#like - this is coming from someone who is overweight and is very visibly so

[ryuuseini]

God I wanna... Say Something regarding fatphobia in media and the terms ppl use in describing characters who gain weight over time ("letting go" like bro shut the fuck up???) and how like, there's also nuance to the discussion (like, a character who starts out on the heavier side choosing to lose weight shouldn't be demonized either - as PLENTY of people want to lose weight for various reasons, and while you can point to a decent amount of it stemming from our fatphobic society, a lot of it is also just personal desire at the end of the day - but I also understand that if your ONLY fat character loses weight at the end and the other characters don't change either, then that's not good) but idk, I'm a little too tired to properly articulate what's going on in my mind? But I just... wish this was more of a discussion

#fatphobia #like - this is coming from someone who is overweight and is very visibly so #and yeah i do wanna lose weight simply because i dont like the way it distributes on me #but theres also the pressure of my mom who thinks its just wrong of me to be this weight and im like ??? pls stop #but I know for ME its more a personal desire #but i think my biggest issue is that like. bc we're at a state of representation where the bare minimum is never met #we're pushing for a monolithic representation of a far more diverse group #which. yes. i get it. ppl shouldnt be reduced to 'hi im fat bc i love food' and that be all rep #like no i 100% agree with that like a character shouldnt be striped down to solely be about being what marginalized group they are #but humans are so fucking nuanced that like. i DO want to see a character who does have a vibe of 'i like food!!' but have OTHER traits #like you have the skinny anime boy who has a million of other traits and cannot solely be defined by 'loves food' #but you also see them literally DROOLING over food and ordering a shit ton of food and somehow eating it all and like #and like the fact that here im specifically talking about Luke Yugioh Sevens who i would ACTUALLY describe as a kid who has like #ZERO awareness of the world outside of himself but does have a strong sense of self worth and genuinely wants to be great #but is very much aware he has to EARN that and doesnt want to be handed it... makes you wonder why marginalized identities dont have nuance #like??? pls just... make ppl human. humans are messy. thats what MAKES us human #this kinda got away from me but yk what i mean im tired lol

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I told my girlfriend to lose weight?

Okay, so that sounds horrific, but bear with me.

To be clear, I (23M) could not care less what weight she (27F) is or what she looks like. I love this woman with my whole heart and none of it is about her appearance. We’re pretty much engaged in all but name, the only reason it’s not official is because we don’t have money to even think of weddings right now, and I plan to spend the rest of my life with her.

Thing is, she’s obese. Like, medically, not in a derogatory sense. This is massively affecting her health. She’s constantly out of breath, constantly in pain, constantly struggling, and it’s leading to other conditions such as sleep apnea. She thinks she has asthma because she’s always struggling to breathe, but I’m 95% sure it just comes down to weight and her doctor has said the same, but she tends to write it off as doctors being fatphobic.

Much of this is due to the fact that she used to struggle with binge-eating disorder. She no longer binge eats, but she does overeat in general because her body is so accustomed to constant food, so she gets painfully hungry and dizzy after 2-3 hours of not eating.

I’ve tried to encourage her to exercise with me, diet with me, count calories etc., but she gives up super easy when she doesn’t see immediately results. She also says herself that she finds it very difficult to see herself accurately - she has the reverse of “typical” body dysmorphia, where she sees herself as thinner than she is, so she genuinely sees herself as thin or like slightly curvy. (To be clear, she is very visibly obese, people comment on this often, and while I’ll be the first to go fists up if someone’s a dick to her about it as people have been I also am genuinely worried about her health.) Because of that she has no motivation to lose the weight because she just doesn’t see it. It’s bad enough that she’s been told by doctors she WILL likely struggle later in life with heart failure, diabetes etc if she doesn’t lose weight, yet her POV is more, “It can’t be that bad because I’m not that big so I don’t need to worry about it”. She has occasional reality checks, most recently she put her measurements into some site that shows an image of what you look like from a third person perspective, and she was completely shocked like “I can’t look like that. Do I? This is a wake up call”, but days later it’s completely lost and she’s back to saying she’s not that big again.

She wants kids with me, and I just absolutely do not want to commit to having children with her when I know there’s a not-insignificant chance she’ll have serious health issues in the future that could mean she’s not with us for as long as she could be. Both for the kids’ sake, and selfishly because I want her around! I don’t want to think about something happening to her earlier in life and being without her.

But I just don’t know what to do. Gently suggesting it hasn’t worked, saying I’m worried about her health hasn’t worked, saying I don’t want kids until she’s healthy hasn’t worked (even if she’s still overweight I really don’t care as long as she’s not in a “danger zone” y’know?), trying to meal plan with her hasn’t worked, trying to get her to keep track of calories hasn’t worked, trying to exercise with her hasn’t worked.

People I’ve asked in the past have told me to be firm about it, but I’m incredibly reluctant to do that - I struggled with anorexia for most of my teenage and adult life and I know how deep it can cut to have your weight criticised or commented on. I don’t want to be that dick who basically calls someone I love very much unhealthy and fat and tells her to lose weight or no kids or some horrible shit like that.

But I just. Can’t work out what to do. She does express a willingness to lose weight, she says she wants to, she just doesn’t have that motivation to do it. I don’t know what else we can try.

AITA for focusing on this in the first place? Like am I actually just being fatphobic, or is my own past with EDs influencing my thinking? Am I going about it all wrong? Should I just accept it as something that’ll be a potential issue in future and deal with it then or am I fair to worry about it early on?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[praublem-child]

I just realized that I probably looked (and acted) in a very stereotypically autistic way on that whole trip.

Appearance wise, everything about me was monochrome. My hair, my eyes, my shirts, my shorts, my socks, my shoes, my bag, my phone, my headphones, my cane, hell, even my fidgets were all blue. All of my shirts were mha related, my socks were all glove socks (please God never let my toes touch), and I spent the entire time stimming and fidgeting.

I was also not acting in a neurotypical way. Again, stimming and fidgeting the entire time. My facial expressions? Not up to par with expectations. I got asked what was wrong multiple times while I was trying to smile. I think I spoke maybe 12 total words to people other than my grandparents, and over half of that was greetings and yes/no answers. I also clung to my grandparents like a lost puppy. That isn't inherently an autistic thing, but I was also an 18yr old who very clearly did not want to be there. You'd expect someone like that to avoid family as much as possible. Then there was the fact that my earbuds did not come out. Ever. Everything was so loud and I visibly cringed anytime I took them out of noise canceling to hear a question I was asked.

Genuinely, looking back, why did I even try to mask. It was exhausting, I was miserable, it didn't stop anyone from thinking I was weird or out of place. I got just as many weird looks from how I acted as I did for walking with my cane, and if you've ever walked with a cane as an overweight person or someone young, you know the kinda looks you get for that. Trying to act "normal" just made the trip shitty as hell for me with absolutely no benefit for others (which shouldn't matter, but it does to me).

#autism #neurodivergent #adhd #cane user #masking #autistic things #autistic adult #family trip #autistic masking

[yourlocalmissingtexture]

Okay yeah I’m gonna trauma dump a bit. It’s a bit of a read because I like to add context & detail but yeah. Tw for possible csa/touching/grooming/whatever; I’ll put ⚠️ emojis before and after the description of the incident itself just in case.

For context I was around 3 or 4 when this happened in like 2001-2002. It happened in a rural part of Kansas in a very small town. I was also a girl to my knowledge back then.

My mom worked at the town’s only gas station/convenience store/restaurant with my grandma (who owned the place). I’d go to work with her pretty often, sometimes helping (restocking the tobacco tins was super fun), sometimes meandering around and being a lovable nuisance, and sometimes just doing my own thing with coloring books or what not.

Anyway we had random folks come in from off the highway all the time, but a lot of our customers were locals. Old farmers coming by in the morning for coffee, people stopping by for lunch, kids coming in after school for snacks, that sort of thing.

This is about the farmers. There were roughly about 3-4 on average that came in every day it seemed. Some had fingers missing due to getting them chopped off while using machinery. All were over 50 at the very least. They’d often buy me snacks, usually beef jerky or muffins, and I wasn’t about to turn down either of those no matter how much they weirded me out. Why did they weird me out?

⚠️ Well, something else they’d do is they’d “count my ribs.” I think it was one guy especially that would do this but idk. Basically he’d pull me up into his lap, pull my shirt up, and count my ribs out loud, poking and prodding with each one. I wasn’t overweight then, so my ribs were visible sometimes if I was angled right. I can’t tell if this is me projecting my current emotions back onto my younger self, but I think I felt uncomfortable being subjected to that. He poked too hard and I don’t think I liked my clothes being messed with like that in public or by someone who wasn’t close family. But at the same time I have a recollection of giggling while he did it. It may have been a polite giggle, like when you pretend someone’s funny to be nice. I was supposed to respect my elders after all and most everyone liked this guy and the other men. My mom didn’t seem to mind so it was fine, right? I know she wouldn’t purposefully put me in harm’s way like that, she was a victim of csa herself. Then why do I feel so weird about it? ⚠️

It’s something I didn’t really ever think back on until sorta recently while going through and recording disturbing memories from childhood. This one especially gets me because it was a) in public and b) seemingly not that weird to others. But was it actually? Am I just being dramatic? Because I can’t help but wonder if there’s something to it if I’m looking back and feel this conflicted about it.

Thanks for reading if you did. Uh. I don’t really know how to end this properly so instead I’m going to put some stolen memes I like in here to lighten the mood.

#vent #talking to myself #trauma dump #tw csa implied #tw csa #tw csa mention #tw csa vent #tw grooming #tw molestation #I don’t know if those tws are applicable but I’d rather be safe than sorry #I can’t help but feel like my trauma isn’t good/bad enough #so many people had/have it so much worse #sorry if this is incoherent #I’m at work and also a little on edge #tired and sad

[subladx]

I was in the kitchen finishing the tasks Daddy had left for me. Completely waxed and shaved all over and wearing only a pair of tight shorts I knew drove him wild emphasising my cute little ass.

I heard him enter the kitchen and knew he would be admiring my behind as I put away the dishes. He was not my real dad rather a man I’d met months earlier when I turned 18 on a dating site and he’d taken me in for what I am.

He came up behind me his hand grabbing my ass as he nuzzled my neck giving me goosebumps all over.

“Good boy doing your tasks for Daddy I see”

I turned to face him smiling glad he was home having been alone all day with my chores.

“I have a very special surprise for you tonight let’s get you ready”.

He grinned as he told me.

Leading me to the bedroom and pulling down my shorts I was sure he was taking me straight to bed but a few minutes later I found myself shorts back on with a plug in my ass and a leather collar on with metal studs and a ring on the front.

“I bought you this today because Daddy is going to introduce you to some of his friends tonight”.

I was a little taken back and nervous as since I’d met him and started living with him I hadn’t been out in public. I’d always been feminine but now I was fully waxed and clearly so.

He sensed my nerves and stroked my cheek asking me.

“You do like being submissive don’t you”?

Nodding I replied simply.

“Yes Daddy”.

He smiled as if this pleased him before he told me that he knew I needed to be submissive and he wasn’t that dominant so he’d met a man who wanted to help us both understand better our roles.

Telling me to wait in the bedroom he went downstairs leaving me confused and getting more nervous by the second. The plug was toying with my insides making my tight hole twitch around it as so many thoughts went through my mind.

What was this man going to do when we met, why did daddy think we needed help, was he fed up with me, so many thoughts and I was trembling with nerves despite the plug making me insanely horny and needy for cock.

I heard the door downstairs and daddy answering it to a male voice in fact it sounded like more than one as I stood legs shaking and trying to listen.

It was another twenty minutes before I heard someone coming upstairs and I was a shaking nervous mess. I calmed for a second when it was Daddy but he smiled and attached a lead to the collar telling me.

“My friends are ready to meet you so make sure you are a good boy and don’t let me down okay”

I could barely manage a nod as I stated at the man I’d been with for months wondering what was to happen to me tonight.

“What do you answer”? He asked looking annoyed.

“Yes Daddy” I quickly replied making him smile as he tugged the lead and we started to walk.

“You will address my friends as sir and do whatever they tell you without question”.

He told me leading me down the stairs on the leash legs trembling making them difficult.

“Yes Daddy” I almost whispered as we reached the lounge door.

He paused as if to add to my nervousness before opening the door and leading me into the room.

Right into the centre of the room I was led with only my tight boy shorts a lead and a plug inside my ass.

Heart now pounding out my chest whole body visibly trembling as I looked around. On the couch there were two men both around mid forties with drinks in their hands. Standing next to the fireplace was another man who got my attention as we stopped.

“Oh my, my it’s even more lovely than you described, it’s fucking adorable”.

He was tall but slightly overweight with grey hair swept back from his face making his piercing blue eyes more obvious and he had a grey moustache.

The compliment got my attention but I noticed he’d called me it and he was looking me up and down like a hungry dog would a piece of meat.

“He is very nervous I think” My Daddy told them letting go of my lead and going over to his own drink.

The man standing grinned now from ear to ear still staring at me.

“Oh don’t worry we will train that out of it, being used should be second nature to one as delicious as this”.

I felt my heart miss a beat at this and my muscles twitch round the plug. He was somehow frightening but at the same time I felt a strange arousal at the way he’d spoke about me.

“Take the shorts off and come here”. He ordered.

I looked at Daddy now sat down with his drink and he nodded for me to obey so hands shaking I peeled off my shorts and took a few steps towards this stranger.

Before I reached him he grabbed my arm roughy pulling me almost stumbling into him. He was strong and his grip was tight.

His other hand grabbed at my bare bottom roughly groping it.

“What an amazing fucking ass as well”. He sighed.

I felt him twist my plug and pull it out placing it on the fireplace as I felt my wetness dribble down my legs.

He roughly shoved two fingers into me making me gasp in shock still holding my arm tightly as his fat fingers violated me.

“Oh fuck it’s tight little hole is sucking my fingers in it’s a greedy little cunt”. He announced loudly as his fingers moved roughly inside me.

“I can imagine sliding in and out of that tight little hole” he added.

For the first time I remember the other two men and felt completely exposed and humiliated despite the fact my hole worked up by the plug was sucking on his fingers and betraying me making me horny. The way he spoke about me and his fingers turned me on against my will almost.

I bit my lip to stifle my moans trying to cling to some respect as he stared at me.

“Don’t bite your lip open your fucking mouth nice and wide for me”. He said tightening his grip on my arm.

I opened my mouth his fingers making me pant and he grinned.

“Stick your tongue out and what do you say when I give you an order cunt”.

I was unbelievably nervous and trembling still but my body was betraying me making me more and more aroused.

“Yes, oh yes Sir” I panted sticking out my tongue.

“Yes that’s it give me what I want, God your so perfect”. He grinned.

Holding my arm tightly fingers still inside me making me pant and groan he leaned forward and sucked my tongue into his mouth. I could taste whisky as he sucked my tongue.

It lasted several minutes until he pulled back replaced my plug and released my arm.

“So pretty, soft and a perfect little ass this one is made for abusing”. He said looking past me to Daddy sat behind me.

He took a drink from the fireplace taking a drink before speaking again.

“If you give me it I can totally break this perfect little thing for you, turn it into your perfect little toy”.

My mind suddenly raced thinking give me to him but I was with Daddy and we were happy as I heard daddy ask him how long.

“Oh a few weeks I could break this one it still has too many feelings and thoughts I would completely destroy the little fucker all together make it nothing but a living sex toy”.

I was terrified and nervous but my ass twitched against the plug and I felt blood flow to my penis.

The man noticed this and ran his finger up my semi erect shaft grinning.

“Look it likes that idea the dirty little cunt you could even see it deserves it”.

I looked round at Daddy embarrassed but with a pleading look.

“Yes he needs someone more dominant than me I think”. Daddy said looking me in the eye.

The man grabbed my chin turning me to face him and pulled from his trousers a small bottle of poppers opening it and holding it to my nose.

“Take a deep breath” he ordered me and I obeyed him before he told me to take another deep breath.

I felt a warmth spread over me and my head was spinning now making me feel giddy and weak.

He pulled my hand to feel his cock solid through his trousers and unwittingly I squeezed it.

“I’m going to utterly destroy you cunt, slowly and surely break you until there is nothing left but a pretty little sex doll”. He said staring right at me.

“Tell me you want me to break you cunt”. He added.

My head was still spinning and I felt dizzy as I replied.

“I, I want you to break me Sir”.

He laughed out loud at this as if he’d won a prize and then whispered in my ear.

“Oh I fucking will, believe me I’m going to do things to you that you couldn’t even imagine”.

With that he turned to the two men on the couch smiling.

“It’s lovely isn’t it feel free to touch it guys let’s get this party started”.

As they stood up I felt a new wave of nerves and they approached as the grey haired man held the poppers at my nose again telling me to breath deep.

“You breath deep whenever I hold this to your nose understand”. ? He said.

“Yes sir” I replied as my head spun and one of the men reached me tweaking one of my nipples.

“It is so fucking sexy isn’t it” he started sucking on my neck as he tweaked my nipples and I felt the other man roughly groping my soft ass in his rough hands as he added.

“It’s hot as fuck”.

I was lost now sandwiched between these two men groping me and leaving hickeys on my neck. My head spinning as it seemed like there were hands all over me and my body responding I surrendered to their hands moaning.

As they groped and bit me the man with grey hair kept giving me poppers so I was a dizzy horny mess.

I was pushed onto my knees and before I knew what happened the two men had dropped their trousers and I had two strange cocks waving about in front of my face.

Suddenly I felt a hard slap on my face enough to nearly knock me over and daze me as I heard grey haired man.

“Well get to work sucking them cunt, if you are given cock you serve it”.

Gaining some senses I took one of their cocks into my mouth tasting it’s musky saltiness and feeling it throb as I grabbed the other jerking it.

I’d never had two cocks but a mixture of drug induced dizziness being horny and not wanting hit again made me try my best.

I sucked and licked them each while jacking off the free one as they groaned cocks throbbing.

I was pleasuring two men and getting turned on as well as grey haired man occasionally making me breath more poppers keeping me giddy and dazed.

“Show us how good you can be and we will be nice” He said holding the poppers to my nose.

I was licking there shafts tasting their pre cum leaking from these two cocks. Making sure to kiss and lick their balls as they forced them into my throat choking me and making their cocks all slobbery.

“It fucking loves cock the little cunt”. One of them groaned as he held my head choking me on his dick.

After what seemed like an age the grey haired man grabbed my arm lifting me and bending me over the footstool so my tummy lay on it ass sticking out on my knees.

One of the men got in front of me kneeling so I could still suck his cock which I did immediately as I felt the plug removed from my exposed ass behind me.

Grabbing my hip with one hand grey haired man positioned his cock at my hole and pressed until it gave in and his cock stretched me open sliding in.

I gasped stopping my sucking as he grabbed both hips and started sliding in and out slowly at first.

He was thicker than Daddy and stretching me making me moan jerking the cock in front of me kissing it as I moaned.

Soon he started to really pound me holding me still as he really fucked me hard over the foot stool my moans and whimpers filling the room as he slammed into me from behind.

“That’s it take it you dirty little cunt” he groaned slamming against me.

“Yes sir fuck me” I found myself yelp almost and he slapped my ass hard.

“Beg me you cunt beg me to fuck you”.

I was moaning and panting he was fucking me so hard but managed it.

“Please fuck me sir, fuck me hard”.

There were cocks in my face and they talked about me as he continued to fuck me. I heard one saying the viagra they took was going to be worth it.

I was kept constantly buzzed on poppers as the four of them took turns on me slapping me, biting me and fucking me for hours.

I was exhausted long before they stopped, sore and bruised as they continued to use me passing me around like a rag doll between them.

When it stopped I was lying on the floor covered in cum and my gaping ass leaking loads of it.

Almost sleeping just lying there in a dazed mess when the grey haired man told the other two to put me in the boot of his van.

They carried me limp from the house and into a van closing the doors but I could hardly think or try to consider where I was going.

#teens #trans #gayhot #gentle domination #sexy tease #storytelling #hot daddy #daddy k!nk #spank me daddy

[fakeloveaskblog]

Yay lasertag!!! Janus you should totally go visit Remus on the weekend and hang out! Also, maybe invite Remy too, if they wanna come. Then (specially if they don't show) you can plan with them both to maybe go on another hangout with Remus but to somewhere you like and let Remy tag along for the ride if they wanna while u're at it.

(Words: 3153 words)

Janus: "Ah yes! I will let you know that after hanging out with Remus I managed to use my incredible totally very good texting skills to ask the Rems if they wanted to go to an art museum and they both for some reaosn, maybe they are being blackmailed, said yes! I hope it will go g-"

He cut himself off as he saw the two Rems come towards him. He had been waiting outside the museum. (Honestly half the reason he had choosen it was because he knew Remus liked art)

Remus waved at him while grinning. He had on sweatpants, a way too large t-shirt and a necklace made out of animal bones. Remy had their arm swung around him. Even though they had sunglasses on their eyebags were still visible.

“Aight gamers! Are we ready to do an epic art heist!! I got my sunglasses ready!” Remus exclaimed. He didn’t, he was planning on stealing Remy’s sunglasses.

“Partner you’re forgetting that we must first observe the security measures of the museum before we can even start to plan the heist” Janus replied.

“Oh!!! That’s what we’re doing today isn’t it??”

“Correct partner!”

“Babes I dunno why you gotta steal art when I’m standing right here” Remy added while posing.

“Good point. Good point” 

Janus had on a yellow bowtie he’d gotten from Logan, a loose purple shirt and black dress pants. People had to look fancy when they went to museums right? Remy had a skirt short enough to fool god and their boyfriend’s hoodie on (it looked oversized on them but with how skinny they were Everything looked oversized on them).

As soon as they got in Remus started to bounce up and down as he looked at the posters showing all the different exhibitions. There was a modern art one, classical and one smaller exhibition for specifically mosaic works.

“So whatcha you wanna look at Snakey?” Remus asked.

Janus was caught of guard “Why are you asking me?”

“Well you chose how we would hang out. C’mon you deserve to choose this too”

He looked over to Remy who shrugged “Uhm okay. Well. The classical paintings would proably give us the most money on the black market so lets look at those”

“Yay!” 

Remus quickly took on his noise canceling headphones and a chew necklace before doing thumbs up. He firmly took Janus’ hand in his. He sent him a soft smile which made Jan’s heart spin before dashing of with him into the exhibition.

A few big paintings from the renaissance hung on the wall. Remy came a little later since with the cane they walked pretty slow. Remus eyed the paintings from a distance before squinting at them up close. He flapped the hand he was hoding Janus with around.

"Oh!!! This is so cool!!!! This is from the renaissance but it's not using the chiaro oscuro technique like everyone did 'cause Da Vinci would eat their newborn if they didnt!”

"Is that why it's looking flatter than me?" Remy asked.

“YEah!! Augh I love the renaissance!!! Mostly because they were dissecting bodies so much!! sometimes for the sole purpose of drawing anatomy better!! I wanna do that! Or watch someone do that! Getting to see one of those old classrooms where they dissected corpses would be so awesome!”

“Huh good way to get rid of bodies. Great time for serial killers” Janus commented.

He let out a dreamy sigh “It truly was. They’re doing serial killers dirty nowadays”

They went through some more rooms of renaissance paintings. Janus made sure to hold Remus back a bit so Remy could keep up with them. The duke kept rambling about different shading techniques.

They stepped into another room and the style changed. Remus continued to flap his hand nonetheless. Janus was definitely going to have pain in his wrist tomorrow. It was worth it if he could hold his hand though.

Remy leaned their elbow on top of Janus’ head “This is like the baroque time right?”

“YEah!” Remus’ eyes went huge “Bean you didn’t tell me you were into art history??! Do you know about Ruben too?? I like how he paints butts!”

“What? Nah. I just- I can like see it on the clothes in the paintings. Can’t you?”

“Do I look like a time traveling fashiong guru” Janus replied sarcastically “That is honestly impressive”

Remy sunk in on themself and a hint of red appeared on their cheeks “No. Nah. I’m like a total airhead! Completel idiot! hehe I’m like tots sure everyone knows this stuff. Y’all are just bad at fashion. I uh anyway Rem you were gonna rant?”

“I was?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh....Okay!!” He looked around the room before getting caught on a small painting in the corner. He dashed over to it “HANds!”

The painting depicted 2 bloody hands over a table. They were holding onto each other. the red stuck out against the dark background. It was hard to see if they were supposed to belong to two people who were fighting or in love.

Remus looked down at Janus’ hand while playing with his fingers “I think my favorite body part are hands” He mumbled “I mean they’re horseshit to draw but they can do so much”

Janus looked away from the painting as well. He let his crush do whatever he wanted with his hand as long as he kept holding it. the way he held him so lightly but kept rubbing his thumb up and down his skin made him melt.

“Yeah they can do a lot of fucked up shit” Remy butted in. Jan nearly jumped. He’d completely lost himself in adoring his crush.

“Well hands can also be used to give snakes small berries! And to make coffee!”

“Girl I wasn’t starting an argument. But you sure did won it!”

Remus was staring down into the floor as he said “When I become a cannibal I would wanna try eating human fingers first. I’m sure they would be tasty”

“Why was there a when in there?” Jan asked in a small amount of terror.

“Oh yeah babe totally. I will like actually eat a dick” Remy agreed.

“Why is there a will in there? What kind of time tenses are you people on?? Does english grammar mean nothing to you heathens!?”

Remy got a smug look on their face. They poked their finger right into Janus’ chest “C’mon say what you will eat when you become a cannibal”

“Yeah Snakey” Remus squished his cheeks “Say it! Say it! Say it!”

The two of them kept going on while Janus looked like a sour lemon until he finally caved in.

“Fine. I would either eat the stomach or....the buttocks since they would have the most fat and sustain me the longest”

The Rems looked at each other before bursting out into laughter. “He said butT!” Remus cackled out. The other Rem nodded along and pretended to wipe away a tear from laughter.

“Aight babe let’s put the guy out of his misery” 

They motioned for Remus to go ahead. He happily skipped into the next room and grabbed Jan’s hand to take him with him. The snake couldn’t help but notice how Remy stayed behind for a monent.

“Oh cool!! We’re onto impressionism! The first real art style!” He sighed “From impressionism to cartoon furries. How magical the journey of art is” 

(Jan who had a scaley phase in high school chose to not reply)

“I love the music as well. Crazy lads. My favorite lad?” Remus snickered “De bussy!!”

“That’s my porn name” Remy instantly replied, coming up behind them. “Hey that paint lady kinda like looks like Terra” They pointed at a painting.

“....Hey YEaH! I guess my art is timeless!”

Janus looked between them “who’s Terra?”

“Well girl” Remy playfully ruffled Remus’ hair “She’s just Rem’s tots cool like cartoon character. She’s like all over his sketchbook. Makes it look kinda straight if you ask me but she does have like a very cool design so I get it!”

“Oh......Yes...Sounds very....cool”

The group kept going around looking at art. While it felt like lead was filling Janus’ chest. He’d never heard about Terra. He’d never seen his sketchbook. Meaning they had spent time with each other without him.

He pierced his nails into his palms to stop the thoughts. He refused to be some jealous person who didn’t allow his friends to hang out without him.....Still he wish he could have seen the drawings as well....seen them smile together...heard their shared laughter....

Oh. Oh what if they thought he was annoying. What if they preferred being without him. What if he’d forced them to come here today. What if-

“Hey snakey wanna look at the modern art as well?” Remus interrupted.

“What?” 

Without realizing they’d gone through all of the classic art. Now they were in the last room with not much more than a giant painting the size of one of the walls and a bench.

“That sounds horrid!”

“Yay!”

Remus quickly continued of into the next exhibition. Janus still had the taste of lead filling his throat as he went to follow. Until he realized Remy wasn’t there. He turned around and saw them sitting on the bench in front of the painting. They were leaning their arms on their cane.

“It would probably give us a lot on the black market” Jan said while sitting down beside them.

“Mhm. It’s pretty. I just like wanted to look at it some more” They lied.

“Understandable” 

The painting was pretty much a big flower field with a summer sky shining down on it. Janus noticed how Remy forced deep breathes through their gritted teeth. Their brows were furrowed and their hands kept shaking.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course!” 

“I have some painkillers with me. Would that help agains the pain you’re totally not in?”

They glanced over to him “Girl what you doing walking around with painkillers?”

He looked at them with the most deadpan expression “Remy I’m overweight. You can not phantom how often I get knee pain" He took out a pill and held it out to them "Here"

"There's really like no need! I can like handle it"

Even more deadpan "You shouldn’t have to ‘handle it’. It's 1 painkiller dear. I'm not exactly becoming a saint because of this"

They hesitantly took it "Thanks"

He did fingerguns "No problemo"

They stayed sitting for a bit so the pill could kick in. Jan shuly glanced over to admire them every now and then. Remy kept looking down into the floor while picking at their skin.

“I’m sorry” They said it in a much quieter voice than their usual high pitched one “I tried to do everything right so I wouldn’t ruin everything. I even went to bed early so I wouldn’t get tired....I...I really looked forward to getting to be with you two”

Janus heart beat faster. He pulled himself together to comfort them “You haven’t ruined a thing”

They hid their face in their hands “I’ve been tired and out of it all day. I keep like slowing you down. Don’t think I haven’t like noticed how much you have to hold Rem back from going faster! I’ve just been making this all much worse than it should have been”

“Well you’re here aren’t you? I for one appreciate you simply being here. You don’t have to do anything to make me appreciate you, don’t even have to talk. I hope you know that”

“....really?”

“Oh no darling I totally expect you to win the nobel prize while in a kind of pain I can’t even imagine being in on a daily basis”

Remy chuckled “Thanks”

“There’s really no need for that. I am at any and all times doing the absolute minimum to be counted as a decent human being”

“Sure snakey-babey” They had a soft smile on their face.

They moved to hug him. Their arms wrapped around his back and they muffled their head right between his man titties. Janus sat still for a few seconds, too flustered to think before moving his arms around them as well. A hand on the back of their head, another on their lower back. Their skin felt so cold against his.

Remy closed their eyes and let themself calm down. They could feel Janus’ breathing against their hair.

“I think my fav like human part is the chest” They mumbled out “‘Cause I can hear the heart beat. It reminds me I’m- we’re still like alive”

“Like a bloody biological seashell”

“Exactly” They pressed themself closer. “I like being with you” It was nothing more than a whisper, like it was a secret “When you’re here I feel a bit less like a rotting corpse”

Janus held onto them harder “Well I-I try my best”

“I know babe”

His heart was beating out of his chest. The people around them must think they were a couple. He closed his eyes and focused on Remy’s touch, on Picani’s words from their last session. He managed to push enough of the shame away and focus on the happy butterflies in his stomach instead.

Remy moved away. The moment broke.

“We should probs go find Rem before he starts like eating the art”

“haha yeah” Janus did thumbs up but kept sitting. He’d gone full idiot.

It wasn’t until he saw Remy straining to stand up even with the cane his brain kicked back in.

“Is there some way I could help?”

They didn’t answer. But they did lean their arm around his shoulder to let him carry some of their weight. They slowly but surely made their way to the modern art exhibition.

Remus was sitting crosslegged in front of a weird statue, he was doodling in his sketchbook but shone up into a smile when he saw them.

“There you are! I was starting to think that either the zombie apocalypse had started or you were making out somehwere”

“Oh yeah babe. Full tounge” Remy joked back. Jan let out an inhumane noise.

He closed his sketchbook “I think we’re done here. You’re looking tired beanie. We can come back some other day”

Remy held back the urge to lie that they were fine. Instead they weakly nodded.

The gang left the museum. Right beside it was an ice cream shop. Remus got 3 scoops of a worryingly weird mix of flavors. Janus got 1 scoop of lemon. Remy didn’t feel like eating.

They sat down on a couple of benches right outside. Remy laid down with their head leaned onto Remus’ thigh. He chewed his ice cream while calmly moving his hand up and down their back.

Soon enough they were deep asleep. Janus quickly laid his jacket over their legs. He didn’t want to accidentally see anything under their skirt without their consent.

Remus stared at him like a blood sucking eagle while smiling “Soooo now when beanie is in dream land.......Do” He stopped to giggle “Janny. Janny. Do. Do you like someooooonnneee??”

Janus just blinked at him for half a minute. This was too much. This whole day was too much. He was a wreck. His crush was asking him THis?! While his other crush was laying in his crush’s lap?!?

“Why- Why- What- Who are you working for?! The fucking FBI??? Are they after me?” He desperately tried to joke it away.

“No. No. But seriously JanJan!” He wiggled his shoulders around in a stimmy way “Do you happen to like anyone with a name that starts on R????”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Janus kept glancing between his two crushes while his blushing could be seen out into space. He wanted to lie but his mouth wouldn’t move.

Remus leaned closer and whispered “You’re into Remy right?”

He nodded. A breathe of relief went through him. At least Remus didn’t know he liked him.

“OH I KNEW IT!” Remus yelled out in excitement while flapping his hands.

“Shh! Shh!” Janus scrambled to cover his mouth as Remy stirred for a moment. “Shhhh!” They cuddled closer to their friend and fell back asleep.

“I knew it!” He giggled “Or I mean Remy knew. They told me they thought you were into them”

“WHAT?!” 

Now it was Remus that covered his mouth. He was full on cackling “Yeah! They said it was really obvious! But good for you snakey! I’m sure if you murder their boyfriend you can get them in no time! Or you can become a fab homewrecker!! I can help you buy a nice sexy dress and all!!”

Janus paled in terror “How- In- What- In what way did they say it was obvious?”

“Oh y’know-”

The notif on his phone went off. He checked and his eyes went wide. He carefully moved Remy’s head onto the bench before standing up.

“Sorry snakey! Ro needs super duper emergency help! Gotta go!! See you later! Don’t die!”

Remus left him just like that.  Right after dropping THAT bomb on him. Janus sat unmoving. His mouth was slightly agape in shock. His thoughts were runnig around screaming nonstop.

He sat like that for over 20 minutes until Remy let out a yawn and slowly woke up. They took off their sunglasses to rub their eyes. Just seeing their vibrantly green eyes made Janus panic even more.

“Did Rem disintegrate?” Their voice was hoarse from sleepyness. Janus pinched himself to hold back the uhm feelings.

“He- he uh he went he went he sure did went yeah”

“....Cool!”

They stretched their joints, they all cracked. They looked to Janus and moved closer. He couldn’t breathe. They knew. They knew. They knew.

“Girl are you feeling okay?” They pressed their palm to his forehead “You’re like super hot. In both ways! Maybe you should like go home and rest. I gotta get home before my boyf gets home anyway”

“Y-yeah” Was all Janus could get out.

“Cool. OH! By the way! Girl!!! We haven’t like hung out just the two of us right?? We should tots do that! Just like tell me whatever you wanna do and we can do it!”

“Yeah”

“Awesome! Well I’ll see you on that hang out then”

They hugged him for just a few seconds but for those seconds Janus felt like he was in heaven.

They got up and left. Janus slumped over on the bench. His heart was going crazy. They knew. They knew and now they wanted to hang out alone with him. He turned to you. His eyes were wide and panicked.

Janus: “W-what am I supposed to do? I don’t know any good hang out plans! Do you know any??? I’m- this is all- how did they even know I like them! Oh I’m sounding like an overdramatic 13 year old.....This totally isn’t really overwhelming. I would hate getting Logan cuddles right now!”

#thanks for the ask!! #im sorry these keep getting longer #i really do try to cut them down #dukeceit #demus #janus sanders #remus sanders #remy sanders #mini fic #sanders sides #desleep #desleepmus #dukeceitsleep

[crossbowking]

More Than This

Summary: (Set during season 3) Daryl and Reader are on a supply run when they find themselves under attack.

A/N: Hi everyone! So this is the very FIRST installment of a series I want to start on my page where we get a bunch of author’s together and write a collective one-shot! I had a blast putting this together. It was so amazing to get a feel for everyone’s different writing styles and it was also super cool how the story ended up blending together.

The order in which we wrote was chosen by a random number generator. After all the participating author’s sent me their pieces, I edited them together -- some stuff was changed or cut for continuity purposes/length. The only thing us author’s had to go off of was the summary -- the rest was up to us! Everyone seriously did AMAZING.

Each author will be tagged after their correlating piece, so be sure to give them all some love!

Thank you to everyone who participated! I hope you all enjoyed the experience!

Happy reading!

xx crossbowking

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Dim and dirty sunlight filtered in through the grimy supermarket windows, providing enough light to see the walker’s blood staining the worn linoleum.

You wrinkled your nose and yanked your knife out of its rotting head before stepping away from the mess. The stabbing you'd gotten used to, but you didn’t think you’d ever get used to that smell.

You looked up when someone stepped into the aisle, but it was only Daryl. You’d recognize those broad shoulders and that crossbow anywhere. You gave him a quick smile and cleaned your blade on the walker’s torn pants. “I think this is the last of them.”

Daryl looked down at the walker. “Better stick together, just in case.”

You nodded, re-sheathing your knife and letting him lead the way.

The two of you did one more sweep of the store before you started your search. You went aisle by aisle, looking under broken shelves and moving piles of cardboard and other debris. But your mind was only half on the task at hand, too distracted by thoughts of Daryl.

You didn’t know exactly when you began to notice the clear blue color of his eyes or how much you wanted to reach out and brush the hair out of his face when it began to grow long. You didn’t know when you started missing him when he was off hunting or how happy it made you when he came back safe.

All you knew was that you were head over heels and that kind of scared you.

You chanced a glance at him and when he looked up from what he was doing and met your gaze, you felt that familiar lurch in your chest. The mad urge to tell him how you felt overtook you. “Daryl, I —”

The front door of the store slammed open, cutting the moment short. You had time to whip around and take in several bedraggled men spilling into the store and realized they were aiming their weapons at you.

But Daryl was there and he was grabbing your arm and yanking you into his chest and diving behind the nearest piece of cover just as shots began to split the air. (@mundieoriley​)

Your heart pounded in your ears along with the sound of hailing gunshots.

Daryl held you in an almost painful grip against him, the furious look of protection etched onto his face.

You desperately tried to catch your breath, feeling panic start to rise inside you.

These people came from absolutely nowhere. How long had they been following you? How could you have not noticed? How could Daryl not have?

You had no time to speculate as the sudden silence that followed was just as jarring.

As you stirred in his arms, Daryl pulled away just enough to look you in the eyes and placed a finger to his lips. You nodded and felt yourself calm slightly, the blue sincerity of his eyes radiating some kind of strength you believed in.

"Find ‘em," a gruff voice called out against the stark silence. "Gut the asshole, but don't mark up the girl.”

You could hear the sneer in the man's voice and your stomach turned.

Daryl's grip on your ribs tightened at the words possessively, and if it wasn't any other situation, you would have enjoyed the sensation to no end.

You, in turn, tightened your grip on your knife, trying to be ready for anything.

The sudden sound of multiple people walking in your direction made your eyes flick to Daryl's in a plead. A plead for direction, a plan, any communication as to what you should do. But Daryl had hardened over, the look on his face showing that he was ready to take on a hundred men if that's what it was going to take. (@rhyatt-deauxtreve​)

He didn't move until it was almost too late.

You tried to loosen his grip because the men were so close and you had to move now. And then you were roughly pushed forward, Daryl's hands no longer holding you tight against his chest.

You ducked away when the first bullet hit the shelf to your left. You didn’t have time to think, you just ran, half bent, hiding behind cabinets and shelves. Your blood was boiling and you distinctly heard the beats of your own heart. Somewhere behind you, the deafening whistle of a bolt cut through the air.

Suddenly Daryl was a little ahead and on your left. He turned around, loaded the crossbow, hiding behind the wall, and fired another bolt.

They were close, too close, and the small distance that you’d managed to win was rapidly shrinking.

As if through the cotton wool in your ears, you heard Daryl suddenly groan in pain.

A bullet had gone through his right side.

“Daryl!” you yelped.

But before you could react, he grabbed your hand and pushed you into a small room, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. “Lock the door and stay quiet,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“What!” you yelled and immediately lowered your voice. “Are you out of your mind? Get in here, there are too many of them!”

“Ain’t gonna fight,” he shot you a glare. “Gonna lead ‘em away. Now listen to what I say and stay.”

And then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Soon you heard firing and shouts. The men ran past your door. You stopped breathing and closed your eyes, praying to whatever God for them to pass you by.

And then, as soon as it had started, the firing stopped.

Sudden silence engulfed the store.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing. You no longer heard the voices and shooting. Just dead silence.

And that’s when fear, primal fear, took over. (@aisling-beatha​​)

"Well, this sucks like the world's worst vacuum,” you muttered to yourself in nervous indecision, breathing away the panic before the idea of hysterical screaming could set in. You chewed on your fingernail while pacing the length of the musty, moth-infested maintenance closet. "Honestly, what was the man thinking? He's just been shot, for God's sake! He has no business leading a bunch of murdering thugs anywhere. It should be me leading them away.”

Your eyes narrowed and your jaw set as everything inside settled into a deadly calm.

You eased the door open a crack and peeked through, knives at the ready, along with a sturdy wrench you'd found and shoved into the back pocket of your jeans.

Sensing nothing of immediate import, you crept out into the gloom of the store's main area to search for clues as to Daryl's whereabouts, all the while keeping to the deepest shadows in complete silence.

One of the raiders was crouched over a fallen display of ratty old magazines, no doubt rummaging for one where the women wore as few clothes as was decent for the mass consumption standards of a grocery store.

Sliding up behind him like a ghost in the night, you pounced.

After a quick and dirty wrestling match — though he had the size advantage, he was stupid-drunk and you had the jump on him. One heavily booted foot dug into the man's spine as you leaned over him, blade a hair's breadth away from slicing his throat.

Your voice was flat, low, and completely without mercy. "I'll ask only once. Where is my friend?” (@darylconnieftw​​)

He slowly let go of the magazine still in his grip, starting to chuckle.

You felt anger rising in you as his lips formed a slight smirk. You couldn’t help but press your knife even closer to his throat, trying not to kill him then and there.

He lifted both of his hands in defense, visibly amused.

You swallowed, hoping Daryl was still alive and okay – or at least as okay as he could be considering he had gotten shot.

The man moved a little, making you shove your knife against his larynx, clarifying that you wouldn’t hesitate to slice his throat if he did something stupid.

“Whoa,” is all he came up with, glancing up at your silhouette.

You bit your lip, the taste of blood encasing your teeth as you tilted your head to look him dead in the eye. “I ain’t joking,” you stated, causing him to raise his eyebrows in a small nod.

You took a deep breath, calming yourself, before taking the knife off his throat and onto his lower arm, placing a deep cut on his wrist before pulling it back up. He screamed out in pain, his eyes asking for permission to stop the bleeding with his shirt, which you granted.

You listened to his panicked breath for a few seconds, blinking a few tears away. “I asked you something,” your voice was barely more than a whisper, yet low and aggressive.

He stared at you, stuttering as he answered. “The, uh, the guy with the dirty hair and, and, and wings on the back of his, uh, vest?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning in. “Are there any other people your group attacked in here?”

He swallowed and shook his head as you suddenly noticed a shadow to your side. (@rxsenkrxnz-imagines​​)

A good thing that had come out of all of this was that after the world ended, you’d acquired very good reflexes.

It was vital to have them good and sharp now, it was the new normal. You would’ve died many times over if you hadn’t, everyone would.

And that’s what got you to swirl around without even having to think about it, bringing the man’s overweighted body with you to face the source of the shadow, the knife nicking at the skin of the big man’s neck, making him whimper. There was a flicker of proudness and a dirty pleasure inside your chest for being able to make a big, bad man whimper.

You’d never thought that you’d be able to do that one day.

From over his shoulder, your eyes focused on another man, this one much more threatening looking than the one under your knife. He was lean and muscular and the hatred and danger in his eyes made you shiver, even though you didn’t let any of them notice.

“Stop right there, asshole,” you said between clenched teeth and the firmness of your voice surprised even yourself. “Or I’ll slit his throat open!”

Of all the things you thought the man would do, a smile was not one of them.

He lowered his head, keeping his eyes on yours, the smile making you sure you’d vomit after all of this was over. “Do it,” he said. “I don’t care. Go on, darling. Do it.” (@elisdays​​)

Well, that was not what you were expecting to hear.

You recognized the man’s voice though, it was the same one who spoke earlier and you put together that he was probably the thug pack leader. “Don’t test me!” you shouted, although you were sure he wasn’t testing you.

A snicker escaped the man’s lips. “I ain’t testing you, darling, I mean it. Do it, kill him.”

“C-come on, man! Don’t egg her on, she actually will!” the man in your grasp whimpered as he begged for his life.

The leader’s eyes fell on the one you held captive. “Sorry, Greg, but you know how it is. The more of you around, the less time we all have with this pretty one. Be a good boy and let her kill you. You’ll be remembered for your loyal sacrifice.” His words sent a shiver up your spine.

These people, no, these monsters were absolutely sick. You already knew that this new world brought either the worst or the best out of people. It was just unfortunate that most of the world became the worst versions of themselves.

“Go on, princess! What are you waiting for?” the man took a step towards you as he urged you to kill his henchman.

You needed to think of something and fast.

“You know what? This is a waste of time,” the man sighed, pulling his gun from its holster.

You gasped as Greg screamed, the thug leader pulling the trigger and shooting Greg in the head. You felt the dead weight of his body fall limp onto you and you tried to use this to your advantage. You shoved the dead body forward and ran, dashing behind shelves as the body fell onto the thug leader.

You needed to get out, you needed to get away from these people and most importantly, you needed to find out where the hell Daryl went.

Panic struck your heart when you thought about him. Was he okay? Did he run into more of them? Did he kill them? You shook your head before you could finish your thought process. Now was not the time to panic and cry. (@ddixons-angel​​)

Pull yourself together — that’s what you had to do now.

You crouched down behind one of the empty shelves, near the exit. But what were you to do? Not like it was an easy decision to make. You had to stay alive, that much was clear. Ending up dead wouldn’t be too big a use to Daryl right now.

The thing that worked in your favor was the thing that terrified you most. The reason for these men wanting you alive had very little to do with the goodness of their hearts.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of the grumbling leader, seemingly to have wrestled free of his buddy's dead body.

You should’ve been out of here by now, but you knew that running blindly wasn't going to do you much good — who could even guarantee that you wouldn’t be running straight into the rest of the guy's merry band of thugs? No, you weren’t an idiot.

You stilled completely, not daring to draw a breath as you heard the man's footsteps creep your way.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he sang out mockingly, stupidly giving out his exact position.

He was just a shelf away, practically standing right behind you. (@of-storms-and-sadness​​)

Once he was at arm’s length on the other side of the broken shelf, you reached through with your blade, stabbing him twice in the thigh.

The pain you inflicted caused the man to groan out, cursing through gritted teeth. When he composed himself, he swung around the corner but was met with an empty aisle, excluding the cans and blood that littered the floor.

Before he could take another confused step, you struck from behind, going for his armed hand.

With his wrist in your grasp, you forced the barrel to face off to the side. The gun went off as you backed him into the shelf, using the opportunity to jab your blade into his abdomen once — twice — thrice.

If you hadn’t caught him off guard, you highly doubted that would’ve been the outcome.

The combination of his back slamming against a hard object, your deadly grip on his dominant hand, and you gutting him, caused the gun to slip from his hold and clatter to the floor. You managed to kick the weapon aside before you were roughly shoved into the rack across from you with such force it knocked, not only the air out of your lungs, but your knife out of your hand.

Blinking away your blurred vision, your mind frantically tried to come up with an idea of what to do next. Should you try to reach for the discarded gun? Your knife?

No — there was another weapon in play.

Just in the nick of time, you shrieked and ducked down, barely missing the fist that was meant to make contact with your face. You kneed him in the groin before reaching into your back pocket, feeling the wrench that you had nabbed from the maintenance closet earlier.

Positioning yourself behind the crouched man, you held both ends of the tool, bringing it over his head and to his neck. Your back greeted the ground as you laid there and applied pressure, choking the life out of the once cocky and determined bastard.

“Be a good boy and let me kill you,” you taunted his words back at him through clenched teeth as he struggled.

Once the man went limp, you shoved his body off you with a grunt and went to grab your knife and the owner-less gun — it was yours now.

All of a sudden a shot rang out.

Daryl.

Where was Daryl? (@twdeadlysins​​)

You squatted down, jamming the knife in your hand into the soft flesh of the leaders’ temple, knowing that it could only take mere minutes for the dead to rise again.

You slowly crept over to the entrance of the store and peeked outside, checking if there were any more of the thugs outside.

Your hands were slightly shaking and your heart beating frantically in your chest as your eyes traced the empty street outside of the store. You needed to get to Daryl fast, he needed your help.

The gunshot you had heard had nearly made your heart stop. Had the thugs already killed him?

Since you could not spot any immediate danger, you slowly made your way out of the store.

You chewed nervously on your bottom lip. You had not seen what direction Daryl had led the thugs, but you figured you just had to start somewhere.

You held the knife in your hand, your eyes and ears ready to pick up any movement or sound as you moved along the side of the building. You glanced over your shoulder, making sure that no one was creeping up on you as you moved forward.

Your steps suddenly came to an abrupt halt as you bumped into something solid.

You yelped and raised your hand, ready to strike, but a firm hand around your wrist stopped you.

“Easy girl, it’s just me,” you heard Daryl’s raspy voice and your wide frightened stare locked with his sky blue orbs.

You let out a relieved whimper and threw your arms around his neck, hugging him. “I thought you were dead, I heard a gunshot,” you said as you hugged him tightly.

Feeling how he flinched, you took a step back and your eyes traced down to his side where he was shot.

“Oh god, you’re hurt. We need to get you back to the others before you bleed out,” you whispered, feeling your heart start to speed up again.

The two of you were not out of danger yet. Daryl was shot and you knew it was up to you now to get you both to safety. (@easnuppa​​)

You wrapped your arms around Daryl's waist, leading him toward the truck you’d parked a little way back.

Fear gripped at your heart with every step you took, every wince Daryl tried to keep in, every little bit of blood he was losing. “Nearly there, hold on,” you pleaded to Daryl, the truck finally coming into view.

You opened the passenger side door and took as much of Daryl's weight as you could, helping him get in. You took a glance at Daryl as he sat in the passenger seat, his head leaned back on the headrest and his eyes closed.

You had never been more scared in your life as you were right there in that moment.

You quickly closed his door and rushed to the driver's seat where you promptly started the engine and began your tense journey back to the prison.

With every minute that passed, your panic started to rise, Daryl's breathing started to slow, and more blood was seeping through his fingers that were putting pressure on his gunshot wound.

“Keep pressure on it, Daryl, you hear,” you said loudly, trying to keep him awake and distracted.

But as you looked over to him, he was unresponsive.

“Daryl!” you screamed louder, hoping to wake him up, but failed. “God, no please,” you begged, tears threatening to fall as you took the hand you didn’t need and placed it on his wound, keeping the blood flow at a minimum.

“Daryl, don’t leave me, you can't do this to me,” tears now falling down your face as the gates of the prison came into view. “Please help me, it’s Daryl!” you screamed out the open window to whoever was on watch.

“He's breathing but barely,” you informed whoever came to help, feeling helpless as you

watched them cart off Daryl’s unconscious form. (@jodiereedus22​​)

Everything felt fuzzy.

The world spun around you, noises muted and muffled as the driver’s side door was yanked open. A pair of hands grasped onto your arms and you allowed yourself to be pulled from the truck, finding it impossible to move on your own.

A rough hand grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze upwards, your vacant eyes locking with Rick’s frantic ones. He was mouthing something you couldn't quite make out, his hands moving to grip either one of your shoulders, giving you an abrupt shake. “— happened? What happened, Y/N?” Rick’s voice broke through the fog, scanning your features wildly.

You opened your mouth to respond, confused as to why no words seemed to be coming out.

Rick appeared to swallow his frustration, instead taking a deep breath and placing his hand on the side of your neck. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, Y/N, it’s alright,” he soothed before his eyes hardened. “Was this the Governor?”

You swallowed audibly, forcing yourself to calm. “I-I —” you stuttered, exhaling shakily. “I don’t think so. W-We got — we, uh, we got ambushed. And Daryl —” your voice broke at the thought of what had happened.

“Listen ta’ me, Y/N,” Rick intervened, his tone noticeably softer. “Ya did all ya could do, alright? Ya got him home. Ya did all ya could do,” he reiterated.

You took a steadying breath. “I-I need to see him — I need to be with him.”

Rick nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. “I know ya do.”

Things still felt hazy as you made your way into cell block C. (@crossbowking​​)

You sat on top of the steps and waited for news on Daryl. You hoped that he was going to be okay.

After a little while, Hershel hopped out of his cell. "I stitched up his side. But he hasn't regained consciousness yet and his breathing is labored,” he told you.

You headed inside and looked at him.

"Just give me a shout if he wakes up,” Hershel told you and left you alone.

You looked at Daryl and sat beside him. "Dare, you have to wake up, please,” you said with tears in your eyes. (@leej2468​​)

You hoped he heard you so he knew he wasn’t alone.

The afternoon dragged on slowly, yet you never left his side, afraid he would wake alone. You waited impatiently, perched on a stool next to his bedside.

The events of the day played in your mind, making your heart shatter more at the fact that Daryl almost got himself killed trying to keep you safe. Furiously swiping at the tears forming in your eyes, you just hoped that he would wake up and everything would go back to normal.

But you knew, deep down, you didn’t want things to go back to normal. The unspoken feelings you had were eating you alive and today just proved that you had to tell him before something happened to either of you. You knew he cared for you, he fucking proved that today, but you had to tell him that you wanted more.

You couldn’t help but take his limp hand in your own, slightly squeezing. Eyes trained on your joined hands, you almost didn’t notice his eyes flicker open slowly.

He didn’t say a word, only gripping your hand tightly, eyes wild. “Yer alright,” he managed to gasp out, his other hand reaching up to touch your face.

“Don’t try to move,” you whispered a reply. “Let me get Hershel, okay?”

“Don’t,” he rasped, trying to tug you back to his side. “Stay.”

You couldn’t help but bring his hand to your lips, kissing his rough knuckles. He sighed at the feeling and you leaned into his hand. “I thought I lost you,” you whispered, mostly to yourself in relief, but he heard it.

“Ya won’t lose me,” he mumbled, his eyes lazily trained on you as if he would doze off any second.

“You know what we have is special,” you whispered, raising your hand to move strands of hair from his eyes. “I want to know if you feel the same. I can’t wait anymore to tell you how I feel, especially knowing that something could happen.”

He paused, his expression softening. “I know,” he finally said gruffly. “I want...” he trailed off, thoughtful, trying to come up with something to say. “I wanna protect you, keep ya safe, but —” he inhaled sharply. “But I want more.”

You let out a sigh you didn’t realize you were holding. “Me, too,” you replied, and he nodded, his eyes closing. You leaned forward, lips on his forehead, and he didn’t flinch back like he usually did at physical contact.

Instead, he let you, without restraint, his tense posture relaxing under your touch.

“I love you and I can’t lose you,” you whispered, your lips barely on his skin.

He nodded. “Me, too.”

You leaned back, still holding his hand, letting him rest. (@writerzunite​​)

Fin.

A/N: So what did everyone think! 

Let me know if this is something you’d like to see/participate in again!

And make sure you go check out these awesome author’s other stories!!!

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[cateringisalie]

Village: Resident Evil ramblings

(Some spoilers)

Ethan Winters is a goddamn idiot.

I say this without a shred of nostalgia; I first encountered him in RE7 and feel less than nostalgic towards the guy. RE7 without the benefit of the former entrants was a FPS horror and pretty good. Though you couldn’t escape that the characters you remembered were the Baker family and Mia; Ethan was a walking camera with a gun and some very simplistic emotional responses (fear, rescue wife, escape, swear occasionally). Having now run through the whole sequence of games, Ethan stands out starkly as the blandest and least interesting protagonist the series ever produced. He is possibly worse than Piers. Village updates Ethan’s personality. A bit. Well. Not really. Still got that fear, still got the swearing. Still got a mind to escape. But rather than rescue his wife, it’s about rescuing his daughter. I mean; Mia was gunned down and shot a further 9000 times by infuriating series stalwart Chris Redfield a little under ten minutes into the game proper. Not that Ethan really comes to terms with the trauma. By minute fifteen of the game the van you’ve been shoved in by Chris (who doesn’t shoot you for no reason he feels like explaining) has crashed and Ethan’s daughter is missing. Mourning Mia doesn’t actually enter into Ethan’s thought process. Goddamn idiot. Not to say that life with Mia was exactly picturesque; a few years after RE7 the couple are now somewhere nebulous in Eastern Europe in a very lovely house with a distressing number of empty wine bottles in the kitchen. A happy marriage this does not seem to be given Mia doesn’t want to get into the events of RE7 anymore, but Ethan does – but also failing to understand that the cover-up of the incident might be why no one is talking much about the whole mess in Louisiana and that bringing it up both distresses and angers Mia. But; the inciting incident has occurred and we’re propelled into our new scenario. Ethan; once again fish out of water, and its not like we have a choice. This is not to say Village does not repeat the same narrative trick of changing POV character, but there is both less of that, and the Half-Life-style regimented first person view jarringly completely goes out the window in the last quarter. It was less than consistent at points, but sparingly when occasionally and jarringly camera angles shifted to depict an introduction. But the game is also perfectly happy to render whole FPS sequences with gun visible and everything as it plays out a story beat, so... I don’t know? Fortunately Ethan’s environment and the setting are much more interesting. The unnamed Village is a satisfying knot of tangled streets, locked doors and environmental obstacles. Enemies don’t respawn per se, but additional enemies are added on subsequent visits to the effective hub of the game. There’s livestock to kill and give the Duke – the merchant playing a similar role to the pirate-like guy from RE4. Duke’s an entertaining character (some have objected to his physical and hugely overweight depiction); chatty and far more knowing than he will let on. He has a dangling thread come the end so perhaps will reappear elsewhere. He’ll sort the gun upgrades, supplies, let you sell treasure and point you towards your next destinations. Which is just as well as the human population of the village dies out somewhere between the first and second hour. No one left and any futile attempts to save people end in almost hilariously disastrous tragedies (no Ethan, don’t go higher in a building that is on fire). Leaving you with Lycans, zombies and gargoyles to fend off. Occasionally there’s some bigger foes on the level of the Executioner from RE5 but nothing on the level of the Tyrants. That kind of thing is left to the Village Lords. The villagers – before they all die – have a curiously unfamiliar religion and praise a figure known as Mother Miranda. She reportedly kept the village safe, but something has changed and now the Lycans run amok and without restraint. Not hard to pin that the reason for the change is Rose’s arrival (or could it be Ethan? COULD IT? No. Man is a goddamn idiot). The only door out of the village you can open is to Castle Dimitrescu and... It feels unnecessary to even get into what awaits. Given fandom have been so noisy about the tall lady and her vampiric daughters since the first trailer. She is so very, very tall. The castle is the first mode of Village. Possibly closest to RE7; Dimitrescu’s daughters are vulnerable based on certain environmental details (read the notes!) but otherwise should be fled from. Dimitrescu herself is invulnerable to everything bar one weapon and you need to work at getting that, so she needs to be fled from. Otherwise, explore the castle, find treasure. Sneak. Solve puzzles. It all looks suitably gorgeous and you get multiple chances to see if as you loop through the rooms and unlock more doors. The Village macro mechanics wrought as micro here. There’s a canny hint at a late reveal in the blunt utility of in-game mechanics to be had too. But – really should have been obvious given their prominence in the trailer – given Castle Dimitrescu is the first level, it means we must say goodbye to the very Tall Lady with knife hands and move onto someone else. In between levels, we get the first reinforcement of a tease from the trailer; the symbol of the Umbrella corporation. Its engraved into a location called the Ceremony Site. Its daubed on a cave wall as high as the Tall Lady. Its on the strange structure you insert the yellow flasks each Village Lord guards. And it means... almost nothing. RE's meta-plot has always been a mess and everyone’s favorite pharmaceutical company hasn’t been so active for a while, so the idea that we might be getting into some interesting weirdness with them again is oh so appealing. And yet – I was disappointed. Despite the repeated glimpses of the familiar white and red logo, the connection ultimately comes down to one letter I found at about 7/8s of the way through. Oswell Spencer – founder of the company – visited the Village years ago and saw the cave painting and adopted it as his logo. Oh. That’s... underwhelming. The same letter does at least prod at wiring Village’s latter reveals into the formation of the company along with tying in some parts of RE5 but if you thought this would be the company or the family dynasty origins or anything like that, you are in for a disappointment. It’s a tease and one that goes nowhere and does little. Oh we might now see how Spencer got into the whole inadvertent zombie making mess but its not a factor in the plot of this game nor does it really change the stakes of the previous. Perhaps I should be glad it’s so frivolous given other retcons in certain other franchises, but it feels so suspect to have drawn the attention and then shuffle the implications out the side-door. At least the other village lords have their own appeals. The second level is RE once again stealing PT (the PS4 demo to announce Silent Hills) given Konami outright don’t care about it anymore. Stripped of your guns and inventory, it’s a claustrophobic puzzle level requiring you to hide with mechanics familiar to both Evil Within and Alien Isolation. That same loop of rooms as you seek out puzzle solutions and hide from a staggeringly distressing malevolent entity. The third is combat light until the final confrontation; the fight staged in a flooded village – oh and Chris who still doesn’t shoot you but refuses to explain anything. And the fourth cheats. Heisenberg is thoroughly entertaining and grabs two levels for his own; an assault on a stronghold and his horrible cyborg factory outside of town. He has Magneto metal powers. Heisenberg is the camp villain to outdo the other camp villains. He’s having fun, he kinda likes Ethan and is oddly on his side. He found time to put together massive signposts to direct Ethan onto the last two levels (a good thing too given his lack of sense). But both levels are lacking. The Stronghold is a relentless firefight against hoards of mook enemies; the factory is overly long and maze-like. I am as tired as Ethan when he exclaims “What more?” And after Heisenberg is dealt with; the long, convoluted lurches to the ending. First person goes out the window. The game dabbles in characters toying with your understanding of what was going on but in a strangely limited way and completely ignoring the other implications of the reveal. Suddenly you mow down more and more enemies than ever before, bullets scarcely a concern. The final reveals of who/what/where/how come through. Not exactly explicable for what’s on-screen, but the effort’s been made to tie Village’s overt supernatural tendencies back into a world setup in RE. Its not magic and those are not truly werewolves. And the villain’s motivation is! Hugely disappointing. Connected as it is to the Umbrella letter, you might hope for something completely out there, but its unsatisfying and feels pretty sexist too. Or at least lacking in imagination to an astonishing degree and yet here we are. The game feels sloppiest as the final boss fight arrives flitting between characters without the shaky but workable character hand-offs RE7 deployed. Back in first person mode to talk to Duke one last time before engaging in.... a relatively simple boss fight. All the boss fights have been pretty easy – there’s nothing on the level of RE6’s sometimes horrendous contextual fights, or the annoying two-player RE5, nor the demanded accuracy of hitting specific weak-points as in RE7. And I don’t mind that. Unload all your weapons and keep your health up. And victory. There are fix-it fics already, but really, I don’t see the point in trying to fix the issue these people have. There’s an obvious setup for a game past this one with a strange throw-away reveal in the end-sequence (whither RE9, Revelations 3 or something else there are no clues as yet). There’s a spoiler for the sting given the end-credits lists a character who didn’t appear in the main game. The sting itself might wind up drawing on the sting from Revelations 2. Village is not RE at its best, but is at least more in the spirit of goofy, campy nonsense than 7. It at least is more at home with playing with the trappings of horror while not actually trying to be outright scary. As with 7, the villains are more interesting and more memorable than the good guys. And – as I found out after completing the game – we were robbed of Ada Wong dressed up like a Bloodborne character somewhere in the game. And that I think is the biggest shame of all this.

#village spoilers #resident evil village spoilers

[sumisuchan]

First Name Basis Ch.1

Hey y’all just thought I should post this to Tumblr as well, but here’s the link to the ao3 for people who are more interested in that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889923/chapters/62913253 

I don’t know what to say for myself other than I love Kaiba and Jounouchi, and I hope you enjoy this fic <3 Also feel free to leave me a comment. I cherish all of them forever.  

--------------

It was a quiet winter morning, the second Monday of January, when Mokuba pushed open the double doors to Seto’s room. However silent he tried to be, they still scraped across the hardwood floor. He had cast a light that shot from the hallway to envelop Seto’s figure in bed, buried beneath a plush comforter.

“Seto — ” Mokuba tried to keep his voice low, leaning culpably against one of the doors. “I'm going to head out.”

Without throwing off the comforter, Seto rose as if accused. The pale morning light made him squint. “I thought I was taking you.”

“I know, but I was going to meet a friend a little bit early. I'll meet you there, I promise.”

“But it's snowing,” Seto laid his head back down. Even with centralized heating, the air was cold. His alarm clock read 6:46 a.m., which made the comforter seem warmer and the mattress more generous.

The door clicked softly shut again. Seto had lost. He closed his eyes and let Mokuba go, the bed’s hold too strong to break. Maybe he would wake at 8:00, or 8:05, or 8:10...

***

It was 8:15 when Seto had hit snooze for the third time, and had finally managed to sit up. He opened the curtains behind him to a chalky sky and a Domino City winterscape, draped in snow. It even obscured the faraway mountains whose dark grey bodies wore pure white caps. Seto sighed visibly into the glass. Another harsh one.

Seto ate, washed, and dressed, finding himself in a partially cloudy bathroom mirror. He had put a sharp white suit over a blue shirt speckled with gold, and fixated upon the second gray hair he had found that month. He leaned in, making the mirror fog up more. Though his hair was still a little damp, there it was — front and center, mocking him.

Seto straightened himself out, turned the bathroom light off, and went downstairs. He could see from the top of the staircase that Mokuba had taken the kimono from its resting place upon the front room sofa—garment bag and all, his geta disappearing from the entrance evidence that it hadn't been just a dream.

***

The traffic to the ceremony was hell. Every damn car in Domino City had congested the roads leading to town hall, each of them progressing only about a meter before stopping again. Snow fell as a light powder, dusting the shoulders of young men and women dressed in expensive suits and long-sleeve kimono. Seto estimated that at least 3/4 of them were rentals. Their parents walked alongside them, shielding them from the snow with clear convenience-store umbrellas, and Seto realized that he had forgotten one himself.

Finally, his driver reached town hall and held open the car door. Parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, who had come to support their own twenty-year-olds, all seemed to turn around at once, then double take. “Isn't that Kaiba Seto?” They whispered too loudly as he passed them. Seto was certain he could feel someone's phone camera pointed at his back as he entered. His watch read 10:37. The ceremony would start soon.

***

The mayor, a slightly overweight man in a gray, cheap-looking suit took the stage, adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat. Several rows of newly-minted adults straightened their backs and lifted their heads. The entire auditorium stopped talking, and the mayor preemptively set his short-fingered hands on the podium. For the final time, he adjusted his legs, shoulder-width apart. Seto noticed a bald spot at the very back of his head, bordered by thinning white hair.

“Everyone, thank you for attending today's ceremony — ” He spoke in a coarse voice.

Seto began searching the first three rows for Mokuba. The young men and women had formed clusters, some still chatting quietly to one another. They made a patchwork quilt of solid black suits and explosions of flowers in red, white, and gold.

Mokuba would be in white. He had insisted. “I'm going to wear a suit for the rest of my life, but I'll probably have far fewer opportunities to wear a kimono.” So Seto took him shopping at one of the most expensive boutiques in Domino City, their winter line of handmade kimono on display. Most of them were furisode — sleeves to the floor and soaked in snow flowers, chrysanthemums, tsubaki .

Mokuba looked uncomfortable. He tensed at the extremely attentive sales assistant, who asked them in exquisite keigo what they needed. He tensed even more when Seto replied bluntly, “he needs an outfit for coming of age day.” He tensed while they brought out the entire cavalry of men's kimono — admittedly plainer than the women's, but just as elegant. Almost all of them bore complex patterns that fit seamlessly into their solid black or white fabrics, allegedly handmade. The shopkeeper ran her hand over each of them as if playing an instrument. It was genuinely surprising when they didn't respond with a musical phrase.

“You’re more than welcome to try on any one that you like, and one of our male employees can help you dress if you require assistance.” She had nearly reached the end of her, “please take your time,” when Mokuba pointed to the one on the very end.

“Uh — that white one looks nice.”

“Oh,” the shopkeeper had to walk to the far end of the table to reach it. “Do you mean this one, sir? Would you like to try it on?”

“Sure. Yes, I can try it on.”

Without prompting, yet another attentive male employee rushed over to lead him to the dressing room. “Please follow me this way, sir.” Seto got a glimpse of the kimono. No discernible pattern. Nothing extra. Just white silk adorned with the shop’s brand insignia embroidered in gold at the end of the sleeves.

Mokuba left the dressing room without the kimono on, yet claimed that he wanted that one. When Seto asked him if he was certain, he only nodded and tensed even more once Seto paid one million yen in cash straight from his wallet.

From his place in the third row of guest seating, Seto searched for that kimono, the stark white against both plain black and noisy flower patches, and found him sitting amongst a group of young women. One of them whispered something to him and Mokuba turned around, missing his shoulder-length hair. Sometime that morning he had gotten it cut. The woman at his side adjusted his bangs, giggling. She said something. “You look like your brother,” Seto imagined. Mokuba pulled away, brushed it off. That must have been it.

***

The ceremony ended and its attendants came gasping into the freezing winter air. The families occupied the bottom of the staircase as their children emerged at the top, posing in formation for pictures.

Mokuba had found a place in the second row, his hands at his side for the first serious photo and then with his tongue out and fingers forming a heart for the silly one. The same girl from earlier in a red kimono and thick-rimmed glasses made bunny ears above his head — something he would find later when they received the photos. They posed for one more before the crowd dispersed and Mokuba turned to her before coming downstairs. He must have promised to rejoin her, but then met eyes with Seto and began his descent.

Finally, Seto witnessed the full body of his kimono, its white sleeves and gray pants making him resemble the snow-covered mountains in the distance. He treaded so carefully down the steps, responsible with his new-seeming long legs, but he had been chipping away toward Seto’s height for a while. That fact hit especially hard when Mokuba ran to embrace him. His long strides had brought him so smoothly.

Someone snapped a picture.

“How did you manage to get a haircut?” Seto asked, maintaining his balance. “Every salon in the city must have been booked.”

“They were.” Mokuba set his hands on top of  Seto’s shoulders, negotiating himself against the icy sidewalk, “but I had reserved my appointment months ago. I wanted to surprise you. I guess…” He paused, touching the back of his head. “I didn't realize how much I would resemble you.”

“It suits you,” Seto said. “You look grown up.”

Mokuba smiled but furrowed his brows. Someone shouted, “Kaiba- san ! May I please take a picture of you and Mokuba?” and someone else added, “to commemorate the occasion!”

Seto, who would normally have walked away, turned toward the crowd. He put his hand upon Mokuba’s back and found it to be rigid. Yet, Mokuba smiled for them. There would be articles written whether he did or didn't, so he chose to be pleasant. He grinned into the flashing lights, into a future of magazines that would compare their heights, their faces, weigh their fortune, pondering if Mokuba had found a girlfriend yet and commenting on the fact that Seto never had. It would be a thing for months until it wasn't at all, until something else happened, and the cycle would start over.

Seto felt Mokuba inflate with a sigh that no one would notice. He had become so good at letting it deflate slowly from his nose that only someone standing as close as Seto would hear it.

He called off the pictures and they loaded into the car, leaving barely enough time for Mokuba to wave to the young woman he had left up on the staircase.

#Seto Kaiba #jounouchi katsuya #katsuya jonouchi #puppyshipping #violetshipping #yu-gi-oh #Gay #Mokuba is a character as well

[hideawayintheimaginationworld]

I am Machine: Chapter 2

Alec had opened his eyes, feeling heavy and groggy like he just woke up, wait.... Did he actually fall asleep without meaning to? He had tried so many times to fall asleep but he never succeed, he actually felt like he woke up and he didn’t remember hearing the animatronics wake up.

He pulled the blanket apart and he blinked then his face was hit by light.

No. No. No.

He was in a different room, someone moved him.

He was stupid, he didn't think he'd fall asleep, he didn't think anyone would find him.

He was in a bigger room, one he hadn’t seen before. He was in a sofa chair, he saw a desk with some various items, like a pile of paper, a cup with pencils, pens, markers, some books stacked in a neat pile, a stand was there and Alec noticed a piece of paper was on the stand, he narrowed his eyes when he saw black scribble on the paper, trying to make it out. Wait. Those were musical notes.

It was a piece of music, with the notes in a order, some unintelligible words below each written note, maybe they were lyrics?

Alec didn’t understand music, it didn’t really interest him, his sister on the other hand seem to have an interest in learning a musical instrument, but she couldn’t decide which one. Alec would rather listen to music then create it.

There was a black wardrobe that seemed strange, firstly, it had a padlock around the handles, Alec immediately tried to reason why the wardrobe would be locked, but he could only think of bad reasons.

He saw a bookshelf with three separate shelves, one had books, other had small items that seem to allude to whoever was in this room, they liked to create/play music. The items included reeds that would be used for instruments like clarinet, and saxophone, some guitar picks in a small clear container with a post it note attached that said: “STOP STEALING THESE UNLESS YOU WANT TO REPLACE THEM BONNIE, SIGNED L.A”. The bottom shelf had things like spare blankets, three pillows all stacked in a neat tower and a small black box with a pad lock on it.

Alec had seen on the opposite side of the room was a big bed, it had a messy pile of blankets and pillows all within a pink colour palette. Must be a woman, Alec thought, the note that was L.A was most likely the intitals of their name.

He had barely moved, he heard something, he looked and saw a door, the handle was turning, he immediately threw the blanket over his head and hid himself, he was unsure who or what it was.

He heard the door open and close, he slightly moved and peeked out enough to see a little, he saw a man, a strange man, with white and pink hair, he was wearing a white long sleeved shirt, he was slightly chubby, not in a very overweight way, more looking cuddly honestly. He had black pants and his shoes were clicking as he walked like he had metal on the soles of them.

He walked to the bookshelf, he kneeled down and picked up the small black box, he had pulled a key out from his pocket, and jammed it into the padlock, opening it, Alec was surprised to see he just pulled out a pair of what looked like silk white gloves. He put the box down and walked over to the locked wardrobe and also unlocked that, his white gloves in one hand, he reached in with his other and pulled out a black case.

He walked over to the bed and opened the case, Alec watched him pull on his gloves, then he reached into the case. Alec wondered what he'd pull out, a human skull? A weapon?

Nope. He lifted it up and Alec saw a violin.

God Alec had become so much more jumpy now. He hated it.

The man positioned the violin and gently lifted up the bow, he then slightly adjusted his position then began to play a soft, gentle tune, with the notes he played slow and in a small loop of what Alec heard was five notes all together, played equally and in a rhythm.

After a few minutes of the playing, Alec and the man heard a knock, Alec knew he heard it also because he stopped his playing.

He put his violin back in his case, walked to the door and opened it.

“Oh Lefty! Good you got my message! Come in... I wasn’t doing anything important, just playing violin....”

Lefty had stepped in, the man move at such an angle that Alec saw his face completely and recognised who he was.

His title was the Music Man, but he was certain that wasn't his real name. He was the only human performer, Alec had seen him in the pizzeria on the day of Hazel's birthday, he was just walking about entertaining kids, with a spring in his step, a smile and.... He was definitely carrying around a ukulele on the day. One of his big draw ins was the fact he would play a different instrument everyday.

In fact he was almost certain he saw him giving him a strange look at some point before Hazel decided to go into the Wind Tunnel. Like he knew what he did and was frowning disappointingly at him. He could be imagining it, he did know he had seen him wandering around, he probably made eye contact with Alec at one point and that was it, nothing strange about a man who worked at a pizzeria.

“I know you don’t like leaving the pizzeria but before I left I found something you may be interested in.”

“Music Man” walked closer to Alec, who covered the little gap that let him see and stayed still.

“It's a Lonely Freddy...” Alec felt like he was lifted off the ground.

Stay still, his mind said. So he did just that, when his blanket was pulled away he saw Lefty and the “Music Man” close up.

“I remember how you hated these, but this one doesn’t seem to work!” Alec saw Lefty's face turned to visible disgust, he bared his teeth which Alec swore looked like real sharp bear teeth.

“Now, now Lefty, don't look like that. Like I said... It doesn’t seem to work...” He turned Alec in his hands looking at him, he grabbed his hand and forcibly pulled back before releasing it, “I thought we got rid of all these but it seems like one had slipped through for quite some time! It's missing the hat... But other than that, it seems.... Okay? Maybe dusty, I did sneeze when I picked it up. Didn’t we get rid of all these things four months ago? Hey, Lefty what was wrong with them again? Making some weird noise screeching noise that disturbed people? And they kept being broken by kids rough housing?”

Lefty didn’t say anything, but he nodded.

“I swear the concept was silly, it was a cure for an “unwanted child” which should never be the case! Every child should feel happy! I wanted to ask Jeremy if we could bring in a Plushtrap animatronic to play games with the lonely kids, I know we have one in the backroom and it's just gathering dust... It's not doing anything! I figure we should use it!”

Lefty nodded then made a gesture that seemed to say “up to you”.

“Not in a talkative mood? Or are you worried Mini Freddy be listening in?” “Music Man” turned Alec back and he was face to face with them again.

Lefty rose up one hand and shook it side to side which was “kind of” gesture, he also was softly nodding.

“These things were creepy in my opinion.... Always bugging kids... A robot wanting to be your best friend? I mean, zero offense to you or any other animatronic but.. Something about the Lonely Freddy always made me scared to leave my three nephews under the age of 10 alone with it....” His face filled with dread for a second, “And you agreed with me unlike the other staff! I swear to god, I was born with strange hair and the other staff treat like a nuisance! I only am the Music Man part time... You know me Lefty! My passion is in music! I love Freddy's but I don’t want to keep working there when no one will even bother to address me as Lewis Anthony, heck, they could even call me Anthony and I'd be happy with that!! I don’t mind little kids calling me Music Man or even Maestro, but the staff can’t be bothered calling me by my real name, can you see why it's infuriating me?”

Lefty made some hand gestures, he seemed to communicate in sign language.

“That's why I'm telling you first I'm going to be turning in my one month notice tomorrow, so they'll have plenty of time to look for a replacement if they want. I can’t tolerant this blatant bullying, yes I understand, they don’t like me because I'm mixed, they don’t like me because they've figured I'm polysexual, they don’t like me because I speak different languages in public, they don’t like some music styles I play.... I've worked there for eight years, I shouldn’t be treated this way.... If he still alive, he wouldn’t let this slide...... Anyway back to this... What would you do about it?”

Lefty reached and grabbed Alec by his neck.

“Oh you’ll take it back? Good... I was worried if I left it in the recliner chair that Mr Hippo was going to sit on it.... Maybe it's an okay one? I know some weren’t making that strange sound.”

Lefty turned around and opened the door.

“Oh you're leaving. I lost track of time, you have to be back on stage before the night watch arrives. Have a good night,” Lewis smiled at him.

Here, have chapter 2, I'll eventually make a cover for this story and write some relevant info about it.

Previous Chapter (First Chapter) | Next Chapter

#five nights at freddy's #fazbear frights fetch #fazbear frights #FNAF Lefty #FNAF Alec #FNAF Music Man #Lewis Anthony- Human Music Man #I am Machine Story

[eirenare]

Okay, soooo *rubs hands together* Now that I have the TLJ junior novelization, let's get to something very important:

it reveals the origin of the “Stay here. I’ll come back for you, sweetheart. I promise”

First of all, I have to say that I found out that reveal accidentally little ago before getting the novelization, thanks to this lovely Reylo art post over here , and it totally hyped me up (and made me cackle because I was writing a highly speculative fic piece that could kinda fit with this)

For those who don’t know, both in the TFA junior and non-junior novelizations, when Rey touches (or gets close to it, depending on the version) the legacy lightsaber and she sees the vision, what we see in the movie isn’t 100% what happens in the novelizations: in the books she also hears a familiar voice, described in interesting ways, telling her “Stay here. I’ll come back for you, sweetheart. I promise”, among some other changes

The TFA non-junior novelization has this, and the TFA junior novelization describes it too, but it also has minimum another moment where Rey thinks of this (I haven’t fully read the novels for now, so there might be more I’m unaware of as of now)

And this is where TLJ makes things interesting: there’s no mention of this in the movie, just like in TFA, and as far as I’ve read on the TLJ non-junior novelization there’s no mention there either—but the junior TLJ novelization has, at least, FOUR scenes where these phrases and Rey’s past appear

Sounds interesting? Well... buckle up guys, because this is going to be long (like... very long, because there are lots of paragraphs from the novelization, and then some discussion/speculation/theorizing) and it’s gonna end up in much feels for Rey (also, I’ll highlight some important or curious things):

CHAPTER 7

“The island was haunted. Rey was sure of it.

She stood outside Luke’s hut and watched the fog roll across the village. The haze was thick and held an eerie pre-dawn glow. She had the vague impression that something lurked within those mists. Specters whispering secrets from a long-lost time.

Stay here. I’ll come back for you, sweetheart. I promise.

The voice startled her. Those words were the same she had heard so many times in her drams on Jakku. Yet this was not Jakku. And looking around, she saw she stood alone.”

CHAPTER 10

“Stay here. I’ll come back for you, sweetheart. I promise.

The star freighter’s hatch closed, and its engines warmed. Rey tried to run toward it, but Unkar Plutt’s meaty hands held her back. No amount of squirming or wriggling would release her. She was only a small human child, while Plutt was an overweight, overgrown Crolute.

“Come back!” Rey shrieked at the ship. “Come back!”

Her cries caused Plutt to squeeze her arm so tightly it hurt. But that pain did not compare with the heartbreak of watching the freighter lift off. The ship roared toward Jakku’s sun, never to come back as promised.

Rey woke to the sunlight of another world. Dawn streamed through the doorway of the hut in which she’d taken shelter to escape the night’s rain. Fortunately, the rain had ended, as had the nightmare of her parents abandoning her on Jakku.

She blinked and the afterimages of the bad dream faded away.”

CHAPTER 21

“She didn’t want to listen to him. She wanted him to stop the charade and return to Leia. But she also wanted to know.

“Let it go”, he said. “You know the truth. Say it.”

She knew only what she feared. And what she feared was the truth of the voice from her dreams—the dreams that had haunted her since the day her parents abandoned her on Jakku.

Stay here. I’ll come back for you, sweetheart. I promise.

That was not the voice of her mother or her father, as she had long convinced herself.

The voice was her own.

She had imagined that voice and repeated those words over and over as a child until they became part of her reality, even her dreams. They had helped her fall asleep on a hungry stomach and pushed her to persevere when the future seemed bleak. When the years went by and her parents never returned to take her back, she never gave up the hope that someday soon they would and the nightmare of her youth would be over.

It was a false hope.

Was that what Luke had tried to prompt her to confess in the library? The truth she had locked in her heart and had never let herself admit? The truth that her parents were not hardworking space merchants trying to scrape enough together to make a better life for their family?

“They were nobody”, Rey said at last.

“They were filthy junk traders who sold you off for drinking money”, Kylo Ren said, spitting out the words. “They’re dead in a pauper’s grave on Jakku, like all the other junk buried there.”

Rey hadn’t known those details, but she had no doubt what Kylo Ren said was true. Her whole life had been one giant lie of her own making, a castle of dreams and echoes that had no foundation.

She shook all over. She might have survived Snoke’s mental thrashing, but this self-admission could break her for good.

Ren stepped toward her. “You have no place in the story. You come from nothing. You are nothing.” His tone became tender. “But not to me.”

He deactivated the blade. “Join me. Please.” He held out his hand to her.

She looked at him, pale and ghostly in the starlight of the window. His request was sincere. He wanted to teach her. She could learn great power from him. He could help her attain her true potential in the Force. Her past didn’t matter. All that mattered was her place in the future.

Rey reached out to Ren. He smiled.

Their hands never met.

Rey could never join with him. Not as he stood before her now. For he, too, had tried to erase his past, reinventing himself in the mold of his grandfather. The difference was that he had lost hope in his parents, while she had kept hope in hers, however false, alive.

Perhaps that was the very meaning of hope. It seemed false until it happened.

And if she wanted to save Ben, she would have to stop Kylo Ren.”

CHAPTER 23

“Rey saw stars. And lights. And more stars.

But the stars in the viewport began to fade away, as did the lights on the console. Everything was fading—even the sound of her breathing—into a quiet, dark nothingness.

Stay here. I’ll come back for you, sweetheart. I promise.

Jarred by the voice, she sat bolt upright in the cockpit of Snoke’s private shuttle. Of course there was no one else in the ship. Those words were just an echo in her mind. Something she had repeated to herself to stay alive on Jakku. A truth about herself with which she had reconciled.

Those words had just saved her, drawing her from what could have been a deadly slumber.

— — —

"Those words had just saved her, drawing her from what could have been a deadly slumber”

The absolute  s e r v e

* “Sleeping Beauty” vibes intensify*

Also, the reflection about how her past doesn’t matter, but that her future does? All the while she’s considering joining Ben? The fact that she can’t stay by Ben’s side specifically then, as the situation was in that moment?

And the fact that Rey, at that exact point between after the revelation and before the battle of Crait, clearly thought she wanted to save Ben— I’m—

*cries in Reylo*

But well, going back to the main point of all this...

Yep. That was Rey’s own voice

Not Ben from the future, not her parents, no one but herself—trying to shield herself from the pain and the truth to walk forward. I have to say this surprised me, but it’s interesting and it has me full of feels for Rey

Now the thing is, translations can be very interesting... and whereas in English you can probably just assume that Rey is saying “come back!” in plural, in Spanish (Castilian) it gets more interesting because the “come back!” is in singular

Worth to note how Rey doesn’t doubt Ben at all, she fully believes him. And honestly, I don’t think he lied either. But... could Ben had been mislead on accident by what he saw? Could have he seen something that, while true, wasn’t the whole truth, so he had an incomplete view?

I mean, that happens constantly—and we know how visions can be tricky things (something that, in fact, Snoke thinks about for a good while during a certain chapter of the TLJ non-junior novelization)

Also, another thing worth to note is that the TLJ novelization (both the junior and non-junior ones) expands on what Ben tells her in the turbolift about her turning. Here’s the TLJ non-junior version text (Ben’s words don’t differ, but the non-junior highlights in cursive some words—which is why I chose it, except I’m going to highlight them in bold for better visibility), starting from when Rey reveals her vision of Ben’s future:

“When we touched I saw your future,” she told him. “Just the shape of it, but solid and clear. You will not bow before Snoke. You will turn—I’ll help you. I saw it. It’s your destiny.

She watched the emotions chase themselves across his face, echoed by jitters and spikes in the Force. Anger. Confusion. Pain. Loneliness. Longing. Sorrow.

Then he lifted his eyes to hers.

“You’re wrong”, Kylo said. “When we touched I saw something, too. Not your future—your past. And because of what I saw, I know that when the moment comes, you’ll be the one to turn. You’ll stand with me. Rey, I saw who your parents are.”

Rey stared at him, but there was no lie in Kylo’s eyes. And a terrifying realization bloomed in her mind: Kylo’s churning emotions weren’t just about himself. They were also about her.”

So, what Ben saw wasn’t a part of her future, but her past—and we know what Ben told Rey about her past, about her origins, but as I said: what if the picture was incomplete?

With incomplete I don’t mean that we would be getting Rey being related to someone important, nor inheriting powers—I do think there are ways for Rey to keep being a no one chosen as a “vessel” of the Force, to keep her origins humble, while making something really dramatic and shocking with her past

I mean, think of that... while Ben told Rey that her parents are dead and buried in a pauper’s grave in Jakku, Rey is shouting “come back!” in singular, so either the devil’s in the detail and the parents didn’t die at the same time, with one leaving Rey behind (or dying trying to do so *looks sideways at the theory of Rey accidentally killing her parents*), or after her parents died someone who could’ve taken her out of Jakku but didn’t (or couldn’t) do so

Regardless of what we see in TROS, though—reading Rey realize the truth behind those words is so sad. This woman needs: a hug

And it makes me sad too that we’re probably not going to see anything about it in the TROS movie because it hasn’t been mentioned in TFA or TLJ outside the books *sigh*

But well, if the TLJ novels adressed this when the TFA and TLJ movies didn’t, I think there’s a high chance that the TROS novelizations will do, too

#Reylo #TROS speculation #TROS theorizing #TROS theory #TROS theories #TFA novelization #TLJ novelization #TFA junior novelization #TLJ junior novelization #TFA #TLJ #The Force Awakens #The Last Jedi #The Rise of Skywalker

[hg80summer-blog]

Untitled or (The flute of Azathoth)

(This story is conceived and finished during the Fall of 2018)

Newspapers as a dying medium had struggled for a while by now, and the descent into the complete and utter abyss of extinction seemed to be accelerating in a jaw-dropping velocity. There was no wonder why her press was struggling financially, every newspaper outlet was, hers was just more severe. She was now standing in the line, waiting for her coffee, and that bastard of a teenager standing in front of her was texting on his phone while blasting loud and obnoxious music out of that headset around his neck, which kinda defeats the purpose of a headset. She was beyond annoyed, of course.

“Kid.”

The kid raised his head up, saw this middle aged red-haired woman standing right in front of him.

“What?”

“Would you mind turning off the music.” She said, tried to be as kind as possible, “This is a coffee shop, not a public park, nor it is the subway, though you really shouldn’t be doing this kind of stuff in those places either.”

The kid turned off the music, visibly fuming, but didn’t say a word.

She smiled. Proud of her own work, of talking a kid out of his annoying and selfish behavior. The line before her had shrunk, and now finally after a 20 mins long wait, which for sure would be the reason that she would be late for work again today, it was her turn to order the coffee.

The guy behind the counter was visually disgusting. Obviously of his teenage, pimples and blemishes were all over his cheeks, two bloodshot eyes suggested an intense binge the night before, or the influences of pots. Droopy nose, dull gazes, and a messily worn uniform, all permeated the sense of purposelessness and a faineant. She chuckled to herself, found that description of the cashier formed by her own head to be extremely amusing.

“Miss!” The teen was almost shouting at that point. “What can I help you with today?”

“Um...” She came back from her daze, “A cup of coffee will do. Lots of cream lots of sugar.”

As she held the hot coffee with both of her hands to help combat the chilling weather of the recent days, the front door was pushed open and a gust of breeze rushed into the store. Then the door just stayed open, and the cold air just kept pestering her scarfed neck. Finally, after a few moments of tolerance, she turned her head to see who was so irresponsible to not even close the door on their way in.

It was a sickly obese man sitting in a wheelchair, trying to get through the narrow doorway of the coffee store. The staff came to his help, but his scooter was just way too big to fit in. His oily face was filled with anger and the expression of dissatisfaction and discontent, his floppy arms were flying in the air, and his mouth was uttering the voice of complaint. Those who had suffered greater for a better cause, and now there is this fat guy standing in front of the coffee place wailing at the waiter because the door was too small for him and his enormous scooter. She tittered at the concept, took another sip of the coffee.

They didn’t put enough cream in it. It was bitter. 

* * *

“So. Are you free tomorrow?”

She raised her head.

“Hilbert.” She sighed.

“Are you that disappointed to see me?” The man languidly leaning on the glass panel of her cubicle was wearing a grey sweater, and always had been wearing a grey sweater.  Ever since the first day she met him, he was wearing a grey sweater. He pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand, “What are you working on right now?”

“Editing the report of that one ghetto.”

“How is it.”

“It’s um… it’s alright.”

“It’s interesting. It’s not… great?”

“Well, you know.” She turned her gaze back onto the screen.

“Listen, you care for a drink?”

The blue light illuminated her face, drenched her expressionless features with a somber tone. The cubicles of their publishing house were all so small and squishy, and dark as well for some reason, the light just couldn’t reach here it seemed. She often compared this place to that torture chamber in Edgar Allen Poe’s short story, where a pendulum axe was hanging above the stomach of the tortured inmate, and as time run off it would slowly descent and brings the inevitable doom to the poor soul, presenting the most gruesome death to any spectator too sick to not turn their eyes away. Weren’t they the readers? The idea popped up in her head just as her gaze locked on the statistics provided in the article that she was editing. The article was riddled with grammatical errors and faulty statistics, to the point of near incoherence. The writer of the piece was this overweight old fart, who practically lived in the publishing house since he owned no property whatsoever besides all his stationeries, the old fashioned typewriter of his and a seldom working printer, along with all those borderline trash hoarded in his own dorm room. He divorced a decade ago, lost his house to his wife, estranged with his son and daughter, and had been diagnosed to be severely diabetic. Though he had one thing to be proud of -- being the oldest employee of this publishing house, working here for at least twenty-something years. She found that funny, very funny. The old fart had lost all his abilities to write an adequate article for the press, but the house would never fire him just because he was the most senior member of them all. The reader was the sick one. She realized. When the reader read that short story, they were the one expecting the axe to cut the man in two, and even though in that story of Poe’s, the man escaped, but if theoretically the axe did come down and the man did got split into two parts, the reader would not turn away from the gore, because they yearned for it.  

“I presumed you don’t have anything to do this afternoon.”

“No.” She then realized he was still there. “I am free.”

“Care for a drink in my place?”

“How is your work?”

“It’s um… it’s alright. I need to review a play before I could go any further though, so that is bummer.”

“Tea?” She pulled out her draw, “Got some bags here. I could get you a cup if you want.”

“No thanks… listen…”

“Ey.” The receptionist, April, walked to her cubicle, with a commanding tone of voice and an everlasting despise on her face, “Someone was at the door. He said he came to see you.”

Obsequious sycophant, the harlot blew our boss under the desk. But it was rather a pleasant surprise. She had no relatives around this state, let alone with this city, nor did she have any friends laying around, so someone coming to visit her during work was actually a change of pace that she was not expecting.

“He said his name was John.”

The bench in the front door bore quite a bit of history actually. This press house was fairly old after all, but before its time, the building was actually a police station for the local towns. The bench was there for those who were arrested to have a rest before being dragged into whatever room that was needed for them to be dragged into. Unlike those things, the bench remained.

“I got you some tea.” She said.

He took the cup with the coaster, took a sip, and an expression of disgust emerged on his face.

“You never liked my tea, uh?” She said. “You never liked it, not even for a day.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said that quite often, actually.” She sat down on the other end of the bench, “How is ma?”

He frowned at the question, took another sip of the tea. It was bitter. She knew it. She made it that way, and she wanted to say she made it that way unconsciously, but it really was not that convincing, not even to herself.

“She was feeling better.” He said. “She is feeling better.”

“Like how? Has she gone back home yet?”

“She is feeling better.”

“Is she still in the hospital?”

“You should be asking her that instead of me.”

“What do you mean I should be asking her?” She said, unintentionally raising and heating up her voice.

“I mean you should go ask her how she is.” He said, then he took a huge gulp of the tea, swallowing it with a painful and totally not exaggerated countenance.

“You do not like the tea. I see.”

“I did not say that.”

“You did.” Anger brewed within her, and slowly but surely she was edging on the cliff of an outburst. “You hate my tea. You always had. Now stop jumping all over the place. I know how much of a busy gentleman you are, and coming to visit me was merely the byproduct of a trip or something. How is ma doing? Answer me!”

“DON’T YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!” He suddenly yelled out, almost spilling the rest of the tea, “I AM YOUR BROTHER!” Acerbate, his eyes bloodshot, and veins walled off his forehead like the defense lines from the battle of Stalingrad. He composed himself in mere seconds though, then made a deep breath, “Do not raise your voice at me.” He said, trying to be as calm as possible.

Silence dawned.

She stared out the front door. The long cold breeze blew through the empty but littered street. The press house located at the unheeded corner of the city, so of course vacancy and dead silences were the prevalent frequenter. The winter was longer than before, and harsher. The blanket in her house couldn’t even provide enough warmth for her to fall asleep without being bedeviled by nightmares and long dreams, which was why she was planning to go shopping for a quilt this afternoon to get her through the winter.

“Have you cleared the payment of your house?” He suddenly asked.

“Yes.” She said, still gazing at the street.

“So you own a house now.”

“An apartment, to be exact.”

“How is it?”

“It’s um… it’s alright.”

“It’s interesting. It’s not… great?”

She turned her gaze at him, and didn't answer.

A short pause. He looked at his watch, “Shoot, gonna go. The plane is flying in two.” He stood up. “Thanks for the tea.”

“You are welcome.”

He walked out of the building with festinate steps.

She picked up the cup he left behind, not a drop of tea was left behind.

As she was walking back to her office, or cubicle, she was stopped by the receptionist sitting at the front desk, once again.  

“Ron wants to see you. Like right now.”

She definitely swallows. She thought to herself.

“Thanks, April.” She said with a smile on her face. “I am going, right now.”

When she came back from her boss’s office, she saw Hilbert was still standing around her cubicle.

“Why are you still here?”

“Tea break. Where else can I go in this dreadful place.”

Truly it is a dreadful place. Not just this place. The city in general. What a hell hole. What an absolute hellhole. A place where gun shooting can happen so regularly it became one of the mundane. A place where sunlight was toxic and rains were acidic, umbrellas became a necessity on every day of the year. A place where morality is nothing but a piece of shredded newspaper flying across the empty blocks, so the homeless people will stab those who offer alms and helping hand, and bosses will force their female, or male who give a rat crap, force their female employees to suck their phallic one, and fat people would roam around the street while someone else starve to their lurid death. This place is dreadful. Truly dreadful. She could feel her spine split open from the middle, and raised into the sky like the skeleton of the birds' wings, so she could crash through the window of their press and leave this place once and for all.

“It’s alright.” She said, sat back down in her cubicle, and started to pack things up. “I need to finish my work now, you should get going as well.”

“Yeah… yeah… of course.” He said. After a small pause, he turned and about to leave.

“Hey. Hilbert.” She stopped him.

“Yes?”

“Where are we gonna meet for the drinks this afternoon?”

* * *

His house was as dilapidated as ever, with its shoddy door frame and chintzy carpets, molded corners and peeled off ceilings. Just like before.

"Is Bourbons on rocks okay with you?" He pulled out some glasswares and a bottle of Bourbons, cheap.

"I am alright. I don't drink no more."

He was pouring the liquor, and her words paused him, "When did that happen?"

"Happened a long time ago."

He resumed pouring a glass, clearly for himself, "Well, what can I help you with then?"

"A cup of hot coffee will be alright."

"Sugar and cream."

"Yeah."

The backyard still had that one tree in the middle. It had shed all its leaves, and what remained of it was only a wizen skeletal contour of its former self. There was a working table right underneath it, clearly, a birdhouse was in the making.

"Dickinson kept bugging me about this birdhouse. Really don't know where the obsession for birds came from." He said, walked up to the table. "It's almost finished by now."

"I can give a hand." She really did not want to, but the fact that he brought up Dickinson and the birdhouse kinda made it no longer a viable option.

"That would be so nice of you."

The squirrel on the street looked anemic, lack of food source might have already taken a toll on it. What a pathetic sight. It just oozed with dreariness, which made it quite fitting for this place. This abhorrent city, abhorrent place, where the winter is so goddamn long.

“Someone is getting laid off, let me tell you that.” He said, cutting down the pine board as he was speaking. “Someone is gone, that is all I know. The house was not profitable, they had to kick someone off. For sure wouldn’t be that geezer sitting in the back of the office all the time being as unproductive as possible. Bunch of schmucks, am I right?”

She didn’t answer. She simply helped him attach the board onto the tree with some deck screws, then she just stood aside, watching him nailing down every single one of those holes.

“I need to visit ma.” She uttered.

“Oh? You planning to take out the rest of your yearly vacation leave already?” He said, “You know there is still Christmas.”

“I don’t need to take out anything.”

Just as he finished cutting the corner of the birdhouse floor, he realized. “Oh my lord…” He moaned, then he drank all the remaining Bourbon in the glass in one gulp, “What have they done? How could they…”

“I need to visit ma.” She interrupted him, calmly, “Would you be so kind and drive me to the airport this Sunday?”

“Sure, when are you gonna be back?”

She handed him a bunch of finishing nails, “Nail them.”

He did. Then he just stood there, looking at her. She remained unmoved, stared back at him with a gaze just as bleak as ever. “Are you serious?” He asked.

She handed him the last bit of nails.

“You are for real. Are you just gonna leave all these behinds?”

“Like what? What will I be leaving behind, Hilbert.” She raised her voice ever so slightly, and the tone of anger would not go unnoticed.

He still seemed determined to convince her, but after a ponder or two, he stayed silent. He couldn’t even come up with an excuse. The sheer incompetence of it bemused her.

There was no proper answer besides silence, so he nailed down the floorboard with the rest of the nails.

“Would you hand me the roof?”

She did. He put the roof to the side with some more deck screws.

The birdhouse was finished. They stepped back a little, observing their work.

“Well, you would at least be leaving something behind now.” He said, tittered.

She found that humorous. She truly did, but she didn’t laugh, not even a chuckle.

On their way out, Hilbert invited her to dinner, and a play. It was the play he was supposed to do a review on, and it would be performed in the local theatre on Thursday night. He said he got two tickets from the press, but he had no one to go with, so he was thinking of selling that ticket to earn some extra cash. Now that she was leaving, he wanted this to be to their farewell event. As she was imaging burning the theatre down, she accepted the offer.

The play’s name was John.

* * *

She walked out of the theatre with a face of complete shock. It was a mind contorting catharsis. She felt sick, so she bent down and tried to puke out whatever the dirt and smut that was in her, but she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday, so she gagged on dirty airs, and choked on her own cold dark pride. Now she felt better, and her eyesight was now expanded for at least thirty degrees more than normal. Limbs felt duplicated, like many copies of them were behind each and every single move she made, shadowing her actual limbs with poor imitations. The play resonated. She could feel the play, and the storyline was giving her romantic kisses on her cheek along with the winter wind like she was being loved in the most intimate way that was possible. Making love. The play had made love with her.

She stood straight. The street was clean, people were walking out of the theatre, discussing the masterpiece they just saw.

Hilbert was standing next to her.

“Wow.” He said, seemed to be dazed by what he just saw.

“Indeed.” She answered. “I felt kinda sick.”

“Oh… I am so sorry.”

“In a good way.”

“Oh. It’s… alright.”

It's not alright, it’s great! She screamed in her heart.

“You need to head home then if you are feeling sick.”

“I will. Thanks for the play and dinner.”

“You are welcome. You have a way back right?”

“Yeah… buses.”

“I will see you around…”

She lolloped along the street for a bit, then she called a cap. Dragging herself onto the car became a harsh and relentless mission, but she did succeed at it. The taxi driver was this benign old man, with a green cap and a grey sweater on. He asked her if she was alright because she looked pale and sick. His face was furrowed beyond belief, but his voice was so mellow and chummy, and his expression so elder and kind. Befuddled by the nice old man, she told him the destination and closed her eyes shut pretending to be asleep. When the taxi got to her house, and as her feet were stepping out of her car, the driver gave her his blessing by telling her to have a good one, even though it was already two in the morning.

She got home, poured herself a glass of whiskey, and laid down her bed staring right at the ceiling. The alcohol ran through her throat like a double-decker bus operated by an inebriated Scottish man, and they burnt. She felt enlightened. The play she just saw sang songs within her head, and her mind became its backup singer. She had never felt so understood, no one had ever given her this feeling of absolute empathy, like the one who wrote this play actually knew her personally and knew her entire life up until this point. She gave a standing ovation when the curtain was drawn, and even now when she was already on her bed in her own soon to be former house, she still wanted to give the play another standing ovation. The script of the play had literally zero paid off, but the sense of loss and bloatedness and purposelessness and loneliness of life it had provided literally synchronized with her most inner emotions, like two magnets left near each other would just crash into each other with full forces, or two teens in their nonage with their unhinged hormones sucking each other’s face off in their embrace, or that one meteoroid leaped into earth during the extinction of dinosaurs.

She was drunk. She knew that, because she could see her own pallid volitant soul gyrated to the ceiling, ululating the sound of liberation. It flew all over the place, every corner of the room, and even tripped over the glass which still had some remaining whiskey in it. Elated by its presence, she cackled, then burst out in braying laughter. She would continue to lay on her bed, downing glasses after glasses of whiskey, and laugh and cry herself into sleep. She would do that because, for the first time of her life, she felt understood.

* * *

April looked just as beautiful as ever, with all the makeup and ludicrously expensive headgears. She was so young, and the blossoming youth could be seen from her ample bosom and ripe torso. She still got such a bright future ahead of her. She thought, so she walked up to the front desk. April saw her walking towards her, and gave her a giant PR smile. She smiled back, and thanked her for all the help she offered all these years.

As she cleaned out all of her belongings and cleared out her cubicle, sentimentality flooded her mind. She would miss this job, no matter how bad it may be from time to time, maybe she would miss this city as well. This job, this press house, was the epitome of a good chunk of her life, pleasant or not. Life was just too floaty and vacuous for one to insist it to be something enjoyable. All the bitterness she had gone through in this less than six feet square cubicle, now only amounts to a faint, lingering sweetness aloft her tongue. She smiled at the past, put the last of her possession, a Japanese peace Lily, into the cardboard box.

She was about to turn off the computer, and leave this house for one last time, but then she decided to read the newest draft of their newspaper, to see her final contribution to this press house. The last of her presence in this place that represented so much for her.

There was her work. The report about a slump near this area, written by that well-respected senior, edited by her.

Then she scrolled down a bit. Another article emerged.

The Cynical Banality -- A Critique of John

by Hilbert Johnson  

The latest trend among the circle of artsy, pretentious writers had slipped further into the depth of inanity it seems. The newest sensation, John, by Annie Baker, was truly the greatest piece of theatre work I have ever seen, due to how revealing it is, that through simply watching the play we can truly and intimately feel the cynicism of those writers and how little respect they held for both writing and the art form of theatre.   

The play followed a vacation of a damaged couple, and through piles amongst piles of useless dialogues and set up, we got to an ending that is so shocking, the only proper emotional response I can contribute is a simple sigh and a “meh” if I was having a good day. This is probably the most time-wasting theatre experience I have ever been through, and with my whole heart and with all my respect to anything holy above, I mustered all of my strength just to not walk out in the mid-act, and after the play had ended, I wish I could scorn myself for holding up the integrity of being an audience, because clearly, the creator of the thing has no intention of holding up anything.

Anton Chekhov’s principle of firing a gun in the third act if the gun was presented in the first act, had been defenestrated in the most violent way that is possible. The number of guns this play had thrown out was truly mind-boggling, and of course, none of them even made a spark by the end of the play, let alone firing any of it. The amount of subverted expectations become mere statistical numbers by the second act, and none of them can induce any emotional response besides simple ennui. Set up led to nothing, and half of the stuff the script had offered was useless beyond belief. The story threw out countless dots to encourage the readers to connect them by themselves, but by the end none of them had any pay-off and audiences and readers just left wondering why they wasted their time with it. It was like if there is this breadcrumbs trail in the forest, it is interesting so you follow it, and the trails just lead you to more forest, and more forest, and finally the end of the trail is just more forest and nothing else. It is an infuriating experience. 

Besides the problem of having no paid off, the story was also clogged with useless assets that have no use whatsoever. To demonstrate the point, there is this entire scene in the play dedicated to a reading of the work from HP Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu, with no particular reasons and contributed nothing to the story. Why Lovecraft? Why not Edgar Allen Poe? Why The Call of Cthulhu, why not The Shunned House? No one would know the answer to those questions, because it doesn’t matter. It is like the writer just put some useless trash in between the actual story, just so it is different than the “normal” and “mundane” stories of the others. The play felt wider than an ocean but shallower than a piss creak, but somehow those high tier critiques now consider that quality of one that is a compliment. Maybe I am too stupid to realize the symbolism these informations, but isn’t it equally problematic when your play had nothing but symbolism?

Which leads me here. Not only the content I must criticize, but I also need to criticize the mentality of it as well. Critics say the play had perfectly captured the nature of human life, and the loneliness it had offered, praised it to be one of the best plays that year had to offer. How the play subverted the expectations of the audiences, bringing them to an emotional rollercoaster. How the play successfully captured human’s inner nihilism.

If such a story and writing concept were executed in a short story, I would not even have said a thing. But to put it in such a drag out script, was truly an insult. The play felt like it was written to subvert the audience’s expectation, for the sake of subverting the audience's expectation. It was breaking the golden rules of storytelling, for the sake of breaking the gold rules of storytelling. It was being special, for the sake of being special. It has this immunity of criticism since whenever anyone points out the flaws within the story of the storytelling techniques, it could be brushed under the rug by simply saying it was the intention of the script so it could mimic the meaninglessness of real life. It failed at every level of providing a joyful or anything remotely close to an enjoyable experience for the audience, then turned its head and said it was doing so intentionally. It felt like a work created by the most high-end writer, just so he or she could break more new ground and receive more praise from all of her also high-end colleagues, the top five percent of the population. But this play was also genius enough to pander to the bottom five percent of the population, by presenting nihilism as its topmost quality. According to anecdote, when the play premiered at Paris, viewed by normal theatre-goers, all of them walked out in protest, but when the play was put on the San Francisco Prison, all of the prisoners gave it a stand-up ovation for how close and real the play had represented life itself.

How benevolent of an idea. In that case, whenever criticisms was brought up, this anecdote would just be the last nail of the coffin for the critique. Who you would want to side with, the poor and oppressed prisoners from San Francisco, or the smug, overprivileged theatre-goers from Paris? Case closed.

Truly cynical. To make a play so intentionally abhorrent for any normal viewer, and so pandering to those who are the most vulnerable along with those who are on the very top. It is truly disgusting to see the current mentality of creating art had regressed to a point where a Pulitzer Award-winning writer would write something like this, just to poke and enrage the normal viewers, then slap them across the face and scorn them for not understanding true hardship of human life, and being a privileged arse.

Art is based on real life, and above it. Imitating real life with art in this fashion, truly could only be described as pathetic. 

If I am being as cynical as the writer, I would answer the previously asked question like this:

Who actually, wholeheartedly, wants to side, or go along with the prisoners in San Francisco, rather than those so-called fancy theatre attendees from Paris. Sure, everyone would say they would go for the prisoners, and condemn how privileged those theatre-goers are, but are we honest to ourselves? Between the Id, ego, and superego, which part of us is speaking when we said we would side with the prisoners?

I don’t want to be so cynical, I truly don’t. But when faced with a play created for the top five percent and the bottom five percent of the population and no one else, created to break all the established rules for the sake of breaking established rules instead of breaking traditions because it would help the storytelling or the style of the work, created not to express a message to or provide any entertainment to the public but rather to scorn and educate them for being one of the mundane, created to be as artsy as possible and as high end as possible, I don’t really know the way to keep my cynicism in check. I am just a mundane guy, who went to a theatre expecting something, anything that is not a cynical piece of esoteric mock, and before I can do anything about it, my money and my time were wasted into the thin air in return of absolutely nothing.

I still haven’t mentioned how western-centric this play is, how any other culture that values practicalism and collectivism instead of romanticism and individualism of the westerners would despise this play with their most core value, and how racially insensitive it is for it to be exclusively enjoyed and judged by western audiences, but I have had enough. If I keep talking about this thing, the seed of migraine in my head will be out of control.  

This is true cynicism.

It has some terrific writing techniques, and the restraint and subtlety of the writing were all beautiful, but it can’t amount to all the other issues I have with the script, not even close.

I gave it a strong two to a light three, out of ten.

John, by Annie Baker, 3/10

By Hilbert Johnson

  * * *

Look at this fat bastard. Oily and greasy, how in all the bloody but holy hell can he get a job? She thought to herself, as the waiter standing in front of her was waiting for her to order something. What a waste of resources. Truly morality had got itself into some sort of unremitting horror, just so this creature can serve in an overpriced airport cafe.

“Nothing. Thanks.” She said.

“What you two want for drinks then?” The waiter asked, clearly empty-minded at this moment.  

“Uh I would want some sweet tea, and for the lady here, a cup of hot coffee, lots…”

“Black.”

Hilbert paused for a second. “Make it black then.”

The waiter walked off, and a cup of sweet tea and coffee were put on the table.

“So that’s it.” Hilbert said, taking a sip of the sweet tea, “No way to convince you.”

“You do not have to. Nor is there a necessity for you to do so.” She said, took a sip of the coffee.

Bitter.

“How about the apartment? You just clear your debt for it.”

“Sell it. Or rent it. You don’t have to worry.”

“You sure you don’t want to eat anything before you got on the plane?”

“No. I am fine. You can get something to eat if you want.”

“No.”

“Then we can just have a drink can’t we?”

Pause. Silence. Just the noise of her sipping her coffee.

“I want to apologize.” He finally spoke.

“Not necessary.” She then followed it up with: “For what?”

“I am so sorry about that play that night. It was truly not my intention… I don’t know better.”

“It was a pleasant night.”

“It was truly awful to waste our time like that. I don’t know what the play was about. I should’ve done some more research on it before inviting you…”

“I am actually kind of hungry.” She suddenly uttered. She waved for the waiter, this time the waiter was no longer fat and ugly, but still possessed the same uninvested attitude and disgusting demeanor for a waiter to have. “May I have a slice of the cheesecake, the plain one.”

“Yea, and what the good sir wants?”

“Huh… refill my tea.”

The cheesecake tasted like anesthetic, and it was also bitter.

“I just want you to know, I did not intend for the play to be that... indescribable.”

“It is alright.” She said, finishing the cheesecake with her fork.

“So uh… this will probably be the last time we have a meal together, in a very long time.”

“You want some cheesecake as well?”

“No… thanks.”

“The play was very good.”

“You really don’t have to say that… I felt guilty enough as it is…”

“My plane is almost here.”

“I will walk you to the…”

“You still have work, Hilbert. Thanks for all these years.”

“For sure.”

“Take care.”

“Yea.”

She left, leaving him alone, sitting in the airport cafe.

The cup of black coffee she ordered was not finished.

* * *

The old man laying on the bed looking unfamiliar and strange, elder as well, like some kind of eldritch monster. The bed was made with a clean white sheet, and the flowers next to the bed were all withered and shriveled. The Filipino nurse came in and took those flowers out of the vase, and replaced it with fresh white lilies. That corner of the room looked so clean compared to the rest like it was just created out of thin air minutes ago, like no one had ever walked into that corner of the room ever before. She walked around the room, confused, walked back to the front desk. The receptionist there looked like even more of a whore than April, which was quite an achievement considering the environment they were now in was not the most casual place for one to be working in, she was expecting some kind of professionalism at the very least. The nurse pushed her away because she was blocking the hallway, she stepped back a little, asked the receptionist, who was also a nurse.

The receptionist spent forever going through her computer, then she pulled out a bunch of paperwork and asked her to sign.

She was confused, she asked her the question again. The nurse stared back at her with the most intense gaze like she had just accused her of murder.

Murder.

Like an unclogged sink, she now realized why.

* * *

Rustling leaves and moaning sky, darkening the land with argentine clouds, screaming winds and blinding rainstorm. Somehow the moving company was still working even under such harsh conditions. Laborers and workers carried out those old familiar pieces of furniture and threw them onto the truck with the most apathetic attitude one could have ever have, but who could blame them, not a single person would be glad to work amidst an incoming storm, but uncultured man do uncultured job, who could blame anyone for it? She walked past those people, walked directly into the house. One of the workers stopped her, said the house was under construction and unrelated personnel should stay away, she said I am more related to this house than I would ever want to admit to myself and the police would be on their way if you keep blocking my way. The worker, of course, stepped back.

He was sitting on one of the wooden antique chairs of theirs, in the middle of a practically empty living room, seemed like the movers were doing their job quite efficiently. He was reading a book. Atlas shrugged. What a surprise. Men love it. They goddamn love it. Hilbert once read that book as well, and he wouldn’t shut up about it for the next three months. Truly one has to treat themselves with godhood to think of themselves worthy of the position of Atlas where he could have just shrugged away all of his weight. She had never read the book.

He rose his head and saw her standing at the door, with a black bedraggled umbrella on her hand.

“Holy moly! Why are you here?”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“When are you back? You should have told me about it.”  

“Why did you not tell me?”

“Why would you be here anyway? I really didn’t expect you to come.”

“Answer me.”

“You want some tea?”

“John.” She was gnashing. “Answer me.”

“There is still some coffee lying around.”

A short silence.

“A cup of coffee would be nice.”

“I don’t have much sugar though, and I think those creams have certainly expired…”

“Black.”

There were two wooden antique chairs in the living room now, and a small wooden teapoy between the two. A cup of coffee and a cup of sweet tea were placed on the teapoy, along with the book Atlas shrugged.

“When was ma gone?”

“Two weeks ago.” He took a sip of the tea. “Ah… perfect for a rainy day like this. A cup of hot sweet tea.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“Do you know ma was extremely proud of us?”

She didn’t answer.

“Of course you don’t. Why would you? She kept telling me not to bother you. She didn’t want to bother you. She said to me, don’t bother her because her job working for that international trading company must be straining.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“She said not to bother you.”

“What?” Truly enraged, she was progressively getting angrier as the conversation continued, “You didn’t tell me ma is gone, because she told you not to bother me?”

“Well, she didn’t want to bother you! You have a busy job.”

“So you didn’t tell me my mom is dead!? When exactly did she die again?”

“Uh… the funeral was this Monday…”

“Funeral? What funeral?”

“Funeral for ma. Everyone was there…”

“And you didn’t tell me my ma is dead! And you didn’t tell me about the funeral?”

“She said not to bother you… I listened to her.”

“What are you, mad?” She stood up in rage. “You didn’t tell me my mom is goddamn dead because she told you not to bother me?”

“Yes exactly!” He was vexed as well, for some reason, he was clearly in the wrong here so god knows what could possibly be fueling his fury. “Exactly, I didn’t tell you ma is dead because she told me not to! And by god! It took some amount of repetition to get this across that thick goddamn skull of yours!”

“We met on Tuesdays! We talked in the press house! And even then you still lied right to my face!”

“I didn’t lie to you. She told me not to bother…”

“You lied to me! You sultry little squid piss lied! You told me…”

“I DIDN’T LIE TO YOU! SHE WAS FEELING BETTER! SHE IN ALL HELL GODDAMN WAS!”

The scream was ugly, intense, and truly horrifying. Every other screams before this one shivered in its presence.

“I couldn’t drink tea no more.” He sat back down. “They all tasted bitter.”

“Me neither. I couldn’t drink coffee, because sugar and cream just make it more bitter…” She sat back down also.

Silence. The storm outside bellowed.

“I enjoyed some theatre art recently.” He suddenly voiced. “Have you heard of a play called ‘John’?”

Just when she was about to answer, a mover walked in.

“Sir, the furniture is all loaded on the truck now.”

“Sure, have a break, wait till the storm blows over.”

The worker gave her a gaze, then walked out of the house.

What a fat piece of trash. She thought.

The End 

#short story #literature #theatre #play script

[tornrose24]

Storytime and nightmares (Red Diamond AAU Drabble)

The original Gem AU, Red Zircon!George and Yellow Sapphire!Harold and Orange Peridot!Melvin belong to AngryDJ. Check their stuff out to support them.

Featured cameos include Bo and Gooch.

Alexandra belongs to me.

The small family of gems was growing. Harold and George reunited with a Bismuth from their Rebellion days and Alexandra found an abandoned Tourmaline. Finally Peridot had been won over to their side and had taken on the name Melvin (that he chose for himself, even if Harold and George found it dorky).

Yet Alexandra couldn’t help but remember when they faced off against Jasper. How the bully allowed himself to be corrupted while his three hench-gems escaped. His chilling final words to her:

“You shattered my Diamond! Your Diamond! Red Diamond!”

She knew there was more than one Diamond, but she never heard of Red Diamond until then.

“Who is Red Diamond?” She asked George and Harold one day.

“‘Who is Red Diamond?’” Melvin gapped. “You never told her about Red Diamond?” He demanded as Bismuth visibly shuddered. “She’s friends with Red Quartz’s most trusted warriors and she doesn’t know who Red Diamond is?”

“We were going to.” George admitted.

“Just not yet.” Harold added. “How did you know about him?”

“Jasper said Dad shattered him.” Alexandra told them. “He said Red Diamond was his diamond and not Yellow’s.”

Moments later, the group gathered around as George lead the story.

“As you know, Red Quartz and the Rebellion was fighting to protect the earth.” He began. “Each of the diamonds conquered several planets and ruled over them with an iron fist. Red Diamond.... well, he was known for being the worst diamond ever.”

“Worst?” Alexandra asked.

“Impulsive, immature, and idiotic.” Melvin told her.

“Red was looked down upon by the other diamonds for not being as patient or smart and many gems hated him.” George continued. “When he finally got a planet like he wanted, he was very strict and wouldn’t let us do fun things. We had to do everything his way and work all day whether we liked it or not. He even forbade laughter and smiling. Like other gems, he didn’t care what he was doing to the planet.” “But Red Quartz did.” Harold added. “He worked like the others until he saw beauty and promise where Red Diamond did not. He was shown many wonderful things and he understood what was going to be lost. We saw it too and together we three tried to bring awareness to how great Earth could be.”

“We were there when Quartz tried to convince Red Diamond that what he was doing was wrong.” George closed his eyes and remembered the details–remembered how passionate Quartz was in his speech as the other gems watched on. “Diamond had heard word that Quartz was acting out and trying to halt the colonization. Quartz pleaded, but Diamond laughed.” Then George recited the words “’Me?! Give up the colonization of my first planet because you value the lifeforms of this planet for your own?! After all that I’ve done to ensure that I could finally have my own planet! Don’t make me laugh! Get back to work and stop this nonsense, or I’ll shatter you, bub!”

“Quartz was dragged away and expected to do as he said, but he didn’t go back to work.” Harold recalled the hurt Red Quartz felt as well as his determination later. “He gathered others who saw the world like him–outcasts, dreamers, and rebels and pranksters like me and George. We all fought back–we wanted earth to be left alone, but we wanted to live there too. Quartz wanted us to get to live there too–to have a place where we were free to be ourselves and not have to hide. And so we fought back and ruined the perfect system Red Diamond set up.”

“Red Diamond hated it.” George continued. “He fought back at first, but when it got too much, he’d start whining like a coward for the other diamonds to help, but they barely moved a finger for him. Red Quartz also gained help as well and unlike the diamonds, they actually did whatever they could. However Red Diamond’s forces grew too strong and Quartz had to do something very drastic. He personally confronted Red Diamond and in the moment that the tyrant was caught off guard, Quartz shattered him with a fist to the gem.”

“Wow,” Alexandra was speechless. She frowned. “But wait, that should of meant earth was free for good right?”

“Not quite.” George frowned. “Something... unexpected happened. Not even Harold or the other Sapphires saw it coming.” “The diamonds apparently didn’t take Red Diamond’s shattering well.” Harold admitted. “So they attacked right back. They used their combined powers to end the Rebellion for good. Your dad was able to protect me and George, but the others...”

“Were either corrupted or worse.” Bismuth frowned. Tourmaline gave him a sympathetic frown and hugged him.

“Maybe if Red Diamond just left earth alone, then things wouldn’t have been so bad for everyone.” Alexandra thought. “Did it even occur to him that there were other planets?”

“Hah, he was known for being stubborn and he’d never give up so easily!” Melvin snapped.

“Also, he was really mean.” Bismuth remembered. “Like, he’d personally enjoy punishing anyone who stepped out of line or went against him.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t sound like he was that great to begin with.” Alexandra decided. “Maybe it was better that Dad shattered him.”

She didn’t notice the uncomfortable glances George and Harold shared.

When Alexandra went home to her mother and the others went to get some rest, the zircon and sapphire went out and stared at the night sky.

“I remember that first time Quartz met him face to face.” Harold thought back. “That was your best performance. I swore that it really was him and not you on that throne for a second.”

“The encore wasn’t so pretty though.” George winced before he sighed. “Alexandra still doesn’t know yet.”

“And we were told to wait until she was old enough to accept the truth. I can’t believe Edith was able to keep it a secret for so long.” Harold let out a pained sigh. “At least Alexandra doesn’t know how painful it is to miss someone. Not just him, but...”

George gave his best friend a gentle hug. “Hey, we’ll find Pink Sapphire someday.” He reassured him. “Your sister is still out there.”

****

Later that night, Alexandra couldn’t help but have a strange dream.

In it, she was trying to talk to Harold, but the boy gem was in his adult form and dressed like Yellow Diamond for some strange reason. He was sending out commands and coordinates onto a screen and for some reason Alexandra was speaking with words that didn’t feel like her own.

“What do you mean ‘too soon for me to do this too?!’” She growled at the tower sized gem. “I should be doing this right now! Instead I’m being forced to do work around Homeworld while you get to conquer planets that you get to keep for yourself! Soon there won’t be any for me to have!”

“I’m not in the mood for this.” Not!Harold sighed.

“It’s not fair! You and Blue get planets but not me?!” She snapped and punched a nearby cabinet the size of a building. She used a force similar to her own super strength, yet it also went flying into a nearby wall where it stuck half-way out and stayed that way. “I want my own planet! I want my own colony! I want my own army! I deserve it! I’m just as important as you!”

“Then why don’t you act like it, Red?!” Not!Harold growled back as he made a disgusted face that the real Harold would never make. “Stop behaving like a bratty child, have patience, and take things seriously for once in your life! If you keep this up, any colony under you is bound to fail!”

Alexandra scowled as she walked away from Not!Harold. She waited until he was out of sight and began to tighten her hand into a fist. She looked up to see a mirror, but the reflection was not her own. Instead it was an overweight man with skin the color of fire engine red, with a spider like mop of what seemed to be black hair with touches of red in it. He wore something like a cross between armor and a shirt and tie which met the tip of a red diamond on his navel. His face was in shadow so she couldn’t properly see his features.

In a burst of anger, both she and Red Diamond’s fists crashed together and the mirror shattered. His face was still in shadows but she could see the shark like teeth bared at her, scowl lines, and bags under eyes that reflected equal rage back at her for one split second.

Alexandra snapped awake in her bedroom and her heart began to race. The eight year old got up and hurried around the toys and the old video game systems George and Harold gifted to her before stopping in front of the full length mirror by her dresser.

Her reflection wasn’t that of Red Diamond’s. She could she herself–a miniature version of her own mother with messy hair and pink jammies with strawberries on them. She pulled up her shirt and the quartz was still where it normally was where her belly button should have been.

She sighed in relief. If that was what Red Diamond was like–if he truly was a horrible monster–then she was glad that she never met him or that he never got to keep earth after all. Yet she couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something oddly familiar about him.

She turned to the picture on her dresser–her mother was in her early twenties and bundled up for winter. Red Quartz was beside her with an arm around her–apparently he had been made to wear a jacket with a hood flipped over his head. His pink skin tone was light enough that (unlike George and Harold) he almost passed for a regular human. They were both smiling for the camera.

“I wish you were here to tell me what to do about this, Dad.” She whispered.

#captain underpants #cu gem au #red diamond aau #drabble

[seven-oomen]

Hi, Ben!  I hope your day is going well so far!  Are you still getting snow, or has the storm calmed a bit?  We’re supposed to be getting a potentially severe ice storm over the course of today.  There’s already a thin layer this morning, we’ll see how the rest of the day goes.  And temperatures are supposed to stay in about the -4 to -6C range the rest of the week.  I’m very glad that I’m off the next couple of days, and managed to get by the grocery last night after work.

I saw your post about writing and writing styles!  It was helpful because I’ve not really seen the different styles written out and explained before.  I’m still not 100% which I am, but probably either an intuitive plotter or a methodological pantser.  Usually there’s a scene or a line or two that I’m like “this needs to happen in this story” and everything else is fairly free-form.  I did try actually writing down an outline for IYWTD, but even then it’s more a list of beats/tropes and the order I want to include them in.  (And I’ve only just made it past halfway through, although a couple may need to be altered a bit, oh god, how did this get so long…)

It’s also always kinda of amusing to me how many of those writing advice lists are like “Don’t do this”, “Stop doing this”, “Never do that”, and then they’ll encourage you to find your own voice and style.  Like, bitch, you just told me not to ever do half the shit that makes up my style.  Which am I supposed to do?  Damn.  XD  (You will seriously pry adverbs and similar descriptors from my cold, dead, grasping hands.  Also the occasional epithet.  No, I’m not using a character’s name nine times in one paragraph, sorry, and pronouns don’t always help if the characters are the same gender.  The reader can deal. ;D )

And I feel ya on the tall, skinny, blue-eyed boys thing.  It doesn’t have to be just a white boy, but if he’s taller than me, slender, and has a pretty pair of baby blues, my higher brain functions tend to go into insta-lag.  I ain’t particularly proud, but I’ve long accepted this about myself (there are many reasons Luke became my forever BAE.)  That’s not to say a lack of any of those is a deal-breaker in the slightest, but it’s definitely going to immediately get my attention.

Speaking (vaguely) of Luke, I had a thought the other day of him and Din being off on some planet together (Grogu is staying with Aunt Leia and Uncle Han for a few days), and there’s a noise in the middle of the night, and Din refuses to accept Luke’s assurance that there’s nothing out there, and in true himbo fashion insists on going out to investigate having grabbed only the darksaber and his helmet to cover his face -but nothing else.  Luke just finds it a combo of hysterical and adorable (and kinda hot.)

I hope your novel is going well (whatever stage you happen to be at), and I’m always up for hearing whatever you feel like sharing about it.

I hope you’re still doing well with the whole eating and hydrating regularly thing (it’s also totally okay if you aren’t!), and I’m super proud of you for sticking to it as much as you can anyway.  That shit is hard.  (Also, ignore the 1500 calories thing, I swear that shit is designed for 130lb women trying to shed a few pounds, not people who need to safely and steadily lose larger amounts of weight.  But then I’ve also never fully understood making someone lose weight before surgery, either.  “We need you to get rid of some excess weight before we’ll okay this surgery to *checks notes* get rid of some excess weight."  Like, weird flex, but okay.)

Anyway, I’m rambling again, and should really eat some breakfast and try to write a little myself today, maybe.  Hope you’re feeling okay, and that things are going well overall.  I hope Mo is doing well, and enjoying his best cuddle buddy life.  Take care!  *Hugs!*

Okay, gonna try this this way so that I can refer back to the links on my phone if need be.  I couldn’t quite see the full entries for the physical descriptions, and when I tried clicking on them it kept asking for a login, but I think I saw enough to get the gist.  I’m not sure exactly what sort of feedback you’re interested in, if any, so this will mainly be my usual sort of rambling stream-of-consciousness type thoughts and questions.  Hope that’s okay.  Feel free to ignore if it’s not what you’re after right now!  :D

I think one of the first questions that popped to mind was where is/what happened to Ellie’s mom, and is that something that’s going to cause problems later in some way?  (I.e.- was she killed on a hunt, are they divorced, was it bitter or amicable [would she come after her daughter if she heard about his relationship?])  I guess technically similar questions could also apply to Nate (late husband, ex-husband, ex-boyfriend, one night stand, sperm donor?) it was just more noticeable with Ellie being so young still.  Although that could also be part of why he’s ended up in Wyoming, which was another question I had, although there I assume it’s hunt-related.

I also anticipate quite a bit of tension of all kinds when he and Nate first meet, because Faron strikes me from his descriptions as someone rather used to being able to get his own way either through the influence of who he is, or through his size (not necessarily in any kind of intentional or aggressive way, more in an unconscious privilege kind of way, if that makes sense?), and I don’t think Nate sounds like the type to give two shits about either of those things, and it would probably drive Faron up the proverbial wall that Nate isn’t intimidated by him in the slightest.  (I could be entirely wrong about all this, this is just the impression I get so far. :D )  And I think Nate being noticeably older than him would just make it that much more irritating at first, too.  Now, how long these impressions last will just depend on how quickly they get to know each other, and whether Bachelor #3 is helping or hindering things.  XD  The potential for just sitting back and watching the fireworks as “laid-back dad jokes with a quick temper” clashes with “quiet, reserved, and possibly takes themselves slightly too seriously” might prove too much for our last contestant for a while, depending on where his personality falls.  ;D  (Especially since Faron coming in and starting shit will likely come off as a direct threat to people and places Nate considers under his protection.)

Also, are any of these three going to have met before?  Will Nate already have some sort of relationship with the werewolf (Does he already know about the supernatural at all?)  Did he and Faron encounter each other on the trip to Europe you mentioned in the Life Highlights?  If he and the wolf already know each other, how does he get along with Cas, or Nate’s pets?  Is the werewolf also going to be native to the region?  Does he know anything about Faron’s family?  Does Faron already know he’s a werewolf, or is that going to be a bit of a crisis for him later?  A test of how well he’s learned not to judge?  If Nate doesn’t already know, how will he deal with both their secrets?  Do you plan for full-shift only wolves, partial-shift only wolves, or a mix of the two like TW?  Are there other supes in the area?

I think you mentioned maybe having him be of Native American descent?  I think that could be very interesting, but would require a LOT of research into which tribes are active in the Yellowstone area, and what their individual mythologies say about things like shapeshifters, and LGTBQ+ issues, etc., because there can be a fair amount of variance, I’m sure.  Also, I’m just overall curious how he’ll fit in with the other two size wise (get your mind out of the gutter, you know what I mean.  XD )  Also curious if any o them are going to have the slightest clue on the feelings front, or are they all going to be just absolute disasters?  Will the kids figure it out before they do?  Will the kids get along?  (Will BachelorWolf have any kids of his own, or just Nate and Faron?)  Will Nate’s coworkers have any clue about either the supernatural, or what’s going on with those three?  Because I suspect at least some of them will be way more obvious than they think they’re being.  XD

Uh… I think that was all that’s occured to me right now?…  I’m sorry you’re having a yucky day overall, and I hope tomorrow’s a bit better!  The ice storm has finally moved in here, and I can feel the temperature drop radiating off of the front door and windows.  It went from rain to freezing rain/hail and I’m not sure how long it’s supposed to last.  Hopefully only a little while.  Also, sorry your book was terrible.  I haven’t seen too many recent recommendations from friends, and I’ve been mostly reading “cozy” mysteries (Agatha Christie, Elizabeth Peters, etc) as my comfort reading myself, lately, so I can’t really suggest anything in particular, unfortunately.  At least, nothing I think you wouldn’t already know.  Anyway, hope you’re getting some decent rest, and hope you have a better day tomorrow!  Take care!  *Hugs!*

Alright since this is going to be like a very long one, I’m break it down into a few things.

First full physical descriptions, cause I didn’t know Milanote would be a bitch about it.

Nate:

164 cm (5'4), 75 kg (166 lbs), Short slightly overweight trans man in his middle age. Nearly always the shortest man in the room, only standing around 5'4 and weighing in around 166 lbs. With kind moss green eyes that have permanent crow's feet in their corners and a polite but reserved smile always on his face. 

A face that's framed by faint freckles that are only visible in the sunlight. A neatly trimmed beard spices up his features and frames his pink lips. His thick but short eyebrows frame his eyes and create a short arc to his slim nose. 

A high forehead separates his brows from his wavy dark blond hair that's always tucked behind his ears. 

He generally wears the Superintendents' Park Ranger uniform while on duty. When he's not he wears comfortable jeans and t-shirts, usually a mono color like green, white, or black, plaid flannel shirts, socks with the weirdest patterns and colors, and hiking boots. He wears a steel ring on his right index finger and has a little steel Mjolnir on a necklace around his neck.

He's missing two fingers (his ring and little finger) on his left hand due to a childhood accident.

Faron:

185 cm (6'1 ft), 93 kg (205 lbs), Faron is a tall man with plenty of muscle from his time hunting. He can seem daunting and intimidating when you first meet him but there is a kinder, softer side to him. He has a warm light brown skin color, blue eyes, and black natural tight curly hair that he keeps very short. His full dark beard decorates his cheeks and chin, connects to his upper lip, and all the way up to his sideburns.

  He tends to wear dark clothing, leather jackets, no jewelry that could identify him, jeans, henley shirts, or V-neck shirts, and black, brown, or red jackets. He usually wears black combat boots or dark brown hiking boots. He's got knives and other weapons hidden all over his body and pockets and it might take him a good few minutes to unload every single knife from his body when he was to disarm.

There are also scars all over his body, including some scars on his neck that are visible from day to day life. He had the bad luck of being struck down by a vicious Wendigo but managed to escape. He survived thanks to his sister's quick thinking and first aid.

He covers some of those scars up with tattoos; he has one tattoo of a dragon laying down on his shoulder, with its head on his chest and its body curling over his shoulder and ending just below his shoulder blades. And one tattoo covers up some scars on his lower arm, it's a tattoo of a wolf's head that covers up a bite mark.

Dichali:

He’s 37 and has 4 siblings, and two children, Kajika & Kaniya (Jika & Niya, identical twins, but one of them identifies as male, he’s trans. Kajika is his chosen/reassigned name. They are 10.) Dichali grew up in Riverton, WY, which is the largest town of 10,000 in the largest Native Reservation in Wyoming. He’s also a dear friend to our Nate (who is also his boss technically) and has slowly been falling in love with him for the last few years. (Although he still hasn’t realized that he loves his friend.) 

Yena, his coworker and friend, who’s much younger at 25 has been watching her coworker and her boss joke and dance around each other. She has a betting pool with her girlfriend on who snaps first.

Not sure how I’ll connect him to Faron if it’s more fun/better to have him find out later or to already know him and keep it quiet. 

I’m still working on him, so I don’t have much of personality and other things written down yet. But I have made his physical description:

At 178 cm (5'8) and 83 kilos (182 lbs) Dichali probably isn't the tallest man you've met, he's also not the shortest. And while he's got some good muscle on him from working as a Park Ranger, and being a werewolf, he also has some softer sides. All the better to cuddle with. He has long straight brown hair that falls to his mid-back and deep brown eyes and a long nose that ends prominently. His eyebrows are thin and he has a high forehead. His skin is a light Tawny color, there's a hint of an orange brown with a cool undertone.

His skin is also relatively clear and youthful looking because of his lycanthropy.

He tends to wear pants and jackets made by native designers and always incorporates native fashion into his outfits. He has jackets of mostly gray, blue, brown, and black colors made of denim, cotton, wool, or brass that are lined with more traditional cloths and patterns like the designer brand Ginew. Usually he pairs them with dark jeans, either black, gray, or dark blue. He pairs it with white, blue, red, black, or printed band t-shirts (Metallica, Green Day, Marianas Trench). 

For shoes he has brown hiking boots that are part of the Ranger uniform, more western styled boots like black cowboy boots, and a pair of sneakers.He also wears a copper bracelet with lighting bolts etched into it.

-

Now this whole story got started because I had the question what if we had a DILF romance going on while/because the following happened?

What if a YouTube video that accidentally got uploaded shows the existence of a werewolf in Yellowstone park? Threatening to expose the entire supernatural world.

The werewolves right now are a mix, so half shift is like the classical half shift of a wolf head on a man’s body, but the full shift is more like a larger wolf. Almost the size of a black bear. Though I might change those ideas as the story progresses.

But that is how the Cryptid of Yellowstone is brought into the world. And that brings problems. Big problems.

Wendigos, vampires, djins, I plan to create a world where a lot of supernatural creates exist. From all sorts of cultures. I’m also toying with the idea of Kelpies and Griffins. That kind of stuff.

The supernatural world is hidden from ours, hidden in plain sight if you will. Most encounters are written off as really strange, sometimes a picture pops up, but with the coming of the internet, things have gotten more complicated. Also with deforestation and competition with regular wildlife has made some bigger supernatural creatures either extinct or thought to be extinct. They’re not sure what still lives in Australia, though.

Nate or his son don’t know about the supernatural world. Neither does Yena. Or much of the world. Dichali, his children (to some extent), Faron, and Faron’s family do know about this world.

-

Alright, as for your other post XD

Right now it’s no longer storming but due to the freezing temperatures the snow’s not going away and all public transport and delivery services are still not driving/delivering/running. So that’s neat. Not. 

I swear we get some snow and the country is just down. Upside, ain’t nobody going outside and this helps with lockdown.

I hope your snowstorm won’t be too bad and everything thaws down soon. Snow’s fun for a day but after that...

Make sure you stay warm alright? And bundle up.

Yes dad... alright XD

Honestly, I’m glad to hear you liked my advice too. I’m getting quite a bit of positive feedback on it and that just makes me really happy ^^. I’m definitely writing more writing advice from everything I’ve learned so far.

There’s honestly so many contradicting ones out there, it’s a matter of picking and choosing which ones work best for you and applying those. And that’s the real trick of advice.

Fun fact, a lot of famous writers are also pantsers. Steven King, Neil Gaiman, George RR Martin are examples of famous pantsers or gardeners as they are also called. 

John Grisham, JK Rowling, RL Stein fall into the plotter or architect category. 

Writers like Hank Green seem to fall in the in-between category of plantser (somewhere between a plotter and a pantser. Or the Intuitive plotter.)

Okay but the DinLuke things is really really kinda hot and cute and adorable and has me smiling <3

And I can’t remember what else I wanted to say since it is like 2 am and my meds are seriously kicking in now.

But I hope you’re doing alright and that the snowstorm isn’t too bad where you’re at.

I’ll be alright, my diet hasn’t been going so well the last few days and I can’t really exercise, but I did mostly get healthy groceries that will be delivered friday so there’s that. 

Fingers crossed I can pick it back up.

Okay I’m heading to bed XD 

I’ll talk to you later, B <3 

Hugs from me and Mo <3

#my ocs #please don't reblog #B #my convos with anon #ben writes original fiction #submission

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Pinky Promise: Two

Bucky was marginally certain he’d never, ever seen Clint as furious as he was right now. Sierra had been in school for two days and there had already been a phone call. She was in the office, there’d been a fight and they needed to come to get her. Bucky was a little terrified.

Clint had the same look on his face that he got when... well. Bucky had never seen this exact look. The raw seething fury that radiated out of every pore. And when he was his daughter, his little girl, sitting in a little plastic chair with dirt down the side of her face and her lip and both knees bleeding because no one had bothered to try and find the nurse to patch her up, or give her the knapsack Bucky knew had a tiny first aid kit in it that was gonna be more than enough to take care of it. In that moment, Bucky was seriously worried he might have to restrain Clint from throttling some hapless administrator.

The Archer didn’t stop to talk to the teacher who was starting some indignant sputtering, he knelt in front of his daughter and before he could even ask if she was okay, little arms were around his neck and clinging to him so tightly it was like she thought he was gonna disappear. Clint took a second and a deep breath. She wasn’t crying but, this wasn’t the defiance of a kid that had been fighting. This was a scared kid that had been ganged up on.

“What happened?” he asked the teacher in a dangerously calm voice, “And why is my child sitting in a chair bleeding?”

Bucky stood just a little behind Clint and two days of the teacher’s grievances surged out. Reading other things in class aside from what was assigned, finishing worksheets too fast and not showing her work, correcting the teacher when she thought the woman was wrong... and not one thing about why Sierra was bleeding.

Clint cut the woman off, “So, what you’re telling me is, my eight-year-old is smarter than you and to punish her for it, you let some little punks corner her somewhere. Then when she tried to get them off of her decided that counted as fighting back. So Oops, I guess we better let the only one fighting take the fall.”

She sputters for a second and Clint’s eyes narrow, “Something like this EVER happens again and I find my kid terrified and bleeding, and I will make sure each and every last adult involved is at the very least fired.” After that, he ignores the woman who was supposed to have been Sierra’s teacher and turns to the principal, “Who do I talk to about getting her into another class. With someone competent enough to deal with a smart eight-year-old.” The Principal had just come out of her office and looked around. She looked frankly shocked to find two avengers and one of her students, but Bless her, Bucky thought, she took it in stride.

“Can someone please, tell me what’s been happening while I’ve been on this conference call? And the nurse, wherever she is, please.” The woman, Olivia Cole, was tall and had warm brown eyes and a sleek pants suit despite being slightly overweight. A secretary sprung into action and Bucky saw the tension in Clint’s shoulders relax fractionally. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I don’t know who you are, but I’m assuming, this is one of my students. Let’s go to the office and talk. She can stay-”

“She’s coming with,” Clint said firmly, tightening his grip on her slightly.

“Clint,” Bucky said quietly, “I’ll stay with her. She doesn’t need to sit through a meeting about how much of a weirdo she is.” Sierra crinkles her nose at him and Bucky smiles a little, “We’ll just sit here and be weird together. Let you do the hard work.” He holds out his arms and Sierra lets Clint hand her over gently, trusting Bucky to be able to handle keeping her safe for a little while. He touches her hair softly and takes a deep breath before turning to walk into the office, still visibly seething.

When the Nurse finally arrived, Bucky sat to let the woman patch her up. Sierra didn’t cry. Not even a whimper. Not once. It scared him a little. He wasn’t sure if she were numb or if she was just that desensitized. Maybe a little of both. Still, she said thank you, quietly. Bucky also noticed she wasn’t clinging to him. Not the way she did to Clint. And that was okay. She was trembling less, Bucky was willing to bet there was some mild shock. She probably needed a snack. And something to drink. “You thirsty?” he asked softly. 

“I’m fine,” Sierra murmured, clearly not okay, and Bucky feels his heart crack, just a little. He doesn’t know what to say after that, so he rocks her tenderly for a second. He knows he’s not Clint. But he can try. For Sierra, the sun rises and sets on her dad. He hung the moon. He’s an actual hero. The rest of them are just... well. They’re just pretending. And in a way, Bucky can agree with her assessment. And he can’t help but be a little jealous that she’s that devoted to her dad. That anyone could have that kind of love in their hands. Generous and without question. The way only kids can really love because the world hasn’t shown them any other way yet. The fragile little girl with big crystal blue eyes sitting in his lap is probably the only person, on earth, who loves Clint more than he does. And Bucky hopes that never, ever changes. 

When Clint finally walks out of the office, he’s relaxed considerably. He looks a lot less likely to strangle, maim, or otherwise injure someone. The principal kneels and squeezes Sierra’s hand gently, “I’m so sorry you had a rough day, Miss Sierra. But, hopefully, we’ve got something to help you out a little.”

“I’m okay,” she insists quietly, glancing anxiously towards Clint. She’s shy. She doesn’t like new people. Or talking to them. 

“I’ll tell you about it when we get home, okay?” Clint said gently. He could see she was overloaded and rapidly running out of composure for the day. You nod and the Principal stands up, getting out of her face and smiling at Clint, “We’ll figure it out,” she says. Clint nods and picks up his daughter gently, “I hope so.”

“Let's get you home, Sunshine,” he says. It’s the first thing he’s said to her directly and it’s the first thing that makes her start to cry. Clint doesn’t react to the tears really. He wipes them away and lets her hide her face in his neck, but otherwise, he doesn’t try to make it stop. Or tell her it’ll be okay. “Buck, he said quietly, “Can you drive?”

Bucky nods and takes the keys from his hand. Clint followed behind, holding his daughter as she cried into his shoulder softly. Clint gets in the back seat of the car. He knew he should put Sierra in her booster seat and let her cry it out on her own but he couldn’t make her do it. He couldn’t let her go. He just rubbed her back and trusted Bucky to not wreck the car. 

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothes softly when she stammers an apology. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he murmured. “We’ll try again in a couple days. We’re gonna put you in a new class and they’re gonna give you some big kid work to keep you busy. It’ll be okay.”

Bucky smiled a little, Clint was better at this than he thought he was. He’d already done more to help Sierra then her mom had managed to do since kindergarten.

Clint carried her gently into the tower and carried her up to her room, anxious to get her comfortable and tucked into bed. She needed rest. Rest and some time to decompress in her out little way now that she was cried out. “Daddy?” she asked rubbing her eyes.

“Yeah?” he answered, laying her on her little bed and helping her out of her shoes. Sierra didn’t call him ‘Daddy’ often. Unless she felt very fragile. Or scared. Or perhaps really tired. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

Clint smiled a little, “No, Sunshine. You didn’t do anything to be mad at...  But I think Auntie Nat and I are gonna have to find a way to teach you some self-defense. I’m not gonna let people keep beating you up.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“Not with me,” he said gently, “Anyone puts hands on you and they’re trying to hurt you I will happily go and defend you.” He brushes hair out of her eyes tenderly and kissed her forehead. “For now, try and get a little nap, okay? When you wake up we’ll make dinner.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he answered, linking his pinky with hers gently.

#Winterhawk #clint x bucky #Dad!Clint #soft bucky #soft clint #domestic fluff