the sky.

“You should have let me die you cruel sons of bastards!” He yelled.

The Gods, as always, said nothing. Or perhaps they could not hear him. This cursed land had no were woods as far as Jon could tell. His death had surely doomed his home. Without him, the night’s watch would fracture and the long night would sweep across the world. Arya, if she was truly still alive, would die. As would Sam, Ed, Grenn, Eddison, Pypar, and Ghost. The thought of Ghost, alone in such a world finally allowed Jon to cry. He lay on the silty shore and wept. He shouldn’t, he knew. Such a thing was for women and small boys. But wept he did anyway. He cried and cried until he could no longer and just lay still beneath the summer sun.

He could not remember the words spoken to him before his murder. All he knew was they were words of betrayal. It had been his own brothers that had sent him here. Not the game of Gods nor the trickery of sorcery but bitter steel. Over what, Jon did not know. Their betrayal stung worse than any blade. Jon only prayed that it wasn’t a friend wielding the blade.

He felt pathetic just laying there but what else was there to do? Rejoin a group of children who thought him mad? Carve out a life in a dead world upon a most-like dead people? What purpose could such a place have for him? What common cause was there worth finding among such ignorant fools?

He had experienced death once, he could do it again.

It was then, Jon remembered Merle. He was truly a vile creature, but a man nonetheless. Leaving him on that roof had been just as bad, if not worse than anything his foul mouth had said. Jon sat up.

What would his father say if he came to him in the afterlife without undoing that wrong?

Jon stripped off his britches, socks and boots and scrubbed them against the rocks.

***

That night, Jon reluctantly joined a group around one of several night fires. The tent Dale had set up for him was made of plastic and the strange material did nothing but remind him of being covered in rot. He had enough of being sick for a lifetime. Of all of them, Dale was one of the more bearable. He spoke softly, told fine japes and seemed to have a good head on his shoulders.

“Our world is gone now,” Dale had said, “and it ain’t coming back anytime soon. Best we find a way to live with what we have instead of clinging to the past.”

The unspoken message hadn’t gone unnoticed by Jon, but he still appreciated the honesty. It was refreshing to hear someone acknowledge the hard truth of this world.

When Jon had joined them by the fire, Rick was speaking. His son sat curled in his lap and Lori sat by his side. Shane sat across from them, thumbing a small cross hanging from his neck. He had a hard, vacant gaze that fixated on Rick’s hands as they stroked his son, Carl’s hair and held Lori.

Everyone from Atlanta was around the fire, plus a few extras. Andrea’s sister Amy had joined them. As had Dale. Amy cuddled up with Andrea. Her golden hair and floral, white shirt were stained and greased. Dale handed out small bits of food with a smile and bags under his eyes. Only Morales wasn’t there. He was at his own fire with his family.

“Disoriented. I guess that comes closest. Disoriented. Fear, confusion, all those things but disoriented comes closest,” Rick said.

“Words can be meagre things. Sometimes they fall short,” Dale said.

“I felt like I’d been ripped out of my life,” Rick said.

“Did you now?” Jon asked.

Rick gave him a queer look.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Well you have it back now, don’t you? Your wife. Your child. You’ve got them back. You’ve got a purpose. Aren’t you lucky?”

The truth seemed to sour the expressions of the children around the fire. Ignorant scowls and harsh, veiled eyes.

“Ain’t nothin’ lucky about any of this,” Lori said. “Our world is broken and it’s taking everything we have to keep what’s left together.”

“It might never be fixed,” Rick added.

“Naw, it will. We’re the USA, man. We’ll be up and runnin’ again in no time,” Shane said.

That seemed too cheery the mood once again. Rick cleared his throat.

“For a while, I thought I was trapped in some kind of coma dream. Something I might not wake up from ever.”

“Mom said you died,” Carl said.

Pain flashed across Rick’s face. He smiled at Carl and ran his hand through his hair.

“She had every reason to believe that. Don’t you ever doubt it,” Rick said.

“When things started to get really bad they told me at the hospital that they were gonna evac you and the other patients to Atlanta. That never happened,” Lori said.

“I’m not surprised after Atlanta fell and from the look of that hospital it got overrun,” Rick said.

“Yeah, looks don’t deceive,” Shane said, “I barely got them out.”

Shane nodded to Lori and Carl.

“And I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you,” Rick said. “Can’t begin to express it.”

“There go those words falling short again, poultry thing,” Dale said.

Suddenly, a sharp crackling cut through the sombre atmosphere. Away from their fire was another. A big man called Ed had tossed a log onto it.

“You wanna rethink that log, Ed?” Shane called out.

“It’s cold man!”

“Cold don’t change the rules does it?” Shane said. “We keep our fires low so we can’t be seen from a distance right?”

“I said it’s cold! Why don’t you mind your own business for once?”

Shane got up and marched over to Ed’s fire. Everyone seemed to look away but Jon didn’t. He was curious how Shane would hold himself. Sitting at Ed’s fire was a mousy-looking woman called Carol and a girl, Sophia. Carol shuffled on her log and looked at the ground.

“You sure you wanna have this conversation man?” Shane asked.

Ed smirked.

“Go on. Pull that damn thing out then. Go on!”

Carol’s weathered, weary face flinched and she scampered to the fire.

“Christ…” Shane muttered.

Carol yanked the log out by the end untouched by fire and smothered it with a jacket. Shane crouched down beside her.

“How are you doing this evening?” He asked, softly.

“Fine,” Carol whispered.

Shane nodded.

“Sorry about the fire…” Carol said.

“No no, no apology needed.”

Shane smiled at her and went back to his fire. Scowls and glares bore down on Ed for every other fire. The kind of man Ed was, was plain to Jon. But Shane was something of a mystery. The friendly, responsible persona he gave off felt somewhat uncanny. But everything in this place felt that way, Jon supposed. Not that it was of any concern to him.

“Have you given any thought to Daryl Dixon?” Dale asked.

“I’ll tell him. It was my call,” Rick said.

“He only acted up cause of me,” T-Dog said.

“It’s not a competition guys,” Glenn said. “And not to bring race into this but it might sound better coming from a white guy.”

T-Dog curled his lip and looked away, but said nothing more.

“We could lie,” Amy said.

“Or we tell the truth. Merle was out of control. Something had to be done or he would have gotten us all killed,” Andrea said.

She looked at Lori.

“Your husband did what was necessary. If Merle got left behind it was nobody’s fault but his own.”

“Your fear left him on that roof,” Jon said.

“Damn right it did. What do you think would have happened if Merle was with us when the walkers came at us? He’d have done something stupid and gotten us all killed!” Andrea said.

“And you know that for a fact?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“So, we tell Daryl his brother deserved it? I don’t see a rational discussion to be had from that,” Dale said, “word from the wise. We’re gonna have our hands full when he gets back from his hunt.”

“At least he ain’t dead. Only about twelve or so geeks could get up that staircase at a time. No way they’d break through those boards we set up. That ought to sweeten the story,” T-Dog said.

“I doubt so,” Jon said.

“It will,” Rick said.

He stroked Carl’s hair and pulled Lori closer.

“When I came home and found my house empty-”

“I’m so sorry,” Lori said.

Rick kissed her head.

“I knew you were alive. That’s what kept me going. We tell Daryl that his brother’s alive and we’re gonna get him, it’ll light a fire under his ass. Sure, he’ll be pissed, but hope’ll drive him to help us get Merle back.”

“I’ll put together a team. A small one this time. No more than five,” Glenn said.

“I’ll go,” Rick said.

“No, you can’t! Not when we just got you back,” Lori said.

“Dad, please don’t,” Carl said.

“They’re my cuffs, locked by my key. I put him there. I’ll get him back.”

Lori frowned and Carl sat up.

“Then I’m coming too!” Carl yelled.

“No, you need to stay here and keep your mom safe.”

“No fair! I can help! Shane taught me how to shoot and how to use a knife! I can keep you, safe dad.”

Rick scowled at Shane. Shane shrugged.

“It was about time he learned anyway. Shoot, he should’ve already known.”

“See!” Carl said.

“It’s too dangerous-”

“But!”

“It’s not for kids. That’s that, son.”

Carl stormed off back to his tent and aggressively zipped it shut. It wasn’t the first tantrum Jon had seen since he arrived in this world.

“I’ll come too,” Jon said.

Glenn nodded.

“Alright. Well, Daryl will wanna come too so that leaves one more spot. I was thinking-”

“I’ll come,” Andrea said.

“No…” Amy pleaded.

“No,” Glenn said.

“Why the hell not?” Andrea stood up.

“That’s why. You’re too hotheaded. I need level heads out there. I want Morales.”

Andrea looked at Shane but he just shrugged.

“The man’s spoken.” He gave Glenn an approving look.

“You’re taking Jon,” Andrea said.

“Yeah? And?” Glenn said.

“He’s! … well you know.”

“I’m what?” Jon asked.

“Uh, you’re- you can’t shoot. Can you?”

“I’ll show him how in the morning,” Shane said.

Andrea huffed and stormed away.

***

A taste of home visited Jon that night. A dream of sorts he often had played out in his mind. He saw the world through the eyes of a wolf. Although, usually, he’d see the woods beyond the wall or the gift. This time, as if to mock him, he saw the woods of this world.

He prowled through the night, stalking a deer. The muggy, humid night air penetrated his thick fur. It slowed him, tiring him out far more quickly that any fierce northern chill. But still, he stalked, doing his best not to pant. His stomach churned. He was so hungry, so terribly, awfully hungry. It gnawed away insistently at his mind, driving him beyond his means.

The scent was hard to follow. Death lingered everywhere. Its strong scent attacked his nose to mask his meal but he knew the smell well, it could not hide from him. This deer was far more stupid than any Westerosi deer. It did not try to hide its scent or keep a keen eye out for hunters. Even its footsteps were as loud as thunder.

Eventually, he found the deer drinking from a lake. Silently, he crept through the underbrush as close to the forest’s edge as he dared. When the deer was deep in its drink, he leapt. He flew through the air and sprinted to the lake. The deer screeched and try to run but he was faster. He pounced on it and tore out its throat with a single bite. It flailed as it died but yielded to death quickly. It was a fat thing, fed well by the wealth of this land. He dined for hours on its juicy fat, tender muscle and hardy organs. Blood stained the ground and his fur and infected the water. Once he had finished feasting on the cartilage in the bones, he lay beside the scraps with a full stomach and gazed at the sky. The moon hung above him as a watching, glowing eye.

He had eaten the whole deer, all except for a single hoof. It sat in a pool of blood, decapitated and decrepit.

He howled. He howled for home, howled for friends, howled for family, howled for life. But all that howling brought out the dead. They stumbled from the woods as an endless hoard. They blocked his escape; an impenetrable wall of rot. He snarled at them with a silent baring of his teeth but when it had no effect, he jumped in the water and swam across the small lake to safety on the shore.

Jon awoke with a start. The full moon shone in his eyes. He’d slept outside, by the fire pit. He couldn’t stand the plastic of his tent. As his heart slowed, he became privy to hissed whispers. Two silhouettes stood by the rows of tents. One had the other’s wrist clutched.

“No, you need to leave,” One hissed.

“Come on, let’s just sneak off, he’s asleep he won’t know,” the other kissed back.

“He’s asleep, is he? Just like how he was dead?”

One of the silhouettes tried to yank free. The other let go.

“That’s not fair, he was in a coma and all alone in all of this. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”

“And yet he is. This can’t go on. In fact, it never did, get it?”

“You felt something, don’t lie.”

“Not anymore.”

One silhouette stormed off, leaving the other to stand aimlessly. Jon rolled over and shut his eyes. Whatever that was, it was just more childishness.

***

The next morning, Jon awoke to the laughter of children. Sophia and Morales’s kids ran past his sleeping bag, waving sticks around. For a moment, it made him smile. Until images of Arya, Bran and Rickon slipped into his mind. He pushed the memories aside and reached for his clothes. The night had been hot so he’d slept in his britches. But when he reached for them, they were gone and replaced by the odd clothes of this world. Jon shot out of his sleeping bag and in little more than his britches, stormed through the camp.

Eyes followed him everywhere as well as hushed whispers and suspicious looks.

“Everything okay, son?” Dale shouted from the top of the RV.

“Where are my clothes, my mail, my sword!?”

Dale raised an eyebrow.

“Lori has your clothes. They weren’t cleaned proper so she’s cleaning them for you. You ought to thank her. As for your sword. The kids tried to play with it so I put it back in your tent. What were you doing sleeping outside anyhow?”

Jon looked around and saw Lori off with the other women. She was standing before some kind of board, pressing a metal triangle against his cloak. Steam rose as she applied pressure. Jon marched over.

“What are you doing?” He snapped.

Lori looked up. Her eyes widened.

“Your chest! What happened?”

Jon looked down at his scar-riddled chest. A fire burned in his cheeks. He snatched up his cloak and covered himself.

“Old wounds. Don’t take my clothes again. Return them.”

“Sorry, but I saw how filthy they were still. I didn’t want you covered in all that… stuff. I laid out some fresh clothes by your bag. They’re Rick’s old clothes so they might be a little big.”

As hot as his wrath was, Jon couldn’t help but feel stupid speaking to someone so earnest that way. He looked away and muttered

“No thank you. Just return my clothes.”

“I can’t. They’re not dry yet.”

Lori gestured to the board.

“Mail doesn’t need to dry,” Jon said.

Lori shrugged.

“True, go on then.”

Jon rounded the board and picked his mail off of the pile of clothes and hurried back to his sleeping bag, feeling a little ashamed of himself. As ignorant as these people may be, taking out his wrath on them would be no better than kicking a dog.

He gathered up the clothes laid out for him by Lori and dressed. He slipped on a blue, short-sleeved shirt made of a strange, soft fabric. Where they got the dye from, Jon hadn’t a clue. Nor how they’d gotten the image of a boy in a blue and yellow, full-body suit on the front of the shirt. He decided to not question it and continued dressing into the hardy, faded blue pants and leather jacket. The jacket felt odd, unlike any leather he’d ever seen. But it had fleece sewn on the inside, which oddly made it feel homely. He slipped his mail on, then the jacket over it and finally his cloak before donning his gloves and boots. Again, despite the heat, Jon refused to part with them.

After dressing, he went to his tent to collect Longclaw and his dagger. He found them lying neatly where his sleeping bag had been. He drew Longclaw and his dagger. They were undamaged. The dark ripples of Longclaw’s valyrian steel glimmered at Jon despite the lack of any light. He reattached it and his dagger to his belt and stepped out of the tent. As he did, Shane emerged from Rick and Lori’s. He froze, eyes wide, before smiling and laughing.

“There you are! Been lookin’ for ya.” Shane put his arm around him. “Come on, I’ll show you how to shoot. Best you know before Daryl gets back. We’re gonna need all the support we can get.”

“Right.”

Jon went along with Shane out into the woods. He lead Jon to a small clearing nestled in amongst the dense, tall trees and knee-high shrubs. The chaos and noise of the camp evaporated and a gentle quiet lingered around them. If it weren’t for the heat, Jon could've almost believed he was at home during the summer.

“Right, first thing’s first. There are five rules to owning a gun. Well… four now I guess. Unless you’ve got a pair of earmuffs and goggles laying about?” Shane laughed and nudged Jon.

When it was clear that Jon wasn’t going to laugh, Shane dropped his smile, pulled out a gun from his holster and showed it to him.

“First, keep your gun pointed in a safe direction at all times. Second, always treat it as if it were loaded. Third, if you ain’t shooting, keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire. Finally, always know your target, line of fire and what lies beyond your target. That clear?”

“Clear.”

“Alright.” Shane pointed to a notch behind the trigger. “This here’s your safety. It stops the gun from firing. Always make sure it’s turned on when you’re not firing and turned off when you are.”

Jon nodded and Shane put the gun into his hand.

“Hold it with both hands and point it at that tree down there. Raise it to your eye.”

The gun was far heavier than it looked. Jon raised it to his eye and aimed it at the tree.

“See those three white dots at the top?” Shane asked.

“Yeah.”

“Line them up.”

Jon moved the gun until the dots were lined up.

“Feet apart.”

Jon spread his feet.

“Move your left foot back a tad.”

Jon moved his foot back.

“That’s good. Back straight.”

Jon straightened his back.

“Okay, and you are ready to fire. Put your finger on the trigger and squeeze it gently.”

Jon took aim at the tree, held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The gun practically exploded in his hand. His ears rang and his head spun. When his hearing returned he was greeted by Shane’s laughter.

“Hell yeah, nice shot kid! You sure you've never done this before?”

“Only archery.”

Shane laughed again.

“Y’all still use bows and arrows in England?”

“I’m not-’

“Welp, you’re in Georgia now, man and every Georgia man worth his salt need a gun.”

“Right, well thank you.”

Jon turned to leave.

“Hold on man. We ain’t done. You know how to reload?”

“Sorry.”

“All good. All good. Say, how old are you anyway?”

“Ten and seven.”

Shane cocked his head.

“Seventeen,” Jon said.

“Really? I figured you were grown. Well, you’ll be a man soon enough, and you’re gonna need a gun if you’re gonna stay here. I doubt England will be back in order before we are.”

“Back in order?”

“Yup, you’re in the USA man, the most powerful country on Earth. If any government’s gonna get its shit together and retake their country first it’ll be ours.”

“You really believe that?”

“Sure do. Shoot, they’ve probably taken back half the country by now. Any day now this’ll all be over. But you’ll probably be stuck here for a while I reckon. Gonna be a minute before Europe’s back up and runnin’ I’ll tell you what.”

Jon pitied the poor man. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but perhaps their ignorance was in some part intentional. No rational person could truly believe everything would just miraculously sort itself out. Jon listened along to his reloading lesson. These weapons were quite a lot more complicated than they appeared, covered in valves, buttons and slides. This land’s blacksmiths must be quite skilled indeed.

Once Shane had finished, he left Jon alone to practice. However, as Jon fired away at the tree, a pair of eyes bore into his back. Jon could make out the lad in the corner of his eye, crouched in the shrubbery, believing he was unseen.

“If you want to hide start by not wearing a yellow jacket,” Jon said.

Carl’s eyes widened, but quickly a scowl plastered his face. He stepped out. Jon switched on his safety.

“How come you get to go? You can’t even shoot good.”

“And you’re better?”

“Yeah!”

Carl pulled out a gun tucked under his shirt and ran to Jon’s side. He took aim, switched off his safety and unloaded three shots into the tree. Each shot hit the exact same place. He switched on his safety.

“You’re allowed to have that, are you?”

“Are you gonna tattle?”

“How’d you get it?”

“Shane sucks at hiding stuff.”

Carl grinned and held up a little key. Jon chuckled.

“You should put it back before he finds out.”

“Duh. So, how come, huh? I’m a better shot. I should go.”

“You’re a child.”

“So are you. I heard. Seventeen isn’t an adult yet.”

“Because I’m a warrior and I’ve proven myself.”

Carl’s eyes brightened.

“For real?”

Jon nodded.

“I stood guard at the edge of the world as the shield that guards the realms of men.”

“Cool! So is that real, then?”

Carl pointed to Longclaw.

“It is.”

“No way! I thought Dale was lying.”

“Its name is Longclaw.”

Jon drew Longclaw and Carl marvelled at it.

“You named it?”

“Every good sword needs one.”

“What about your gun?”

“Isn’t it Shane’s?”

“Nah, Shane’s is black. That one’s silver. You heard him. You need a gun. He gave it to you.”

Jon thought for a moment before cracking a small smile.

“Needle, then.”

“Why Needle?”

“A brave warrior, about your age, wielded a sword with that name.”

“Were they better than you too?”

Jon laughed.

“Yeah, she was.”

As Carl smirked at him, Jon considered the boy. He seemed different to the rest.

“You overheard what Shane said, about the world being fixed. What do you think?”

Carl’s expression darkened. He shuffled his feet.

“I guess, I hope it’s true. But I heard my dad’s story about the tank. If the government is still fighting, how’d it end up there? No way walkers could beat a tank on their own. I think… it probably got left behind cause the soldiers ran away.”

Jon nodded.

“Most likely.”

“It still isn’t fair though,” Carl muttered.

“How so?”

“Well… it is but I just wish they wouldn’t lie. Dad said I need to stay to protect my mom but that’s bull. Shane already does that and the city’s way more dangerous than this dump.”

“Men often hide from hard truths with lies. To others and to themselves.”

Carl cocked his head and smiled.

“You talk funny.”

“You look funny.”

Carl giggled and ran at Jon. Jon kept him at bay with a hand to the top of his head and as Carl swung his short arms through the air, Jon found himself laughing.

***

Jon returned to the camp with Carl in tow. Before arriving at the main gathering area, Carl slunk off into Shane’s tent. Jon left him to it and looked for Shane. He wanted to find out if Needle actually was his or not. On his way, he found Glenn watching as the others stripped down the red car he’d taken from Atlanta.

“Look at them. Vultures,” Glenn said.

Jon had little sympathy. Ultimately, it was a toy. The parts would be better spent on the other cars. They were bigger and could carry more people and more supplies if they ever needed to leave in a hurry. A car like that would only get in the way of an evacuation.

“A shame,” Jon said.

Glenn nodded and eyed Needle.

“That was you shooting I gather.”

“Yeah. Apparently, I’m good at it.”

“Great. Nothing’s more dangerous than someone who can’t shoot.”

Jon spotted Shane over by Lori and Rick, cleaning a knife and went to go over to him when Glenn suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Shit. Dixon.”

Jon followed his alarmed gaze and saw a rugged-looking man with squinted eyes and a scowl making his way out of the woods. In one hand he had a crossbow which as like everything, was unlike any crossbow Jon had ever seen. In his other hand had held a collection of dead squirrels and large, rodent-like creatures by their tails.

“The hell you mean, ‘Shit Dixon,’? You ain’t happy to see dinner?” Daryl shouted.

Every bit of motion around the camp screeched to a halt and all eyes were on him. Daryl looked up at Dale on the RV.

“And what are you lookin’ at old man. Take off that stupid hat and go back to On Golden Pond!”

Daryl looked around.

“The hell’s the matter with all of y’all?”

Rick and Shane started to make their way over. As did Andrea and Morales. Dale climbed down from the RV.

“Listen, son, we’ve got some bad news.”

Dale touched Daryl’s shoulder and Daryl shook him off.

“What bad news? Where’s Merle?”

Rick stepped between them and Shane gently moved Dale back.

“We had some trouble in Atlanta. Merle-” Rick began.

“Who the hell’re you? Where the fuck is Merle!?”

“Atlanta,” Shane said.

Daryl’s face dropped. His eyes darted from Shane to Rick and back to Shane as he started to pace.

“He dead?”

“No,” Rick said.

“How you know?”

“Cause we barricaded the entrance to the roof he’s on.”

Daryl cocked his head as he paced back and forth.

“You left him there? No. No way Merle’d let y’all just leave him there.”

“He’s handcuffed there,” Rick said.

“What?! Why the hell?!”

“Cause he was losing his mind, man. Look what he did to T-Dog,” Shane said.

Daryl glanced at T-Dog and scowled.

“Y’all know how he is. The hell’d you set him off for?”

“Fuck you man! He’s a racist asshole!” T-Dog yelled.

“Yeah, so what are you doin’ settin’ him off for?! Course he’s gonna attack you!”

T-Dog stepped forward but Jacqui stopped him and led him away. Daryl shook his head and paced more.

“Okay okay. He fucked up. But why’d you leave him?”

“Walkers were surrounding the building. We had to fight our way out. Merle was pissed off and coked out of his mind. Good chance he’d do something to get us all killed,” Rick said.

“And who the fuck are you?!” Daryl yelled.

“Rick Grimes. Carl’s dad. Lori’s husband.”

Daryl nodded, looked at the ground and then suddenly tossed his rodents at Rick. Rick ducked, Daryl came at him and Shane tackled him to the ground. Daryl threw Shane off him, yelled and drew a knife from his belt. He shot to his feet and Rick and Shane backed up.

“Watch the knife,” Shane said.

They spread out and circled around Daryl. Daryl slashed at Rick. Rick stepped back and caught Daryl’s arm. He twisted the arm behind his back, forcing Daryl to drop the knife. Shane rushed in and got Daryl into a chokehold. Rick let go and Shane brought Daryl to the ground.

“You’d best let me go!”

“Don’t think I will.”

“Fuck you. Choke hold’s illegal man.”

“Yeah, you can file a complaint.”

Jon made his way over and stood before Daryl.

“We’re going into the city to get him. Are you coming or not?”

Daryl stopped struggling and squinted at Jon.

“And who are you meant to be? Fuckin… Sir Lancelot?”

“Jon Snow. I was with them on the roof when we left Merle. It was all our’ decision, not just Rick’s. We all share the blame. It was wrong so let us make it right.”

“If that’s meant to make me feel better, it don’t.”

“Well,” Rick said, “You’re more than welcome to stay here.”

Daryl scowled.

“Fine. Okay.” He raised his hands and Shane let go. “Sorry,” he muttered and picked up his knife.

Daryl stormed away to the tents with his crossbow and rodents in hand.

***

While Rick, Glenn and Morales packed up the truck, Jon was sent off to find Daryl. He felt like a nanny. Jon, however, was far more interested in finding Shane. After everything had settled, he’d disappeared like smoke in the wind. Eventually, Jon found him over by the tents again.

“Shane?”

Shane started.

“Huh? Oh, yup? What’s up?”

“This gun? Is it mine or am I just borrowing it?”

“Oh, yeah. I meant to tell you. It’s yours. Uh, shit, hold on.” Shane undid the scabbard from his belt. “Use my holster for now. I’ll get ya a spare later.”

“Thanks.”

Jon clipped the holster to his belt alongside Longclaw and put away Needle.

“Have you seen Daryl? I’m meant to be finding him,” Jon asked.

“He’s in his tent. That one at the end. You seen Carl? That’s why I’m down here. To look for Carl.”

“Carl’s with Lori.”

“Oh, right. Yup.”

Shane clicked his tongue and slunk away. Jon glanced at Lori and Rick’s open tent before making his way to Daryl’s.

“Daryl? You there?” He asked.

“Yup.”

Jon stuck his head in. The putrid smell of blood attacked his nose. Daryl was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his tent, skinning a squirrel. Daryl scowled at him and glared with his weathered, squinted eyes. His skin was akin to leather. Oddly enough, a man with his demeanour wouldn’t have been out of place on the wall. But he was still a child, like the rest of them.

“Never skinned a squirrel? Sir Snow?”

Admittedly, Sir Snow was a new one. Better than Lord Snow, Jon figured.

“I have actually. With my brothers when we were boys.”

Daryl grinned.

“You go huntin’?

“Once we were old enough to ride.”

“Ride what? Dirt bikes ain’t no use for hunting.”

“Horses.”

Daryl sneered.

“You rich or a country boy or both?”

“Rich,” Jon admitted.

“Figures,” Daryl huffed. “That how you got that? Daddy’s money?” Daryl gestured to Longclaw.

Jon didn’t allow his anger to show.

“A gift. From a great man.”

“’Kay. Well, you owe me a hold when we get back. For leavin’ Merle.”

“That’s fair. Careful though. It’s sharp.”

“Better be.”

“It’s time to leave. They’re ready.”

Daryl nodded and picked up his bow. The bolts were strange. They were yellow and made of what Jon assumed was more plastic. The crossbow had metal wire instead of whipcord and was made of yet another strange material that seemed to differ from plastic.

Together, Jon and Daryl arrived at the truck. Daryl looked to Shane who was standing with Lori, watching them.

“Dinner’s in my tent. Skin it yourself!”

“You just worry about your brother!” Shane yelled.

“I put blood, sweat and tears into them possums and squirrels. Don’t you let them rot, now!”

“Don’t forget those guns out there neither! Rick dropped a whole goddamn arsenal out there!”

Lori elbowed Shane in the ribs and gestured to a snickering Carl. Shane smirked and shrugged.

“Come back safe all of you! Good luck!” Lori yelled.

“We will!” Rick said.

They all waved goodbye one last time and got into the truck. Jon sat in the back beside Daryl and Glenn and made sure to keep his eyes away from the windows.

“He’d better be okay. It’s my only word on the matter,” Daryl said.

“The entrance is barricaded. The walkers can’t get at him. The only thing that’s gonna get through the door is us,” Morales said.

Glenn started the engine and its roar ushered them off down the gravel road.

***

The ride back to the city was done in silence and no one looked at each other. It was only once they were a good ways down the black road back to Atlanta that Glenn broke the silence.

“What the fuck?”

Everyone gathered around the front window. The road was smeared all the way into the city with rot. A lone walker with twisted legs crawled along the road. Glenn drove around it and eyed it with disgust. No one said a word for a bit. Until Morales spoke.

“They’re leaving. They’re leaving! We gotta go back! They’ll be heading right for camp!”

“What about Merle!?” Daryl yelled.

“What about my kids!?” Morales yelled back.

Just as Daryl looked ready to draw his knife again, Glenn slammed the brakes and everyone lurched forward.

“Alright alright,” Rick groaned, “let’s all calm down.”

“How can you say that man? You got a kid back there too don’t you?!” Morales yelled.

“Daryl, how long’s it take to walk from here to camp?” Rick asked.

Daryl shrugged.

“Two days, maybe three.”

Rick clicked his tongue.

“You hear that?! Two days! And that’s with sleeping, I’ll bet. We gotta go back! Merle has water, he’ll be fine.”

“Fuck no! We can get Merle and get back before the sun sets. Walkers ain’t gonna be there ‘till at least tomorrow. They’re slow as all hell!” Daryl said.

“I’m not risking my kids for some red-necked, racist bastard!”

Jon grit his teeth.

“I gave him a saw.”

They all stared at him.

“You did what?” Rick asked.

“Why?” Glenn asked.

“So he wouldn’t spend the night chained to a pipe. It’s barbaric.” Jon chewed his lip. “But, if we don’t get him today like we said he might leave the roof. And if he thinks we went back on our word, he might come looking for vengeance.”

“Better we have to deal with a pissed-off red-neck than a hoard of walkers,” Morales said.

“Yeah, but you heard Daryl dude, we have time to get him,” Glenn said.

Morales looked at Rick with desperate eyes. Rick sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“Those guns will help us defend the camp. If there’s a good chance we can get them I say we take it,” Rick said.

“Fine!” Morales shouted. “Fuck all of you, then!”

Morales stormed to the back of the truck, flung open the back and started walking back along the road. Jon went to the back of the truck.

“Should I stop him?” He asked.

“No, he’s scared about his kids. That’s a good reason to leave,” Rick said.

Jon nodded and rolled the door back down. It was nice to see everyone with their priorities straight for once.

***

Glenn drove the trucks down a pair of metal rails in the ground. He pulled the truck into some sort of yard where other rail tracks met and parked among them.

“We walk from here,” Glenn said.

Everyone hopped out of the truck and gathered up their supplies. Glenn cut a hole in the wire fence beside the rails and they headed into the city. They moved in a tight circle, slowly clearing every street on their way to Merle. But eventually, they stopped bothering. The streets were empty. A deathly silence lingered over the stone jungle, accompanied by the putrid smell and taste of rot.

“Our exit must have drawn ‘em all away,” Rick said.

“That or they ran out of food,” Glenn said.

“Naw, they ain’t that smart. Bastards can barely walk straight,” Daryl said.

“One did climb a ladder before,” Jon said.

“Ain’t the same as migrating,” Daryl said.

“Regardless, we shouldn’t let out guard down. Atlanta’s a big place by the looks of it. Just cause these walkers left doesn’t mean the rest did,” Jon said.

It seemed they could all agree on that much.

Eventually, they reached the building that had once held them, prisoner. The windows on the ground floor were all smashed in and the frames were coated in dried rot. Rot caked the ground surrounding it, more so than the rest of the street. It was on the walls too, like a decrepit mural. But that’s all there was, rot. Not a single walker was anywhere to be seen. Even so, they moved through the building carefully with guns raised. Jon kept Needle’s safety off and did his best to make sure it never pointed at anyone as they swept the halls but with four of them in such a tight space it was hard to do so. Jon made sure to keep his finger off the trigger, just in case.

The smashed windows let in some light to the store’s main lobby, but the backrooms and connecting halls were still consumed by darkness. Shadows leapt at him from the corners of his eyes, mockingly so, daring him to fire. He kept his mind steady and sharp and didn’t allow himself to be fooled.

Eventually, they reached the stairwell. A walker was standing in it aimlessly. When it caught sight of them it stumbled down the stairs, arms outstretched. Its brown and yellow eyes flared at the sight of them as it let out a hissing, gurgled screech. It tripped over itself and tumbled down the stairs to Daryl’s feet.

“Ugly skank,” he said before shooting a bolt into its head.

When the bolt punctured its skull, a strong rotting smell was released into the air. They all covered their mouths and gagged as they hurried past the corpse up the stairwell. They arrived at the top to a still well-fortified doorway. Daryl kicked down the boards.

“Merle?! We’re here! Merle?!” He yelled.

When there was no answer, Daryl’s kicking got more frantic and Jon’s stomach dropped. He pushed past Rick and Glenn and helped Daryl pry the boards off the wall. Together, they ran out onto the roof to find no Merle in sight.

“Where the hell is he?!” Daryl grabbed Jon’s collar. “Are you lyin’ to me boy?!”

“He should be here! I don’t know!” Jon yelled.

He thrust Daryl off of him. His strength must have caught Daryl off guard as he was sent crashing onto his back. Jon sprinted over to where Merle ought to have been and came across a grisly sight. The handcuff’s remained as they were, chained to the pipe and unbroken but they hung above a dried pool of blood and a decapitated hand. A trail of blood led to the edge of the roof to a ladder heading down into the alley. Jon ran to the edge and looked over but the trail ended and there was no Merle in sight.

“No!” Daryl screamed, “No!”

Daryl paced back and forth, tears in his eyes. Rick and Glenn stared at the gruesome scene in varying states of shock.

“What the fuck man,” Glenn said.

Rick knelt before the hand, his jaw clenched. He unlocked the handcuffs and returned them to his pocket.

“I told you!” Jon yelled. “Your childish fear has killed this man!”

“I know…”

The lack of excuses only fueled Jon’s rage, but even it was surpassed by Daryl’s. With clenched, trembling fists Daryl dropped to his knees and cursed blindly at the sky. Guttural and manic, his cries were akin to a raging beast. Suddenly, his eyes snapped to Rick. Wide and wild, they bore into Rick like that of a starved wolf. He whipped out his knife and lunged at him. And as they struggled on the ground, and Glenn fought to get Daryl off, Jon approached the edge of the roof.

What was there to do now but die in this dead and rotting world? He had failed. Both himself and everything his father had worked so tirelessly to ingrain in him. Better he face him, ashamed as he is, rather than linger as a spectre.

He went to step onto the roof’s curb but found himself unable. Each time he lifted his foot, memories of a cold embrace of nothing flashed clearer and clearer in his mind. His body would not allow him, and his mind was too frightened to argue. Jon collapsed back from the edge onto his ass. He lay on the stone roof and wept as he gazed up at the summer sun.