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whysojiminimnida · 3 years

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TW: All The Triggers. So Not A BTS Post. Scroll on by. TW: mentions of life cessation by various means a couple of which are probably intentional just don't come in here unless you wanna have your day ruined plskthx ....

I haven't said anything here because who reads blog entries anyway, and why fuck up other people's feeds but then I remembered I probably have nine followers. Sorry y'all.

Tomorrow we bury my sister. Her ashes, anyway. She died a couple of weeks ago. She was 28 years old and maybe it was a heroin overdose or maybe it was the pneumonia she'd had for awhile or maybe she wanted to get gone, any and all those things are possible and maybe probable. I am now my parents' only daughter again and let me tell you it sucks ass in a way that you can't understand unless you've been there when that phone call comes in and your almost 80 year old mother makes a noise that isn't human and everything in you does not want to grab that phone from her but you can't just let her hold onto it like that. So I took it and the boyfriend had stayed out all night and gotten home in the morning and found her dead and called 911 and then us and I talked to the paramedics and the cops and I had to tell them my parents are elderly, I'll be taking point on this, and I think I maybe reblogged a cute jikook post because that's what dissociatives do in times of crisis. Fast forward ten hours and I had driven the parents to another state, made arrangements for cremation and a (gulp) body viewing for literally the next morning and notified everyone I could think of that would care or need to know. One task melted into another and then it was time to look at her and I've been a nurse nearly as long as my sister was alive, I knew what to expect but my parents did not. Let the maladaptive daydreaming commence between tasks. I almost convinced myself the Jeon Jeongguk is straight. Almost. I picked an urn and picked up the remains of the day and my sister and drove my parents two states back home while we fielded intrusive questions about funerals and memorials which we were not gonna have so someone else threw a BYOB and published it in the paper, cool. She would have loved it. I didn't go. I left and came home with the shattered hearts of my parents as souvenirs. Then I bought a car because why the fuck not. I've always wanted a cute little Mini Cooper and it's not like I had anything else to do and I paid cash and bought insurance and drove off the lot with it so now I have a car named J-Mini (get it get it) because nothing like a knee jerk major purchase in the middle of intense grief, right? My father picked out my sister's plot because my mother couldn't go and I was... buying a car. That wasn't my best day but it was really the only day I checked out completely. I mean except the other five to seven business days I don't remember but I did stuff because my dad says I fed them and made sure they ate and took care of things. I'm good at that. Also kookmin and Memories 20 why hasn't that shipped yet and I think I also got the MOTS ON;E DVD set and finished my Funko Pop set. Goals, kids. Gotta achieve goals. And I also redid my parents upstairs guest suite and turned it into my office because the next novel is not gonna write itself. A little death opens up my dad's wallet and we are both OCD writers who are task oriented and very good at finding poor coping mechanisms for trauma. It's a nice office and can still function as a guest room (it's a huge room). I put the Keurig I bought so my mom would have okay coffee before viewing her daughter's body in my new office. Just brewed the first cup today and it tastes like death to me but what are you gonna do, it's salted caramel death at least. So I'm sitting in my new office looking out the plantation shutters that make up the view, idly watching my new car sit in its cute parking spot and planning the next 36 hours. Her flowers should get here soon. I ordered real ones, the rainbow tie dye looking roses. We're not supposed to take them to the cremation garden where her headstone will be because small plots and what the fuck ever seriously do not tell me that my mother cannot bring her baby girl flowers. She's dead, assholes. She's not coming back and she didn't say goodbye and the first

time my father had seen his little girl in almost two years she was cold and decidedly nonverbal and had a bruise on the tip of her nose nobody could explain and I later figured out was from her puppy trying to boop it to wake her up when she wasn't going to be waking up ever again. Fuck that. Flowers it is. I'm on food takeout duty and also my sister's best guy friend of forever might be driving here for the interment, we didn't tell most people when it was and he's nine hours away but he hasn't let us know if he's gonna stay here or what so I guess it's good the guest room office is clean, he has three twin beds to choose from so I'll probably only change the sheets on two of them because hospitality roulette seems fair given that the service is fucking tomorrow and we're trying to plan shit over here. That's a run-on sentence kids. I guess maybe the rest of the day is not snapping at people. I watered my mom's extensive flower garden but I do that every day. I took the small envelope of extra ashes from my dad because he broke down and I put them in a pretty butterfly notecard with a pink envelope and stashed my sister's nose or fingertips or random internal tissues neatly sealed in my jewelry box. Why we have them when the rest of her is already at the cemetery is because people ASKED FOR THEM like wtf why are we making earrings out of my dead sister but my parents said yes before they said no. And I called the funeral home and ARRANGED THIS SHIT so now I get to handle it. Guess I'll dole them out a gram at a time like cocaine. Oddly fitting I suppose, that part of her is in what amounts to a heroin baggie. Don't shoot up, kids. Just don't. And if you must shoot up make sure you have Narcan around and someone available to give it to you. And that your dealer isn't cutting with fentanyl or some shit. Also make sure you're not physically sick with pneumonia that might or might not have been COVID Delta, we don't know yet because toxicology and death certificates take time and I'm in charge of bugging the coroner and just haven't wanted to have to tell my parents that YES SHE WAS HIGH AF WE BEEN KNEW THERE WAS A FUCKING NEEDLE IN BED WITH HER JFC I mean they know but they'd rather it be COVID and who can blame them. Also to my sister if you offed yourself I get it and I'm not mad at you most of the time. I do understand why and frankly it might have been kinder to do it than to keep siphoning rent every month and your drug money and living expenses on the weekly if that's how you were gonna keep living, because your drama was constant and painful and caused a lot of shit and it wasn't fun for you or anyone else. But I love you and I'm so sorry you hurt so much that you had to handle it that way. And I'm sorry I'm so much older than you'll ever be and that I survived and you didn't. If it helps, you were always loved. I'll teach your kiddo all the good things. Honestly the most painful thing you did was the best thing when you gave him up. He's so bright and artistic like you and his parents love him and l get to see him a lot even if it's only on video. I visited him right after I told you goodbye and let him go wild on my Amazon and told him you love him too, that you might not be here but you'll always love him and look out for him wherever you are. I will too. Auntie ain't an absentee figure let's get that straight right now. He likes Adidas and art and aquariums and I have promised him a trip for all those things before Christmas. You know I deliver. I'll find him something to help him remember you. He has your eyes, like Harry Potter. I sang "Blackbird" to you but it made me cry so I had to stop. You've made me cry so much lately. I liked it better when I was just allowed to be quietly angry at you but now I can't. Last time I talked to you you were high af and rambling and Mom was convinced you were oxygen deprived and I told your man to take your ass to ER and fuck the consequences but you wouldn't go and he couldn't make your black belt ass get out of bed so you never went. I wish you'd gone and I

wish you'd made him stay home with you if you wanted to get high and I wish you hadn't hated yourself and wanted to die because there was so much good in you, so much beauty and now we don't get to see what's on the other side. You put yourself in a chrysalis and turned it into a crypt and I just wish you hadn't. I wish I could have asked you to please stay. I just wish you'd been able to please stay.

#triggers like whoa #tw #dead dove do not eat #dead sister too #like it's just been a fuck of an August up in here #maladaptive coping #but hey I named my new car after Jimin so #it's fine it's all fine everything's fine

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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

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Department One: Apparel And Jewelry

What are you wearing today? A t-shirt dress. They’re so comfy.

What does your favorite shirt look like? All my many graphic tees.

What kind of underwear do you prefer wearing? Hipster.

What are your favorite kind of jeans? Skinny jeans. It’s crazy though cause I literally haven’t worn jeans at all for the past 4 years now. I live in leggings and lounge shorts.

What do the last pair of shoes you wore look like? They’re black Adidas with the white stripes.

How many shoes do you own? Like 6 pairs.

How much jewelry do you own? Lots of, but I usually just wear the same earrings everyday.

Do you own any real diamonds or other expensive jewelry? No.

Has anyone ever gave you jewelry as a present? Yes.

Do you like diamonds or gemstones better? Both are nice.

Silver or gold? I like both.

Department Two: Electronics Do you have a DVD player in your car? I don’t have a car.

If you have one, what does your camera/camcorder look like? I don’t have one of those either, I just use my phone.

How much did it cost? --

What kind of cellphone do you have? iPhone 12 Pro Max.

How often do you send texts? Not often.

Do you have your own computer or does your family share? I have my own laptop.

How many computers are in your house? Two.

Do you still have a VCR? Nope.

How many DVDs do you own? I don’t know; a lot.

Does your car have a GPS? --

What kind of ipod/mp3 player do you have? I use the Spotify app on my phone to listen to music.

How many songs are on it? --

What size is your TV? I think the one in my room is a 42 inch.

How many TVs are in your house? Four.

What video game systems do you have? I personally just have the Switch, but my brother has a few other game consoles that I sometimes use.

What about handhelds? The Switch.

How many video games do you have? I have 5 for the Switch.

Department Three: Home What kind of shampoo do you use? Dove shampoo.

Soap or shower gel? Soap.

What does your comforter look like? I don’t have one on my bed, currently. Actually, I haven’t had one for awhile. I get too hot.

Does it match your pillows? --

What size is your bed? Full.

Do you or your parents like to decorate the house with various things or is it plain? It has various decor.

Does the furniture in your house match? Yeah. What does your couch look like? They’re gray.

How many does your dining room/kitchen table seat? We don’t have a dining room/kitchen table.

Do you have any fancy china? Yes.

Do you have outside furniture? No.

What do your curtains look like? The curtains in my room are black.

Department Four: Grocery What kind of bread do you get? Wheat, white, sourdough.

What is your favorite kind of cake? White cake, funfetti, red velvet.

Do you get a lot of sweets from the grocery store? Sometimes.

What kind of soda is your favorite? Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, and the cherry versions of all 3.

Do you drink juice? What kind? No, I’m not a juice fan.

What is your favorite chewing gum? Mint.

Do you usually get candy from the check-out aisle? No.

What is your favorite soup? I’m a ramen gal.

Have you ever had soup when you were sick? Yeah.

What are your favorite canned vegetables? Green beans and corn.

What do you eat for breakfast? Usually over-easy eggs and Eggo’s.

Poptarts or toaster strudels? Both. What salad dressing do you prefer? Ranch.

Ketchup, mayonnaise, or mustard? I like all 3.

What kind of cookie do you like best? Sugar and shortbread.

What kind of snacks do you get at the grocery store? Chips and dip, cookies, and ice cream.

Do you get the meat from the deli? No.

What is your favorite frozen dinner? Healthy Choice pesto pasta, Lean Cuisine spaghetti and meatballs and spinach and artichoke linguine, Smart Ones scrambled eggs and hash browns, and Hungry Man salisbury steak.

Do you prefer frozen dinners to actual cooking? No.

What is your favorite kind of pasta? Pesto pasta and spaghetti.

Do you eat meat? And if not, do you eat vegetarian meat? I eat meat.

What is your favorite fruit? Bananas.

What about vegetable? Spinach, potatoes, broccoli, green onion, avocado.

Department Five: Health And Beauty What kind of makeup do you normally use? I stopped bothering with makeup a few years ago; I just don’t have the energy or motivation for it. I wore a little for my brother’s grad party back in June, but that had been the first time in years and I haven’t worn any since.

Do you wear more makeup on special events? --

What is your favorite makeup brand? I liked CoverGirl, Maybelline, Wet n’ Wild, and NYX.

Do you use any acne products? No.

What kind of perfume do you use? I don’t have a perfume, but I have a beachy smelling body spray that I’ve been using the past few months.

Have you ever been on a diet? Yeah, a high protein one.

What products do you use in your hair? Just shampoo, conditioner, and sometimes detangling spray.

How often do you brush your hair? It’s so short right now I can go a day or two wthout brushing it and it’s fine.

What do you take when you have an upset stomach? Honestly, a heating pad really helps me with that. Sometimes, though, Pepto Bismol might be necessary. Peppermint tea can be helpful for me sometimes as well.

Do you take any prescription medicine? Yeah.

Department Six: Movies, Music, And Books What is your favorite movie of all time? I couldn’t possibly choose.

What genre of movie do like best? I like variety, but horror, psychological, and drama are at the top.

What was the last movie you watched? The new Marvel Shang-Chi movie.

What was the last movie you purchased? I don’t recall.

What is your all time favorite band? Linkin Park.

Do you still buy CDs? Nah, that was many years ago now. <<<

What was the last CD you bought? No idea.

What was the last song you listened to? I don’t recall at the moment.

What is your favorite book? I couldn’t possibly choose that either.

Do you even like reading? I love to read and do a ton of it. I finish one and go onto another. I’ve been really into a few different series by a few different authors and they’ve provided me with a lot to read for the past couple years.

How often do you read? ^^^.

Department Seven: Sports And Fitness Do you own a bike/scooter/skateboard/etc.? Nope.

How old were you when you learned to ride a bike w/o training wheels? I don’t ride bikes.

Have you ever been camping? Nope, and I have no interest in doing so.

How often do you work out? Literally never. <<<

Are you in good shape? No.

Do you go to a gym? Nope.

Have you ever been fishing? Yes, I briefly tried it out once.

Have you ever been on a boat? Yeah.

Can you play golf? I played mini golf once a a kid.

Ever rode on a golf cart? No.

Would you ever go hunting? No.

What is your favorite sport? I’m not into sports.

Ever played on a sports team? Nope.

Department Eight: Toys What was your favorite toy as a child? Barbies.

Do you still play with toys? No.

Do you collect any toys? Well, figurines and knickknacks.

Did you ever have building blocks? I had Legos.

Did you play with dolls? Yep.

Barbies or Bratz? Which were better? Barbies hands down.

What is your favorite board game? I have many, I love board games.

Do you like to do arts and crafts? I’m not crafty, artsy, or creative, but arts and crafts can be fun depending on what it is. Nothing too complicated. I enjoyed it a lot as a kid.

Do you think that kids now have it better than when you were young? In some ways.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #categories

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angstysebfan · 4 years

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Was It A Mistake Part 4

Pairings: Bucky x reader (previously), Bucky x Nat,

Summary: You and Bucky used to date, but decided you were better off as friends. Now Bucky is interested in Natasha, your best friend. Was it a mistake to break up?

You are sitting in the living room of the Brooklyn apartment, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book. When Steve brought you here, you were in awe.

“Steve, where did you get this place?” You ask as you bring your bag into the living room. It was a fully furnished 2 bedroom apartment. It was homey, it was perfect.” Steve smiled at you.

“I bought it few years ago. Sometimes I need some alone time to regroup. Hard to do in the compound, so I bought an apartment in Brooklyn. You are the only person who knows about it now, besides me.”

You smile at Steve and walk up and give him a hug. “Well I appreciate this. I promise I won’t overstay my welcome. I just need to clear my mind and get away from the drama.” You say as you pull away. Steve guides you to the master bedroom.

“You can stay in here. The bed is pretty comfortable. I have cable, but also a lot of DVDs in this drawer. There is a small store down the street for food, and a lot of cafes and restaurants in the area. And of course you know I am just a phone call away.”

“Thank you Steve, really.” He gives you another hug. “Don’t mention it. Just try not to think about it. I will start compiling evidence and then we will go from there.”

You have enjoyed the peace and quiet, but you can’t stop thinking about what happened. Also you really miss Bucky. He was your best friend, even when you were dating. You hated being apart. You just wish he wasn’t being controlled by Nat. What were you going to do about her? How would you be able to work with her after this?

You had a lot to consider after all was said and done. You hoped that Steve had enough evidence to prove to Bucky you were right. You shake your head of your thoughts and focus on your book.

Suddenly your phone range. You looked at the Caller ID which read “Steve”. You smile and pick up. “Hey Stevie, how is everything going?” You ask.

“Hey, Y/N. He knows the truth. He wants to see you. I just wanted to check with you first.” You remained silent, as thoughts went through your head. Words became non-existent.

“Y/N?” Steve called. You cleared your throat. “Um.. yeah. I’m here. Where does he want to meet?” You ask, your voice shaking from nerves. “I will give him the address. But, are you sure you are okay with this? Do you want me to be there?” Steve asked, and you hear the concern in his voice.

“No, it’s okay Steve. We should probably talk alone. We have a lot of things to discuss. Give him the address.” You say, some confidence in your voice. “Okay. Good luck!” Steve says before hanging up.

You close your book and think for a moment. You were going to be alone with Bucky. You were going to be able to put everything out on the table. He knows the truth now. But can you forgive him so quickly? He hurt you so bad. But you hurt him too. The lack of communication caused so much trouble.

You had to get ready. You knew Bucky would come running as soon as he had that address. You were going to be ready for him, and for the discussion of your lives.

Bucky parked outside the apartment building. He couldn’t believe it when Steve told him about the apartment. Especially since it was In their old neighborhood. He walks into the building.

When he walks up to the correct door, he has to take a deep breath. He has never been so nervous in his life. He knocks and waits. His heart pounding as he hears your footsteps coming toward the door.

You open the door the reveal a disheveled Bucky. You could see he hasn’t slept in awhile, just by the exhaustion on his face and the dark circles under his eyes. It makes your heart break, slightly. You keep your face as emotionless as possible. Your goal is to get through this without crying.

“Hi” you say quietly. Bucky looks at you and can’t help but admire how beautiful you look. His heart continue to pound in his chest, but now it’s because of the sight of you. He missed you.

“Hi.” he says. “Can I come in?” You nod and step back, allowing him access, closing the door behind him. Bucky stands in the kitchen, looking out of place. The silence hanging over both of you like a thick blanket. It was suffocating.

“Have a seat in the living room. Did you want a drink?” You ask hoping to improve the awkwardness. Bucky shakes his head no. You both walk into the living room. You sit on the love seat and wrap your feet under you. Bucky sits on the couch adjacent to you.

“Thank you for seeing me. I know I am probably the last person you want to see.” Bucky says, looking down at the floor. You look at him and wait for his eyes yo meet yours. Still not showing any emotion,, you say, “You’re not the last person, but you are pretty close.” You shrug, trying to make it sound like it’s not a big deal.

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “I get it. I hurt you, in more ways than one. And...” Bucky stops, choking down the sob. You try to keep your composure, but the tears are threatening. “I... I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry I listened to her and didn’t talk to you. I’m sorry I distanced myself and broke your heart. And I am so fucking sorry for dating Nat. There is nothing else for me to say, except I’m sorry.”

Tears were now flowing freely down your cheeks. A part of you wanted to hold him in your arms and hold him while he cries, but a bigger part of you is still angry. “I understand that you’re sorry Bucky, but I don’t know how I can forgive you. I want to, but I’m so fucking pissed at you!”

Bucky nodded, unable to speak. “I want to hate you. I want to not love you anymore, but... I can’t. You....” You choke on a sob now. “You have my heart, and I love you. But... I am going to need time.” You start sobbing uncontrollably. Bucky goes over to you and pulls you into his arms. You want to struggle out of his hold, but you know you can’t. Instead you melt into his embrace.

Bucky is crying silent tears as he listens to your sobs. He hates himself for hurting you like this. All because he was too stupid to ask you if what Nat said is true. He strokes your hair as you cry, and he can’t help feeling more complete with you in his arms. You’re it for him. There is no one else that makes him feel like this. Not Nat, not any girl. You. Only You.

You start pulling away, but allow Bucky to keep his arms around you, as he kneels on the floor in front of you. You both look at each other through tears. He wipes your with the pad of his flesh thumb. You do the same back to him. He holds you from the back of your head and brings your foreheads together. This is the closest you have been since the break up, except when sparring.

“Where do we go from here?” you ask, sniffing. Bucky kisses your forehead and then puts his back against yours. “Well, I think first we need to confront Nat, together. Then... I don’t know. It’s up to you if you want to try again. I will go with whatever you decide. I know I don’t deserve another chance, but god, I want another chance. I love you, Y/N. It’s you. It’s always been you, and even when I was with Nat, all I thought about was you.”

You pull Bucky close and look into his eyes. “I... I think I will need some time, but... I don’t think I can survive without you. It hurts too much.” You say, giving him a small smile. Bucky returns it. “Baby, I would rather die than not have you in my life.”

Suddenly you both bring your faces closer and smash your lips together. The kiss is full of urgency and passion. You allow him entrance into your mouth and drink in the taste of him. God, you missed him. You knew wouldn’t be able to just pick up where you left off, but you were not giving him up.

When the need for air became too much, you both pulled back, panting. You allowed him to kiss you all over your face and neck. He paid special attention to that soft spot under your ear that drove you crazy.

“Buck, we can’t.” You say pushing him away slightly. He looks at you with all the love in his heart. “I know. I couldn’t help it. I missed you.” You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck. “Well you have much to make up for before we go there. But, we also have to come up with a plan for Nat.”

Bucky nods. “I’ll give Steve the all clear sign, so he can come over. He is going to help us.” You nod and watch as he reaches in his pocket for his phone. After texting Steve, he brings his eyes back to yours. Running his hands on every part of you body you allow, trying to familarize with it. It had been so long.

He looks at your face, and sees your brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” He asks, concerned. You look at him, softening your features. “How are we going to work next to her after all of this?” You ask. Bucky sits back on his heels. He hadn’t thought about that.

“Lets take this one step at a time. I don’t want to make any decisions until everything is said and done.” You nod, knowing he was right. You pull him closer and press another kiss on his lips. “I love you.” you say against his lips.

Bucky looks at you and feels his heart swell. He can’t believe his luck that he was getting a second chance with you. “I love you too. So much, and I am going to prove it to you every day for the rest of my life.” You gave a full smile that made butterflies fly in his stomach and his heart flutter.

You were his, and he was yours. No one else mattered in that moment. But you knew the road ahead was not going to be easy. You didn’t know how far Nat was willing to lie to save her skin, or to what lengths she was willing to go to keep Bucky. But for now, in that small apartment in Brooklyn, while waiting for Steve, you both enjoyed your little bubble together.

Part 3 Part 5

So I kept this short, because I want the next chapter to be all about the confrontation. Let me know what you think!

Taglist: @bloodyproudpotterhead, @iamvalentinaconstanza, @ilovesupersoldiers, @broco8

#bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky angst #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky x natasha

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papersniffer · 4 years

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My concern with silence…

Yes maybe it is because the people on the show can’t talk about things they know…BUT there is also the dark side. The Money side. When someone has been on a show for 15years they get typecast. Harder to find other work.

Yes Jensen and Jared got work right away but it isn’t a given those jobs are going to work out...they just have jobs. People will see them as Dean and Sam for awhile…and with how shitty the finale was people aren’t to fond of them either.

Now the cast gets paid for reruns…and what happens to reruns if the show is pulled from TNT for lack of people watching it? No reruns…taken off Netflix…means no new money coming in. And what if because of protests not many new copies of the show on DVD are bought…even less money. Remember The Cosby Show when it got pulled and some of the cast had to get normal jobs because they had been living off the royalties from the reruns etc.

Not that Misha isn’t an amazing actor but I can sooo see him freaking out about the ground swell of TheySilencedYou and other such responses from us and worrying a bit about the future. The security blanket that would be the royalties from the reruns etc.

After everything going on with the last few episodes of the show I just don’t have much trust for any good motives from anyone on it. They always promised us they cared but I just don’t think anyone had the balls to truly stand up and say NO. If Jensen would have stood his ground they would have had no other choice but to fix things. He is one of the two main roles.

But once again money showed up and he had to be careful about his future too. (funny how he got a production company from Warner Brothers who own CW after agreeing to the ending.) And I 100% understand! In this crazy world nothing is a given and you have to watch your butt as much as you can. I just hate that it had to come to that after 15 years of a show that meant something.

The characters deserve better…the fans who used…emphasis on used (past tense)…the show as a comfort and an escape deserve better. I haven’t watched SPN on TNT/Netflix/CW all week since the shit show of 15x20 and sadly I have no plans to watch it again. Just seeing it listed on the guide made my stomach sick. Even the enjoyment of reading about the characters in fanfiction stopped because they turned Sam and Dean in jerks who verbally said only they mattered in the end.

Hate to tell the show but without the supporting characters to save Dean and Sam over the years they would have died years ago. And if they truly think Dean and Sam feel that way then that means for 15 years of the show those two brothers were using everyone. YUCK!

That is why the finale sucked…they tainted 15 years of messages that meant so much to us all. Family DON’T end with blood…ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING…TEAM (not just two brothers) Free Will!

And apparently they wanted us to believe not only that Jack brought back all the evil monsters that hurts those kids and families…but that Cass sat back and didn’t run down to the barn and save Dean from dying. FUCK THAT!

Now the Jack part…fine…Garth and other good monsters would not be around either (although I am sure all of them would have gladly died knowing ALL monsters were gone too)…blah…blah…blah fine…BUT CASS WOULD HAVE COME RUNNING TO SAVE DEAN.

They didn’t even call out for Jack to help! I mean come on…had it been any other season…any other episode but the last one they would have had EITHER Jack or Cass come to save Dean.

AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THE SHITTING DEATH THEY GAVE DEAN FREAKIN WINCHESTER!!! SHITTY!!!!! LET HIM GO OUT LIKE A WARRIOR NOT ON A RUSTY DAMN NAIL with the evil vampire clown posse!!!

So yeah silence seems like our friend but I fear it is more about saving their own asses than caring about our feelings. In the end it is all about money and which way would hurt the product/their futures more…and in their eyes having Dean (who clearly checked out the solider and NOT the two women when he traveled back in time and hung out with Elliot Ness) being Bi and having to admit he wasn’t this straight man would cause more damage than having the balls to let him say he liked men and women.

Money…Money…Money not Morals makes the world go round. And with the whole shit-fest of the Spanish dub and Misha saying it wasn’t even scripted to end any other way for real then what happened in 15x18 and that the change was just some rouge translator screwing up (yes sadly see Facebook and Twitter where he posted a video about it)…GRR!!!

I bled for SPN! I could have told you trivia so detailed from all 15 years. I wrote about it and i knew those characters inside and out…like ALOT of us did. They took so much from us with how they ended the show. And they still refuse to acknowledge that. But then they killed every one of Charlie’s girlfriends in all dimensions so why should we really think they care about us and what they did to us?! Until the cast speak up and say differently…I just don’t believe in any of it anymore.

They ruined SPN’s legacy…no matter how they spin all this (and they will try) it will never be the same. Such a shame.

#TheySilencedYou #Theyhurtus #Always Keep Fighting #But I'm tired of fighting for a show that doesnt care about us #They are worse than Chuck #Just me venting because my head was about to explode after seeing Misha's video #Almost wish I could have Cass erase SPN from my head the same way he did Lisa and Ben of knowing Dean #people who watch SPN now are lucky they won't have so many years into it for SPN to screw with #They will watch knowing the shitty ending and not get their hopes up #please do not respond to this since it really was my only way of dealing with it all #Cass means so damn much to me and ugh #I think I will have the show end right as Cass says he loves dean BUT ONLY THERE and not let the empty take him #I dont care if as Misha said cass's death saved the world fuck that he deserves a long life with love and kindness #talk about putting the final NAIL in the coffin of 2020 #I am just so tired #the end #rant over

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saveyourblood · 4 years

Text

Stolen Dance | Ch. 10

Summary: “Maybe this was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.”

The one where you’re a paramedic, he’s an FBI agent, and the time you spend together is borrowed.

Notes: Happy quarantine, US (and some international?) readers! I know most of you in school still have classes, but in case you’re bored, here’s some reading ;)

Word Count: 3.9k

Song: Make This Go On Forever - Snow Patrol

Warnings: mentions of abuse, violence, just general angst.

_____________________

“No special uniform?”

You smiled, setting your bag on your chair.

After 2 weeks of intensive training, you were officially certified and capable in the eyes of the FBI. You and everyone else on the team knew you’ve been capable since the start; the only difference is now, the Bureau can’t be held legally responsible if you get hurt on the job.

For the first time since you were hired, you came in wearing your normal attire — black pants, a fitted grey t-shirt, and a pair of boots. You kept your badge clipped to a belt loop, and it was the only accessory you wore identifying you as a paramedic. No more sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Now that I’m a Federal Agent, I don’t have to,” you answered Derek’s question.

You brushed past the man, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. You looked into the bullpen to see Spencer sitting at his desk, lost in thought. You felt him leave early in the morning — something about getting a jumpstart on paperwork.

He looked tired. You reminded yourself to bring him a fresh coffee later.

“What’s going on?” Emily asked as she entered the kitchenette.

“Y/N is a Federal Agent now,” Derek boasted.

“Well, congratulations, Agent Y/L/N,” Emily said. She offered you her mug in a toast.

With a chuckle, you clinked your mug against hers, doing the same to Derek’s when he offered.

“Ah! Good,” Penelope exclaimed from across the room. Her heels clicked on the platform looking over the bullpen. “You’re all here. We have a case.”

You sat between JJ and Emily at the briefing table. You scrolled through the files on the tablet in front of you, reading some of the police reports while you waited for Hotch and Garcia to enter.

“Hey, are you gonna be okay?” JJ asked in a low voice.

You frowned, looking up at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Spencer mentioned you went to visit a friend a few weeks ago,” she specified. “Said the two of you served together?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

“And everything went… fine? Good?”

You nodded again, smiling faintly. “It was good. I learned a lot about him, actually.”

JJ smiled as well. “I’m glad,” she said, patting your shoulder. “And I’m glad you’re back, too.”

“Sorry for the delay,” Hotch apologized as he entered the room. “Let’s get started.”

Garcia was already at the end of the table, picking up the remote and clicking a few of it’s buttons. “Two men have been killed on the Southside of Chicago in the last ten days. The first is Michael Crowley — he was a repairman who was out late jogging one night. Second, Anthony Rango. He was a convenience store owner.”

“No known connection between them,” Hotch interjected.

“Both men were beaten to death; Rango suffered a crushed larynx and something called a lefort fracture?”

“It’s a bilateral horizontal facial injury,” you specified.

“Looks like there was also some blunt force trauma to the back of the head,” Derek said.

“So they were blitz attacked to gain control, then it was essentially fisticuffs,” Spencer theorized.

“And they were both caught with their pants down,” Garcia said. “Like, literally, their pants and boxers were pulled down to their ankles.”

“But there’s no signs of sexual assault or robbery,” you stated.

“So it was a message,” Rossi concluded.

“Either they led personal lives, or someone wanted to symbolically demean or embarass them,” Hotch said. “With this level of hands-on violence, this UnSub is filled with rage, and he’s probably just getting started. Wheel’s up in 30.”

“Wow,” Derek said, walking into the convenience store. A rack of bread and chips was knocked over, product spewn across the floor and crushed under the weight of either the metal or a body. There was a smear of blood on the floor that led to the frame.

“Rango put up a fight,” you noted. “It looks like he regained consciousness at some point, probably soon after the initial attack.”

“He put up a hell of a fight,” Derek agreed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing a number and putting the device to his ear. “Baby girl, see if the convenience store owner had any military training.”

After a brief conversation, Derek thanked Garcia and hung up.

“So we were right?” You asked.

“But to intentionally pick a fight with a martial artist?”

You shrugged. “It’s possible he didn’t know. Rango could have been a victim of opportunity, like the jogger was.”

“Looks like our guy needed a drink after the beatdown,” Derek said, gesturing to the wine bottles on the floor. “He must’ve worn gloves, otherwise CSI would have taken them in for prints.”

You looked up at the ceiling to notice a security camera. You went behind the counter, grabbing a napkin as you went.

“He could have been an addict,” you said, pressing ‘eject’ on each DVD tray that hooked up to the surveillance system. “It would explain the impulsive behavior.”

Derek clicked a few buttons on the cash register behind you. “You ever met an addict that left a full register?”

Each tray came out empty.

“He stole the discs before he left,” you said. “He was mission-oriented.”

“Soda and candy were the last things bought,” Derek said, reading a receipt.

“Kids, probably,” you mentioned. “They’re lucky they didn’t get hurt.”

The two of you began poking around the store, looking for details that local law enforcement may have missed. You mostly stayed behind the counter while Derek paced around the sales floor.

“Is it true you grew up around here?” you asked, looking through a few binders you found under the register.

“5 blocks away,” Derek confirmed. “We passed the park I played football at on the way here. The corner down the street is where I played kissy-face with my first girlfriend.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

You laughed softly, then considered. “How did you make it out of here?”

He looked up. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “Junction City isn’t very big — after awhile, it felt like the Army was my only option. Which I was fine with, but… I don’t know. Chicago is a big city, but Southside seems to be a world of its own. I’m just curious how a cute little black boy from Chicago turned into one of the Bureau’s finest agents.”

Derek scoffed with a smile. “Believe me — I wonder too.”

His phone rang in his pocket. After taking off a glove, Derek answered it. “Hey, what’s up? Find anything at the diner?”

Pause.

“What’s it say?”

His entire demeanor changed. His gaze darted around the store, absentmindedly lowering his phone.

“Give me a second,” Derek mumbled into the phone.

“Derek?” you asked, coming out from behind the counter. “What’s wrong?”

Without answering, Derek stood up and walked over to the front door. He partially pulled down the security curtain, which was made of solid metal.

“I gotta go,” Derek said before hanging up.

“‘Look up to the sky?’” you read the painted-on words. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Let’s go,” was all Derek said before ducking under the curtain and exiting the store.

“I know what this is about,” Derek said, walking into the room the station reserved for the team.

Spencer, Hotch, and Rossi had been there the whole time, while Emily and JJ seemed to have just gotten back from the diner. You followed Derek into the room, completely unaware of what was happening.

“This is about Carl Buford,” Derek stated.

Like in most situations, you gradually moved over until you found yourself next to Spencer; he was leaning against a table off to the side. You decided to simply stand next to him, your arms folded across your chest.

“Who’s Carl Buford?” you whispered, making sure Derek couldn’t hear you.

“A serial killer and molester,” Spencer said. “We arrested him almost seven years ago for the murders of three prepubesent African-American boys. He framed Derek for the last murder he committed.”

“Carl Buford is in prison serving a life sentence,” Hotch reminded.

“‘Look up to the sky’ is what he used to tell me,” Derek said. “Buford was an expert… at spotting and exploiting vulnerabilities of adolescent boys that he coached at the community center. He had the entire community center thinking he was a hero — parents, teachers… cops. Everyone. After my dad died, he locked onto me. And he manipulated me into compliant victimization. I’ve told you how I got into it with a local gangbanger when I was younger. Well, somehow, Buford got it expunged. I didn’t understand why a guy who barely knew me would do that. But… Buford gave me his time. He taught me how to play football. And then, one day… he took me to his cabin on the lake.”

“Morgan, you don’t have to do this,” Hotch said.

“They need to know, Hotch,” he disagreed. “They need to know this guy’s M.O.”

The room was dead silent.

“Buford built up my trust,” Derek continued. “And then he would lower my inhibition… with Helgason wine. And then… he would molest me. And every time he saw that dead look in my eye that said I wanted him to stop, he would just say ‘you better man up, boy. Look up to the sky.’”

“Did you ever tell anyone about that phrase?” you asked gently.

He shook his head. “No.”

“We’re probably looking at someone Buford abused,” Rossi said.

“The victim could harbor a great deal of anger if he didn’t deal with his own abuse,” Hotch agreed. “With the right trigger, it could develop into this kind of rage.”

“Buford ran the community center for years,” Spencer said. “An offender like him could have hundreds of victims.”

“Let’s talk victimology: each of these men had interactions with kids right before they were killed,” Hotch said.

“The killer switched from white victims to African Americans,” Rossi noted.

“You’d think if they were surrogates, he’d kill only black men,” Hotch agreed, already punching a number into his phone. “Garcia? I need you to compile a list of boys who played football at the community center twenty to thirty years ago.”

“Excuse me, ma’am?” someone asked.

You turned around to see an officer you didn’t recognize. He was middle-aged, but young compared to most of the other men on the force. “What can I do for you?”

“You’re with the FBI, right?”

You nodded. “That’s right.”

“Detective Gordinski wants these handed to your supervisor,” he said, giving you a file. “Nothing important, just paperwork, really.”

“Thanks,” you said anyways.

He was silent for a moment, then chuckled. “You know, I became a cop to get away from crazy shit like Afghanistan. Apparently, I can’t outrun it.”

He tried to walk away, but your interest peaked.

“You served?” you asked.

“Two tours,” the officer confirmed. “I was discharged after an IED went off and made me lose hearing in my right ear.”

“I was in Syria for 18 months,” you said.

His face lit up. “No way. What’d you do?”

The army had a weird way of bringing people together.

“I was a medic,” you replied. “I was hired on this team as a paramedic, actually. I worked as one for a few years after I got home.”

“Goddamn,” he whistled. “It’s hard to find girls like you…?”

“Y/N,” you answered.

“Jacob,” he said, offering you a hand.

You shook his hand, smiling faintly. You saw Jacob wink at you before walking away, but you didn’t see JJ, Emily, and Spencer watching you from the next room.

Back when Buford managed the center, everything was on paper, which meant Garcia unfortunately couldn’t help. JJ and Spencer ended up combing through the community center’s paper records, only to find gaps. They presumed Buford destroyed some of the files before he was sent to prison. The two of them were only able to come up with a partial list of names.

Derek was incessant; he was the first one to suggest visiting Buford. Hotch was reluctant, instead opting for JJ to attempt a memory recall. It didn’t work, which meant you were back to zero in terms of leads. Derek eventually wore Hotch down, but on the condition that he’d go with Derek. You jumped in, saying you’d tag along.

“What?” you asked. “Garcia would, if she were here. I figured I’m the next best thing.”

You and Hotch watched as Derek sat across from Buford. They were across the cafeteria, and you were behind a window, so it was hard to completely make out what they were saying. Eventually, though, You saw Derek get up and stand against the wall while Buford wrote names down on a pad of paper. They ended the conversation with a handshake. You could see the fire behind Derek’s eyes.

“I’m gonna use the head before we leave,” Derek said after handing off the list to Hotch. He walked down the hall and to the bathroom. You waited a few minutes before following him.

Basically all of the inmates were in the yard, which meant the floor was almost completely empty, even from guards. So, when you heard gagging come from the bathroom, you had a feeling you knew who it was.

You opened the door, stepping in silently and turning the corner. Sure enough, Derek was hunched over the sink. He flipped on the faucet, bringing some water to his mouth.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he replied gruffly.

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “You know that friend I mentioned? The one that died in front of me while I was deployed?”

“I remember,” Derek confirmed after a moment.

“He wasn’t just my friend — he was my boyfriend,” you said, “and he died in front of me because we were being held captive.

“He stepped on an IED. It blew his leg off. I ran out to help him, and I was knocked out cold. We were under fire, so no one realized we were gone until it was too late. They weren’t stupid — they knew he would die if he didn’t get proper medical attention. So, they sat him in the corner of the room, and they made him watch what they did to me.”

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N,” Derek said.

“I know,” you promised. “You’re my friend. I want you to know. But mostly, I want you to know you’re not alone.”

He shut off the water, standing up straight. “What did they do to you?”

“They started by punching. When that didn’t work, they moved onto whipping, and when that didn’t work, they laid me on the ground. My pants were halfway down my legs before Austin had enough. He told them everything they wanted to know. And, a few hours later, he was dead.”

You laughed sadly, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. “You wanna know the worst part? A few weeks ago, I found out he was gonna propose to me. He had the ring made and everything. It’s sitting in a box in my closet — his parents couldn’t stand to look at it anymore.” you wiped your eyes. “I mean, seriously dude, compared to my life, yours is a cakewalk.”

Derek chuckled. He approached you, pulling you into a hug. You wrapped your arms around him.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” you whispered.

“I’m sorry too,” Derek replied.

His hand cradled the back of your neck. It was soothing.

“If you won’t ask him out, I will.”

You looked up at Emily with a frown. “What?”

“Jacob? That police officer from earlier?”

“What about him?”

“You were totally flirting with him!” JJ said.

You snorted. “No I was not.”

“He winked at you,” Emily disagreed.

“In some cultures, you’d be engaged,” JJ agreed with Emily.

“I’ll make sure Spencer fact-checks that one,” you said, standing up with a sigh. You refilled your mug with cheap coffee, bringing the pot over for the girls, who still sat at the table reading files.

“Seriously, what’s holding you back?” Emily asked.

“It just seems inappropriate,” you said, which wasn’t entirely a lie. “We’re working a case. It’s unprofessional.”

“That’s why you wait until the case is over,” JJ said, filling her mug. “That’s what Will did. Look how we turned out.”

“I’m not really looking for a relationship right now, you know?” you said. “I’m in love with my work.”

“I hear that,” Emily agreed. “It’s almost impossible to find men that understand that.”

Spencer walked into the room. You did your best to not react. Still, he paused, assessing the atmosphere.

“What are you guys talking about?” He asked.

“Y/N and the cute police officer she was flirting with,” Emily said, cocking an eyebrow. “Care to join?”

Spencer frowned. “No,” he said honestly. He grabbed something and walked out of the room.

Emily and JJ shared a laugh.

“Sounds about right,” JJ chuckled.

You cleared your throat. “I’m gonna go get the rest of the files,” you said after a beat. You left the room, hoping your intentions weren’t obvious.

You picked up a stack of files that were sitting on a table opposite of the conference room. Spencer seemed oblivious, simply going back to what he was doing. You approached him nervously.

“Hey,” you greeted, clutching the files to your chest. “Can we talk?”

Spencer nodded.

You walked across the station, eventually finding a hallway that seemed calm and secluded.

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” you blurted out. “He was flirting with me, but I was only being nice. I didn’t suggest anything, and I didn’t give him any ideas.”

“I believe you.”

A weight lifted off your chest. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Really?” You asked hopefully.

“Of course I do,” Spencer assured with a smile. “There are things I’m insecure about, but our relationship isn’t one of them.”

You reached out, taking his hand. “So we’re okay?”

“We’re okay,” Spencer promised. He glanced down briefly.

Your face fell. “What is it, Spence?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. “It’s just that sometimes, I wish we didn’t have to hide. It’s not that I want to make out with you in front of our coworkers —” you both laughed, “ — but it would be nice if we could just… be us around everyone else, you know?”

You reached up a hand to his cheek. “I know,” you said softly. “I love you, and I love our teammates. It’s everyone else at the Bureau I’m worried about. Semantically, there’s nothing anyone can do — we technically work in different departments, me being a medic and you a profiler. But if someone wanted to throw a fit, call it sexual harassment or a waste of taxpayer money… we could lose our jobs.”

“I understand,” Spencer agreed. “It’s in our best interest to stay quiet. I get that. But that doesn’t change that sometimes it just…”

“...Sucks?” You finished.

“Exactly.”

With the help of Garcia and a few previous victims, the team was able to find the UnSub. Just like the profile suggested, Rodney Harris was a former victim of Buford’s. Thankfully, the BAU was able to apprehend Harris before he could hurt his ex-wife, son, and her current husband.

“For once, I can’t wait to get on that stupid jet,” you said, rolling your head in an effort to stretch your neck. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Emily said as you, JJ, and herself filed out of the conference room.

“Am I?” you asked.

JJ pointed to Jacob. “You forgot to ask him out.”

“You two really aren’t gonna let that go, are you?” you sighed.

“Come on, Y/N!” Emily practically whined. “He’s cute, and handsome, and a cop, and he served in the army, and he likes you. What more could you want?”

“Plus, the case is closed, so it’s not a conflict of interest,” JJ reminded with a smirk.

The three of you approached the gentlemen on the team, who were clustered in front of the exit. You hoped none of them heard what was going on.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked.

Dammit.

“JJ and Prentiss are trying to get me to ask out a cop that works here at the station,” you explained.

“Oh la la,” Rossi joked.

“I’m not interested,” you stated bluntly.

“And yet, you can’t give a good reason why,” Emily pointed out.

You put a hand on your chin, feigning deep thought. “I could ask him out, but here’s the thing… I don’t think my boyfriend would like that very much.”

A collective hush fell over the group. Emily and JJ looked at each other in shock, while Rossi and Derek simply looked impressed. You swore you saw the remnants of a smirk on Hotch’s face.

“Well, there goes pretty boy’s chance of getting with the new girl,” Derek joked.

“Seems so,” Spencer agreed with a laugh.

“You… you have a boyfriend?” JJ asked, stunned.

“Have since I moved here.”

“Who is he?!” Emily practically shrieked. “Can we meet him? Have we met him?”

“He’s a pretty private person,” you feigned. “I’d have to talk to him about meeting you guys.”

JJ and Emily continued to ask questions, threatening to get Garcia involved. You merely walked out of the station, smiling at Spencer before you left.

You ended up sitting across from Derek on the jet. Spencer dozed off on the couch, like he normally did. You wished you had the ability to sleep anywhere you wanted. JJ and Emily were entertaining each other while Rossi and Hotch sat across from each other.

Letting out a breath, Derek put his headphones around his neck. “So… this boyfriend.”

“Ask all you want, man: I’m not gonna spill,” you said.

“Does he know about the ring?”

Your smile faltered. “No,” you said softly, “he doesn’t. He knows about Austin, but… I haven’t gotten around to telling him yet.”

“Will you?” Derek asked.

“Tell him? Of course I will. It’s just… I’m still processing it. I don’t want to spring something like this on him while I’m still deciding how I feel.”

He nodded. “That’s fair. Just do both of you a favor and tell him before he buys a ring.”

“What makes you think we’ll get that far?”

“You’re a good judge of character, Y/N,” Derek said. “You do no harm and take no shit. I can’t see you dating a guy without knowing it’ll go somewhere.”

You lightly kicked him under the table, then grinned. “Thanks, Derek.”

He smiled, putting his headphones on and leaning back in his seat.

You stared across the jet, eyes focused on Spencer. He looked so peaceful when he slept — knees pulled up, his arms wrapped around a pillow. You wanted to put his head in your lap and play with his hair like you did whenever the two of you watched a movie together. You wanted to hold his hand, lean your head on his shoulder, kiss his cheek. But when it came down to it, all you could do was watch him across the room.

He was right: sometimes, it just plain sucked.

_____________________

Tags: @blueskies-whitehighs @geeksareunique @jodibullock1 @gurlrumple @thankyouforanonymity @goddessofmischiefs @crimeshowtrash @imsoft-barnes

Want to be tagged in future parts? Shoot me an ask!

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#stolen dance #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm fic #spencer/reader #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #stolen dance part 10

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thelazyhermits · 4 years

Text

A Fun Day in Akihabara

This time I have a drabble involving one of the lovely 1-B ladies. In the first sentence, there’s a reference about Komori that’ll be explained later on in something else I’ve written. I hope y’all enjoy the drabble! ^-^

After the other girls of Class 1-B found out about your promise to go shopping one day with Komori, it didn’t take long for them to make similar requests. It caught you off guard at first, but you were happy that all the girls wanted a chance to hang out with you.

It’s for that reason that you’re visiting Akihabara with Tsunotori this particular Sunday. Apparently, the blonde is a big fan of anime, so this is one of her favorite places to visit during her free time.

Once she found out that you also enjoyed watching anime, Tsunotori was quick to invite you to the anime capital of the world. Since you had never visited Akihabara, you were naturally quite excited about visiting someplace new.

On the way to Akihabara, you and the younger girl chat about your favorite anime. While you haven’t watched as many as her due to your unusual upbringing, you occasionally got to watch those kinds of shows if they happened to be on TV during the times you were allowed to watch TV.

You really started watching anime after coming to UA. It was a great way to kill time while you were living in Aizawa’s apartment, and when you came to live at the dorm, both Uraraka and Todoroki enjoyed watching it with you. So, it wasn’t unusual for the three of you to start a new anime together and watch the whole series whenever you all had the free time to do so.

That’s why you’re hoping to find a new series to buy and bring back to the 1-A dorm. While you’re sure not all of the students will be interested, you think it’d be fun if some of them chose to join you, Eri, Todoroki, and Uraraka.

Of course, you don’t plan on just watching anime with Class 1-A. Since Tsunotori really wants to find a new series to watch with you, you figure that’ll mean watching it at her dorm. It makes you wonder how many of her classmates would be interested in watching anime.

When you both finally arrive at Akihabara, Tsunotori immediately guides you to one of her favorite stores which, in her opinion, has some of the best selections of DVDs and really great deals. All you can do is stare in amazement at the sight of walls covered in anime merchandise.

As the two of you are heading for the DVD section, you and the blonde examine all the anime figurines with intrigued eyes. Most of them come from anime you haven’t seen, but you do recognize a few characters.

One such figurine you recognize is the one of Sailor Moon in her trademark battle pose. Nostalgia washes over you when you recall watching that show when you were a kid.

Tsunotori beams when she sees which figurine has caught your interest. “Sailor Moon has always been one of my favorite anime! It’s super popular in America!”

The corners of your lips curve upwards. “I can believe it. It’s a great show. Although, I don’t think I ever watched all the episodes. I think I’ve only seen the first two seasons.”

Your words make her gasp, “You haven’t seen all of it, Sensei?! That’s not good! You have to watch them all, or you won’t get the full experience!!”

Chuckling, you nod your head. “That’s true. Maybe I should buy that series too if I can find it for a good price. I think Eri will enjoy it.”

She grins, “Yes! Eri-chan will definitely love it!”

Not long after that, you both find the DVD section. Since it’s currently on your mind, you first look to see what seasons they have of Sailor Moon. Lucky for you, they have all of them, but you decide to just buy the first three seasons for now.

After you find those, you turn to check on Tsunotori and see her intently studying a DVD case. Curious, you move to approach her and notice that the name of the anime she’s currently looking at is Gatchaman Crowds.

Before you can question her about it, the blonde gives you a big smile. “I want to watch this with you, Sensei! Can we?!”

A matching smile forms on your lips. “Sure. What’s it about?”

Tsunotori excitedly explains what she learned from the summary on the back of the DVD. Apparently, this anime is about heroes who wear special suits to fight aliens.

Rather than have special abilities thanks to Quirks, these heroes can do special transformations that result in them gaining robotic suits that give them powers to fight. How intriguing. No wonder Tsunotori appears so interested in the anime.

Now that an anime for you and her to watch together has been decided, all that’s left is to find something that you and Class 1-A can watch together. Technically, you could choose Sailor Moon for that, but you figure not too many of the guys would be interested in it.

Todoroki would definitely watch it since he’ll try anything at least once. The only other guys off the top of your head that you think might like it are Mineta, Kaminari, and Sero because of all the pretty girls in the show. Of course, there is a chance that everyone will watch it, but you want to buy another anime just in case.

For awhile, you and Tsunotori look at DVDs, with her pointing out all the ones she has watched and enjoyed. Eventually, the blonde holds out a DVD for an anime called Persona 4.

As you examine it curiously, she beams, “You should pick this one, Sensei! It’s very good, and the video games for this series are really popular!”

You immediately perk up when you hear the anime is based off a video game. Giving the summary a closer look, you see it’s about a group of high schoolers investigating mysterious murders while having to fight strange creatures while in a world inside a TV.

A grin appears on your face. “This looks awesome, Tsunotori. I’ll take it. I also wanna see what the video game is all about.”

She claps her hands excitedly. “Yes! I know the perfect store!”

After you both make your DVD purchases, Tsunotori brings you into another large store that’s full to the brim with video games. Your eyes widen in wonder, not having seen so many video games in one place before.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to find where the Persona games are. That’s how you discover that their games are for the PlayStation consoles. Luckily, there’s Persona 4 Golden for the PS Vita which is a console you bought a few months ago after Midnight suggested that you try out otome games.

After you find the game, Tsunotori mentions that, while she knows how popular the game is, she hasn’t actually ever played any of the Persona games. Apparently, when she was little, she did play video games, but once she started middle school, the blonde stopped playing so she could dedicate all her free time to training for the UA entrance exam.

Naturally, after hearing that, you are quick to tell her that she is always welcome to come over to the 1-A dorm to watch you play the game. Or, if she wants to play it herself, you’d be more than happy to let her try it after you finish playing.

Her eyes grow large. “Really?! You don’t mind?!”

Smiling, you move to pat her head. “Not at all. It’s not like I play my PS Vita all the time. I mostly play it when me and Todoroki are playing otome games together.”

A large grin forms on her lips as her eyes sparkle with excitement. “I’d really love that if that’s okay! And, I’d really love to play otome games with you and Todoroki-kun if I can! Can I?!”

With a laugh, you gesture for her to follow you. “Of course, it is. He and I aren’t very good at them, so you’ll probably be a big help. While I was planning on making this game my last purchase for the day, I think I can squeeze in a new otome game. Wanna help me pick it out?”

Tsunotori cheers as she falls into step beside you. “Yes! I’ve always wanted to try playing one! I hope we can find a really fun one!”

Your grin grows. “With the two of us working together, I’m sure we won’t have any trouble. We’ll find a great game for sure.”

Even if you don’t, you’re sure you’ll still have a blast playing. After all, how can you not when you’ll be playing with such great company?

#TABF #TABF post scene #tsunotori pony #my writing #once I saw that pony's favorite thing was anime #i had to do this #I couldn't resist taking fortune to akihabara #I wanted to live vicariously through her for this drabble lol #in case you're wondering about how much fortune is spending #remember she gets a good paycheck from UA #and she doesn't spend her money very often #since UA covers all her living expenses #so she has plenty of money to spend #of course she does her best not to go too crazy lol #I used to love sailor moon when I was a kid #gatchaman crowds and persona 4 are great anime #I love them both #I want y'all to imagine todoroki watching sailor moon #isn't that the best mental image ever? XD

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isuckatthisdonti · 5 years

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So i've known a lil bit about hypmic for a time now (ssshh, the guy with the long hair kinda has my attention), but I have no idea what should I do to get into. Should I play something? Read some manga? Just randomly search for songs? What is exactly hypmic?

Sup dood! The long hair guy is called Jyakurai Jinguuji, He’s a doctor. 👍 and assassin. 👍 very precious guy…..👍 I like him very much too, he’s in my favorite team called Matenrou. They’re the Shinjuku Division! I ship the other two members: doppo and hifumi so so soooooooooooooooo goddamn much… seriously OTP…. soulmates…… made for eachother…… and jyakurai is like their parent or something, what a supportive mom/dad…. haha

Hifumi is just….hifumi…..hifumi…………. hifumiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!! it makes me cry thinking of them.

hmm…where to start…..to answer your What exactly is hypmic:Check out this post i wrote awhile ago.so yeah! it’s a hard genre to explain because it’s not an anime, game, or manga per se….( although there are several spinoff manga adaption of it! :D but they only recently started and don’t have that much content yet. the main is listening to the songs and dramatracks ) It’s gonna get long from here so read forward only if you’re interested:

The general flow of enjoying is: 1) the official Youtube Channel provides trailers of the songs/drama tracks 2) Fans listen trailer, buys the CD for full-length song/drama tracks. if it was a rap battle CD, each CD has a serial number you can punch online to vote for which division did a good job on the rap battle. the first battle was a tournament style, starting off as Buster Bros VS Mad Trigger Crew and Fling Posse VS Matenrou )3) the winning team fights the other winning team for a final battle( it was Mad Trigger Crew VS Matenrou) and people buy that CD, votes again to decide the final winning team. the final winning team release an extra CD (Matenrou champion thing). ↓↓↓

Each division has a CD released (containing character song for ea/ character + a division song where the three sing together) :)there was only 1 full-tournament-y-battle so far, but recently released an album, Live blu-ray DVD, and couple new songs so fans do have constant content to enjoy. ↓↓↓

I personally bought the CDs via Japanese Amazon (the US Amazon/iTunes don’t sell them… :( ) Unfortunately missed the voting periods because I got into the fandom late :/// still cool thoI don’t ususally tell people to do this…but in this case i do understand how difficult it is to obtain official CD…..(i personally had to go through 4 different sources to get buy a CD legally in the states) so… if you really want to hear the songs and dramatracks in full; i heard that people upload them in soundcloud. soooo i guess you can go there to listen? mmm… if you’re just curious to what it is Official Youtube channel is the place to go tho. they already have a lot of full-length songs there :D

i hope i answered your question and wasnt too confusing;;;;

glad you’re taking interest in hypmic :)))))) all the characters are pretty interesting, and it’s an extremely popular thing right now in Japan, a HUGE fandom. :0 hope you like em too!

have a fantastic friday~!

EDIT: today’s MVP

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ohblackdiamond · 5 years

Text

the end of the world tour (kiss/endgame crossover, r) (part 1/4)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

“Peter, c’mon, you’re saying we should just waltz right in to their place and tell them what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’re KISS. We haven’t done anything heroic in forty years, but—’”

“I wouldn’t say we haven’t done anything heroic in forty years. We all got married.”

Or, four washed-up former rockstar superheroes don the spandex of old in a last-ditch effort to save an already half-gone world. They just need a little support from a billionaire who's not too keen on KISS interrupting his private life. Somewhat Endgame compliant.

Notes: Most of this probably goes without saying given the general content of this tumblr, but in case anyone MCU wanders in-- KISS has been a part of Marvel Comics since 1977, and, in fact, starred in Marvel’s first full-color, magazine-sized comic book from that same year (in an infamous publicity stunt, the band members added their own blood to the ink of the first issue). Their characterization, history, and powers vary from run to run, and to be honest, it was easier just to pull from KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park and a bit of Scooby-Doo Meets KISS for powers, and actual band history for most of the rest. (Pulling from comic history, well, would have entailed messily trying to make canon ’70’s teamups with Spider-man and the Avengers work out with MCU—impractical at best!) Mistakes are mine.

Intimations of your typical usual suspect pairings, but nothing explicit.’

Looking back, the signs had been there all along. The KISS memorabilia starting to spread out like a fungus to all parts of the mansion they’d moved into five years prior. The cold cream that had found its way back to the bathroom counters.

The abrupt shift in mood of half the household.

The gloomier half. Except that wasn’t much of a specification. Ace tried to be upbeat, but he spent the bulk of his time alone, tinkering with the fifty-year-old remnants of his spaceship, though each assurance that he was going back to Jendell (“you guys’ll come with me, it’ll be great, we’ll just stay there forever”) seemed hollower with every passing year. Gene had put on an incredibly gutsy show in public for the first several months after the decimation, donating millions to clean up efforts around the greater New York area, only to falter in private. Paul had only started recovering enough to shave regularly over the past six or seven months.

Peter wasn’t in great shape himself. He knew it, too. But he was surviving. They were all doing that much. They had a daily routine down, one they stuck to as strictly as cloistered monks. Cooking duties divvied up; chores divvied up. Shopping divvied up. They could’ve hired help easily. The battered remnants of the KISS juggernaut were still enough for generations to live off of, like a bastard version of the Vanderbilts. But doing the chores themselves gave everything a sense of purpose. Meaning.

They weren’t doing poorly for four widowers. Coping a whole lot better than most guys their age who’d lost everyone but each other.

Deep down, Peter knew they couldn’t have made it any other way. They would’ve all been driven out of their minds with grief. Just cracked up. Especially those first few months after moving in together. In a sick kind of desperation, they’d spent that time sleeping in the basement together, the four of them, on a pair of pull-out couches. The prospect of waking up alone was just that awful. The craving for normalcy just that deep. Waking up to Ace’s morning wood (Christ, the guy was sixty-eight; his ability to maintain a hard-on had to just be alien biology at this point) had become a strange, nostalgic kind of comfort.

They were still sharing rooms sometimes. It felt really juvenile, at least to Peter, crawling into one of the other guys’ rooms at night, like a kid with a nightmare, but it helped. Touch helped. Living together brought them some focus beyond themselves. Forced them to look out for each other. Keep each other from doing something stupid. Funny how without any contract or tour bullshit to worry about, they could stand each other again.

Sometimes a little more than that. Sometimes a lot.

But Peter really didn’t connect the dots for awhile. One morning, he stumbled downstairs to see Paul making pancakes from scratch. He hadn’t made any pretenses of being a chef in years, but there he was, even tossing chocolate chips and strawberries into the batter.

“I decided every day was a good day,” he said, shrugging, when Peter asked him about it.

“He got laid,” Ace had called out from the living room. Peter, staring from an abashed Paul to an oddly-silent Gene, hadn’t asked for any elaboration, figuring he had a fair idea. Well, whatever. If they wanted to go back to fooling around with each other at this late a date, at least there was plenty of Viagra and K-Y to be had.

A few days later, Gene bought about three gallons of ice cream, an exorbitant amount of toppings, and a stash of his Moneybags signature root beer and they all spent the afternoon making and devouring sundaes and floats. Nobody bitched about lactose intolerance. Then they’d sat around and watched Godzilla movies on DVD and played each other on the old KISS pinball machine. It was like old times—really old times.

Peter had just figured things were finally starting to settle into a new normal. A devastating normal, sure, but they were all learning to cope.

He had no idea the coping methods they’d picked involved a lot more than self-help platitudes and dairy products, and a lot less Viagra.

Not until about a month later, on his assigned day to do the shopping—though they were all more flexible on who did the shopping than any other aspect of their chore board. Paul still hated to go anywhere by himself, invariably dragging someone else with him. Usually Gene, sometimes Ace. On his own days, Peter usually tried to invite Ace along, just to get him out of the backyard, even though Ace’s penchant for Arizona Green Tea still far outstripped the supply at the closest grocery store, and Peter would still have to make a dozen weird maneuvers around the place just so they’d avoid the liquor.

This time, though, Peter went alone. Stuffed the old Porsche full of a mix of canned and dried goods, mostly. Still the easiest, cheapest stuff to find, with or without the world half-gone. Almost bizarre to see things start to get in demand again. The first few days—the first few months, after, the grocery store had been hell to go to. Just the smell of all that food rotting for want of people to buy it. The look of it, mold everywhere, flies buzzing, maggots crawling—and not as many as all that.

A fifty-fifty split in all forms of life. Existence was just a coin toss.

He’d pulled into the driveway and gotten out, lugging a couple grocery bags out with him as he headed toward the door, pushing the doorbell with his elbow. No answer.

Another push. Nothing.

Ace was probably out back somewhere. Paul and Gene were probably upstairs, too close to deaf to have heard him away from the main floor. Goddammit. Peter sighed and set down one of the grocery bags, digging through his pockets for the house key, pulling it out and unlocking the door, only to be greeted by an odd, clinking sound and a low groan as he stepped inside.

“Gene?”

Peter dropped the grocery bags and hurried towards the noise, mouth pursed. No panicking. He couldn’t afford to panic. Still, it could be anything. Gene never had taken care of himself that well—sure, he’d never done drugs, but he had the diet of an emancipated six-year-old—prime candidate for a heart attack, for sure—

“…. What’re you…”

“Peter?”

Gene was lying on his back on the kitchen tile, mostly-obscured by the girl straddling him. She was leaning forward, blonde hair like streamers over his face as she kissed him, his hands clasping her wrists, holding them above his head, against the floor. Her white dress was bunched up enough it was obvious there was nothing beneath.

It was a scene Peter had first witnessed out of Gene around 1974, and it hadn’t gotten any more appealing in forty-five years. Just a lot more curious. No, fucking bewildering. Normally, Gene was—had been—infamous for stripping off as few clothes as possible in his rush to get to the main event. It was like the man thought a groupie couldn’t wait for him to get his jeans more than five inches past his hips. But this time was beyond bizarre. Gene wasn’t in his usual jeans and cowboy boots and button-down. He was in costume.

More specifically, he was in every ignoble inch of his Destroyer costume, except for the codpiece. His black leotard was hiked down to the tops of his scaly, silver monster boots, chest armor stretched over his torso, black leather gauntlets on. The last time Peter had seen any of that particular outfit, Clinton was still president.

The blonde gave him a brief look, then Gene, who whispered something Peter couldn’t quite hear. Then she started rolling her hips against his again, Gene dropping his hold on her wrists to cup his hands around her face, her hair sweeping over them both, preventing Peter from getting a great look at either of them. Peter just stared, unsure of whether his eyes could afford a closer vantage point.

“Really, Gene?”

“I’m—ngh, doing my duty as an American citizen here.”

“Your duty?”

“FER. Federal Emergency Repopulation.” Gene paused, glancing at the blonde. “If he’s bothering you, we can take it upstairs—"

“Jesus Christ, Gene, you’re seventy years old! And why the fuck are you in the costume?”

“Well, that aspect wasn’t really up to me.”

“Gene, sit the fuck up and look at me.”

“Peter—”

Gene raised up a few inches as every bit of color drained out from Peter’s face.

He looked better than he had in forty years. No, that wasn’t right. He looked like he had forty years ago. The Demon makeup couldn’t obscure it. The lines around his eyes and forehead were gone. The fullness that age and weight had left in his face and neck and chest had vanished utterly. He looked healthy. He looked young, terrifyingly young.

“Gene, what the hell did you do?”

“I—"

Before Peter could manage a single syllable, a loud, shrill cry from upstairs interrupted everything.

“Paul?”

“Oh, shit. Let’s not continue this upstairs.” Gene’s attention was back on the blonde, who rolled her hips up against his invitingly. “Better check on Paul, Pe—ohh, fuck, yeah…”

Peter darted upstairs, yanking open the door to Paul’s room to find almost the exact same scenario. One he hadn’t seen in decades. Paul, halfway in costume, rhinestone-covered black jumpsuit hanging somewhere around his hips, with a girl up against the wall, her bare legs wrapped around his waist. Three hip replacements, two knee replacements, and at least one rotator cuff replacement and yet Paul didn’t seem to be having any issues holding her there. Or plowing her.

Probably because he, too, looked to be about forty years younger.

---

Half an hour later, both girls were gone and Paul and Gene were back to a semblance of normal. The makeup had, weirdly, lingered when they’d reverted back—Peter couldn’t remember that ever happening when they were actively in the superhero business—though neither of them seemed particularly surprised by that, just a bit disappointed. Paul had darted over to the bathroom to get some cold cream and washcloths, like that would head Peter off at the pass, before returning to sit down at the table with Gene and Peter.

Peter was still fuming.

“Look, Peter, I can explain—” Gene started.

“You don’t need to. It’s obvious. You used the talismans.”

“Well, yeah.” Paul looked about as apologetic as a kid who hadn’t been caught until after eating the entire bag of Oreos.

“I didn’t know they could do that.”

“We didn’t, either.”

“Bullshit, that’s the only reason you were fucking—”

“No, really! We got them out for old time’s sake a couple months ago.”

“It makes sense, I mean, mystical artifacts from Victor Von Doom’s mom, supposed to reveal the true self of the holder…” Paul trailed.

“True self, my ass. Your true self is a bottle of Aquanet.”

Gene was starting to smirk. Paul elbowed him in the ribs.

“So you decided you were gonna use the talismans of Khyscz to make yourselves younger so you could fuck random girls. Christ. I knew you didn’t have any dignity, but—” Peter paused, unsure of how to even state the rest of his tirade. For once.

It was just too damn bizarre. They’d left that shit behind years ago. Decades ago. Their last real superhero stints had been in cancer wards, letting kids with lymphoma and leukemia jam with them from their beds and wheelchairs. Their first had been—well, they’d caught some burglars in the Bronx and Queens a couple of times, between band practice, before they were even signed to a record company. Once they’d started touring, they’d tried to keep the double lives up, and for awhile, it had worked to their advantage. People didn’t know whether seeing KISS on the street meant a concert was coming to town or a gang was about to get busted. And the merchandising…. Christ, what a frenzy. The public had eaten it up. Lunchboxes and the pinball machine had only been the beginning.

The biggest criminal they’d ever stopped was some amusement park tyrant, Abner Devereaux. Naturally, they’d turned it into a movie a year later. Hadn’t even been allowed to put most of their powers on display for fear of wrecking the sets and camera equipment. Paul couldn’t fire off any laser beams; Ace’s teleporting barely got a mention. Peter was lucky they didn’t try to trim his claws down. Even Gene’s fire-breathing had to be faked for the camera. He’d had to swill kerosene in his mouth and just spit at the torch like he was from the circus.

Really humiliating, looking back, but they hadn’t quite realized it. The movie had seemed like a natural next step. They were giving the fans what they wanted. A superhero group that could do anything, be anything. Role models. Rockstars. Sex symbols. Entrepreneurs. The four most recognizable faces in the world, faces of a corporation worth a hundred million. Not bad for 1978. Not Stark Industries levels, but not bad.

But the movie had started the blowback. No one under twelve even watched the damn thing. The press was coming out with hit pieces on the daily. Headlines like “Shilling Superheroes” and “Crimefighting Doesn’t Pay—But Capitalism Does” started dotting the supermarket stands. When they retreated back into making records, the bottom had already dropped out. KISS didn’t come off as superheroes or even musicians anymore, just a bunch of guys out for a quick buck. No amount of charity work—and certainly not a long stretch of tail-between-their-legs touring in Australia and Europe, where their superhero antics weren’t as big a part of their mystique—could’ve brought them back from that.

Peter had left KISS before things completely crashed. Been fired, more accurately. What that’d mean for the dwindling state of their superhero gig should’ve been obvious, but looking back, Peter couldn’t remember thinking about it or anyone even mentioning it when he’d left. Ace hadn’t talked about it when he quit the band a couple years later, either. KISS still performed with the outfits and makeup for awhile after. But the crimefighting was over. Any superhuman powers were done with. Gene ended up having to spit kerosene to breathe fire onstage for the rest of his career. The talismans just wouldn’t work without the four of them as some kind of unit.

Apparently, their current living arrangement counted as some kind of unit. Good enough for the talismans. And apparently, the talismans didn’t even care whether Paul and Gene were using them for the right reasons. Peter shoved his hands through his hair before slamming his palm against the table. True to form, Paul and Gene didn’t even blink. Gene, in fact, took it as an opportunity to continue.

“We thought it’d be a better sell to FER if we could offer them something a little more exciting than—”

“Than a bunch of old assholes.”

“More or less, yeah.” Paul rubbed at the star on his eye with a dollop of cold cream, carefully. “It’s not any kind of PR stunt. Just makes for better lays and healthier sperm.”

“We’ve had 53 successful pregnancies just over the last two months,” Gene offered. His phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Make that 54.”

“54? Was that mine or yours?”

“Mine. That was, uh…” Gene scrolled up on his phone. “Tori Friedmann. Remember, the one with the tattoos right around her hips?”

“Gene, I didn’t see her anywhere near naked.”

“She had her hair dyed green. It was in ringlets.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah…” Paul trailed, before turning his attention back to Peter. “We’re really helping things out.”

“Helping things out?” Gene snorted. “Don’t be modest. We’ve got the best track record for pregnancies in the entire state of Connecticut. Eighty percent success rate after four sessions or less. Amazing.”

“Who’s supposed to be raising—” Peter started, but he was cut off almost immediately by a laugh.

“Seriously? The government’s paying the girls out the nose. Prenatal up through college. All we had to do was participate.” Gene shifted, pushed his washcloth into the jar of cold cream, and started wiping off his face. “Of course, FER pays the guys doing it, too, but it’s not our main motivation.”

“Why the hell aren’t you jacking it into a cup? What’s so wrong about artificial insemination? Is FER Catholic?”

“This world’s starved for the human touch. Sex drives are lower than the Dow right now.” Gene cleared his throat, tilted his head as if he were about to start on an interview-worthy set of sound bites. “Now, what we’re offering is only what KISS has always offered, an escape, a fantasy. But we sell it better than any fucking band before or since. We lift those girls up.”

“Yeah, I saw Paul lifting that girl up—” Peter started. Paul looked only a tinge embarrassed. “You could’ve been her grandfather, for Christ’s sake.”

“Hey, they know exactly who they’re getting with,” said Gene. “We aren’t pretending we’re a tribute band. And we cheer them up, Peter. Some of them haven’t slept with anyone in five years. Some of them haven’t touched anyone in five years. They forgot how to even be alive. We’re reminding them.”

“You’re selling your sperm, Gene, don’t act like it’s some grand gesture.” Peter paused. “Is Ace in on this, too?”

“I think Ace got in about four lays, but then he felt bad about it…”

“Because he’s got a conscience?”

“No, because he’s an alien. I mean, the girls kind of got off on it, I think, but…” Paul shrugged, finding a clean corner of his washcloth, patting away the traces of cold cream. “He thought Earth ought to be repopulated by regular humans.”

“He didn’t care about that when we were touring.” God knew how many girls Ace had knocked up with half-Jendellian spawn back in the seventies. His kid with Jeanette, Monique, hadn’t ever exhibited anything weird that Peter had seen, but then again, Ace was pretty good at keeping his own alien oddities under wraps. At least in public. Online tabloids and shit still said he was a normal guy from the Bronx that had just watched too much Star Trek in high school. If he hadn’t toured off and on with the guy for years, and if the remnants of his spaceship weren’t currently in their backyard, Peter might’ve believed it, too.

“Yeah, but when we were touring, the world wasn’t in an apocalypse.” Another corner of the washcloth and Paul was wiping off his eyeliner. “I dunno. I told him if they didn’t care, he shouldn’t, either. It’s not like his dick is any different.”

“He’ll change his mind. Probably.” Gene set down the washcloth, face reddish but bare. He looked so appallingly confident that Peter almost wanted to punch him. No, he did want to punch him. Clearly, the repopulation gig had been Gene’s idea. Paul was far too depressed these days to be such an opportunist on his own, and Ace… Ace, clearly, just had gone along with it. Neither of them had ever been half as desperate for a lay as Gene, either. Peter settled for pushing back his chair and leaning over the table, yanking Gene by both arms.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Pete—”

“Don’t you even remember what we were supposed to use the talismans for?”

“Sure. Saving the world.” Gene tugged his arms out of Peter’s grasp. Utterly unmoved. He didn’t even have to stand up in order to wrench him away. It just made Peter all the more incensed. The blitheness of it. Shit, Gene used to care. Paul used to care.

“Fucking girls for some government program isn’t saving the world!”

“Then what the hell do you suggest? We’re a little fucking limited with half the population gone.”

“Fixing this mess!”

“How?” Paul started to laugh. “If the Avengers aren’t touching it, what makes you think we should?”

“When did that stop us before, huh? We were there before they even existed!”

“Most of them,” Gene put in dryly. “Captain America’s old enough that he could’ve even fathered you, Pete.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Peter rattled off. “Fuck both of you. You’ve finally got a real opportunity here and you’re too damn sorry to take it.”

“A real opportunity? You’re telling us about opportunities?” Paul snorted. “I should’ve known all you’d do was bitch and whine as soon as you found out. Mr. Misery never did fucking retire. Can’t let anybody else be even a little happy—”

“You’re not happy, asshole!”

The sound of the backdoor swinging open swallowed up any other comments. Ace, standing there in a ratty screenprinted Betty Boop t-shirt and jeans, looking sweaty and vaguely perturbed.

“Y’know, contrary to popular belief, I’m still not deaf.”

Peter spun around to face him.

“Ace! You knew what these bastards were doing this whole time and you didn’t tell me!”

Ace raised his palm in what might’ve been surrender, then shut the door behind him. He didn’t cross over to the dining room where the others were seated, surprisingly—just headed straight for the kitchen.

“Sit down, Pete. ’M gonna get us some water.”

Peter sat down. He wasn’t mollified, not in the slightest, but he stayed quiet until Ace returned, four water bottles in hand. Gene and Paul didn’t say anything, either. The only real sound was Paul screwing the lid back on the jar of cold cream.

Ace pushed a water bottle towards each of them before sitting down next to Peter. Peter eyed him warily. It felt like a band meeting, the tension thick as concrete, only for once, they weren’t arguing over solos or setlists. And Bill Aucoin, of course, wasn’t there to make sure they shook hands and shared a joint by the end. Not quite the kind of nostalgia Peter craved.

“Okay, so,” Ace started, conversationally, “I get why you’re pissed off, man.”

“You should’ve told me—”

“I tried! I told you Paul got laid! But you didn’t wanna hear anymore.”

“That’s because I thought he was back to fucking around with Gene!”

“I did not—" Paul’s face was going from pallid to pink to red at an alarming rate. Beside him, Gene was rubbing his forehead with a wince. “Look, let’s just address the issue at hand.”

“You’re right,” Peter snapped back. “Ace, listen. What they’re doing’s fucked-up.”

“Peter, we’re all still in kind of a bad place right now, I dunno if it’s the time to—”

“It’s not the time to be trying to repopulate like—like tigers in the zoo.” Peter exhaled. “Not when we could be doing a lot more. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you assholes.”

Ace unscrewed Peter’s water bottle before opening his own. He took a long swallow, then let out a sigh.

“Just wait. I’ll be getting us to Jendell in another three months, easy. Then we won’t have to worry about any of this shit.”

“That’s been your answer the last five years, Ace! You can’t fix your ship! We all know we’re not getting off this planet!”

“I mean it this time! I really got it cracked. Three months or less.” Ace took another swallow of water. “It’ll be great. My ma—aw, man, you’ll love her. She’s great. I tried sending her our records once we got big, I still had this little portable, y’know, for shipping off small stuff, don’t know if she ever got it…”

“Still having family must be great, Ace.”

Ace flinched visibly.

“I haven’t seen her in fifty years, man, I don’t know for sure. We’re all in the same boat there.”

“We’re fucking not, Ace. You just proved it.” Peter swallowed thickly. It was a lower blow than he’d meant to take. But he couldn’t help it. Fifty-fifty shot, and they’d all managed to lose. All that grief the sickest, saddest equalizer. Gigi had beaten cancer. Monique had been clean for a couple years now. Gene’s kids had careers… Paul’s youngest three weren’t out of elementary school. All of them a million times more deserving of being alive than they were. Peter’s gut roiled, and he grabbed his water bottle, forcing several gulps down just to quell the lump in his throat. He still had to take a few more breaths before he was half-positive his voice wouldn’t quaver too much, and by then, Paul had already begun talking again.

“Okay, okay. Let’s say we wanted to do something. Where would we even start? What would we even be fighting against?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. Now—”

“I know where we’d start.”

Pete’s gaze shot over to Gene. He couldn’t keep the bare, hopeful note out of his voice.

“Where?”

“Avengers headquarters. That or Stark’s place.” At Paul’s indignant glance, Gene shrugged. “What, it’s obvious. And it’s only a hypothetical. For all we know, they could be working on the solution right now.”

“They’re not doing a damn thing,” Paul insisted.

“How do we know that, though?” Ace said it slowly. “I mean, really. They haven’t given everything up. The Hulk’s still around… you get reports of some of the other guys sometimes, taking down drug cartels, that sort of thing…”

“So it’s worth a shot!”

“Peter, c’mon, you’re saying we should just waltz right in to their place and tell them what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’re KISS. We haven’t done anything heroic in forty years, but—’”

“I wouldn’t say we haven’t done anything heroic in forty years. We all got married.”

“You know what I mean, Gene.” Paul paused. “You really think they’re gonna buy that? You really think they won’t laugh in our faces?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Paul let out a long sigh and gave Gene a look of utter betrayal Peter hadn’t fully witnessed since the disastrous Reunion Tour about twenty years back. The I-kept-this-band-alive look. The why-don’t-you-ever-listen-to-me look. The I-told-you-KISS-condoms-were-a-bad-idea look. Gene just shook his head in return.

“It’s worth a shot. The worst they could say is no.” Gene took a swig of water. “And if they do, so what? My ego can take it. We can go back to helping with repopulation efforts here in New Haven.” He paused. “Actually, we could probably introduce the Avengers to the program, I’m sure the country could use some super-sperm to—”

“God, no.”

Ace started laughing. Really laughing, that awful, unsettling, but infectious cackle that used to embarrass the rest of them during interviews. Peter caught sight of Gene’s lips twitching and then he lost it himself. Totally helpless. Paul had his hand over his mouth, but Peter was pretty sure he was laughing behind it.

It had been so long since they’d found anything funny. So long since they’d had any kind of idea in mind beyond surviving from day to day. Sure, Paul wasn’t sold on it, and Peter wasn’t sure if Ace was, either, not exactly, but—they were getting there. There was energy there, buzzing through his veins, making him feel fidgety and anxious and alive, really alive, for the first time in five years. He knew it was the same for the others. All the four-who-are-one superhero mysticism they’d tried to blow off as bullshit as tempers had flared in the studio and onstage and in their hotel rooms—shit, there was something to it. There had to have been or they wouldn’t still be together now.

“All right, fine, we won’t advertise it,” Gene finally said, once the laughter had died down. “If they went on the market, we’d probably be out of luck. But if we head to Manhattan… that’ll take us, what, couple hours if we drive, depending on how many highways they’ve finally cleaned up…”

“I’m not driving,” Peter said flatly.

“We could teleport,” Ace offered. “If you got better coordinates than just Manhattan, anyway.”

“Right, yeah, we could—” Gene considered. “Actually, I think we might be better off heading to Stark’s directly.”

“Why?”

“Because he holds the purse strings. And because he’s the one person out of all of them I’ve actually spoken to.” Gene was nodding to himself. “I don’t think he lives in the city anymore, but I’m sure we can—"

“I didn’t agree to any of this.”

“Paul, c’mon. It’s not hurting anything.”

“It’s been forty years. We’re gonna be laughed out of town.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been laughed out of town since we started. ’S fine.” Ace looked over at Paul, mouth uncharacteristically pursed, on the verge of dissolving into giggles again. Peter could tell by the way Ace had his hand cupped around his thigh, underneath the table. He couldn’t remember the last time Ace had done that to him. Peter reached out to put his hand on top of Ace’s, absently tapping against the rings. Ace crooked a slow smile, and half-spoke, half-warbled, “Y’know, we’ve got nothing to lose…”

“That song was about anal, not stomping up to the Avengers headquarters asking for a job application.”

“Same difference. Well, one’s a little sexier.”

“This isn’t a joke, Ace. It’s just stupid.” Paul exhaled, staring at each of them in turn before shaking his head. “God, why the hell am I even still entertaining this shit?”

He started to get up, only for Gene to grab his arm before he’d done much more than push his chair back. Paul sat back down, glare fixed on his face.

“Paul, c’mon. We can’t do this without you.” Gene hadn’t let go of his arm yet, but Paul wasn’t relaxing into the touch. “What’s the real issue here? Are you that afraid of being turned down?”

“Let go of me,” Paul rattled off impatiently, brushing at Gene’s arm. “And no, I’m not. I—fuck, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

“What if you’re wrong? What if they aren’t trying? What if busting up drug cartels is all the Avengers are good for these days, too?” Paul tried to laugh but couldn’t seem to manage it, coughing, then draining the rest of his bottled water. “Nothing to lose—like hell we have nothing to lose. If we go over there, and we find out this world really is all we have left, no… no do-overs, no—saving anybody, no bringing anyone back… then that’s it. We’re done. We’ve got nothing anymore. Not even hope.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Peter watched as Gene reached over again, clasping Paul’s wrist before, almost hesitantly, taking his hand. Paul winced, but didn’t pull back. “We’ve got something left. We’re KISS. We’re family.”

“Gene—”

“And that’s not going to change, all right? Don’t get me wrong. It’ll hurt like hell if they say there’s nothing that can be done.” Gene paused. “But that doesn’t make it true. Look, whatever life ever had in store, we’ve kept going. We’ll keep going regardless.”

Paul didn’t say anything for awhile. Long enough that Ace had stopped just resting his hand on Peter’s thigh and started actively trying to pick the lint off his slacks instead. Peter batted his hand away, then, before Paul finally spoke back up.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m in, I’ll do it.” Gene was still holding Paul’s hand. Neither had let go yet. “But don’t get too excited. And don’t think we’re just gonna pop over there tomorrow.” Paul finally tugged his hand away, but not until after a brief squeeze.

“We’re not? Oh, c’mon, Paulie, if I get some coordinates, I know I can teleport us there!”

“Because,” Paul said, grinning almost wolfishly, “we’re gonna train first.”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #peter criss #paul stanley #gene simmons #ace frehley

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