#we got anst

[greedaeye-a]

⸻ "WHAT HURTS THE MOST IS THAT YOU LIED RIGHT TO MY FACE AND STILL I HOLD YOUR HAND TO SET YOU FREE."

@mysteryoflovc liked for a starter

[razorblade180]

Question about genshin: Do you plan on making anst using the fact that visions go Grey when their wielder dies?

I also question what happens to the vision after a while, as nothing is brought up about decaying visions, but you would mean they just decide to disappear instantly after a while or are there just orbs that would break drills randomly in the ground?

Ningguang got hers off of a dead person. I don’t think there’s any sort of time limit to a dead Vision. It’ll just be around

Honestly what would be scary is a person who just has a collection of dead Visions. Imagine an actual Vision Hunter or small organization that just likes the challenge.

The only angst I can think of right now is the Traveler carrying a dead Vision of someone they cared about and tried saving. They just can’t comprehend why it won’t glow or why didn’t one appear in the moment when all they wanted to do was save their friend’s life.

No lie I would cry if our sibling died and we got an Anemo Vision, or somehow genuinely is seconds away from killing Paimon and we get a one.

[broskiblurbs]

When You Are Gone {T.H}

Summary: This is part two to "When I Lose You." Tom struggles with your death even months after. He almost ends it, but you give him the push he needs. Words: 2.8K Warnings: ANST! Attempted suicide, moderate cussing, mentions of heavy alcohol use. Also, spoilers for The Fault in Our Stars.

part one here

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It’s been four months since Tom Holland watched you die; no, begged the doctors to not save you. The moment plays in his head on repeat in his waking hours and haunts him as he sleeps. He wishes he let the doctors resuscitate you, then maybe, just maybe, he would have his happy ending. Perhaps it was a selfish desire, but he never found a way to live without you. It was like you took every part of him when you left this world.

Everything that made Tom, well, Tom must’ve danced with you to wherever your soul went. A once happy, energizing, fun-loving man was now a depressed, droopy, angry alcoholic. Someone who used to have so much to say, now didn’t see a purpose to noise. He had closed himself off to everyone, even his best mate Harrison, who had tried endlessly to get through to friend.

“Tom, please. Open up. Everyone’s worried about you, mate.” Tom could hear Harrison calling from the other side of the front door of his flat. He couldn’t be bothered. Tom was tucked away in his bed. The room was completely dark and reeked of rum. It was only one in the afternoon. “If you don’t answer, then I’m coming in!” That he did. 

He came barging in the pigsty of a bedroom and found his best friend wallowing away with his pillow, which probably had collected a gallon of salty tears, if not more. He turned on the lights and yanked the blankets off of Tom, who was very quick to tell him to fuck off.

“I’ve fucked off for four months. Now, it’s time for me to step in before you end up killing yourself,” Harrison scolded. 

“Do it, then! Leave me to die. At least then, I won’t have to hear your annoying ass pound on my door twice a fucking day! Don’t you get it? I don’t want you here to pity me,” Tom bit back. Harsh words indeed, but Harrison wasn’t about to give up that quickly. He knew it was the alcohol and grief talking. 

“Pity you? Please, I’m not here to pity you. I'm here to get your head out of your ass and go see your family. They are worried about you. They haven’t seen you since the funeral. Do you really think this is what Y/N wants?” Tom's face turned red as he got up in his friend’s face.

“Don’t you dare say her name,” he warned as he pushed past Harrison to go to the living room. Mainly so he can grab a beer, but as well as to kick his friend out.

“She was my friend too!” Harrison’s voice boomed across the flat. “Your parents saw her like her own daughter. As for Sam and Harry, they lost a best friend that day.”

“I lost the love of my life! Do not compare my loss to yours or my brothers!” Angry tears escaped Tom’s eyes as his fists rolled up into balls.

“You’re not getting it, mate,” Harrison tried more gently. “We all lost someone else that day as well. You.” Tom’s face eased up as he continued to hear what his friend had to say. “Even at the funeral, you wouldn’t talk to anyone. You disappeared from our lives when we needed you the most. Might as well have been your funeral as well.”

Tom took a seat on the couch, which hasn’t been sat on since you were there. Your blanket was still lounging over the side. Your shoes were still tucked underneath the furniture because no matter how much you tried, you could never remember to take off your shoes at the front door. Your book was still on the coffee table. It was turned upside down, keeping the spot you were at since you lost your bookmark, which was probably stuck between the couch cushions. 

“What are you reading?” Tom asked as he grabbed the books from your hand. You gave him a pout and cuddled more into your soft blanket. “The Fault in Our Stars, really?”

“What? It’s a great read,” you responded, grabbing back your book from him.

“Doesn’t he like die in the end? Why would you want to read something like that?” Your fiance asked you. 

“I haven’t finished it yet!” you scolded, causing Tom to put his fingers on his mouth while nervously laughing, knowing he just spoiled the end of the book for you. “This is why Marvel won’t let you read REAL scripts.” You jokingly hit him with the book.

“To be fair, the movie has been out for years now. That’s your fault for not reading it sooner, darling.” He bent down to give you a kiss on your forehead. His way of apologizing to you.  

“Halfass apology, but I accept.” Tom starts to walk away, but trips on one of your shoes on the floor. He turns back around and sends you a glare. “That’s what you get for spoiling the book for me.” He rolled his eyes in response.

“Oh, by the way, don’t forget about Paddy’s graduation party tonight,” Tom reminded.

“Right. I probably should get ready for that.” You move around as you try to look for your bookmark. “Where is…? Oh, forget it.” You turn your book upside down, making the table promise to keep your spot.

Tears flooded Tom’s eyes as your memory assaulted him. He cradled his face as he continued to sob. Harrison and Tom weren’t big on hugging, but this was an exception. He wrapped his arms around his friend, reassuring him that he was there for him. Tom didn’t push away. Instead, he accepted the embrace. This was the first human interaction in months and he needed to let his griefs out.

“I just miss her, mate. So fucking much,” Tom said in between sobs.

“I know. Me too.” A few tears escaped Harrison’s eyes as well. Another weight was added to the hug. Almost as if you were hugging them from the otherside. Tom looked at Harrison, who didn’t seem to notice it. Maybe he’s finally gone crazy.

“I still need time. This-this is all too much for me to handle,” Tom uttered, pulling away from the hug. This is when Harrison noticed Tom’s figure. He lost a dangerous amount of weight. This muscles had diminished considering he hadn’t gotten out of bed in weeks, let alone gone to the gym

“Then let us help you. No one expected you to do this on your own,” Harrison replied, rubbing his friend’s back. Tom stood back up.

“I told you. I don’t need your pity,” he pronounced, taking another swig of his beer.

“You’re not taking care of yourself. When was the last time you actually ate something? Alcohol doesn’t count. You need help,” Harrison tried, receiving him a groan from Tom. “It’s okay to need help, mate. You lost your fiance-”

“Wife,” he interrupted. His head was hanging low. “She is, I mean, was my wife.” The interaction was stressing Tom out. Too many thoughts, memories, and pieces of you replaying in his mind at once. He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s too much,” he whispered.

“Tom-”

“Please, go.” He pointed to the door, directing his friend to leave. Harrison hesitantly left, knowing there wasn’t much more he could do. He wasn’t giving up on his mate. No. He knew Tom needed medical help, but he had no way to get Tom to admit that himself. He needed help and returned with that no more than an hour later, but it was too late.

After Harrison left, Tom crashed back on the couch and held your blanket in his arms, touching it the first time since that night. He held it close to his nose. Your smell was still sown in with the stitches. This smell wasn’t sick. It wasn’t lying on a hospital bed, begging him to let you go. It was cozy. It was home. On the couch and with him.

On the small wooden table that sat right next to the couch was a lamp and a picture. The picture of you and Tom on your first date as boyfriend and girlfriend. It was at a local diner, one he went to ever since he first came to New York. You got chicken tenders, while he got a ¼ pound burger. The sun glistens your face so beautifully. It made you look like an angel.

“I still can’t believe you got chicken tenders. What are you? Nine?” Tom joked taking a big bite out of his burger. You give a shy smile.

“It’s a classic, and I know I will enjoy it,” you respond, smothering your tender in sauce. Tom laughed and shook his head.

“Whatever you say, love.” He now takes a bite of his fries. “These are the best chips. Better than any McDonald’s I’ve ever been to.” You give him a weird look. “What?”

“You mean fries?” You start giggling, causing your boyfriend to roll his eyes.

“Same thing. In the UK we call them chips.”

“Well, London Boy, you’re in America. Those are french fries,” you state as you take one of his fries and toss it in your mouth. Tom looks at you with disbelief.

“You have your own right there,” he exclaims as he points at your fries that lay next to your crisp tenders.

“Yeah, but yours are better.” 

Tom slams the picture facedown back on the table. He gets back up to get his beer from the kitchen counter. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t imagine a world where you were gone. No longer existing. A world where the only things that proved you were once alive were a pair of shoes, a book, a blanket, a picture, and your memory constantly running through his mind. A world that was once warm, full of color and light was now a cold, dark, and lonely one. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he heads to the bathroom. He had just missed that picture he placed facedown moments ago, only now it was sitting right again.

He swung the medicine cabinet open as he rummaged through the contents. “Tylenol,” he thought to himself. It would do the trick. Is he really going to do this? Is it worth it? This isn’t what you would want, right? He unsealed the cap as he ignored every thought in his mind. All he ever wanted was you. This is how he would get to you. He must die. He grabs handfuls of the medicine at a time and chugs it with his beer. “I’ll be with you soon, darling.” 

What he didn’t know was that you were there. The entire time. You walked with him home from the hospital the night you died. You stood on the stage with him as he attempted a speech in your honor at your funeral. You cuddled him as he cried himself to sleep every night, wishing for a different outcome. This was no different. You screamed at him to stop and think about what he was doing, but of course, he couldn’t hear you. You were a ghost.

Everything was white. It almost blinded Tom. He was even dressed in white.  He slowly stood up and saw the local diner in the distance. Instead of being surrounded by tall buildings, it just sat by itself in the distance. The door to the diner made its typically ringing noise as he walked through the door. Everything was restored of color and he was now wearing his cream turtleneck and khakis. The same thing he wore on his first date with you. In the third booth, you sat. You were as healthy as ever. Your hair was all grown out and you had some color to your skin. You were you.

Tom rushed to the booth and sat across from you. You give him a welcoming smile. Oh how he missed that smile of yours. You pick up the menu that is laid in front of you.

“You know, I might go for the chicken tenders. You can never go wrong with those,” you spoke. Your voice rang through Tom’s ears and it sounded like music. “Let me guess. You’re going to get the Mama’s Cheeseburger with ‘chips.’” Tom was speechless. All he could do is just look at you with love and admiration. You were here. With him. Alive and well. “Well, am I right?”

Tom cleared his throat and replied, “You know me too well, darling.” He did something he hadn’t done since you were diagnosed: smile. The song “Only You” by Yaz started to play on the jukebox.

“I think I remember you promising me ‘a dance in the afterlife,’” you reminded him. You stood up from the booth and held your hand out to him. “Come on!” 

He gladly took your hand and danced with you. His arms around your waist and yours around his neck. The two of you swayed with the beat. He playfully twirled you, causing you to giggle.

“Am I dead?” he whispered.

“Only if you want to be,” you responded. The scene seemed to change to a dance floor. You were in a beautiful white gown and him in a black and white suit and tie. This was meant to be your wedding dress and his suit. The song had changed pace and a female voice was now singing. (Selena Gomez version)

“Well, I did this,” he said, gesturing to his suicide.

“I know,” you answered, moving a piece of hair out of his face.

“I can’t do this without you, darling. It’s too much,” he cried.

“You know why I love 'The Fault in Our Stars so much?'” You asked. Tom shook his head, confused as to whether the book had anything to do with this.

“The storytelling. It was beautiful and amazing. The jokes and the memories Augustus and Hazel shared. Sure, he dies in the end, but that doesn’t erase everything that happened. Yes, it sucks, but that is our story. I loved every moment. It doesn’t have to be the end, either. We can just put a bookmark and finish it later,” you explain. “Do you understand what I’m saying Tom? You can live. You still have the rest of your life. Your parents, your brothers, and Harrison will make it all worth living for. Just give them a chance.”

“No, I can’t. You are everything. When you died you took every part of me with you,” he responded. The two of you have stopped dancing at this point, still in each other’s arms.

“Then, find it again. It’s going to take some time, but it’s possible. I will be with you. I have always been with you. You were never alone.” You put your hand on his heart. “Please, Tom. It’s not your time yet. When it is your time, I’ll be here waiting. We can remove the bookmark and continue our story, but for now, go live your life.” You gave him pleading eyes and you knew he wouldn’t resist. “Trust your friends, family, and most importantly, yourself.” He nods.

“Okay, I’ll live for you,” he reluctantly agreed. The space was getting smaller. Tom was waking up.

“No, for yourself,” you corrected. The music had stopped and the space was now pitch black.

“Y/N?” He called out, but you were gone.

Tom was now laying in the hospital bed. The smell that was once you were now of medicine and hand sanitizer. He looked around and he was currently alone, or it seemed that way. He imagined you standing over him. He could almost hear you say, “You got this.” On the nightstand lay a book: The Fault in Our Stars. There was a bookmark in it. He turned the page and there was a section highlighted.

“There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There's .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful.” -The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

[amaribelt]

content warning? - slight anst with comfort, pregnancy mentions, fear of abandonment, lots of tear

not beta read

Malleus had been bugging lilia on the whereabouts of his wife for a few weeks one week turned to two, two then turned to three,,, malleus just couldn't stand it anymore he missed how she would read him stories or when they would all play family together he couldn't play family with just lilia it was a travesty! He wanted Vera back, he wanted his mother back. Malleus had been waiting for Lilia. He tried his best to read his book but he just couldn't focus on the words on the page, all the ink seemed to blend together. The door creaked open and malleus whipped his head to see lilia, he couldn't help but frown until lilia stepforward to reveal vera. The little prince couldn't help but smile before getting up off his bed and ran towards her and embraced her into a tight embrace. “I've missed you little prince, I'm sorry ive been gone”  malleus’ face softened as he grabbed her hand and dragged her over to his bed, letting out a small chuckle following behind them.  Malleus sat on his plush bed, hovering closely to him.

Vera had laid down on the little prince's bed as he told her about everything he had been doing while she was gone and he was absolutely glowing, his little fangs peeking out of his smile. She loved seeing him so happy the time it would take was internally killing her. She had to tell him. “Mally dear we have something very important to tell you”  the little prince scooted closer to them wedging himself between lilia and vera. “Lily and I love caring for you so we've been trying for a while and,,, were going to be having a baby”  his eyes widened and his smile left his face “w-wha huh!”  tears threatened to spill from his eyes. “I'm pregnant mally,,i won't always be there to care for you for a little bit”  lilia took malleus’ hand rubbing small circles into his skin he turned to vera trying to give her a reassuring glance.

Malleus pulled his small hand from lilias as tears spilled from his eyes  “i don't want you to go away!”  he quickly jumped off of his bed  and ran out of his room slamming the door in his haste. Lilia looked at his wife trying to reassure her trying to wipe off the look of shock off her face as she got up and made her way to the door. Lilia quickly followed pulling her into a warm embrace, she was choking back sobs before he placed his hand on her head before bringing her head to his chest and she just sobbed. Her hands gripped the back of his coat, tears soaking the lapels of his coat as he ran his fingers down Vera's back. “Just give him a minute,, lets just give him a second ver,,”  he just holds her as tight as he can her hands on his chest before looking up to face him. “I'm sorry about your jacket lilly,,,i-i need to find mally,,im sorry lilly”  her voice was shaky wiping her tears on her wrist cuffs before finally pulling away. The long haired male just stood there watching her leave the room, her dress flowing as she hastily left. 

Vera hastily walked around the castle looking for the little prince looking down every chordoor and stopping the occasional staff member she saw. She was frantic; she cared for Malleus so much she never wanted to hurt him. She crumpled to the ground in the castle hospital looking up to a portrait of the little prince. The chordoor was almost dead silent other than her occasional sniffing. She fits on the floor for a second before slowly picking herself up off the ground and dusting off her skirts. She didn't want him to feel replaced, she could never replace him ever. She loved Malleus so much he let her be a mother and that's all she could ask for, he was a precious gem she wouldn't trade for anything. She needed to find malleus. Quickly walking around the castle halls calling out his name, with each twist down a new chordoor the castle felt like a never ending maze. “Malleus! You can come out now i just wanna talk,,please”  

Walking past another hallway she stops in her tracks when she hears some soft sniveling down one of the branching hallways, peeking down the hallway she sees the small horned boy with his knees to his chest wiping tears from his face with his sleeves. She takes a small hesitant step before taking another one slowly approaching the boy before slowly sliding down the wall and embracing the boy, he tightly hugged her placing his face in her chest she simply patted his back keeping him in the embrace. Time seemed to slow as she took in the moment holding him tightly. “Y-your baby won't replace me,, it won't take you away from me right,,” she pulls away a little bit so she can get a good look at him “mally,, my baby would never replace you,, ever, you may not be my ‘son’ but i will always treat you like one you let me be a mother,, you will just have a friend now okay,,”  malleus wiped away the remainder of his tear before pulling vera into a tight hug.  “Im sorry vera-san,,im sorry,,”  

[forrestfanfics]

So This is Love || Age of Ultron 10: “Dear Sister”

“So This is Love” Masterlist

Previous Chapter  ||   Next Chapter  

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I kept my eyes down, examining the white and black suit that wrapped around my body perfectly. The outline of the clothes I wore underneath was practically invisible. But I could still feel how uncomfortable the loose pyjamas were. My dad was right about avoiding baggy clothes.

My first real mission and I felt completely uncomfortable.

There wasn't enough time to make a new suit, so my dad tossed me the prototype and prayed nothing could pierce my gravity bubbles. If they were gravity bubbles.

"No way, we all get through this." I turned my attention away from my suit and to my dad. "If even one tin soldier is left standing, we've lost. There's gonna be blood on the floor."

"I got no plans tomorrow night," Steve commented.

"I got first crack at the big guy. Iron Man's the one he's waiting for."

Just then, the vision guy walked past behind my dad. "That's true. He hates you the most."

I snicker at that.

Both Banner and Steve shift their heads towards me and then to my dad, who sighed.

"As much as I hate to do it, we need all the help we can get. If she ends up either getting hurt or getting in the way, I want the nearest Avenger plucking her off the battlefield."

"Don't worry. We won't let anything happen to Y/N," Steve stood up and held his fist out to me, waiting with a small smile.

I bumped my gloved fist against his. He chuckled and brought his hand up to ruffle my hair before he walked away.

"Good luck out there, kid. We don't want to lose you." Banner patted my shoulder twice as he followed after Steve.

"Y/N, I want you to listen very carefully," my dad spoke once the two were out of range.

"Whatever happens out there, I'm asking... No, I'm telling you to be careful. And put those powers to good use. Bubble yourself when necessary. No speaking around civilians, as we haven't quite figured out your voice masking. And lastly. For the love of all good things, do not make me worry by doing something stupid, you understand?"

I frowned but nodded anyway. "Dad. If anything happens to me, it's not your fault. It's mine for being so pushy. I don't know why I was suddenly so stubborn and... Antsy... Angsty? Anst...sy...? Whatever. I think it's because I was given an opportunity to break free from my endless routine. And I did everything in my power to push through... So y'know..." I give an awkward shrug. "I'm sorry."

The heavy sigh from my dad amped up my anxiety as I stood so small before him.

I squeezed my eyes shut, ready for whatever was coming.

But instead of the usual reprimanding, I was met with a hug.

"I hope this marks the end of our fights. I don't want a venom-laced argument every time we disagree on something."

I nodded in agreement. "Truce?"

"Truce."

●    ◉    ◎    ◈    ◎    ◉    ●

"Hey, Dad. Guess who I am," I said, standing on the edge of the building I was situated on, allowing the wind to blow against my hair.

I spotted the Iron Man suit flying in the distance, glancing my way for a brief moment.

I heard my earpiece beep once before a heavy sigh came up through my earpiece.

"Batman," I clarified, making my voice deeper.

"I'm confiscating your comic books when we get back."

I laughed. "Why? What's wrong with Batman?"

"He's not even a real superhero. He's just a billionaire in a suit," my dad argued.

"WOAHOHO! Sounds very familiar," I countered.

"This is different. This is real life. We'll come back to this conversation when they finally make a consistent franchise."

I huffed. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I think you're jealous that Batman sounds way cooler than Iron Man," I said smugly.

"Y/N, weren't you given a task? Get back to work. And remember: no talking."

Another beep sounded off, and I could no longer hear my dad.

I shook my head and brought up the pair of binoculars Steve gave me to scan the crowd for any obvious men made of metal.

"I dunno. Seems clear to me." Realising I had been given the red herring of all tasks to keep me off their asses.

I clicked my tongue as I lowered the binoculars, kicking a loose piece of rubble off the roof.

Where it landed was a mystery, but just as it disappeared, I noticed movement by the river.

Lifting my binoculars back up, a mini Ultron could be seen climbing up a rock.

Then more came, bursting out of the ground, jumping in from above, coming from all directions.

"Shit, shit! Guys? Incoming from literary everywhere!" I spoke into my earpiece before ditching the binoculars and jumping off the roof and into the crowd.

Panic arose from the civilians, causing them to scramble, breaking away from their path.

"Roger."

"Don't say shit."

"Rogers..."

"This is it, Y/N. The first of many battles." I said giddily, bubbling a bot and shooting it into space. I quickly remembered what my dad said about keeping my mouth shut and held back a squeal, continuing my strategy of bubbling and launching the bots away.

My excitement was very clear with each bot that I disposed of. Not par for the course given the circumstances.

The screams coming from the bridge gave me the impression that our evacuation plan had been compromised.

A loud crash came from the street ahead of me, and I watched in awe as Pietro took out several bots all in one go.

"Whoa," I mumbled to myself.

The distraction served as an opportunity for one of the bots to tackle me from behind, trapping me in a chokehold and lifting me from the ground.

"As much as I enjoy this little sibling rivalry of ours, I'm afraid... There can be only one." I saw the bot's hand in the corner of my eye, ready to blast me out of existence.

"F-Fuck!" I gasped, clawing the metal hand around my neck.

"Hello, dear sister." Ultron's voice came from the robot, sending a chill up my spine. "You were adopted, you over-grown tin can!" I spat through chokes.

I quickly outstretched my hand towards it. But instead of a bubble, the fabric around my forearm ripped into shreds as a purple claw-like blade came slicing through the bot's arm.

I was dropped, and the bot looked down at its elbow where the blade went through.

I took the chance to bubble it with my right —non-blade— hand and launched it into the sky with the rest.

I looked down at my arm, heavily panting at the sight of the purple mass starting from my elbow.

"What The FUUUUUUUCK!" I screamed in horror as it slowly morphed into the shape of my arm, purple hue fading into my normal skin colour.

"Neoma? Y/N, what's wrong?"

I couldn't even focus on the voice coming from my earpiece as I examined my arm from all angles, still feeling a bit of the blade's shape around it, much like a phantom blade.

I have officially come to the conclusion that I was definitely not an ordinary kid.

"Y/N, speak to me. Is everything alright?"

Before I could even respond, the ground shook vigorously beneath me.

I held my arms out to regain my balance as buildings in the distance began to sink.

I hurriedly rushed towards them, only to come to a full stop by a cliff.

That's when I realised. The buildings weren't sinking.

Part of Sokovia was rising.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[hadal-heart]

GLADOS + KISS ‼️‼️‼️

46: Mid-Fight

Squire wrapped their arms around themself, tears leaking down their face. I don't want to fight anymore, they thought. The neurotoxin was giving him a pounding headache. GLaDOS has been nothing but nice to me until I decided to escape. Squire suddenly had another thought. Was it too late to change the tides? It wouldn't hurt to try.

"GLaDOS..." Squire rasped. "Please.... Please, I don't want to fight anymore...". GLaDOS tilted her head in confusion, and silent amusement. "Isn't this what you chose? I thought you wanted this." she mused. Squire sobbed once more. "I-I thought it was, but now..." he lamented, staggering closer to GLaDOS. "I hate fighting. I don't want to hear you mad. I don't like you being upset.". Squire pressed their palm to GLaDOS's "face", feeling the cold metal.

"GLaDOS.... please."

Squire jumped slightly as they heard the neurotoxin dispersers deactivate. GLaDOS seemed to relax. "I do not sense any malicious intent. Squire... I do want to reconcile."

He smiled slightly, kissing GLaDOS gently just below her eye. She made a small, flustered trilling noise, which made Squire giggle. He wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. "Me too."

[vassienweek]

VASSIEN WEEK 2021

Vassien Week is an event that celebrates the love we have for Vassa and Lucien aka Vassien from the A Court of Thorns and Roses series. This year, the event is held from August 16th to August 22nd 2021. Participate by sharing and creating fanart, moodboards, edits, drabbles, fanfics, text posts, headcanons and more.

DATES

16th August 2021 — 22nd August 2021

THEMES

Each day will follow a different theme for you to draw inspiration from. We're happy to announce the themes of this week long celebration ♥️

🍂 Day 1 | Dynamic

This could include the dynamic Vassien share, their aesthetic, what you love about them as a pair and their individual traits that you admire.

🍂 Day 2 | Moments

This includes your favourite canon moments or scenes or quotes of them as a couple as well as of them as individual characters.

🍂 Day 3 | Headcanons

Share your favourite Vassien headcanons with us. These could include anything you imagine about them, what you hope and wish to see in their book and so on. These could be scenes, quotes or conversations as per your wish.

🍂 Day 4 | Wedding

Show us your creativity through your drabbles, fics, illustrations and edits by showcasing how you imagine Vassien's wedding is going to be.

🍂 Day 5 | AUs

Let your imagination fly as you write, illustrate and edit Vassien AUs. The themes of the AUs can be anything you want them to be.

🍂 Day 6 | Prompts

Below are a few prompts that can be used to take inspiration from. Create, write, edit and let your creative juices flow away.

First Meet: We never got to read about how they first met or what their first impression was regarding each other. This is your time, tell us what you think happened. Write using both of their POVs and share with us your talent.

Shameless Flirting: Vassa and Lucien are both sassy beings who love to flirt with each other. Jurian is left third wheeling them most of the time. How do you imagine they reside in their manor together? Does Jurian facepalm himself all the time because Vassa and Lucien don't stop flirting and he isn't able to tolerate the sexual tension between them? You tell us.

Dancing in the Dark: Due to Vassa's curse, she turns into a firebird during the day. It's only at night that she turns back into herself. What happens once she regains her form? How does Lucien react? Does he plan something for her? How does Vassa feel or react about it? How do they choose to spend their time together after being forced apart during the day?

First Kiss: How do you think their first kiss will be? What do you think the circumstances will be? Will it be a sweet kiss or a passionate one?

Nightmares: Both Lucien and Vassa are exiles betrayed by their own people and they've been through some serious trauma. They both have scars, whether those are physical or mental ones. Nightmares are but obvious. How do you think they navigate each other's nightmares?

🍂 Day 7 | Prompts

More prompts for the last day. Get inspired and let your insight and vision shine though.

Count The Stars With Me: The night is the only time Vassa and Lucien can spend quality time together. Stargazing is one activity that they love indulging in. Elaborate in your style.

I've Wanted This For So Long: There's strong sexual tension between Vassa and Lucien. How do they navigate that? What circumstances are they under? And when they do give in to their wants and needs, how far do they go? *NSFW*

I Can't Lose You: They have wanted this since so long. Now that they have each other, they cannot believe it. They are soulmates, they are each other's home and the thought of losing each other scares them. Angst, angst, anst.

RULES

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• There are multiple prompts for the last two days. You can participate in one or all of them, it's totally your choice. The more, the better.

• The prompt statements are for inspiration purposes. If you feel the need to be inspired by the prompt in a different way, go ahead.

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Credit 🎨 solarisa_art

[daisy116]

Wtf is a Selfie??

some dousy fluff/ anst for my favs. it’s been sooo long since i’ve written but i worked really hard on this and i hope y’all like it!

please give it sum love and/ or feedback <3!

The team was getting ready for their goodbye dinner together. Just one last night of dinner and drinks, and then they’d go their different ways. 

Daisy was obviously feeling emotional, and Sousa knew this. He came to check on her in her room. 

He stood outside her door, took a deep breathe, and, in classic Danial Sousa fashion, knocked.

“Come in!”

When he opened the door, her back was to him, and she was struggling with the zipper on her dress. 

“Here. Let me help you with that.” he came to help her. 

“Oh. Thanks Sousa.” Daisy said. She felt her cheeks turn red.

Sousa hadn’t realized how nice she looked. Her blond hair was in loose waves down her back, and when she turned to face him, he saw she was wearing eyeliner and mascara that made her brown eyes pop. Blush tinted her cheeks. 

They locked eyes, and she looked at the floor shyly. 

“Thanks”, she practically whispered. Dammit why couldn’t she just act normal around him. 

There was an awkward silence. Daniel looked around her room as she studied the floor. 

After a moment, he brushed past her to look at the bedside table. 

“Who’s this?” he asked. 

Daisy followed his gaze. Sitting on her bedside table were three different picture frames and a jewelry box. 

The largest picture was a frame hanging on the wall behind the table, the two others sitting in front of it. One was a picture of Daisy and Coulson, beaming at whoever the cameraman (or woman) was. The picture looked fairly recent. 

Sousa had picked up the smaller frame. It was an older picture, evident by Daisy’s brunette and banged hair. The picture was obviously taken by someone else, and Daisy was looking at whoever might be to the left of the camera man. There was a man next to her, who was taller and older, and he was looking right into the camera. they were both wearing the same, almost sad looking smile. This is what first tipped Sousa to who this man might be. She took the frame from his hand. 

“Cal” and after a beat, “my dad”.

Sousa, in all honesty, didn't know what to say. Just a small “Oh.” spilled his mouth.

Daisy had never talked about her dad. She had told Sousa about her mom, Jiaying, but not much outside of the story that she had shared with him about her suffering at the hands of Whitehall.

“He um,” she was obviously trying to find the right words. Did she even want to go down this path with him? 

After a moment of thinking, she said, “he killed my mom… to save me”.

Another “Oh” from Sousa. 

“Daisy, I’m so sor-” 

“No, it's fine. I-” she quickly blinked away tears, “it was a while ago.” there was a beat, and then,

“Plus it was nice to talk to her again. And I wouldn't have without you… you  giving me a little push.” she was smiling fondly now. She put the picture back. 

“About that. I was going to apologize. i feel bad, i could tell it was hard for you and then what happened next-”

“No, no. i-” she turned to smile at him. “I was glad.” she reassured him.  

She hadn't realized how close they were to each other. “Thanks for that”, she said in a whisper. 

Their eyes locked, and she could feel herself blushing under his gaze. Her back ended up against the table, him facing her and the rest of the pictures. He was smiling at her, they were moving closer to each other, Daisy looked down at his lips, and- 

“Is that the rest of the team?” he wasn't looking at her anymore, but in fact the largest picture frame hanging on the wall behind her.

She sighed to herself and closed her eyes.

In it was a picture of the team, Coulson, May, Jemma, Fitz, Yo-yo, Mack, a taller woman, and another man were all beaming at the camera. Again, Sousa could tell the picture was older from Daisy's hair, which was now in a dark bob. She was standing in the middle of everyone, holding the camera.

“Uh yea,” Daisy smiled to herself about how awkward he was. What a dork. 

“That's Bobbi. And that's Hunter.” she said, pointing at the respective characters. 

“They were all part of SHIELD at one point. We were pretty close.” she was smiling fondly now.

She snapped out of her memories that flooded back to her to glance up at Sousa, who, to her surprise, was studying the picture intently. 

She looked at the picture, then back to him, then back to the picture again, trying to figure out what was irking him. 

“Whatt are you looking at?” she said, a teasing tone in her voice. 

“How was this taken? Are you holding the camera? Wouldn’t that be heavy?”

She tried her best to stifle her laugh. She felt bad giggling at him, but she couldn't help it, he was such an old man. 

“Uhh yeah. It's called a selfie. Here, i’ll show you.”

She took her phone out of her back pocket and opened the camera app. She held the phone up and moved closer to him in order to fit them both into the small frame. She blushed as she felt his hand snake around her waist. 

“Smile,” she told him 

With a *click* she had taken the picture. She brought the phone down to inspect the selfie to her liking. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sousa do the same. Again, her face filled with heat as she felt how close he was. His hand was still around her waist.

“We look-,” he hesitated to find the right word, “we look good.” and a pause,

“You look good”.

She blushed. Hard. 

“Thanks”, she said, smiling up at him. Their faces were once again close to each other, and the spot where his hand reached touched a bit of skin on her waist seemed to be on fire. Again, they leaned closer. She wanted to kiss him so bad she could scream-

“Hey guys were about to- ohhh what's going on in here!?” Came a British voice from the door. Simmons. 

Sousa quickly ducked his head to hide his smile. Daisy turned to face her, embarrassment written all over her face. But she was smiling. 

“Yea uhh. We’re about ready.” she said as she busied herself finding her necklace on the table next to the picture she had just put down. 

Simmons backed out of the door to leave, sharing a smile with Sousa. He was also obviously a little embarrassed, but a quick wink from the doctor reassured him. 

He smiled at the floor. He was glad he had found some friends in this weird place. Plus he had met Daisy, which was obviously going well- 

“Do you think you could help me put this on?” Daisy asked him. 

“Course.” he answered. 

Even when their hands touched when slipping the necklace between them Daisy’s stomach flipped flopped. She turned around and moved her long hair out of the way. 

He clasped the necklace around her neck. 

She hurried herself with getting her shoes on, and Sousa struggled to put what he wanted to say to her in words. It took Daisy to get to her second shoe (white nike air forces, very practical) until he spoke. 

“I know you've been hurt and i- i just wanted to let you know that i'm here for you. To talk i mean.” he mustered out. 

She paused, still looking at her shoelace. Shit he thought. He had gone too far. Too fast. Too fast. 

She finally looked up at him. God why was it so hard to read her facial expression. He had overstepped, he felt it- 

She smiled. It was faint. But it was there. She stood and brushed herself off, shoelace forgotten. She paused before starting. 

“Yeah its- its been a hard run these last couple of years. I've lost-” she paused to catch her breath- “I've lost, i don't even know how many people. People I care about. People i- i love.”

He glanced away at this. Mack had mentioned a boyfriend when they were talking about his own ex, Peggy, the other day. Lincoln, he remembered. 

Before he could say anything else, she took a step closer. But instead of leaning in for a kiss, she put her head on his shoulder. A hug. That she desperately needed. 

He hugged her back and closed his eyes. He desperately needed this. They had both gone through a lot, their hearts were worn. But they had each other, and they were grateful. They stood there for a minute, but it felt like seconds until they were interrupted, again.  

A loud pounding came from the door, making them both jump. 

“Come on guys, no funny business. We need to go soon.” it was Mack. 

Daisy rolled her eyes and she pulled away. They both giggled, and she went to her closet for a purse. 

When she had gotten all her things together, she reached for the door handle. 

“Daisy, wait.” Sousa called after her. 

“Yeah?” she turned to smile at him.

“Uhh. your shoes untied” he smiled down at it. 

“Oh! Thanks.” she laughed in embarrassment. 

She swooped down to tie her shoe, and when she straightened up, he was standing closer then he was before.

Without a word, they leaned in to kiss. 

Their lips met softly, and she hardened it by leaning in. 

She got lost in his lips, his touch. She closed her eyes and forgot about the world, the dinner, mack and simm- shit. The dinner. 

She reluctantly pulled away. 

“That was nice,” she said, her eyes still closed, “but we need to go.”

“Right.” 

They walked out of her room, hand in hand. Both with a giddy smile on their faces.

[bucketofcowboys]

2 Idiots At 2 AM

Thank you to RachelSnow on AO3 for beta reading this fic for me! I really appreciate it!

Relationship: Kazuma Kiryu & Akira Nishikiyama (NOT SHIP)

Warning: Underage Smoking, Smoking, a lil bit of angst, no spoilers for the games tho

Words: 2,044

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29684367

--------

Everything felt hazy, and the first thing Kiryu realized was that someone was holding his hand. The second thing he realized was that the hand was guiding him forwards, and his legs went with it like it was the natural flow of things. He didn't know who it was, nor did he know where he was going, all he knew was that for some reason he was completely at peace with it. He felt lax, like he was floating atop calm waters. It lapped at his skin in tranquil waves.

When he finally raised his head up to meet the gaze of the person that was holding his hand, he realized that they had no features. Instead they were smudged, like the scribbles of a pencil streaked against paper. Even with the terrifying lack of a face, he proceeded like nothing was out of place. Though he could not properly get a look at her, for some reason naturally in his mind, he identified the person guiding him as his mother. Her hands were soft and warm. Her voice was gentle, though he couldn't process what she was saying.

They approached a building that looked very familiar to him. It almost looked like Sunflower, but the signs were gone and it looked empty. He mindlessly labeled it as 'home'. He felt like he had lived there for years with his mom, though he couldn't pinpoint any specific memories that proved it. In front of the building stood another person with the same smudged looking face as her. He identified him as father. He smiled as they stepped in front of him. He had no face, so there was no way he could actually smile, but Kiryu felt it. He felt him smile at them, all cordial and bright and sunny.

"Kazuma!" Kiryu heard someone shout, and in an instant that warm calm feeling shattered like sheets of ice against the pavement. He turned around and he saw Nishiki on the ground. He was crying, broken. Knees torn open in great gashes. He turned back towards his parents, wanting to ask for help, but they were gone. Dissipated like dust in the wind.

"Kazuma! Wake up!" He opened his eyes and found himself laying on the wooden floor of he and Nishiki's shared room. He pulled his pressure numb arm out from under him, which he had been using as a pillow, and blinked a few times as he regained consciousness. Nishiki was squatting above him, flicking his forehead. They both were in the doorway of their room, and Kiryu had no idea how either of them got there. 

"Stop it!" He swatted the hand away from his face and pushed himself to sit up, "What happened?" He was still phased out of reality after that dream. Dreams about his parents always made him feel a bit disconnected once he woke up. Nishiki rolled his eyes.

"You fell asleep when I told you to be on the lookout for me, you dumbass." Nishiki flicked his head once more, and Kiryu groaned in disapproval. 

"They didn't catch you though, so I did my job." Kiryu pointed out, "Did you get it?" 

Nishiki rolled his eyes as if he was annoyed by his lack of confidence in him. 

"Yeah, of course I did." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of hi-lights. He popped open the top to show off the fact that it still had a few cigs in it. Kiryu raised his eyebrows, impressed. 

"Well give me one--" Kiryu impatiently grabbed at the package, and Nishiki immediately pulled back and held the cigarettes up and as far away as he could from him. Kiryu was taller, and could easily reach over him and grab them if he wanted to, but he didn't. He just sat there pouting. 

"Are you stupid? We can't smoke in here! What about my sister, dumbass!" He went to knock Kiryu on his head, but he quickly blocked it with his arm and threw Nishiki off of him. "We gotta smoke outside."

Kiryu shivered at the idea. It had been freezing the past few days, and he doubted just because two rebellious teens wanted to smoke that the temperature would magically spike up. But, Nishiki was right. Yuko definitely wouldn't fare well if she inhaled a bunch of smoke in her sleep, and smoking inside the building was banned anyways. If they smoked in there he was sure everyone would recognize the smell and they'd be in big trouble. He sighed, and got up to grab his jacket.

Once he arrived back at the doorway, Nishiki was already tiptoeing his way down the hall. Kiryu quickly made his way to follow, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could manage. If someone woke up and saw their door wide open, they were sure to become suspicious. He cautiously avoided the especially squeaky floor boards as he walked down the corridor, passing by Yumi and Yuko's own room with a flinch. If either of them found out what they were sneaking out to do they'd probably kill him and Nishiki. 

They finally entered the main area, and peered around the corner of the wall before they even attempted to get close to the front door. Scanning the darkened room, they saw no one occupying it. The usually full and bustling orphanage was disturbingly quiet during the night, many of the younger kids in a dead sleep after hours of play, the older ones confined in their rooms doing homework with only a flimsy book light to keep them company. He chased after Nishiki as he dashed towards the door, almost falling as his socks slid on the slick hardwood. Nishiki flipped the lock on the brass knob and it gave a click of approval, then he opened the door, as slowly as he possibly could to prevent any creaking.

Cool air rushed in and brushed past the both of them, causing a conjoined shiver. Kiryu tugged his jacket on tighter and regretted not putting anything over his tank top before deciding to do this. Eventually the door slid open to where the both of them could squeeze their body through, and then they spent a good couple minutes slowly closing it just in case. Outside, little flakes of snow had begun to fall from the dark gray sky. Under the cover of the night and winter, the white specks could be ash from a volcano and neither of them would notice a thing. Cool winds blew past, and the only things that illuminated their faces were the half moon in the sky, and the nearby porch light that lit up the wooden Sunflower sign. 

Nishiki quickly made his way to hide over at the side of the building, thinking they were less likely to be caught if they weren't directly in the front. Once they were under cover, they squatted down against the siding and Nishiki pulled out the pack of cigs again. He opened it and pulled out two of the white sticks and handed one to Kiryu while keeping the other for himself. Kiryu eyed at the object for a second, quickly realizing that the side with the blue lines was the side you were meant to smoke from, judging by the white foam filter he could see. The other side was jammed packed with dried tobacco. He sniffed at the odd end and flinched at the offending smell. 

"Shit, did you grab something to light it with?" Kiryu said when he finally realized that they had no way to actually smoke them. Nishiki waved him off. Kiryu noticed that he had already placed the cigarette between his lips, and he copied him. 

"Yeah of course, I'm not stupid." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a suspiciously familiar lighter. 

"Wait... that's-- Akira! Kazama-san’s already going to be pissed off when he finds that his smokes are missing, but you stole his lighter too?!" Nishiki shrugged, already flicking his thumb against the gear to try and light it. 

"Everyone else lights his cigarettes for him, he won't notice." He finally got the thing to spark hard enough that it lit, and he quickly moved the flame over to the tip of his cigarette. Kiryu watched as the fire slowly caught on the paper, and smoke began to plume at the end. He then reached over and brought the lighter closer to Kiryu. He leaned forwards and aimed the tip at the flame. He went cross eyed trying to get a glimpse of it as it lit up.

Nishiki shoved the lighter back into his pocket and took his first smooth drag from his cig, so Kiryu tried to follow suit. When he huffed the smoke in, he immediately began to choke. The taste was downright offensive, and his throat and lungs burned furiously. After trying to stifle his cough, he looked back up and saw that Nishiki seemed totally unaffected and blew his puff out with no problem. He furrowed his brows. 

"Have you done this before?" Kiryu asked, still gasping. 

"What? No!" Nishiki held the cigarette between his index and middle finger and gestured with it with mock experience, "I'm just cooler than you Kazuma." He added smugly. He took another drag, and this time Kiryu took notice that he had to stifle a cough. He smirked, but didn't point it out. 

They sat there for a while, quietly nursing their cigarettes, stifling coughs and chokes and accidently burning their nostrils as they let the smoke go through the wrong pipes. Their hearts pounded heavy in their chests and adrenaline pumped through their veins, knowing what they were doing was against so many rules and if they were caught they probably wouldn't be allowed outside of the orphanage for a week. But that was the appeal of it, wasn't it? The thrill.

As Kiryu kept smoking, a feeling of nausea fell over him. People always talked about how cigarettes were calming, and he thought that the more and more he inhaled the more relaxed he would get. Instead it was the opposite. He felt sick to his stomach and everything burned. He had no idea why adults smoked so often. All it seemed to do was hurt. He couldn't even finish his cigarette before he stubbed it out on the ground. 

"What's wrong?" Nishiki asked, Kiryu looked up at him pale faced and big eyed. 

"I feel sick, ototo-kun." He said honestly. He felt like he was going to throw up. Nishiki gave him a look of concern. 

"You wanna go inside?" Kiryu quickly nodded. Nishiki stubbed his cigarette on the side of the building and left a petty burn mark against the siding, a reminder of what they did here, then grabbed Kiryu and led him by the arm back into the building. They tip-toed their way back to their room, and Kiryu curled up on his bed with the sickening taste of tobacco and nicotine sinking in his stomach. By the time morning came around, the sickness had passed and he felt much better, but they soon came to regret their decision later in the day when Kazama came to visit. 

It turns out that he had, indeed, noticed the lighter Nishiki stole was missing, and he lined all the kids up and asked for whoever stole them to come clean. When no one stepped forward, he made his rounds and after only a few seconds he figured out it was he and Nishiki just by the smell of tobacco that still clung to their breath. He forced the two of them to fess up and apologize in front of the whole orphanage (Kiryu wouldn't have been so embarrassed about it if Yumi wasn't angrily eyeing him the entire time), then he sent them off to their room and grounded them for a couple of weeks. What Kiryu remembered the most was that he was less pissed off about the smoking, and more pissed off about Nishiki stealing, and getting away with it.

About a year later, when they both had turned fifteen, they tried the same thing all over again.

It went about as well as the first time.

[doubleshotofsomething]

Needy

[This is my submission for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ ‘s Little Darlin’s Mystery AU challenge. This is a three part soulmate au inspired by the song “Needy” by Ariana Grande, the prologue and epilogue do not count as part one/three.]

The person you’re supposed to be with, isn’t always the one you’re meant to be with.

Summary: You can’t fight fate and expect the battle to be fair.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Wanda x Bucky

Warnings: anst (ANGST), abuse (im so sorry), panic attack mentions, mental disorder references, attempted murder (for like 5 seconds tho), absolutely no fluff (if it looks like fluff then it’s a lie). Please be warned, im bad at warnings but this may be a triggering chapter so proceed with caution.

Prompts: soulmate au. song prompt

---

Prologue Part One Part Two

---

 Part Three: [ How you even think it got this far?]

"What-- the fuck did you do?"

You blink at him, eyes wide with anticipation as you watch him assess the situation.

The party was still going on somewhere in the tower. It was fun, for the first hour. Then it got boring, so you found Sam, a bottle of whiskey, and ditched to the residential floor.

Sam is next to you, expression matching yours as you both feign innocence – you more than him.

"This is—" Nat pauses, walking further into the room and stopping just a few feet to your right. "—this is actually cute."

"Thank you," the words slip out of your mouth far too quick for your control. Your eyes widen at your admission and you squeak as Sam jabs at your side with his elbow. "ouw!"

You glare at him and he glares back, head nodding to a slowly angering Bucky.

"You—" Bucky grits his teeth, picking up one of the swans you had made with the dress, "—you ruined it."

"We improved it." Sam chimes in, earning a pitiful elbow from you.

The swans were terrible. The internet wasn't as helpful as you had thought it would be and making a swan out of cloth was surprisingly harder than you thought it be too. Especially when you do it after Sam found Thor's secret stash of Asgardian mead.

"Twas actually harder than you'd think," You find yourself adding, "google isn't that user friendly."

"—and the instructions were in hieroglyphs." Sam nods, facing scrunching up in confusion and then he turns to look at you. "You speak hieroglyphs?"

You shake your head at that. "I think it was Korean—"

"—it couldn't have been."

"How would you know? You don't even speak it hieroglyphs—"

"Widow probably speaks it—"

"She could have translationed it for us! Why didn't we think of that!"

Nat blinks at you both, eyebrows furrowing as her eyes land on a flask next to one of the swans. "Oh."

Bucky is shaking, the sound of metal plates shifting echoes in the room as his eyes land on the beads scattered on the table. He looks back at the remnants of the dress in his hands, and he can't find it in himself to calm down. Not when he knows what this dress means, not when you know what it means to him.

"Steve made us do it." You say, smiling innocently at him.

Sam shrugs. "Yeah, definitely."

"It was a pretty shit dress—" Nat adds, nodding her head as she picks up a swan. "This is justice."

"Also, it's bad luck to see the—" You pause, hiccup, and frown as the word escapes you, "—female groom?"

You look to Sam for assistance and pout, he shrugs. "Don't look at me, I wanted to make ducks."

"Yeah, but ducks are difficult to make—" You pause, "—my battery is still at 40%, I know where the suits are."

He grins, wide and devilishly. "I'll look for the other flasks."

 You don't get to make ducks or get the suits. You end up hanging over Bucky's left shoulder as he barrels his way down to the parking lot, stomach churning from your position and completely uncomfortable.

"At least let Steve mandle me, he’s nicer." you try to push yourself up, hands pressing into his back as you try to find some comfort.

Steve chuckles as he watches you pout from in front of him. In his hands are the keys to Sam's car and your purse, along with your coat and gloves.

"Manhandle is the word you're looking for, doll." Steve says, unlocking the car and opening the back door.

Bucky places you inside, surprisingly gentle, as compared to his brutish behaviour, and practically growls at you when you try to wiggle away from him.

"Sit. Still." His words come out through gritted teeth as he clips your seatbelt in place. "Don't even think about it."

You move your hands away from the seat belt clip slowly and feign innocence. "Can I at least say bye to Cap?"

The door slams shut before you even finish your sentence, but you still yell out a goodbye anyway while Bucky yanks open the driver's side door.

He gets in gracefully, throws your stuff onto the passenger seat roughly, and speeds out of the Tower's underground parking before the doors even fully open.

He's quiet the entire drive to your place, tense and stiff in his seat. You're fidgeting in your seat behind him – poking at the back of his neck and trying to get him to open a window— completely unremorseful.

It baffles him, the lengths you're willing to go to get your point across. The damage you're willing to do. It completely blows his mind, the things you're capable of doing – just to get what you want.

He tells you that, as he carries you up to your apartment. Continues to tell you that, as you retch into the toilet and then helps you change into your pyjamas. Doesn't even stutter as he goes on while making you finish up the coffee he made.

You glare at him and his control falters, frowns at that uncanny familiar sensation gripping at the base of his skull.

"—it's not like she was gonna wear it, anyway." You mutter, taking a gulp of the coffee, "you can't marry her now."

"Wha—" his voice cracking cuts him short, a shiver races through him as he tries to blink.

You're sitting on the counter, trapped between both of his arms on either side of you, and he breaks eye contact to look down at the cup in your hand.

"She knows that we're mates," you continue, completely oblivious. "She's great, I like her, honestly. But she can't fight fate, or nature. It would've made cents—scents—" you frown, and glare at the crown of Bucky's head, as if you'll find the word you're looking for there. "—whatever. It doesn't matter. Neither does this wedding, because— come on, let's be honest. No one wants to be with our kind, it’s too risky. We are the defamation of— deformation— what?"

He should find this cute. He usually does. But he can't, not now, not when he can feel the sweat pooling at the back of his shirt. Not when that prickling feeling is clawing up his spin, that trickle of fear – foreign and yet familiar –  why was it so familiar?

"Stop—" he rasps, pushing himself away from you, putting as much distance between the both of you as possible.

You frown, setting the cup down and slide of the counter. "Buck—" your knees knock when you land on your feet, and you have to grab onto the counter to keep you from falling. "—Bucky?"

"Stop." His hands are in his hair, gripping furiously as he shut his eyes. "No."

He has done this before, deflecting from the topic at hand, changing it in a way that made you not want to touch it.

Coffee mugs crushed in his hands. I'll talk to her, don't worry about it.

Fists slammed into dinner tables. For fuck's sakes, I said I'll do it, it's been a really stressful weak as it is.

Doors banged off their hinges. Wanda is not some mate-stealing monster, damnit! I won't have you shit-talking her like this.

Broken plates scattered on the floor, while on their way to the kitchen. Are you fu— doll, please, I didn't come here to fight. Okay? Let's just... not, right now.

You had listened, each time, because he was there with you and not with her. You let him deflect every time, because he needed that from you, and you could never deny him – not that you'd try. You had listened and, in turn, the wedding wasn't called off.

You were done listening.

"You can't walk away every time I bring this up, Buck—" you follow him into the living room, "—I'm not some groupie you can't shake. I'm your soulmate, and you're gonna have to face that fact sooner, rather than later."

"Just—" he breathes out, "—stop talking, for once."

"You can't seriously be mad at me, right now—"

You need to stop.

"I'm not wrong for wanting us to be together, and you know that." You point out, frowning as the chair he’s leaning against begins to crack under his grip. "—okay, fine. We can change the topic, if it's that upsetting!"

He really needs you to stop.

There's a tug at your chest, faint but strong enough to make you look down in confusion, before you realise it's the matebond.

Except, the pull feels different this time. It's an uncomfortable sting, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, and you frown. It has never felt like this, not even when you had first found Bucky, never this... this... alarming?

You look up at your mate and you think that's why. You think it's because he's distressed, that this is serious, that it's another one of his attacks.

So, you go to him, because you need to. Because the feeling won't relent. Because it's in your nature to be what he needs you to be.

The stinging seems to worsen the closer you get, furious as it spikes an increase in your heart rate, and you hate yourself for a second – knowing that you've caused this. This is happening because you went on a rampage and ruined Wanda's wedding dress.

She liked that dress. You know that because he told you. Because it was bought on the same day that you had met Bucky. Because he couldn't stomach the thought of her never being able to wear it for their wedding, once it's called off...

And you decided to turn into swans.

His hand is on you, around your throat, backing you into a wall as it squeezes.

It takes a couple of seconds for you to register, to realise what is happening. And, for some reason, all you can think about was how it was the first time he used his hand –  his actual hand – to touch you.

And, suddenly, you prefer the left hand.

--

It's too late.

By the time he comes to, you're already on the floor.

You're unconscious, your cheeks are wet and your neck is bruising.

He's standing over you, confused. He calls your name, shakes you, but you don't wake.

There's a pulse, he checked, and you're breathing, he double-checked.

He can still feel you, so he tells himself that that's a good sign as he carries you to bed. He sets a bottle of water on your nightstand, charges your phone for you, and scribbles down a note.

Call me when you wake up.

He can't seem to start the car, or remember why you ended up on the floor, so he calls Steve.

He doesn't tell him what happened over the phone, but he does when he arrives. He tells him what he can remember, about the yelling and then putting you to bed and that blank gap between the two.

Shit, Buck. Steve swears, so he knows it's bad.

You're going to hate him in the morning, he knows this, but why isn't he feeling the bond pull him to you. To fix this.

That's what it usually does, doesn't it?

That's why he always came back after every fight, isn't it?

There would be the fighting and arguing and the breaking of things. You would kick him out and ignore him. He would feel bad and make up for it, he had to – he always had to. He could never fight that feeling.

Why wasn't it there, now?

--

Wanda was there when you woke.

Bruce was there, too. Checking you, helping you, telling you what to do and what not to do.

You're all quiet, except for Bruce as he speaks only when necessary. She's in the background, leaning against your dresser, while you try to go about your morning routine in the afternoon.

Bruce called your work and put in a sick leave for you, had Dr Cho sign a sick note for you. He even scheduled an appointment with Cho for you, a proper scan once you can get out of bed.

You blame the mead, how could you not? It had to be it, because there is no way, in heaven or hell, that Bucky could...

Bruce only stays for as long as he needs too. He's a match, the thread match, and he can't stay away from Nat for too long. So, he leaves… she doesn't.

It's awkward, as expected, and ugly and anxiety inducing.

You ruined her wedding dress, cut it into pieces and turned it into a plaything for you and Sam. You remember that part because you did it while you weren't completely shitfaced.

She's marrying the man that you want, the man that's supposed to be yours, and it would be easy to get you out of the picture – get rid of you so you wouldn't put Bucky through this anymore. But she doesn't, because she understands.

She understands because you don't know.

You don't know what they did to him, what they had to do to get him to be the soldier they wanted. You don't know what he went through, what they put him through when he resisted.

And he could never tell you that. Because it's not your fault that they used your bond to turn him into a monster. It's not your fault that they turned the only good thing he had, the one thing that was his, into a weapon. He couldn't tell you that...

"He's in Wakanda." Wanda says softly, eyes locking on yours as you both watch each other from opposite ends of the room. "Bucky."

You want to ask why, she can tell, so she explains.

"When he was put under, again, we thought—" she swallows, rubbing circles in her chest to ease the knot, "—we thought that he could be..."

You give a slight nod of understanding, adjusting the continental pillow behind you back.

You knew what Hydra had done to him, what they had turned him into. Anyone who was anyone knew.

"So," she sighs, "when he came back to the team, we all thought he was okay. I thought he was okay, I mean—I checked to make sure he was okay... But... we know, now that he wasn't. I didn't think it could happen, especially not now. I mean—"

She pauses and looks at you. You can see the struggle on her face, the hesitance to continue, and you frown.

Wanda found out about you on the same day that Bucky did. He told her immediately, over the phone, didn't even wait until she got back to the compound.

He said it didn't change anything, that your presence didn't change anything, but she knew.  She knew it did.

He couldn't balance between her and a mate, she didn't want him to. So, he decided to introduce you to each other.

She liked you instantly, how could she not? You were exactly what she expected Bucky's mate to be, and more. But he didn't care.

She wanted to call things off, but he wouldn't listen to reason. She wanted him to understand, to know that she wouldn't hate him if he didn't choose her. Because she knew better; fate had chosen, and it wasn't her.

It's my choice, he persisted. And I love you. She'll just have to understand, because I'm not leaving you.

You were fate's choice for him.

But he had had enough of people choosing for him; the army, hydra, the UN, and now, you?

No one knows what's best for me, except for me. We're getting married and that's final.

He wouldn't back down and she couldn't fight him. She loved him more than she could ever understand, who was she to choose for him?

"Hydra did things, things that shouldn't be possible," she continues, her voice steadier than she expected. "Once they had their hands on the tesseract, they did things to him that — I don't think we can fix…"

You can feel him, sort of... it's barely there, the bond, but you can still feel him.

She folds her arms across her chest. "Whatever you said last night, whatever it is you did— it triggered him back."

You blink. Once. Twice. Then, all at once, it sinks in and your stomach tightens.

"What?" Is your reaction, whispered and you can barely register the voice as yours.

"They're gonna try and reverse it, like before—" Wanda rushes the words out, but it's too late. Her previous words are already sitting on your chest and you're finding it hard to breathe. "—they've done it once; they can do it again—"

The realisation hits you, hard, and you have to force yourself to breathe.

Because now you understand why, you know why the link had felt that way – why the ache intensified as you got closer to him.

"I threw the bond in his face," your voice cracks and your throat aches as you speak. "I told him that— oh."

It was warning you, the bond, and you ignored it. It was feeling threatened, and you ignored it.

How could you be so selfish?

Wanda is sitting in front of you before you can even blink, trying to calm you down, begging you to calm down, to breathe...

Damn it, why couldn't you breathe?

"I can never have him, can I?" You're gasping, practically wheezing, and your nails dig into Wanda's arm.

The pain is there, she feels it, but she's too busy worrying about your escalating heart rate to focus on it. "Y/N, please, breathe—"

You're shaking your head, frantic and harder than your headache can handle. "What did I do— what did I do— what did I do—"

"Hey—hey— hey, look at me!"

"I ignored it—" your chest hurts and you don't understand why, "—it was, it was here—" you let go of her arm to pat your chest, "—right here, it was here. The bond. I could feel it. And he was begging me to stop and trying to leave, but I didn't listen— Wanda, I didn't listen—"

Wanda doesn't know what to do, not even Bucky had gotten this bad before. This was new territory for her.

You were too far gone to listen to anything she was saying, and she was too busy panicking to know what to do. How does she fix this?

"I need you to calm down, please— oh my god!"

"Why wouldn't I listen? I just wanted him to— you know? I just wanted him to choose me—"

"Y/N! Y/N! Please, I need you to—"

"Because I didn't— I just wanted to have him. And now— I broke it. It's broken. I broke it, Wanda. I broke it—how could I— he needed me to just— and I broke it—"

"Sam— help me! I don't know what's happening— she won't stop— "

 --

It was unchartered territory.

Reversing the trigger through the matebond wasn't possible, especially when the stones had been returned to their timelines.

The only option they had, that Shuri could provide, was completely erasing every single one of his memories. Every, last, one.

Clean slate. No Wanda, or Steve, or you.

You would still remember though, everyone will. So, there really wasn't a point.

You told Wanda – days later, when you were well enough to leave for your appointment with Dr Cho and found her there –  it wouldn't be necessary.

"He doesn't have to go under," you said, fidgeting with hem of the hospital. "I'll stop... I'll stop everything."

She shook her head, ready to protest. "You don't have to do any of that, I'm not going to marr—"

"Please do." You stopped her, shaking your head. You'd done enough damage as it is. "He chose you. He's fought me at every turn because he wants you. I'm not—"

Why was it so easy to say all this?

"I'll still be there, when he needs me— for whatever it is, but only for that. He's yours," he doesn't want me anyway, "We're mates, not matches, we don't have to be together for this to work—"

"You don't know what you're saying—"

"The world has taken enough from you— I've taken enough from you, Wanda. Let me give you this, at least."

You could live without him. You've done it before.

How hard could it be?

Tagging: @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ , @decadentsoulbiscuitgoth​ [sorry i took so long, won’t happen again :) xx]

[fun-and-fandoms]

I Shouldn’t But I Do

Chapter Eight: Time To Go Home

Masterlist

TWD Masterlist

Let me know what you think!

Summary: Y/n is struggling to survive after being seperated from her group. When she meets Negan her life is changes forever, the question is if it was for the better.

Pairing: Negan x Y/n

Warnings: fluff, anst, violence

“Y/n, you got to wake up mouse. We have to leave soon.” Opening your eyes, you see Negan standing above you. 

“How long was I out?” you ask, sitting up and stretching.

“Only an hour, you have enough time to take a shower and then we need to head back to the Sanctuary. I put your clothes on the bathroom counter,” Negan explains, he gives you a quick kiss and walks out of the room. Climbing out of bed, you make your way to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, you step in and quickly wash your hair and body. Turning off the shower, you dry off and throw on your clothes. Walking into the kitchen you find Negan cleaning up. “Hey, are you ready to go?”

“Ya, why don’t you get in the truck while I lock up. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Nodding, you go out to the truck and climb into the passenger seat. True to his word Negan was out in a couple minutes. The two of you drove silently towards the Sanctuary, your hand resting in his.

“So what’s the plan now?” you question, breaking the silence.

“What do you mean?”

“If I’m being completely honest I don’t want to go back to the way we were. I don’t know what you want to do, I mean you still have wifes,” you admit, glancing over at Negan.

“Do you want to become a wife?” Negan asks.

“I love being a savior too much to become a wife.”

“What if you didn’t have to choose. You could still be a savior and we could be together, but for that to work you can only go on runs with me,” Negan compromises, squeezing your hand.

“But what about the wives?” you question.

“I’ll get rid of them. They’ll have to keep the benefits of being a wife because they’re not choosing to leave,” Negan says.

“You’d do that?”

“Yes, I would for you.” For the rest of the ride back the two of you sat quietly listening to music and you had a small smile on your face. Back at the Sanctuary Negan was forced to rush off without saying goodbye to deal with urgent business, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Wandering around the compound, after a while you find yourself wandering the market a blood red leather jacket catches your eye. Pulling it off the hanger, you try it on and fits perfectly and it’s perfect timing because it’s starting to turn to fall. Telling the seller to put it on your tab, walking out into the courtyard you smile to yourself as you watch children playing under the watchful eye of their school teacher. You were too distracted by the children playing to hear Frankie storming up to you until she slapped you across the face. “You man-stealing bitch, how dare you!” she growled.

Slowly taking a step away from her, you calmly reply “Frankie, calm down. If you want to talk we can talk, but if you hit me again you’re going to regret it.”

“Ya right you manipulative whore, you seduced Negan then you somehow convinced him to dump me and the rest of his wives,” she sneered.

Taking a deep breath you try to control your temper, especially since the two of you had drawn a crowd. “I didn’t manipulate Negan, he chose this decision …  hell he even suggested it in the first place.”

“That’s a fucking lie and you know it,” Frankie yells lunging at you. You easily dodge her and she falls on the ground which angers her further. When she lunges for you again she manages to grab your pant leg and pulls you to the ground. Before you could get up Frankie manages to climb on top of you and starts to punch you in the face. All you can do is put your hands over your face in an attempt to block the punches. It felt like hours before someone was able to pull Frankie off of you, sitting up you spit some blood out. Looking at Frankie you see that she was being restrained by two saviors.

“Put her in a cell and someone go fucking get Carson” You look over to see Negan walking towards you. 

“Negan I’m fine, I don’t need to see Carson,” you try to reassure him.

Negan squats down next to you. Brushing a strand of hair out of your face he counters “You don’t see what you look like mouse, you probably don’t feel it either because of the adrenaline but that’s going to wear off soon.” Looking up Negan sees the crowd of people still standing around you. “What are you standing around for, get back to work!” The crowd quickly disperses and Carson appears. 

Negan is quiet as Carlson questions and examines you. During the examination you realized Negan is right, you didn’t feel anything due to adrenaline and now everything was starting to hurt now that it was starting to wear off . “I would like for you to go back to my office so I can do a more thorough exam and possibly keep you under observation. I’m pretty sure you have a concussion,” Carson explains, putting his equipment back in his bag. You and Negan nod and Negan sticks his hand out to help you up. Grabbing his hand you let him help you up, soon after you stand up you almost collapsed due to dizziness. 

“Whoa, are you ok Y/n?” Negan asks, holding you up.

“I’m fine, I just got really dizzy for a second,” you reply, trying to balance yourself.

“Well I don’t think you can walk,” Negan announces picking you up. “So I’m going to carry you and don’t try to stop me.” Not even attempting to argue, you rest your head on Negan’s chest and let him carry you to Carson’s office. Carson was right about you having a concussion, lucky it wasn’t very severe. Though due to dizziness he wanted to keep you under observation overnight to make sure there wasn’t anything else going on. He also gave you some pain meds for the concussion, the black eye, and a bruised rib. Laying in Carson office, you settle in for a long night of restless sleep.

Forver Tags

@charmed-asylum​

[fangirlfanwritings]

Gendry x Lannister Reader Request

What about a fic where the reader is Tyrions daughter who reunites with him when they go to Winterfell. After the battle its suggested that her and Gendry marry to unite the houses. Maybe alittle anst?

You paced the room in Winterfell as you waited for the Dragon Queen and her men to arrive. While Jon had received word at Dragonstone that Arya and Bran were now home, you had received word that your father was alive and well and acting as the Hand of the Queen. Having left the Capitol years ago seeking safety away from your treacherous Lannister family, you had somehow ended up in Winterfell under Jon and Sansa’s protection. You were grateful that they knew you weren’t like the other golden haired lions.

You could hear the marching getting closer and closer. “Y/N.” You stopped pacing and saw Sansa standing in the doorway. “They are close. We should go.” You nodded and walked with her. You took your place beside Bran and watched as the Dragon Queen’s men came into the Winterfell gates. A loud roar echoed through the sky and you looked up to see the dragons that flew overhead. The only thing that took your eyes from them was Jon Snow and the silver haired Targaryen entering Winterfell with your Father by their side. With Jon got down and ran to hug his siblings, your Father quickly made his way to you and pulled you in for a hug.

“You’re ok,” he tried not to weep. “I have been so worried about you.”

“The Starks have been taking great care of me.” You hugged him harder. “I have missed you so much.” Feeling the eyes of those around you on the both of you, he pulled away and introduced you to his Queen.

******

The grounds were bustling as people prepared for the dead to arrive. With your grandfather’s old sword in hand you walked to the armory and looked around for someone who could help you. “A Lady like you shouldn’t be down among this mess.” You turned and saw a soot covered man who made your stomach flutter.

“How did you know I was a Lady?”

“You’re dressed like one.” You looked at your gown. “And the hair gives you away, Lady Lannister.”

“Call me Y/N, please.”

“Then you can call me Gendry, M’La-....Y/N. What can I help you with?”

“This is my grandfather’s old sword. I...borrowed...it,” you lied, “before I left King’s Landing. It’s Valyrian steel but it’s much too heavy for myself. Is there any way you could melt it down to a smaller sword and a couple daggers?” You handed him the great sword and watched him examine it’s make and weight.

“We’re busy so it might take a while, but I’ll get it done.”

“Thank you.” There was an awkward silence between you, like you were both trying to figure out something to say to keep the conversation going. You started to leave, kicking yourself for leaving it like that, but stopped suddenly. You were a Lion, you could do this. “Gendry?” He turned back to face you. “I should like to repay you for this. Perhaps I’ll bring you supper tonight and you could take a slight break to feast with me?”

He nodded. “That would be very kind of you.”

******

Though you two had only spent a small amount of time together, you were both quickly infatuated. When the final hours before battle fell you ran to find Gendry and pulled him into one of the deserted hallways. “Here,” you said quickly and placed the sword you had made into his hand. “I want you to have this.”

“Me? Why? This is Valyrian steel, it’s far too much for me to have.”

“I want you to have it. It’ll give me peace of mind while I sit in the crypts. I want to make sure you’re ok.”

“Thank you. I’ll use it to slay those walkers down and I’’ll come get you as soon as we’ve won.” You both knew the chances of that were slim.

“Be safe down there.” You stood on your toes and placed a kiss to his lips. “Want to do something while we wait for our death?”

“I’d love to.” As you two walked off Tyrion watched from the second story as you two walked away.

******

As you walked towards the Great Hall for the celebration you ran into your Father. “I was on my way to look for you. I wanted to speak to you about something.” You stopped and got ready to listen. “I wanted to speak to you about Gendry.” Your eyes bulged. “I’ve noticed that the two of you have grown close.”

“We have. He’s an honorable man. He is kind and funny, and a great blacksmith.”

“And he’s in love with you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s clear to see. I had that same look when I met your Mother. You have that same look when you look at him also.” You didn’t know what to say. “With everything that’s happened, you deserve to be happy. You’re also set to be the head of our family. I think, if you’re interested, setting up a marriage between you and the only son of Robert Baratheon would be a great opportunity for you both to be happy.”

“You’d allow me to marry a bastard?”

“A bastard is just any other title given to a man, like King or Lord...or imp.”

[blenderkit17]

My Fault, My Responsibility (part 1??)

Summery: All of the sides are rushing to finish the next video. Things happen. We all have to take responsibility right?

Warnings: Anst, anger, stress, overworking, hints at sickness??, And over all bad writing. Let me know if I missed anything :]

Navigation: you are here - chapter 2 - chapter 3

A/N: Sorry that I haven't written in a while. I know that this is rushed but I really just wanted to post SOMETHING! I have the next chapter of mute button planed out but I did this instead. I am a horrible procrastinator! There is a fluffy ending to this but I couldn’t figure out what perspective I wanted it to be written in. I may upload it later IDK. ( @sidespromptblog because you said you liked Logan angst. If you don’t want to be tagged let me know.)

Words: 762

       It was a hard day for everyone. Thomas was behind on, yet another video and all the sides were rushing to get something out. This was causing Virgil’s anxiety to go through the roof. He could hardly stand staying outside his room for more than a few minutes. Roman was washed out, but still insisted that he wasn't. He kept spending more and more time in the imagination and kept coming out with various degrees of wounds. Patton would always try and help Roman. Patton, poor Patton, was trying his dang hardest to keep everyone's spirits up, but there is only so much that one man can take. All of this really seems to be hitting Patton hard. He puts on a smile, but everyone sees past it. You know that It is bad when I, Logan, of all people can see past his mask. All this stress has become a routine as of late.

        Sighing, I placed down my pencil and turned to the clock above my desk. It was midnight and I was nowhere near done. I guess it will be another sleepless night for me. I have been working on organizing all of Roman’s extravagant ideas on top of trying to maintain some order in Thomas’s hectic schedule for about two weeks now. That time had been filled with a bunch of sleepless nights and none stop work. This is nothing bad, though, as I do not need sleep and food to function properly. I am a figment of Thomas's imagination and therefore do not require the basic needs that one would normally require to survive. At least I should…

       A piercing pain throbbed through my skull. I let out a groan and l laid my head on my desk. The desk was hard and cold, but the cool wood felt strangely nice on my skin. It did little to quench the pain, however. I had been getting these headaches for the past week. I still don’t know what is causing them, but I cannot stop my work. We are behind, and everyone is stressed. Maybe a little break won’t hurt…

      I thought back to about two weeks ago. That had been the last time I went down stairs. I was taking my normal lunch break. It was just going to be for a quick second so that I can maintain energy and a clear mind. When I approached the kitchen, I had spotted Virgil leaning against the counter. It was rare to see him in the commons as he usually hid in his room.

     “Hello, Virgil,” I greeted in my usual manor, “How are you?”

     Virgil turned to me. His eyes were red and puffy, and he looked unkempt. Had he been crying? That was not the most surprising thing. His eyes were narrowed into a glare that sent shivers down my spine. I tried my hardest not to flinch. I was not expecting that.

     “What’s wrong with you?!” He yelled. His voice was dripping with icy needles. Why was he so mad at me? What did I do? I could feel my legs shaking but I did my best to hid it. I opened my mouth to respond but he cut me off before I could.

     “Do you not care about Thomas? Does this not affect you at all?” His voice held such venom and malice. I had never heard Virgil like that before. My chest sank to my knees and my throat locked up under his never-ending glare.

     “You Jerk! I knew you struggled with emotion, but I guess you really are a heartless robot!” Ouch, that hurt. I took in a shallow breath, noticing it had been a while since I breathed. I tried again to speak, to find out why he was so mad at me, but again he cut me off.

    “All of this is your fault, you know! Your Logic! Isn’t It your job to make sure this never happens in the first place! And here you are without a care in the world!” I shrunk onto myself at those words. I couldn’t hide it this time. He was right. I lowered my head without saying a word. Virgil growled at my lack of a response and ran up to his room.

   I sighed again as I took up my pencil. No, I could not take a break. This is all my fault and I cannot risk making it any worse. A little headache is nothing. Despite a growing flipping in my stomach and a cloudy head, I got back to work.

[itsagrifthing]

One Door Closes

A/N: Oof it’s been a while since I’ve written an rvb fic, but I’ve been going through my WIPs and I really liked this one

Summary: Grif, alone on the moon after the Reds and the Blues went off to save Church with Dylan and Jax, is forced to fend for himself. He comes to terms with each of the Reds as he learns to adapt. 

Tags: Anst, nightmares

Misc: Takes place during season 15, Carolina is red team you can’t change my mind!!! 

DAY 18 SINCE THOSE CRAZY FUCKERS DECIDED TO GO OFF ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE AND KILL THEMSELVES

It had been the second fucking night in row that Grif couldn’t sleep. Which is ridiculous.

Sleeping was his thing, after all. Laziness and sarcasm and food and all that shit. The sole purpose in his life is to seek better naps, darker horizons. He has dreams of sleeping on some faraway island, in a hammock, in a place Sarge or Simmons or all the rest could never find him (except maybe Lopez. Grif always got the feeling that Lopez was kinda cool).

Instead, tonight he roamed the empty, quiet hallways of their stupid makeshift fort. Alone.

He passed Sarge’s room, but still couldn’t bring himself to look inside. Grif had closed that door the day they all left, and it stayed tightly shut to this day. Simmons’s room was a whole other matter, of course-- Grif already raided it for leftover food, and graffitied all over the posters of Sarge and, horrifically, Transformers, hanging up on his wall (he also added a nice handlebar  mustache on every picture of Simmons in Red base. Gotta have a little cultural diversity, right?)

Grif automatically made his way to the kitchen, winding between the beat-up cutout of himself that Sarge propped up in the living room, and the blow-up AirChair Grif smuggled out from Chorus, and stopping right in front of the refrigerator.

He opened the door, licking his lips, eager for something wholly unhealthy and equally delicious. He expected to see Oreo’s (which were definitely better cold), or Cheese Sticks, or leftover pizza, or hell, he’d even settle for some chocolate syrup.

But it was empty. Completely empty. The lettuce was gone. They were even out of goddamn soy sauce!

Fucking hell, Grif thought to himself. He had forgotten that the food had run out about a week ago, and he was always too lazy to go out and find more. His poor, neglected stomach rumbled. There were only so many times one could eat those blue Meth-meth shrooms, after all.

So, instead, Grif turned back down the hallway and began walking.

Walking.

Here was Dexter Grif. Alone. On a little paradise island. Without Sarge or Simmons or any of the fucking Blues here to ruin his life. He could be doing literally anything he wanted.

And he was walking? Fuck that.

But he guessed it calmed him down a little bit. It cleared his mind, and sort of made the dark corners in the base seem a little less dark. And besides, it gave him time to talk with his friend.

“So, I think I’ve figured out the secret to life,” Grif said as he walked out of the base and down toward the beach.

Simmons, keeping up step by step with him, rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, fatass. The secret to life is Twinkies.”

Grif considered this.

“I guess those could come pretty close, with the sweet, sweet cream filling and spongy exterior…” he close his eyes briefly, imagining it. He could almost taste the calories. “Yeah… I’m gonna call those a close second.” He opened his eyes and shook his head. “But no. The secret to life is…” He trailed off, hesitant to say it out loud.

“The suspense is killing me,” Simmons interjected sarcastically.

“I’m pausing for dramatic effect.”

Simmons sighed. “Please, just tell me. I’m dying to know.”

“Alright, here goes. It’s… perspective.”

“Perspective.” Simmons quieted for a moment, considering it for a second. “Explain.”

“Think about it. For years, we’ve been in life-threatening situations, fighting enhanced super-soldiers, or robotically fucked up A.I.’s. We’ve thrown ourselves into the middle of bullshit wars, gotten dragged along on the Blue’s stupid drama throw-downs, and it was the most important thing in the world to us.”

“So…?”

“But look back on it. We’ve been to the very edge of colonized space and back, and I’ve seen it all. It’s all so fucking enormous… There’s so many planets and people and lives and stories and drama. Put into perspective, we… we really haven’t done jack-shit.”

“That’s not true!” Simmons protested. “Stopping the war on Chorus, we’ve saved lives! Stopping the director--”

“We didn’t stop the Director, Carolina handed him a pistol and told him to go fuck himself! And Chorus… well, you heard what Locus and Felix said. It’s just one meaningless planet in a universe of millions and millions of meaningless planets.”

They were quiet. Grif realized that he had stopped walking, caught up in the heat of the moment. He had sunk slightly in the sand, and the waves crept up slowly around his bare feet, sparkling in the bright moonlight. Wind ruffled his hair.

“You don’t mean that,” Simmons said softly. Grif sighed.

“Don’t I?” He could barely bring himself to meet Simmons’ reproachful gaze. The look of disappointment, of pity. The look Grif saw on his face the day they left, and he stayed. The look that screams ‘you’re better than this!’ But he really wasn’t.

“You’re not even real,” Grif muttered, waving his hand, and Simmons disappeared.

He was alone again.

DAY 24 SINCE THOSE ASSHATS LEFT GRIF ALONE ON AN UNINHABITED MOON

Grif hadn’t been talking lately. What was the point? There wasn’t anyone to talk to anyways.

Simmons hadn’t returned since that night, good riddance. Grif didn’t think he could bear to see that look on his face one more time, at least not in person. The look was still etched in his mind, seared into his memories. It ached constantly, a reminder.

Grif shut Simmons’ door last night, and locked it from the inside. The graffiti wasn’t funny anymore.

On the bright side, though, Grif managed to find more food. He’d finally reached the point where he was so desperate for anything that didn’t send him on one hell of an acid trip he raided Blue base for some rope. He collected some leaves and branches too, and sat himself down on a rock for an hour, teaching himself how to make traps.

It wasn’t too hard, he learned eventually, and it was actually an ideal way to hunt. You literally set something down on the ground, and wait for the food to come to you. It was almost too good to be true.

But he soon found out the equalizer the first time he caught a rabbit in his trap.

He watched the creature struggle in vain, it’s limbs flailing helplessly. He stared into its beady, desperate little eyes. He watched as the little creature never stopped trying to escape from its predator in its lost and hopeless battle, and Grif, sickly, felt a little bit of what Locus must have felt when he stalked his prey.

Perspective, Grif thought glumly, then let the rabbit go.

He decided to try his luck at fishing.

He still managed to find other ways to avoid work: he dug a roomba out of the Blue’s basement so it could vacuum up the crumbs that Grif spilled (he never really cared about that before, but it attracted ants, which then stole bits of his other food--and he needed that, desperately), and found some fire-starters to cook the fish with. He burned the books from Wash’s bookshelf instead of gathering sticks (he figured that if the guy ever came back, he would have been through enough shit to not worry about a few lost books too much).

But the obstacle he often ran into was heat.

Sure, the fire-starters started the fire (duh), and, sure, the books kept it going. But it never burned long enough or hot enough for the fish to cook decently.

He needed some sort of fuel, some kind of accelerant, something to make the flames bigger. He racked his mind. They had run out of gasoline ages ago, since Sarge used it all in his stupid war against gravity, and Grif drank all the cooking grease once they ran out of soda. No, he needed something different. Something like… something like… something like…

Perfume.

After much debating, Grif decided to raid Donut’s room that night. The main detractor was, of course, whether or not he could handle seeing whatever pink and lacey monstrosity was in Donut’s room. It was very likely filled with various cleaning products, and nice-smelling chemicals and pretty things.

The very thought disgusted him.

But his need for properly cooked fish out-weighed his apprehension, and, besides, who knows? Maybe Donut’s hiding some spices or shit in his room.

So that was how he found himself standing outside the room of the mildly-frightening, pink, frivolous member of Red team, his hand resting lightly on the doorknob.

He hesitated for a second. Do I really want to do this? he thought. But his stomach rumbled.

He opened the door.

Immediately, bright, flashing lights blinded his eyes, and the scent of grapefruit and vanilla cream overwhelmed him. Grif rocked on his feet as a wave of sensory overload hit him, making him double over with nausea. Lace poured from the ceiling, and the clouds of smells clogged his airway, choking him. Grif gasped and coughed and sputtered, covering his eyes, his mouth, his nose, and he began to feel all his organs beginning to shut down, one by one, as all things pink weaseled its way into every pore, every orifice, taking over Grif’s body and mind--

Okay, it wasn’t really that bad.

Actually, the room was fairly mildly decorated compared to what Grif expected. The walls were a soft shade of coral, accented with neat, white trim. The room was tidy, too-- Simmons would have been impressed-- and a few smartly placed candles sat nicely by the coral-pink bed.

Sure, the room smelled more than slightly of grapefruit and vanilla, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was actually… kind of relaxing.

Of course, Grif will never admit that. To anyone.

He cautiously walked into the room and made his way straight to the vanity. Perfumes and little bottles of lotion were arranged neatly by both size and color (again, Simmons would be proud), and Grif peered at them. He wondered which one, if any, would work the best. His hand hovered a smaller bottle, then over a large one, then one with an amber liquid, then one with a lilac liquid. There were too many to choose from…

In his indecision, his eyes strayed over to the other side of the desk, where a picture frame sat.

The picture frame was probably the most normal thing in the room, not outfitted with bows or lace or pink decorations, and Grif was surprised he didn’t notice it earlier. It was simple and brown, and though it had a ragged design, he got the feeling it had more heart behind it than anything else.

Grif picked it up and looked closer. Inside the wooden box was a picture of them-- of the Reds and Blues and Wash and Carolina and the Trainees-- all on Chorus. It was clearly a candid photo; in the foreground was Simmons, both clearly startled by the picture being taken and the close proximity of Jensen in all her braces and freckles and pimply teenager glory. Sarge was gruff, his arms folded over his chest and glaring at the camera (but there was a twinkle in his eye). Tucker was arguing with Palomo in the background, while Wash stood a little farther away, eyeing the two of them apprehensively. Grif saw himself sitting on the floor next to Bitters sharing, sharing, a candy bar. Caboose pranced about happily in the background, while Carolina was mid-eyeroll. Kimball and Doyle stood neatly in the background (a little farther apart than necessary), and in front of it all, grinning widely and throwing up a peace sign, was Donut.

Grif could barely remember Donut’s face, but he was pretty sure that was the happiest he had ever seen the guy (and that's saying something).

He set the picture down gently on the vanity again after dusted off the glass. Sunlight bounced off the gleaming frame, scattering particles of light onto the wall behind him, the vanity, and, oddly, a small bottle of orange Chance perfume as if were a spotlight. Or possibly a big arrow saying “this one here!”  

Grif grabbed it and got the hell out of the room.

He hurried downstairs and out onto the lawn where his firepit was set up. His fish were still set out on a clean rock, though he did have to chase off a fly or two. Grif tossed in a few of Wash’s books and pulled out his fire starter. Within seconds, the fire had started and caught, but it still wasn’t as high as Grif needed it to be. He pulled out the tiny bottle.

He unscrewed the top and held it over the fire, hesitating. Would this work? Fire was never something Grif was particularly experienced with. He didn’t want to accidentally burn off his eyebrows or something else important.

He sighed and began to tip the bottle. At the very least, maybe the fish would smell good.

Immediately, the flames caught the liquid and lept into the air. Grif stepped back quickly, startled by the loud woosh the flames gave off as it grew. But the fire continued to stay hot, high and controlled. Grif studied the bottle in his hands. The perfume had worked perfectly.

“Good choice,” Donut said, sitting on the log next to him. Grif glanced at him and began to skewer the fish onto sticks.

“You helped,” he muttered, placing on over the flames. His voice was a little raspy from being unused. Donut beamed.

“You got my message!” Grif sighed.

“Could you have made it any less dramatic?”

Donut shrugged good-naturedly. “A little flair for the dramatic is good for the soul.”

“Says the hallucination.” Grif didn’t look at Donut when he said that, but he knew, just knew, the guy was pouting.

“I’m as real as you want me to be.”

Grif didn’t respond to that, only sat by the fire, turning the fish over and over again. His method was a little slow, but it brought out the juices in the meat. Grif learned that by trial and error, after many dry and undercooked fishes. Though he’d have to change his technique a little with the new heat.

“So,” Donut started again. “You’re learning to cook.”

“If this is cooking,” Grif snorted, gesturing to his setup.

“Well, what else would it be?”

“I don’t know.”

Conversation with the pink guy never came easily to Grif. They were just too different, and unless they were both teasing Simmons, or Grif was yelling at Donut to quit hanging up lace in his room, they never really talked. Not like he and Simmons did.

“Grif? You know you can  always spill your load on me, right?” Grif rolled his eyes. Donut sat straight up, eagerly and sincerely. “I’m serious! I’ll listen to whatever you say. What’s going on?”

Grif didn’t respond for several minutes, focusing instead on the fish. But Donut sat perfectly straight the whole time, his young and honest eyes boring a hole on the back of Grif’s skull.

He sighed.

“Look, I’m just… I…” He hesitated, unsure of what to say.

“I miss you guys,” he blurted out, immediately turning away. Donut didn’t reply, only sat there. Watching.

“It’s been… it’s been so hard by myself. I mean, at first it was awesome. I got to sleep all day and watch TV and eat all the food. There wasn’t any Sarge or Simmons or… or you. No Blues, no Church. Nobody to make my life hell. I finally got a break from it all, all that bullshit.”

Grif took a deep breath and shook his head.

“But now I can’t sleep and this is the most I’ve talked in a long time. I have to fucking hunt for my food. I’ve had fish for breakfast, lunch, dinner for nearly a week now, and I’m sick and tired of it! And…” He paused. “Well, it’s boring here. Like a repeat of Blood Gulch, except now I’m by myself.”

He caught his breath, shocked by the sudden avalanche of words that had come tumbling out of his mouth.

Donut blinked.  “Oh.”

“I miss you guys,” Grif repeated, and that sentence was so heavy he had to sit down on the log just to keep it from crushing him. He buried his head in his hands, and Donut scooted over to pat his shoulder comfortingly.

They sat on that log for what must have been minutes, or hours, or days, or years. The time that passed was non-existent, the breeze that fluttered past the two of them was endless and the night was eternal. It had been forever since they had left; it had been forever since he left them. How long had it been since Grif had someone to talk to? How long had it been since he last saw Simmons, his friend? His family?

It must have been forever.

“You know…” Donut started, breaking the silence. “We’re still here.”

Grif lifted his head slightly, and Donut reached over. He tapped a spot on Grif’s chest over where his heart was. “We’re still right here. We’ll never really be gone.”

“But…” Grif sniffed. “What if you di-- don’t come back?”

Donut laughed quietly. “Even then, we’ll still be with you. As long as you remember us. We’ll sit by the fire with you, we’ll talk with you, we’ll live with you. Just as long as you remember.”

Grif held on to Donut’s words, pulling them tightly to his chest. He pictured each of his friend’s faces, wrapping them in a little bundle and locking them in his heart. Each detail, each little mark, each little stray piece of hair, Grif etched into his mind. He’ll remember them. He goddamn better.

He sighed.

“I’ll tell you what,” Donut said. “You know that picture on my vanity? The one you found today? Why don’t you keep it. It’ll help.”

Grif nodded seriously. “Thank you, Donut.”

Donut laughed softly.

“Now who’s being dramatic?”

And then he was gone.

Grif went in later that night. He placed the empty bottle of perfume on the vanity, and picked up the picture frame. He took one last look into the horrifying, pink room, and smiled before he closed the door, locking it forever.

DAY 32 SINCE HIS FRIENDS BETRAYED HIM

“Grif!”

The scream was loud, long, painful. It grated on Grif’s ears, and stung his throat. Dust covered his eyes, sucking out any moisture. Grif wanted to call back, but his voice was stuck, it wasn’t working. His limbs ached with incredible pain, like he was being ripped apart. A gun was held tightly in his hands, but he couldn’t feel a thing.

“Grif…” The call was more of a whimper now, at his feet. The smell of gunpowder in the air, the taste of metal in his mouth. Someone had been shot.

Grif looked down, past the gun shaking in his hands, and at the body lying beneath him.

Maroon armor.

Simmons was curled up in pain on the ground, clutching at a gaping hole in his abdomen. He gasped and sputtered, while blood seeped through the cracks in his armor.

He blinked.

Pink armor.

Now it was Donut at his feet, it was Donut who was curled up in a ball, it was Donut who was dying, again, and the smell of blood was so strong, so strong.

He blinked.

Red armor.

Sarge.

And he wasn’t moving.

Grif shot up in his bed, sweat pouring down his back. He panted, shoulders and chest heaving, hands shaking. The dark was confining, but all Grif could do was sit there and listen to the voices calling his name over and over again.

He ran a hand through his hair once he could finally move and sighed.

He was cold.

He threw back his covers and left his room. The darkness was too small, so he made his way to the living room. There, he flicked on a lightswitch and dropped down on the couch.

Eager to distract his mind anyway he possibly could, Grif turned on the TV.

He flipped through channel after channel, from the news station (who watches that anymore?) to the sports station, to food network, to the comedy channel, and back to the beginning. He cycled again and again through the channels, but nothing was a good enough distraction for him.

Grif groaned. “Damn it…” he muttered aloud, tossing the useless remote to the floor and flopping back on the couch.

He covered his face with his hands and tried to remember just exactly how his life turned to shit.

It was smooth going for a while, as smooth as it could be. Just Grif and Kaikaina, fending for themselves on some rundown moon, living day by day, flying by the seat of their pants. Of course, there was always money troubles and Grif could distinctly remember sleeping in an abandoned warehouse for a while, so it wasn’t completely amazing. But back then, Grif didn’t need to worry about killing anyone, or aliens, or robots or a corporate conspiracy that went so far as to try to massacre an entire planet.

“It was so much simpler back then,” Grif muttered aloud, not fully aware of even saying it until he heard the response.

“Hmph. Tell me about it.”

Grif became aware of a presence next to him, and between the gruff voice and the stench of diesel, he didn’t have to guess who it was.

Grif rolled his eyes. “What are you talking about? Weren’t you just always in the military? You fought in the Great War, didn’t you? How is that easier?”

Sarge sighed. “Son, when you get to be my age--”

“Jesus christ, here we go,” Grif muttered.

“--you begin to believe you’ve learned everything there is to know. Back in the day, it was black and white. We were good. The Covenant was bad. We had to win, or die trying. Simple.”

Grif snorted. It didn’t sound so simple.

“But now…” Sarge said with a shake of his head. “Red vs. Blue, Blue vs. Red… it’s all the same. I was given a gun and told to fight. I put my faith in the Chain of Command! But it turns out it was all just a lie... It was all some big elaborate scheme cooked up by a couple of greedy scientists. I didn’t know what to think anymore… Without something to fight, there can’t be a Sarge.”

Grif was silent.

“Wow, Sarge. I guess I underestimated you. I never knew you could be so… heartfelt.”

Sarge, not about to insulted like that, cocked his shotgun. “And that’s why I declared war on Gravity! Our true enemy was right beneath our feet this whole time, and we never knew it! Oppressed, by ourselves! Where will the torment end?”

Grif sighed. There was the Sarge he knew.

“Whatever, Sarge. I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Hah! I always knew you were a coward Grif!” “Hey!”

“I always knew you were a lazy, good-for-nothing--”

“Come on, man, you aren’t even real.”

“But this is too far! What in Sam Hell do you think you’re going to accomplish by just running away?!”

Grif snapped, whirling around and storming right up to him. “I am not running away!” Sarge glared down at him through his thick white beard. “You were the ones who ran away! AGAIN. You were the ones who went off on a stupid wild goose chase, the ones who aren’t gonna come back because for some goddamn reason you are all so bent on throwing away your goddamn lives for some asshole!” He was screaming, spittle flying everywhere, but he didn’t care, he didn’t care, he was so angry. “And you aren’t gonna come back ever, and it’s just gonna be me all by myself, stupid Grif alone on a stupid moon, stupid lazy Grif who can barely even feed himself--”

“Son.” The word, uncharacteristically firm and final, stopped Grif in his tracks. “Now you listen here. You aren’t gonna get anything done by pitying yourself like this!” Sarge’s voice was gradually rising, and with it, his presence was growing larger and larger until he was practically towering over Grif. “Stop this whining and get on with it! Boy, you ain’t gonna make it a minute like this. In my day--”

“Sarge?”

“In my day, we didn’t have the luxury of complaining! So you’ve only eaten fish, so what?! At least you have fish! In fact, I’ll be damned, you have a whole island full of food! So stop moping around for Eisenhower’s sake, and get off your ass. So you don’t like it? Change it! Because whether we come back or not, you can’t depend on us to save your sorry behind anymore. And I’m sure as hell not gonna come back to find my Private dead.”

It wasn’t until the silence hit for at least a good few minutes that Grif’s head stopped reeling.

“I’m technically a Captain now,” he said meekly. Sarge exhaled heavily and began to shrink down to a normal size.

“Does it really matter?” Sarge asked. He sat down on the couch. “There aren’t any ranks on this island. That’s why I couldn’t stay.”

“Because you need action?”

“Because I need purpose.”

It was funny. Only a few seconds ago, Sarge had been so extraordinarily large, literally and metaphorically, but now on the couch he looked so very small and tired. Grif sat down next to him.

“Purpose, huh.” He chewed on it for a second. “I don’t think I know what my purpose is anymore.”

Sarge turned to look at him. “No one does. That’s why you gotta make your own.”

So maybe that was why the Reds and the Blues left. Because on the moon, without someone to fight, someone to save, they felt as small as Sarge looked now. Because they were purposeless, so they needed to find something even if it was as ridiculous as saving Church yet again.

“Ehh, tell you what.” Sarge scratched the back of his neck, as if he were starting to realize how different he was acting. “I left my old hunter’s manual back in my room. It’ll teach you how to set up traps, or find nuts and berries you can eat. And maybe you could make up some maps, or keep track of animals or something. Just, you know. Something to do.”

Grif met his gaze appraisingly, and though he appreciated the kindness his old C.O. was showing him, he couldn’t resist a jab.

“You know that’s what the internet is for, right?”

Sarge hmphed. “Internet. The cheater’s tool! Maybe one of these days I’ll declare war on the internet too!”

“Good luck with that.”

Sarge’s room was about as military-like as he expected. A plain cot, an empty gun rack, a barrel which, Grif assumed, was used to hold ammunition. A packet of cigarettes sat on the desk, next to a small pistol and another object. Grif pocketed the cigarettes and picked up the book.

The hunter’s manual was old and leather-bound, filled with detailed pictures and descriptions, notes in painstaking cursive and more. It was worn, and some pages were falling out. Holding it, Grif could just barely picture a younger Sarge, trekking through the jungle with his shotgun, carefully tracking a deer. He flipped through the pages, pages covered in these illustrations all the way until he reached about two-thirds of the way through.

The rest was blank.

Grif’s stomach rumbled.

He snapped the book shut. Tucked away the pistol. Pulled out a cigarette.

And shut the door behind him.

DAY 56 SINCE THEY LEFT

The nightmares were getting worse every night.

And they were different every night, that was the thing. If they were the same over and over again, maybe Grif would have been able to brace himself for the images to come. Somehow, he could prepare himself, block out the screaming.

But it wasn’t always screaming.

Sometimes it was cursing as his teammates surrounded him in a circle of hatred, stabbing him with insults like they were knives, blaming him for their own deaths, blaming stupid, idiot, lazy Grif for screwing up again.

Sometimes it was cries as his friends and family were being slaughtered right in front of his eyes and there was nothing he could do. Sometimes he was frozen. Lately, he’d been asleep. Again.

Tonight, it was silence.

Never before had he ever heard a silence so empty, so devoid of life and love and meaning, so dark, so… completely… quiet.

He stood alone on the hill overlooking their bases--on the moon--the Gulch--Chorus--Valhalla--as the sun set in front of him.

Waves washed silently on the shore--sand blew across the canyon--the beacon pulsed--the engine whirred--and he reached for the bases, the bases where his friends should have been, smiling or laughing or bickering and so, so alive.

But no one was there.

His own heartbeat throbbed in his ears, the bases flickered--GulchChorusValhallaMoon--and he opened his mouth to shout, to scream, to say anything at all, but he couldn’t even make a sound and all the while…

Silence.

Grif woke up for the nth time clutching at his sheets, drenched in cold sweat.

Light streamed through the cracks of the hammock in which he slept outside (the base was too empty for him to sleep at all) and he shielded his eyes as he slowly unfolded the fabric that surrounded him.

Sunrise never seemed fresher than this cool morning on the moon, as the breeze glided through the rustling trees. The air never smelled cleaner; the salty smell of the ocean, crisper.

He stepped out of the hammock, carefully watching his footing. His armor was strewn on the ground before him, bright against the green grass which had regrown since the RedBlues last set the bases on fire.

An alien creature, a mix between a bird and a dog, lay curled next to the pieces, soaking up the newly-risen sun. Grif had found him one day while hunting, and in the midst of a bout of loneliness, decided to keep him as a pet. He still couldn’t think up a name for him, though he toyed with naming it Simmons just to see the look on his face if he got back, so he just called it ‘it’ or ‘you’ or ‘pet’ or really any word that would indicate he was talking to the half-dog.

His rifle leaned up against the tree next to Pet. Grif, needed to fill his days somehow, had created a routine of cleaning it every morning it.

Cleaning it. Grif. In a routine.

Yeah, the Redblues were sure to get a kick out of that if they came back.

He wasn’t really sure when he stopped saying ‘when’ and started saying ‘if’, but now his life had more important things to do.

“Come on Grif, come on, come on, get up,” he muttered as he fell out of the hammock. He had changed much on his time alone here. His hair now unfurled down to his shoulders. He’s got the stubble of facial that desperately wants to grow in, but doesn’t have the genetics to back it up. He’s considerably leaner and tanner, hunting for food just to eat every day would do that to a person. His body looked like almost a new person.

His mind hasn’t escaped unharmed either.

“Busy today. Busy busy busy. Busy as a bee. Bzzzz. Buzzy bee-body. Busy buzzy beezy bodies.” His armor took exactly sixty-point-zero-two seconds to put on. He knows, he counted every one. His record was forty-five-point-five seconds. “Bees buzz. Flies buzz. No, flies fly. Busy bee bodies busy and fifty flies fly far...far… far away.”

To be fair, there really wasn’t much else to do but talk now.

“Come on, come on, come on, Pet.” He gently pushed the half-dog up. “Lots to do today. Lots and lots and lots of stuff do to.”

They trudged through the wilderness, today like every other day: him gripping his rifle, Pet plodding alongside him. They went through one by one and methodically checked the traps.

Still empty, a relief. Grif had long since forced himself to start eating the small creatures caught in the traps, but he still hated seeing the creature struggle like it did. It still sickened him. But beggars can’t be choosers.

“Nah, who can choose?” Grif laughed as he brushed the leaves back over the rope on the ground. “Cheaters. Cheaters can choose. I’m not a cheater. I’m Grif. I’m not a coward. Well, not all the time. Right Sarge? I’m not a coward all the time. I’m just doin’ my purpose, y’know? Just my purpose.”

“What is your purpose, Grif?” Carolina asked as she stepped quietly next to him.

“Oh hey, Carolina,” he greeted cheerily. He liked Carolina. Cool Carolina. Not-a-coward Carolina. She made him feel strong. “Today it’s to get this damn deer to stop eating my garden.”

“And tomorrow?” Silly Carolina. She’d always do this. Always try to make him think about tomorrow, the tomorrow that might be sad, the tomorrow that didn’t matter to him right now.

“Nah, just today,” he said to her.

“Grif,” she pressed. Together they crouched down behind a bush. “You need to start thinking about a tomorrow.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why do I have to? Why does tomorrow even matter?”

Carolina frowned. “How could it not? Don’t you want to get off of this moon? DOn’t you want to see your friends again?”

“My friends?”

“The Reds and the Blues.”

“Oh. Right.” In the distance, a creature raised its head. Grif shifted slowly to get a better view. “Nah. They’ll come back. I just have to wait.”

“Grif…” He heard her sigh behind him. “What if waiting doesn’t work? What if they’re in trouble and they need you save them?”

He mulled that over, then waved it off. “They’re the Redblues. They’ll be fine. They’ll come back. They’ll come back for me.”

“What happens when they don’t--”

“If!” With sudden force, Grif whirled around. Carolina leaned back in surprise. “It’s ‘if’ now, don’t you know?! If they don’t come back! If they do! ‘If’!”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean--”

Grif slammed his rifle down angrily, and the deer in the distance, spooked, sprinted away. “Because I see them! In my dreams! They’re sad and hurting and if they don’t come back, then I’ll know the dreams are true and I did nothing! I stayed behind! Like a coward!”

“Grif,” Carolina said, placing her hand on his. “It wouldn’t be your fault. You did what you thought was right--that doesn’t make you a coward.”

He sniffed. “Yes it does.”

“No, it doesn’t. You know why? Because every night you face the darkest dreams and your deepest fears. Anyone else would have gone insane by now, but you face the worst possible outcomes every night. That doesn’t make you a coward. It makes you the opposite.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Carolina… I miss them. But I’m scared to see them again.”

“The Reds and the Blues are your friends,” she told him firmly. Carolina knew what he meant. “Whether they come back or not, they’ll will always love you. Love you. Do you get that?”

No they won’t, Grif thought, but he couldn’t say that to Carolina. Simmons won’t. He won’t forgive me. He couldn’t bear to think of a tomorrow in which Simmons didn’t forgive him. He couldn’t bear to think of a tomorrow in which Simmons didn’t come back.

“I just…” he sniveled. “I just wish I could say sorry to him.”

“Take a deep breath,” Carolina soothed. “And I’ll tell you what. I don’t have something from my room to give you, but I think I saw some volleyballs in the garage.”

Grif looked up at her, eyes wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe you can use them to practice saying sorry. You know, for if they come back. You can make things up with Simmons.”

He nodded. “I do miss him a lot too.”

“Alright then, it’s settled.” She stood up and dusted herself off. “I’ll show you where they are.”

In the end, he still got to go in Carolina’s room.

It was pretty and neat. Nothing personal. Just a couple of dog tags resting on a letter from Kimball on the nightstand. The clothes and other objects (typically running gear, that was what she did now) she didn’t take with her were folded neatly in the closet.

But the dresser was different story.

Her dresser was littered with half-full paint tubes and brushes and crayons and markers and pastels and all different art supplies. Paint stains covered the smooth wood finish, and the drawers were crammed shut with papers of all colors and sizes.

Grif took some glittery gold paper and red paints of varying colors and retreated out of the room.

“Thanks for letting me use these,” he said to her, his eager hands clutched with the supplies. “You’re cool, Carolina. I wished I talked to you more before you left. You aren’t that scary after all.”

She laughed, a nice sound, a pretty sound. “Any time. And who knows? Maybe you’ll get another chance soon.”

He smiled and reached for the doorknob, but she stopped him quickly.

“Are you sure? I’m the last one. I won’t be there to talk to you after nightmares anymore.”

“I know,” Grif said. “But I’m not a coward. I think it’s time I take those on myself.”

She frowned then, when she was supposed to smile, supposed to be supportive for him. “You know… you don’t have to take them on all alone.”

“I’m already alone,” he replied, surprising himself a little. “But I’m done talking to ghosts now.” He gestured to the paints. “I’m ready to write the script now.”

Carolina nodded with cool respect in her eyes. Sometimes he didn’t remember that Carolina, cool, nice Carolina used to be a hardass Freelancer. Now, however, he wondered how he could have ever forgotten.

She stepped back and saluted formally. “Good luck, Captain Grif. Make yourself a better tomorrow. And… when I get back, stop by once or twice, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay.” He saluted back.

And shut the door.

DAY ZERO

“Listen Simmons. Shhhh, I got… some things to say. To you. Some things I’ve gotta get off my chest buddy. Buddy? Nah, not buddy. Stupid. Friend? Friend. Fr--no, definitely friend. Anyway, I’ve had a bit of time to think about some things. Lots of time actually. Oodles of time. Oodles of buckets of times of time. Tempo de mucho! Mucho de tempo! Now, listen Simmons. Simmmmmons. Sim--Sim--Cinnamon--ah! Focus Grif!

“Now things ended really bad out there, buddy--no, friend!--and I’ve been thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking. I need to tell you that I am super duper, I am so incredibly--”

[pjstafford]

Ending 2020

As we end this strange year, there are many thoughts running through my brain.

Let’s keep this last year a little personal and condense to two main themes.

1. Uncertainty of the future

2. Evolving relationship with the personal and social constructs of life

1. I am joyful to be waving goodbye to the most historically significant year of my lifetime. (I was born in 1961). While the global pandemic had us in our grips I will forever think it was made worse by the Trump Presidency and what might have been a historically significant year became a nightmare in the United States due to having a unqualified and clear cut narcissistic personality as our leader. At least for me, it impacted me adversely and I am fortunate that the leadership in New Mexico has been so exemplary. I am hopeful about the inauguration of the new President, but still nervous about what may occur in twenty days. I am hopeful about the vaccine but know the worst days will be in the next few days, there are new variants emerging and unsure if, due to my history with vaccinations, neuromuscular paralyzers and pain and cold medication, if I should take the vaccination. I am not anti vaccination at all. I just have a personal history which makes me nervous.

So last year, recovering from frozen shoulder, tired and fatigued from too much work stressed in personal life, I eagerly looked forward to 2020. Now, WTF? The only thing comforting, under the guise of misery loves company, is this has been a hard year for majority. So I am not sure, given the known and unknowns, if I can look towards 2021 with the tarot card countenance of the fool- knapsack in hand, dog by my heal, eagerly anticipating whatever adventures await me. I can however, bid farewell to this year with a hearty sentiment of farewell and don’t let the door kick you in the way out.

I, also, think this is the healthiest way to approach this and every New Year and it took me almost sixty year to recognize it. We don’t know what the future brings. So we look towards the positive and don’t ignore the negative and know that change is the one constant in life.

2. I miss human touch, a random night out with friends, travel and concerts. Yet, this year has seen the world and long distance friendships become open to me in a way heretofore unknown. I have virtual events to look forward to in the first three months of next year. I have always been an introvert. Even as a young child I spent hours alone in my room playing solitaire. I say here and now I have still not had enough me time to last a lifetime. So while I want to give the world a hug right now and be hugged in return, I don’t want want my zoom calls with friends in other states or my access to events in New York to end.

One of the unexpected things about even living through a pandemic is my relationship to time which I wrote about in previous blogs. How can 2020 be over when we all paused in Spring? Isolation, indoor activities, a lack of social structure and routine means time has both slowed down and sped up. It takes me longer to do basic things. Other trappings of a Holiday season I gladly let go. I stare into space while drinking my coffee more. A walk in the sun can feel like water to a thirsty man. It’s odd and, yet, worthwhile to have spent this time in this way. Not a moment of it...even the moments wondering if I should bother to get out of my pajamas feel wasted. Yet, I realize that Christmas Day is the first Day this year I felt truly relaxed...with no strain in my muscles or additional stress. It took three days honestly of concentrated no news, meditation, exercise, indulgent long showers and good food and some drink to get there. I slept like a log and immediately had nightmares Sunday night when work loomed the next morning. I got up early to catch up on the news from four days.

I think the combination of time orientation, stress and existential anst changed, at least temporarily, my embrace of the things I have been passionate about.

I have written blogs and a handful of poems. I outlined a novel about Corona Virus 25 I called to mask or not to mask and let it lie dormant. I didn’t do any work on my Hic Sundt Mondragon novel. If I only I have more time to write, shake my fist in the air, for decades and, yet, where does this thing I live but have never succeeded at fit in this year? Reading seemed difficult to me as well; so I read things I’ve read in the lost past looking for the spark they had for me in my teenage years. I found that spark again now, but largely, I think due to attending some writer’s events. Television and movies? Yeah, finally watched Breaking Bad. Found Travelers and couldn’t stop watching. Not as eager to binge as I have been. ( except X-Files, of course).

Music is the oddest. I cannot get, for the life of me, the song from Jesus Christ Superstar out of my head having seen a version on Easter. “Listen, Jesus, don’t you care for your race. Don’t you see we must keep in our place. We are occupied. Have you forgotten how put down we are?’ I realized it is not the anthem of the Black Lives movement , but somehow it has gotten entwined in my brain. Wait for what and how much longer? If not now, when? This is the first year in forever I have stayed up till midnight anticipating a new song would drop. God bless Dylan for Rough and Rowdy Ways and all his music. There are times I have done nothing for a couple of hours but sat in the dark listening to him again. But I miss live music and this summer, especially I couldn’t listen to anything for the reminder of all we were missing.

One thing that have sustained me is leading a fan based Twitter account where we have managed to stay distracted and focused on entertainment of my favorite writer and actor. At midnight tonight I pass it on to another fan. I have become too attached and too dependent on this as my “worthwhile fun” and I know I need to return to writing and reading and listening to music again to feel like I’m transitioning back to normal in whatever that becomes this next year.

So now it is New Year’s Eve Day. 2 pm where I am. I spent the morning being lazy. Just got off the phone with a work colleague. Now i am drinking my last cup of coffee for the year with a healthy dose of Baily’s. Tonight I will have a good dinner and a few adult beverages. I have a virtual ticket for the Bob Weir and Wolfe Brothers show tonight. In 2021, it’s about opening my heart, mind, soul and time. It’s actually always is. I am going to be scared, joyful, nervous, angry and elated at some point in 2021. Oh, I will have all the feels. I will hear and be moved by music. I will read words that will stay with me and haunt me at odd, random hours. Perhaps, I will write some words that might do the same for someone else. As we moved back to whatever the new normal will be, I will, at the age of sixty, have the opportunity to appreciate things as new. Going to a movie, having dinner out with a friend, a long, lingering hug. Here’s to 2021.

[wickedharlotblogs]

As you may have heard, the Salt Island festival was a disaster from start to end. Lets go over what happened.

RYAN PRICE - Things didn’t start off great with Ryan Price’s mic going out. He handled it, mostly, laughing it off hanging out on stage for a while longer.  He stuck it out, but obviously felt awkward and tried to shout to keep things at least somewhat engaging before it came back.

NAYA PARSONS - We didn’t know there was a problem, at first, with Naya until she joked about her wardrobe problem on instagram. Apparently, a sports bra wasn’t the look she was going for. Who would have thought?

HUNTER HOPKINS -  In the middle of Hunter's performance of "Let You Down", the stage lights suddenly went out. Hunter laughed and stopped performing to say, "Looks like they really want to set the mood.", before laughing and continuing on.

WINNIE KANE - Winnie handled the malfunctions in stride as well. As her mic went off, she stumbled about it for a second before going on without the background, getting the crowd to join in with her. 

CALLAN DUFFY & KYLIE BLUE - Someone hopped on stage - seemingly going to hug Kylie, but ended up being interrupted by Callan who hugged her instead. Security took the person off and the pair laughed about it a few moments after. 

YOUNGBLOOD - Youngblood seemed fine at first, but started to get off beat before the group started when Benjy flagged over tech to help with the ear pieces. Zeus stayed on stage to joke. They definitely seemed a little flustered by what happened, but dealt with it well and continued their set after. 

SELENA SAWYER -  While performing 'Bad At Love', Selena's heel snags a rogue cord and she stumbles, managing to save herself from slamming down to the stage at the last second. She remained flustered for the rest of the song, getting some of her lyrics wrong until she shook off her nerves at the start of her next song.

CAMISADO - There will be another post about Austin since we have a video of what happened when he was on stage. Someone seemed to pass out and he stopped the show to get her help before assuring everyone that she was okay on instagram later. Refer to our later post for that video.

LOTTIE ANSTED - Lottie didn’t have it much easier when her earpiece, like Youngblood, went out mid-song.

 MAXWELL HARPER-BENNETT -  During his final song 'kiwi' a group of fans start tossing them on stage, Max thinks its funny at first despite a couple hitting him but then he slips over flat on his back and stops mid song. He starts the song over with a laugh, asking for no more kiwis to be thrown but thanking them for not throwing watermelons during watermelon sugar.

OLIVIA MARIE - Olivia stumbled on that pesky cord, but didn’t comment on it.

LINCOLN LAPOINTE - The ear pieces were giving a lot of trouble that night. Nothing seemed wrong at first, but he commented ‘jesus christ that fucking ear piece’ near the end.

SKYLER VALENTINE-GRIFFIN -  During Sky's final song 'S&M', someone threw ice onto the stage, narrowly missing her. She angrily exclaims, " Hey yo!" and motions for the sound to be cut before picking the ice up and throwing it back. "Do that again motherfucker. I fucking dare you." she says before resuming the performance. ...Classy?

ESSENCE WOODS - Essence is another one where we have a video! That will be posted soon, but someone joined her on stage. She turned towards a man as he headed towards her, clearly trying to kiss or hug her (it was unclear). Security was after him within seconds and Essence fell back trying to move away from  him. After that, she got up and continued with National Anthem.

PENNY LANE - Penny was 10 minutes late onto stage. While we’d normally drag someone for that, who could blame her? I wouldn’t want to go on stage either. She said she got “lost backstage” and continued like normal.