#source: ma brain

[1queasycrow]

Dani, across the radio: ...over. Clara: Sorry, Dani we didn’t catch that. Dani: Oh, no I’m just over this. Clara: Over what? Dani: All of it.

[goldentigerfestival]

Forgot to post this earlier but I did in fact comb the entire Vesperia script to determine how many times he uses ま/まあ throughout the game, along with a few other phrases he uses repeatedly. This counts all of main story, every single sidequest, and every single skit in the game.

Final counts were:

ま/まあ: 280

Ma/Maa; translates to "well". He uses this at the beginning of a sentence usually, but it's sometimes in the middle. "Ma" is usually more quick and snappy. "Maa" is more thoughtful and/or prolonged. Obviously it can vary based on context, but that's the general breakdown.

んじゃ and any variants: 133

Nja, along with variants such as "ja", "soreja", etc. Variants are counted when they're all used to express "let's get going", when they're about to head off ("ja" could be used in a sentence such as "ja/but then, why is xyz like this", etc). They encompass translations such as "well then" (let's get going implied. includes "so then", "then" "alright then", and so on), "we should be off", "let's get going", "let's go", etc. (not to be confused with 行こう(ikou), 行くぜ, (ikuze), and other similar versions of this phrase. That can also mean "let's go", but any instances of Yuri using that particular phrase was not counted because it wasn't a variant of, specifically, んじゃ, which is also his most common "let's go" ja variant).

おい / おいおい: 66

Oi/Oi oi; translates to "hey"/"hey, hey", though "oi" is more or less an accepted word in English nowadays.

おっと: 12

Otto (not to be confused with "oto", referring to sound); an expression of surprise that can translate roughly to "whoa there" (which is the most common translation I do see for it and what I'd use in most cases too, context of course varying). The reason I included this one despite it being so seemingly low in number is because it's not a particularly common expression, much less one used multiple times by a single character? It's so rare from anyone else, which is just a regular thing relative to Yuri and his dialogue/speech (i.e. most characters sparingly use phrases repeatedly, as compared to Yuri... as you can see lol. Other characters use these words/phrases, but nowhere near as regularly, if regularly at all).

Realized along the way I should've included やれやれ (yare yare, "good grief", "oh dear", "oh boy" etc), but by the time I realized I should have in case it was an interesting count, I was too far into the script to be able to handle going all the way back through it LOL.

No. No, I am not joking that Yuri used ま/まあ 280 times throughout the course of the game. That is to say, it could be more if I missed any, but on the assumption I didn't, that's where it stands.

Why do I love this so much? Because it's a very specific character quirk of a character I adore. I'm very fond of his repetition. Thank you.

[55sturn]

the sweetest consequence part 0.01: the realization

pairings: [ secret trope!] chris sturniolo x best friend!fem reader [ eventually but not really in this part ]

synopsis: in which chris receives a frustrated and glaringly disappointed call from his mother in the middle of the night, prompting him to take the next flight home, only to be met with the irreversible consequences of his actions.

disclaimers: the trope for chris will be revealed at the end of this blurb. angst. swearing. more detailed warnings to come.

THIRD PERSON POV

chris had a tendency to have a reoccurring impulsive streak any time he became stressed, frustrated, or when he fought with his brothers. but at any other given moment, he was calculated and prepared. he made sure to be smart about the things he did, given his career choice and the fact that he was constantly in the limelight as a rapidly growing content creator, even years after hitting his peak.

he tried to make good choices, to make smart ones, to be so sure that there was no way anything negative would come of something he did, especially in his romantic life. but he’s also known to be careless at times, especially if his ego and arrogance were at an all time high.

and for the last year, he felt that he had been doing a good job at keeping himself in check. but that changed the second the shrill and painfully reverberating ring of his phone woke him up at nearly two in the morning.

rolling over with a loud groan, chris blindly grabs for the source of the noise, aiming to decline the call when he blearily realizes who’s calling him. he’s quick to hit the answer button and place his phone to his ear,

“mom? it’s almost five in the morning there, what are do you doing up?” he croaks, his voice thick with sleep and worry, hoping that something hadn’t happened to either of his parents or trevor.

“i need you to come home on the earliest flight possible, christopher.” she demands, frustration and hysterical disappointment seeing through every word, causing chris to sit up, wracking his brain for every possible reason that could have her this upset. as he sits there contemplating every choice he’s made in the last five years, his mother is droning on, talking about how irresponsible and utterly idiotic he could be sometimes.

“alright, alright. ma, i’m on it. just me or all of us?” he cuts her off, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he climbs out of bed and walks to his desk, powering his computer on as he sighs.

“just you. you better not drag your brothers into this mess. i cannot believe you christopher owen.” she sighs, her voice cracking as the severity of the situation weighs down on her.

“i’ll be there tomorrow evening. i’m sorry for whatever i’ve done to upset you, ma and i love you.”

“i love you chris, i really do. but i wish you’d think about things a little more before rushing into them head-first.” and with that, she bids him goodnight and ends the call. leaving chris with nothing but confusion and panic creeping their way up his spine.

he’s quick to toss some clothes and the absolute essentials he knows he’ll need into a duffle bag and suitcase, texting both of his brothers that he needs to head back to boston to deal with something, letting them know he’ll update once he knows more himself.

as he lays back down in bed, hoping to get at least two more hours of rest before having to leave, he tosses and turns, unable to stop picking at every memory he can to figure out what the fuck he did.

as he touches down in boston after an almost six hour flight, he makes his way through the airport after grabbing his luggage, and booking an uber home. the ride to his parents place is deafeningly quiet, and it does little to ease his nerves, he’s sure he’ll wear a hole through the floormat in the backseat of the uber with how much his legs are bouncing.

upon arriving, his nerves are completely shot and he doesn’t know what he’s about to step into, but with a deep breath and a quiet thanks to the driver, he’s making his way up the driveway, and through the gate toward the entrance of the house. and he feels like he’s moving on autopilot.

as he opens the door to his childhood home, he’s met with the sound of a baby babbling away and his mother cooing at her, and the sound is enough to make his blood run cold.

with quick determination, he climbs the stairs and steps foot into the kitchen, and he’s met with a sight he hadn’t expected for at least another ten years. his mother talking his child. and there’s not a single doubt in his mind that the child sitting on the island while his mother holds her still is his. he knows for sure. and he knows who her mother is. and as mary-lou makes eye contact with her youngest son, all that can be heard is a quiet,

“oh fuck.”

STAR’S CORNER star stop making new mini au’s and finish the ones that have existed for almost a year already challenge!! but i texted @mattscoquette abt this and i knew based on her reaction i had to make it come to life. there will be more parts eventually.

anyway meet single dad!chris!

copyright divider by @strnilolover

[pitchsidestories]

but wait for me II Kika Nazareth x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | previous fanfic I word count: 1478

summary: Kika is heartbroken after an injury takes her out of the Euros this summer. Though she pushes her teammates away, they refuse to let her go through it alone. (Kika Nazareth x Reader, romantic), (Barcelona Femení x Reader, platonic) requested

author's note: we hope you enjoy reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it. Feel free to share your thoughts; we always love hearing from you. ❤️💙

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

"mas espera-me: pois por mais longos que sejam os caminhos eu regresso." ( source )

Sadness clung to her like a second skin. It had been raining in Spain for weeks, the steady rhythm of raindrops on the roof providing a sombre soundtrack to Kika's misery.

The ankle injury hadn't just marked an abrupt end to her club season; it also meant missing out on the Euros in Switzerland this summer. Just as the forward had finally found her place on the team, it all slipped away again.

It broke your heart to see your usually smiley, sunshine-like girlfriend so down. With a gentle knock on the bedroom door, you told her that there were visitors—friends who were waiting to see her.

“Send them away.”, Kika pleaded softly. With a sad smile, you began: “But Kika—” “Please.”, she interrupted sharply.

Calmly but firmly, you replied: “They really want to see you.” “But I don’t want to see them.”, the Portuguese hissed. She immediately regretted her uncharacteristically harsh tone. However, there was no time for remorse as your teammates stepped through the door without warning.

“Too late!”, Vicky exclaimed, giggling. Kika cursed under her breath: “Oh no.” A cheeky smile spread across Patri’s face. “I guess what you really meant was, ‘Oh yes, we get to go to your favourite café and have a cup of coffee.’”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”, your girlfriend retorted, shaking her head decisively. Seeing her teammates who had quickly become her friends since she joined Barcelona last summer only made her feel worse.

How she missed playing on the pitch and spending time with them off it. Some of the memories Kika had captured with her camera now hung on the wall, each one a reminder of happier times that felt so far away now.

Sensing the heaviness of her friend’s unhappiness that seemed to fill the room, Ona bit her lip, guilt tugging at her: “Maybe we should leave her alone, girls. I told you this might be too soon after the surgery.”

 “No!”, Jana objected passionately. But despite her teammate’s protest, Kika's voice was quiet yet resolute: Yes.”

Softly, yet with a quiet firmness, Ingrid urged her friends: “Come on, we should respect her wish and leave her alone.”

“We know better what she needs.”, Vicky argued, her expression fierce. “She needs us. And some coffee.”

There was a silent understanding between her and Jana, who then asked: “Has anyone seen her camera? She always has it with her when we go out.”

“I know where it is.”, you replied, already heading toward the bookshelf in the living room.

The camera sat in its special spot, nestled among the Spanish and Portuguese books that filled the shelves, their spines mingling together, a quiet symbol of your shared love for literature and the bond you had built together.

When you returned, Jana nodded happily: “Great. Let’s go then.”  

“Amor…”, Kika started to protest.

You silenced her with a gentle look: “I promise you’ll feel better. And if your ankle starts hurting we’ll go home, okay?”

Kika stared at you, clearly raking her brain for an excuse. Finally, she sighed and agreed reluctantly: “Fine, okay.”

“Thank you.”, you smiled politely, while you handed her a lavender-coloured scrunchie, the same one she had worn when she had surgery on her ankle and the same one that had quietly become a good luck charm for her. “Now you’re good to go.”

“Thanks.” Kika slipped it over her wrist like bracelet, then grabbed her crutches, ready to leave with the team.

The group slowed their pace to keep you and Kika in their middle. Thankfully, the café was just across the block, close enough that the short walk wouldn’t be a problem for Kika.

As soon as you walked in, you were hit with the earthy smell of freshly brewed coffee. It was one of your favourite cafés in Barcelona, modern but still cozy. The sunlight streamed through the large window front, casting a warm glow on the bare brick walls and the various plants scattered around the space.

“It already smells heavenly.”, you sighed as you took in the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries and cakes.

Kika visibly relaxed in the familiar environment. A smile tugged on the corners of her lips: “Smells like croissants.”

You pulled out a mismatched chair for her so she could sit down and relieve her ankle.

“Yes, exactly like when…”

“When you started giving me Catalan lessons here.”, she finished your sentence, looking up at you with a glint in her eyes as she sat down.

You took the seat next to her, without breaking eye contact. You raised an amused eyebrow: “Technically I still do. You’re a slow learner.”

“Hey, I’m better than most guiris. Right, girls?”, Kika protested jokingly, turning to her teammates.

Ona tore her eyes away from the block-lettered menu above the counter and nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm: “Sure. Anything that makes you happy, Kika.”

“Wow.”, the Portuguese player said unimpressed.

Jana turned to the two of you and asked politely: “Flat white for you?”

“Yes, please.”, Kika nodded.

“For you too, y/n?”

“Yeah, thanks, Jana.”

“No problem.”, the young defender smiled before making her way to the counter.

Ingrid and Mapi sat down at the other side of the table, each holding an iced latte.

“So, how are you, Kika?”, the Norwegian asked with gentle curiosity.

She took a deep breath before answering: “I don’t know. I feel kind of useless at the moment. I hate sitting still.”

“You’re not useless.”, you said softly, contradicting her. Even though you and your teammates had all felt that sense of helplessness when an injury kept you off the pitch, hearing your girlfriend say it out loud broke your heart.

It was almost as if Jana could read your thoughts, because she turned to the Portuguese player, offering an empathetic smile: “Trust me, we’ve all been there at some point.”

Taking a sip of her coffee, Ingrid added in an understanding tone, “Injuries happen. They’re part of the game.”

“Besides,” Vicky chimed in with a mischievous wink, “you can still be your girlfriend’s WAG.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the young player.:“Man, Vicky.”

“What?”, she asked, holding her hands up innocently.

With a cocky grin, Kika jumped in: “No offense, but I know I’d be a great WAG.”

“Is there even a question?”, Salma chuckled.

Your girlfriend nodded confidently: “Not at all. It’s a fact.”

“I can’t wait to see that at the next game,” you admitted.

The Portuguese player fixed her ponytail, a cheeky twinkle in her dark eyes: “You mean when you won’t be losing because I’ll be your lucky charm.”

“Too soon to remind us of that awful Sunday, Francisca.”, you groaned dramatically.

Jana’s expression turned pained as she thought of her disallowed goal. Though by now, she was certain they would have lost the game regardless: “Yes, we don’t talk about that.”

“I wish I’d never seen it live.”, Ona grimaced. The first time Barcelona had ever lost an El Clasico at home, in the pouring rain, and with hail by the end. For the Catalan players, the memories of that day were especially painful.

Salma elbowed her friend playfully, joking: “You really weren’t a lucky charm, Ona.”

“Must have been the Lucy Bronze effect.”, Patri teased.

A confused laugh escaped Ona’s lips: “What does Lucy have to do with anything?”

“Makes no sense, Patri.”, you clicked your tongue.

In awe, Kika let her gaze wander over her friends’ faces, sighing deeply: “I missed that.”

“You missed what?”, you frowned.

She rested her head on your shoulder and confessed: „This togetherness.”

Kindly, you stroked her back: “You see, amor, just because you’re injured doesn’t mean you have to do it without being with your friends.”

“Exactly. We’ll always have your back,” Ingrid emphasized.

Fondly, Kika added: “I see that now.”

“Another round of coffee?”, Jana asked everyone cheerfully.

You looked around and remarked: “I think it’s needed.”

“Very much.”, your girlfriend confirmed. There was a light-heartedness in her voice that warmed your heart.

As the laughter and chatter flowed around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite the frustrations, the injuries, and the setbacks, moments like this reminded you of the true strength of your team, not just as football players, but as a family.

With a glance at your girlfriend, who was still leaning on your shoulder, and the rest of the group, you felt a sense of peace settle in.

There was no doubt in your mind: no matter what happened on the pitch, this was what truly mattered. Your teammates would wait for Kika, no matter how long her ankle recovery took, the team would be with her every step of the way.

The sound of coffee cups clinking together filled the air, and for a moment, it felt like everything was just as it should be.

image sources: https://www.instagram.com/janafernandez3/?hl=com,https://www.instagram.com/kika.nazareth/?hl=com

[r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e]

ok between evan buckley’s cultural black hole of an upbringing and his noted love of documentaries trivia research deep dives etc what i’ve been turning over in my mind palace the last few days is like

tommy logs into instagram once a week to like all of sal and gina’s pictures of baby lila and whatever memes chimney has sent him. he hits a button weird with his gigantic beautiful fingers and gets taken to an instagram reel about uhhh the irish potato famine it doesn’t actually matter what it is he just watches the first few seconds and goes !!! evan was talking about this!!!!! evan thing! thing for evan!!!! tommy immediately shows it to evan later like hey babe weren’t you just talking about this i found more Information for you 👁️👄👁️ and buck watches it and is just like what???? that’s not true. excuse me, he’s - he’s literally making shit up, potatoes are native to the americas, this is misinformation, there was food the english were just exporting it under armed guards it was starvation under colonial rule!!!! he doesn’t even bother to list any citations? that’s not what a primary source is!!!!! and then buck takes tommy’s phone and starts eviscerating some like podcast bro adjacent “real history” account (it’s a funnel into tradwife conspiracy theories and also the podcast bros MLM which evan will never realize because he doesn’t make it to the end of the video he keeps swiping and is like ALL OF THESE ARE WRONG!!! HOW CAN HE JUST LIE ON THE INTERNET LIKE THAT????)

anyway after tommy is like uh??? it eventually comes out that evan’s bubble boy childhood was the natural extension of both of his parents like. being tenured history professors at penn. the only music released after 1980 that he listened to growing up was paul simon’s graceland. they didnt own a television but he spent a lot of time sullenly swinging his feet back and forth in a corner of the special collections library while his dad gave public evening and weekend lectures about Petrarch and bookmaking and how to properly handle manuscripts and his mom edited what would become The defining collection of churchill’s personal correspondence and he Did Not Retain Much Of It out of spite but they drilled how to Accurately Research Anything into his 8 year old brain and it became a fundamental building block of his identity (and maddie’s duh) without them realizing how fucking weird they are. for examp he’s sooo annoyed he doesn’t have a date for the billy boils rodeo stampede in the hospital. the substack he found was run by a uc berkeley folklore MA who emailed buck scans of microfilms of contemporary newspaper articles abt boils & the gang after buck is like nice wiki template 🙄 tommy hears all of this and is like okay. cool. umm where do curses fit into this worldview. and buck is like you’d be a believer too if you’d had PhD students over for dinner every other week comparing traumatic field research stories while your parents nodded along sagely and said stuff like yeah that’s why you don’t fuck around in the catacombs after dark you idiots. ANYWAY that’s all thanks for stopping by

[silusvesuius]

deux

this tree from my new drawing looking goated afffffff 👑👑

[suzukiblu]

Day seventeen of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Fuck yeah,” Kon says with a grin as he accepts the source of all delicious chocolatey-sugary caramel smells in the room. “Thanks, man.” 

“My bad for not paying enough attention to your specs, just picked myself a whole bouquet of whoopsy-daisies there,” Bernard says, and Tim laughs again, and Kon buries a snigger of his own in the hot chocolate and narrowly avoids getting caramel on his nose. He still feels a little–disconnected, maybe, like his TTK’s maybe a little off-center or something. Like his equilibrium or his sense of balance or whatever isn’t exactly fitting right, maybe. 

Bernard is still just fucking funny, though. 

Kon takes a swallow of the hot chocolate, since again he does not need to worry about burning his tastebuds off or even a light scalding, and–oh Jesus, the caramel is actually in the hot chocolate, isn’t it. Jesus. 

Ma is never gonna forgive him for the amount of recipes he is apparently gonna be asking Tim’s boyfriend for, yeah. 

“Actually maybe I am the marrying kind,” he mutters under his breath, then takes a long sip of hot chocolate. Jesus. Just–Jeeeeesus. “What the fuck does Gotham put in the hot chocolate?” 

“Well, this time I did cocoa powder, milk, powdered sugar, and caramel sauce,” Bernard says. Kon stops mid-sip just to stare blankly at him. “But like, Batburger for example has a recipe that’s a bit more questionable and has occasionally been compromised by Condiment King, so that’s a whole other thing.” 

“Tim,” Kon says, turning his head just enough to eye Tim instead, because he really just needs a minute here. Like, just for his stupid weird brain’s sake, if nothing else. “Where the fuck did you find this dude and what the fuck did you do to earn him? Like, karmically-speaking or whatever. I just need to know what’s better than literally fucking dying to save the world, because I am not pulling chicks who make hot chocolate from fucking scratch. I didn’t know you fucking could make hot chocolate from scratch.” 

“I mean, it’s just better that way, y’know?” Bernard says with a shrug. “Though in retrospect I could’ve just made hot caramel milk, I dunno if that’d be your thing though.” 

Kon is possibly eyeing Tim accusingly now. Tim grins slyly at him in return and picks up his latte to blow gently on it. Bernard literally drew a heart in the foam, because Tim’s a terrible person who stole all the good karma in the world, apparently. Though seriously, Kon doesn’t even know how the dude made a latte, Tim doesn’t even have an espresso machine or whatever. Like, the limited counter space thing was not an exaggeration in any way, shape, or form. 

Tim is literally terrible, yeah, Kon decides. Absolute worst best friend a guy could have. 

Like, aside from the part where he’s saved his life a few thousand times and also just fucked him so good that he low-key had a nervous breakdown about it, anyway. The dick really is just that good, apparently. 

Kon might actually sulk a little when Clark locks up the pink K. Like hello, no one else is using it for anything; why can’t he just keep it? 

“So like do you have a sister? Maybe a super-close cousin or something?” he asks Bernard, giving him a speculative look. 

“Only child, and all my cousins are like fifteen years older than us and either in jail or married with kids,” Bernard replies with a laugh. 

“So what I’m hearing is conjugal visits and MILFs,” Kon says reasonably, flashing him a sharp grin before taking another sip of really fucking good hot chocolate, and Bernard laughs again. “More importantly, do any of them come in ‘cute blonde who knows how to cook’ too?” 

“I’ll tell you when you’re straight again and can properly appreciate them,” Bernard says, still snickering. “No offense to the Dowd family line or anything, just none of us are Starfire-level here. Eh, well, maybe Cousin Nina is bridging the gap a little, but that’s about it.” 

“Fair,” Kon allows, then takes another drink. He feels like there's something he should be thinking of, but he can’t quite–

“‘Nina’?” Tim repeats, tilting his head slowly to one side. “Uh . . . maternal or paternal cousin, Bernard?” 

“Paternal,” Bernard says. “Why?” 

“Bernard,” Tim says. “Did we get your cousin arrested?”

[kawoala]

omgomg for ur event can i get chocolate chip cookies w atsumu :3. take ur time & congrats on 400! <333

🍪       ⤷ miya atsumu ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

@dearru

⊂ word count ; .7k (730)

⊂ content warning ; smau 、bickering 、cheese-y flirting 、profanity 、arguing about marvel? 、the best friend is osamu btw 、shirtless atsumu.

It’s hot. It’s sweltering. Your skin sticks together, sticks against the conveniently leather couch in the Miyan’s living room. Your chest rises and falls, each breath you let out a little more labored than the last.

“This sucks,” you whine for the umpteenth time. Your head lolls to the side, eyes landing on a sweaty Osamu. “I thought your AC was supposed to be fixed last week?”

“Me too!” He exclaims, face scrunching up in discomfort, defeatedly throwing his hands in the air. The only sound in the house is the TV playing reruns of a telenovela— something that was playing when you showed. “Ma says they’ll be here tomorrow.” He turns to look at you. “I don’t think I’m gonna survive.”

If you weren’t dying from the heat, you’d probably laugh. Just as you open your mouth to complain once again, the front door bursts open and both of your heads whip to look at the intruder.

Atsumu. Shirtless Atsumu. Sweaty, shirtless, panting Atsumu.

“Holy shit,” he says breathlessly, hands on his hips. “It’s hot out there, dude. Like, I was running and I thought I was going to pass out or something.”

Your breathing gets more constricted. You can’t take your eyes off of his chest. His abs. His very prominent v-line. He’s a volleyball player, should he really be this jacked?

You trace your eyes up his body to his face, only to find him staring right back at you. If it weren’t so hot, you’d feel your face heat up. You clear your throat and look away.

“Put a fuckin’ shirt on, Atsumu.” Osamu sounds dejected and a little angry— probably from the heat. “We weren’t raised by wolves; you don’t have to be half naked all the time.”

You don’t have to look up to know that the pause in the air is because Atsumu is still staring at you. He sighs dramatically and throws his shirt back over his head, then drops down on the couch next to Osamu.

“I hate summer,” he says on an exhale. He puts his hands behind his head and locks his fingers together, letting his eyes shut. “When is the—”

“Tomorrow,” you and Osamu say at the same time. 

You take a peek at Atsumu and let a breath out of your nose. How is he so… unbothered? While you and Osamu have been suffering in the heat, he was on a run. A run. In this weather?!

“You could have died of a heat stroke,” you say simply, turning your gaze to the ceiling. Both of their heads turn towards you. “Running in eighty-seven degree weather is stupid. You’re working up a sweat on top of a sweat.” You pause, then add, “Idiot.”

Osamu hums in agreement, and Atsumu lets out a breathy laugh. “I guess so. It wouldn’t happen to me, though.” He clicks his tongue. “I’m like the real life iron man.”

You scoff. “Iron man shouldn’t even be considered a superhero. He’s just rich.” You sit up and look up at him accusingly. “Like Batman!”

Osamu stands up quickly, not wanting to be included in the bickering that's about to come about. “I’ll get us some water,” he mumbles.

“Don’t even,” Atsumu says incredulously. “The thing in his chest is what powers his armor, which means that he is the power source.” He crosses his arms over his chest, but is still laying down. “Which makes him an honest-to-God superhero.”

You clamp your mouth shut. You’re sure Atsumu notes the way your eyes flicker to his biceps. You’re not focused on that, though. Atsumu just won an argument against you. The world has shifted on its axis. You blink a couple times.

“I’m starting to like this heat,” he says, laughing. “It’s messin’ with your brain and helpin’ me win debates. Atsumu, one; Y/n, zero.”

“I—” your brows furrow and you roll your eyes. “Shut up, nerd.” You sit back again, skin immediately sticking to the couch once more. You shift uncomfortably.

There’s a moment of silence before Osamu walks back into the living room, glancing between you two. Atsumu’s wearing a smug smile, while your brows are still furrowed, grumbling about Atsumu being obsessed with Marvel.

“We should go to the pool,” the gray-haired twin suggests. You don’t think you’ve ever been more happy to leave their house in a long time.

[l1vingd3adg1rl-05]

Join me in Death Pt3

Thomas Hewitt x Fem! Reader

You jolt awake suddenly, sweat beading at your forehead as your heart pounds in your chest. Sitting up quickly, you wipe the sleep from your eyes, trying to figure out what woke you. A beam of harsh light suddenly strikes your face, and you wince, instinctively raising a hand to block it.

Your gaze shifts toward the source of the light, and fear shoots up your spine when you realize what you’re seeing. The door is open again, no mistake this time. You remember distinctly closing it before you fell asleep, yet now it stands ajar, as if inviting something or someone inside.

Even though your mind screams that you closed it, a small part of your brain tries to rationalize. Maybe the door didn’t latch properly; maybe it just naturally swings open after a while. You hesitate, then slowly reach out. You jolt awake suddenly, sweat beading at your forehead as your heart pounds in your chest. Sitting up quickly, you wipe the sleep from your eyes, trying to figure out what woke you. A beam of harsh light suddenly strikes your face, and you wince, instinctively raising a hand to block it.

Your gaze shifts toward the source of the light, and fear shoots up your spine when you realize what you’re seeing. The door is open again, no mistake this time. You remember closing it before you fell asleep, yet now it stands ajar.

Even though your mind screams that you closed it, a small part of your brain tries to rationalize. Maybe the door didn’t latch properly; maybe it just naturally swings open after a while. You hesitate, then slowly reach out and close the door again, pushing it shut with deliberate care. You wait, holding your breath, but this time, the door stays closed.

Just as you’re about to give up and settle back into sleep, you hear hushed whispers coming from the room on the other side of the hall. Soft, urgent voices, barely loud enough to be understood. “Luda, we need to get it over with already,” Hoyt whispers, his tone low but tense. “Now’s our chance.”

You instinctively edge the door open just a crack, cringing at the incessant creak of the hinges as it swings. Your ears strain to catch what they’re saying, trying to make sense of the hushed voices.

“Charlie, I want to keep this one,” Luda Mae’s voice replies, equally quiet but firm. “I’m not getting any younger, and with you and Thomas so busy, I don’t get much help around here. It’s starting to take a toll on me. Honestly, it would be nice to have a young woman around here, and I know it would do good for my Tommy.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, as you stand frozen in the dark doorway, the weight of what you’ve just overheard sinking in. The color drains from your face, fear settling deep into your stomach and shooting through your bones. Were they talking about you? Were they considering taking you? You hear Hoyt speak up again before your brain can make up another excuse to rationalize the situation.

“Stop calling me that. It’s Hoyt Ma, and dont give me that bulshit, I can just get the boy to help you more, and why would keeping some slut around do him good anyway? It would just distract him more.” Their hushed bickering continues, your hand falls from the handle, your eyes wide as you take a shaky step back. “We can just go up there and get it over with,” you hear him say, you feel sick to your stomach, covering your mouth as bile rises in your throat. You have to do something, and quickly. They will be up here soon.

Your eyes frantically search the room, there isn't any safe place to hide, they would expect you to be under the bed or in the cramped closet. Your sight gets caught on a window, tiptoeing over to the windowsill, you try to open it. It resists but opens. Along the house, going up is old lattice, aged and most likely rotten. You hesitate, being on the second story means the drop could be fatal if you hit your head, but all apprehension is quickly forgotten when the sound of muffled footsteps comes from inside the house.

Your body is filled with adrenaline, you're quick to crawl through the window, you grab the window for stability, setting your foot on the aged lattice. Soon your whole body is through the window, the lattice barely holding on do to how old it is. By the time you’re halfway down, they are in the room, Hoyt’s voice can be heard as he realizes you've disappeared “Damnit! The bitch is gone! Tommy! Tommy wake your ass up!” his voice is urgent as he calls through the house.

The wood creaks and groans under your weight as you quickly try to descend. As your foot rests on the next hole, it breaks, your balance is thrown off, and the sudden movement causes the part you're holding on to break off as well. You’re sent tumbling to the ground, falling into dead brush, it doesn't do much to lessen your fall, pain shoots through you as you hit your foot, a sickening crack sounding through the air, a pained yelp following shortly after.

The man peeks his head out through the window. Upon seeing your body amongst the shrubs, he grins, “There she is!” his body leans back in, and he's no doubt going to come out here. Even as the pain emanating from your food wracks through your entire body, you stand up and limp away. Adrenaline courses through your body, and you can feel the fear pumping in your veins, causing you to run faster. Far behind you, the front door slams open, and the revving of a chainsaw can be heard; there's no doubt in your mind they are coming for you.

Every part of your being shakes with fear as you run, your mind struggles to comprehend that this is reality. The entire time you were there, they were plotting to kidnap you and do god knows what. Tears prick your eyes at the sound of loud footsteps hitting the ground rapidly, in your terror-stricken mind, it feels as if the entire earth shakes under the man's steps, each time his boots hit the ground feels as if it sends a painful anxiety through your very being. His chainsaw is revving behind you, like a constant purr emitting from the engine; it's so loud that it feels like it's right behind you. You wince as small branches thwack against your face, your scalp burns as your hair gets caught up in twigs, you push on, you can't afford to stop running.

Suddenly, everything stops as you come crashing down against the dirt, your injured foot had gotten snagged in the vines under you, causing you to tumble to the ground. Before you can pick yourself, Thomas’s hand grabs at the back of your skull, tugging you backwards, your pained yell reverberates through the cold midnight air.

Before the man can do anything, Hoyt comes up from behind him, a 12-gauge resting against his shoulder. A shit eating grin spreads along his face. “Now, now Tommy, let's just bring her back. Gonna show her what happens when a little birdie thinks they can just fly away.” You so desperately want to scream, to yell, but the pain coursing through your body hinders you from doing so.

Tommy stops his chainsaw, casting it aside on the ground, and goes to reach you. His calloused hands grip your waist, and he hoists you on his shoulder. Even as you fight against him, it's impossible to escape his iron grasp. After he places you on his shoulder, keeping his arm wrapped around you, he leans down and grabs the chainsaw with his free hand. You become lightheaded from this position, causing you to feel drowsy as he makes his journey back to the house with you on his shoulder.

Even though you're locked firmly on his shoulder, that doesn't stop you from trying just about anything to get out. Your fingers claw and dig into his back, and then you sink your teeth into his arm, which causes him to let out a pained groan and stumble, but before you can take advantage of it, Hoyt smacks you. A searing slap that causes your mouth to let go. “I will pull out every one of your fucking teeth with a pliers if you do that to my nephew again.” his words cause you to immediately stop.

They reach the porch, dread fills you as you are once again brought into this house, tears drip from your eyes and onto the back of Thomas’ shirt. Luda Mae sees them carrying you, she instantly starts to complain to Hoyt, “Hoyt, I told you I wanted to keep this one, look how roughed up she is!” he sets his gun down in its case before turning back to Luda, they seem to argue a lot. “Ma, you can't be serious.” She keeps a stern face, and he groans. Their argument quickly continues.

You can feel your heart pumping, your consciousness barely hanging on as pressure builds up in your brain from hanging like this for so long. Their words are muffled in your head, and just when you're about to slip into unconsciousness, you're tossed on the ground, you cough and sputter as you try to sit up. Your wrists are quickly grabbed. “Get her in the basement, Tommy,” he sharply orders.

His grip on your wrists is bruising, his grip like steel as your body is dragged behind him against the dusty wooden floor. He tugs you down the stairs, your body bumping down each step. Your back is submerged in the cold water on the basement floor. You kick and scream, trying to get out, but to no avail. The air is knocked out of your lungs when he shoves you against the stone wall, his hot and heavy breaths hitting your face as he looks down at you with anger. Before he could do anything to you, Hoyt called out for him from the top of the stairway. “Get your ass up here tommy.” He calls out to Tommy, the argument upstairs between him and Luda still going. Tommy’s gaze turns away from your thrashing body to look up at him.

“I said, get up here, boy!” Hoyt barks out impatiently. Thomas is quick to move; he grabs the rope sitting on top of a shelf and is quick to get you tied up. He binds your wrists together swiftly, the tight knots keeping your hands behind your back. He then grabs your ankle, pain shoots through your foot as he ties your ankles together. After he's done, he's quick to leave you abandoned in the murky water that covers the dank cellar floor. Turning and heading up the stairs, Thomas is quick to go to where he is needed without question. Hoyt keeps his eyes on you the entire time, licking his lips lke a damn dog. “You just sit tight now, Darlin’.”

The door slams shut and rattles ominously. You squirm in the water, trying to get up from the ice-cold water. You manage to set yourself upright against the cellar wall. You cough and sputter from the muddy water. After finally managing to catch your breath, you let out ear-piercing screams. “Please help me!” you screech, fat salty tears rolling down your cheeks, dripping off your chin. Even as you try to fight against your horrifying circumstances, you know deep down there is no one out here to save, not anything for miles. Your screaming subsides, your throat scratchy from the previous drawn-out screams as you sob quietly.

Everything hurts. Your mind is filled with nothing but the agonizing pain of your body and the terrifying truth of your situation. The pain is so deep, spikes of aching, throbbing pain shoot through each bone in your body. Without a doubt, you know you at least fractured your foot, and with the adrenaline rush dissipating from your body, the pain only increases to an agonizing degree. Their shouts of disagreement are muffled, barely heard in the foul-stenched basement. As your eyes adjust, you can now see everything scattered across the basement, and you wish you could unsee it. You wish this would all disappear.

A large table is illuminated by a small lightbulb hanging above it, blood and meaty residue are strewn across the table, alongside tools which were no doubt used in the carnage. Meat hooks are lined on the farthest wall, ones that are still occupied. A skinned corpse hangs from a hook, being bled out into the bucket below it. Gone are its skin, eyes, and hair. Some limbs are missing, a leg missing from all the way up to their thigh, fingers snapped off, and the meat of the breasts is completely gone. The sight sets a deep pit into your stomach, the image is something you can never forget, even if you push it into the deepest parts of your mind.

Even when you turn away, you can't stop the fluid from pushing up and out of your mouth. Chunky puke splatters across your chest and into the water below, and you grimace at the feeling. You turn away successfully as you heave out another wave of vomit, rising in the water that you're forced to be in. Even turning away didn't help, looking up to the shelves, you see jars of different body parts of humans and animals alike. Eyes, teeth, fingers, ears, and things you can't even tell what they are. Your eyes clamp shut, you wail in agony, you want nothing more than for all of this to end. “Please,” you beg to no one. “Help me!” you scream in agony, a futile attempt in the end.

Time seems to stretch on forever in this basement, a cold, painful truth that this i your reality, and there is nothing you can do about it. The words of their yelling from upstairs soon just become a buzzing noise in your mind, and your eyes stare blankly ahead of you. This is all real, the blood, the meat, the ropes digging into your wrists and ankles, the very people upstairs who have kidnapped you are real. Your chest heaves and your breathing quickens as you are forced to take in this reality. You crawl deep into your mind, trying to forget that this is all real.

“This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.” You repeat. Soon, your eyes flutter shut, tears flowing just as quickly as they were earlier, as your body starts to shut down. Gone is the adrenaline, the push to keep on trying; your body is worn out, and pain is your only feeling and emotion at this instant. You can't keep up with everything that has happened, and you slowly begin to fall back asleep.

[misteria247]

1981, New Jersey

Every night it's the same. Whenever she closed her eyes for the night, she was greeted with the same scene. A forest, vast and dark, surrounding her from every side. Greyish hues of pine trees covered in the harsh Oregon snow of winter. A startling white blanket of cold and ice that covered the ground. Yet she never felt the cold. Staring at her surroundings, she looked for the thing that's been missing since winter.

She looked for her sons.

Calling out to them, fighting against the world around her. Hoping for any response. Never receiving none. But instead, something else. It took a moment, but then she heard it. The shrill bringing of a telephone. Screeching over the howling wind. Waiting for someone to pick up and answer. As soon as she heard it, just as she'd done every night for the past two weeks, Caryn Pines bolted towards the sound. Desperate to get to the phone this time before its ringing ceased entirely. Her heels caught on hidden rocks and roots, causing her to swear before she kicked them off. The red heels quickly being buried in the snow. She couldn't miss it, she had to get to that telephone. Caryn continued her running tread, praying that the phone would continue to guide her.

'Please just ring a few more minutes..!'

Just as she began to run out of breath she finally came across something. Something entirely new. A shack like house, abandoned and buried in snow. A location she knew.

Stanford and Stanley's home.

Her sons.

Caryn didn't dally too long, realizing that the phone ringing was coming from inside the home that once housed her youngest sons. As she grew closer, the older Pines woman noted something. The shack was seemingly ruined. Windows shattered and the front door hanging on a hinge. As if it'd been broken down. And there staining the snow, was blood. Her stomach twisted.

'It's a dream, it's not important. Go to the telephone. Before it stops ringing.'

Her brain urged her, forcing her to step up the steps and into the shack. It was even worse inside, books, papers and furniture was overturned or scattered. Broken glass and tools littered the floors. Splatters of blood painted the wooden floors and stairs. But she paid no mind to them. In this realm, where dreams resided, where the thin line between the world and the other side blurred, these things were of no use. No it was that telephone.

The communication between the waking and dreaming world.

And thankfully, it was still ringing. Its screaming ringtone was deafening, the closer she got to its source. Up the stairs she went, avoiding the blood and debris. Stepping into the hall she finally saw what she was looking for. The thing she's been hearing every night. With caution she stepped towards the phone, hand reaching out she grasped the phone piece and picked it up.

"Hello....?"

She greeted, her New Jersey accent sounding strange in the sudden quiet. Caryn listened, hearing the static on the other side, whispers and other sounds filling her ears. Then finally she heard it.

"......a......Ma.....?"

Caryn's breath caught in her throat.

"Stanley...! Stanley sweetheart can you hear me?"

She asked fighting the reaction she was feeling. Finally after all the searching, of trying to pinpoint one of her sons, she got through to one. Stanley, on the other end let out a gurgling noise, his voice muffled. Distant.

"Stanley can you tell Ma where you are? Where Stanford is?"

Another static sound, the strange whispers growing. Now no longer in the phone, but now in the very house itself. Caryn felt her skin break out into goosebumps at the realization.

"........cold........dark......Ma........it's so cold.......can't see....."

Stan's voice, raspy and muffled said. It sounded small, like it wasn't really there.

"Stanley-"

".....hurts.....it hurts.......Ma......Ma help us.....Ma-"

It happened swiftly.

One moment Caryn was hearing her son and then she was hearing him scream. It wasn't a scream, like he let out when startled or annoyed. It was a primal scream. Full of pain and fear. It was a scream that had her gripping the phone cradle, her knuckles white.

"STANLEY-! STANLEY BABY TALK TO ME-!"

Caryn shrieked into the phone, a feeling of helplessness consuming her as she listened to her youngest scream. The static from the other side mingled with them, creating a horrible symphony. The whispers from the house grew louder, buzzing incessantly around her. Just as she was about to cry out for her youngest once more a new sound came through the phone. A choking sound, followed by a gurgling, thick and wet sounding. Then......Stanley went quiet.

'No.....'

"YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE FORTUNE TELLER."

A new voice, loud and grating and full of ear piercing static and white noise said. Caryn felt her heart pound, rage consuming her.

"Where is he? WHERE IS MY SON? WHERE ARE MY BOYS?!?"

She hissed, ignoring the voice inside screaming at her to hang up.

"GONE. AND SO ARE YOU."

Caryn Pines flung up in her bed, gasping and flushed and pale. In the bed across the room, her husband Filbrick was fast asleep. The fortune teller trembled, the dream, no the peek onto the other side haunting her. She could still hear Stanley's screams despite being awake.

With a choked noise, the psychic placed a hand over her mouth and began to silently sob.

Her sons were gone.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 2

Hit me Hard & Soft

word count - 1.6k

A/N - dont forget to like and rb ♡

Starting next week, my new posting schedule will be Tuesdays & Thursdays! Stay tuned!

Billie's POV

Sitting in my studio, I tweaked with the autotune feature to perfect the extended version of L’amour De Ma Vie. I didn’t realize it was already 5AM until my phone buzzed. I looked down at my lap as the screen lit up, showcasing a text from Remy.

Remy: Wish me luck! Fingers crossed I’m not fired after last week. 5:02am

Billie: 🤞🏻 5:02am

Billie: I’ll pick you up later and we’ll head to the Rolling Stone interview together? 5:03am

My eyes glossed over the screen waiting for her to reply, as I straightened my back on the chair. I locked it and put it on the table, returning my focus to my production set up. With the amount of bullshit she’s dealing with, I have a feeling Remy might bail today and I can’t blame her. In the back of my mind, I wished she wouldn’t. Finneas was so busy with his own album, so I told him to do his own thing tonight. Truth is, I didn’t want to show up to any of these things alone. Was that selfish? Lately, everything I feel is amplified, including that lonely, empty feeling I get around normal people bedtime. That’s when I did my best writing in the past year. It’s nerve-racking having all of my thoughts and emotions broadcasted to the world, and now that the tour is coming up, all I can think about is how I’ll do it alone.

The phone buzzed, bringing me out of my own mind. Upon opening, I sighed and replied while getting up to finally go to bed.

Remy: I’ll just meet you there. I have a lot of work to do today I don’t wanna make you late. 5:15am

Billie: Okay, see you there. 5:15am

𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼

The alarm rattled my brain, startling me to death. I flopped down my arm, patting around next to me and managed to find the source. My phone had 2 missed calls and a text from Remy. She let me know she’d be a bit late but would make it no matter what. Pulling a hair tie out of my tangled mess, I dragged my tired body out of bed to get ready for the interview.

𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼

“Billie, you’re going to be sitting over here, and Gabe is going to be interviewing you today, sitting over there.”

The coordinator waved me over in the right direction. I sat quietly and waited for the crew to finish up lighting and camera. Eventually, my interviewer walked over and made himself comfortable.

I laughed in disbelief and looked over at the coordinator, “Gabe?”

“Yup.” He leaned forward, holding his hand out to shake mine. He looked so pleased with himself. I ignored his reach, raising my brow. “Okay… nice to see you again, Billie.” He sat back and stifled a laugh.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, and glared at him. Thinking about having to act civil around this piece of garbage for the cameras is making me sick. God, I cannot stand him and his stupid face.

“Are we ready?” He cleared his throat.

I adjusted in my seat, looking around one more time past the studio lights and saw no Remy. “Yeah.” I could tell these bright lights would bring on a wave of tics, if not the unfortunate situation before me. Cameras closed in and the interview began.

I was basically on autopilot, trying not to destroy this man with my eyes. The last time I was face to face with Remy’s ex was 2 years ago. I was screaming at him to get the fuck out of her apartment. She made him pick up his things after he broke up with her for some other girl. Gabe swore he was just chasing a job offer in NYC, but Remy had seen messages between him and someone else planning to meet up. I stood at Remy’s side as he denied everything. He started a crazy argument and threw a glass across the room. I was on the other side of the room faster than he could react. Remy had never seen me that angry before.

“So! Your fans want to know. Who did you write Lunch about?” Gabe asked, knowing it would piss me off.

“That’s what you want to ask me? Of all things?” I laughed.

“Curious if I know her, is all.” He shifted in his seat and shrugged, nonchalantly. I wanna rip off his dumb smirk so bad.

I looked over at the cameras to have my very own The Office moment, but my eyes were drawn to none other than Remy. She awkwardly stood with her arms folded. I gave her a satisfied smile and when she waved at me, I quickly realized this is the last situation she probably wanted to walk into.

“No, It’s just a metaphor. I want people to think about who they want to eat for lunch. It’s just a fun song.” I crossed my legs and resumed eye contact with him, reminding myself to not look unfriendly for the cameras.

“You’re obviously very private about your love life.” He flipped through his notecards. I tilted my head, focusing on how stupid his stage voice sounds. “You came out last year-”

“This isn’t exactly news.” I squinted my eyes, smiling sarcastically. “Do you have any questions about my new album, Gabe?” I chuckled a bit.

He laughed, brushing me off. He asked a few questions about the album and I dragged out the answers as much as I could, so he wouldn’t have time to ask anymore stupid questions.

I managed to muscle through the rest of the interview and as soon as it was over I walked over to Remy, leaving him behind.

We walked into the room I left my phone in. “What the fuck.” Remy mouthed and pulled me into a hug.

“I know, let’s fucking go.” I grabbed her arm and started walking towards the exit.

“Remy! Hey!” Gabe shouted, making his way over to us. “How have you been?”

I could feel Remy mentally wilting away. “Good, good…Crazy seeing you here.” She spoke softly, smiling timidly.

“Well, I’ve been great!” He held his arms out, arrogant as can be, as if anyone asked.

“Did New York not work out?” I butted in.

“It did, but Los Angeles is home, you know?” He responded matter-of-factly, not even bothering to look at me. “You know I just chase better gigs. Better opportunities.”

“Yeah… Good for you, I’m happy for you, Gabe.” She smiled, keeping her voice sweet and mellow.

“You still working at uhh…” This idiot couldn’t even remember where she worked. I always hated him. He didn’t care enough about her. She deserved way better.

“Yeah, I’m-“ Remy was cut off.

“Maybe we should grab lunch one day. Catch up, you know?” He stepped closer to her.

I watched her face as she struggled to come up with an excuse. “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe-“

“She’s actually good, she just doesn’t want to hurt your little feelings.” I crinkled my nose as I forced a smile at him, turning us towards the door.

“Billie, it’s fine-“ Remy grabbed my arm with her free hand and held it there.

Gabe laughed, knowing how deep under my skin he could get. “You look good, Rem. We’ll talk later without distractions.” He looked her up and down, licking his bottom lip.

I glared at him, imagining me shoving him away from her just like I did a couple years ago.

He looked down at me and paused for a second, his lips forming an overly confident smirk. He stood close enough for me to smell that gross overpowering cologne. I could feel myself tensing up and clenching my jaw.

“What, you don’t get enough attention?” I lifted my chin, looking in his dark eyes.

He breathed out a laugh, poking his tongue into his cheek. “Why, you want to share some with me?”

I took a step forward, causing Remy to put her arm between us. “Come on, Billie.” She put some pressure on his chest, causing him to lean back a bit. “Let’s go.”

He looked down at Remy’s hand pressing on his chest, then back at me sneering.

“Billie, please.” I let Remy pull me away, knowing if I stayed any longer I’d break something on his face.

He laughed to himself. “It was nice seeing you both. Good to see nothing has changed.”

“Yeah, absolutely nothing.” Remy emphasized, pushing me in front of her so we’d walk away.

We walked out past the fans screaming and reaching their hands through the holes on the fence, and straight into her car. As much as it killed me not to say goodbye to them, I didn’t have it in me to fake it.

“I hated that.” Remy began, starting her car and letting out a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Remy, I could not stand his stupid fucking face. He was doing that shit to be disrespectful and I’m not gonna let him-“

“You can’t do shit like that! What if someone saw and wrote or posted about it?”

I put my seatbelt on, knowing I could’ve taken the high road.

“Dude you’re not actually thinking about seeing him right?”

“What? No! Why would I?” She pulled out of the parking lot, careful not to hit any fans.

“You seemed happy to see him.” I looked out the window as the people waving blurred from the increase in speed.

“No. I wasn’t. I just wasn’t going to attack him in front of his coworkers, Billie.”

“His team wasn’t in the room.” I mumbled.

She didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry, I just fucking hate him. He’s such a piece of shit.”

“Shit, did you date him too?” She laughed under her breath, looking over at me momentarily.

I laughed, shaking my head and realizing how fast things escalated. My body finally relaxed, sinking into the seat and running my hands through my hair.

[l-o-v-emergency]

defense offended ! - lalakingkapitbahay as ka-grupo mo sa research (+ rating n/10)

bumibida: lalakingkapitbahay

uri: ewan ko hc ata tawag dun, bullet, tagalog, medj funny

tala ng manunulat: tinatakbuhan ko mga pending ko so eto. sana magparamdam na mga noypi juandoors na nagtatago diyan

sungho

♡ laging leader

♡ kaso since naging leader na siya last sem pinagbawalan na siya maging leader ulit

♡ pinaka productive at reliable na member

♡ since may experience na siya sa pagiging leader, alam niya lahat ng hirap at pagod ng pagiging leader

♡ kaya naman lagi siyang maaga magpasa ng rrl

♡ speaking of rrl

♡ magaling siya maghanap ng rrl

♡ sasabihin niyang gscholar, researchgate at scihub lang din naman gamit niya pero ang ganda ng lahat ng rrl niya

♡ responsive din siya sa messenger (lord where ganitong member)

♡ helping hand literal, bibigyan ka ng advice nung napansin niyang lumalabas na true colors ng members niyo

♡ "dapat diyan nilalaglag" bukambibig niya sayo pag may ghoster na member

♡ minsan pa siya na kumakausap sa members niyo kapag unti unti na silang naglalaho

♡ kasi alam niyang busy ka mag proof read at mag edit ng docs

♡ kaya nagugulat ka na lang minsan biglang narereincarnate mga ibang members niyo

♡ halos asst leader mo na siya dahil sa sobrang participative niya

♡ kaya naging crush mo siya during research eh

♡ main slayer ng defense niyo

♡ dahil sa kanya yung panelist pa ang nagisa

♡ overall 100/10 super gandang maging ka group

riwoo

♡ laging wala sa meeting

♡ nasa meeting minsan pero naglalaro naman ng ml

♡ ayaw mo talaga siyang kagroup nung una kasi mukhang pabigat

♡ surprisingly maambag naman

♡ lagi nga lang nagccram

♡ madalas pag nagpapasa ng assigned part niya patulog ka na ng madaling araw

♡ dont judge a book by its cover talaga

♡ since di mo nga kasi ganun pa siya kakilala binigay mo lang def of term sa kanya sa ch1

♡ pero nung ch2 nagulat ka kasi ang ganda ng mga local lit na pinasa niya

♡ tapos sa ch3 din nagulat ka kasi maayos din write ups niya

♡ plus siya na lang talaga maasahan mo kasi yung iba niyong kagroup nangghost na

♡ mahirap lang talaga siya kausapin kasi lagi siyang naglalaro

♡ online sa ml pero di nagrereply sa messenger

♡ pero maayos naman siyang member

♡ buhat na buhat din niya ch4 niyo sa totoo lang

♡ medyo tahimik lang siya sa defense

♡ sasabihin lang niya nasa script niya pero nakakasagot naman sa gisa

♡ 9/10 maayos na member pero mahirap makausap

myung jaehyun

♡ on par toh kay sungho baks if not mas magaling pa ata

♡ i dont mean this in an insulting way pero personality wise kasi diba di mo naman ineexpect na academic achiever toh si teh

♡ pero achiever si mj irl mas active lang talaga si sungho sa extracurriculars kaya lagi siyang ginagawang designated brain

♡ medyo intimidating siya sa simula

♡ kaya ayun medyo off siya nung una niyong meeting

♡ pero that same day nung gabi nagulat ka kasi nagpm siya sayo

♡ he lowkey felt bad kasi na medyo parang awkward siya kaya sa chat niya na lang sinabi mga ideas niya for research topics na hindi niya nasabi kanina

♡ siyempre yung kanya yung napili ng research adviser niyo kasi maganda mga topics niya

♡ super duper reliable niya???? like andami niyang alam na mga unknown but credible sources sa rrl niyo

♡ ikaw leader pero siya ang taga proofread niyo

♡ responsive din niya

♡ very opinionated pero in a good way, hindi yung "diko sure diko alam kayo na bahala" type of member

♡ lagi siyang nagbibigay ng inputs sa gawa mo especially sa write ups mo tas super helpful ng mga sinasabi niya

♡ nakutuban mo na eh pero dinismiss mo lang as paghanga

♡ pero nung defense niyo na dun ka na nafall (HUI)

♡ halimaw siya sa presentation, napaka eloquent niya magsalita

♡ buhat na buhat niya grupo niyo kaya naman di na masyado nagtanong sa inyo after presentation, defended agad paper niyo 10/10

taesan

♡ ghoster

♡ di nagsasalita sa meeting

♡ di nagrereply sa messenger

♡ pabigat yan si teh

♡ eme lang hindi naman

♡ sakto lang naman

♡ pero madalas nga kasi siyang wala sa meeting niyo after class kasi may practice siya sa banda

♡ so chinachat mo na lang siya sa mga napagusapan niyo at kung anong naka assign sa kanya

♡ di siya nagseseen sa gc kaya nagppm ka na lang tapos iseseen ka lang niya

♡ super corporate typing vibes chatbox niyo purely research lang talaga

♡ you: nagsend ng MoM at assigned part niya

♡ taesan: seen tapos the next day ipapasa niya gawa niya

♡ at least hindi siya late magpasa and hindi rin basura writings niya

♡ super kabado ka for him nung defense niyo kasi nga di siya nagpupunta ng meeting kaya ginawan mo siya ng pointers

♡ maayos naman defense niyo minor revisions lang

♡ pero nagulat ka lang na after nun parang nagkaroon ng something sa inyo ni taesan

♡ dati di kayo naguusap at all pero after defense nagugulat ka na lang may chat siya nagtatanong tungkol sa assignment niyo

♡ minsan binabati ka niya pag napapadaan ka sa harap niya

♡ hala parang gusto mo na tuloy manood sa gig mg banda niya

♡ 7/10

leehan

♡ awa na lang lord, super ghoster as in

♡ di mo makakausap sa chat kahit kailan

♡ sa personal naman natatakot kang kausapin siya

♡ kung may boys at the back, ito boy at the side

♡ laging sa may dingding nakadikit tapos mag-isa lang siya usually

♡ tapos napaka serious pa ng face niya

♡ kaya siya na mismo lumapit sayo nung narealize niyang intimidated ka sa kanya

♡ hindi daw talaga siya gumagamit ng cellphone kaya ganun

♡ so ang naging set up niyo ay dun kayo sa bahay niya gumagawa ng parts niyong dalawa + wala ka din proper study space sa bahay niyo

♡ nung una kala mo pancit canton na lang iaambag niya kasi inoffer nga niyang sa bahay na lang niya kayo gumawa

♡ pero super matulungin naman siya

♡ not as good as mj or sungho pero hes really really helpful tapos fast learner din

♡ parang si riwoo, kung ano lang nasa script niya yun lang sasabihin niya

♡ pero nung may follow up questions sa kanya nasasagot naman niya

♡ after defense niyo grabe ang gulat ng tc niyo kasi may ibubuga naman pala yung pinakatahimik na bata sa klase niyo

♡ 6/10 okay naman ka group medyo handful lang

woonhak

♡ pancit canton

♡ jk

♡ ayaw niya talaga ng research (who doesnt tbh)

♡ nung una kala mo talaga magiging pabigat toh

♡ hindi naman siya pabigat pero

♡ nung una talaga wala siyang maiambag kasi wala talaga siyang alam

♡ paano eh walang ginawa kun'di matulog sa klase tas paggising basketball atupag

♡ he feels bad kaya siya na nagkusa na manghingi ng tulong sayo

♡ siyempre hindi ka tumanggi, kanya kanyang effor toh pero lahat naman kayo magsheshare sa grade

♡ mabilis naman matuto

♡ very maaasahan sa survey and lahat ng lakarin na kailangan niyo

♡ isang ngiti lang niya nakapirma na ng waiver/approval/permit letter lahat ng nilalapitan niyong need niyo ng pirma

♡ minsan late magpasa ng part niya pero pag nagpasa maayos naman gawa

♡ hindi man siya ganun ka masalita pero ramdam mo naman efforts niya

♡ parehas kayong puyat kasi magdamag na inaaral bawat kasulok sulukan ng research niyo

♡ nagprint pa yan siya ng script niya sa presentation

♡ first time niyo makitang kabado bente

♡ pero would slay and eat his part sa defense

♡ pati follow up questions (gisa) nasasagot niya naman without needing your help

♡ 9/10 would reco maging ka group

♡ very maeffort and hardworking

[letaot-ze-magniv]

General guide to birds in Israel pt 2- cooler birds

This will be a long post. Link to part 1

White spectated bulbul/bul-bul me-mush-kaf

Usually referred to as just bulbul, this bisexual king is the roundest and my most favourite bird. IMPORTANT! BULBUL MEANS DICK! DO NOT TALK ABOUT YOUR LOVE FOR BULBULIM IN PUBLIC!

These birds are slightly larger then the house sparrow and are easily distinguished by their yellow butt. Their calls are reminiscent of frogs. They mate for life and are all bisexual and they cuddle each other. They are a menace to farmers because they are fond of fruit and tend to nibble just a little at a time. You can find them in all parts of Israel as long as there are nice trees nearby.

Eurasian blackbird/shakh-rur

These timid birds like to hide in bushes and trees. Their calls are beautiful and I love them. They are smaller then a pigeon. The males are black and the females are brown. They feed on seeds, fruits and bugs, and use their beaks to search the ground for worms. You can find them in Jerusalem and the north, they like cool weather and don’t fuck with sand.

Great tit/yar-ge-zi ma-tzui

Life isn’t easy for these tiny psychopaths, which might be the reason they developed such a temper. Their Hebrew name translates to “angry one”, and for a reason. They are very aggressive towards other birds. They also feed on the brains of bats. You can distinguish between males and females by the thickness of the black stripe on their belly- males have a thicker one than females. They are most common to the north of Jerusalem, but you can find them in some parts of the desert.

Palestine sunbird/tzu-fit bo-he-ket

No, that’s not a hummingbird, it’s the sunbird! Despite their remarkable likeness they aren’t even a little related. Sunbirds feed on nectar and are pollinators! The males have black feathers that shine in the sunlight (which is how they got their name) and the females are a muddy grey, but they’re just as lovely. You can find them in all parts of Israel, especially near lush flowery areas!

White wagtail/nakh-li-e-li la-van

First migrant bird everyone!!! (Some blackbirds migrate here but some nest during summer so shhhh) This lovely round bird starts it’s visits around October and leaves when it gets hellishly warm again. Due to global warming the wagtails visits are shortening, so appreciate them while you can. Like their name suggests, the wagtails wag their tails. A lot. You can find them near water sources during the cold-ish months of the year!

Eurasian jay- or-va-ni shkhor ki-pa

Eurasian jays can be found in other parts of the world, but I’m pretty sure the one we have in Israel is a different sub-species because the ones in Europe lack the beautiful black top that they’re named after.

The jay is a type of corvid, and in addition to being extremely social and intelligent, these birds can mimic other animals. Due to urbanisation, the jays learned to mimic car alarms, the ringing of phones and the cries of human babies. Jays are extremely fond of acorns, and burry them in the ground in preparation for harsher months. A single jay can remember between 4000 to 5000 hiding spots!

Syrian woodpecker/ na-kar su-ri

This picture is of a male woodpecker. The females have a completely black head. Woodpeckers can locate bugs that have burrowed inside trees and use their beak and long tongues to eat them, thereby helping the trees get rid of pests! Woodpeckers also love acorns, and compete with jays over them. To prevent concussions, the woodpecker’s tongue wraps around their brain, keeping it in place while they peck. You can find them in non-desert areas of Israel!

Lesser whitethroat/siv-khi to-kha-nim

Another migrant birds! These floofballs come here twice a year, once in spring and once in autum, although some whitethroats nest in the north all year long. During their migration you can find them everywhere in Israel, even in very urban areas! They get their Hebrew name, which roughly translates to miller’s shrubbery-liker, because their white chests look how a miller’s apron would look after a long hard day!

Super winged lapwing/sik-sak

The siksaks are water birds with ridiculously long legs that they use to stab their prey. They kind of look like they are wearing a tux! Their original Hebrew name was “sharoni mezuyan”, which translates to “one that lives in the Sharon and is armed with a weapon” but also “fucking sharoni”. You can find them anywhere in Israel as long as there is a near enough water source.

White breasted kingfisher/shal-dag la-van kha-ze

One of my favorite birds. The kingfisher is a magnificent bird of prey with brilliant blue feathers that always make my day. They are most common in the north and west of Israel, but they nest in smaller numbers in the south. They kingfisher’s diet consists of not only fish, but of crabs, frogs, slugs, bugs, and even the occasional rodent. Their varied diet helps them thrive even in drier areas.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

What Superman Taught Me About Saving the Planet

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/what-superman-taught-me-about-saving-the-planet/

Well, 2024 is just about wrapped up–and what a year it’s been! A lot of us find the holidays to be reflective as well as celebratory, and I think it would be fair to say that after this year a lot of us are just downright exhausted. That’s why it’s important for us to turn off the news and work emails and other serious things, and give ourselves some much-needed “brain breaks” as I like to call them. As I’ve been indulging in some time off during my winter break, it’s gotten me thinking about what attracts me to various fictional media and the characters within–and how I can never really escape the things that are most important to me.

Most of you all know me through my natural history work, but hang around me long enough and it becomes glaringly obvious that I’m a pretty big nerd, too. I play D&D and other tabletop roleplaying games a few times a month, my comfort movies include The Lord of the Rings trilogy and multiple Studio Ghibli movies, and I’ve enjoyed comic books since I was in my single digits. I started out with my sister’s old Archie comics and the compendium of Walt Kelly’s Pogo strips that I read near to falling apart every time we visited my paternal grandmother. I’ve since expanded to a variety of comics ranging from the past few decades of DC/Marvel superhero fodder to a hodgepodge of indie titles and even the occasional manga (lately I’ve been borrowing my best friend’s collection of Dungeon Meshi.)

What's all this have to do with nature and Superman and saving the planet? Click "keep reading" to find out!

Walt Kelly was also my introduction to political and social commentary, even if I didn’t understand a lot of it until I was older. (Image source here.)

As I’ve gotten older, I find myself revisiting characters I’ve been rather ho-hum about in the past, including the big three DC flagship heroes. Historically I’ve enjoyed the exploits of the Bat-Family (the Cataclysm/No Man’s Land arc will always be a favorite re-read), and Gail Simone’s fresh takes got me interested in Wonder Woman again. But Superman? The Big Blue Boy Scout? I hadn’t really paid much attention to him since Smallville was first on TV (though admittedly I did mock the ’90s mullet a few years prior). I haven’t gotten caught up on the Injustice years, in part because I heard secondhand how much the writers just absolutely slaughtered Superman’s characterization by turning him into an absolute totalitarian. And I haven’t been impressed by what I’ve seen of Zack Snyder’s edgy version of him, either.

To be very honest, I’m rather tired of the tendency to grimdark everything that started out as vaguely wholesome (*coughRiverdalecough*). I can appreciate that sort of subversion from an artistic perspective, but personally I’ve grown weary of tragedy, dystopia, and depressing endings. I guess I’ve spent so much time trying to keep myself buoyed up while working to make this world a better place that I can’t get into vicarious distress via media. Hence my leaning harder into Ghibli movies, re-reading Linda Medley’s Castle Waiting collections (my all-time favorite graphic novels!), and other stories that manage to avoid being saccharine while wrapping up with a happy ending.

So it’s no surprise that when this set of panels from Superman Red and Blue #5 first caught my attention a while back, I was intrigued. I feel that Daniel Warren Johnson–who wrote, drew, and lettered the story–really captured the heart of Superman as a character. In every thing he does, he repeats the words that Ma and Pa Kent raised him with from the first moment, no matter how difficult the situation. What people like Snyder often miss is that Supes isn’t just some overpowered, one-dimensional do-gooder in a black and white world. Sure, his earliest appearances in the likes of Action Comics had him beating up the bad guys, but his lore has been expanded since then.

He’s a being of two worlds; he’s had to balance his Kryptonian nature with his Earthly nurture. He came of age on a farm in rural Kansas, raised by two kind-hearted human beings who taught him compassion and responsibility, and helped him adjust to being one of a kind in a world that often punishes differences. He’s polite and kind, and more sensitive than he’s often given credit for. Like any superhero he finds himself having to make difficult decisions, and villains often use his compassion against him (like the classic “two helpless people are in peril–who will you choose to save?” trope, in which our hero manages to save them both). And he’s had to deal with morally gray areas, in which his desire to do what’s right comes up against the question of what “right” really is in that context.

I can relate to that conflict. When we’re kids, I think a lot of us buy into the black and white, good and evil, right and wrong dichotomy we’re fed not just because before a certain point our brains just have trouble parsing a certain level of complexity, but also because the adults in our lives want to protect us from life’s difficulties as long as possible, knowing what we all eventually have to wrestle with. The older we get, the more apparent it becomes that life doesn’t have a lot of easy answers, and situations are rarely simple. As a kid I was convinced all the loggers who wanted to cut down forests where the northern spotted owl (Strix occidentalis caudia) nested were evil, Captain-Planetesque baddies who just wanted to see the world burn. As an adult, I still disagree with the push to log old-growth and otherwise structurally complex forests because I have an even greater understanding of the ecological implications thereof. But I also have more empathy for my fellow human beings who are afraid of losing their livelihood with no easy replacement, victims of the whims of the market and logging company C-suites. And I have the knowledge to understand that domestic sawmill closures are complex and aren’t solely due to the protection of older forests and their endangered denizens.

But I think what I loved the most about Johnson’s panels above is that they show that Superman, born as Kal-El and raised as Clark Kent, never lost his roots in love. His coming to Earth was a last desperate attempt of love by his biological parents, Lara and Jor-El, to save him from a dying planet. And he grew up enfolded in the love of Martha and Jonathan Kent, which he carries with him into every action he takes as Superman, whether he is saving someone from a burning building, visiting kids in a cancer ward, or sharing pizza with a group of homeless people. When he looks upon the populace of Metropolis, and then zooms out to space and looks back at our blue marble of a planet, all he can think to say in that overwhelming moment is “You are special. I love you. I’m so proud of you.”

I know that can be a hard thing to say to our species at this moment in time, as our actions have caused the extinction of so many other species, destroyed their habitats, caused a catastrophic shift in the planet’s many systems. But my psych training is rooted in humanistic psychology, and Carl Rogers’ idea of unconditional positive regard–the idea that even as we hold people accountable for their actions we always extend compassion to them, and hold space for them to do and become better. And I’m also reminded of deep ecologist Arne Naess’ concept of the ecological self, which includes the parameter “We certainly need to hear about our ethical shortcomings from time to time, but we change more easily through encouragement and a deepened perception of reality and our own self.”

And I see that final panel of Superman–Kal-El–Clark Kent–floating in space, beholding the entirety of the Earth and experiencing its beauty and fragility and sheer miraculous existence in what has been termed the Overview Effect. He is embodying the very best of who we can be, creatures so immersed in our love for our fellow living beings and our beautiful planet that it directs our every action. Even with all the ugliness and violence and sheer, unnecessary horrors he has seen people enact, he still holds and embodies immense hope for a better future for everyone, human and otherwise.

And that’s my Superman, who cynicism and malice bounce off of like bullets. Sure, if you look at the character as just a one-note musclebound power fantasy wrapped up in spandex, he’s boring after a while; you can only have so much “beat up the bad guys and save the day” before it becomes rote. But that’s never who he was in the first place. While, like other characters, he will always be influenced by whoever’s writing him this time around, one of Superman’s most enduring fundamental traits is his perennial hope and optimism that no matter how dark things get we will still rally to make the world a better place. And if not letting Superman down is what it takes to keep me trying in the face of insurmountable odds, well, here’s to truth, justice, and a better tomorrow.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes]

For the Broken Ones

30K, RatedE, Stucky, Shrinkyclinks, Tower fic, hurt/comfort

✅ Complete

Tink. Tink. Tink.

A glass of water? Ice in water?

No. Blood. Blood droplets rhythmically hitting a metal surface. This is what Steve hears so loudly in the dark.

Why is it so dark?

Oh. His eyes are closed.

He opens them, blinks away the fog, and sees an attractive redhead smiling at him.

Smiling? Why is Natasha Romanov smiling at him?

Steve frowns and turns his head toward the sound to find his Ma' knitting furiously away with aluminum needles.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

She only does that when she's nervous, worried.

And then a heavy sigh, much too deep to be either woman. Steve turns in the other direction, gaze this time landing on a white cat who is busy making biscuits in a partially finished afghan. Only that's not the source of the sound either.

Steve looks back to Natasha for answers. She's the brains behind the operation, after all. It's strange that she and Sarah and he are all seated around this bed where a white cat kneads into the soft comforter at the end.

He startles, but is stopped by a kind voice.

"Relax, Steve," Romanov coos. Her smile is genuine and soft. "Everything is fine."

The room is not in a hospital. It's too large and comfortable, almost like somebody's apartment. There are large sunny windows and potted plants on the sill, and the furniture is all soft fabrics and overlarge pillows, almost as if someone lives here.

Memories come flooding back, and Steve cringes as he realizes where he is.

"The jet?" he asks, already knowing the answer. "Did I puke everywhere?"

Natasha's laugh is gentle. "Surprisingly not. You did, however, bump your head. I gave you a sedative and a supercharged bump reducer on the plane and Barton held a bag of ice to the swelling while we tended to our runaway. He wouldn't leave the plane without you, so we made a makeshift stretcher and brought the two of you here. Sorry it took you so long to wake up. May have misjudged the dose."

She pauses and Steve understands. He reaches up to touch his forehead and finds a lump. But it doesn't hurt.

"Your mother was here waiting for you. Somehow, she convinced Tony to let her inside. Didn't even bat an eye when she saw Barnes' injuries."

"Oh god!" Steve remembers suddenly. "Bucky! The blood! I think he had a punctured lung, and probably a head injury and —"

He leans forward to get up, but Sarah stops him with a hand on the back of his neck. "Your Bucky's injuries were serious, but nothing I couldn't handle." She winks at him. "And you said 'the Gift' had skipped a generation."

His Ma' is leaning over him, shaking her head, proud. She's dropped her knitting on the bed and is blocking Steve's view of something. Someone. A very important someone.

It's not Steve who's in bed, it's Bucky!

Steve leans to the side and finally, finally sees him.

Bucky's head is bandaged so it looks like he's wearing a newsboy cap. His face is clean except for a few scratches. His one arm lies outside the white covers, crooked over his slowly expanding, deflating, expanding chest. The rest of him is covered in a blanket. Eyes closed, mouth slack, he seems to be sleeping.

Steve pushes past his mother and crouches at Bucky's head, noting bruises under both eyes and a split lip that appears to have already healed. He very carefully rests his palm over the unbandaged spanse of Bucky's forehead. It's hot, feverish. Steve closes his eyes and begs god to pull his friend through.

"It's normal," Natasha explains, rising to her feet and joining Steve on Bucky's opposite side. "The healing agent in his blood sorta goes insane when he's injured. Overkill on the antibodies."

Steve's read the documents: he knows and understands. But it doesn't make it any less scary.

"How long until he's..." Until he's what, exactly? Good as new? Better than before? Does it take anything away from his lifespan, or is Bucky Barnes going to live for—

"You're right about the lung," she says. "Got the shit beat out of him, probably because he wouldn't comply and the trigger words were useless."

That explains the bruises.

"The chip was implanted in his skull and —"

"Don't!"

Steve is strong and isn't bothered by blood, but he doesn't want to hear about any more torture this poor man has been subjected to.

He's still petting Bucky's forehead, and Romanov places her hand on top of his. Steve finds her face sympathetic.

"A day. Sometimes two. His body burns off any sedative we try to give him. That goes for pain meds as well. But he'll knit himself back together and be brooding as usual before long. He'll be fine."

Steve's swallow is audible. Sure. Fine. No added trauma or anything.

Natasha pulls back. Her lips go thin and she frowns, then looks sideways at Sarah where she's standing now, too.

"How did you find him?"

Bucky shifts slightly, head tilting and neck stretching, but he resettles and goes back to sleep. The blue skin of his eyelids is so very delicate looking. Steve has the sudden urge to kiss them.

"I felt him," Steve answers, although that's not exactly what happened. "I dunno. It's hard to explain."

By the way Sarah is nodding and smiling, she knows how to explain. But she keeps her mouth closed and squeezes Steve's upper arm.

"You need rest too," his Ma' says, then kisses the top of his head. "You can answer questions when you've had time to sleep."

Steve smiles at her and her hereditary protective nature, then feels the need to apologize to Romanov. "I'm sorry, Natasha."

"Nat," she corrects. "Everyone calls me Nat. Except for Stark, that is."

And then the two women leave the room. Bucky's room.

Steve turns back once the door clicks closed, and he finds clear blue eyes wide open and watching him.

"Buck!" he cries and almost throws himself at the man. Until he remembers the injuries and stymies his excitement at finding his friend awake.

Bucky smiles as if it hurts, but moves his arm to clutch at the covers. He pulls them away, revealing the bare bruised skin of his hairy chest and torso, the equally naked lower half of his strong body. Steve's heart clenches at the sight, and he cannot refuse the invitation.

"Come here and kiss me," Bucky says, voice but a whisper.

And Steve melts, because how can he not?

He shucks out of his clothes and glides onto cool sheets, curling close to Bucky's molten heat. He's careful, so careful, as Bucky returns the covers. As Steve gets up on his elbow to kiss the scarred skin at the end of what's left of his other arm.

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath, then coughs, and Steve instantly regrets.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to —"

"Shush, you," Bucky growls, then finds Steve's chin with that large hand. "You're not kissing me. We need to fix that."

Bucky's grip is surprisingly strong, and shouldn't Steve have expected as much? Hard lips? Greedy tongue? A moan that thrills him to his core and encourages every last nerve to stand at attention?

The kiss deepens as Steve rolls halfway over Bucky, as he slides one cautious leg over a tense and bulging thigh. Head dizzy and mouth preoccupied by Bucky's incessant kissing, he hears himself groaning when his knee makes gentle contact with a hard and eager erection.

Steve pulls back, gasping. "You were faking?"

He doesn't raise his head off the pillow, but the rest of Bucky's body responds to just how very nakedly close they are. "I couldn't wait for them to leave!"

Bucky's hand brushes down Steve's back until he's got five fingers sunk into Steve's fleshy backside, then pulls their bodies flush. "Nothing turns me on more than being rescued by the man I love."

And, oh. Those words! They're a punch to the gut. Steve grinds his own filling cock into Bucky's hip.

"That's messed up."

"I don't care," Bucky laughs. "Here I was thinking we were too different." Blue eyes keep Steve's attention with unmistakable need. "Nat said you helped bomb the place."

Steve shudders as Bucky's thumb caresses his hole. "Actually —"

That thumb begins circling, pressing more firmly. "That you stole a truck and drove my broken, bleeding ass out of there."

Bucky lifts his pelvis and tips Steve higher. He mouths Steve's neck, the soft spot behind his ear.

Steve moans and hopes his Ma' isn't hearing this. "The truck was already running —"

The blunt tip of Bucky's thumbnail breaches. Shooting stars of sensation pulse through Steve's abdomen. "You carried me through the forest to the jet," he whispers into the scruff on Steve's neck.

Bucky bites Steve's shoulder, and damn, Steve didn't know he was into that.

"With help!" It's a high squeak, because Bucky removes his thumb and fucking rubs it over Steve's bottom lip. Back and forth, wicked smile on his handsome if roughed up face.

Bucky's eyes are dark with desire now. "You didn't leave Alpine behind." And he pushes his thumb into Steve's mouth, over his tongue, against his back teeth. Makes him gag.

"Mm," they both hum together, and Steve loses whatever false sense of control he had.

Steve shoves the covers to the end of the bed and doesn't care that Alpine glowers at him. He straddles Bucky's massive thighs and doesn't care that the door isn't locked. He maneuvers his hips until Bucky's cock catches his rim, and doesn't care that Bucky is quite possibly still in pain. He cares, of course, but something matters more than all these things.

"I love you, too," he whispers, chest pressed against Bucky's, lips on lips and a mad vibration in his throat. "Have since you walked into the shelter all big and scared."

Bucky cocks an eyebrow and palms the small of Steve's back as if to still him.

"Scared of who?"

Steve brushes the suggestion of Bucky's swollen inflamed cockhead.

"Scared of losing someone you care about. Just like I was when you left."

He hopes Bucky catches his meaning.

He does.

"Damn." Bucky's face falls. "I'm sorry. I didn't think —"

Steve is not letting this kill the mood, now that he's caught up in Bucky's body. They can talk about stupid decisions after.

"Shush," he says, taking Bucky's lower lip between his teeth and pulling it gently. He lets go and grinds back, wriggling his hips to catch that incredible dick between his cheeks. "Right now I want you to fuck me until I forget being afraid."

Bucky whimpers, and Steve feels the power switch. And, yeah, maybe they'll do it differently once Bucky is fully healed. But for now, Steve wants this.

Rational thought ceases to be a real thing as Bucky devours Steve's mouth. His arm wraps around Steve's back and he twists them both to the side. When Steve protests, a little bit selfishly, Bucky reaches above Steve's head to rummage in a drawer.

A cap flips open and Steve sits back to see Bucky shoving two fingers into a full jar of Vaseline.

Oh!

There's a grin on Bucky's mouth as his fingers come out coated in semi-transparent jelly. "Do me, will ya? My hand is a little full right now."

Steve laughs as he takes the jar, and then nearly falls out of bed as Bucky pushes those fingers inside.

"Hey!"

Bucky shrugs, mouth open, pulling out and very thoroughly lubricating the whole area. "What! Can't have any chafing, now can we?"

Steve laughs again. He dips his own fingers in the jar and leans back, seeking and finding Bucky's cock. If the rest of him is hot because of the antibodies, his erection is on fire. Steve briefly wonders if friction is the best thing right now.

His fears are calmed when Bucky tips his head back into the pillow. "Fuck!"

"Yeah."

The next thing Steve knows is Bucky's greasy hand on the small of his back, pulling him into another deep kiss. His thoughts go blank, and all he can think or feel or taste is the incredible power Bucky has over him.

Bucky is smiling as he pulls away, and it's so contagious that Steve can't help but copy him. "Ready?" he asks, like a goddamned gentleman.

Steve answers by pulling his knees in closer and shifting his weight on them, reaching behind and finding Bucky's erection to hold him steady. They share a look that sums up everything Steve feels: want, need, comfort, relief.

Anticipation is a bitch, however, and Steve's whole body shakes as he positions himself. He should really go slow, take time to relax his muscles and concentrate on the way his hole opens for Bucky's welcome invasion. Adrenaline pumps his heart full of impatience, and the initial stretch is glorious. Before he can prepare, before either of them have a hold on the moment, Steve is taking in that incredible cock.

It's Bucky who stops them, who comes to his senses. He wraps his arm around Steve's waist and snugs him close. His chest is heaving, lips quivering, eyes wide with emotion. His cock twitches, and Steve gasps. "Steve," he says, low and trembling. "Shit, you're incredible."

Spurred on by Bucky's obvious amazement, and sharing that thought, Steve holds eye contact and sinks. And sinks. And sinks.

"God," he breathes when he can take no more. "God." Bucky's eyes! His eyes!

"You're gonna kill me," is Bucky's response.

Steve shakes his head, his own body flexing and reflexing at the burning, stinging, pulsing sensation. "No." His voice shakes, too. "No. Never. I need you. I need you."

He sees the moment Bucky loses control a split-second before it happens. Something flares in those blue eyes, and he hugs Steve close. Then he's using those incredible abs to hoist them both to a seated position, effectively locking them together.

There's no hesitation, no holding back at this point. Steve's held captive on Bucky's dick, and he rides like their lives depend on it.

A slippery hand makes its way up Steve's back, smearing Vaseline across his spine. In his unfocused state, Steve laughs. He swipes at Bucky's chest between them, wiping his hand in the man's delicious curls there.

Bucky growls, delighted. He smiles a predator's grin, then kicks his pelvis forward and makes Steve shout.

He laughs. Bucky laughs. And Steve didn't know it could be like this.

Their mouths connect again, and they're both moving now. Steve rises and Bucky sucks him back in, and their breath is hot and fast and —

"Fuck," Bucky pants as he jerks his mouth away. "Fuck," he repeats against the side of Steve's face.

Steve is so far gone for this man that he puts his own pleasure in the back of his mind. He tangles one hand into Bucky's hair, and the other low where his bulging backside touches the bed. He whispers Bucky's name and a string of encouraging words, and tightens his movements until Bucky's cock is very, very deep.

Bucky is quiet when he comes, even though his body shakes apart. He clings to Steve with that one arm and grunts out his release.

Steve feels the pressure of Bucky's ejaculation, the pulse and force of his load inside. His own gut clenches and a thrill shoots up his spine. And it's good. It's so damn good.

Like this, spent and satisfied, Bucky is pliant, and he goes down easily when Steve pushes him back. Well-seated and well-fucked, Steve jacks himself, watching that muscled chest heave and heave and heave. But he doesn't come until Bucky lifts his hips and raises Steve with a groan.

"God, you're beautiful," is all it takes, and Steve is a goner.

It's like forcing a tidal wave through a tiny, tiny opening, the orgasm Steve has. Blood rushes in his ears until Bucky's panting is a muted thing, spots float in his vision. He braces one hand in the spunk on Bucky's chest and breathes and breathes and breathes. Then Bucky pulls him down, and they part.

Steve doesn't mean to, but he collapses against Bucky's side, and that gets Bucky coughing, and reality falls in a heap on his lap.

"Are you OK?" he worries. Punctured lung, and all.

There's a laugh in Bucky's cough as he seizes with each one. "Shit!" Cough, cough. "I think I sprained my cock!"

He's smiling, teasing, and it's wonderful.

Steve rests his head on Bucky's shoulder and they laugh together. Laugh until Steve's face hurts like the stretch of his asshole.

Bucky wipes them off with the top sheet and then rips it off the bed. They shift out of the wetness and back under the comforter. Alpine has long since gone. Apparently, she wasn't thrilled with the show.

"How did you find me?" Bucky asks once they're safe under the blanket. His body temperature seems to have lowered dramatically. Steve still wraps around his warmth.

Steve sighs and tries to put it into words. "My Ma's family has this — intuition. It's something rooted in Irish tradition. Used to think it was a load of crap." He shrugs. Bucky's lips brush his temple. "I dunno. Some magnetic pull, I guess?"

Bucky snorts. "Sorta like that tracker someone planted in me without my permission."

Steve's stomach plummets, sickened. "Not —"

"Except you don't need permission," Bucky finishes. He squeezes Steve closer. "Thank you."

It doesn't feel deserved. It reminds Steve of something.

"Why did you turn yourself in?"

Steve wants to add, 'idiot,' but he doesn't.

It's Bucky's turn to sigh. "It's complicated. Imposter syndrome. Stockholm syndrome. Post-traumatic stress - syndrome."

Steve reaches out and pinches Bucky's nipple. He gets an 'ouch,' but his point his made.

"Not the textbook explanation, you jerk. I mean, why did you leave me?"

Bucky nuzzles into the crook of Steve's neck, almost as if he's hiding. "I didn't think myself worthy of you. You're —" he pulls back and eyes Steve from a distance. "You do know that Nat is going to offer you a job."

Steve figured as much, but Bucky is deflecting.

"I swear to god, Bucky Barnes," Steve growls as he grits his teeth. He grabs a handful of Bucky's overly muscled pectorals to stress his concern. "If you leave me again, you'll be wishing Romanov had finished you off first."

He gets a grin and a grimace, both completely adorable. "What, you gonna take me out, Rogers?"

Steve rolls his eyes and loves the shit out of this dumbass. He narrows his eyes and lasers in on the impossible man. "Yes. To the movies. To dinner. To a baseball game. To bed."

"Ah," Bucky chuckles, and it's such a soothing sound. Him, healthy and happy and skin on skin, where he belongs. "So you're going to kill me with kindness. Is that your plan?"

"Maybe." Jeezus, the skin under Bucky's arm is soft.

"Well, it won't work," he says, a smile in his voice. "Sex releases endorphins that increase the healing rate. So as long as we're fucking, you'll never get rid of me."

This is intended as funny, but Steve is suddenly filled with sadness. A happy, well-fucked Bucky, although Steve's ultimate goal, reminds him of their age difference.

He pushes it aside. They've got years, after all. As long as Steve and Bucky are together, they'll keep each other safe and healthy.

Right?

Something nudges against Steve's thigh, and he's instantly pulled from the future to the present. Bucky, beast of a man that he is, is fucking hardagain.

Balance is restored, and Steve's chest swells with pleasure, and Bucky is looking at him as if he's stark-raving mad.

(And isn't that a fitting phrase?)

"That so?" Steve plants a closed-mouth kiss into that adorable dimple and then rolls atop the finest man ever made. He regrets for a second never having met Bucky's mother so as to thank her.

It passes.

"Yeah." Damn. Bucky's eyes are just so captivating.

"Well, I guess we'll have to do something about that," Steve replies, grinning.

And so, they do.

Epilogue - a year later

Bucky

A tune starts up in the other room. A theme song for a TV program he can't quite put his finger on. Alpine hasn't opened an eye, so he's not too concerned about it. Besides, he's preoccupied.

He's been watching Steve sleep for a good forty-five minutes now. It's something he does whenever they're home from a mission and he can't sleep. It's soothing, knowing they're safe and sound and nobody can get between them.

Bucky doesn't think about that, though. He's watching Steve's soft, slack face. He looks so young, those fine lines on his forehead relaxed, mouth partially open and full lips a bit cracked at the corners. It's something Steve deserves: rest. Comfort. Sleep.

Bucky adores him.

Steve passed out minutes after they'd finished showering. He mumbled something about Sarah having them to dinner on the upcoming Sunday as they toweled dry. Bucky had spent a little extra time massaging his boyfriend's back, listening to a drowsy conversation that stopped mid-sentence before Steve fell asleep.

It's incredible that Bucky gets to be with him like this, a fortunate twist of serendipity for both. Steve shares Bucky's taste in movies (and movie stars). He loves Jazz and baseball and blueberry pancakes. He's been wholly accepted into their little family, Alpine included. And there hasn't been one time at Sarah's place where Bucky hasn't felt like he didn't absolutely belong.

Steve's throat clicks, remnants of the asthma of his childhood, and Bucky tilts his head to better see the shiner on his cheek. It was Steve's idea to spar with Natasha, letting it be known that he, too, was a fighter in his twenties. Bucky understands it was meant to impress him. On the other hand, Nat meant to prove a point. Just like she always does.

The best part was when Steve picked himself up off the mat, touched a glove to the hot spot on his cheekbone, shrugged, and landed Romanov with a left hook not even Bucky could see coming. After that, Nat was more sportsmanlike. She knew when she had met her match.

So does Bucky.

It's hard not to touch him when he's like this, sleep-warm and snuggly. Steve's skin is addicting, to touch, to taste. His smile is divine, and his brain is unstoppable. Bravery. Stubbornness. Sunshine. Bucky needs all of it.

But Steve has been a light sleeper ever since the night Bucky left. He wakes at the smallest of movements, eyes wide and jaw clenched. Bucky deserves every bit of mistrust Steve gives him. He'll just have to work until the end of time to gain it back.

Instead of touching, Bucky runs the suggestion of a hand over the sharp curve of Steve's shoulder. He follows the lean muscle and the crook of his elbow, traces in the air over each tendon in his hand on the pillow. He remembers the goosebumps that rise on that taut stomach as Bucky follows the trail of hair to where his cock perks in interest nearly every time they fall into bed together. Nearly a year since they met, it still drives a sledgehammer into his heart, being close to him like this.

It's too impossible to resist the man's many, many charms. Bucky gives in with a whimper and drops a kiss to that ridiculous lower lip.

"Mm?" Steve hums, sharp eyebrows raising as green-blue eyes struggle against heavy sleep. He turns his face to Bucky, speech slurred, and says, "What is it?"

Bucky nudges Steve's top lip and dips his tongue into his lover's mouth. It's wet and sloppy and slow, but Steve kisses him back. It's so very tempting to wake him fully for morning sex, since they were too exhausted last night to do anything but crash. He's warm and welcoming, and Bucky wants to wreck him.

"I'm getting up to feed Alpine," Bucky lies. Her back is to them at the end of the bed. She was not amused at the late hour they came in, and probably won't speak to either of them for days. Still, Bucky feels guilt heavy as rocks if he doesn't have some kind of excuse for Steve to stay in bed longer.

"Mm." Steve gives up trying to open his eyes. He swallows thickly, inhaling, exhaling. "You coming back after?"

"Wild horses couldn't drag me from it," Bucky whispers, catching Steve's mouth for another sleepy kiss. It wouldn't be a hardship to spend the whole day in bed. But Bucky doesn't think he can go back to sleep after this.

"I'll be back," Bucky promises with full intent to make good on it. He slides carefully from under Steve's thigh, kisses his hand on the pillow, and forces himself from their nest.

He doesn't make it far, though. Steve sighs and his whole body returns to its relaxed state, and Bucky is mesmerized again. He's changed his mind. Instead of lying in bed with Steve for the next twenty-four hours, he wants to stand here and just look at him.

The music in the living room switches to something more lively, and Bucky tears his eyes away. He's got a pretty good idea who is in his apartment. And there's always a reason for it. Always.

Clint sits in Bucky's overstuffed chair. In one hand, he's holding the remote, channel surfing aimlessly. In the other, resting on the large arm, a whole pot of dark, dark coffee.

Bucky's in his skivvies, t-shirt and briefs, but Clint is still dressed in last night's gear. He's slouched back as far as he can go with both legs spread wide on the footrest. He brings the almost-full glass pot to his mouth and drinks deeply.

"'Lo, Barnes," he gruffs. (Barton is not a morning person.)

Bucky approaches cautiously because something is definitely up.

"Toast?" he tries. He gets a sluggish nod for it.

As Bucky slinks off to the kitchen, Clint lands on British Bakeoff and sighs heavily. "Your choux pastry is garbage," he says to the screen, judgmental. "Might as well throw in the towel. Hollywood is not shaking your hand today."

Bucky slathers on a ton of butter and some of Sarah's homemade strawberry jam and delivers the toast to his friend. Barton sets the remote between him and the armrest, reaches out, and drops the plate on the floor.

It lands jam side down.

"Aw, toast," he grumbles as he bends to pick it up.

"I'll make more —" Bucky starts, but Clint waves him off.

"Nah. Your floor is cleaner than my counters."

And he shoves one whole slice in his mouth.

Bucky takes the opportunity to sink into the couch next to him.

Barton chews and chews and chews while Bucky fiddles with a throw pillow in his lap.

"What's with you?" he asks, throwing a bit of his own grumpiness back. He's grateful to his friend for discovering the vents, but his constant 'visits' are getting ridiculous now.

Bucky doesn't expect a response. Clint isn't even wearing his hearing aids. Or, at least, not the ones he usually does. He did catch on quickly that Bucky had entered the room, so it might be an act.

Or a cry for help.

Barton takes another swig straight from the pot and swings it in Bucky's direction.

"Want some?"

Disgusted by the thick slurry at the bottom, Bucky makes the sign for 'no' and tries again.

"What happened?"

His friend lets out a belch and ignores him.

"You and Rogers seem to be going strong."

Bucky detects a hint of jealousy. Could that be it? Does Clint want the spice of a new relationship?

Bucky doesn't raise his voice when he answers, but he wants to level the playing field. "It's not as perfect as you think. I'm a hundred something years of indestructible death and destruction, and he's a regular, breakable guy."

It's extremely worrying. Bucky avoids thinking about it as much as possible. All it would take is a misstep, a communication breakdown, a mistake, and Bucky could lose Steve forever.

Barton lowers one foot to slowly spin the rocker until he's facing Bucky, and his eyes are red with no sleep or crying or both.

"Nat wants to have a baby."

Fuck.

"Uh."

"Yeah."

Bucky refuses to state the obvious: Romanov was sterilized just as he was in Russia. It was thorough and irreversible. Whatever is happening between these two, he honestly feels horrible for both.

He doesn't say it's impossible. They could adopt, after all. "What brought that on?"

Clint blinks three times, and for a second, Bucky thinks he's going to have to repeat himself. But then he sets the coffee pot on the table, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring and —

Oh no.

"She said 'no'?"

Barton shakes his head. He looks miserable. "I haven't asked her yet."

Bucky doesn't know what to say to that.

Clint turns the ring over his pinky, staring at it, sad. "I always wanted a big family."

Well, shit. Now Bucky really doesn't know what to say.

His friend jumps from one subject to the next. "You and Banner still scheming?"

The sound Bucky makes is shocked and confused. His head is reeling from the sudden tangents in Clint's train of thought.

"He doesn't want to be a monster either," Bucky reminds, slightly dazed. "If the serum can be reversed, I'd sign up, zero hesitation."

He watches as Barton shoves the other piece of toast in his mouth, then thinks how similar they all are. Clint with his alcoholic father and the stint with an actual circus. Natasha, forced and expected to be perfect. Sam with guilt strong enough to make him volunteer for this bullshit. And Steve with something to prove.

"You know," Barton says as he washes his meal down, staring off in the distance. "You're the only one who's enhanced. Even Stark is just a guy."

The fact that Bucky hasn't thought of this before shocks him.

"So, yeah." Clint is nursing the coffee pot between both hands now. "Could be any of us to go first."

He doesn't have to elaborate for Bucky to understand. Barton is feeling the same things, the anxiety and angst, the push toward action before something disastrous happens. The desire to have a normal life, or as close to normal as possible.

"Nat wants to use a surrogate."

Bucky feels his shock like a punch to the gut. "She does?"

Clint smiles wistfully and nods. "Having a kid is one thing she can't do. But she's determined to find a way." He turns to Bucky, and he's flat out grinning. "You guys should, too."

"What?"

It's now that there's a click of a door and a flash of white comes streaking from Bucky's bedroom. Alpine launches into Clint's lap, crouches with her back arched, and hisses at Bucky.

Barton laughs. Bucky can't help but smile at a sleepy Steve standing in the doorway to their room.

"I thought you said you were going to feed her?" he grouches, hair standing up in the back, groggy and soft and adorable.

He's wearing Bucky's shirt and it falls down to his knobbly knees. God, but he's perfect.

It's then that Steve notices Clint, and his expression gentles. "Hawkeye."

"Four-F."

They engage in a quick conversation in sign language, except in code, so Bucky has no idea what they're saying.

"I'm going back to bed," Steve announces, and Bucky is able to see the secrets behind these words.

"Be there in five," Bucky says as the man pivots and pulls the door closed behind him.

Before he rises to follow, Bucky pins down Clint. "What did you mean by 'We should too?'"

Barton is still grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Propose. Find a surrogate. Our offspring could be friends. We could take family portraits together. Celebrate birthdays, holidays together."

Bucky would huff in indignation, but it's not a bad suggestion at all. He pretends not to be convinced. "You think Nat would agree to that?"

"She's the one who suggested it."

And, yeah, that's going to take some consideration. Bucky is going to have to have a discussion with her. And a discussion with Steve.

For now, though, he's at a loss. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Clint shoots him finger guns. "I know a jeweler who isn't opposed to selling to shady, one-armed murder kittens."

Speaking of.

"What's up with Alpine?"

Barton strokes the top of her head with one finger, and she curls into a ball in his lap, back to Bucky.

"She's jealous," his friend explains. "Steve's been taking up all your time. She's had to go elsewhere for attention."

This makes Bucky feel like a heel. "Aw, Baby," he coos, but she doesn't respond. Clint strokes the length of her back, looking smug.

Bucky is honestly overwhelmed with the stream of new information. He pushes off the couch.

"What did Steve say to you?" he tries, curiosity getting the proverbial cat.

Clint's smile widens until it's sinister. "Oh, he knows about my new hearing aids. He told me to quit faking not being able to hear while I'm wearing them. And he told me to turn them off when you go back to bed."

And this is Bucky regretting asking.

"Go back to your apartment," he says, knowing he'd have a better chance of Alpine forgiving him than that happening.

As Bucky walks across the room, Clint speaks over his shoulder. "Course, we could keep going like this. Take it day by day. Accept death with grace when it happens and enjoy the time we spent here with the people we love."

Bucky stops to frown at him. "You could do that?"

The cat in Clint's lap sighs heavily, as if she's had enough of the ragtag group of broken hopes and dreams but has resigned herself to being a part of it.

His friend shrugs and searches out the remote, clicking away from Paul Hollywood, not giving out those handshakes. "You gotta do who you wanna do."

Bucky laughs, knowing he's right where he wants to be, and he's doing exactly who he wants to do.

"Go bother Nat," Bucky sighs, and he enters his bedroom with his sights on smooth thighs and green-blue eyes and a man who loves him because he's broken.

[jicamasticks]

hello friends! i'm getting back into the swing of writing, so here's a teaser for my malevolent vampire au. enjoy! :)

1934 – Arkham, MA:

A quiet dripping echoed in the dark office of Yang & Lester: Private Eyes. From the smoky door window, muddled yellow light trickled into the room where it fell upon Arthur Lester slumped in a crumpled kneel. His head lolled loosely, chin drifting from shoulder to sternum as a heavy fuzz filled his ears. Shapes and colors slowly came into focus as he stirred.

Mostly one color: red.

Pooling blood had spread thin across the hardwood floor, staining the air with a metallic tang in its wake. Arthur couldn’t pinpoint the source—was it him? His upper body was wet—he could feel the damp, clinging fabric without looking. He couldn’t feel the fresh pain of a wound, but a wooziness weighed on him and his aching limbs. The heaviness hung over him—around him? Gravity was unstable as he tried sitting up, and he would have fallen face-first onto the bloody floor if not for a sure set of hands gripping his shoulders.

His eyes widened. I’m not alone.

“Where am I? What’s happened?” Arthur whispered, scrambling for his memory and trying desperately to shake off the grogginess lacing his bones.

“Don’t you remember?” The bemused voice was deep and resonant. It didn’t sound familiar.

“Who are you?”

“Who am I? I’m a friend. The best friend you have right now...” The broad hands held his shoulders firm, leaning Arthur back until he rested against the solid torso behind him. “...the only friend you have right now.”

Only friend? But I have a friend, I have—Parker! Alarm bells rang over each other in Arthur’s mind. Memory eluded him, but emotion erupted within his chest at the name—affection, shock, loss, guilt. Parker was a cherished friend, but something went wrong and he was gone. (Dead?) Flashes ricocheted in Arthur’s brain—a strange book, a great shadow, so much blood, and the ragged sound of strained breathing. (Parker’s breathing? He couldn’t hear it now. Oh god, was Park still breathing?) An urgency struck Arthur then, his veins lighting up with adrenaline as he tried again to sit upright, to get his feet underneath him and stand.

Instead, his muscles simply shook from the effort. Arthur wanted to cry in frustration—he was weak and dizzy and confused and increasingly ashamed of whatever part he played. Specifics escaped him, but guilt and remorse welled inside his chest all the same.(And now he’d lost Parker just like he lost his parents, Bella, F—) His breath quickened, whimpering lungs succumbing to hyperventilation as he trembled in the stranger’s hold.

“Relax, take a deep breath, relax,” the voice soothed, and, almost against his will, Arthur’s body instantly eased back from its fright, taking forcibly measured breaths. The shock of the immediate calm nearly sent him careening into another panic all over again. What in the world?

“Calm down, friend. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” The hands cupping his shoulders gently shifted, pressing warm palms against his biceps, then his elbows, and back up again before repeating the motion.

“Oh, okay,” Arthur mumbled. Despite himself, he found the gesture reassuring, and he sagged further against the upright chest behind him. Within his core, he felt what he could only describe as a pull towards the stranger, as if encouraged to agree with every deep utterance murmured in his ear. Arthur knew better than to trust him, but the desire to do so was steadily growing with each sweeping caress along his arms and shoulders. Leisurely, a sense of comfort swelled within him, promising safety and relaxation to quell his erratic heart.

Lucidity was slippery and fleeting in the face of said reassurance, but a stubborn kernel of guilt affixed itself in Arthur’s chest. He clung to it desperately, a life preserver buoying him just above the rising tide of emotions that were not his own. His shame anchored him to his sense of self as memory thrashed and drowned beneath the calming waters.

The room was steadily losing familiarity when he noticed an oblong shape catching the meager light—the sole of a leather shoe jutting upwards. Shadowed further: a man’s body, limbs flung awkwardly where it lay collapsed on the floor. Jagged tears and dark stains afflicted the clothing, the neck marred by reckless maroon punctures. The face was… one Arthur should have known. Were they acquaintances? No, they had to be more, but Arthur couldn’t remember, couldn’t quite put a name to the glazed monolid eyes. Grief pulled his heartstrings in gradually weakening tugs until all he felt was a mild confusion.

The arm rubbing his left shoulder reached out then, retrieving a book that had fallen open to the side. Sketchy runes glowed like banked embers from the pages within, its hardcover waterlogged with blood. Arthur’s eyes followed the book as the stranger removed it from sight. He didn’t get a good look at it before, but he wanted to see it again. (Again?)

The voice hummed, capturing Arthur’s attention. The sound was all-encompassing, reverberating in his bones as his focus narrowed entirely to the gentle thrum.

Angling his head, Arthur peered back at the figure looming behind him. The movement strained his neck and shoulders in an unexpected way, but the effort was worth it. Inky black fabric cloaked the stranger, its hem lined with gold flourishes glinting in the dim light. Long strands of dark hair slipped beneath the hood to frame skin smooth as porcelain. The man's jaw was slathered in slick crimson, and smirking lips revealed the tips of undeniable fangs. Acute golden eyes openly gazed back, drinking him in.

“My name is John Doe, and you, Arthur Lester, shall be my first thrall.”