#little old men in love im gonna die if anything happens to them

[riality-check]

*bites and shakes the bars of my enclosure* APPALACHIAN EDDIE!!!!! I LOVE HIM SO MUCH ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING YOU GOT INJECT IT STRAIGHT INTO MY VEINS IM SO PBSESSED

Thank you so much!! I'm currently trudging my way through chapter 2 of Born to Run, but before that's done, here's some stuff I wrote up from a while ago related to the Munson Lore post.

Basically, if you're interested in Wayne feels, keep scrolling!

Wayne enlists the second he turns eighteen, the last months of high school be damned. It was his plan all along, the only way to get the hell out West Virginia or at least the holler. The war in Korea breaks out around that time, but he still enlists.

If he's gonna die, it ain't gonna be in a mine. He's seen what happens to men down there, sees them come home with coal-stained faces and crooked backs, watches them drown themselves in bottles.

That last one might just have been his pa, though.

Wayne feels bad leaving his mama, but especially his brother. He's only six, and he's already a little too wild for their mama to watch on her own. Over the course of Johnny's short life, Wayne has spent a lot of time makin' sure he stays outta trouble. He's a rambunctious, bright kid. Wayne doesn't know what he'll get into while he's gone.

But it makes him feel better that their old man's been in the ground a year now. It's one less thing for Wayne to worry about, for Johnny's sake.

Wayne goes to Korea, and he doesn't come back the same. He doesn't come back right, and until he can, he decides not to. Christmas cards and a visit once every few months will have to do because Wayne can't do anything more than that right now. He just can't.

It wouldn't be fair for Mama to have to take care of him, now that he's grown. It wouldn't be fair for Johnny to see his brother shaking and crying because of bad dreams, something he's surely grown out of by now.

So, he takes jobs driving trucks all over the country. The hours are long and it don't pay much, but if he's got music on, he doesn't have to think. He gets a pretty good collection of hats going, too. One from every state he's been to. He wants to go to Hawai'i to complete the collection.

It takes ten years for Wayne to piece himself back together. He ain't the same, but he's enough of a person by the time he's twenty-eight that he thinks he can go back for good.

So, he does. He drives back up to West Virginia and sees his mama and doesn't see his brother, who's sixteen now. When he asks Mama where he went, she shrugged and said, "Out."

Wayne does see his wife. Or, well, they're not married yet. They decided to wait until she has the baby so she can fit in her mama's wedding dress.

Rebecca is sweet and pretty and a high school dropout, just like Wayne, just like his brother is, now, apparently. She and Wayne talk for hours, and he really likes her. She's funny and grounded in a way that his brother definitely needs.

They talk until his brother comes back, stumbling in, face bloody. Johnny - no, John - smiles when he sees Wayne, and things are okay for a little while. They all stay at Mama's house. Wayne picks up some odd handyman jobs, Rebecca works as a cashier at the grocery store a mile down the road, and John-

Well, Wayne doesn't know what John is doing. All he knows is that he works odd hours and seems to be gettin' skinnier, but he's putting supper on the table, so things are okay. They're okay.

They're okay until The Fight to End All Fights.

They're okay until he and his brother are screaming, and throwing things, but they didn't hit each other. John swung once, exactly once, and Wayne stepped out of the way. He doesn't swing back, not like Pa would have.

Wayne leaves. His brother does, too. Wayne doesn't see him for years, but his wife calls and sends pictures of their little family.

Wayne isn't sure how she keeps getting his number, even after he's moved a few times. But Rebecca calls at least twice a year, some years more than others. Sometimes, it's a whispered rush of words; others, it's a nice, long, chat, even if her words sound slurred together.

She sends Wayne cards for his birthday and Christmas. She includes pictures of herself and Johnny. Wayne tries not to look at those too hard, not when it's clear that both of them are getting worse.

He does look at the pictures of their kid, though. "Eddie" is the name Becca writes on all the pictures. He's a skinny kid with eyes like John and hair like Rebecca. He's a smiley kid, too, and he always seems to be holding a book.

Wayne wishes he could meet him. But even if The Fight didn't happen, that's just not possible.

Rebecca never gives him a return address.

[thebusylilbee]

oh... oh... Irving and Burt are what love is all about huh ? 🥺

[strawberry-jammers]

child reader (Pt.4)

tommy x child!reader || whys he here??

someone comes to the tundra to fight the blade (also some cute fluff)

pt1 pt 2 pt3 pt4 pt5

masterlist

this took so long lmao, part 5 coming soon

This story will diverge from the cannon. Since i cant remember it well im just gonna do my own thing.

------

The three of them, techno tommy and little (y/n), lived together peacefully for a bit. Techno and tommy would occasionally spar and commit minor terrorism, while (y/n) got to play with tommy and uncle techno. 

(y/n) has grown a bit sense they had arrived there, being a happy kid like they should be.

On calm nights, techno would read to the little kid, stories of gods who ruled over the lands. Stories of himself in his times of adventure. They enjoyed all his stories, for they held a sort of unreachable curiosity that they loved oh so much.

“Im not reading you a story.” techno says. Sitting in his usual arm chair. He had come back from the nether not long before, just wanting to rest after a long day of fighting withers. He didnt expect the kid to want to hang out with him. “Pwease uncle tech!” they said. He shook his head. “I said no.” (y/n) huffed, getting off the arm of the chair, walking to the pile of books that stood in the coroner of the room. 

They looked through it, trying to find the one they wanted. Once they did, they let out a happy ‘aha!’ and stumbled to the grumpy piglin, book in hand. “This one this one! Pleaaaase!!” they said. Showing techno the book. He examined it, realizing that it was the story about himself that philza had given to him as a joke gift. His eyes widened. ‘Why would the brat wanna read about me?’ he pondered. He just sighed, gently grabbing the book from the small hands it was being held in. “Fine, fine, I'll read you the story.” 

(y/n) smiled, climbing up to sit on the piglins lap, wanting to try and read the book along with him. He huffed, not really agreeing to them sitting on him. None the less he opened the book, reading the unfinished tale to the child sitting before him.

“Once centuries ago, there was a young lad cursed to hear ungodly voices…”

Those were nights (y/n) enjoyed the most. They couldn't read, but having techno read to them was much better than reading a book all alone.

On most days Tommy would play with (y/n) outside. Neither of them got bored of the snow, being used to the sunny weather that was logstedshire. It was a nice change of pace that (y/n) enjoyed. 

The two of them usually had snow ball fights, or tried to build towers and mini houses out of the snow. Tommy would build them snowmen, ones that looked like the people they knew. Others were sometimes ones they hadn't seen before, that Tommy would tell stories of when they would go to bed.

“Papa look!” tommy turned to his kid, who was happily standing next to a snow version of himself. It was small and barely looked like himself, but he easily recognized it. He came up to the small child, picking them up happily. “That's me!? It's amazing little (f/i)! You did so well!!” he said, ruffling the young ones hair. They giggled at the action. 

“Wanna see mine?” (y/n) nodded. He walked over to the snowman he had built, showing them to his kid.

They looked familiar, (y/n) thought. These were the people in the storys (y/n) was told, the man with words of wisdom and guitar playing skills that calmed every citizen, who had tragically died in their last battle. The boy who was by papas side, who loved bees and everyone he knew. The young baker who had a kind heart and a smile that could put anyone at ease. Jack manifold.

Tommy spemnt a very long time creating this, purely so he could show (y/n) his old friends at least once. “Whos that one??” (y/n) asked, pointing to the the fox looking one, standing tall next to the leader, wilbur. “That's fundy. He didn't do much in the war, but he was an amazing fighter, and also a furry.`` Tommy replied, setting the child down. They ran up to the snowman. “Furry furry furry!!” they chanted, making the young boy laugh. “Yes furry!”

Most days now were spent with all three of them playing games inside till the late hours. After (y/n) had gotten sick from being outside so much, Tommy decided to just stay inside the warm cabin. They would bug techno alot, but he enjoyed the company some days. It was better than staying inside alone with an enderman who didn't really like him.

Today however, was different. For they had an unexpecting visitor who was very friendly. 

--

Techno was making breakfast, as usual. He had learned that if he didnt, neither of the innits would eat till dinner when their bodys couldn't handle it anymore. It wasn't good for a young baby like that. Not that techno cared tho.

He was putting the dirty pots and pans in the sink, knowing he'd try and force Tommy to do it later. He started to put the food onto plates when he heard shouting coming from outside. "TECHNOBLADE GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!!!" 

Techno stops for a second. No one could possibly have the balls to fight him, let alone twice. Technoblade put the stuff in his hands down, walking over to the window to try and see who was out there. As he thought, it was none other than Quackity trying to pick a fight with him once more. 

"I CAN SEE YOU PIGMAN! COME OUT HERE AND GET WHAT YOU DESERVE!!!" The duck man was actually prepared this time, with enchanted netherite armor and an axe to go with it. It seemed he upped his game sense last time. 

Techno chuckled, going upstairs to grab his things real fast. There's no way someone can try and beat technoblade like that. He came back down to see Quackity opening his door. "Heh!? Why are you inside my house!?" Quackity stood there, axe gripped tightly. Techno reached the floor, grabbing his sword. "Why can't I be in your house techno? Hiding something?" 

Ah shit he's onto us

Kill him

Haha he looks funny

Techno shook his head. "Just thought you'd play fair duck man. That's what you government people love to try and do." Quackity stepped forward. "Why would I play fair with the man whos supposed to be dead? This has been a long time coming," Quackity readied his axe, "get ready blade, cause i'm finally killing you." Techno readied his sword as well. "I'd like to see you try." 

Just as they said this, someone came up from the floorboards. "*yawn* techno are you done with breakfast yet- HOLY FUCK QUACKITY!?" a tired Tommy says, holding a nearly sleeping (y/n). The two men turn to Tommy, seeing him and his child. "Oh? So this is what you were hiding. Haven't seen you sense the exile!" Quackity says, getting closer. Tommy got up from the ladder, shrinking behind technoblade, trying to protect his kid. 

"What are you doing here big q?" Tommy says, hiding his kid. “I could ask you the same thing. What's that you've got there? Technos kid or something?” 

“Well no-” “quackity leave them alone.” techno cuts off tommy, moving more so in front of him. He cant let the baby die, he knows phil would pumble him if he does. “This is between you and me quackity. Leave them alone.” quackity shook his head, pointing his axe at tommy. “Anyone alined with you is an enemy of mine. Even if he's an old friend.” quackity lunged at techno, who blocked the attack swiftly. Quackity tried to get around the man, so he could grab the child from tommys arms. (y/n) was now awake however, and they weren't very happy.

“Papa?” they ask, realizing there was an axe lunging towards them. Quackity got around the blade, and was already trying to get to them. Tommy noticed the axe coming their way, completely ready to take the hit for his kid. 

Techno blocked the attack however. “Tommy get them to safety! I can handle this.” tommy nodded, running as quackity and techno dueld. Wuackity tried to run after tommy, but techno blocked him. “Not interesting enough for you q?” he smirks, swinging his sword at the duck man. Quackity blocks, scolding. “You're really full of yourself aren't you?”

Tommy ran outside, running to the only place he knew big q wouldn't find them, (y/n)s old hut. He ran and ran for so long, it had reached past mid day when he reached the small home he had made so many months prier. He sighed, closing the door behind him. (y/n) had long since woken up, and was very agitated. They had not eaten yet and it's been hours. “Shit shit sorry (y/n).'' Tommy says, laying the child in their old bed. He looked around the old home for anything he had left behind. He found some stuff, but he still had to go out to get food. 

When he was done, he quickly fed the crying child. “I'm sorry kiddo, I didn't think this would happen. I didn't think quackity would wanna harm you. Sh shhh im sorry.” he picks up the crying child, kinda like how they first met. A crying (y/n) and a terrified tommy. 

“Pappa- '' Tommy cuts them off, shushing them. “Just rest, Just rest…” the kid nodded, calming down slightly.

The two of them stayed like that till the sun rose the next day.

The next day Tommy got a message on his communicator by techno. Apparently quackity had won the fight, having threatened to chase after them and kill them. Techno begrudgingly went to get executed a second time. Thankfully he lived however, thanks to ranboo and tubbo stopping it. The two of them were currently at the blades house. 

Tommy didnt wanna deal with seeing tubbo, but he knew he couldn't stay out here for more than an hour. He sighed. “Hey (y/n), how would you like it if you might get to meet new friends?” (y/n) looked at him, smiling. “Yeah new friends!!” he smiled, picking up the excited child. “Let's go back to uncle technos!” “uncle techy!!!” Tommy and (y/n) laughed. Tommy got ready and left for the tundra.

Hopefully tubbo wouldn't be there when he got there.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Prompt: Vampire Chris drunk on blood?

CW: Drunkenness, drug addiction, blood drinking, vampirism, creepy abusive comfort, WWI-period-appropriate xenophobia and brief vague possible homophobia reference, dehumanization, war whump

"Now, that'll get you blotto faster'n French liquor," Kirk says, sinking back against the muddy trench wall, careless for the dirt caking itself into the hair at the nape of his neck.

His helmet lay beside him upside down on the ground, and his brown hair was free to explode in its wealth of curls, a kind of halo around his head. He had one arm out, sleeve rolled back. His hands were caked in mud and smeared with drying dirt - above the line of his sleeve, though, the skin was paper-white, almost clammy.

It was this white skin that the vampire's fangs were buried in.

"Shit, Holden, y'gotta have 'im bite you, too." Kirk's grin widens. The shells had gone silent but every man flinches, now and then, hearing a phantom sound or feeling a rumble beneath their feet.

At least it's finally stopped goddamn raining.

The venom rolls through Kirk's veins, soothing his jangled nerves. He can barely feel the trembling in his hands and it feels like his mind, when it's in him. He's a farm kid from western Nebraska, the second son and not needed so much as the first to bring the crops in. So here he is, learning to love the feeling of teeth in his skin.

Maybe when he gets shipped back home he'll stick to the cities. They say the vampires have their dens there, where they can hide. You can buy venom enough to quiet your mind for a day or two, the city boys tell him.

They're in it as deep as he is, now.

Feels like half the American army is itching for venom these days.

"No thank you. I'm not gonna get sent home and start chasing fangs like the rest of you." Holden squints, looking up into the dark sky, the rolling clouds that seem far too close to the ground. "It'll rain again soon."

"When isn't it going to rain again soon? Oh, right, when it's already bloody raining." That's a Brit, they just call him Tommy. No one knows his real name.

He claims to hate them all, but since half his unit was blasted apart two days ago, he's hung with the 'Yanks' close enough. Kirk thinks he's fond of them, even if he won't admit it. Or just scared to be alone. He can understand that. He's terrified of the thought himself. "Shove the little vamp over to me, Kirk, I want some."

The vampire pulls his fangs free, licking over the wounds he's made until they close. He's a skinny little thing, pale as paper with bright red hair they stuff under his helmet when he's running medic checks in No Man's Land, trying to make him less obvious. Sure, he can't die from gas, but he can be blown to bits by a whizz-bang fast as any living soldier can.

"Please," The vampire says, turning big green eyes up to Kirk. "I, I, I'm tired, please, can I sleep?"

He's got heavy dark circles under his eyes. It's kind of cute.

"No," Kirk answers, curt, shoving the vampire away by his head, watching him fall into the mud. His uniform is marked with it, now, a dab of dirt over the 'V' sewn next to his medic's cross. There's a satisfaction, in Kirk, just in seeing the little thing laid low.

He won't die in this war, and Kirk probably will, but before that happens he can at least hurt something he can see. You can't see old Fritz when you fire on him from a distance - but you can see a vampire flinch in the dirt. It's not much.

It's something.

"Must be daytime," Holden speaks up, still staring up at the clouds. "You can't tell, weather like this, but if the fangs're tryin' to sleep, must be day."

"He sleeps when we're done with him, and not a moment before." Kirk's voice is a murmur, eyes half-closed. He's drifting in it, the way the venom dulls and deadens the eternal ache in his back and legs. The Germans could come roaring over the bags right this second and Kirk wouldn't give a damn at all. Let them kill him, at least he can go with venom in his veins, not as a basket case carried off the field. "Not a second before. Go on, bloodsucker. Get over to Tommy and help him get some shut-eye, huh?"

"I've been drinking all night, pulled some rations off someone," Tommy groans, rubbing his fingers at his temples. "It's done no good at all." It's a funny little gesture, so oddly normal and casual. Reminds Kirk of home.

His throat tries to close, homesickness bowling him over. The wish to return to his mother's worn smile, sit down to dinner and have her ask him about his day, when his problems revolved around the harvest and the hard backs of the pews in church-

He takes a breath, forcing it back, and gives the vampire a vicious kick in the ribs, listening to his high-pitched cry and how he curls around himself with a smile of his own.

Oh, he'll die, probably. The others from his town already have. But he can remind himself he's still alive, for now. One way or another. He can cause pain he can't feel himself, for once.

"I said get over to Tommy and smooth out his sharp bits, bloodfuck."

"Yes, um, y-yes, Kirk," The vampire says, pulling himself onto his hands and knees. His fingers are smashed into the mud deep enough to nearly disappear. If they could only get a few days of sunlight to dry out all this dirt, it wouldn't be such hell.

As it is, his socks've been damp for weeks, his boots feel like they're caging his feet in a swamp. He's worried about trenchfoot and trying not to think about it. He stole these boots off a dead German when his own started to fall apart, anyway.

He could've probably gotten new ones, but... it had felt good, taking something from Fritz after Fritz took so much from him.

Kirk tries not to remember that the German soldiers he fights have never caused him a single moment's harm on purpose. They're only fighting for the same reasons he is - because someone higher up who doesn't give a damn about them said to.

Kirk had been all gung-ho for the war until he'd been sent over here to fight it. All those articles in the newspapers, all the speeches given by men standing in town squares... it had all made it seem so patriotic.

They never tell you, Kirk thinks bitterly, that you'll be sent into a slaughterhouse. They don't tell you you'll spend your day breaking a vampire's fingers one by one just to watch them heal back into place and listen to his little cries.

Just to pass the time.

"Trade me your flask while the fangs takes care of you," Kirk says, and Tommy hands it over easy enough.

He watches Tommy grab the vampire by one arm and yank him over, vicious and violent, making the vampire boy cry out again. The sound is starting to grate on Kirk's nerves. It makes him sound too human. He hates being reminded that every vampire used to be a person.

He drinks whatever's in the Brit's flask, and it burns down his throat just the way he needs it to. Wipes out his worries, relaxes shoulders that seem always to be tensed up nearly to his chin.

His mama's a teetotaler, back in Nebraska. He'd been one, too, until the first bombardment. Now he drinks anything he could get his hands on, and the officers mostly looked the other way.

"Bite," Tommy orders. Kirk raises his eyebrows when Tommy doesn't roll up his sleeve but pushes the vampire's face instead towards his neck, turning his head to the side to bare it.

His eyes meet Kirk's, and he smiles, bitterly. "Works faster this way," He explains. Kirk just watches as the vampire's fangs glint in the eternal dim twilight, hesitating before they bury themselves in Tommy's skin.

The little monster's back arches, pressing them chest-to-chest. A low rumble comes from somewhere deep inside, the animal sound the vampire makes during a good feed. He doesn't do it much with the regular unit any longer, they mocked him for it and one day he stopped.

The vampire's throat works as he drinks, and Tommy's arm slides around the monster's thin shoulders, forcing him closer. He's nearly kissing his forehead, this way.

It's an embrace, and altogether more intimate of one than Kirk thought he'd ever see from the cold, standoffish Brit. He feels a blush creeping up his neck and his cheeks as Tommy lets his head fall back, groaning softly in a kind of contentment as the venom hits. The sound isn't quite like a groan at all, it's more like-

"Fucking hell, Tommy, are you an invert?"

"Invert suggests I give a damn what bites me," Tommy replies, without opening his eyes. His slurred speech deepens, goes slow. His hand curves around the vampire's shoulder, holding him tightly. "I'm after oblivion, lads. I don't care what parts the fangs have that give it to me."

"Fang-chaser," Holden says, good-naturedly. Clearly not bothered the way Kirk is. Maybe that's just his farmboy past talking, that he's even unsettled at all. Maybe Tommy's got a point - who cares what's between a vampire's legs if you're only interested in the damn thing's mouth in the first place? "Fucking fang-chaser, that's what you are. End up in a den getting your hips bit like Oscar Wilde."

"Who's Oscar Wilde?"

Holden laughs. "You should try reading a book or three sometime, Kirk."

"Sure, sure, whenever I get the damn time in-between running over this blasted nothing. In any case, Tommy's definitely a fang-chaser."

"Guilty as charged... just like you two." Tommy's hand slides up into the vampire's hair, gripping tight and gently pulling backwards. The vampire's fangs slide free, and it laps at the wounds, rapidly. Tommy groans again. Kirk finds himself unable to look away at the bob of Tommy's throat. How good does it feel, in the neck? He's never thought to try it. He thinks about it now. "Turn me in to face discipline for unnatural relations with the fangs and I'll do the same to you."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it. Fucking Limey bastard." There's no real animosity in Kirk's voice. He's too distracted, drunkenly considering the vampire boy's mouth. Wondering if he knows how to kiss. "You shared your liquor, I shared our bloodsucker, we're both of us in it to our necks."

"Not me," Holden says, innocent and pure as the driven snow. As if he weren't the one to give Kirk the idea to use the venom in the first place.

Kirk throws a clot of mud at him, which he dodges, laughing. They're all laughing, soon enough, except for the fangs.

The vampire lays there, his head pressed to Tommy's chest and forcibly held in place by his arm. His eyes are slightly wide, unfocused, and Kirk leans forward.

"What's this, then? What'd you do to the fangs, Tommy?"

"Hm? Nothing. Oh, I'm pissed as can be, do they feel the liquor in your blood?"

"I'm guessing they sure do. You drunk, fangs?"

The vampire's eyes drift over to Kirk, move too far to one side, come back again. He swallows, thickly. "I... I think I, I, I am," He says, and tries to push back against Tommy's chest, to free himself.

The Brit's arm crushes him back into place, his other hand moving up to run through the vampire boy's dirt red hair, petting him like one of the ambulance dogs. Kirk and Holden laugh at the vampire's weakness. "Stay right where you are," Tommy murmurs. "Or I'll run you through with my bayonet and let you squirm all day."

"Christ," Kirk says, blinking. "That's a bit rough, isn't it?"

"He's not alive, what does it matter?" Tommy lets out a bitter little laugh. "Might as well get a preview of our own ends, shouldn't we?"

"You two, maybe." Holden crawls into the dugout, the little bed-space, a kind of cave dug in underneath the upper layers of the trench. He lays down on his back, closing his eyes, hands behind his head. "I'm going to go back home and never think of you lot ever again."

"I pray every night to make it home," Kirk says, nodding along. "Not sure anyone's listening, but I got to try, don't I?"

"What happens to the fangs, anyway?" The Brit looks up, rocking a little back and forth. As if the bloodsucker were a baby needing soothing. The vampire boy has relaxed against him, the liquor-laced blood he drank lulling him into a complacent bonelessness. Kirk watches the vampire boy's fingers start to tap over the Brit's chest, a strange movement he's seen the boy do before in his few relaxed moments between the scream of the shells. He hums, low in his throat, tuneless.

"Huh?" Kirk blinks. "What d'you mean, what happens to him?"

"After the war's done. What are they gonna do with the bloodsuckers? Can't exactly pin a bloody ribbon for valor on them and send them on their way, now can they?"

"Nope. I don't know what happens. Maybe they'll just stake them all and have done with them."

The vampire shudders, giving a little whimper. Tommy leans down, lips moving against the vampire's hair. "Ssssshhhh. Not to worry, little fangs. War's not over just yet, now is it?"

"N-... no. Not, not, not, not yet." The vampire's eyes close, pink-tinged tears creating pale tracks in his dirty face. He's a sad drunk, then, Kirk figures.

Aren't they all, these days.

"Maybe you'll outlive us all, and make fools of us for keeping you." Tommy speaks with a patronizing affection, as mocking as it is tender, petting through the creature's hair still. It's... unsettling to watch. Kirk had figured the Brits and French probably killed all their vamps, since they were all disturbed by the sight of the vampire medics when the doughboys first arrived in Europe.

This, though... this makes it seem like Tommy's known a vampire or two himself, in his life. And he's sure as fuck not unfamiliar to what venom is good for outside of giving relief from agony to the injured.

Kirk frowns, thoughtful.

He's turned into a thoughtful drunk, too, thanks to this goddamn war. Sad and thoughtful. What a fucking waste.

"Sleep," Tommy says, almost gently, to the drunk little vampire. "I've got you. Sleep, little one."

The vampire's eyes slip closed. He doesn't breathe - there's no sense of his chest rising and falling. Kirk has to look away before the sense of wrongness, watching Tommy cuddle a corpse, makes him sick.

He takes a long, long draught from the flask, and relishes the burn that reminds him he's human, and alive.

His own eyes slip shut, and he prays for an hour or two of sleep before the next screaming shell bursts overhead.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[matrose]

what is ddf?

hi anon so happy u asked this because it allows me to type a wall of text about a topic i love to talk about!!!!! ❣️ ddf is short for "die drei fragezeichen" which is the german version of the american kids book series "the three investigators", written by robert arthur! it follows three young detectives that are 13 at the beginning of the series and later get aged up to 17/18 so they can drive cars. the publishing history is hilarious so im gonna recount the whole thing to you

- only ten books were written by robert arthur himself, before he passed away in 1969

-the series was then continued by additional four authors who wrote an additional 37 books, at this point the characters were still 13, but a rivaling book series that also featured a group of kids aged their characters up, so of course the same had to happen to the investigators.

- the characters, now around 17 years old get lots of cool updates, like knowledge of hand to hand combat, drivers licenses, and a ton of new authors. this new series was called crimebusters and only ran from 1989 to 1990, but managed to produce 13 books, written by seven different people, six of them being new additions to roster. with this, the american career of the three investigators ends.

-germany meanwhile, picked up the books around 1979 and they get very popular (after a rough start and a cover redesign)! so germany does what germany loves to do and makes audiodramas out of them, writing scripts, hiring voice-actors, and recording them onto cassettes of course. the voice-actors are of course actual 13 year olds! (for now.) and wow does everybody go crazy for these casettes!!! people cant get enough of them!

-when the american production of ddf books ceases, the german population is very sad: soon they will run out of ddf scripts! but not to worry. after some legal disagreements, more books finally get written! in german now of course! and by FOURTEEN different authors! the first german ddf book gets released to the public in 1993.

-the three voice-actors at this point have become a household staple. almost everyone knows their voices. the kids that grew up listening to them are now having kids on their own who are of course also listening to them. (this mostly applys to western germany for obvious reasons). so in the early 2000s the voice-actors start doing livetours of their readings

-these livetours are a huge hit: sometime between then and now, they broke the world-record for biggest audience at a live audiodrama, somewhere in berlin. for some reason two of the voice-actors (one of them married. with kids) put in a segment that involves them singing romantic karaoke and then kissing on the stage, always met with thunderous applause. this little joke of theirs keeps going and their two characters become incredibly gay, which everyone refuses to acknowledge because "its a joke" (????).

-theyve had an enormous impact on german popculture to the point where theres been ddf toasters, ddf tents, ddf shoelaces, ddf anythings. ddf pizza. i myself own a ddf mug a ddf towel and a ddf pin, because i of course also grew up listening to the audiodramas, on cassettes that i got from my parents who listened to those same cassettes when they were kids. the books are still going (currently at volume um, around 230 i believe?) and the audiodramas are also steadily coming out. theyve got these german men that are all balding and over 50 voice some peppy 17 year old californians! lifes so funny

-i realize that by telling you this timeline ive told you very very little about the actual plot, but the plot isnt that important anyways... its three guys theyre detectives thats mostly it. the adventures are basically insane (one time one of them got shot into space? another time some crime boss who was genuinely kin with moriarty and was convinced their leader their 17 year old leader was his sherlock kidnapped them to have some sherlock v moriarty showdown with him. theyre in a permanent stand-off with the CIA because theyve got some info on them that they could easily leak to the press and thats the only reason they arent in federal prison: the CIA is scared to act lest they leak their info. anyways lots of normal things!)

-also i just want to reiterate that there have been 25 seperate people writing these books and that theres now 230 books out there and theyre still releasing more and that these voice-actors have been their characters for 40 years...thats just crazy to me

[ssamie]

eight. “nakahara chuuya”

kozume kenma x fem dazai!reader

(bsd x hq)

tw: mentions of suicide and mild violence

masterlist.         suicide freak!

instead of eating out with the team, her lovely afternoon turned into a not-a-date-but-kinda with chuuya 

"yaknow, chuuya.. you haven't changed at all" she commented. she twirled her straw around the glass of her milkshake as she briefly glanced at chuuya from across her 

"hah?! what's that supposed to mean??" chuuya exclaimed angrily 

"i've always wondered about this" she hummed "but where do you get your embarrassing hats?" she asked 

chuuya clicked his tounge as he angrily sipped on his milkshake. "say what you want, vogabond" he said 

"i bet you're still going on and on about suicide despite your age, aren't ya?" chuuya sneered 

"yeah" she nodded 

he sighed and leaned back on his chair. "atleast pretend to deny that" he said 

she sighed and leaned back as well. "what are we doing here, chuuya?" she asked with a huff  "im guessing it's not a date. well, unless it is, then-" 

"shut up! it's a not a goddamn date!" chuuya snapped 

she chuckled and threw her hands up in mock surrender. "chill out, chuuya" she cooed  "and not like i'd care anyways." she muttered "im still chasing after a certain pudding head so i'd rather this be a little reunion, if anything." 

chuuya's scowl softened at her words. his brows nit together as he blinked dumbfoundedly at her. 

"you love someone?" he asked, uncharacteristically quiet. 

"i wouldn't say love" she shrugged "more like close friends, im currently convincing him to commit a double suicide with me" 

"oh." chuuya mumbled 

she rested her elbows on the table and placed her chin on her hands. "why did you find me, chuuya." she asked, but with her tone it was more of a demand for the answer 

chuuya didn't reply but simply crossed his legs over the other. he chuckled lowly and leaned in closer to her face. "im here to take you down." he whispered "you and your agency may have fooled and escaped from akutagawa, but not me." 

chuuya grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head closer, so that their noses were touching. 

"im your old partner, after all" he smirked 

"indeed you are" she smirked back 

chuuya grinned, mischief in his eyes as he roughly pulled her head back and tilting it to the left. he then leaned in and whispered something in her ear. 

"what the fuck?" kenma muttered in disbelief 

"old partner?" kuroo muttered in confusion 

a few of the boys, specifically kenma, kuroo, yaku, lev, and yamamoto, were hiding at the other side of the cafe. they were seated by the farthest booth covered by a huge plant, trying to spy on the two. thanks to chuuya's loud voice, they were able to hear bits of the conversation. 

"maybe they were lovers?" lev suggested with an innocent smile on his face 

"who even is he?" yamamoto asked in a whisper 

"well, he could be an ex boyfriend or a friend, we wouldn't really know" yaku said with a sigh 

"he has a point" kuroo sighed "we don't really know anything about her, if you think about it" 

"we don't know what she was doing or who she was with before this" 

"whatever, just shh!" yamamoto shushed him 

"ah! i think he looked at me for a quick second" lev shuddered nervously 

"what?? he saw you??" yaku asked frantically "that's because your head is almost touching the fucking ceiling! get down!" 

"he's looking this way!" yamamoto whisper shouted 

"shut up, yamamoto! you're too obvious!" 

chuuya grumbled as he met eyes with the boys. he briefly glared at them before averting his eyes back to the girl. "those brats are watching us. tch" he said 

"i know" she shrugged nonchalantly. "though, i would advise you not to hurt them" she chuckled

chuuya smirked and stared her down tauntingly. 

"or what?" 

"i'll kill you." 

"ah, i see.." she hummed "you led me here to fight, is that it?" she looked around the deserted alleyway he brought them to. 

chuuya clicked his tounge and nodded in response. 

"well, i appreciate it" she chuckled "i wouldn't want kenma to see such violence" 

"stop babbling about that kenma and fight me!" chuuya scowled as he ran towards her, throwing punches which she dodged. just as he was about to hit her, she grabbed his arm and punched him in the stomach, making him cough out his saliva. 

"you call that a punch?!" he exclaimed as he swung his fist straight to her stomach, sending her back until she hit the wall. 

"it doesn't even count as a massage." chuuya sneered "get up." he scoffed

she sighed and lifted herself up from the ground, stretching her arm and wincing in slight pain. "geez, i thought my blocking arm would get torn off" she said with a soft chuckle 

"she predicted my moves.." chuuya whispered to himself 

"we've known each other for a long time, chuuya. i know everything about you, your moves, your pacing." she said 

"i wouldn't have been a proper partner if not, right?" she said with a teasing smile

"tch" chuuya scowled and threw a punch at her again. 

she groaned in pain as his fist made contact with her cheek. "why are you so weak?" chuuya asked. just before she could fall back, he caught her by the neck, pushing her back against the wall and squeezing hard on her throat. 

"the y/n i know would never be cornered down this fast, this easily." he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "what're you plotting in that head of yours" 

she didn't answer but simply smirked as his grip on her throat tightened. 

"answer me or i'll kill you!" chuuya exclaimed "right here, right now!"

"no you won't." she stated with a carefree smile "after all, i am a former mafia executive. and a current traitor, as you all see me." she chuckled "my execution for those reasons would be the council's desicion"

she smirked as chuuya's expression morphed into one of conflict and distress 

"if you do kill me before that decision without permission, your act will be considered as betrayal" she said "you'll be punished, or worse, executed" she cooed 

"and if i overlook all of those and kill you, you'll still be happy since you still managed to die." he scowled 

she smiled and waved her hand about. "yeah, so go ahead. cmon!" 

chuuya scoffed as she simply continued to pester him. 

"coommmee ooonnnnn~" 

chuuya didn't answer but simply stabbed a dagger straight to the wall beside her head. the blade managed to graze her cheek, letting a lone drop of blood travel down her skin up to the bandages on her neck. 

she chuckled as she watched him stomp off in irritation. "oh, you're not going to?" 

"chuuya driven out of the organization because of me had a nice ring to it too" she laughed 

"shut up." he scowled 

she plucked the blade out of the concrete wall and waved it around with a teasing look on her face.  "well then, aren't you gonna walk me back like a proper gentleman? ~" she cooed 

"like hell i will!" he snapped back. he sighed and turned back around, continuing to make his way out of the deserted alleyway. 

"just shut your mouth and get outta here, you ass" he said as he lazily waved his hand in goodbye. 

"i'll try to find a man or woman willing to kill themselves next time" he said 

in an instant, her eyes sparkled. she looked at his retreating figure with wide eyes and a look of delight. "chuuya!" she exclaimed  "i had no idea you were such a good person!" she said 

"that was my way of saying 'go to hell', idiot!" chuuya barked back 

"let me tell you this, y/n" he said "don't think this will be the end of it." 

"there will be no second chance!" he yelled 

she simply smiled fondly and shook her head "no, wrong!" she sneered "dont you think you're forgetting something?" she called out, making him stomp in anger 

"dont-you-think-youre-forgetting-something? ~" she sang out 

reluctantly, chuuya buckled his knees and pointed at her with a fake bashful look. "there will be no second chance!" he exclaimed in a higher pitched voice, imitating a girl. 

she didn't respond with the proper reply they agreed on, but simply looked at him with a blank smile. 

chuuya blinked back and repeated his words. 

"n-no second chance.. HEY YOU SHOULD BE LAUGHING!"

"well, he didn't walk me back after all" she sighed to herself. she was currently making her way back to the agency since kunikida has been calling her nonstop. the megane has been whining about her missing work, while atsushi was simply begging her to come back to keep kunikida calm

on her way back, she passed a convenience store, which had an annoyingly huge amount of people bickering infront of it. 

"oya?" she mumbled 

"what's happening- eh?" she sweat dropped upon seeing yamamoto arguing with a man 

she looked around to meet eyes with kenma, who looked like he wanted to anywhere else but there. kuroo noticed her too and smirked at his friend. "your lady's here, kyanma" he teased 

kenma looked at her, a look of impatience and discomfort present in his face. 

"good evening, everyone!" she greeted loudly 

this caused all three of the nekoma boys, and three of the huge muscular men to look her way. 

"what seems to be the problem here?" she asked with a nonchalant grin 

"oi. walk away quietly before we give you some trouble, girl." the man arguing with yamamoto scowled 

she simply side eyed him before looking back at kenma. "ken-ken, whyre you out so late?" she asked with a smile "i thought you had a new game you wanted to play" 

"well.. they won't let us go." kenma answered quietly, pointing to the men with a frown

she faced the men with an exaggerated pout "why are you bastards causing my pudding trouble, hm?" she asked in a scolding tone 

"y/n-chan.. you shouldn't provoke them" kuroo said with a nervous smile 

"hah?! you tryna act tough, lil girl?" the men laughed "these scoundrels have been loitering in our spot." one man scowled "so we came to teach them a lesson." he grinned maniacly as he lifted the hem of his shirt, showing the gun inserted in his pocket. 

"good grief." she sighed "another angsty gang. this is getting old" she whined  "last time i checked, you didn't own this store so these boys are free to stay here whenever they want" she said 

"and carrying a gun without a liscense is a major offense." she pointed to his pocket. 

she then pushed kuroo, kenma and yamamoto away. "but since you're so hell bent. we'll spare you the trouble." 

"good riddance~" she cooed at the men 

she pushed the nekoma boys by their backs, urging them to walk faster while yamamoto looked back to flip them off. 

"oi oi oi,, not so fast" the men laughed. one of them tugged her back by her arm, laughing once he saw the bandages and the cuts she had on her face from her previous fight with chuuya. 

"a girl like you tryna act tough is laughable. but since you're here, you might as well play nice and be our little toy" 

she grimaced and pulled her arm back, sending them a dirty look. 

"after all, it's pay back for giving us all a headache." he said with a smirk 

"oi! get your filty hands off y/n-chan!" yamamoto exclaimed angrily 

she looked back at him and smiled in gratitude, though she simply tucked her hands in her pockets and ignored them. 

"im afraid i won't be agreeing to your request." she scoffed "we'll be leaving now" she announced as she grabbed yamamoto and pulled kuroo and kenma along 

"get back here, you bastards!" the most bulky man reached out, trying to grab one of them. 

unfortunately for him, the person he manged to grab was kenma. 

"h-hey!" kenma shrieked, trying to pull his arm back 

she stopped in her tracks and immediately ran back to his aid. she pulled his other arm back and shielded him with her body. "hands off." she said with a dark look in her eyes. 

"you little-" the man was cut off as a fist came contact with his face. 

a loud and unnerving cracking and popping of bones could be heard as her fist rammed on his face. 

"my, my.." she cooed, holding her hand up as she watched the man stumble back on the ground. "normally i'd say i'd hate for this to resort in violence.. "

"but that would be a lie" she chuckled 

kuroo, kenma, and yamamoto gulped as they watched the fight ensue. "y-y/n-chan, let's just leave." kuroo says nervously "the guys have guns" he warned 

"correction. one of them has a gun." she said 

the two remaining men laughed at her claim and pulled out guns of their own. "don't get so cocky, little girl" 

she simply ignored them and continued speaking to kuroo, as if it were a normal conversation. "those two blockheads don't have a single bullet in theirs." she said nonchalantly 

the two men gulped as they laughed nervously. 

"only an idiot would point a revolver at someone without a single presence of a bullet in them." she laughed 

"ah, sorry kuroo-san! another correction. none of them have a utile weapon in hand" she chuckled 

kuroo cocked his head in confusion. "then what about him.." he pointed to the man on the ground 

the poor fellow who had to take a gruesome hit was still on the ground, sporting a broken nose and a missing tooth. 

"you see, stuffing a gun in your pocket is pretty stupid!" she scoffed "stupid, stupid stupid!" she taunted. she stuck her tongue out at them and pulled on her eye, teasing them like a child. 

"it'd be easy for the other person to grab it." she said "that being said.." 

she showed them the gun, hanging on her finger by the trigger guard. she smirked and pointed it at the bruised man, ignoring the other two as her finger grazed the trigger. 

"now.. tell me, mister." she cooed "are you the leader of this gang?" she asked 

"y-yes." the man answered reluctantly 

surprisingly, she didn't pull the trigger on him, but simply smiled in delight. "i see!" she exclaimed with a smile "well then, since you're the top dog, i'd say you should tell your little puppies to run off and leave my friends alone!" 

"i-" 

before he could utter another word, she pulled the trigger. but she didn't shoot him of course! she refuses to expose her friends to such inhumane acts. 

"good! im glad to hear that!" she cheered happily, a stupid and giddy grin forming on her lips. 

she thew the gun in a nearby canal and stuffed her hands back in her pockets. "if i see you bothering anyone else again," she trailed off, her grin faltering as an aloof expression loomed her features 

"i'll punch you twice and shoot you five times." 

but as quickly as she it had disappeared, her smile once again came to light. "well then, it's getting late.. bye-bye!" she waved at them 

the men took this as a signal to run, which they did. 

the three nekoma boys looked at each other with a horrified and hesitant expression before looking back at her. 

"y/n..?" kenma called out 

she turned around, her aura softening as her (e/c) orbs clashed with his honey hued ones. 

"well then, let's head home?" she said to them 

"uh.. we were-" kuroo cut himself off by clearing his throat. "we were heading to the train station!" 

"perfect! should i walk you there?" she asked them "the agency is a few blocks down the station so it should be fine" 

"y-y/n-chan!" yamamoto exclaimed "hm?" she hummed back questioningly "marry me!" yamamoto exclaimed, his eyes wide with a pink hue coating his cheeks 

"sorry, yamamoto-kun" she cooed "but marriage is the farthest thing i have in mind at the moment" 

she glanced at kenma, who was too busy silently hissing and glaring at yamamoto to notice even her 

"i do, however, have our double suicide in mind, kenma-kun" she said. kenma stopped with his cat-like hissing and looked at her. "oh.. is that so.." 

"mhm. well then, you all should head back!" she said “but kenma, you should stay with me!" she proposed 

"why?" kenma sweatdropped 

"we could have loads of fun back in my place! you'll love that, won't you?" she asked excitedly. she hugged his arm close and rested her head on his shoulder, thus making walking a bit hard for them, but she didn't mind. 

"no." 

"aww! we could share the bed, and have-" 

"oya oya~" kuroo cooed "am i hearing this correctly~" 

"y/n-chan!! marry me instead! I'd love to stay at your place!" yamamoto cried 

"ke-n-ma~ what do you say?" she cooed, blatantly ignoring yamamoto. kenma grumbled and looked away from them. he tried to pull his arm away from her, but failed. 

"how are you guys acting so normally?" he asked "are we not gonna talk about y/n just beating up some guy and firing a gun?" 

"nope!" she hummed 

"what we will talk about, however, is my proposal of staying at my place!" she whined "i could please you all night long-" 

"im walking away now." kenma announced as he pulled his arm from her and fastened his pace 

"wait! i was talking about games and movies!" she reasoned out with a laugh "kenma!" 

"i am walking away. goodbye." 

im so bad at writing fights smh 😔

[pla-teau]

WANDAVISION EPISODE EIGHT THOUGHTS

GIF NOT MINE

HOLY SHIT THIS EPISODE TORE ME TO SHREDS & IT’S VISUALLY MY FAVORITE EPISODE.

hayward fucking lied | that manipulative weasel tried to pin all this on wanda to make her look like the bad guy and at the end she did absolutely nothing wrong except maybe cost them new windows. i believe hayward knew that wanda was going to be the power source to bring vision back to life. he hinted at it and i think he tried to push her at SWORD headquarters. when the hex happened, he put the missile on the drone knowing damn well wanda would stop it. he knew that after he detected that she created a copy of vision within the hex, she was the key to completing their rebuilding of vision. overall, my hatred for the man has reached a new level and i hope he dies at the end of the series.

white vision | obviously referring to project catarract that darcy found in SWORD’s hardrive. when i said i wanted white vision to appear, i didn’t mean this way and i’ve seen some theories floating around that maybe james spader will voice this vision? and if this is the big secret actor paul has been saying he’s going to work with — i will laugh and cry because i am one of those who was thinking we’d get an x-men cameo with either professor x or magneto and i’m gonna hold out hope. if it is just vision vs. vision, i don’t doubt i’ll love it. so excited to see this vision though it’ll hurt to see vision battle wanda since this whole episode just showed us how much they loved each other.

wanda and vision’s relationship | we got to see a very sweet and deep moment between the two in the avengers compounds after age of ultron. when i tell you i damn near cried into my pillow, it made my heart ache. they really are fucking soulmates. i didn’t originally care for the couple but this show really showcased how despite being the pairing of a witch and an android, there is still so much LOVE between these two. i broke when i saw the deed to the lot and vision’s note of growing old together. excuse me marvel i didn’t ask to be emotionally obliterated, thanks.

wanda’s chaos magic | clearly, we see that wanda is responsible for the creation of the hex. i think she didn’t purposely block out her creating the hex. when she said she doesn’t know how it happened, she truly doesn’t. we’ve seen her lose control once and that was after the death of pietro but it wasn’t as strong before. i believe she just blacked out a bit since she hasn’t used that much of her power before. i think with literally no one (where tf was clint? the avengers?? literally anyone????) there to help her grieve and basically keep her grounded, the wave, referring to her powers, did drown her this time and consumed her into this escapist reality where she no longer felt that pain.

wanda & sitcoms | now we learn why the show has been in the style of various television sitcoms. she’s grown up with them since she was a little girl in sokovia - her favorite being the dick van dyke show. hello i’m soft af. even when her parents were killed and she was practically at death’s door with pietro, television was there to help her get through it. in the HYDRA base, wanda still has a television to watch and help her through the days. what this episode told us is that television is wanda’s constant. i mean this in the sense that unlike people, television has always been there for her. wanda has not had a consistent group of people around her. it’s a revolving door when it comes to the people in wanda’s life. we see her alone and almost abandoned when we see how the creation of the hex happened. television is her escape which is what television provides for everyone. that’s the purpose of television shows - give you an escape from your life because in shows like the ones that have influenced wanda’s reality, they always turn out fine by the end of the episode.

agatha’s therapy | throughout this whole thing agatha is sort of giving wanda much needed therapy even if the end goal is not in wanda’s best interest. she mentions very quick about wanda being a young witch which could coincide with the idea that wanda’s always had this sort of gene in her like pietro and other mutants (if they’re going to use her to confirm the existence of the x-gene which im dying for tbh). she has a clue from the get go as to what wanda is but until she has the full picture, she doesn’t reveal it until the end of the episode. she confirms that ‘fietro’ came from a necromancy spell sooo does that mean she’s using a dead body? he was her eyes and ears but of course, wanda didn’t give up much and that plan was foiled.

wanda resurrecting vision | we learn that wanda never stole vision and brought him back to life. because she and vision are both born from the mind stone, it’s not shocking as to her practically using the chaos magic to create a vision for herself. it also explains why vision can’t live outside the hex - he was born from it and without the chaos magic, he’ll die. also, it’s peppered throughout the episode that the two are soulmates so there’s that aspect to it as well. so she hasn’t been puppeteering a corpse - that image of dead vision stems from wanda’s trauma and mentality starting to chip away at her reality. it also proves how fucking powerful this woman is because like agatha said, she’s supposed to be a thing of myth. while she did use her magic to create/resurrect vision, he’s still his own being in a sense - she doesn’t control him completely. he has his own thoughts and perceptions. he’s aware and the fact that something of wanda’s creation can do that really just showcases the power she holds in her.

agatha’s backstory | seems that agatha’s pretty smug when she’s confronted by her coven leader. it’s pretty easy to see through (in my opinion) the pleading to her mother and the rest of her coven. also kathryn hahn is simply eating up this fucking role and i’m here for it. now we learn why she has the broach, it’s her mother’s which is sweet but seeing agatha throughout the series and in the past, seems more of a token of practically massacring her coven that day. i liked seeing that snippet of her past and it seems like she’s always been drawn to the darker and more sinister side of witchcraft.

wanda’s power | as agatha comments at the end, wanda truly doesn’t know how dangerous she can be. wanda can barely remember how the hell the westview hex happened. while yes i’m here for wanda being shown and known as the most powerful being in the mcu, it’s also worth noting that she is dangerous. at the beginning of the episode, agatha rubs her nose in about how simple a protection spell is or how she studied to get her powers to where they are today. wanda doesn’t know anything about witchcraft or spells. yes, she gained powers from the infinity stone but she was made to be a weapon and even after being brought into the avengers, she wasn’t taught magic or how to tap into her chaos magic. she didn’t even know that her power was considered magic. i also think wanda’s powers are very much rooted in her emotions. we saw what she could do in age of ultron when she felt her twin die. wanda is powerful but so dangerous in this aspect. not saying that this is a bad thing but it separates wanda from other magic users like agatha, dr. strange and even loki. agatha has had years of knowledge and training to be as powerful as she is now. what separates wanda from the others is that she doesn’t have the control and mastery like them. she didn’t know that her powers could make another vision or alter the reality of a town populated by 3,000+ people. agatha is right, wanda is dangerous because she hasn’t had years to control the power she holds at her fingertips.

[awigglycultist]

Alright like last time I hit post limit and couldn't live blog I started writing my thoughts down on docs in real time whilst watching so I could post later, so here:

HES NEARLY 41!?

Cereal!

Hes such a brat

BECKY BARNES

Shelia is a Karen

“Dont you dare gaslight me” his teeth are FINE stop overreacting

Frank the moneys not worth it divorce that jerk

Peter Pan!?!?

I wanna say “yes frank! Stand up! Good for you!” but this isnt gonna end well is it?

Oh yup there he goes. A trap door in the ground.

“Goodbye daaddyy”

Ofc theres others, I wonder how many men exactly has she married and done this to?

Oh no oh no oh no

MIAH????????????

BERRY SWIFT?

Im just omg. BERRY. AHH.

Honey festival mention!

Looking for a new daddy already…

"onliNE?"

Wait is the feast or famine playing in the background?

Frank giving the food to Barry :)

DONT SAY YOURE GONNA DIE I DONT NEED ANGST FOR YOU PLEASE

HELEN?

“No matter what Im always gonna be youre……..daddy”

Wait so if he’s been down there for 2 weeks with toyzone closed whats Lex doing

Sherman dont go to your mom about it just let him out!

BARRY BARRY NO BARRY NO NO NO BARRY

TED

WAIT NO TED OH NO NO LEAVE TED ALONE

“You are a married women” “Hey works for me”

“Dont sass your mother or ill kick your ass old man!”

NO NOO WHY DOES TED ALWAYS HAVE TO GET SHOT WHY DOES HE ALWAYS DIE

OH GOD THAT MEANS PETER COMES BACK FROM CAMP AND TEDS DEAD STOPPPPP

Including homeless man Ted has died 7 times i think jeez

The gift?!?

Barry :(

Rip Marco

I hate her but she does look hot with a gun gotta say

BLACK BOOK

STARRY CHILDREN

Okay so Hatchetmen hate the witches and the starry children hate the hatchetmen right?

Yup stealing their lives

1920….. 1920

LIB!

Goat! Tentacles!

And I truly feel all lords in black in the chile's tonight

Omg sherman drew ontop of the black book

Omg he memorised the words and drew over it on purpose-

Bye bye milf

Ope hes 7

Poor frank that'd be toutre

Its not really forever tho technically bc frank will die eventually it'll just be for the rest of frank's life...

-killer track-

LOOK AT THEM

HELLO

Dangit Thrash is a jerk

Oh hes threatening to kill now

“YOU THINK I'M AFRAID TO DIE?” Clearly a gen z

“Lets go to Dennys >:(“

Thats Rose!?!?!!!!!

Yes it is Kale!

Oh god hes gonna show her the killer track isnt- yup

I don’t like you so much Kale

STATION WAGON? THAT MEANS DUKE

THERE HE IS MY BOY

“Well i dont know ive never done drugs duke!” “...I know.."

Just missed a little chunk bc of my dad but Duke my beloved and poor Rose

“Is it unbelievable? Yes. but this Hatchetfield”

Specialist… Holloway here we come

Miss Retros!

“Hiya Duke!” “Heya Darlin!” hngg

“Great. My life is in the hands of Barbie”

“Make me.” “...alright.”

A glass with a spiderweb inside

Thrash said he sold his soul to satan to get famous hfjhdkfj

Omg the black book! its so cool!

TINKY TINKY TINKY TIME TRAVEL HNG AHHHHHH EVERYONE SHUT UP also “The Tinker” ooh

Also so are there a few verison of the black book?

Ooh holloway is in Rose’s body

Oh theres taco bell

Holy crap. This song. Wtf.

Okay great rose never heard it now….but holloway did right?...

Oh god yeah she took the curse

Dukes face :( hes so sad and concerned

“Your phone” yeah her very super recent new phone…

“If its a ghost. I'll trap it in this jar.”

“If something happens to me i want you to read this” i really wanna know what it says but i DO NOT want ANYTHING to happen to her

Duke has watch right that down RIGHT THAT DOWN

Hey wait a second how come Kale has heard it hasn't died I mean at least i assume they've heard it before, did they make it?

HOLLOWAY :((

OH GOD NO ITS COMING FROM DUKE AND ROSE OH NOO NO

“dont worry im not going anywhere :)” oh god

“Holloway? What are ya doing darlin?” :((

“I understand” …..ominous

Dead. shes dead great. Ofc.

Duke :’(((

HNGGG I LOVE THEM SO MUCH STOPP DUKE ROSE WHY THIS IS MAKING CRY STOP BEING SO SWEET

‘You were in love with her werent you” “who wasnt?”

DUKE HAS A CAT

The envelope oh boy

“Welp. guess im dead!”

Wait about 2 hrs??

DON'T CALL AN AMBULANCE OR SEND ME TO THE MORGUE OH GODDD

“I was in love with her” “ya you and everybody” they really get the fans huh

Shes alive!

“Duke. what did my note say!?”

Ooohh the whole town knows about her dying that why she couldn't do to the morgue

Rip duke hes so confused

“It just HAD to be the jukebox”

Yes yes lore dump here we go! Learning more about Holloway!

Wait what.

HEY HEY WAIT KNOW GOOD JOB OF PROVING YOUR MAGIC IG BUT I WANNA KNOW THIS STUFF

This isnt first time shes told him?

Oh shes not making him forgot?

Oh god poor holloway

Omg the honey festival-

Oh are we actually seeing them going to honey festival

The mayor!!

Omg i cant wait to see how the stop the song. Like i KNOW itll be stopped we already saw the festival but like i CAANT WAIT

Oh trust me mayor… this will be a night to remeber for everyone…

HAHA HIS MIC WASN'T OFF

HAILEY

HAILEY MADE ZOEYS VOICE WORSE ON PURPOSE?

TED!!!

“At the point ill never get married. Be daddy.”

DEB AND ALICE AHH AND ALICE WAS IN NEW YORK OOH

Jkdfnjdfnj rip duke

God i love seeing everything connected and all these people together

Needy Beasts!

Oh no Kale

And Kale killed the audio guy

Oh poor Kale

OH NO ITS PLAYING

Ooh Holloways playing over it

Oh i love this

DUKE AND HOLLOWAY TOGETHER :))))

OH THEY FORGOT IT OOHHHHH AND THATS WHY THERE WAS ABSOTULEY NOTHING WITH KILLER TRACK IN HONEY QUEEN

DUKE

“The lanky goon”

Oh wow i understand why duke punched kale but im still surprised he’d every punch anyone

Oh oh no Kale oh no

OH GOD KALE

Aww Duke going on about him being the hero so proud of himself not knowing hehe

Oh a new persona? I wanna know all about her personas

Nooo dont say everyones gonna forgot about miss holloway noo dont :((

Shes gone :(

AND HES FORGOTTEN :(

HOLLOWAY or whatevr her new persona is

I literally missed the entrie convo between them bc of my dad

This songs a bop tho

THE BECKY BARNES BIT WITH THE IRISH ACCENT TOO AHAHFEFNSKLDJF

Paul is dead records?? Director Barry Swift??

Okay go the replay: I love Duke and… Holiday so much.

Alright so we're assuming that the girl that got hurt in shop class is Lex right? There's been the theory that Yellow Jacket is about Lex and I sure hope so so we can see what happened to her after Frank just disappeared for two weeks and what may have happened in shop class

She's a counsellor! The only school counsellor I'd trust!

Hey. Hey. Wait. Ofc this isn't Holloways first time changing persona. I wonder if Duke has met personas of her before, he probably has, I wonder how many times? Oh God this episode made be so emotional

[dylanxmin]

Arranged Beauty ∣ m.yg

this fic is part of the event that hosted by @ / House of Ddaeng network. 

y/n thought she is way good with being alone and rejects her parents insist on getting marrying with someone they offered, but soon after, she realizes she is not way good with being alone. contrary, she needs that arrange marriage.

pairing; min yoongi x reader

genre; fluff, angst, arranged marriage!ua, first date!au,

warnings; swearings, mention of sexual association, y/n gets bratty for a second but she’s gonna regret that, soft soft yoongi but also brat, jealous yoongi, they both just stupid,,

rating; pg-15

word count; 8.2 k

a/n; i have no idea what i did. it started as a waaay shorter story, but end like this, asfhas,, hope you’ll love this fic as much as like to write it. im curious about what you’ll think about this, so yes, feedbacks are highly appreaciated!! thank you for reading, lots of love ♡

Twenty-six. 

That was the age when your parents started to pressure you to have a decent life. According to them, one can call their life as a decent one, if they are married, but they were also okay with a short time engagement. And when you hit the age of twenty-six, they start to bother you, bombard you with their wills to be grandma and grandpa. 

Your mother's daring character even leads herself to offer you some pictures of the men she knows somehow. Lawyers, doctors, and of course the future CEOs of the very important companies. 

At the age of twenty-six, you thought they were going crazy or trying to make you go crazy. Of course, you vetoed every man she offered you, even though your mom can be very, very persistent, you handled the situation well. Avoiding them until they get sick of your stubborn attitudes, and they stop keeping their hopes high. Well, your little sister's marriage had helped you with the issue, but either because of this and that, they stopped forcing you. 

Even though your parents find it highly pathetic, you finally enjoyed winning the constant fight that was going on for years with them. In your single-roomed apartment, all by yourself, and no one there to heat your cold feet in the coldest days of winter. 

And at the age of thirty-two, you start to think a lot. Overworking, and overthinking yourself with the black space in your chest. 

The freedom you loved so much led you to stay single, one night stands, and the dates you go to a couple of times aside. Most days, it didn't bother you that much. Being alone and being all alone forever. Seriously, it didn't bother that much. Until you find yourself in the loop where you watch only romantic comedies, paying a great deal of money for the napkins, as you find yourself crying until your throat goes sore. 

That's how you found yourself dialing your sister's number, mumbling some bullshit over the phone. Throat sore, eyes puffy and red from all the crying, words falling from your lips, and Eunji finds it too hard to understand what you were talking about. She puts you on speaker, calls for her lovely husband he loves so much, and hoping Hoseok could understand what was going on with you. 

''... not wantin' that. Don' want to die alone,'' freshly married couple only manage to pull these words from your mouth, and couldn't clarify the thing you babbled. 

Does it sound completely pathetic? Well, if you have the authority, you can always blame the cherry martini. And if you have to be honest, despite you don't want to, it was more like lots of gin side with cherries. 

According to what you say to them-- you, of course, couldn't remember what you said. And how much they told your parents, you at the age of thirty-two found yourself in a first meeting. With the man you'll be married.

Arranged marriages weren't your thing, but seeing your friends getting married one by one, having children, and happily married in front of you, basically forced you for doing this. Thirty-two years old so-called modern advertiser gets sick of the loneliness she had and agrees to an arranged marriage. And this is no other person than you.  

When Eunji and Hoseok come to visit you and giving you the big news with a wide grin, you didn't think that they would find someone so quickly, but as the rumor says--rumor was no other than your sister--, the very charming neurosurgeon who is only thirty-five couldn't find himself a decent woman to marry. Not to your surprise, your parents get so hyped up with the news, and to your luck, the man--soon after you learn that his name was Yoongi. Min Yoongi-- happened to be the very best friends of Hoseok. 

Without wasting any more time, your parents meet with each other on the phone, both women burning with the desire for a grandchild, even though they already have. And the fathers, talking formally with each other, and saying how being single after the thirties is dangerous for one's career. Deciding the time and place for both of you two meet, and even your parents decide what you should wear. 

It all feels like you are the head actress in a movie, where your parents forced you to marry the rich man for your family's debt. In all reality, there was no debt or force. Maybe there is a little force, but in the end, you wanted them to find someone for you. When you keep thinking about it, guilt starts to creep towards your chest. Questions with unknown answers fill your mind. 

What if the man turns out as a psychopath? What if he has some weird kinks that you can't handle? The more you think everything scares the shit out of you. You cover your face with your palms, you groan while your head falls on the table. How could you be this stupid to agree on what your parents always wanted? Arranged marriage? What time is this? The late seventies? 

In the internet age, you really did agree on meeting with the man you probably were going to marry in a small coffee shop that your parents chose, wearing a blue dress that also your parents picked. 

Is it too late to go back? What if you leave before he gets here? Probably he doesn't know how you look--as you had no idea about his face or body image. A huge knot sits on your throat, making it hard to swallow your regrets. Not that you were giving lots of crap about someone's look, but what if he is not your type? Is it okay to leave after ten minutes of talk? What if--

''Ih-hım,'' before another ball of questions jerk into your mind, a fruity voice cuts you, ''L/N Y/N?'' while you taking your hands from your face and lifting your head from the table, the comforting fresh odor fills your nostrils even before you see the man. ''Y--yes,'' 

Between in your slight nods, twinkling your eyelashes while staring at the man in front of you. Thick blonde haired-man eyeing you above, a light smile hangs on his face, square glasses stand under the button nose. Contrary to your dismay, he is looking good. His smile gets wide, hangs his hand in the air, ''I'm Min Yoongi. It's nice to meet you,'' 

It takes a couple of minutes before you realize that you should greet him the way he did. Even though you try hard not to act like an idiot, you are flummoxed by his sudden appearance. The voice of the chair tumbling to the floor echoes in the shop, causing all the heads to turn towards you when you clumsily get up. ''Oh, I'm so.. sorry,'' you jabbered after your head bumps to the man's when both of you try to fix the chair. 

''I'm really sorry,'' you utter in agony and guilt. Probably you look like an idiot, rather than only feeling like it. He smiles and waves his hand like it's nothing after adjusting your chair. ''I'm not going to suffer from it, don't worry,'' he chuckles, eyes staring deeply. Even though he isn't much taller than you, his soft but scanning glares made you feel smaller. He put his hand in his pocket, flexing his shoulders while standing inches away from you. Before your mind works properly and offers him to sit, you keep watching his sight. Eyes wander, settles on the others without landing on you, glancing up to the ceiling. 

''Oh my--Please take a seat,'' you plead, gesturing the chair across from the table. His brows raise with your high pitched voice, but the soft smile takes its place without wasting time. He nods, taking his seat in front of you. The reason why you act like this is both caused by how attractive he is, and how nervous you are. Either way, you feel dump while sitting across from him. 

After you take your place, long silence arises between you two. So, you take the advance from this silence by scanning him. From head to toe. 

He is wearing a dark blue sweater, a black coat on top of it, with black pants. The only colorful thing was his blonde hair, and it surprises how he looks so good with it. One glance and anyone could understand how important he is and the job he does. He is intimidating, contrary to his small smile on the corner of his lips. When your stare meets with him, you understand that he is scanning you the same way you do. Were you looking good? Does the dress look stupid in this weather? Despite his coat and sweater, you were wearing a blue thin dress with black spots. You wonder if the cut on the dress is too low or not. Not that you can do anything about it. 

''So, you are a doctor?'' his eyebrows rise with your statement. It was stupid of you, but the bizarre silence only causes you to grow more anxious. Yoongi places his hands on the table, holding his laugh on the back of his throat. He feels how anxious you are, and he enjoys how your expression changes when you think you said something stupid. He finds it cute. He nods and smiles while your face goes pink. ''Neurosurgeon, yes.'' 

''Cool,'' blinking your lashes, you start to nod in small. You didn't know if he is interested in you or the opposite, so you didn't want to make, or say something weird and scare him away. So, when the waiter came and took your orders, you thanked him mentally. Because you were at the edge of asking how much money he makes, and looking like a total gold digger. Aish... why can't you act like a normal woman for a minute? 

''And you?'' the husky voice of the semi-stranger made your heart flinch and gathered all of your attention to himself. You tilt your head and he sees your glazed face. ''What you do for a living?'' he asks one more time. Rather than finding you oddly idiot, he likes the way your cheeks go pink. ''Ah. Work. You mean... my job,'' he nods, the smile bigger now. ''I-I'm working for an advertisement company... yes,'' normally you would find your job highly amusing and cool, but with him, you feel small. Like the job you have was nothing, as he touches brains every day. Oh... you feel like an idiot. A real idiot. 

''Oh. That's cool,'' he smiles, nodding his head the same way you did. And he enjoys the way your cheeks blushes after his little tease. 

And you couldn't understand why he was acting so... kind. Contrary to all the things you did, which they were very stupid, he didn't mind them. Rather, he looked like he enjoyed them, and this literally made you feel uneasy. It was strange. Yes... strange. 

''Really?'' you tilt your brow, ''You think that's cool? Or, are you trying to insult me?'' his eyes went round, blinking them a couple of times. 

''Did I sound like that?'' he lifts his hands up, fixing his posture to emphasize and look sincere to you. ''I didn't mean to sound like that. I'm sorry and of course, I am not trying to insult you nor the job you do.'' you nod, expecting his apology. It was your time to enjoy the way he looks dumbfounded. 

''Iced americano,'' when the waiter comes with your orders, you hear him release a long breath under his breath. The way he takes a sip from his cup, and not knowing where to look kinda warms your heart, and you feel bad for mocking him, but still, you were having fun with this. 

After a couple of minutes of silence, you decide it wasn't fun to mock with him. Instead, it killed the mood and now Yoongi wasn't talking, probably too scared to talk with a psycho like you as you just accused him something he didn't do like some hebete. And the way you found it funny, left its place to regret while you were playing with your mug, chewing inside of your mouth in guilt. 

''H-how did you met with... Hoseok?'' yes, you know it is a lame question to ask but the stupid awkwardness was eating you alive, and you want it come to an end.  

''College,'' he pressed his lips together, eyes carefully sizes you up as he doesn't want to say something to offend you. And you were sure that was going to be the last thing he said, and probably leave after drinking his coffee in rush. But he surprises you with the sudden giggle. ''In the first year of college, we decided to go to a Carnival and I still don't know why we decided to do it. But in the roller coaster, suddenly someone held my hand and never left it until it stopped--''

''Oh my... don't tell me it was Hoseok!'' you jerk your hand to your lips, very amused by the new information he gives. 

''Jackpot.'' he doesn't even try to hold his smile back, nodding his head cutely. ''I had to take care of him for the rest of the night. Because he was so frightened and needed someone.'' both of you start to laugh with the memory of him. Even though you would never think Hoseok would do that, somehow you could imagine him doing that. Somehow that suits him well. 

''Yoongi, you gave me the best card ever against him.'' you chuckled, wiping the tears from your eyelids. ''He will feel remorse over setting this meeting,'' your stomach starts to ache a little from the laugh you share with him. And you were glad that he didn't let go of this date and made you laugh like this. 

Yoongi waved his hand while leaning to take a sip from his cup, ''He will probably kill me for telling you this.'' the corners of his mouth turned up before he talked again. ''You should protect me from him as I share this with you.'' you exchange looks with him. The playfulness of him surprised you and how he changed the mood so smoothly. 

You nod with a smile on the corner of your lips, staring at his eyes. ''Of course. I will.'' 

After exchanging the memory of your mutual friend, the bleak mood left its place to a warmer one. There were a couple of good jokes, more questions to get to know each other better, and you almost forgot that this was the arranged date and you had so much fun rather than you assume. With the timid glances, leaning each other to hear better, and the way you two get closer in time felt like a real date. Not a date your parents arranged. 

Now you know about his love for music, and one could never doubt his passion for it. The way he talks about it causes your heart to hum, seeing how his eyes go all shiny while showing you his carefully made it playlist warmed your chest, you can't lie. Seeing someone getting this enthusiastic about the thing he loves brought the memories of how you liked to paint at one time. Getting all dirty while trying to achieve your goals, nose went numb because of the smell. You loved it. 

Somehow, the blonde man finds his way to your heart, and you had no objections to this. 

''Okay, tell me yes,'' you tear yourself off from the memories, and adjust your focus on him. Hands up in the air, eyes gleaming in anticipation. 

''I will,'' you said in a curious tone, seeing the corners of his mouth turning up, ''If, I know the reason,'' 

You giggle the way his eyes going round, he looks like you betrayed him. A thing about him always finds its way to make you feel relaxed around him, and it was like you knew him for more than three hours. ''After all the things we share, all the laughter and all these minutes. I thought you would say 'yes', but I guess I'm a fool,'' 

''Uh, if you are going to be this dramatic, then yes. For what is in your mind,'' you can't ignore the gasp that escaped his mouth, hand wraps his heart, shushing to fix the broken pieces of it. ''We were thinking about treating her with the best chicken wings in the country, but she decides to act rude. Every cloud has a silver lining, huh?'' he pouts, faking an attitude. 

''Oh. Pardon me and my bad mouth.'' you decide to continue the game he started. ''From now on, I won't have a second doubt about saying 'yes'. Promise.'' his mouth curved into a smile after you lifted your pinky finger in the air, and without wasting time, he wraps his around yours. 

''And tell me more about those chickens,'' you say, stealing a laugh from his chest. 

''Oh my--god.'' your hiccup interrupts you while laying yourself on the back of the booth. You lick the sweet chilly from your finger, having a food baby in your stomach never felt this good. It was the best chicken you ever eat, and you almost started to cry after tasting it the first time. The sweet chili sauce and the crispy cover on the chicken wings just blew your mind and took your mouth with it. If you could, you would eat a dozen of them. 

''Right!'' Yoongi voices with pleasure, takes another bite to fill his mouth, ''This brings heaven to your mouth. No less.'' your laugh cuts in the middle as a cramp finds its way to your stomach. You really ate too much. 

''You were right, but I guess I'm going to faint.'' opening the little packet, you start to clean your fingers with the wet wipe, the sharp smell immediately fills your nostrils. You did enjoy every bite, it wasn't a lie. But you could feel the heaviness on your stomach from all the eating and the drinking. You were over thirty and there was no point worrying about eating too much or drinking beer on the first date. 

To be honest, you would worry about this if the date was not with him. But with him, with Yoongi you don't feel the need for acting differently. You like the way you can do whatever you want to do. 

''What about another round?'' his eyes gleamed with a mischievous hint. It was triggering the ache in your stomach, and as every sensible human being, you should say no. But the sweet taste lingers on your teeth, numbs your tongue with its savor. 

''You are inviting me to sin.'' you wipe the corner of your mouth while trying to lean towards him, but the body feels like a ton. Despite the ache and the handicap on your way to breath, you reveal a big grin. How could you say no while he looks at you with those bright browns? You couldn't. ''And I'm happy to participate in this. Course you need to pay for my hospital expenses,'' 

He lets out a choked, husky laugh. Holding his stomach while serving you the best gummy smile, and looks deep into your eyes after adjusting his posture. ''Believe me,'' the way he licks his bottom lips just does something to you. Levitates your stomach, sticks your breath on your throat. If someone would ask you, you would gladly accept to watch him sit in front of you. That's something you are sure about. ''You won't regret eating too much of this. No one can.'' 

He holds his hand up after tearing his eyes from you, calling the waitress for the second round. A grin stuck on his lips, you stupidly believe him. You would believe if he said he is the president of the world, and that was stupid. But you didn't mind, as your heart never filled with this much joy for so long. 

With a wiggle in your stomach, you feel heavy on the heart. Overwhelmed by his actions, the way he affects you. The way he has the cutest, heartwarming smile made you angry as he had no right to look like this. With the blonde hair, smart-looking glasses, and the round button nose that you just wanted to boop your finger. 

It was enough to catch you on his spell but too much for your poor heart.

You know that you owe a big thanks to Hoseok for arranging this date-- you didn't know what this was, to be honest. Was it a date that he agreed just for fun and not calling you in the morning, or is he thinking this is more serious than a silly date? You didn't even know what or how to think about this. Yes, you agreed to an 'arranged marriage' thing with your parents, but were you going to marry the first man you date? Were you going to decide after one date? 

Whether deciding it after the first date, or the first man, you only know one thing. And that is the amount of joy and happiness you feel heavy on your chest. Only watching him while he is eating chicken wings in extreme delight was enough to change the speed of your heartbeats, so you had only one thought. Letting him decide. 

Your judgment wouldn't be clear or sensible, you know that as the heat on your chest won't stop growing minute by minute you spend with him. 

Letting him decide if this is just a one-time thing he just agreed for his friend's sake, or he would consider marrying you. You didn't know if handing the ball in his hands was being selfish or the contrary, but you just want to enjoy the moment and not overthink it. Or about him. 

No lie, you liked him. Maybe even too much for the first date, but screwing this up the last thing you want as you always do. Selfish or not, you choose not to make a decision. 

''Can I open my eyes, now?'' 

Everybody would like a little excitement in their life, as well as you. But you never imagine that excitement would be like this, taking somewhere on your first date with a blindfold. It was much more likely a napkin from the place you ate the chicken wings than a blindfold, but it didn't change the result. 

Yoongi decided to take you somewhere you could burn the calories you have been whining about. Probably you wouldn't come up with an idea about the place, but as you were almost walking for almost ten minutes, it should be close. Thinking and trying to guest the destination was useless, as you never came here before. 

One second you were worrying about marriage, but now, all that worry turns into losing your lungs. If you could stop being dramatic, you trust Yoongi enough that he wouldn't do such a thing, but would you ever stop? That is trickier than taking away by a blindfold. 

You hear Yoongi's sigh, very likely getting sick of your questions, as you never shut up asking questions. But how could you stop exactly? How could you expect him to hold you by the wrist, covering the napkin on your eyes after handling the check and saying he knows how to burn those calories. He is not resembling a creep, but who would do and say such a thing? It is suspicious. 

''Okay. You would probably slap me after finding out where we are, and the unnecessary act of cutting your sight,'' he pauses to let a giggle, hands of him leave your waist and wrist, ''Either way, prepare to defeat Y/N,'' 

Before his fingertips find the hem of the napkin and free your eyes, you collect the latest clues about the place and the thing he said. A couple of boy's voices reach your ears, shooting and directing each other. The very last hints you could get before the lights dazzle your eyes. 

''Ow,'' you whispered, covering your eyes to protect them from lights in a reflex. 

Yoongi stands there, waiting beside you while you blink your lashes in the cutest way possible, watching your eyes go between him and the basketball court. The corner of his mouth quirked up, enjoying way too much with how you look at him with wide eyes in awe. ''So?'' he holds his arms in the air, makes a circle with his body, and stops after turning his face to yours once again with a proud smile on his lips. 

''So?'' you repeat, tilting your brows. Seeing the three boys playing basketball on one of the hoops, the other one is empty, waiting for you two to play on there. There was another couple of people who were sitting on their portable chairs, drinking from their cups, and laughing. It was them and the boys who were too caught up with their game but even thinking to play in front of them made you nervous. It was duskily illuminated, but still, you had worries to play. 

''What, too scared to play with me?'' pale blond lifts an eyebrow, seeing the timid look on your eyes, he leans over, brushing his shoulder to yours, ''You know you can't beat me, don't you?'' a sheepish smile stands on his face to tease you. Yoongi didn't know about you too much, yet he could understand pushing your legs would pay. 

''Tch, please.'' just the way he thought, your ego beats your anxiety. ''I could crush you with my amazing triple shoots,'' you stick your tongue out, can't help but act like three years old while challenging him. The way you act, causes him to burst into a laugh. When he thinks you can't look cuter than before, you stand in front of him, sticking your tongue out. He must have done something so good to have you in return. 

''Well well, then you should show me those 'amazing' shoots,'' while you tilt your brows for the second time today, he leaves you in surprise, turning his back at you and starts to walk away. 

''We don't have a ball to play!'' you try to remind him, yelling at his back but he turns around, grin on his face. If he tries to look cool, you know he won't look his butt on the ground because walking backward isn't cool, or a sensible thing to do. ''You think?'' he shouts back, the mischievous glow could be seen from where you stand. 

What does 'you think' mean? You don't have a ball to play if he didn't plan this before and take one with himself but to your knowledge, you are not blind. Because one can see the orange ball-- You could go on the debate in your mind if he wasn't talking with the boys you notice before, taking their ball after having a small talk with them. 

Yoongi walks over you, bounces the ball, swirling it around his body. Basically showing off, trying to surprise you with the moves he made. You watch as the wind messes with his hair, how he grips the ball, and bounce it like a professional. He is good at what he does, and you could understand that with a glimpse of look, but also you can catch the way his eyes follow the ball, lips curled up with the delight he feels. 

You cheer for him when he passes the ball between his legs, without paying it much effort. You didn't know he was this good, as he never mentioned his interest in it, but seeing it with your bare eyes rather than just mentioning is way better. Well, little did he know you haven't shared the same interest with him. 

''Okay Jordan, pass me the ball,'' you wave your hand, directing him where to stand after he throws it. He giggles the name you call him, blessing your ears while waiting for you to make a shoot. 

It's only been a day, yet you feel like knowing him more than one day, way too comfy around him while talking, eating, or acting. You don't know if this is one of your dreams, where it affects your subconscious because all of the romantic movies you had watched too much in depression. Or simply, this man who makes you do stupid things like eating dozens of chicken wings is just a wizard. And you are affected by one of his spells, can't make proper decisions, and probably he isn't this good looking. It is all because of the spell he did. 

His eyes are not this bright, his cheeks are not that cute and tempting you to squeeze them. Or his lips are not that mesmerizing and you only want to taste them every time he smirks just because of the damn spell. You are old enough not to charm by a hair, yet all you want to do is bury your fingers in that velvety fuzz. 

''Are you gonna show me those shoots or too scared to move?'' his mouth twisted, pale skin peeking under his sweater and the coat he is wearing, glowing shamelessly. You nod, plastering a smile on your lips, can't get enough of his teasing. Even though you want to see his face after the shoot you are going to, retarding is more enjoyable. 

So when you throw the ball with a false effort, causing it to fall inches away from the hoop, you hear the squeaked laugh you never heard before. Apparently, it was too funny for him as he almost kneeled in front of you from laughing, holding his stomach while his shoulders shake. ''Well, we can say that wasn't the amazing one so far, huh?'' he teases while wiping his eyelids. You could offend by his actions if this isn't all an act, and in reality, he is the one who should laugh at. 

''Trying again? Okay, I can teach you the right way after that,'' you want to throw the ball to his head, his cockiness amazed you as you bite your lip to hold your laugh behind. The popular neurosurgeon was nowhere to be found when you eyed him. And you like the way he leaves the maturity aside, having fun with you and the time you two spend. You could easily say after spending enough time that he wasn't acting, the laugh that leaves his throat is real, as well as the shine in his eyes. Part of you doesn't want to wreck his mood or turn off the cocky light in his eyes but on the other hand, you desperately want to see his face after you stop acting and shoot a real basket. 

You bet the blonde prig won't be expecting you to take an oh so good shoot, and the cunning side of you wants to wipe that smile on his face. You want it so bad and can't help the way your body moves to the right corner, dividing your strength equally to your legs and arms before taking a shoot. With a light jump, you send the ball right into the basket, it takes two turns on the hoop before passing through it. It wasn't the best triple shoot, but you only played it in your free time with your family, yet you know that your body reveals that you played basketball very well. Much to his dismay, it was a perfect basket. You turn your head as you want to see his face, putting your hands on your waist and serving him a big grin. ''How about this one?'' the hint of your laughter can clearly be heard by him, not that you want to hide. 

He stares. 

And he stares for a long one minute, not talking nor giving you an idea with his expressions. After fixing your posture, your lips quirk in a pout, brows furrowed as you can't understand why he hasn't said anything or did. A knot sits on your stomach, you want to say something but your mouth goes dry with the uncertainty. While the deep silence takes over around you two, finally he shows a feeling on his face. 

A line appeared between his brows, a beam flash past in his eyes, and he started to walk over to you. 

Was he angry? Because you can throw a ball? Yes, you wanted some reaction, but anger wasn't the quite close expression you expect. With every step he takes, the hair on your body stands on end as you didn't know what to say. So you try to ease the nervousness you felt, ''Not so cocky after seeing this girl can play, huh?'' you mock, pointing yourself with your forefinger, wiggling your brows before he stands in front of you. 

Way... way too close. 

He stands so close that you could even see the little mole on the left side of his face, right beside his nose placed cutely on his cheek. The tiny whiteness on the same side of his lips, breaking the proportion but adding him another sweet flaw. You even pay attention to his facial line on the side of his nose, only to abstain from his eyes. Abstaining from capture by his lovely, velvety browns. And when he starts to speak, you can smell the chili sauces mixed with the beer he drank. 

''Can you wear my coat?'' with a mouth that slowly opens, you stare at him without blinking. He tilts his brows slightly, it was tiny and almost non-visible, but you catch the twitch on his jaw. 

''I'm sorry but, what?'' you baffled, obviously not expecting him asking that, and can not put it on logic. Under his bashful stare, you hear the sound when he takes a deep breath between his teeth. Cocking your head aside, you try to evaluate if you are cold or not, but you know that you haven't done anything for him to take as a hint that you are cold. Darting your eyes at him, your stomach flips over after realizing how good he looks under the slight street light that illuminated the court, the shadow of his eyelashes falling on his cheeks, mesmerizing with every blink. ''Y... you want me to wear your coat. And that's why? I'm not cold if this is what you think--'' 

''It's not. Not because you are cold,'' you watch him slipping his fingers on his hair, ruining the straight strands with a pout. Yoongi opens his mouth, but the weight of his words feels too much, he closes it again. He is thirty-five years old and should be mature enough to press this puberty feeling, and not want to cover you with his coat so no one can see the way your dress moves, expose the skin you covered with the same dress that betrayed you. And also, he knows he is not in the place to tell you what to do, or get jealous the way the others who size you up. But the first time after he gets mature enough, Yoongi can't find control over his emotions. ''I thought... thought that you could feel uncomfortable with the... dress,'' 

''Oh,'' you bite your bottom lip after getting caught off guard. Not that you are irritated or think it's possible, but is he just jealous, or is this just your mind playing games and causing you to think the impossible one? 

''But you don't have to. I mean if you are okay with your dress. You just don't... don't have to wear this.'' bubbles of laughter fills your throat as he stands stunned with wide eyes, 'o' shaped mouth is enough to melt your heart and spread heat to your chest. You bite harder your lip to hold your laugh, bend your head staring your shoes. ''Is it too distracting for you to beat me, Yoongi?'' darting over your eyes at him, you open them wide, rolling his name on your tongue only to tease him more. Getting even closer to his face, you talk in a pout. ''Do you think it's can affect others just the way it does to you?'' 

An almost unhearable whimper leaves his lips, shaky breath hits your cheek. A shade of embarrassment crept towards his cheekbones, increasing his cuteness. He stares speechless, you could only catch the loud gulp from his throat and you know it is enough of teasing him. 

''Okay, I'm admitting.'' taking a step back, you pat his shoulder. ''I'm a little cold, and it looks cozy.'' you lie while pinching his coat. His dull expression slowly fades, the corner of his lips tilt in the shape of a smile. Eye bags puffing up, face lines appear only to puss his soft cheeks on his cheekbones. 

You are not going to admit this to him, but the way your heart flinches under your chest, the way his soft smile cuts your breath, and the way your fingers physically pains to touch his cheeks just unbearable to hold on. At first, you only thought that his lips were in a good shape, can be even called cute but right now, they were just tempting. It was almost aching how your feet itch to take a step closer, and closer until your breaths can mix with each other, and the so imagined taste meets with your lips. 

''Here,'' he acts, taking his coat off of him swiftly to wrap it around you, and he does gently. Helping you to pass your arms in its sleeve, patting your shoulders after he links each button, as he looks way too pleased with the gummy smile that pinned to his face. ''Better now?'' he asks sincerely, wanting to make sure of your comfort, so you nod in appreciation. 

The heat immediately rushes over to your body, you thought you were joking before but after feeling the relaxation on your muscles, you surprise how cold you were. Wearing a dress in this weather without any coat was a big mistake, you noted. 

''So, if there is nothing you can object to, can we go on and play? Or, are you too scared?'' he scoffs at your playfulness, tilting a brow. Yoongi does not know how to react the way you wiggle your brows, the way you dare him with the buffoon smile. Luckily, he has another plan on his mind. ''So eager to taste the defeat, huh? All right then, I will give you a lesson.'' 

''Hah. Bring it on--''

''-But, before you get all moody, I want to do something.'' in return of his sparkling browns, your lips curl into a pout. Not expecting him to cut you off like this, even though he didn't do it without having any kindness. It only takes two seconds for you to realize what he was up to when his palms cover your cheek, timid touches of his fingertips on your skin. Is he going to kiss you in public? In your first time? Should you object? Between trying to ease the chaos on your mind, and understanding if you want this or not, hot breath already stands way too close to your lips. It was not a lie that you were thinking about kissing him a minute ago, but when this happened as a reality, you stand there like a deer in the headlights. 

Before you can choke yourself with overthinking, his whisper cuts it. ''Can I?'' he raises his brows, asking for your permission one more time before going for it, making sure of your emotions and thoughts about himself. Eyes of him scan yours pleadingly, as he was trying to emphasize his intentions. You were so nonplussed by what he was up to that you couldn't even move a muscle, only blink hard enough to capture the moment, face turning scarlet with the heat just crept towards. Feeling your heartbeats on your cheeks, under his fingertips. Every loud hammer brought your heart over your mouth, mouth dried completely. But you manage to voice, almost inaudible. 

''Please,'' 

When you met with his lips, it wasn't soft as you expected due to his dried lips, but soon after it changed. After you part your lips to capture his bottom lip between yours, a ball of warmness just explodes. Reaches till your fingertips from your chest, tiny mewl slides by you with the strong rhapsody you have inside. 

It was palm pulling, lips trying to deepen the kiss kind of keenness you both felt for learning, acknowledging each other. Soon after one of his hands left your cheek to pull you closer as your fingers weren't enough to do so. The others were long forgotten, it was just you and him. Everywhere was clouded, protecting your intimacy from others. 

You were only tasting, knowing, and capturing each other. 

When the kiss broke out as both of you needed fresh air in your burning lungs, you were shocked by the way you carried away by your desire. You, probably Yoongi too, was feeling the same way, find this very immature, unwisely but the thing you feel, and wish that he was feeling the same way you do was beyond your imagination. The attraction was between you from the first time you started to bond today, but you could never think that would be this euphoric. 

Between heavy breathing, and adjusting the moment you just shared cuts off by his hoarse voice. ''Was this highly good or is it just me?'' you snort at his silliness, slap him by the head before he can react. 

''You'll get your answer if you can beat me,'' tearing yourself apart, you take the ball despite his whines. But as he sees you won't step back, he sends hair-raising glares at you. 

Soon after, the contest loses its solemnity and turns into something where Yoongi chases you with the ball to throw at you. And you found yourself giggling, running away while screaming in tiny. With a glance at you two, and no one would believe you two for being over thirty but it felt so good to act without caring for anyone. You almost forget the feeling of happiness, cooing from joy, and having someone not minding your bullshits even on day one. 

Of course, you accept how the kiss felt 'highly good', holding your palms up in surrender, before laying on the grass. Not that you lost the game, more likely from winning the better prize. The blond neurosurgeon, at age thirty-five was your prize. To be honest, he is the best thing that happened to you in ages without any exaggeration. For all you know is that maybe arranged marriages were not that bad. 

Frankly, you wouldn't dare to lie and say you still object it while watching the man beside you. He gave you more than you expected. The comfort, happiness, and tickling bubbles on your chest. And you hope that would last long enough to the day you knew each other like an open book. As you wanted to know and more about him, every little detail, and every tiny mimic he makes. 

And you will see that day if you are lucky enough.

''We are out of rice!'' you flinch with the loud voice, take a big sigh at the view you see in the mirror. Lipstick extends along to your right cheek from your lips, as the outcome of hearing the thick voice without any warnings. ''And the last toilet paper just finished!'' tsking audibly, you take the wet tissue to clean the mess you made. While wiping the ruins of the lipstick, you hear the whining voice once more, closer this time. 

''We don't have any toothpaste, either. God, why don't we have anything? Aren't you supposed to take care of the grocery this time? It was your turn,'' the man is nothing but in black sweatpants and a white shirt appears, constant grumble on his mouth trying your patience. ''You have lipstick on your cheek,'' he points his face to address where the stain is as you lock your gaze on him by the mirror. 

''You don't say,'' lifting the brows you watch him narrowing his eyes, scoffing at your answer. ''And I was thinking why I have wet tissue on my hand. Thank you, babe.'' he rolls his eyes, sighs while ruining his hair. Black hair flies in the air, every pinch falling another direction and it warms your heart. Your husband dyed his hair black from blonde after having a white hair crisis and deciding to dye it for good. Not that you didn't like the blonde hair on him, but black was something different. It gave destructive charisma to him that you adore so much. 

It is the greatest thing since sliced bread. 

''When you say they'll bring Hoseong and Aera again?'' after finishing the cleaning, you turn to your husband who asks nonchalantly but the light in his eyes says he is happy. ''They'll be here any time soon. Why?'' 

He shrugs a shoulder, acting as he is not interested. ''Just curios. I'll adjust my appointments so,'' you nod, giggling as you decide to reach him. Leaving your bean bag chair, you take a two-step to wrap your arms around his neck. 

Brushing your nose to his, ''You love to hang out with them, don't you?'' you ask, mentioning your nephews. Even before he admits, you already knew that he adores them. Hoseong at nine and Aera at seven years old buck of happiness for Yoongi, and you can see it in his eyes. The way he plays with them, caring for them always puts a light serene in your heart, but you two never mentioned having a child. Soon after you are scared to open it as you are afraid that he doesn't want to have kids, but the love he had for your nephews always confused your mind and heart. 

''Well, they are fun to hang out,'' he tears his eyes from you but you catch the attempt to hide the smile he had. Lips forcefully stay flat but gaze full of bubbles. But when you tilt your brows, staring at him with a pout, you break him. ''Okay, okay... I love those chubby kiddos. You know how smart they are, don't you? Aera asked my opinion about Pluto, whether it's a planet or not. Can you believe it?'' 

''You are so whipped,'' you let out a laugh that wrinkles your eyelids. His enthusiasm over your nephews made your day, a bolt of laughter spilled by your lips over and over again until you managed to ease it. ''such a cute man,'' wiping your tears away from your face cut by his hands when he grabbed yours. 

''Y/N, did you... did you ever think about having a child? I know we never talked about this all these years, but I guess... No, I know I want one. Yes, I want us to have a child to raise together.'' his eyes burned with determination. It was enough for you to know he really serious about it. There was nothing for you to obligate it if you look. Both of you get paid well, had a nice home and big enough even for two kids, moreover, both of you love each other so much and you know that you two will love the exact same way if you have a child in this home. ''What do you think?'' 

Taking a deep breath to ease your thoughts you eyed the man you adored so much. His keenness sparkled in his eyes, waiting for your answer to be the happiest man alive. Even if you wouldn't want a kid in your life, you couldn't break his heart by saying no, but fortunately, you want this as much as him. 

''I would love to have a baby who has the same gummy smile you got on there,'' Yoongi, your husband coos after what you said, holding you by the waist and twirls your body with himself. He acts like you just said you are pregnant, but you laugh and kiss him back when his soft one finds your lips. He thanks, swears that he will be the greatest dad and husband for this family. 

The ring on the door cuts his words, tearing himself apart from you, he leaves to open the door wiggling his body in great joy. But you believe him. You would believe him even if he hadn't sworn and put his heart on it. He already was the best husband ever, and you had nothing to worry, frighten for. He will be the best dad in this world, as you know because he said so. Just like the time, he said you two will make a good couple after he took you home on your first date. As he said, you took his heart and his last name after four years. 

Never regretting for one second on agreeing to go on an arranged date. And you knew that you won't have any other regret in the future, either. Not with the sweetest neurosurgeon you love so much. 

[retromotherfuckers]

Six Years (Part 3)

Pairing:

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

Summary:

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

Warning: 

so much mf angst, themes of addiction and depression, self-destructive behavior and a tiny bit of comfort in there

Word Count:

2k (i got a little ~carried away~ lol)

A/N:

IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. i wasn’t happy with the og thing i had down so i literally just rewrote the whole thing in a few hours and it’s sm better than it would’ve been. me holding off posting this did wonders and i’m more confident in it too even tho i kinda think i suck at writing but also kinda don’t idk my self esteem varies wildly

Merry Christmas Eve Eve to those who celebrate ❤️

the gif (and all the other ones) are not mine and i take no credit for them

if you want to be tagged in any of my works, send me a message or an ask and i’ll add you :)

@shipshipshipau

The girl with aqua eyes - although now they were more of a spotted gray - had only seen one moment of weakness from you. It would be the last time Octavia had seen you, and you, her. 

“We’re surviving!” She had started shouting, as if she believed that set in a lower tone, her words would be construed as lies. “The human race is surviving! That’s what matters!”

“He wouldn’t be okay with this, and you know it!” Your voice broke involuntarily as it rose to match hers. You shook your head as you tried to desperately stop the ache in your chest as you brought her - probably dead - brother up. Tears clung to your eyelashes, waiting for you to blink so they had permission to fall. Your throat had been closed for a while now, and the rest was merely a weak cry. “If this is the price that we have to pay...maybe we shouldn’t be.”

You’d never know if it was the crack in your demeanor or your choice of words, but either way, her eyes softened when you spoke.

“Look at me.” You did as told and she gripped the back of your neck in one hand, pulling your forehead so close it almost came into contact with hers.

The air changed as Octavia came alive under the monster she wore for armor. Her mask coming off allowed you to let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. You would begin to regret not smashing the helmet to bits while it was off and vulnerable.

“You have to stop listening to them,” She said. “It’ll tear you apart. It’s better they get to live to hate us than die slowly and love us-”

“They don’t deserve this either, O-”

“We bare it, so they don’t have to. You’re the one that told me that. You can’t back out on me, now. I can’t do this without you.”

For so long you were okay with her needing you to do the dirty work. Besides the first time - when you did it together - she’d give the sentence and you’d see it through. Every single time, it felt like it was killing you more than them, but that didn’t matter, did it? If you weren’t going to do it, who would?

It was the last thing Octavia had asked of you and you had no intention of letting her down.

Bellamy didn’t know what he would see when they finally dropped him down into the bunker, but it definitely wasn’t that. Surrounded by more death than he was prepared for, he couldn’t help himself to not move his gaze around the arena. The fences between him and the living reminded him of the cages the Mountain Men held him in. The walls were stained deep with crimson, leaving the dull concrete behind it unrecognizable. He looked to the blonde at his side, and they asked each other the same silent question:

What the hell happened down here?

His whiskey shaded orbs kept moving, albeit reluctantly. They stopped on Marcus Kane, who looked so much older than last time. His hair and beard were inches longer and grayer than the natural brown he used to have. He was so pale, it was unnerving - almost as if he was close to death. They connected eyes briefly and that’s when the younger saw the deadly weapon held to his neck by the hands of-

No.

Your back was facing him, but it didn’t matter how long it had been, he’d never miss you. The locks that adorned your head were longer too, almost to your waist. The natural shade was faded though, like you had aged twenty years instead of six. He watched your shoulders heave and your hands start to shake as Kane talked to you.

He couldn’t pull his eyes from the impure red that dyed your skin and clothes.

While you were distracted, he chose to act, protecting Marcus from his own flesh and blood. He didn’t miss the gears in your head turning as your gaze landed on him. He saw your eyes sink into a trance of recognition and a deep sort of longing overtook your senses. The melancholic need you had tried to numb for half a decade came back in full force and held no mercy.

You remembered how he always smelled of the forest after the sky wept. You remembered how sure but gentle his touch was on your skin. You remembered how his remarkably soft lips would feel when they pushed against yours as they begged for more at every turn. You remembered how it felt to be wrapped in his arms, listening to his heart thump as he assured you everything would be alright, even if he didn’t think it would be.

Was that gone forever, now, too?

Bellamy noticed something else, though; something he didn’t recognize. Something he’d never seen before.

Something that scared him.

It had been hours since and neither of you had bothered to find the other. Getting everyone out was a great distraction for him. Talking to his little sister, whose eyes seemed to hold the same thing yours did, was another.  She had explained to him and Clarke that Wonkru had deemed her Bloodreina and you, Ripa. So, no, nothing as special as death from above or the red queen or the commander of death, but death, nonetheless.

People have done well not to forget that.

When Clarke told him you still hadn’t come out and no one had seen you, however, he didn’t have a choice anymore.

The halls were those of nightmares, spirits lurking around every corner and it was cold and empty. He knew the lights were kept low to save power but it felt almost purposeful, like they were meant to scare you. To tell you not to act out or some kind of monster would jump from the shadows and make you pay.

But he didn’t know if it was you or his sister.

A chill slithered up his spine.

If someone told him this wasn’t real, he’d do anything he could to believe them. He wished that he was seconds away from being shaken awake by Raven or Monty, and they would tell him it was just another nightmare. He wished he was still on the Ring, praying ignorantly to anyone that would listen that his family on earth were still okay. 

Breaking him from his thoughts, a yellow lamplight caught his attention. At the end of the windowless corridor, it shone out of a slightly ajar door. Using every ounce of strength he possessed to not walk away, he pushed it open. It cried at the motion, diminishing any and all remnants of silence that swallowed the floor.

His eyes found you catching yourself from falling caused by a failed attempt at standing. A half empty bottle of whatever works in one hand, the other one holding you up against the bed frame. The high-pitched creak pulled your attention to the front of the room with a furrowed brow and he allowed himself to take in your appearance.

A wrinkled, cotton shirt sat on your chest and it was a different one than before; faded white and thin, yet cleaner than the other one which was colored with blood. Your hair was damp - the result of taking a shower - but lazily tied back in a half-assed effort to get it out of your face.

You stared at each other for a minute. A million things were hitting your slow-moving thoughts at once, too much for you to even try to comprehend. He finally took one step towards you, parting his lips to say something but no sound came out. He was stumped, hundreds of words flooded his mind but not a single one sounded good enough.

Nothing he could say would make what happened in the arena okay.

It was unbearably painful. There he was, finally right in front of you, and you had no idea what to talk about. No idea what to start with, end with, bring up, discuss, laugh about, cry about, scream about. Nothing was good enough to say to the man that kept you alive for such a long time, such a long time ago. 

Too long ago.

You inevitably broke the silence, though your words came out cracked and in a slur. A defensive and humorless scoff left your lips, an effort to cover up the discomfort. Or it was because you were too drunk to shut yourself up. “You gonna say somethin’?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

You didn’t know why, but you hoped he’d sound different. It was childish and irrational, but you hoped that you could say you both changed too much and he would have nothing to hold against you.

Because no matter how far away it seemed, sometimes you could still remember what it felt like to be that innocent seventeen-year-old that hadn’t lived yet; what it felt like to be that girl who still couldn’t stand her father. To be that girl who sprained her ankle within ten minutes of being on earth for the first time. To be that girl who hadn’t made a friend aside from Clarke and Wells in her whole life. That girl who had just kissed a boy for the first time.

The girl who was loved and not lost yet.

“Well, that makes two of us.”

Where the hell did she go?

That made the room spin, and you had to blink a few times to make it stop, taking a seat on the thin mattress. You took a drink, making the liquid slosh from the base to the neck of the bottle and back again. When it settled, you rested your head between your shoulders as you heard him say your name. It bounced off the walls in the room, hitting each one again, and again, and again like it was a bullet waiting to find its target. You had wanted the word to fall from his lips for so long that you’d forgotten what it sounded like. You had forgotten what he sounded like, and you fucking hated yourself for it.

Then you realized he said, “Ripa,” and those four deadly little letters crushed your throat and stole the air from your lungs.

That name hadn’t felt right from the start, but it was what you had been simultaneously promoted to and reduced by. The only person who refused to call you that over the years, was your father. For two thousand days, he made sure to steer clear of it.

That’s not who you are and I know it, even if you don’t.

A sudden and hauntingly raw sob escaped, and you knew his eyes were on you in an instant.

“Don’t call me that,” You begged, meeting his gaze for the first time since he entered. Breath picking up, you were practically terror-stricken at the idea that all you were to him now was a murderer. You vigorously tried to shake the thought away, squeezing your eyes shut as everything that kept you numb seemed to vanish into thin air. “Y-You can’t-Not you too. Please, not you.”

Bellamy’s hand brushed your cheek and tears rained freely. You immediately leaned into the familiar and delicate warmth and you really fucking hoped this wasn’t your mind playing a trick on you.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” When he spoke this time, his words sounded choked too. His other hand cradled the back of your head as he pulled you into his chest and just...held you. “It’s okay.”

It was like you were standing at the edge of a building, teetering the edge before accidentally falling. Only, before you could plummet to your death, someone caught your hand, and it occurred to you that you really wanted them to pull you back up.

“Please don’t leave me again.”

Your voice was just so, so weak. Beaten down and broken.

“Never.” He said it with so much confidence and finality, you almost had to convince yourself it was real and not a dream. “I promise.”

[iam93percentstardust]

Hey love! How about some winteriron h/c fluff? Millennial vet Bucky, Tony as his generous amazing self just without IM. T picks B as a test subject for his project on prosthetics he started after making a new [blank] for himself after Afghanistan. B expects the public Tony Stark persona and so he's a bit rude (cuz "fuck corporations and the superwealthy") but can't afford to say no, T picked him cuz he read B's profile and found him hilarious&refreshing. Snarks ensue. You know how it ends ;)

This ended up diverging a little from the prompt but I hope you’ll still like it :)

Also on ao3 here

~

“If there’s one thing I’ve proven,” Stark says on the screen, “it’s that you can count on me to pleasure myself.”

Bucky snorts and shakes his head in disgust. Maybe he shouldn’t be so disgusted by the guy seeing as he’s the one offering to build him a new arm but honestly, Bucky just thinks it’s a publicity stunt. He knows the type of guy that Tony Stark is. He was at the last SI weapons demonstration before Stark nearly got himself blown up and he remembers how drunk the guy had been. He remembers Stark leering at Steve before climbing into a jeep with members of their sister troop—good soldiers, men and women who hadn’t deserved to die defending someone like Stark.

So what if Stark had stopped making weapons?

So what if it had turned out that Stane was double dealing?

So what if it isn’t actually Stark’s fault that Bucky had his arms blown off a few months after Stark announced he wasn’t going to make weapons anymore and the DoD had turned to Hammer who apparently couldn’t even make a decent bomb that blew up while he was setting it?

People are dead because Stark couldn’t pull his goddamn head out of his ass, because he’s just like every other billionaire in the world, obsessed with his own wants and his own wishes and expects the world to bow to his every whim. And now, when he gets called in front of Congress to account for breaking his contract with the DoD, he makes a complete mockery out of the proceedings. Not that that’s all that hard and honestly, Bucky would have probably done the same thing if he’d been in Stark’s position.

Bucky wouldn’t have even accepted the offer of the prosthetic if it hadn’t been for Steve signing the paper for him. He would have told Stark exactly where he could stuff his publicity stunt of a philanthropic endeavor. Steve had been the one to fish SI’s letter out of the trash, sign the waivers and the forms, and mail it back to a Ms. Potts to tell her that he was apparently accepting SI’s oh-so-generous offer.

Eventually, he’ll get Steve back for that. Probably after he gets used to having another arm.

“Mr. Barnes?” someone asks, walking into the waiting area from one of the many branching hallways. “Tony’s ready for you now.”

He stands, tucking his phone back into his pocket, and joins her. She’s pretty enough and once upon a time, he probably would have even flirted with her but that was back when he had two working arms and self-confidence. Now he has one arm, a cheap prosthetic that makes his shoulder seize in pain sometimes, and he’s in therapy to get his head straight.

…Dr. Beck probably wouldn’t call it that though and he’d probably get upset that Bucky is, even if it’s in his own head. He’s big on that whole “use nice terms to describe your PTSD” thing.

…He’s in therapy to learn how to manage his PTSD.

There. That sounds nice, right?

“Tony’s sorry he couldn’t get to you sooner,” the woman tells him as they walk down the hall. Her heels click on the floor, sounding a nice rhythm that Bucky finds himself emulating unconsciously. “He had you lined up for the program ages ago but then everything with Obadiah and—”

“It’s fine,” Bucky mutters. He probably wouldn’t have wanted to meet Stark back then anyway. He doesn’t even want to meet him now.

The woman stops in front of room that looks like it should have glass walls but are currently covered in some sort of black…stuff, Bucky isn’t sure what. A keypad pops out of the wall right next to the door and she types something in that looks long and complicated. Bucky looks away so she’s not worried about him trying to guess the password even though he doubts he could have remembered it even if he’d been hovering right over her shoulder.

The door slides open and Bucky follows her inside—into a wonderland.

There’s a whole bunch of absolutely gorgeous vintage cars in one corner and what looks like actual robots fighting over a smoothie machine in another and blue holograms filling the air and Stark himself talking to…thin air?

Except not thin air because a moment later thin air says, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, sir.”

“Sass!” Stark exclaims. “I’ll donate you to MIT, see if I don’t. Let the undergrads pick you apart.”

“As you say at least once a day, sir.”

“What do I have to do to get some respect around here?” he mutters and before Bucky can stop himself, he snickers.

Stark wheels around, seemingly startled, and peers first at Bucky and then turns to the woman. “Pepper,” he laments. “Why do you let me make a fool of myself?”

“You do that just fine on your own,” she says, smiling fondly.

“Hmph. Sass from you, sass from my own AI—”

“That was an AI?” Bucky blurts out. The articles don’t say anything about something like that.

Stark looks at him again and then asks, “Which answer is less likely to make you think of Skynet? Never mind, not important. Your arm is what’s important and I put it—somewhere. I put it somewhere. What the fuck did I do with it? Pepper!”

“Have you checked the fabricator?”

“…No.” He wanders off towards the robots and some sort of fancy device behind them.

Pepper must see the shell-shocked expression on Bucky’s face as he tries to put together the image of the polished Tony Stark he’s seen on TV with the greasy mechanic wearing goggles on the top of his head in front of him because she says, “You’ll get used to him.”

“Uh-huh,” he agrees doubtfully.

“Do you have a preference on color?” Stark calls from the other end of the—what does he call it, a lab? A workshop?

“What?”

“Color!”

“You might as well join him,” Pepper says. “He really wants your input on this.”

“Why?”

He must sound as confused as he feels because Pepper smiles understandingly at him and says, “Because it’s your arm. I know Tony puts on this front for—everyone, really—but he’s not as bad as he makes himself seem. He blames himself for you losing your arm.”

“Why would he do that? It’s not his fault Hammer makes shitty bombs.”

“No, but it is his fault that the Army went to Hammer in the first place. He still thinks this is the right direction to take the company in but he still feels guilty for what happened to you.”

“Do you agree with him?”

“About the company?” She looks over at Stark, a wistful look in her eyes. “I’ve always thought that Tony could do something more. About you? It doesn’t really matter how I feel. It matters how both of you feel.” She pauses and then adds, “He really liked your application, you know.”

“Application? What application? I didn’t apply for this.”

“No we both know that,” she reassures him. “Your friend did. Said you were too stubborn to take a handout from a stuck-up billionaire to fill out the application yourself. It made Tony laugh.”

Huh. That says something about him, doesn’t it? That he can laugh about being called a stuck-up billionaire?

He glances over at Stark who’s now jumping up and down in the air, waving his arms to get him to go over there. “Barnes!” Stark calls. “I want your opinion on the color of your arm.”

“Wait, that’s what he wants to know?” Bucky asks, amazed. The world suddenly feels like it’s been flipped upside down. “He’s asking my opinion about that?”

“It matters to him,” Pepper says simply. She raises her voice to ask, “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“That’ll be all, Miss Potts,” Stark calls back, grinning like it’s an old joke between the two of them. “Barnes!”

As Pepper leaves, Bucky picks his way across the room, carefully dodging holograms even after Stark says it’s okay to walk through them. “You know, you can call me Bucky,” he says as he joins him.

“Sure, I’ll do that just as soon as you call me Tony,” Stark says distractedly.

“Can do, Tony.”

Tony visibly freezes, shivers a moment, and then flashes him a quick smile. It’s there and gone but it’s still surprisingly lovely, something real and sweet that Bucky thinks he’s gonna have to ponder when he gets home tonight.

“So, color?”

“I don’t really have a preference.”

“Great!” Tony says enthused. “Because I had an idea last night for interlocking plates.”

“Like armor?”

“Yes, but sexier.”

And his enthusiasm must be infectious because Bucky thinks about that quicksilver smile he saw a minute ago and says, “Sure thing, Tony.”

[piratemadi]

please make your critical post of supernatural those are literally the only posts about supernatural i care about, especially since i side eye the heck out of the many people who give supernatural a pass because they ship two boring white dudes (dean and castiel) PLEASE

omg ok nobody make fun of me for posting an earnest criticism of this show i enjoy critical analysis and being a hater

i think most of why this show sucks has already been covered pretty thoroughly but these r the main things abt it that piss ME off.

the racism runs so SO deep. supernatural is supposed to be an exploration of americana thru horror (and i’ll give them that. like the idea of deconstructing america and all its fallacies thru horror is genius and in competent hands it would be absolutely incredible. but anyway) but it only really scrapes the surface of what is inherently horrific about americana! something like that is supposed to be an INTERROGATION of monstrosity and how america (and western society more broadly) creates monsters out of human beings and how white christian morals are established as the ONLY acceptable morals and how anyone who falls outside of those norms (non christian, non white, lgbt, people with substance use disorders, prisoners, the poor, indigenous people/cultures etc) are monsterized, so to speak, because of an oppressive and unloving colonial society. like u cannot have a horror narrative abt monsters attacking family values and white suburban life without invoking some very old and racist conventions! but instead of subverting that supernatural just reinforces it! it consistently fails to make any kind of real statement because the most demonized parts of society are the people who are also treated the WORST in canon! native american beliefs are stolen and turned into stupid bogeymen without the show ever featuring a native character or seriously grappling with the inherent violence of america as a colonial state, black men are consistently portrayed as angry and evil while black women are treated like shit (dean’s happy ending at the end of s5 is with a white woman he fucked one time instead of with the black woman who he was in love with??), impoverished people are mostly ignored and when they’re not theyre monsters (theres one episode centered around a poor rural family that commits murder and cannibalism. no supernatural stuff or monsters. just poor people. thats the scare).

theres this consistent fixation on preserving american suburbia, on saving “normal” (read: white middle class) people and it sets up this dynamic of like. the “real world” is the white middle class and then there’s hunters including our mains who defend that “real world” against monsters and demons, which is just Everything Else. and the writers PRETEND to struggle w the question of monsters and what makes one but they just toss it around without ever actually committing to answering that question with compassion or narrative coherency. they have multiple episodes about characters who were raised human, who want to be human, but have to be killed because of an inherent evil nature. there’s a plot in the early seasons about how one of the main characters has demonic powers, and instead of saying that doesnt make him inherently bad and he’s allowed to fully access all parts of himself without being fundamentally evil, they consistently frame intrinsically neutral traits as inherently evil specifically because they go against a christian ideal of morality! and eventually he learns to suppress these powers and that’s that!

and then it establishes christianity as the guiding principle of america, not in a way of like “american culture and history is deeply steeped in white supremacist protestantism that has led to incredibly fucked up views on god and love and morality and thats what we have to deal with as people who live here”, but in a way of like “the christian god is real and he’s a white guy who fucking hates you.” which like. Ok. they bastardize and trivialize any religions that arent christian while building the entire series on christianity. Ok. like i guess its possible to write stories about white christianity without implying that every other religion is full of shit but supernatural did not do that on any level

its also just. really poorly written. i genuinely loved the first season i thought it was really well paced and that the characters were introduced really well like the first season is a GOOD horror story in terms of family as horror and the inherent terror of americana. but the pacing and the character development started tripping up in s2. by s3 they started raising the stakes Exponentially which honestly is such a kiss of death for good fiction like every season mounting a bigger badder antagonist than the last one is the surest way to kill a story bc it means the earlier entries in that story become basically meaningless in the face of the new bad guy. u dont need to raise the stakes to write a good story! a well written story abt the horror and drama of a close knit and unhealthy family caught up in something they don’t really understand isn’t Less emotionally resonant than, like, having to stop the world from ending, because at the end of the day its Fiction and none of it matters beyond what u can make the audience really Feel. im not gonna feel sorrow if 7 billion fake little people die. i didnt cry when the death star blew up whatever planet it blew up. what DOES make me feel sorrow is a few truly well written characters whose relationships are complicated and tragic and whose motivations i can understand and whose inner lives i can imagine. raising the stakes destroys a good story and thats exactly what happened to supernatural (not that the racism and misogyny and american protestant moralizing wasn’t killing it already)

also, the misogyny makes the female characters basically impossible to watch. like not a single person on that show is a good actor (except sterling k brown love u king u were the best actor that show ever saw) but they didnt even give any of the women anything to work with. its literally so cringey to watch any woman onscreen except maybe like. bela talbot and she was treated like utter shit.

god. you know that expression dont fall in love with potential? i dont do that w people i do it w fiction. i came off black sails and the untamed and frankenstein and i watched the first couple seasons of supernatural with my friend and it was like...there was so much room for it to SAY something about monsters and how society creates them thru violence and how deeply horrific american protestantism is. like theres so many questions and concepts that it brought up that it never actually SAID something about. shithole of wasted potential. and yeah dean and castiel is stupid there i said it

[asking-the-death]

You ever just, like, wanna NOT?

You just don't want to? Do anything? Just sit in bed and scroll through social media without being bothered once in at least an hour or two, but at the same time you wanna be with someone and feel like you've got a support system to fall back on when everything else around you fails because you know it will? In fact, you're counting on it, because failure is the only thing you can count on from anyone and everyone you've known. And you don't want to live anymore, but you don't want to die, and all you wanna do is sleep forever and dream about inverted realities and weird creatures. You just want everything to be put on pause for a second so you can breathe and catch up with the rest of the world, but you cant cause that's not how reality works, and everyone is telling you "too bad", "grow up", "get used to it cause it gets a lot worse", and expect you to learn fast or die, but why does it have to be like this? Why do I have to conform to your beliefs? Why do we have really crappy leaders? Why are they all old men in musty clothes and with a billion dollars in their pockets? Why do our lives have to suck like this? Do they really have to be like this? The answer is no, it doesn't have to be like this, but there are too many people who just accept it for the way it is and keep doing what they do to keep the cycle going, and they just wanna be left alone too, in order to escape the harsh reality. We all just keep scrolling.

While this is true for a lot of people and I can really relate to this kind of feeling, I can tell you from the bottom of my heart, you need to start somewhere. Being in bed, scrolling for social media feels nice, but it’s gonna make you feel miserable at some point because of all the things you described. You see this crappy leaders and this old rich dudes. You see wanna bes on instagram trying to flex with their lifes because some of them think that they are better than others. Social media is cancer, it’s on of the worst things to be in when you are dealing with mental issues, because of all the negativity and the bad kind of influence you will expierence there.

What can you do against that? Well as I said, you have to start somewhere. If you have literally no motivation to leave your home, do something instead of social media in your home. Maybe read a book, read a comic, watch a sad movie, watch a happy movie, get off of this social media world for just a little bit. This will give you a great foundation already. When you are feeling a little bit more relaxed, use this just gained power to push it even further. Go outside, you don’t need to talk to anyone, you don’t need to look at anyone, just go outside for a walk, 15 minutes, 30 minutes, maybe even an hour. If you want, take your smartphone with you, put in flight mode and listen to some of your favorite music and just enjoy to see something else than your own home. Being home alone, having to do nothing sucks, it drives you crazy and you just don’t know what to do with yourself. So why not just using the time to go outside.

Now, I understand that going outside is very very hard for people with social anxiety. But maybe you know a few ways where there are not so many people around, if you have a car maybe just drive out of town and go for a walk there. What I personally love to do, and Im really happy to have this possibility in life is to walk to a nearby sea, sit down and read there for a while, listen to some music and just escape from this routine. 

This is not even that much, but it helps you already a lot because you are getting outside of your comfort zone, you are trying something new, and thats one of the greatest feelings, at least for me. Saying, today I acomplished to go outside, sit somewhere and just do what I want to do is such a huge relief and I can recommend anyone to just give it a try.

Going outside is one step too much for you? Thats alright, there is no pressure on you, you are working on your tempo and that’s perfect. What happened to help while being inside is to simply do some yoga a few times a week. It’s challenging in the beginning and when I started I layed my yogamath somewhere in my apartmentso no one could see me through my window, and I just gave it a try. 20 minutes, it’s basically nothing. And since I am doing that, I am way more chillied, I feel that Im getting better at it and that already gives me confidence. When it’s summer I actually feel so good and confident about it I don’t mind to do it outside. 

The point I want to try to tell you is, do something, do it for yourself and for no one else. Do it at your tempo, don’t let anyone pressure into something you are not comfortable doing. The speed at which you approach new things is perfect. I am really proud of you, I love you and I wish you only the best. You matter, please take good care of yourself.

[chilling-seavey]

OH MY GOSH OKAY SINCE WE'RE DOING THE CHRISTMAS WRITING PARTY CAN U WRITE ONE FOR PASSCHENDAELE WHERE IT'S THE FIRST CHRISTMAS AFTER THE WAR OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT? OR OR OR THE CHRISTMAS TRUCE

Love the idea of the Christmas Truce and I forgot I actually had this one planned since the beginning! For those of you who don’t know, The Christmas Truce of 1914 was a true event that happened, where British and German soldiers left their trenches on Christmas Day and celebrated together in peace. 

Get your tissues ready.

Also thank you to @janav21 for helping me with some German translations xx

T/W Mentions of war violence, death, the honest truth the deep down all humans are good, and the first seeds of what would later stem into PTSD

December 24, 1914

“Post for you, Lance Corporal Seavey.”

Through the darkness of the night, Christian raised his head from the side of the trench to look up at the man standing in front of him and holding out a brown paper wrapped package. With shivering hands in gloves that didn’t do much to keep in the heat, Christian reached up to take it from him, the men sharing stiff nods as thanks and acknowledgment before the man continued down the lines.

It was a particularly cold night and the ground was frozen with fresh fallen snow, stained red in places from battles and brown in places from upturned soil made from shells but the light flurries that fell through the silent night made it feel somewhat peaceful. Christian pulled at the string and opened his package, the first thing on the top being an old family photograph of his parents and his younger brother and younger sister and him from years earlier when they were small. He smiled warmly at the memory, missing them more than ever on Christmas Eve. Normally they would be sitting by their Christmas tree and singing carols and drinking warm mugs of tea around the fire but instead, he was sat all alone in frozen stiff soil trenches in the middle of Belgium. The next item was a letter tucked on top of a small bar of chocolate. Christian smiled at the gift and unwrapped the corner of it to take a bite.

The crack of the cold coca from his teeth seemed to nearly echo through the barren wasteland the British army found themselves in, but Christian smiled bashfully to himself as he let the sweet flavour melt in his mouth. As he ate his treat, he unfolded his letter from his mother to read her near weekly correspondence.

My Darling Christian,

Christmas is not the same without you. Anna and Daniel and I decorated the tree together last week and there was no one to put the star on top. Daniel took your job instead but he had to stand on a chair and nearly toppled right off! You would have had such a laugh with us. I couldn’t resist a year without at least giving you something small so I hope this chocolate bar suffices – we are not allowed to send anything larger. I hope next Christmas I will see you home again as I miss you terribly. The world over here seems so much darker without you around, my sunshine, but I am sure you are bringing your bright spirits wherever you go. Please write me and let me know how Christmas is celebrated in Belgium (although I know you are most likely already writing an essay for me!). Your weekly letters make me miss you more but they let me know that you are well and safe.

I love you, my sweet angel. Happy Christmas.

Mum xx

Christian sniffled and folded the letter to tuck it back into his inside breast pocket along with the photograph of his family. With one more bite of chocolate, he folded it back up and tucked it in his pack before letting his eyes close and his head rest back against the wall of the trench, light snowflakes falling against his face that took a while to melt with the chill that coated his pale skin. He would reply to his mother later as it was getting late, and the usual waiting game was sending Christian into a restful state.

It wasn’t long before a noise could be heard in the distance and a few of the British men quickly snapped to attention to see what was happening out in the darkness of No Mans Land. Christian sat up too, locking in on the soft tune that was drifting through the nighttime air. The words were incomprehensible but the tune was more than familiar.

“What the bloody hell is that?” one of the men whispered.

“It��It’s Silent Night, sir.” Christian answered quietly.

The higher ups turned to the Lance Corporal as if forgetting the young man could even speak. A small group had gathered in their section of the trenches, all the men bundled up in their jackets and gloves as they listened to the German soldiers singing Christmas carols from a few many yards away.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht!

Alles schläft, einsam wacht

Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar.

Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh,

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh.

The British soldiers stood in silence as they listened, a few humming quietly to themselves as if afraid to make their presence aware to the enemy. Finally, one of the newer men sang first, his curly hair falling from under his cap and his glasses slightly fogged up from his warm breath through the cold night, joining right in along side the Germans,

Silent night, holy night!

Shepherds quake at the sight!

A few more men joined in, Christian included,

Glories stream from heaven afar;

Heavenly hosts sing Al-le-lu-ia!

And soon everyone was singing together in harmony,

Christ the Savior is born! / Christ, der Retter ist da!

Christ the Savior is born! / Christ, der Retter ist da!

By the final verse, both sides of the front lines were singing loudly together, their voices carrying across the vast expanse of fields and raising high into the night sky. Half in English and half in German, they sang in one choir,

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht! / Silent night, holy night

Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht / Son of God, oh, love's pure light

Lieb aus deinem göttlichen Mund, / Radiant beams from Thy holy face

Da uns schlägt die rettende Stund, / With the dawn of redeeming grace

Christ, in deiner Geburt, / Jesus, Lord at Thy birth

Christ, in deiner Geburt. / Jesus, Lord at Thy birth

When the song concluded, silence fell once again over the battlefields, the snow falling steadily around them. Christian smiled a little to himself at the momentary peace and tucked in for the night with his family photograph held right against his heart.

December 25, 1914

As the sun rose on Christmas morning, the British soldiers wished each other ‘Happy Christmas’ as they started their usual breakfasts or morning duties. It wasn’t long before one of the higher ups was ordering a rise to arms and Christian snatched up his rifle with the rest of the men to get into position.

“There’s a man over there.” the soldier said, peering through the viewfinder out across No Mans Land. “He’s holding his hands up in their trenches.”

The British cocked their rifles.

“Don’t fire!”

“He’s unarmed.”

Christian peeked up over the edge of the parapet and someone grabbed his shoulder to pull him back down to safety. He shrugged him off and leaned back up again, watching the German man walk shakily and slowly out of his trench and onto the fresh fallen snow of the battlefield, hands raised and any weaponry missing.

Christian was a man who had too much trust in people – at least up to the end of 1914 – and he didn’t think twice before dropping his rifle to the floor of the trench as well as his pack of grenades and bullets and stood up on the fire step with his own hands raised.

“Lace Corporal Seavey, what the hell are you doing?” his Lieutenant snapped.

“Must be a trap! You’re gonna get bloody well blown up!” another added from farther down.

But Christian climbed carefully out of the safety of the trench, his heart hammering in his chest as he touched the crisp white snow of the Belgian field and shakily got to his feet to face the enemy. A few more German men climbed out of their trenches followed by a few British and soon the two sides were meeting in the middle. It was silent except for the chilly winter wind that whistled across the land and the crunching of snow under military boots. Christian fell to a stop in front of the young man opposite him, the German’s face looking just as hesitant as Christian’s himself. He had the nicest grey eyes Christian had ever seen and he offered out his hand with a nervous smile tugging at his lips. Christian looked down at his outstretched hand before taking his handshake.

“My name is Christian.” he spoke slowly.

“My…name…is Heinrich.” the man replied.

“Pleased to meet you, Heinrich.” Christian said.

“Freut mich, dich kennenzulernen.”

The enemies seemed to group up and well wishes of Merry Christmas is English and German moulded as one and chatter rose across the Belgian fields. Handshakes were shared and photographs were taken and tensions felt like they had vanished. Christian pulled out his unfinished chocolate bar and offered a piece to his new friend.

Heinrich grinned and nodded, taking a small square with icy hands and a warm, “Danke.”

They ate together for a moment in calm silence, both a little shy but their bashful smiles were mirrored with near relief.

“Wie alt bist du??”

“Sorry?” Christian looked over at him.

“Uhm…” Heinrich thought for a moment before pointing to his watch and then gesturing up. “Years? You?”

“Oh. I am twenty-four.” Christian answered, showing the numbers with his fingers. “You?”

“Dreiundzwanzig.” Heinrich did the same, showing a two and then a three with his hand.

They shared smiles, cheeks a rosy red in the winter air and the tip of Christian’s nose was turning pink too. He offered Heinrich another piece of chocolate before taking out his photograph from his pocket and stepping closer to show him.

“This is my family.” Christian told him with pride and he pointed to each of his family members, “Father-”

“Vater.”

Christian glanced up at his new friend and nodded in agreement, “Yes. My Vater.” He continued on, “My Mother-”

“Mutter.”

“Sister and brother.”

“Schwester und bruder.”

“Yes. Anna and Daniel.”

“Anna?” Heinrich questioned, looking at Christian with wide shining eyes.

“Yes. My sister.”

Heinrich reached into his own jacket pocket and rummaged around a moment before pulling out his own photograph and held it out to show Christian, the blonde woman sitting graciously in the frame.

“Anneliese. Meine frau.”

“Frau? Wife.” Christian said. “Anna.”

“Yes, my…Anna.”

The young men shared excited grins and another piece of chocolate as a few men around them started singing more carols. Food rations were shared and a few drinks were poured and German and British men were arm in arm and singing loudly together. Heinrich and Christian stuck together, joining in for a few photographs taken by their officers and the group shared a good laugh when one of the German generals slipped on a path of ice and fell on his behind.

Soon, with the heat of the excitement and festivities, jackets were being tossed back into designated trenches and someone brought out a soccer ball, earning cheers from both sides. Small teams were divided up – British against Germans of course – and they played together most of the day, using jackets and canteens as makeshift goal posts as the watching soldiers stood in lines around their little made field. Christian pulled an impressive dive to catch the ball before he was scored on and loud excited cheers erupted from both sides at the move. Heinrich pulled him up from the snowy ground with an offered hand and Christian thanked him with a smile as he brushed himself off.

By the time the sun was starting to set, everyone was taken by surprise; the day had gone by so fast. Newly formed friendship groups said their goodbyes and Christian and Heinrich shared a friendly embrace as well.

“Happy Christmas.”

“Fröhe Weihnachten.” Heinrich held out a ration of cigarettes towards him with a friendly smile. “For…the schokolade.”

Christian didn’t smoke but the gesture was beautiful and he took the small pack within their final handshake, “Thank you.”

“Hope…you see…your Anna soon.” Heinrich spoke slowly through his broken English.

“You too.” Christian said as they dropped hands.

They shared one final nod, as if trying to piece together the incredible goings on of that day and the fact that they had just wholeheartedly trusted the enemy. Both sides were bordering on treason after spending such a day together but they returned to their trenches without another word or a single shot fired. Christian got himself settled with the sun setting and leaving the trenches in darkness, feeling more at peace than he had in a while. He was too tired to write to his mother that night, fading into a sleep stemmed from exhaustion from the day’s unique festivities. Even still, everyone was wondering what the next day would hold and if the truce was a turning point for the beginning of the end of the war.

With daybreak came another attempt of peace, and Christian found himself beaming with excitement as Heinrich and a few German men were making their way over the battlefield again after breakfast. Christian was stood beside the British Lieutenant-Colonel as they had their rifles at the ready out of habit but Christian didn’t even have his finger on the trigger.

One of the German officers who was walking over spoke first from the halfway mark between their front lines, “You still got the armistice?”

Christian started to stand up to join them but the ringing of a single shot rang through the barren fields before he could move. He watched as Heinrich fell backwards, shot right through the head until his blood was staining the fresh white snow and his grey eyes staring lifeless into the sky. The cold face of the British Lieutenant-Colonel was unphased as they were propelled into another battle by that single shot.

Another battle where they were forced to kill those they just celebrated with a mere day before, with whom each side shared stories and photographs and treats. Now, both sides were forced back into the usual way of the war under orders of their stern officers who claimed the only way to win was to gain their ground. Christian sat alone that night, a blank parchment on one knee, the pack of German cigarettes on his other, and the vision of Heinrich’s lifeless eyes in his mind. He sat there for nearly an hour trying to figure out what to say to his mother, only getting as far as her name scribbled shakily in the top left corner.

Christian didn’t smoke but that night he pulled one of the cigarettes from the German ration and borrowed a light from another soldier and he let himself sit against the side of the trench and mourn the loss of a friend. He felt guilty and shameful and disgusted with himself and with the war and with the concept of even being there at all, how each time he pulled the trigger he was killing one of his momentary friends. Good men who were friends and brothers and sons and husbands.

Christian couldn’t get himself to return a letter to his mother. He no longer felt like his mother’s angel that she called him so often. And he never would be again.

[misterbitches]

i keep thinking about this and coming to more conclusions like both as an artist and me. 

we always think first about the aggressor and not the victim. so, for example, with history 4 and yong jie what will their relationship look like now given the trauma? if they have no interest in fleshing this dude out and having him just be an annoying clingy little ugly bitch then acknowledge that pain and how it will affect them. it’s so easy for xing si to get over being raped? what about xing si’s relationship with his mother? what about the fracturing this does to the family when there’s an intense violation that was aided and abetted by the mother?

that would be far more fascinating trying to figure out and they could still have them be together if they so desperately need it but they can’t ignore everything. that means the trauma will permeate through every part of your life. it’s hilarious that so many fans say the portrayals are realistic because they are not. these shows do not have the time and many of the writers or producers do not have the care or prowess—or will have to cut things to please the state—to execute this. they expedite the healing process but we are left reeling. 

in film school one of my teachers was always like, “what happens in the world when the film ends?” and this is something to ask. are we approaching it from: a man falls in love with his brother who raped him and the mother encouraged it and the shock and taboo of that or are we approaching it from a man is forced and trapped into a rship and stockholm syndrome and how that plays out. even if they stayed together even so it would give us more reason and understanding and then we see and know the foundation is built on nothing but darkness and may never recover. after this chapter ends  there may be destruction; it’s possible because that’s how it all started.

but after this story ends, in the way it is presented, what will happen? it’s not just entertainment and that doesn’t mean it’s as big of a deal as i think it is even as i write these things. these are just things to keep in mind and things i think the younger viewers absolutely need to see. for themselves like as creative people and enjoying the media they consume and seeing what works and what doesn’t especially when a work serves a purpose. nothing is made for no reason so don’t expect it to be. to me i’m like: why was this made and what could have been better? 

there is NO improvement which is why we run around in the same circles. the way to untangle that is being clear about the message and its faults. the audience can’t be clear about it if the show isn’t doing its job for a team of professional fucking writers trying to entice people by poorly approaching topics and leaving them empty handed. life is not as hollow as these things make it and yet we eat it up hook line and fucking sinker. 

time and time again we see what these things must establish and how far they can push themselves. it isn’t until the material world gets better that we see a turn in the media but time isn’t linear. sometimes things are worse in years, sometimes things are better. these tropes last because they are a direct reflection of life and the failures in society. so of course it’s about the perpetrator and how they can get their prize but not how we can manage these things when there is a clear victim and we pretend like it isnt there under some sense of potential reform. 1. people do not need to be reformed in a story and that isn’t what this needs 2. is that compelling? 3. yes morally grey things exist but this is not morally grey when it is a violation adn that person’s action was not morally grey. there was a victim and he neeeds to be away from that victim. if he is going to stay we need to see the affects of him being there as real things and there is nothing realistic about that. in no fucking world would someone like xing si a grown adult fucking man be able to temper things that quickly as in the show. NONE. that shit lasts forever but we are supposed to see them kiss and be liek “aw wow morally grey” like what about him is morally grey in relation to xing si? specifically. whihc is the personhe will be with forever.

no it’s how do we get ourselves to see him and engage with him. you can engage with him or be enraptured sure but that doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t mean the writers are even doing anything with it! i’m glad eveyrone can garner there own idk ideas or get what they want out of a work but what about the victims? what about the relationships? what happens when the story ends? what are dinners like? cos their lives don’t stop when it’s not being recorded (as in these worlds we are shown are always going to exist so they continue on even without us seeing it. so the characters don’t have a stop point we just usually see their happy ending and many times with shitty relationships it’s like why are we here now?) at this point it’s comical and it’s boring. 

there’s a film i like with cameron diaz where she falls in love with someone who kidnapped her for a job. there’s no perosnal connection which really helps as well. he did it for a job, doesn’t know her, they fall in love. they get together at the end. that still affects her but it’s also way less psychological trauma then somoene stalking and grooming you and violating you and trapping you by direct action and constant manipulation. there’s no way to turn that around and it’s even worse when you try to with literally no other explanations. like who are these fucking characters and why should we even want them to continue to be here? yong jie could have even been a vehicle to help xing si like idk unpack everything in his brain in a helpful way even through his violation. they chose none of that lmao i could write a better fucking script and im a moron

why should we believe in their love? why should we believe in yong jie? why should we believe in any of these people when they don’t prove shit to us. they just exist. why is that interesting? why do we root for them? that’s certainly not something they even asked themselves cause they sure as shit don’t know. the writing here cannot make up its mind on its own morality and i think the idea of morally grey only works if you have a fucking idea of what you want to do not just throwing shit at a wall. and we feel something for these “morally grey” characters—frankly this term is also a mistake because it’s so much about good/bad and ignores history and peoples lives and what leads to events and it is a super WASP-y concept in its current iteration anyway with a belief that punity is justice when it is not. that is why i say get the fuck away from this dude instead of going to jail. we could see yong jie grow but FUCKING OUTSIDE OF XING SI.

aey from lovely writer is one where im like wow i feel so bad 4 u i think ur gonna like kill urself someone get this messy ass bitch some help. people hate this kid and they totally can! i feel bad for him! dont love him and maybe i wont even want the best for him but rn im like “omg i dont want u 2 die sir.”

i dont feel that way in many other shows. i feel fucking nothing for these men. not yong jie and not even the old guy from modc im just like ok you exist and i’m going to ignore you. there is nothing in my chest lmao. i look at them and feel cold, couldnt be drier, cos it’s stale and boring and trite and nothing new at all. it’s not realisitc and it’s not even entertaining. it’s just...there. 

i mean it’s there with the reminder of “oh man i am not interested in your love story also isn’t your boyfriend like 40 and you’re 17? why do you like each other again? does this kid have parents? Wait, what’s happening? uhhhh am i supposed to like this? where are his parents? what’s gonna happen when he turns 23 and realizes how fucked up that shit is? can we see that?” and before u know it the sex on screen is over so that was just unpleasant all around.

and i cannot give u a single reason for so many couples why they like each other. like literally what on earth is there for the two of these people to be attracted to. at least one is being swayed by power but what’s the other one doing? oh nothing he just sucks? ok got it.

if we don’t approach it from a “how do we get people to like a shitty person or a person who does things that harms others” it continues on like this. questioning questioning questioning the comfortableness and never thinking about what the fuck the victim can do, what the fuck is even going on in their heads. and if they can’t do that then we go back to the question: what is the purpose of it? if the answr is “just because” then you have a failure on your hands and a lot of annoyed people. sorry not sorry 

[dasibom]

haven't read it but heard mostly very positive things about a little life, would be interested in why u think it's bad? (if u want ofc)

ofc i love talking abt how much i hate this book. i answered a similar ask on my old blog so i'm just gonna copy paste (with a little editing):

content and trigger warnings for rape, csa, suicide, self harm and abuse. both for the book and this post.

i have so, so many problems with this book. lets start with... the gay stuff. here’s an bit from a goodreads review (link) by Michael Flick, which says it better than i could. the whole review is worth a read, too.

“Some believe that this is “The Great Gay Novel.” That couldn’t be more wrong. There are only two recognizable gay men in this work, JB and Caleb. A creative queen and a violent, probably psychopathic, sadist. All the other “possibilities” are pedophiles (categorically not gay—that’s a sickness, an evil, that has nothing to do with being gay) or so hopelessly confused (and impotent) that you can’t know what they are (JB and Willem). The take on gay men here is antediluvian—a dangerous and discredited brand of heteronormative delusion in which all gay men, no matter the glittering surface of their lives, are fated only to die a lonely, miserable death. Caleb dies an excruciating death (so we’re told) from pancreatic cancer. JB, the witty, flamboyant, unstable, creative queen is merely a plot point. His happiness, told but not shown, at the bitter end doesn’t mean anything more than that. He’s a device to wring one more regret from you, one more sorrow. You can be assured that he, too, will die an ignoble death just beyond this novel’s last page. And you won’t be troubled or offended or titillated by the gay sex (or really any sex) here because there isn’t any: it’s the sex that dare not speak its name. All this is because the author knows absolutely nothing about gay men other than the most superficial stereotypes and doesn’t have the imagination to venture deeper than that. She can’t even imagine that a man (Willem) doesn’t need a woman to quench his sexual needs—he has a solution readily at hand.

other than this, i remember this book having lesbophopic language but i don’t own a copy and i'm not gonna search the internet for that.

basically the whole book is just pure torture porn. so many bad and traumatising things happen to the main character it feels unrealistic and i think the only reason it happens is because the characters life has to be miserable. that's the whole point of the book to me. there is no reason to so graphically include a ton of this stuff in a book other than shock value. some of this graphic stuff includes very extreme descriptions of self harm (mostly cutting but also other stuff), suicide (including possible methods), physical and sexual abuse (part of it when the main character is a child), violence and medical trauma. i’m afraid that there is a real danger to this book teaching people how to hurt themselves (or even stuff like where to hide the tools they do it with) and i can’t imagine what an actively suicidal person might get out of this book. it really, really concerns me. i’m afraid this book teaches people to not get help, to not go to therapy and get help if they’ve been traumatised and/or are struggling with living. i've been traumatised in childhood and i can imagine what someone younger than i am, someone more impressionable, could get out of this book. like seriously some very fucked up ideas, i felt like the whole thing about being traumatised, and the constant self harming and suicide attempts were presented in almost a romanticised way. obviously my opinion here isn't like objective, or something, cause i'm a person trying to recover and deal w childhood trauma, which still affects me every day, in several ways, and realistically, it will never stop affecting me, but the point is that although it was terrible and it fucking sucks, it doesn't mean i will have a life with no quality and will forever be unhappy and unable to cope. and this book so clearly disagrees with it. the fact that the main character is traumatised and that horrible things happened to him as a child feels like a death sentence when it doesn't have to be.

^ lmao a point i also wanted to bring up in this section is that not all of the shit that happens to the main character needed to happen because it's fiction and it's a made up story, like after some point when i was reading it and seriously messed up shit just kept happening and it kept on going i thought like... why? it servers absolutely no purpose after some point. reading a rape scene after rape scene stopped having an affect on me eventually and... that's not very good, is it? like, i'm trying to say, this is fiction, it doesn't need to go that far? at some point, a very early point at that, it was enough to get the message across that hey, what happens to this character is bad and fucked up, it didn't need to go on.

the whole book is also full of people enabling the main character to hurt himself over and over again and do nothing. every character is there to some way hurt the main character and people praise this book for being such a great tale about friendship. it is so pretentious and again, just pure torture porn. the book so clearly seem to think therapy and reaching out to people for help it bullshit!

i’m not saying you can’t write or discuss the themes that are present in this book but i just don’t think this is the way to do it. probably a therapist specialising in trauma should consult with the writer and someone should make sure the description of self harm and suicide will not harm anyone. i think there are guidelines made for that by people working in the field and i just feel like something like that would be of benefit here. like, i don't know, i don't have a solution, i'm just saying this is not it.

also, here is a link to the author literally saying she does not believe in trigger warnings. and i think those would have been extremely beneficial to have at the start of this book and i certainly would not have read it if it was for them. that would have saved me from so much triggering content that i did not want to read and i wish badly that i did not read. it seems clear to me the author does not have any idea how traumatic things can work, or at least that is what i think based on what she says. here is a link to an interview in which she says she does not believe in talk therapy. there, a point about a persons autonomy to end their own life is brought up which is a topic but if that’s what she wants to talk about then it should be done in clear terms and not with the only message “therapy doesn’t work if you’ve suffered enough trauma.” at least that’s how the whole thing seemed to me. like of course a persons own choice to end their life is a discussion i do think is worth having, but... that did not come across in the book.

lastly, here are some links i have saved about this book which i think point out excellent things if anyone wants to read more:

https://www.reddit.com/r/books/comments/a0e1yi/convince_me_a_little_life_is_a_good_book_please/

http://post45.org/2016/06/im-so-sorry-a-little-life-and-the-socialism-of-the-rich/

https://cannonballread.com/2016/07/narfna-a-little-life/

& you're welcome to ask me to clarify something or just discuss, this is a little bit of a mess cause i copy pasted that old answer and edited it a bit to hopefully word things better but like. idk if much of it makes sense