#the fact that these were so fuckin last minute as well despite the concept having been in my brain for months

[merry-the-cookie]

take off your mask this halloween if you dare… but you might find there are monsters hiding among men 🐺👻🧛🏻

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #artsos #calum hood #ashton irwin #luke hemmings #michael clifford #my art #ill come back to tag anything i forgot later i am. kaput #way more effort than warrants whats basically a shitpost tbh #the fact that these were so fuckin last minute as well despite the concept having been in my brain for months #thank u depression <3 #monster!sos au #monster!sos

[thevioletjones]

48. “You make me want things I can’t have.” 💜

Thanks for the inspiration! 💜

Prompt 3

Buffer

Ian Gallagher was starting to become a problem.

And the worst part about it was that he wasn’t even a problem that Mickey wanted to resolve. No. He just kept holding Ian closer and refusing to push him away like he should. He was just letting him ruin Mickey’s mediocre life. Because something about Ian was unshakeable. It wasn’t just that Ian kept coming back no matter what Mickey ever said or did, either. Ian was definitely persistent, but Mickey had formed an attachment too, even though he did everything in his power to hide it. It was still there, buried under layers of caustic remarks, aloof expressions, and occasional lashing out. He wasn’t proud of his behavior, but it was just who he was, and remaining unchanged in his ways was easier than the alternative.

Ian was definitely too good for him. Sure, he was hood trash too, but they were on two different levels. Ian was buffed up with a certain surface shine that Mickey lacked. Although, he would admit he’d come a long way in his style and hygiene game since his early days as an unwashed miscreant. Mickey was a gay man after all, and not immune to gaying certain things up, despite his tendency to flout homo conventions. If he wanted the ability to get a decent dick in his ass, there were standards that he’d learned to push himself to meet. This was the glossiest Mickey was ever gonna get, and it still came with a pinch of grime and hostility.

Maybe he’d developed enough sense to give a fuck, but he still didn’t give two shits either; a concept that walking contradictions the world over could likely comprehend.

The thing about Gallagher was that he was sweet. Not in an annoying, cloying, obvious way that was anathema to everything Mickey was about, but in a low-key, casual, incidental kind of way that somehow managed to be attractive, even to someone with Mickey’s abrasive nature. Ian played tough, and he genuinely was in many ways, but he had a gooey, marshmallow center that evened him out. Mickey didn’t see himself as having that sort of balance.

But there were these unsettling moments like this, usually in the middle of the night or early in the morning, when Mickey would catch himself watching Ian unawares. Unawares because he only ever did it when the redhead was deep in sleep. Suddenly, Mickey would be Mr. Contemplation, burning a hole into the face of the dude he was banging, daring to wonder what could happen between them if he wasn’t an emotionally stunted asshole. And then he’d reflect on what Ian’s life was like whenever he wasn’t around; the things Mickey acted like he didn’t care to know.

These circular thought patterns never led anywhere good, because at the end of the day, Ian wasn’t his. And Mickey could never be Ian’s. He’d long ago resigned himself to a certain destiny that involved long-term solitude until his dying day, which he’d always been fairly certain would come prematurely and most likely in violent fashion. It would be ridiculous to drag someone else into his vortex of apathy for life and the general traditions of living it. Especially someone like Ian, who was good; who helped people because he genuinely cared about, like, the well-being of humanity and shit. Despite the occasional soft look or revelatory comment that Ian would throw his way, he knew better than to think he’d want to be saddled with Mickey’s non-reciprocating ogre-y ass.

Usually when one of these intense, one-sided staring sessions would take place, Mickey would overcompensate for silently slipping by adding an extra dose of rudeness when he kicked Ian out after the fact. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why Gallagher still bothered with him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get laid elsewhere. Ian was the type that would never have trouble finding a willing ass. Yet somehow he kept coming back to Mickey and ignoring all the negatives thrown in his path. It didn’t make much sense on either of their parts… allowing each other in on any terms. Probably meant that Ian was just as fucked up as he was, really.

Blowing out the last hit off his smoke, Mickey glanced at the bedside clock and stubbed out the cigarette butt. 3:26 AM and he was wide awake, just gawking at his slumbering ginger fuck buddy, and trying to repress the multitude of emotions swirling within him. It was truly pathetic.

He could just get the hell up and drag his ass to the living room to play video games or watch late-night TV, but no. Apparently he liked suffering and feeling conflicted. What a pussy.

Not ten minutes went by before there was slow movement from the other side of the bed... Ian turning over in his sleep, reaching an arm out, and searching. Searching for the warmth of Mickey’s body, it would seem.

A big hand landed on his thigh, rubbing it softly as tired eyes blinked open, and a groggy voice sounded, “What’re’y’doin’?”

Oh, just fuckin’ lying here starin’ at your pasty ass for some reason. “Can’t sleep.”

“Didn’t wear you out?” Ian asked with a breathy titter, squeezing the sensitive flesh precariously close to Mickey’s groin.

Maybe it made his dick twitch a little.

“When did one round ever wear me out?”

“Pretty sure there were two rounds. Did you forget about the couch?”

“Random handies while watchin’ mediocre porn barely counts as a round, carrot-top.”

“A, it wasn’t that mediocre, and B, do you only consider it sex if penetration is involved?”

“I mean… it helps.”

“What about blowjobs, then? How would you classify them?”

“Sex act, but not sex, sex. Know what I mean?”

Ian laughed. “Not really. What about lesbians?”

“Definitely don’t wanna have my cock anywhere near those.”

“Har har. I mean, what would you call lesbian sex?”

“Gross? Boring? I don’t fuckin’ know. Never had it, don’t plan to.”

Ian laughed harder and it made Mickey feel good. “Pretty sure lesbians don’t want fuck all to do with you either, bottom boy.”

“Hey, likin’ what I like don’t make me a bitch.”

“No, but you seem pretty hostile toward anything but a real live human cock poking you in the asshole. I mean, naysaying getting your dick sucked? That’s a bold bossy bottom stance to take.”

“What can I say? I’m a simple man with simple kinks. Aren’t you glad I don’t need any freaky extra shit to get me off?”

“What kinda freaky extras are we talkin’?”

“Fuck off, Gallagher. Don’t act like you don’t just live for stickin’ that big red dick inside any tight manhole that’ll accommodate it. Does that make you a hungry top just begging for it?”

“I prefer ‘brutal top,’ since it’s so big, as you were so kind to mention.”

Mickey rolled his eyes into tomorrow. “Gotta remember to stop accidentally complimenting it. You get so fuckin’ uppity about it.”

Ian rolled over and boxed him in, nuzzling around his face and neck, while Mickey tried to bat him away.

“Come on,” prodded Ian. “Big hard cock seeks tight little hole for another round of deep penetration.”

Mickey could feel said big hard cock firming right up against his hip. “Ixnay on the cutesy man seeking man dirty talk, fuckhead. I will make you take that hulking boner elsewhere.”

“No you won’t,” Ian replied, humping down against him.

Of course he wouldn’t, but he had to front at least a little bit. That was the nature of his inner beast.

While they were fucking, Mickey could just let himself get lost in all the appropriate heightened sensations that really good sex immersed him in. Immersed him and Ian in. Ian and him. Them. Reveling in the pleasure of carnality was totally kosher… as long as it limited him from basking in that additional Ian stuff. That feelings stuff that he had no idea what to do with. That unfathomable connection that existed between them.

He let Ian kiss him a lot too. Like, a lot, a lot. That wasn’t customary for him with other dudes. In fact, it barely ever happened. It was just another habit Ian had slipped under the wire to form with him when he wasn’t paying enough attention. Mickey was pretty sure he’d kissed more girls in his life than boys, because that was always an easy, less disgusting way to publicly appear straight during the years he’d spent in the closet. With guys, there was nothing to prove and everything to hide, so it just wasn’t something he incorporated into his casual sex routine.

Before Ian, he hadn’t exactly attracted the kind of dudes that warranted sticking around for in any capacity, or who made any kind of effort to stick with him. There were never any near-miss boyfriends, or pine-worthy hookups. Sex was always transactional and he’d been perfectly fine with that arrangement.

The truth was that once he’d fucked up and invited Ian in for repeats over and over again, he started to figure out that the sex just kept getting hotter and hotter. That when two bodies really took the time to get to know each other, things fit better, motions got smoother, and orgasms got a thousand times stronger. Turned out that one-night-stands were not where the fuck it was at. Those were always crapshoots with odds that were at best 25/75 in favor of mediocrity. With Ian, it was guaranteed total fulfillment 100% of the time.

That was the only explanation he could find for this unexpected addiction he was stuck with. An addiction to Ian and his stupidly perfect cock. The rest of his body was alright too. And when he spoke, he wasn’t completely fucking annoying. His personality and his nature were tolerable. Mickey didn’t want to gouge his eyes out every time he got sucked into a conversation.

They didn’t really hang out, though. Outside of the bedroom, that is. It was like the whole game changed when they were in bed. They could fuck, they could goof around and have a laugh, they could wrestle, they could accidentally say something profound once in a while… but if Ian had a bag of food when he dropped by, Mickey wasn’t about to sit on the couch and watch TV with him while he ate it, and he definitely wasn’t going to accept a portion for himself.

Until tonight, that is. Or last night, or however the fuck time was identified when you were a natural night owl.

Tonight, they’d crossed another invisible line in the sand, and Mickey had found himself chowing down on tacos, while heckling some shitty 90s action film; his part-time lover chuckling next to him with a sloppy mouth.

It was fucking terrifying.

So as soon as he’d realized what was actually happening, and how much he didn’t hate it, Mickey had switched over to some hardcore porn. They’d cracked jokes about it at first, but it’d done the trick of quickly leading to the familiar comfort of sexual gratification. With that justification, Mickey could just sweep the whole ‘watching a movie and eating together like they were on a date’ thing under the proverbial rug without further examination.

At least until Ian had fallen asleep around 2 AM. Then it was dwell city.

By 4:30 AM, Ian had fucked him into the mattress once again, and promptly fallen back asleep without a care in the world. Mickey was more than sated, but felt even more awake than he had an hour ago, his brain full of fresh bullshit about the man next to him and what was happening between them.

He opened his bedside drawer and pulled out his stash, knowing the high would fog up his brain enough to go off on thought tangents, and eventually shut down for at least five hours. Within ten minutes, he felt a little better, or at least more distracted. He was still very aware of Ian’s looming presence in the darkness, though. He wanted to be comforted by it, but he just couldn’t relax.

There’d always been a buffer between them, which Mickey had been diligent in maintaining, and he could see it slowly falling away now. If he didn’t step up and push back, pretty soon there’d be no barrier left standing. Who the fuck knew what could happen then.

He hated it. He felt so fucking out of control, when it should be the easiest thing in the world to control. All he had to do was break it off. He knew exactly what to say and do to make that happen. Knew enough to be able to really hit Ian where it hurt, both literally and figuratively.

But goddamn it, he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to make Ian sad, and he didn’t want to give into his own desire to try for more. He would always fuck it up, because he was a fuck-up by nature. His goddamn knuckles spelled it all out in block letters.

He wanted Ian, but he didn’t want the responsibility. Didn’t trust himself, because no one had ever trusted him before in his entire life. What kind of dumbass wanted that kind of damaged douchebag for a boyfriend? No sane one.

Against his better judgment, Mickey rolled closer to Ian and wrapped an arm around his middle, spooning him the way he secretly liked it when Ian spooned him. He held him close and breathed in his scent.

“You make me want things I can’t have,” he murmured to himself, exhaling heavily against Ian’s neck.

He fell asleep swiftly, and in the morning, he didn’t ask Ian to leave.

#ian x mickey #fanfic #gallavich #fanfiction #asks #answers

[snowyseba]

Miles Away

Summary: A Rockstar!Steve AU. Steve Rogers was known to most people as the lead guitarist for the Howling Commandos, but to you, he was also your boyfriend, or at least you thought he was. Lately, though, you weren’t so sure. He was barely around anymore and seemed to want nothing to do with you. Wrapped up in his own emotions, Steve won’t even hear you out, choosing to ignore you rather than confront his own failings. An unexpected phone call during the Howling Commando’s tour brings everything crashing down around him. How is he supposed to fix this mess?

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: angst, swearing, Steve is kind asshole, pregnancy & injury during pregnancy, fluff

Posted 12/18/19

Well fuck. The little plus sign on the stick in front of you changed everything. You and Steve had been together for just over three years now, living together for two of those years, but you’d never really talked about kids. It wasn’t that you didn’t want them eventually, but the subject just never came up, especially with his career taking off rapidly. Hell, you’d never really talked about your future. If you did talk about the future, it was always about his plans and his band, The Howling Commandos. You didn’t regret dating a musician; you had known what you were signing up for when you started the relationship. Hell, the fact that he was a guitarist was part of the appeal in the first place.

Lately, though, things weren’t great. Steve was busy, which was nothing new given his crazy schedule, but there seemed to be less and less time for you. Despite living together, it felt like you saw him less than ever. Most mornings, he was still sleeping when you left for work, not bothering to get up or say goodbye, and he’d stumble home well after you had fallen asleep each night. You might have been living together, but your lives had never felt more separate. He used to make time for you, or at least text you to let you know that he was running late. Not anymore, though. You were lucky if you got a few messages a day.

Maybe that’s why you started clinging to him. The more distant he got, the harder you tried. And the harder you tried, the more you seemed to drive him away. You felt like you were annoying him, but you shouldn’t have to beg for even the smallest bit of attention, not to mention affection, from your own partner. The more he pushed you away, the harder you held on.

Something was broken between the two of you, but you couldn’t fix it if he wouldn’t talk to you, and lately, that seemed like the last thing he wanted to do. You were running out of time. Steve was leaving for tour tomorrow, and you still hadn’t found a time to tell him you’re pregnant. You had been trying for a week now, but every time you tried to talk to him, he’d make some excuse about running late for a meeting, or having to go meet the guys to rehearse. Tonight was your last chance, and then he’d be gone for three months. You’d be showing by the time he got back. Sooner or later, the truth would come out. 

So there you were, perched on the ledge of the bathtub, staring down at the positive pregnancy test, wondering just how the hell you were going to tell Steve. You’d wait up for him, you decided, no matter how late he was. The positive test was just confirmation; you had suspected that you were pregnant for a while now but had been too scared to buy a test. It would have been easier if you could have told Steve your suspicions, but your main form of communication lately was texts. This deserved an in-person discussion.

Four hours later, it was just past midnight. You were exhausted, but you were determined to stay awake. Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait much longer; Steve returned minutes later. The second you heard the door open, you felt the familiar pit in your stomach. Dread. That was the only word you could think of. 

“Oh, uh, hey babe...I didn’t think you’d be up.” 

“Well, I’m up,” you tried to sound playful, but you barely managed to conceal how shaky your voice was. “I was actually hoping to talk to you.” 

“Not now, babe.” Steve shook his head, waving dismissively. “I’m tired and tour starts tomorrow. We can talk in the morning.” 

You sighed in frustration, shaking your head. “No. We’re talking right now. I’ve been waiting for you all night. I barely see you anymore. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. This is really important, Steve.” 

“Jesus, Y/N. I’m fuckin’ exhausted can you just drop it? I said we’ll talk tomorrow. Fuck, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”

“Well,” you huffed, still keeping your hand on his wrist, certain that he’d walk away the second you let go. “I’ve been trying to explain what’s gotten into me but you won’t even give me the chance! Fuck, Steve, I’m just asking for some goddamn time. We don’t talk. Hell, we don’t even see each other awake anymore!” 

Steve tugged his arm away from you at that. “You know what, fuck you, Y/N. I’m gonna crash with Bucky for the night. I’ll see you after tour. I can’t do this right now.” 

“Steve! Don’t walk away from me! I’m trying to tell you something really important!” 

He retreated up the stairs and all you could do was stare after him in stunned silence, a shaky hand pressed against your stomach as you slowly sank to the ground, body shaking with silent tears. Fuck. What were you supposed to do now? You couldn’t just blurt out that you’re pregnant. Who knows how Steve would have taken that.

Steve didn’t even give you a second glance as he stalked through the front door, weekender bag overstuffed with clothes slung over his shoulder. He paused at the door, turning, looking at you silently for a few moments. His brow furrowed and his fists were clenched. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I...look, we’ll talk after tour, babe. But...I need a break. I can’t do this clingy shit. That’s not what I signed up for. I don’t know what’s up with you, but maybe some time apart will be good for us. I think that maybe we shouldn’t talk until I get back, though. Whatever it is you needed to tell me, it can wait until I get back.” 

Ouch. Okay. “Fine,” you struggled to keep your voice calm, failing to prevent it from shaking and giving your emotions away. 

And then he was gone without so much as a goodbye. Maybe you should have argued with him. Maybe you should have told him you’re pregnant despite his insistence that the news could wait, but you were tired. Tired of being the one who cared more, tired of being the person trying to fix everything when it was clear that Steve didn’t care. Steve had made up his mind, and it seemed like he was going to give you no choice but to accept it. 

There was a huge part of you that wanted to fall apart completely, to close the curtains and curl up in bed for days, but you couldn’t do that. You had another life to think about now, and you had to try to take care of yourself. From now on, you’d focus your energy on your baby. Your baby. That brought a smile to your face despite everything, your hand still gently cradling your stomach. From the moment you found out, you knew you were going to keep this baby. No matter what happened with Steve, you’d always have your baby. You’d give them all the love in the world. With or without Steve, you were going to make sure that this baby had the best life possible.

Ten Weeks Along. 

Today was your first ultrasound appointment. The doctor said you were measuring a bit bigger than expected given the date of conception, so she had ordered an ultrasound to confirm your due date. You had desperately tried to get ahold of Steve, leaving him several texts and a voicemail, but so far there was no word from him. You were still conflicted about telling him that he was going to be a father over the phone, but you could have really used his support. All of this was so new and unfamiliar. 

Nat, a longtime friend of Steve’s who you’d quickly come to consider one of your closest friends, offered to come and was meeting you at the clinic. Nat was over the moon and eagerly agreed to go with you. You were glad that you wouldn’t be alone, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it should be Steve by your side, sharing in the incredible experience of seeing the little life you had created for the first time. The Howling Commandos’ tour had barely begun, but he was already missing so much. In the short amount of time that Steve had been gone, you noticed a small bump was forming. To most people, it would probably just look like you’d overindulged at your last meal, but you knew better. Still, you were surprised. You figured that you were fairly early in your pregnancy, so why were you starting to show already? Then again, that was why you were here.

Next to you, Nat was practically bouncing in her seat as the doctor applied the gel to your bump, and she was the first one to spot the second baby, your second baby. 

“Oh!” Nat squealed, gripping your hand tightly in her own, pointing at the screen. “Is that...are those...two?”

As it would turn out, the reason for your measurements was that you were currently carrying not one but two babies inside you. Lo and behold, there were two little blips on the screen. Baby A and Baby B. 

“You’ve got a good eye!” your OB/GYN grinned. “See that, momma? Looks like you’re going to have your hands full.” 

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Being called ‘momma’ and seeing your babies growing safely within you was incredible, but there was something, someone missing. Fuck. Now you really had to tell Steve. One baby, you might be able to handle on your own, but after hearing all the potential complications and concerns that came with having two babies, you weren’t so sure that you could do this on your own. 

Nat fixed you with a knowing gaze before glancing up at the other woman. “Could you give us a moment?”

She nodded, stepping around the examination table and excusing herself. “I’ll be right out here when you’re ready.” 

As soon as the door closed, the dam burst and you couldn’t help the sob that left your lips as you pressed a hand against your stomach. 

“Oh honey, c’mere” Nat wrapped her arms around you in an instant, rubbing gentle circles over your back as she held you. It was the most intimacy you had felt since Steve left, and it made you cry all the harder. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? Not that I’m not thrilled to be here, but...shouldn’t Steve...I mean, wouldn’t he want to be here for this?” 

You pulled back from her, avoiding her gaze as you whispered dejectedly. “I wouldn’t know,” you paused. “He doesn’t know.” 

“Y/N?” Nat’s voice was even, but you could tell she was trying hard to keep it that way. “What do you mean he doesn’t know?” 

And so you told her. You told Nat everything - how distant Steve had been, how he had told you that he wanted space, how he was ignoring you texts and calls, how he had walked out on you that night without so much as a second glance. By the end of your story, Nat was fuming. She had stopped rubbing soothing circles over your back, now just gripping you tightly against her. Coming to sit on the exam table in front of you, she took your hands in her own, squeezing reassuringly. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go back home, and we’re going to call him. I’m going to be with you, and we’re not going to give up until he actually picks up. This is too important for him to ignore.”

“You have reached Steve Rogers. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” 

That was the tenth time in a row you were sent straight to voicemail after a single ring. This was just getting childish. Steve was now actively ignoring you. He wouldn’t even give you the chance to try to have a conversation with him. You didn’t want to tell him about something this important via text, but he really wasn’t giving you much of a choice at this point. 

“What an asshole,” Nat’s voice did little to mask her resentment towards Steve. “Has it been like this the whole time?”

You nodded, trying not to fixate on the pitying look Nat gave you.”Haven’t heard from him since he left. He said he wanted a break. Fuck, Nat, I told him I had something important to tell him and he...he just told me it could wait. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.” 

Panic was rapidly bubbling deep in the pit of your stomach. Tears pricked at your eyes, quickly spilling over, your breath catching in your throat as you paced the length of your living room, wringing your hands. “What if he doesn’t want me anymore? What if he doesn’t want us? What am I supposed to do, Nat? I don’t know if I can do this by myself. I can’t have two babies on my own. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. This isn’t how any of this was supposed to happen.”

“Y/N, you’ve gotta breathe. Can you do that for me? Take a deep breath, you’re starting to hyperventilate.”

Although you registered her words, you couldn’t stop. Thoughts were racing, and it felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest. What on earth were you supposed to do now? You weren’t sure if you were prepared to face the very possible reality of doing this without Steve. You were too wrapped up in your thoughts to even notice that you were about to walk right into the coffee table. 

Nat shrieked your name, and you looked up at her in a panic, but it was too late, your foot caught on the leg of the table, and you went tumbling forward. Nat sprung into action, propelling herself towards you in a frantic attempt to catch you, but she was too late. You had already fallen.

Steve snuck away from the rest of the band to tune his guitar. As much as he loved his bandmates, he needed some space after traveling in such close quarters and spending most of time each day with them, some time to clear his head. The way he had left things with you didn’t sit well with him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone. If he could just keep himself busy, maybe he wouldn’t have to think about it. 

“Steve! Fuck, man, I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you!” Bucky’s voice reverberated through the empty arena. It wouldn’t be that way for too much longer, though. Only a little while left before that night’s show, and it was sold out. Soon, the fans would start filing in, the anticipation building until that magical moment when Steve and the band stepped out onto the stage. Those were the moments he lived for, when the worries and stresses of life washed away and he was able to truly live in the moment, sharing what he loved with these people who had made time in their lives just to hear him perform. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. 

Still, Bucky sounded worried, so Steve set his guitar down on its stand and turned to his friend. “What’s up?” 

Out of every possible imagined scenario, Steve never expected the words that next left Bucky’s mouth. “I’m so sorry, Steve, you’ve gotta go. Now. Y/N had a fall. They’re worried it could have hurt the babies. You’ve gotta go. They won’t tell Nat anything since she’s not family. Get your ass to the hospital, man, and you can explain why you kept your unborn children a secret from your best friend later.” 

He stared at Bucky for a few seconds, trying to process the information he had just been told. Babies? Fuck. Holy fuck. You were pregnant, with more than one baby, and you had fallen. You were being taken to the hospital. He stared at Bucky, uncomprehending, but suddenly finding extremely difficult to swallow, his chest constricting tightly as the realization set in, rapidly followed by guilt, then sheer panic.

Steve had messed up. More than messed up. He was pretty sure he might have just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him, something he didn’t even know about because of his own pride and stupid inability to talk about his emotions. If he got to you and those babies...Bucky hadn’t said how many, but why would he? He had obviously assumed Steve had already known. Was it twins? triplets?? Oh god... if those babies were gone, if you were hurt, he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself. He wouldn’t blame you if you never forgave him either. He had been such an asshole to you. All he could do now was hope that it wasn’t too late to fix all the damage he had done. 

It was like a flip switched and before he even realized what he was doing, he had grabbed his phone booked a ticket for the next flight home. It would be tight, but if he left now, he’d make it on time to catch the flight. Meanwhile, Bucky called a cab, ushering Steve into the back seat as soon as it arrived, telling him to call as soon as he had news.

Once en route to the airport, Steve’s thoughts drifted to the night he left. He muttered vague responses to the driver’s small talk, but all his thoughts were centered around you. Something hadn’t felt right when he left you, he knew that, and yet he did so anyway. Even when you had said you had something important to tell him that night. When you had begged him to let her you out. All of a sudden, it was like everything fell into place. Of course. You were pregnant. That’s what you had been trying to tell him. That was the crucial news, and he had just walked out on you like you meant nothing to him. Worse, he told you not to contact him. He ignored your texts and calls. Oh god. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

Steve knew he had to fix this. He had no idea how, but he was going to try, and trying started with getting himself on that flight. Tour could wait. His family was in danger.

By the time Steve reached the hospital, he felt like he had run a marathon. His chest was tight, and breathing was getting harder and harder. He was exhausted, and yet on high alert. All he knew was that he needed to get to you. He was out of the Uber before it had even come to a full stop, mumbling a thank-you to the driver. Quickly shutting the door, he strode straight to the front desk, desperate to find out what room you were in. He needed to get to you as soon as he could. He only hoped it wasn’t already too late. 

Thankfully, a sympathetic nurse took pity on him, “Follow me,” she’d offered with a kind smile. “She’s in room 103, at the end of the hall on your right. She’s asleep and under observation, but she’s stable so you can wait until she wakes up.” 

Now here he stood, at the door to your hospital room as if some invisible forcefield were keeping him out, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest. The pallid white walls emphasizing the sterile and cold environment did nothing to make him feel better. He wanted nothing more than to fall at his feet by your side, begging you to forgive him, but his feet were rooted to the spot. Did he even deserve that? He had abandoned you completely when you needed him the most. He hadn’t even given you the chance to tell him about the babies, his babies. At that moment, he was pretty sure he was the world’s biggest asshole and he was going to spend the rest of this pregnancy, if not the rest of his life, making up for it. 

Taking a shaky breath, he approached your bed, carefully sitting in the adjacent chair so as not to wake you. You looked exhausted, even asleep, and he felt his heart constrict with shame and guilt. His fingertips brushed over your hair gently, whether to reassure you or himself he wasn’t sure. 

Steve remained silent for a while, listening to your breathing, his eyes fixed on the slight swell of your stomach that definitely hadn’t been there when he left for tour, the swell that currently housed his babies. You could have easily fallen on your stomach when you tripped. The thought ignited a spark of guilt deep within him that soon felt like it was consuming him completely. He swallowed thickly, shaking his head and looking away for the first time since arriving. If he had been there, he could have caught you. He could have been there if he had known. Maybe he could have even prevented this. Things were going to have to change, moving forward.

Finally, he found the courage to speak. He took your hand in his, giving it a hesitant squeeze. “Hey, princess. I don’t know if you can hear me or not but I’m so sorry. I was an asshole. I was so beyond out of line, and I should never have left you the way I did. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been a horrible dad so far, but I promise I’ll do better.”

Your eyes fluttered slightly, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t imagining it. “Y/N?” Instinctively, his grip on your hand tightened as he waited with bated breath, searching for any sign that you had heard him. 

He was almost about to give up hope, turning his attention to your belly and the babies within, when he heard you utter a small, groggy “Stevie?” 

A sharp inhale left the man beside you as his eyes suddenly flicked from your belly to your face, searching for confirmation that he wasn’t making this up. When he saw your eyes open, looking at him with an albeit confused expression of love and gratefulness that he wasn’t entirely sure he deserved, he could barely stop himself from crying. “Oh, sweetheart...I’m so sorry, I -”

There was a knock at the door, interrupting Steve and alerting you to the doctor’s presence. “Ah, Mr. Rogers, it’s a good thing you’re here. Do you have a moment to discuss your results?” 

“Of course,” Steve answered automatically, his grip on your hand tightening. His hand was clammy, his brow furrowed with concern. 

“Now, the good news is, your results looking within the normal levels for a twin pregnancy, but you did fell, which can cause some problems. You haven’t had any contractions, and there’s no sign of blood or amniotic fluid loss. Everything is looking okay so far, but I’d still like to do an ultrasound just to make sure. You’ll need to make sure she’s taking it easy. Dad,” she looked at Steve, who’s somber expression suddenly brightened as the name sunk in, “you’ll want to make sure she’s resting enough. Make sure you’re staying hydrated and eating enough as well. Let’s make sure we try to avoid any future falls as well. Now, let’s take a peek at these babies.” 

The moment Steve saw the two little blobs on the screen, when he heard the rapid thump thump thump of the twins’ hearts, it was like his whole world shifted. Suddenly, all he wanted was to stay here with you and his family. This was where he truly belonged, and he was an idiot for jeopardizing it in the first place.

How was he supposed to just go back out on tour, spend weeks and months on end away from you, all while knowing that you were at home, alone, carrying his babies? He didn’t want to miss another minute. The Howling Commandos would be okay without him for the rest of this tour. They could get a temporary replacement guitarist for him. He was okay with stepping out of the limelight for a while. Being able to be here for you and experience this together was better than all the applause in the world. The beating of his babies’ hearts was more captivating than any music he had ever heard. 

After the doctor left, cautioning you again to make sure not to overdo it, you and Steve sat together in silence. He was still gripping your hand in his, his eyes glossy. Even though it wasn’t your first ultrasound, you still couldn’t help but tear up when you saw your little ones. Although Steve had stayed silent, fixated on the screen, you didn’t mind. If anything, you were moved by how he was completely captivated by the two little lives inside you, and you didn’t miss the way his hand tightened around yours when their heartbeats filled the silence.

“Y/N...” he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “fuck, baby, I’m so sorry. I know sorry doesn’t cover it, but I swear, I’m gonna make this up to you. When Bucky told me you were in the hospital, that our babies were in danger, shit, I was terrified. I had everything I ever wanted and I was too much of an asshole to even let you tell me.”

As much as you wanted to forgive him, to comfort him, now that you were over the shock of him actually being here, part of you was still apprehensive. “You walked out on me, Steve. You walked out without even looking back. How am I supposed to trust you? You’ll be on tour for months after this. Honestly, I don’t know that I can handle the stress, and you heard what the doctor said. What, are you going to fly home for every appointment? You’d have to leave right afterward, and I don’t know if I can manage that. What about all the time in between? I miss you enough as it is, and having you here playing house for a couple hours every few weeks...that’s not what I imagined for us.”

Once you started talking, it was like all your fears were coming out at once. Everything that you had bottled up inside since the night Steve left was being unleashed upon him. “What if you miss the first kick? What if I go into labor while you’re still on tour? What if you can’t get home in time?” Your breath was coming in short gasps now, your chest tight as tears stung your eyes. 

“Hey, hey, baby please take a deep breath for me, okay? Can you do that for me, sweetheart? We’ll talk about everything, I promise, but first I need you to calm down - doctor’s orders, right?” He moved to sit on the edge of your bed, facing you. His hands cupped your cheeks, his eyes locked on yours. 

You tried to focus on his face, the feeling of his rough calloused fingers, a physical sign of his dedication to his craft, against your cheeks. How could you ask him to give up his dream? You needed him, but you knew just how important the Howling Commandos’ music was to their fans. Some of them saved up for months just to afford tickets to a show. And you also knew just how important music was to Steve. Still, you did as he asked, and tried to steady your breathing. 

“That’s my girl.” The corners of his lips twitched up in the slightest smile. His hands dropped from your face to hold your own. “Now, let me start by saying that I was so incredibly wrong to leave like I did. I should have let you finish what you were saying. I missed out on finding out about the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. It was unforgivable, and you have every right to hate me for it, but --”

You cut him off before he could continue. “Why did you do it? What did I do to deserve that? If I was being too clingy, you could have talked to me about it, Steve. But you didn’t. You just shut me out.” 

“Y/N,” he pleaded. “You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. Look, honestly...I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to skip the tour and just stay with you. I miss you when I’m gone. I hate the time differences, the missed calls, sporadic texts. I hate that I don’t get to go to sleep and wake up with you by my side. I didn’t want to give that up. But then I thought about everything I have, and how so many people dream of being where I am, and I felt guilty that I wanted to give it all up. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do and I don’t want to stop, but sometimes I just...wish I could have a normal life. I worried that I’d be letting everyone down if I asked for a break...so I pushed you away.” 

His bright blue eyes were glassy, his deep voice taking on a gravelly, unsteady edge. “And then when Buck came running out on to stage, telling me you were being taken to the hospital, that you fell and they’re worried about the babies...doll, I...” he shook his head, clenched fist pressed against his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Without thinking, you reached out to squeeze his shoulder, tracing soothing patterns over his arm. Once he had collected himself, he began speaking again. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more afraid, sick, or loathed myself more. I almost lost everything, Y/N.”

“But you didn’t lose everything, Stevie. We’re all okay.” 

“I could have, though.” He shook his head, looking down at his feet. He was struggling with what to say next. “I’m not taking any more chances. I’m not taking any of this for granted. I’m going to talk to the guys and work something out. I’m going to be here every step of the way, okay? If you’ll have me, that is.” 

You’re silent for a few moments. You’re still not entirely sure you can trust him, but you’ll never know unless you try. “All I’ve ever wanted you, Stevie, only you.” 

“Hmm, only me? That might be a bit of a problem, sweetheart considering it’s going to be the four of us in a few more months.” 

“The four of us? Are you really sure you’ll be around.” 

If he was offended by your question, he didn’t show it. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling your body against his. “I can’t change the past but I can promise that I’m going to spend the future making up for it and showing you just how much I want this.” 

Thirty-Six Weeks Along

The universe was trying to kill him, Steve decided, as he accelerated out of the studio’s parking lot, merging onto the highway shortly after. You weren’t due for at least another week. The midwife had cleared you, and both of you had assured Steve that it would be fine to head into LA for the day to do an interview with the band. Tour was over, and the Howling Commandos were working on their next album, allowing Steve plenty of time to be there for you and your growing family for at least the next year. 

But of course, the universe had other plans for him. Halfway through the interview, the band’s assistant was making frantic motions from the side of the set. When Steve finally caught on, his heart sunk. Before he even realized what he was doing, he had stood and was quickly making his way over to her. All he processed were the words ‘Y/N,’ and ‘in labor,’ and he was out the door, taking the stairs two at a time rather than waiting around for the elevator. He’d be damned if he was going to miss this. 

Every minute that ticked by as he was stuck in LA traffic was excruciating. All he could think about is that yet again, he wasn’t there when you needed him. Rationally, he knew you wouldn’t be angry; you had been the one to push him to go to the interview in the first place, despite his protestations, but his residual guilt over his behavior made him feel as though he was letting you down by not being there with you right now. Steve had felt anxious all day, and the last thing he had wanted that morning was to leave your side, but he tried to quell his anxiety as you blamed it on the first-time dad-to-be jitters. He should have listened to his gut. If he had, he would have been there for you. 

Steve did make it, though, and he was right by your side as you delivered two healthy babies, a boy, born at 11:42 PM, and a girl who arrived only 16 minutes after her brother. The moment he held his son, and then his daughter in his arms, he broke down into tears. He had managed to keep calm throughout your labor and their birth, focusing on supporting and encouraging you, but when he felt the weight of the babies, felt their impossibly soft skin against their own, watched the steady rise and fall of their chests, it suddenly hit him that this was real. 

The next few hours were spent cuddled on the bed, the two of you marveling over your twins, both of you still trying to register that they were really here. Steve noticed your attempts to stifle your yawns, the way you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

“Get some sleep, sweetheart.” Steve murmured, kissing your forehead as he scooped your daughter from your arms, moving her to rest by her brother in the crib by your bedside. “You’ve had a long day.” 

You would have protested, but a yawn beat you to it, and Steve fixed you with a stern look. “Okay, okay.” 

“That’s my girl. Don’t worry, momma, I’ll keep an eye on them while you sleep,” Steve brushed your hair back, looking at you in pure adoration. 

“Mmm, thanks daddy,” you replied cheekily, smiling up at him. You were beyond tired, but not too tired that you were going to give up the opportunity to tease him. He just rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head in pretend exasperation. “What? You are a daddy now.” 

“Yeah...yeah, I am. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you gave me this chance,” his gaze focused back on the twins. 

“We’ve been over this, Stevie,” you replied sternly. “You’ve more than proved that you’re sorry. It’s okay to move on, to forgive yourself for what happened. I have.”  

His back was still turned to you as he wiped a few tears from his eyes. It was something he had struggled with ever since that day at the hospital, and you weren’t sure if he was ever fully going to allow himself to stop feeling guilty over it.

“You keep saying that but--” 

“No buts, Stevie, unless its your butt that we’re talking about, okay?” That earned you a chuckle, and he turned to face you again. 

“Alright. Alright,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand tracing your cheekbone. “But only if you agree to get some sleep.” 

“I guess I can live with that,” you agreed. 

“That’s my girl,” he pressed another kiss to your forehead, then turned his attention to the crib and its brand new occupants.

Confident that they were going to be well looked after by their father, you finally gave in and let sleep take you. You’d only end up getting a couple hours of rest before the twins woke you, demanding to be fed. You’d take whatever rest you could. 

Once he was sure you were asleep, Steve’s attention returned to his children. He took a moment to send photos of the sleeping newborns to his bandmates. They were fast asleep only moments after you. As much as Steve wanted to hold them, he was afraid of waking them up, so he settled for sitting between you and the babies, keeping watch over his family as he allowed himself to wonder how the hell he got so lucky. Bucky, naturally, responded almost immediately, congratulating Steve and asking when he could see his niece and nephew. He’d respond to that later, Steve decided. He wanted a little more time to exist in the haze, completely overwhelmed with exhaustion, fear, and so very much in love with his new family.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve x reader #steve x you #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #avengers imagine #steve rogers AU #dad!steve

[etherealwaifgoddess]

Run To You - Chpt.2

Summary: Steve calls Bucky to tell him he was right and the two get to know each other a little more. Still drawn to one another, the guys go out on their first date. Master list is HERE :)

Content Warning: mention of past child neglect/ abuse in regards to how Bucky lost his arm. It’s only a couple paragraphs but it’s depressing AF. 

Word Count: 3.3k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! There is a smidge of angst in this chapter and I had never really intended for it go that direction. Damn characters not behaving the way I want them to! I apologize in advance for giving you some sad feels on this one, I got myself with them too. But hopefully there’s enough fluffiness to balance it out. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Two

Becca sleeps the day away but it’s a restless fever ridden sleep with her waking up every few hours to cry that her stomach hurts. Bucky manages to catch cat naps while she sleeps but they’re both exhausted by the time the day is over. He manages to get some fluids in her once she’s fully woken up and she keeps most of it down, much to Bucky’s relief. He hates seeing his baby girl sick and is thankful for his medical training, so that he knows what to expect and look out for. It’s just past seven o’clock at night and while they would normally be doing Becca’s bath time routine, he doesn’t have the heart to disrupt her. She finally drank the rest of her Pedialyte and is half watching an episode of Wonder Pets while her eyes droop sleepily. He waits until her eyes stay shut for a few minutes before awkwardly scooping up the little girl to carry her off to bed. He doesn’t have a free hand to turn off the TV, having taken off his prosthetic the second he got back from the bodega, but figures he needs to go back out to clean things up for the night anyways. 

“Bucky?” Becca slurs sleepily as he lays her down in her bed. 

“Yeah, Becs?” He pulls up her comforter, getting it tucked tightly around her body like she prefers. 

“Love you.” she half says, half yawns. 

Bucky fights back the tears that prickle in the corner of his eyes. “Love you too, bug. Get some rest.”

Becca gives a little nod and then sprawls out into her usual sleeping position. 

Bucky shuts off her lamp and closes the door, leaving it open just a crack in case she needs him in the night. She seems to be getting to the otherside of whatever virus she’d caught but he knows it isn’t always a sure thing. He hopes he’ll only have to miss one day of work staying home with her but knows it’ll most likely be two.

There isn’t too much of a mess to clean up but Bucky busies himself with turning off the TV and clearing the coffee table. He’s washing the dishes and debating his dinner options when his phone buzzes angrily in his back pocket. Drying off his hand, he pulls out his phone and sees Steve’s name on the screen. Bucky swipes to accept the call and nestles the phone between his shoulder and jaw. “Hey, Steve.” 

“Bucky, hey.” Steve replies eagerly. “So I’ve spent the last six hours doing nothing but reading history articles and I gotta say, you were right.” 

Bucky smiles as he rifles through his cabinets for something to eat, “I suspected as much. How far off is it? Out of curiosity.” 

Steve sighs heavily through his nose and Bucky wondered how exasperated the other man must look. “It’s pretty fuckin’ terrible.” he finally admits.

Bucky laughs, “Wow, you really do know how to curse!” 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, ya jerk. It was just… surprising, I guess, to see how much these so-called experts missed. Don’t get me wrong, I know some people had it okay and some people had it a lot worse, but the way they make the whole thing feel so… sterile... I don’t know. They don’t seem to capture the feel of the times. Like yes we had food rations, but they don’t tell you how small those rations were. And how even if you got your stamps you might not be able to find the food you had a stamp for. My mother had to go all the way to Queens one time just to buy eggs so we’d have something with protein to eat.”

“That sounds terrible, I can’t even imagine.” Bucky juggles the phone carefully as he pulls down a tin of tuna. 

“We made it, somehow. And it wasn’t all terrible all the time, but it was a sight worse than they make it out to be. It’s like that now too, isn’t it? The world isn’t quite as progressive as people like to think it is?” 

Bucky pauses, trying to sort out his words. “It is and it isn’t. I think my experience is a little different than most but it’s definitely not the rainbows and goodwill that they say it is.” 

Steve’s voice is low and rich like good bourbon pouring across the phone lines. “Tell me what it’s like for you, then.” 

Bucky stills, shocked by the raw earnestness of Steve’s words. There’s an undercurrent too, like something whispered in a lover’s ear in the dead of night. It stirs things inside Bucky that he hasn’t had the time or inclination for in a really long time. Figuring he should reciprocate the honesty Steve has afforded him so far, Bucky hops up to sit on the kitchen counter and gets himself comfortable to tell his story. “Well, I grew up in a little backwater town in Indiana. The biggest export of our town was meth and most everyone was affected by that. People used religion like a weapon and thought The Republican Way was gospel. I didn’t fit in to any of that from day one and it made growing up there hard.” 

“What were you like as a kid?” Steve asks, curious.

“I was pretty much everything that town wasn’t. My parents weren’t really able to take care of me so I figured out early on how to care for myself. I was angry a lot because of that once I got older. I didn’t really try to fit in. I studied hard, worried about getting good grades so I could earn scholarships to a decent college and get out of there. I didn’t care much about religion and was fiercely liberal from the time I understood what politics were. And I’m queer, that didn’t help me fit in either. I, uh, I hope that doesn’t bother you.” Bucky falters, knowing Steve’s generation was a lot less forgiving about that sort of thing. 

“It doesn’t. I’m bi, actually. We did have homosexuality back in the thirties despite what the historians think.” 

“Holy shit.” Bucky blurts out. Captain America is bisexual. 

“It’s not something that comes up a lot, but I don’t hide it when asked. Somehow it never seems to make the news though.” 

“I think it would seriously fuck with some people’s world view if it did. That’s good, though. That you don’t have to hide it. It’s one of those things that isn’t quite like the news reports it. Sure, things are a hell of a lot better now for queer folk, but we still get bullied, discriminated against, sometimes even killed.” Despite himself, Bucky yawns deeply. He’s beyond tired but unwilling to hang up. 

“You sound exhausted.” Steve notes, “I should let you go.”

“No, it’s okay. I just had a long night followed by a long day. I’ll crash soon and hopefully Becca sleeps in tomorrow.” 

“Becca is your… daughter?” 

“My sister, actually. I adopted her when she was born. She feels like she’s mine but I never wanted to hide that fact that I’m her brother, not her dad. I don’t want her growing up not knowing who she really is.”

“You’re pretty amazing, Buck.” And Steve means every weighted word of it. 

Bucky shakes his head, almost dislodging his phone in the process. “Just got lucky enough to make a better life for myself, and her. That’s all.” 

“I think there’s a lot more to it than that, but okay. Really though, I should let you go. We can talk another day? Maybe grab that lunch together?” 

“Yeah, definitely. My schedule is a little crazy but I have off rotation in a few days, we could go out Thursday while Becca’s at preschool?”

“It’s a date. I’ll text you later this week so we can figure out the where and when.” 

“Sounds like a plan. Night, Steve.” 

The warm smile on Steve’s face practically shines through the phone line, “Night, Buck.” 

Bucky hangs up and stares around his tiny apartment in amazement. If you had told him a week ago that he was going to insult Captain America to his face and end up befriending him, he would have called you crazy. It’s a little odd having to separate the public persona he knows as Captain America, from Steve, the real guy under the cowl, but Bucky is looking forward to getting to know the real him better. 

xxXxx

“The best pizza in Brooklyn, huh?” Steve questions, squinting up at the shop’s sign. 

Bucky nods enthusiastically. “Definitely. They still use the old fashioned brick ovens and homemade sauce. Fresh herbs, locally sourced cheese. It sounds fancy but it’s really just good, old school, pizza.” 

“We’ll see. Sam recently introduced me to the concept of a dollar slice, and I think anything will be better than that.” 

“Oh man, yeah. Some places are decent, but most are shit.”

Bucky and Steve order a large pie to share, picking a small table in the back to sit at. Steve is amused when he spots a cooler with real glass bottles of soda and grabs one for each of them. Bucky smiles when he sees the bottles, able to guess Steve’s amusement at seeing something familiar. 

The pizza is up before they know it and Steve is moaning at the first bite. “Sorry.” he mumbles around his mouthful of gooey cheese. “It’s really good.” 

Bucky swallows quickly so he can respond, “Told ya.” 

Steve nods, properly contrite. “You did. Thanks for bringing me here.” 

“Any time.” Bucky smiles over at him and wonders what it would be like if they were out on a real date. One that ended with Steve walking him home and kissing him goodnight. He tries to shake the fantastical idea from his mind but it lingers, coming to the surface whenever Steve looks at him a little longer than most would find polite. 

They’re quiet through Steve’s first two slices, Bucky finishing his first as Steve goes for a third. Bucky has a healthy appetite but Steve is something else. “Super soldier, sorry.” Steve tells him with a shrug when he sees Bucky eyeing up his plate.

“No judgement here. Everyone’s gotta eat.” Bucky assures him. 

Steve slows down enough to make conversation after a little while, asking Bucky questions about his job and Becca. Steve is infinitely impressed with Bucky’s job as an ER nurse considering his mother had been a nurse and he knows first hand what a toll that profession can take on people. 

Bucky catches Steve glancing at his sleek metal prosthetic but the blonde is too polite to bring it up. “You can ask, you know. Most people just make assumptions about it, none of which are even close to the truth.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes, “I didn’t want to be rude.” 

“You’re not. It’s not my favorite topic but I’m better talking about it now. Go ahead, ask.”

Steve hesitates but trusts Bucky to know his own mind. “Okay, then. Bucky, how did you lose your arm?” 

Bucky takes a steadying breath and dives into the polite for public version of how he lost his left arm. His parents took him to the lake one summer when he was six, he’d begged for months and they finally agreed to drive out to spend a day there. He got a scratch on his arm and it got infected from the lake water. His parents weren’t too great on the whole “parenting” thing and didn’t notice when it got infected until he collapsed. At that point the arm was too far gone and the doctors had amputated it just above the elbow. 

What Bucky leaves out is that the scratch had actually been a gash and he’d gotten a beating for being careless before they headed for home. Sitting sorely in the backseat the whole bumpy ride home, using his own tshirt to wrap around his arm to help slow the bleeding. It was his transformers tshirt and it had been his favorite. Bucky leaves out the week of agonizing pain as the gash got worse, the infection burning and itching horribly until he couldn’t handle it anymore. Both of his parents were too strung out to notice and he’d tried, the best he could at that age, to put band-aids on it but then he caught another beating for using up all the band-aids. Bucky doesn’t tell Steve that the days he spent in the hospital were some of the best he could remember back then. The nurses were nice and brought him hot food three times a day. On Friday an ice cream cart came around. There were books he could read and other kids he could play with. When it was time for him to go home, he’d cried the entire way. 

Bucky notices Steve is staring at him expectantly and realizes he's gone silent, lost in the less than pleasant memories. “Sorry, it was a long time ago.” he clears his throat, pushing past the ugly memories and moving on, “I got this bad boy through a grant from a children’s hospital when I was fifteen. It was strange having two arms at first. Up until that point I’d spent most of my life with just the one. It was after that hospital stint that I decided on nursing. The nurses who cared for me during both of my hospital stays were just amazing. They took what could have been really scary experiences and made them into something good. I wanted to be able to do that for someone else, someday.” 

“Nurses are definitely superheroes.” Steve acknowledges. “My ma worked in the TB ward when I was a kid. She just had this way about her that she could spin any negative life threw at her into a positive. She was incredible. And I wasn’t an easy kid by any means.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that in the history books. Something about you being a feisty little shit always getting himself in trouble.” Bucky smirks, waiting for Steve to dispute it.

“It wasn’t quite as bad as they say it was. I only broke up a handful of fights over the years and always bullies who deserved it. I was as sick as they claimed though. The medical records were all real and my poor ma worked herself to the bone just trying to keep my lungs and heart going.”

“I feel for her. Even with medical training, it’s awful watching your kid get sick. Becca has some issues, she was born premature, and even though I know exactly what’s an annoyance versus a true issue, it’s still so hard watching her struggle.” 

Steve’s expression falls, “I’m so sorry, Buck.” He reaches out across the table on impulse and grasps Bucky’s hand in his. “What, uh... if you don’t mind me asking, what issues does she have? You’ve seen my list and part of that was from being a preemie myself. It’s not like mine, is it?” 

Bucky wants to melt through the booth into a puddle at the warm heavy contact of Steve’s hand over his. “No, not quite so bad. Her immune system isn’t the greatest, she has asthma that we have relatively under control, a heart murmur that the docs still think will close as she gets older, she’s anemic but has meds for it, and she’s never quite been out of the danger zone on the growth chart. She’s just a tiny little thing, but she's the cutest little girl you’ll ever lay eyes on.”  

“I have no doubt. She’s really lucky he has you.” 

They’re quiet for a moment, nothing to fill the silence but Steve’s thumb rubbing rhythmically over the ridges of Bucky’s knuckles. “Sorry, I didn’t exactly pick the happiest first date topics, did I?” Steve forces a painfully awkward laugh, taking back his hand as he tries to think of a less serious topic for them.

“First date, huh?” Bucky grins despite himself. 

Steve blushes from the tips of his ears down past his collar and Bucky wonders just how far down that blush goes. “It doesn’t have to be. Unless you want it to be one. I had a really great time, regardless. I don’t get out mu-”

“Steve!” Bucky cuts him off, waving his hand in surrender. “Breathe a minute so I can answer.” he pauses and Steve takes a slightly dramatic breath, shooting Bucky a wry smile. “There we go. I had a really great time too. And yes, I’d like it if this was a date. And if there are more dates following this one.” 

“Oh,” Steve is rendered speechless by the warmth blossoming in his chest. “That would be swell.” 

“Swell? Really?” Bucky laughs in disbelief. 

Steve’s blush flares to life again. “Sorry, sorry. Old man word, I know. What are the kids using these days? Nifty?” 

Bucky groans, “Cool, Steve. Just stick with cool.” 

“Okay, cool.” Steve sasses playfully. 

Bucky rolls his eyes before checking his watch. It’s almost time to go get Becca, they had spent two hours talking and it still feels like not enough time. “Shit. I gotta head out for Becca. Preschool lets out at three.” 

“Not a problem, I’d say I’m sorry for keeping you so long but I really enjoyed myself.” Steve snatches the paper slip with their bill on it and hurries over to the counter to pay. “You were right, so lunch is on me.” he insists.

“That’ll teach you not to bet against me, huh?” Bucky quips.

“I don’t know. This worked out pretty well for me. I learned a lot of new stuff, broadened my perspective on some things, went out with a cute guy, ate the best pizza in Brooklyn, and it sounds like I’ll get to go out with that cute guy again. I think this turned out pretty good.” 

Bucky laughs and gives him a playful shove as they leave the pizza shop together. They pause along the brick wall of the shop, neither man wanting to part ways just yet. “I don’t have off rotation for another three days but I’d like to see you again.” Bucky says, toying with the hem of his shirt. He feels like a damn teenager again. 

“Whenever you want, Bucky. My schedule is flexible unless I get called away for a long mission. I’ll take whatever time you’re willing to share with me.” Steve doesn’t want to push, but he’s willing to do whatever he needs to in order to see Bucky again. 

“I appreciate that. I know my schedule isn’t traditional but it’s my life for right now.” 

“And that’s okay.” Steve assures him, though he looks pretty nervous suddenly. He clears his throat twice before he finally asks, “Would it be too fast if I asked to kiss you right now?” 

Bucky’s pupils flare at the question, his reaction answering Steve before his voice does. “Not at all.” he murmurs moving closer to Steve.

Steve’s lips are a breath away from Bucky’s as he whispers “Oh good” and takes the kiss that Bucky so freely gives. Steve fights for composure, they’re on a public sidewalk for heaven’s sake. Bucky’s mouth slots against his like missing puzzle pieces, both warm and insistent as the kiss deepens. 

Steve kisses like he’s drowning and Bucky is reeling to keep up. How something so innocent turned so quickly is beyond comprehension but Bucky doesn’t want it to stop. The alarm on his phone reminding him it’s pick up time for Becca ends things quickly though. “I’ve gotta get Becca. Like, now.” he breathes raggedly against Steve’s mouth. 

“Okay. Okay.” Steve repeats like he’s convincing himself. “To be continued?” 

“To be continued.” Bucky agrees, leaning in for one last quick peck and then heading off to go pick up Becca.

#stucky #stucky fanfic #shrunkclunks #modern day au #modern au #non winter soldier bucky #nurse!bucky #parent!bucky #captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #kid!becca barnes #adopted child #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fandom

[thephantomporg84]

[REDACTED] be complaining reg. the reactions of having "placed the cultist island Fortuna off the coast of Florida" while having the gall of "It’s the story & the way it’s told that should fucking matter" & "Who cares? It’s fictional geography, you idiots." Feels a bit like failing World-Building 101. I mean, Red Grave based on London would also be a callback to Dante's early concept of being a Brit.

Someone already sent me the whole post of hers that I’m pretty sure you’re referring to lmao. I’m in a particularly cunty but pleasant mood rn, and analysis is kind of my thing, so lets’s break it down, shall we?

Maybe someone can send this her way and… learn that tiny little brain of hers a thing. 😉

It’s fictional geography called world building, you idiots Karen after the cut:

‘I love how a number of shitheels have screeched amongst themselves on this hellsite about how I had placed the cultist island Fortuna off the coast of Florida or somewhere around the Gulf US states (re: the fanfic & project link in my header), whining that it should’ve been in Europe, namely Italy.’

An admission to stalking profiles is not exactly the best way to start a self-righteous rant or advertise your… magnum opus, but go off, I guess.

‘Not only that, but they whined about “plotholes and inconsistencies” without elaborating on what the latter are. The asshole who made the rant was annoyed when I used a poem as a spell in the story (“if I heard that, I’d turn off my PS4.”), but I’m sure she didn’t bitch about the cutscene before the last Agnus boss fight in DMC4.’

Like the movie The Room (2003), it’s just easier to say “all of it” is bad because “all of it” contains plotholes and is inconsistent in tone, has terrible half-baked ideas and plot threads that remain unresolved and/or do nothing to further the plot, is rife with poor + inconsistent characterization, has a lack of any knowledge how the medium it exists in is made, and in general makes me wonder how much pottery enamel you’ve been huffing to think any of this was a good idea. Howeverrrr, in contrast to you, Tommy Wiseau is kind of odd and weirdly charming both in general and about his terrible movie — he’s found glory and success in its terribleness. You, in contrast, remain a miserable cunt with delusions of grandeur.

Dante and Agnus’ Shakespeare bit is actually a pretty well known trope called Ham-to-Ham Combat. Dante and Agnus are both ridiculous Large Hams in DMC4, and when two Large Hams meet, in general, they are likely gonna try to ‘out-over dramatic’ each other. This can lead to a scene becoming either really funny or really corny (or both) really fast. If things go too far — and they do, in this case — the scene can become a Hormel Event Horizon.

‘…but they LOVE the plotholes & inconsistencies if Capcom makes the latter, and writes a terrible story! And Crapcom’s canon for DMC is as straight as a paperclip or a dog’s hind leg. Hypocritical pricks.’

Subjective opinion is not, and never will be, objective fact. People are, as of when I checked again in the last ~5 minutes or so, absolutely able to enjoy whatever media they want regardless of what the general consensus on the quality of that media is.

As an example, I enjoy The Room (2003) despite its terribleness and it never fails to make me laugh, while your magnum opus makes me want to huff pottery enamel so the pain will stop despite you thinking it is the work of an idiot savant.

‘They were also mad that I wrote Dante as a wiseguy who is a little more low-key about it due to the circumstances— instead of being a pathetic manchild airhead that tries too hard.’

You didn’t write Dante.

You wrote Reboot!Donte — a fucking terribly out of character version of him, at that.

‘I was primarily concerned about moving the story along. I didn’t care about where a fictional island is supposed to go.’

You literally had one (1) job, Karen.

‘…Meanwhile, not a single character in DMC4 had an Italian accent, so uh, why should I give a flying fuck where I put it?’

Haven’t you been like… shitting on the DMC staff… for terrible writing… this enti— You know what? You’re obvs way too dumb to notice that contradiction, so I’ll let it slide.

Just… a word of advice, if I may? Don’t ever watch dub TV shows. That last brain cell would fuckin’ just burst all over your carpet.

(Actually, don’t watch subtitled shows either. An extremely popular anime that was set in Italy just wrapped and all the characters — le gasp! — spoke fucking Japanese. You would shit.)

‘I wasn’t paid to write any of what I wrote, but be my guest & send a PM if you want to throw money at me. By all means, do that.’

Oh, thank fuck, because they would have been ripped off, big time.

[ btw, you sound p. jealous of people that write/do creative work/commissions for ko-fi/payment tho. Not a good look tbbh. If it’s any consolation, though, I don’t get paid for making fun of you and/or analyzing your dumb bullshit, either. :( ]

‘The pricks at Capcom didn’t even bother giving us a proper DMC4 and it was a half-assed game, with the latter half being hasty filler material. The “special edition” they coughed up in 2015 was just glorified overpriced DLC.’

Ya know, you gotta be pretty far up your own ass to think this much of your opinion. And I’m saying this as a person that’s pretty far up her own ass like 85% of the time.

‘And another thing, Redgrave City in DMC5 seems to be in England, yet no survivors speak with English accents or slang/dialects.’

Pretty sure no survivors had speaking roles.

If you played the game you’d know this.

‘Meanwhile, Dante and Vergil had lived there when they were kids (until age 8), but they both have ordinary American or Canadian accents. Furthermore, how did the twins make it to the USA or Canada? According to the little booklet in the DMC1 game case, Dante’s office is in modern America.’

You know that invoking the imagery of a specific place without naming your location is normal and standard practice, right? Overwatch even does this (For Ex: Byōdō-in (平等院), Uji, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan is the inspiration for Hanamura, Château de Duingt, Duingt, France for Château Guillard, etc.)

Furthermore, you know the original DMC was a rejected first draft of Resident Evil 4, right? This is what retcon is for. You at least know what retcon is, right?

‘…That information isn’t very important, but I’m bringing it up to illustrate a point that being a fucking pedant about geography in a fantasy game is idiotic, even if the setting is akin to modern Earth.’

So is freaking the fuck out and sending death threats over a fantasy game but you didn’t let that stop you either lmfao.

It’s actually super important to establish your scenery and the way your world operates, especially in a written work in which readers are dependent on your vision and your descriptions, and if you were a decent writer, you’d know this.

‘It’s the story & the way it’s told that should fucking matter.’

YOU HAD ONE (1) JOB, KAREN.

‘What US states are the Arklay Mountains located in?’

General description puts them in the U.S. Midwest. Raccoon City itself is stated to have a population of ~100,000 at the time of outbreak, and the only city in the Midwest that matches that population in 1998 is Springfield, Missouri, with a pop. of ~110,000.

Springfield is on the Springfield Plateau of the Ozarks region of SW Missouri. So they’re part of the Ozark Mountains.

This all took less than ~3 minutes to google, btw.

‘Where is “Zanzibar Land?”’

I actually just wrote a comprehensive answer to an ask a few weeks ago about this. It’s actually stated to be in Tselinoyarsk (Целиноярск), the (fictional) area of the former USSR in which Big Boss carried out the Virtuous Mission/Operation Snake Eater in 1964. Tselinoyarsk itself is heavily implied to consist of parts of Kyrgyzstan and/or Tajikistan. If you played MGS3 you’d know how important the setting and the varied environments/climates are to the game mechan-

oh yeah wait you believe in segregation of story and gameplay mechanics. I forget you’re completely tone deaf sometimes lmao.

How far is ‘Salem’s Lot or Derry from Bangor? Who cares?’

Stephen King does, quite a bit. He even has a map on his website of ‘his’ fictional version of Maine:

My disappointment is immeasurable, Karen.

#anonymous #replies #porg drama #derelict-stranger #derelict stranger #dmc #devil may cry #dmc5 #devil may cry 5 #dante #dmc dante #dmc fanfiction #dmc meta #writing #ao3

[mattymattymerduck]

Pick-Up Lines Pt 2

Summary: "What kind of drunk are you?" You looked up at him and smirked without missing a beat, 

"The slutty kind."

[Part 1]  [Part 3] [Part 4]

Warnings: Swearing again, drinking, mentions/implications of sex

Word count: 1600

A/N: Ok a couple people asked for this one, hope you guys like it!! Honestly was not prepared for how much of a response the first part got but it definitely motivated me to write more so ! (Also I’m gonna tag some people who left some sweet messages on the first part, hope you guys don’t mind!)

You hadn't heard him. Of course you hadn't heard him, he knew you were asleep. The bold red writing above your head told him there was only a 5% chance you would hear and remember the cheesy one-liner he dropped.

He shouldn't have been disappointed, that was the only reason he was able to say it anyways. But he supposed a little part of him had hoped for that 5%. Expected it? No, but hoped? Certainly.

He spent the next 20 minutes and 56 seconds kicking himself over it before you groggily shifted, turning onto your back and stretching out with a relieved groan. Connor was fixated, or that's what he assumed he was, watching your back curve off the bed and your shirt slip softly up your hips. There was another urge in his software to run his fingers up your side and place a few feather-light kisses over the newly exposed skin.

The corners of his vision reminded him of this instability, but it popped up too often when you were around for him to truly care anymore.

"I hope you know next time I wake up next to you, we'll both be wearing a lot less." You comment, not even looking in Connor's direction yet. He wondered for a moment how you could be thinking about something so evocative and intimate without the slightest hint of a blush or stutter of your heartbeat. He took in how you said it, like a promise instead of a possibility. When Connor ran it through his processor he only came up with a 16% chance of him ending up in your bed again for such a reason.

Still, 16 was a lot higher than 5%.

He almost told you that he had something to look forward to, then, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He turned his head to face the ceiling instead of tracing your outline and committing it to memory. He didn't want to creep you out, and his social protocols recommended he look away for that.

"Hey, are you ok?" You flipped back onto your side, head leaning on your arm and eyebrows scrunched together. He thought that as an android he'd be better at concealing what emotions he had begun to feel.

"Yes, why do you ask?" Maybe because you've been running your fingers through her hair as she slept, or she could tell that your eyes were glued to those cute blue panties, he reprimanded, only being further frustrated at his inner dialogue.

"I thought you were gonna wake me after a couple minutes but it looks like I've been asleep for longer. Also, you're avoiding eye contact." You add bluntly, making his thirium pump seem to freeze.

"I've recently installed a new social protocol, I was told my staring was unsettling." He looked back at you to catch the glowing smile on your lips, remembering the exact exchange.

"I don't think Hank put it so politely, I could hear him swearing from across the precinct." Because Connor knew it would make you laugh, he replayed the audio track that automatically recorded all conversations he had.

"Quit your fuckin' staring it's creeping the shit outta me, fucking androids."

He fought the urge to hold your cheeks in his hands and kiss the breath out of you when you did laugh. His processor went fuzzy when you put a hand on his chest and grinned.

"Well hey, you can stare at me all you want if it means I get to check you out in return."

"Noted." He was glad he distracted you from your first question, because he didn't have a good lie to cover up the fact that he found you too adorable to disturb. That, and he was thoroughly enjoying cuddling you, and didn't want it to end earlier than it had to.

"Anyways, as much as I want you to see me naked I don't think we have enough time for that. Why don't you give me a couple minutes to get ready and then we can go check out that case?"

---

It was fairly simple to solve, especially since he didn't have to hide the analysis of the victim's blood like he would've if Hank were there. Though, he wasn't sure your wink and comment about what else he could be licking off his fingers was much better.

Regardless, you had closed the case well before the end of the day and you agreed to go out drinking with Hank to celebrate, despite the fact that he wasn't on the team that solved it. Connor thought maybe he was celebrating not having to work at all, but he had no proof.

"Can androids get drunk?" You asked when he offered to accompany you. He shrugged, which was invigorating for his newly deviant programming. He enjoyed being able to control his body casually, no long constrained to a rigid professional posture.

"Maybe if we were coded differently it could be simulated, but the biological process of digesting alcohol isn't possible with my components specifically."

"Hm, I wonder what kind of drunk you'd be." You mused, seeming to completely ignore what he had just said. "I'd want you to be a cuddly drunk I think."

Connor tried to imagine a state of drunkenness where he couldn't keep his hands off of you. It was difficult imagining something that he could never actually experience, but thinking of being so close and intimate with you was easy to simulate. It was a thought that he constructed more and more often now, for whatever reason.

"What kind of drunk are you?" You looked up at him and smirked without missing a beat,

"The slutty kind." and winked, laughing at the blinking yellow of his LED as he almost stopped walking at the thought. "I'm kidding, I'm pretty much the same, just a little louder and a bit quicker to laugh."

That was a relief, because he could definitely see himself blowing a fuse if you did anything  more provocative than whatever this was.

"I look forward to seeing it."

---

Connor knew that alcohol had a funny way of playing with human minds, like their memory or conception of time, but it was another thing to experience it first hand. You had left to go to the bathroom maybe two minutes ago, even saying bye to him before you left, and yet when you walked back you looked so surprised and excited to see him. Like a dog, he thought, he liked dogs.

"Connor! I missed you!" You grinned widely, somehow keeping your balance when you walked over to him. He found this impressive as your blood alcohol content was 0.19 and most people have trouble walking after .12.

But maybe you were having more trouble standing up than he analyzed, because you planted yourself right into his lap when you got close enough. Your fingers went up to delicately trace his flashing LED, making it flash even faster.

"Do you know how adorable you are when you're confused? I love seeing this flash because of me." He was drawing a blank on how to respond, his sensors going crazy from your touch.

"Only because of you?" He prodded lightly, curious if you might be a little jealous about things like this. That part of him that wanted to cuddle you earlier hoped that you might be.

"Well, you're pretty hot when you're analyzing clues too, but when you're talking to someone then yeah. Only me." This was the first bashful smile he'd ever got out of you, and it made the components near his stomach flutter, threatening to shut down.

"Y/N?" He would've swallowed if he could, knowing your lips would connect if he leaned forward exactly 55.04 degrees. Your eyes locked with his and you almost seemed magnetic, whatever this was he'd never felt it before. Attraction.

"You know sex for us is off the table," His thirium pump was running so fast he could practically hear the gears turning, and he watched with interest as your face clouded over with something like sadness.

"I don't even own a table. It'd have to be on the floor."

In the second it took to register in your brain he watched your frown dissolve and you hopped excitedly out of his lap, smile wide and laugh loudly.

"You've been holding out on me! I knew you had some lines in you!" You had started bouncing on your heels but Connor's preconstructed scenarios told him you were far too drunk to hold yourself up much longer, so his hands found your hips and brought you back down to his lap before you could topple over and hurt yourself. He was relieved that you didn't turn in disgust or flat out reject the line, which he knew had a very small probability, but it was higher than the 16% he was still really counting on.

He hadn't really thought about how he was pulling you back down, which he was suddenly regretting. Your arms had instinctively wrapped around his neck and your legs were on either side of his hips. Your nose was close enough to brush against his now, and he fought the aggressive urge to do just that.

"I do have one more," He said carefully, trying to keep his audio box from stumbling. You looked at him expectantly, so excited you were bouncing a little in your make-shift seat.

"I've started running Windows Vista, can I crash at your place tonight?"

@connorisalivedbh @thatshellfiredean @thekitkatlover04 @viixenbriiar @starboundbane @imonamilkcarton @connorlikesdogs @herdecisions Thanks for commenting on the last one! It means a lot <333

#dbh connor #connor x reader #connor rk800 #connor fanfiction #dbh rk800 #rk800 #rk800 x reader #dbh fanfic #detroit become human

[the-jennnster]

I don’t put down books often

I’m the kind of reader who sits down to really read a book, who will gobble up a good novel in one sitting, who has to be told to stop reading.

But today I started Bill Konigsberg’s The Music of What Happens, and I think that changed.

I met Bill, actually. He came a local literary festival and, because not many people showed up, we actually got to have a discussion about his work. He was funny, insightful, and had great stories. He was legitimately curious about our thoughts as readers, on both this book and his past works, and he seemed to really love being up there and talking to the maybe seven people in the audience.

I’ll admit, I’ve never read anything of his before. I remember seeing Openly Straight in my school library as a kid, never realizing what it was, but after falling in love with books like Simon vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda and What If It’s Us (both by Becky Albertalli, with Adam Silvera working with her on the latter), I thought The Music of What Happens would be similar and just as enjoyable.

I started it today, at about ten o’ clock. I finished one of my exams super early, and pulled out a book to read while I waited for my classmates to finish (it was a small class, and there was the promise of a round of Cards Against Humanity with six other animation students with anime obsessions and dirty humor).

I immediately loved Jordan. He reminded me of myself in a lot of ways.

Quiet unless he’s with his friends, a writer nervous but still eager to share his works with people he cares about, just enough emo to garner jokes about his darkly-colored wardrobe, enough acne and self-esteem issues to be trapped in endless daydreams of finding someone but knowing he stands no chance.

I got absorbed into the story, enjoying the goofy antics of Max and Jordan as they tried (and often failed) to make an old food truck into a culinary masterpiece, learning more and more about each other, running off to have little adventures, and just generally being goofy kids.

The major conflicts of the book, however, don’t stem from the food truck itself (though it most certainly is a conflict).

[Spoilers below the cut.]

Max is struggling to deal with the aftermath of what he’s slowly realizing was his own rape (he’d initially thought he’d just had a really shitty first time, which... he had, but it’s so much more than that) and Jordan is trying to take care of his mother and keep their house, which they’re about $5,000 behind on.

I’m about three hundred pages in, not quite finished, maybe a hundred out from the end.

Up until this point, Jordan and his mother have had a decent relationship. It’s far from perfect, as they’re both still dealing with the aftershocks of his father’s death four years prior, but it’s alright. She’s loving, she’s very alright with his being gay, and, aside from a few moments here and there where she leaves him to his own devices (which, you may be arguing, he’s almost a senior, he doesn’t need constant adult supervision, but... well, we’ll get to that), she’s there for him.

She did have a gambling problem, his friends do make some jokes about his mom being a little crazy, and Jordan and Max’s “meet cute” was thanks to the fact that Jordan’s mom had a bit of a meltdown at the farmer’s market and impulsively offered Max a job (as she felt like she couldn’t handle it), but overall it’s fine. They have a good relationship for a mother-and-son, especially with all the possible issues that could arise out of the things they’ve gone through.

But there is one little thing that caught my attention, a red flag, if you will.

At one point, Max points out that Jordan’s mother often treats him as if he’s the adult, as Jordan is the one responsible for making money, buying groceries, and ensuring bills get paid (after his mother let the mortgage go for several months). Jordan brushes it off by saying “I’m sure everybody’s relationship with their mom looks weird from the outside.”

That made my stomach pitch, just a little. Reading that interaction, having that pointed out. It was familiar to me, a conversation I’d recognized not from one I’d had with others, but from one I’d had in my head time and time again.

I kept reading, certain that it would just be nothing. As Jordan said, people have different relationships with their moms.

And then he went grocery shopping. Shit had been going down with the food truck, he and Max were in a bit of trouble, and Jordan just decided “fuck it, I’m going to get some healthy food because Mom said she wanted to turn her life around and get healthier”. He got home, and his mom immediately brushed it off. She dismissed his trying to help her, and when he tried to argue, she snapped.

She never hit him. She never threw anything, or threatened him, or even said she hated him.

In fact, this was the scene:

She takes a bite of her Twinkie, and a twinge of something goes through my chest. “That crap will kill you,” I say.

She exaggeratedly lies back and rolls her eyes back into her head like she’s becoming a corpse. “Well hurry up Twinkie,” she says.

“Mom,” I say. “That’s so not funny.”

“Oh my God!” she shouts and I am stunned frozen. “I get it! You’re perfect. I’m a total fuckup. I am so far below acceptable and there’s zero chance that will ever chance. I get it, okay?”

The energy in the room shifts, lightning fast. Dorcas barks and scurries out the dog door, like she feels it. I stare at my mom with my mouth open. Words do not come out. I don’t even have a coherent thought of how to respond to that.

She sighs dramatically. Herstrionically. “Forget it,” she says. “Forget I said anything. I’m not me, okay? I’m not myself. I don’t remember the last fuckin’ time I was myself but it was no time in recent history.”

She closes her eyes, throws the remaining bites of her Twinkie down on the plate in front of her, and stands. “Excuse me. I just need to--” And she walks away toward her bedroom. Moments later, I hear her door close softly.

That is what made me put down my book.

In fact, typing that up, it was probably the first time I read the scene with a clear mind. Reading it initially, I likely only got so far as “I’m a total fuckup” before my mind went blank.

If I had been in Jordan’s shoes... I would’ve been holding back tears. I would’ve been gritting my teeth, grinding them to dust to keep myself from reacting. I would’ve felt sick to my stomach, with a massive knot coiling in my gut, stealing my appetite (actually, I do feel that). I would’ve felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under me, as if I’d been pushed from a cliff and was free-falling, landing in icy water, desperately trying to swim to the top (I know how to swim, but suddenly, I can’t remember, it’s too much, the water’s too cold, I can’t feel my hands, and it’s everywhere). My mind would’ve been racing a mile a minute, telling me to prepare for the worst, bracing me for sharp words or yelling. I would’ve flinched when she put the Twinkie down and flinched again when she closed the door. The sound of the dog’s nails scraping on hardwood would echo in my ears unbearably, my hands would be shaking for hours (they were). I would’ve gone to bed feeling like shit, feeling like it was my fault, blaming myself for the blow-up, telling myself to get myself together before she comes to apologize.

Because she always comes to apologize.

She comes to stroke tear-stained cheeks long after it’s over. She comes to crawl into your bed and whisper “I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I’m such a mess, I shouldn’t have done that” until the knot returns and your ears swim. She comes to say “If you had just done what I’d asked” and “I should be a harsher mother, I never follow through on consequences”.

She comes to remind you that, despite what she does, she can always do more.

And she never realizes a word of what she’s saying.

I read that part, and I went back to all the times my own mother has done the very same thing. I put down the book and pushed it away while my hands shook and my stomach roiled, waves crashing in my ears as I tried to block out the memories that purposefully faded each time the sun rose on a new day.

I left the book on a table behind me and went to a computer, playing mindless games from elementary school (she wasn’t like that then, she never yelled) until muscle memory and quick-fingered strategy ruled my mind, pushing it out.

I was still shaking when I got on the bus at one o’ clock, too sickened to get lunch before I left, only wishing to curl up against one of my best friends’ shoulder and ask her “You know how we were talking about too-real stories the other day?”

Because that’s what this was for me.

It was too real.

I’ve read my fair share of “too real” in the past, in fanfictions like “Dirty Laundry” or “my blood is upon me” that tackle the carefully barbed biphobia of family members who “love you despite what you are”.

But those I counted on. Those I planned on. Those I went into saying “I’m reading this to know I’m not alone, to know that there’s a way to live around it, to know that there’s a way to solve it.”

But this... Jordan and his mom... it side-swiped me.

I’ve been home nearly two hours now, and I still have yet to eat (actually, that’s a lie, I had a Klondike bar, because that’s how I cope) or continue the book thanks to the pit of anxiety in my stomach, because I was so surprised by the familiarity of that situation that it took me totally off-guard and threw me back into things I cared not to remember. 

I love this book. It’s amazingly well-written and tackles concepts besides “being gay”.

But please, I’m begging you.

Know what you’re getting into when you read it. Rape (never portrayed explicitly, though discussed) and a borderline-bipolar/abusive mother are at the forefront of this book’s story.

Don’t get side-swiped.

#the music of what happens #bill konigsberg #bookblr #emotional abuse #bipolar parents

[unproduciblesmackdown]

weird to think back on things like the funky experience of being The All A’s/B’s gang and then The All A’s person during middle school and the Smart Kid designation cuz we all have a godawful time within the k-12 education system and also in Higher Education / academia as well and the setup isn’t like, good for anyone though natch between the “lack of attention / occasional positive attention” and “frequent / negative attention” ends of the experience the former is preferable; apparently weird to have been Good Student passing b/c again idk i have good retention and could memorize shit in homeroom for a quiz that day and that was great b/c actually i had godawful / nonexistent study habits and actually basically hated school and did anything last minute and all but like whatever, i could figure out / understand and remember shit more efficiently / faster than usual so like, idk, i’d get wild results ig. and anyways yeah Smart Kid throughout all of k-12 but like, although i don’t think i’m Not smart in any way, it’s like, but no i hated school and never really tried, that inferred correlation wasn’t there but like also there’s the weird Presumed Identity for you. and it Was weird b/c idk i was like, okay? “perpetually nebulous / imprecise / uncertain sense of identity” gang out here and i’m like hmm okay Am i “the good grades getter?” and then apparently you are cuz like welp that’s the Expectation, and also in my case i was also in the “oops let’s minimize ptsd party” gang of Gotta Get As/Bs motivation..............the point is like, it’s funny how despite that concept of what The A’s Getter is, by now i’m like oh but that’s not even like, my Main Thing, much less my Whole thing. my main thing is that i get wildly interested and passionate about stuff and when i’m really about shit i’m So about it and into it and all that yknow. and it’s like, would be cool if i hadn’t had to like, first fight past this arbitrary Assigned Box to even start to figure out what i’m Really like. but Schools aren’t out here about like allowing for people to be varied individuals and shit. plus, weirdly i’m not sure if i hadn’t had that “Positive” Label to supplant any others that my autistic ass would’ve been largely left alone as much as it generally was............even I didn’t get through middle school w/o some light bullying peppered in there but hey for the most part i got by. and like, i remember 15 was a time for a wild Agonizing Spike cuz that was the point i was having to try to settle on a college major and i was like bitch i don’t know!!! for starters how is every 19 / 20 y.o supposed to know!!! but like litchrelly a year and a half ago my ass was in middle school and barely had any opportunities to individually choose what to pursue, and even if i Had an interest i would sometimes assume if it didn’t seem like The Smart Kid choice i would just assume that like, my interest would only be Allowed to go so far. so yeah i’m 14-15 for the first time having a little breathing room and allowed to pick out my own shit and investigate various stuff (cuz of the luck of getting to live on campus aka parents are Not around and i can be around for more than just Classes) and yet like, that wasn’t enough time to suddenly Fully Realize The Whole Of My Own Identity And What My Actual Passions And Life Goals And Etc Are. plus i kinda remember that i figured i’d flunk out and so was kinda Not spending freshman year expecting to actually be able to do this college thing.....so yeah i always distinctly remember the Stress of sophomore year with this Timer counting down of “gotta declare a major oh god” and trying somehow to Realize What I’m Even Like (i did partially lmao outside of the Academic aspect of it) and obviously like, that’s a Lot.......................plus it was kind of doomed anyways cuz i do remember that when i even mentioned the fact of like “hey what if i majored in ______ [cuz i’m evidently actually like thinking social issues are what i’m thinking i could dedicate my attention to, i’m 15 idk trying to figure this shit out]” and it got immediately brushed off cuz of my mom’s assumptions about what i was like based on my being Smart(tm) and my not wanting to tell my parents about anything Actually about myself by that point so that was like..........well cool to know that that’s not an option for me anymore thanks to immediate dismissal........................like i totally remember that by sophomore year i was def Swiss Idol and “i don’t have a clue what to major in” was a big part of that 9_9...............and like, doing college early is kinda crazy but also Not having high school to mayyyybe figure things out for a bit before hurtling towards Declare Major at 92384 mph is like, would it have helped? who can say. but for example, i know Now i’m a theatre gay, and the limited number of friends-ish i made at college was basically all theatre gays what a surprise, but i myself didn’t ever touch that because i had No direct experience with it, because middle school didn’t have that extracurricular, and then being dropped into hs with people who did? i was like fuck i’m not auditioning for shit i really don’t know how to do. i’m not even Supposed To Be Here goddamn!! i can karaoke avpm in the first floor lounge that’s IT!! fuckin r.i.p. but i mean also i Know high school is it’s own fuckin mess that’s hardly like “flourish as individuals!!” all a sudden. like how i don’t know if i’d’ve been “solid B’s” gang if i would’ve had more room to just figure out my own shit earlier, or if things would’ve been even More miserable cuz of my replacement Type being something more frowned upon cuz weird loser was def waiting in the wings............and then of course Smart Kid expectation constraints wasn’t hardly the only issue in holding back that “oh wait but what am i like *Actually*” process cuz if i was in high school i would’ve been around my parents every day and That was just as much if not more a hindrance in figuring myself out. like going to college may have been useful in that yes i did learn shit but if nothing else i am glad for it b/c the strides i made in “god damn i have to get away from these people (my parents lmfao)” and knowing at least that i’m not Like what THEY thought i was like was E ssen tial Knowledge..........but anyhow like the point of looking back on this shit isn’t to figure out How To Have Run The Perfect Course cuz obviously what’s the point in imagining as broad a what-if, but it’s good for Understanding shit currently..........like oh yeah this crap probably Affected me!! and you gotta know the history to understand the present...............it’s just really wild how like, Passion and (rarely activated) Energy And Intense Interest is like, what i consider my Thing now, and that was like. not what i ever heard anyone else tell me that’s what i’m Like, like, ever basically. i mean not that i don’t think i’m Not smart. it’s just like, not my whole thing and it just kinda feels more incidental, right. What If the whole time i’d been able to pursue whatever i felt like is a wiiiiiiiild question i don’t even know. there’s been so Little of that that’s its absolutely off the shits to be able to put together “oh right i’ve been a theatre gay all along” and “actually i Have performed on stage a decent number of times and supremely thrived in those experiences and i Know i was interested cuz i wished like (@ my family: dni)” and have this very simple (and thus far unusable) Knowledge about something i actually like and am interested in, cuz for the most part it’s [??? ?? ? ?? ???]

on a shorter but related note: the Camaraderie i feel with everyone in the “either has or wants to or would even seriously consider Cutting Ties with parent/s" gang and like, always very Interested in the various experiences within this v broad category. cuz there are so many factors playing into Why you’re in this group and then there’s so many factors in regards to whether someone actually feels able to ditch a ‘rent or two, and then beyond that, all the factors in whether someone’s actually able to............like, knowing that it’s never “lucky” to have to be in this group in the first place, i fairly am Lucky about it in many ways cuz, first of all, lucky to have been able to actually execute [eff off from parents] maneuver, and lucky to get to Know that’s what i totally needed to do........we are all Valide in how we try to deal with relations w/ parents that are so bad you even have to think about “maybe i have to Not Have This Person In My Life At All” and like, when people are dealing with that but Don’t feel they have the option to truly cut that parent or two out of their life, that’s like, well as someone who once felt that way and can Empathize and yet also had these Factors Line Up which let me peace out which aren’t factors that are in play for everyone (as well as a lack of other factors which Are relevant for others and which might mean Leaving Behind Parent/s 5eva isn’t an option they’d consider) it’s like Oh wow, let me hear more about that experience. tldr the camaraderie

oh and ps. it’s funny how like, in my post-being-in-school life, i thiiiiiiiink people usually probably assume i’m Kinda Dumb if anything. cuz the Grades don’t exist anymore but i’m still autistic!!!!! which is another wild factor in thinking about like “well what if [some aspect of my life] had been entirely different, hmmm” cuz it’s like. well i’d’ve still been autistic lmao..............the Social shit has like, been an issue even before the other usual shit in school cuz i Knew i wasn’t fitting in at preschool when all we were doing was like, learning colors and going outside. and it always was a bit distressing to me Never really having more than a couple friends and even then not that close or anything, right? and also how i’d try to Fix this with various strategies and trying out different situations like “oh well i’m not putting myself out there i’ll put myself out there” [tries it and it half-backfires] or “well if i’m spending a weekend with people who know me from Online they’re gonna like me for sure” [majority of ppl in a sub Friend Group i’m peripheral to and i’m intermittently stressed the whole time] “Ah Fuck” lmao and honestly only recently am i like oh right..............when you’re autistic socializing just in a very fundamental way is really like That*.................(*a way i can’t easily explain lmao)............like really just in mad recent times kind of realizing like, oh, okay, i don’t think i can ever Adjust My Approach and just suddenly become good at Easily Makes Friends and that kind of shit..............finally just kinda realizing like ohh right okay i really just do Not do “normal good conversation” like you’re supposed to and that’s just chill The Way It Is not necessarily “not good enough at it” way but It Just Is Different way like........yeah it can be Not Pointless to try to modify your social approach and that’s true for absolutely anyone, but like say, if i’m like oh if i simply get Better at [social interaction task] i will then finally be Good at it, it’s like, shit well that’s honestly just not how it works for me. like, #getting how after a point it’s like “okay learning to do [task] in a way that’s more [like this] is maybe gonna be better for Masking / seeming allistic but like, not for Actually giving me a social experience that’s more fulfilling for Me.” Plus, it’s like, i’m also way more (or okay at least As Much) socially limited by external factors, probably. 

pps oh and also, tangentially related b/c Autistique, it’s wild how every time you delve into (something At All specific about autism) you’ll probably learn something Utterly new about autism which is like god damn this isn’t That niche why haven’t i heard this!! why do i have to know there are 538 other would-be “i should already know this” revelations waiting for me about this topic cuz you have to manage to dig up this stuff on your own and dodge all the unhelpful bullshit types of sites where it’s Not about info from people / for people who are autistic? please. it’s almost like this is a constant and important part of my identity that affects p much every aspect of my life and is helpful to hear others’ info about the collective experience of it b/c like, it’s literally all in your own head and you can’t just somehow Know the ways you’re different in that realm just from emergent traits you can pick up on and figure out. ugh!!!! anyways

this is LONG but NO readmore b/c eh. who am i if not [i hope everyone hates my blog this week.jpg] every week

#NOTHING could make me a ''good student'' lmfao low effort and procrastination FOREVER!!!! #i studied a little bit the night before for my driving exam AND the sats........did gr8 on both b/c the devil's watching out for me #I Shouldn't Be Alive title card #but anyways i WILL tag this #long post /// #oh and you KNOW the same source got me thinking abt all this these past couple days......u_u #anyways at this point i am like lmao oh yeah i'm Not easy to interact with! and i usually don't find it easy to interact w/ everyone! #that's how it be on this bitch of an earth..

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: Watching Over You

—

“Will someone fucking help me?!”

He found himself snarling into his headset, jaw clenched and hands tight around the controller as he struggled to extract his character from the line of fire he was currently pinned under. Playing healer was the absolute worst thing; Grey was one death away from suggesting they switch to deathmatch so he could murder each and every one of his team mates.

“Jesus, Grey, don’t get your panties in a twist.” The quip came through in that almost sleep-roughed Brooklyn voice that he’d come to learn belonged to the tallest of the old Ghostfacers crew. Kenny Spruce, only ever going by Spruce and the one time he’d called him Kenny had resulted in a ten minute rant from the man himself and then a very offpitch version of Dangerzone from the other two Ghostfacer alumni on the channel, gave a laugh as he responded, but Grey knew he was kidding when he saw the Genji appear up the side of the building he’d been trapped on with his cyber-agility before unleashing his typical shuriken attack on the three enemies that had been surrounding the party-healer left alone without support. “What you even doing up here, man? Didn’t we say you’d stay with payload this round?”

“Yeah, but that was a stupid fucking tactic.” Grey hissed back, his anger dipping slightly as all three enemies are taken out and his character’s passive regen can start up again. “Plus they just blasted the shit out of me to start with, had to get out of the way for a bit.”

“Fair enough. I got him sorted, guys.” Spruce sounded amused still, and Grey could almost feel him nodding as if they were all in the same room and not spread across the entire country.

***

Getting a regular team together had been Harry’s idea. Something about getting his friends to all be friends, and then it turned into some kind of propoganda plan to help out Grey’s reputation with some of the more open-minded hunters.

It has started with Grey and Harry just playing in random match up together shortly after the game came out when Harry’d decided to bring the game and his extra screen over with him. Usually Grey wasn’t huge on FPS’ but this was bright and colourful, and he really began getting suckered into the art style and the backstories of the characters the more Harry walked him through it. He’d started out using Tracer due to it being Harry’s second so he could talk Grey through the best ways to play and use the character, but after a few random match up games, he’d learned pretty quickly no one liked playing healer and someone had to suck it up and roll that way, and who better than him?

About a month later, Harry had called him up and asked if he was free to join him and two of his old Ghostfacer friends that they were just starting to get back in touch with for a few games. Jo had shaken her head from where she’d sat with a few case files and books open around her when he’d asked if the noise would bother her or not, and Grey’d signed in and joined up with them pretty quickly. That his introduction to two of Harry’s best friends before the bar was running about Caduceus Staffing the pair as if he’d worked with them for as many years as his friend had put him off to a good footing. Ed, their Reaper or Reinhart depending on the rest of the team combination, was more than happy after a few rounds to question if Grey’d be available to join them more often in future. He had barely kept the smile off his face, and heard a lot of puking noises from the other guys through his headset when Jo’d leaned over and kissed him after the next round rather noisly.

The four of them continued to play, several nights a week every week, for the next three months and Grey had begun to think of the other two men as some of his closest friends as well.

—

Hey Grey, the boys are actually free and coming up to visit next weekend, you good to come round to the bar for a few drinks and a BBQ?

Harry’s text had made him feel almost giddy the moment he’d seen it, that he was being invited along to an event with ‘the boys’ felt unusual but also so normal all at once. There was a flash of concern about the bar and the safety measures that had once again been put in place cutting him off from being able to agree, until his phone buzzed again three times in quick succession.

Sorry man, forgot about the Iron Jo said we can do BBQ at yours We’ll be round Saturday

That giddy feeling was back immediately upon seeing it. Not only was Harry willing to change his plans to fit Grey in along with the rest of his friends, which somehow made him feel both upset for making those plans have to change but also so good that his friend cared enough to change them for him, but Jo had already okayed the idea of four guys hanging out, drinking beers and taking over the backyard and/or kitchen without a moments hesitation from the sound of it. Facilitating his making new friends, and helping him without it feeling stifling.

His nervous energy had lasted all the way through to the weekend, and Jo had given up even rolling her eyes at him as he’d cleaned up and tidied the living room, kitchen and backyard for the fourth time that morning. She was more focussed on simply getting the minute steaks defrosted and potato salad she claimed her mom used to make prepped for the afternoon.

It felt strange in a way to put a face to a voice and name as the three men had arrived. It felt stranger still for him of all people to find that concept strange, he’d practically invented putting a name and face to a disembodied voice after all. However, the odd mix seemed even stranger when he realised he’d been added to the equation.

Spruce was not what he had expected - almost 6″3 and a patchy beard growing alongside the full black ensemble and glasses. It matched the quiet yet rumbly voice Grey was used to, and he definitely seemed friendly enough from the immediate fist bump greeting as he’d headed through the house to the backyard as Grey’s waved instruction.

Ed matched exactly to what Harry had told Grey of before, and even recognised vaguely from some old video he’d been shown by either Harry or Jo once upon a time. However he’d stopped dyeing both his hair and shaving his facial hair if the dark hair and fully developed beard was anything to go by. Ed even pulled him into a one armed, chest bump-back hit move as his own greeting, and Grey had to bite down a smile of his own realising he wasn’t dwarfed at all by this friend of Harry’s like the other one.

The afternoon had been as if all of them had known eachother for years, talking easily and sharing ciders or beer or soft drink depending on who it was throughout the afternoon until Jo’d called out that lunch had been ready. Spruce had made a joke originally about women in the kitchen and how it’s supposed to be the man’s job to cook a BBQ, but it had been the one and only awkward moment of the afternoon - especially as he’d quivered under Jo’s death glare and Harry had whispered something loudly about not wanting to piss her off ever.

Excepting that moment, all four men had had a great afternoon which had bled into evening and ended up with all four crowded in the front lounge with a second PSN from the bar brought along and playing a few drunken deathmatches.

Jo had brought in the ordered pizza around the end of the first hour of rounds, and Grey had even felt comfortable enough around the other’s to drag her into his lap and try to show her the ropes of the game.

“Yeah, lets teach the little lady how to play, should be fun as.” Spruce’s comment sounded a little too on the edge of asking for trouble, but from what Grey could remember he was about eight beers in and given he’d lost the last four rounds despite sticking to his main Genji, there was clearly a disconnect somewhere in his head. “Pretty little thing like you Jojo probably don’t know nothing about games, aye?”

“Bet she only plays those girly simulation games.” Ed added on, a drunken smirk on his face as he looked over at the pair of them cuddled up on one of the arm chairs from his spot beside Harry on the main couch. Harry for his part looked like he was too bemused by his mates comments and the fact he knew Jo could destroy the pair of them in her sleep to correct them as Jo had snarled in response.

“Fuckin’ bring it on, dickwads.” Her words were fighting words, and Grey didn’t even think about it impacting his points as Jo’d taken his controller off of him and switched characters at the loading screen for their next round. Somehow it seemed to fit when she chose Soldier 76; and he didn’t miss the way Jo looked over at Harry for an imperceptable nod from the researcher before she fully selected it. “Get ready to die, bitches.”

“After you, girlie.”

It barely surprised Grey when it turned into a bloodbath immediately, nor that the moment the game started Jo’s Soldier had Spruce’s Genji trapped and dead within thirty seconds. It also didn’t surprise him as he noticed Harry’s Winston avoided her character and as such her wrath like the plague. Ed’s Reinhart was the next dead, and for the next three minutes as their death tallies continued to be counted up and ranked against the other four unknown players in the round that Grey’s username was sitting up at the very, very top with a healthy ten-kill margin above the next highest.

Throwing the controller into his lap a little too harshly as the round finished, Jo’s play clearly trumping anyone else as well as the screen showing through a 10 kill spree of all headshots as Play Of The Game she’d enacted about halfway through the match time, the blonde had given the two newcomers a sneer before gesturing for their pup to get up from where she was seated and heading upstairs with a “I’ll leave you boys to it” over her shoulder. Grey couldn’t help the tiny smirk that started up at the flabergasted look on both other men’s faces before they started up the next round.

It was another two beers and almost ten comments about “Damn, that play though” before Harry decided to let the other’s in on that they’d just gotten schooled by a real shooter and none of them had started another round until the bitching about “unfair advantages” had died down some twenty minutes later. Another three beers and Harry was summoning an Uber, Ed was wrapping Grey up in the tighest hug he’d experienced from an inebriated man with a lot of tears and “where were you when we needed another Facer?”, and Spruce had then dog piled in on it with a call about how “damn cool Harry’s new mate” was and “you sure your girlfriend isn’t single” before Harry chased the pair of visiting friends into the waiting Uber and shared a bemused look with Grey as they all parted ways for the night.

After that, Grey knew he now have two more good friends, even if they were a bit weird in their own way.

—

It was another month before the fifth member of their little group joined them for the first time.

Harry had organised the usual gaming session about an hour later than usual with the simple message that got another friend whos free to play, and the idea of adding a fifth member to their usual roster suited them all pretty well. If they managed to find one more, they could actually play with friends and friends only rather than having a few odd swing ins for matches against other groups.

When Jo had swung past and heard him up later than usual on her way up to bed from one of her late night baking sprees, he’d handed her a spare pair of headphones to listen in on the group and found out that their new guy was a hunter like her. Grey had played attrociously that round, barely managing to heal anyone on the team as his fingers have shook and fumbled too much to fire straight or connect right on the others.

Jo had said it seemed ‘fitting’ that the other hunter was trading between McCree and Ashe every other game, as if trying on which style of player he wanted to be, before kissing him good night and retiring to bed with Nana. He knew he could wake her up when he got upstairs if he was still stressed, but that felt like a bit of a defeat to him of how far he’d come, of how far he’d pushed past being impacted by interacting with hunters who didn’t know who or what he was. Instead, he’d simply curled up around her, arms around the waist and face buried in that vanilla scented hair like he wasn’t still being impacted by a surprise hunter involvement.

It had taken another three weeks before Grey had found out which hunter it was, other than going by the screenname MrFizzles2000.

—

“Hey so is it okay if Garth stops by this afternoon?”

“Who?”

“Garth. He’s a hunter, but he’s chill. Like you already like him.” Jo had raised an eyebrow up at him from where she was currently in the middle of some intricate looking chocolate and dough bread…thing. “He got a bit banged up on a job nearby and asked if he could swing by for a patch up.”

“I don’t know any hunters called Garth.” He frowned at her, resting a hip against the countertop as he watched her working. The frown didn’t last too long, though his brows still creased, when she had swiped a bit of the chocolate mix onto a finger and offered it out to him with that entirely too innocent look on her face that let him know she knew exactly what she was doing.

Jo shook her head at his words, an eyeroll clearly being fought from showing, before she licked the chocolate off her own finger at his look. “Sure you do, MrFizzles? He’s cool, he’s chill, and he already knows all about you, hun, and he’s the absolute last hunter who would ever be predjudice against you for that.”

That had sounded too good to be true, and he had pressed further for more information just as soon as he’d finished tasting the chocolate from her lips.

“He got bit, werewolf hunt gone bad last Spring. I’ve been workin’ with him on ways to stay in the game and also stay on top of the situation.” Jo had smiled up at him so sweetly at that as she watched him carefully, that he had trouble keeping his look blank at the revellation that the hunter he played video games alongside was both a hunter and a monster too. That there had been no real reason for him to be so concerned and nervous, but at the same time, the whole idea of a monster as a hunter seemed far fetched even with progressives like Jo, Sam and Harry running about. Her smile had dropped a little as she saw his impassive look, and added quietly, “You hadn’t noticed I duck off near full moon each month? I’ve been keeping my hunts set so I can get to his home and help keep an eye on ‘im during the transformation times now it’s all gone back to mostly normal. He’s a sweet guy, he doesn’t deserve what’s happened but damn if he’s not workin’ hard not to let it stop him doin’ the job.”

“I hadn’t actually noticed-”

“Didn’t think so. But yeah, Harry, Garth and I have been workin’ on the hunter portal cause they’re both big geeks and I guess Garth and Harry realised you guys all play the same games so there you go.”

Grey rolled the thought over in his mind for a moment as Jo had spun in his arms to resume her complicated plaiting of her chocolate bread dough, the chocolate was rippled through it in veins and he was sure it was going to be amazing from what he’d already tasted; before tucking his chin over her shoulder. “Fine, he can stop by. Given I doubt he’s going to try to… gank me?”

There had been a laugh at that, and Grey had found himself almost pacing in the front lounge for the next hour awaiting the arrival of the man who was somehow an unknown hunter, a fellow monster and his mystery team-member all at once.

The first Grey had seen of him was a tall but bean-stalk like guy wrapping Jo up into a tight hug that managed to lift her feet up from the floor and spun her around when just looking at him such a feat should have snapped him in two. There was such a friendly look to him despite the extremely gross mess that was one half of his face, that somehow the clearly openhearted and friendly demeanour broke through even the worst of injuries. “Joey, hey, thanks so much for letting me stop by. Just got on the wrong end of a chupacabra.”

“Yeah I can bloody see that!” Jo had laughed as the man had let her back to her feet, and she’d raised a hand to look at the other’s mangled face - pieces of skin sliced and torn all over one side of his face, and Grey could see a bit of blood smeared on Jo’s hair from where it had touched the area during their hug. “Well not to worry, I’ll get you all patched up soon enough. You know Grey?”

“Grey! Hey man, so good to finally meet’cha!” The next thing Grey knew, he too had been pulled up into a tight hug without a moment to prepare for it, while the hunter wrapped his scrawny arms around his shoulders and rocked back and forth for a second. Garth was still talking, that exceptionally friendly tone bleeding through even Grey’s panic at the unexpected move, “I’ve heard so much about you from Joey and Harry. Been so lookin’ forward to meetin’ you finally. Sorry it couldn’t be better circumstances, man.”

He’d been released after a full thirty-Mississippi’s, and Grey had forced himself not to smoke away out of fear or jerk back more than a polite step as the hunter let him go and continued through to the kitchen at Jo’s gesturing. She had stopped and reached out for his hand, squeezing tightly as she gave him an understanding look as he let out a shaky breath. It took him another few minutes to work down the panic, splash his face with water and then head into the kitchen to see if there was any additional assistance needed once he had calmed down.

It hadn’t taken long for Grey to warm up to Garth once there was no unexpected if very nice hugs, especially as all three had sat down at the kitchen table together while Jo whined about “even though you’ve got higher regeneration than the rest of us, it doesn’t mean you won’t get an infection”, the hunter had simply looked across at him and shared an exasperated eyeroll. That the next thing out of the hunter’s mouth was to congratulate Grey himself on a beautiful house and kind girlfriend settled the matter for him, this was another hunter he would happily spend time with. Maybe with just a bit more distance, or at least warning next time.

—

The sixth and final member had actually come about through Dean.

The hunting brothers had been visiting as they had been doing on and off ever since the Gordon Situation had been handled. Grey had found it exceptionally uncomfortable to begin with, especially the heated, distrusting looks he would get constantly from the eldest brother whenever they did stop by, but Jo had almost burst into tears when the brothers had called and asked if they could drop by the first time about a month after they'd last been around that he couldn't very well say no. Not when she'd flung herself at him right after the agreement either. And so it had become a thing, where if the brothers were within two hours of the city they would pop by after their hunt to say hi. So long as Jo was home, of course.

It was on one of those nights that they were over and talking with Jo in the kitchen while Grey and his group were just kicking off their usual two or so hours of game play that the eldest Winchester had made the comment.

"Is that that weird anime shooter game? Overlord or something? We've got a friend who plays that and she's been looking for a new crew. I'll give her a call and see if she's free if you guys need another tonight." And that was how the sixth member joined them.

---

Supposedly Harry and Garth both already knew and liked the woman, and she was involved with the online hunting development with them and Jo. According to Dean she was a genius, according to Jo she was 'a lacklustre copy of Ash with a vagina' when Grey'd asked her for more that night, according to Harry she fell somewhere in between and Jo only disliked her due to being hit on the first time the women had met.

Charlie Bradbury had been a welcome edition though that first night, and the group had quickly agreed to add her into their little ragtag team.

She tended to roll D.va as her default which meshed well with everyone else, but sometimes she'd play Zarya instead when the mood stuck her which also worked well. Grey figured she was compensating for something always playing the tank role, but knew better than to question it.

That first night though, Grey had been surprised to hear the chirpy female voice through the headset as they finally all got online and in the one escort mission together. They were in charge of the escorting that time, fighting off the other party with a fair few hiccups.

Sometimes Charlie would charge forward further than she should, a level of cockiness in her taunting over the channel directed at the other team than rarely matched the level she was playing at. Sometimes, Spruce would end up accidentally completely forgetting it was a team game amidst the jeering and begin to seek out personal glory rather than working within the team. Sometimes, Grey would drop too far behind trying to regenerate his own health and by the time his character would catch back up, the party would be close to death. And sometimes Ed and Harry would have ended up pissing off one another over something or other, and refused to work together properly until screamed at by the rest of the party or one of them would conceed and apologise.

Overall though, it had been thoroughly amusing, they had finally worked out some of the kinks by their last round as it hit midnight and Jo had appeard in the doorway making a coughing noise in just her sleepwear and Grey had quickly called it a night on the group to a chorus of teasing from the rest. Overall, the computer whiz had fit in well with them all once they got a hold of their egos, and Grey knew that they’d be adding a final person to their regular line up.

***

The escort mission was going somewhat well so far, they’d made it through the second checkpoint and Grey had only have the one close encounter so far that Spruce had fixed up. They had almost reached and surpassed their opposition’s marker in the competition play they were undertaking, and as he directed his character back into the frey towards pushing, Grey could hear Charlie going off again.

“Fucking cocksucking assholes, we’re going to beat these sonofabitches back for sure.”

“Not very ladylike language there, Charls.” Ed’s voice crackled through the headset, clearly teasing as his Reinhardt pushed at the back of the payload alongside the firey redhead’s D.va and Grey’s own Mercy while Spruce’s Genji, Garth’s McCree and Harry’s Tracer zipped about them dealing out damage as they passed.

Grey could tell from the way the D.va suddenly stopped moving that the woman had taken offence. It was something that happened often enough each of the other player’s had noticed it and knew just how damaging one of her stubborn flares could be to their overall performance.

“Ed...” Spruce’s voice rumbled through the quiet, before being cut off by Garth’s friendly attempt at distraction, “Hey Charlie, we’re almost there - watch out for the Reaper comin’ up.”

The silence from their solo female player continued as did her character’s stubborn freezing on the spot as the payload’s speed slowed down having lost the third player’s additional momentum.

“Ed...” Spruce tried again, only to receive a loud feminine hiss and a whiney groan in response.

Grey found himself sighing quietly as he moved his Mercy about the screen to start healing a team member here and there, to boost the attack as Garth completed a flashbang to distract and disorientate their oppponents while they waited for Charlie to get her panties untwisted. While the girl was a very good gamer, and from what Grey had heard from Jo and Harry over the last month, he knew she was equally good at setting up secret portals for sharing the information hunters needed quickly and efficiently between themselves without needing to get too involved in understanding any of the information shred herself, she definitely had a bit of an ego and tended to snap quickly and unexpectedly if she thought she was being insulted.

The time was ticking down for them and they only had two minutes left to compelete the challenge, or at least get past their opponents marker. It was so damn close.

“Ed!” This time it was Harry’s voice, sharp and harsh as his Tracer skipped about from one side of the payload to the other, drawing fire and avoiding equally easily. “Just do it man, you know you were being a shit.”

There was a pained sounding groan as the group managed to move the payload further along and from where Grey was positioned, turning his camera he could see their D.va still just standing still left behind them in Charlie’s tantrum while the enemy players appeared to be trying to decide if they kill out the lone character or focussed on the payload objective.

The groan came again and they were slowly leaving the other behind when Grey realised what he had to do as two of the enemy players began wailing on the frozen and non-reactive D.va. He had seen Charlie let her character die and then remain at the spawn spot before, she had seen her be prepared to lose the match out of spite from one too many kitchen jokes from Spruce or a snarky comment from Ed or Harry. One time she did it after Garth had made some joke about her identifying a monster wrong and sending a hunter out with the wrong information if it ‘hadn’t been for his quick thinking’ to fix it. Grey had yet to aggrivate the woman enough before, but he was a lot more wary of upsetting someone close to the Winchester’s than the rest of them.

He had one strategy left that would allow her to survive, Ed to apologise and possibly give enough of a boost to the team they could pass their competition’s mark with or without the other’s help.

“Mother, fuck the lot of you.” Grey hissed into the headset as he set off his ultimate ability and jerked into the air above the rest of the play. He could see Charlie’s character start gaining health as he moved slightly back towards her to split the difference to the rest of the team, while their offensive characters began dealing enough damage to the surrounding enemies to push them back while Ed’s remaining pushing character continued with their objective. It took about ten seconds into the duration of his power for the hits to start coming from the opposite team, watching his own health deplete. “Harry, go for the Genji, Spruce target the Soldier, Garth the Pharah is almost dead one more shot should do it. And for fucks sake, Ed, apologise this instant!”

There was a quick movement of characters about the screen from what he could see as the three he’d pointed out began the assaults on the assigned enemies and as his powers ability came to an end of time and he dropped his character back down to help with the payload; he saw all three enemy units get taken out. His own was needing a lot of regeneration shortly, but that could wait. If they could just get Charlie back on board...

“Fine, fine.” Ed’s voice crackled, sounding tight and a little sour, before he added into the silent chat. “Look Charlie, I’m sorry. I know we’ve been ragging you a bit today so I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” The words sounded clipped and a little too formal, but next second the D.va was up against Ed’s Reinhardt and pushing along beside them as they crossed past the enemies original marker.

The end point was in sight as they entered the final phase of the match, but Grey could tell they wouldn’t make it without a bit more sacrifce, and sighed as he stayed in place providing the third party to push the load as much as possible even as he’d reached under 15hp left. His screen showed them getting to within 5m of the end point before he was back at the spawning point at the start and found himself sighing resigned not to see if they’d won outright or not as the time counted down.

Such was the curse of being the healer when there wasn’t enough time left for healing to matter. He never got to see if they won or not.

---

It hadn’t been intentional when he’d introduced his sister to the game. It was one of those weekend visits by her when Jo was out of town and not due back until early the next morning but it just happened to coincide with one of his game nights and Shada had looked so bored just ‘hanging out’ that Grey had told the guys he wasn’t available and grabbed the spare remote to play a few rounds showing her the game.

She hadn’t been like Jo had, taking time to pick up how the game worked, how the controller worked, how to actually target and shoot and achieve the tasks. But she’d been more excited than Jo had - tongue poking toughtlessly out one side of her lips as she focussed hard and got drawn into the game as much as he knew he did too. Jo had just looked bored and a little vindictive but not like she had been having fun; where as he could tell straight away his sister was enjoying herself getting to do something he enjoyed with him.

It had become a bit of a tradition between the two of them that they’d play a few different random games with others whenever Shada stopped by.

Grey had not been surprised when she’d gravitated to playing Sombra straight away, and had barely pressed her to try more than two others given how frequently she’d zip straight back to her main character choice each time. It wasn’t like he could judge - he rarely changed off of Mercy now unless they were doing a deathmatch, and even then he did not do well in that game type given how little time he spent playing attack characters - but it was amusing to see how excited his sister got every time he suggested they play a few rounds. He knew it was less to do with the game itself, but the reason for her excitement didn’t really matter so much as he got to get that happy grin out of her.

One time Jo had switched out for him playing alongside his sister when she’d been home for one of Shada’s spontaneous visits, and he’d almost bled from biting his lip so hard to stop the dopey grin from watching the two girls get along and laughing together.

---

Hey guys, cant make tonights session - anyone know an extra sixth to take my spot?

The message from Harry had started this nightmare. It had been about an hour before their usual time, and Grey had felt the slight deflate at the idea he would have to either play with some random or the group wouldn’t get together for the night when the doorbell had rung. Only one person rang the doorbell rather than knocking - a habit that seemingly Jo hadn’t trained the few friends and family of her’s that visited out of after they had installed the doorbell - and Grey suddenly realised maybe his night wouldn’t have to stall out.

My sisters just stopped in She plays Sombra That work for you guys?

He shot off the texts in quick succession into the Discord chat they used as he got up to answer the door. Shada looked as happy as ever, flinging herself at him for a tight hug before brushing past into the house without waiting for an invitation.

“God, why are boys so shit? I mean seriously, even the cute ones are horrible!” Shada whined, flouncing into the living room and throwing herself onto one of the arm chairs, draping her legs across one arm and her head and arms over the other. Her entrance barely registered with the other woman in the room, Jo was engrossed in her laptop in her lap and the thick leather journal on her own armrest. “I mean, I get this guy to buy me a Berkin and then he like... wants things for it? Ugh!”

“Well, that..that’s an expensive bag isn’t it?” Grey asked softly, following in and shutting the door behind him to keep the warm air of the rest of the house out and the cold airconditioned air in. Sitting on the couch, he held up his hands apologetically at the angry look he got from his sister instead. “But no you are completely right, men are gross and shit and horrible. Absolutely not worth your time.” That comment got a snort from the other chair, but flicking a look over it didn’t look like Jo had moved at all or was even listening even if she clearly was. “Hey, I know what’ll cheer you up-”

“What?” Shada’s voice perked up, the arm that had been thrown dramatically over her eyes moving so she could peer at him curiously from under it.

“I’ve got my Overwatch game with my friends tonight, but Harry wasn’t available and we’re looking for a sixth player...”

He had barely gotten to finish the words before there was the high pitched squeal of excitement and he was tackled due to her inhuman speed in the body she inhabited, arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. “Oh can I? Can I?! I haven’t gotten to play with anyone else before!” Shada was grinning from ear to ear as she squeezed his shoulder even more tightly, bouncing the couch cushions from where she was practically jumping with glee. “Can I play Sombra? Please, please, pretty please!”

Grey flicked a hand out to check his phone, seeing the several notifications agreeing to her joining - excluding Spruce’s begging if he could get his girlfriend to play instead - and nodded at her. He was lucky there was another hour before they were due to play for Shada to calm down somewhat before she was unleashed upon his friends.

They’d all played well, though it had mean Ed had been relegated to his tank character rather than playing his preferred Reaper for the escort and assault/escort missions which he had grumbled at until they’d all agreed to spend the last half of their time doing deathmatches instead. Shada had fit into the space left by Harry’s Tracer with her Sombra pretty easily, and the team had changed some of their usual strategies to accommodate the newer player without complaint.

Grey had cringed at several times throughout the night though, as Shada had hummed occasionally singing some parody song she’d heard and when he’d looked away from the screen he’d spotted Jo giggling from her own seat while Spruce and Ed both growled their dislike of “that goddamn Spears pop shit”; or as Charlie had asked thoughtfully if his sister was single at one point; or when Shada had accidentally said some offhand comment asking if Whispering the opposition would be counted as cheating or not that Grey had found himself breaking into a loud song to cover the actual question from being heard properly.

But regardless, the team had fit well - moving smoothly through objectives and challenges together, and while Charlie had had one of her little tantrums when Shada’d made a joke about her ‘butch’ choices of character and asking if it had matched the computer-geek in person or not, they had mostly worked well and won more than two-thirds of their games.

As the clock hit 1am, they had all finally called it quits, and even though Shada had annoyed some of them, all of his friends had bid her goodnight and also said she was welcome to be a swing player in the team in future should anyone ever not be available. Grey’s thought that Shada couldn’t smile any wider was proven wrong as they’d powered off the machine and he’d seen her out the front door after a drink and bit of a chat with Jo now that they’d finished their games and she had packed away her computer.

“I think I see why you keep human friends.” Shada had said softly as she stepped out into the muggy hot night time, looking up at him with a small, thoughtful smile. “They’re...so different to our brothers and sisters.”

“That they are.”

“I think I like your friends, brother.”

“I think they like you too.” Grey had replied, pulling her into a tight hug before she skipped down the stairs to head towards the empty school to disappear from in the dark of the oval, before he’d turned around to find Jo standing on the stairs smiling at him with an almost equally soft look as his sister had given him before they headed upstairs to fight Nana out of the centre of the bed.

---

Things continued like that for a while - sometimes the six of them would play, sometimes one of the others would be unavailable either due to work, hunting or personal reasons and Grey would call his sister in to join them. Sometimes they even decided to just do deathmatch free for alls so all seven of them would play at once. It had been a pretty well established routine, and Grey couldn’t help but realise as he’d get texts, calls or Discords from each of his other team members about anything and everything and not always to do with the game itself that this was what having a tight group of friends was all about.

Not only did they catch up in-game, but each of the others had stopped by the house regularly enough that Grey no longer jerked hearing the sounds of a knock or doorbell the way he had used to. It felt sort of surreal the times Garth would pop by that there was a second hunter Grey felt comfortable in his own skin around.

It was even more surreal when Charlie had flown over for Harry’s birthday held in the backyard as the summer had come to a close, and watching Jo try to be polite and friendly to the woman that commanded a bit too much attention from Jo’s almost-brother’s. The day had been going well, all of those that played with them over, as were the Winchester’s simply out of having been in the area and having buried the hatchet with Harry at least as he’d shown himself invaluable to the research side of things. Even Bobby and Jody had come up, though Grey had thought that was more out of taking the opportunity to see both brother’s and Jo in the one place, and possibly to talk over some files or books with Harry the day after too.

That day had been going so well, with the groups all blending well and even Shada had been invited along and had behaved herself for the most part of the afternoon while Jo and Garth had worked beside eachother flipping burgers, steaks and sausages for everyone laughing the whole time about something or other. Sam and Grey had both worked together to put together a few different salads, especially appreciated by Jody, Charlie and Shada, as they’d all sat down to eat stretched out along a long bench table brought out of the shed into the back garden.

Nana had ran about amongst the legs as everyone had stood and talked beforehand, and was now curled up at Bobby’s feet at the head of the table whining and barking happily every time the older hunter had dropped some food for her. The hunter himself was in a deep conversation with Spruce about the use of technology in ghost hunting and about how static noise in imaging could be used and focussed upon to find that which distorted the image.

Beside them was Harry and Ed, talking animatedly to one another, even though the bulkier of the pair - supposedly according to Harry the other had gotten really into the gym after the Ghostfacers had broken up and was now some survivalist prepper trainer or something - was splitting his time between talking to his friend and flirting with the darkhaired shadow sat next to him. Shada had made a crack about, “maybe I should be even more annoying” when she’d first been introduced in person to the other, and had given barely a cursory look at the other four members of their little gaming group she hadn’t met in passing before focussing almost all her attention on the ex-Ghostfacer so far that day.

Sam had actually sat down next to the shadow without any kind of reaction, as Jody had taken the other headplace and Garth across from Sam, from what Grey could tell in his space beside Jo across from Shada, he could tell they were talking about some job or other that Garth had finished off the night before. He was somewhat more focussed on giving his sister disapproving shakes of the head whenever he managed to catch her eye, but figured that there was no harm in it. Jo was on his other side, right in the centre of the table where she could get up and down easily to keep running about to fetch drinks or more food for everyone as the serving plates emptied.

Beside her was Dean and then Charlie between him and Bobby’s position, and Grey could tell there was something going on from the way Jo was spending more and more time getting up and down for things for everyone else than eating the food that he could tell was the same that had been put on her plate when they’d all first sat down. Looking down at the plate as Jo got up for the third time in five minutes, he found himself frowning as he realised she’d not even touched any of it, completely against normal for her.

Tilting his head and shifting slightly into her vacated seat, Grey had found himself glaring daggers for the first time ever at the elder of the hunting brother’s when he overheard him dubbing the redhead woman beside him “the sister he never had” a little too loudly from a few too many beers as Jo had rounded the table behind him. Out of his peripheral, he could see the way she bit her lip and leant between Dean and Charlie to set down another beer for the Winchester brother who gave her an uninterested “thanks Jo” before continuing to joke to the smiling, unaware woman beside him.

Clenching his fists as he watched Jo spin on her heel and hurry back up the back steps into the kitchen, he didn’t even notice the way Sam seemed to pause in his own conversation looking between the slammed kitchen door, his brother and then his own stony look before getting up and following the blonde into the house. He didn’t notice his sister suddenly looking at him curiously, head tilted as she tried to work something out before returning a half hearted comment to Ed beside her who was talking about some survivial training camp he was running next month, eyes focussed on him as he moved. Grey did notice however his own movement getting to his feet and shoving his seat back harshly before he stepped over to place a firm, little more pressure than his body should be able to produce, hand onto Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey, what’sup Grey?” Dean looked up at him, his attention finally jerked from the conversation about the Hobbit movie adaptations he’d been having with Charlie since they’d sat down for lunch, a slight frown at the extra pressure before it got deeper at the look Grey was sure was on his face. His next words were a bit sharper, voice dropped an octave into a more threatening tone even as those around didn’t quite understand what was going on. “What do you need?”

“We need to talk. Come on.” Grey gritted the words out, fingers digging into the other’s shirt and jerking him to his feet as the hunter stumbled up after him with a shake of the arm and a snarl. So much for a nice afternoon, but he refused to have this conversation in front of the crowd or to ruin Harry’s day with this issue. Jerking his head towards the side of the house, the shadow moved without looking behind him around the end of the table not looking to see the approving look he was getting from the wisened old hunter at the end, completely focussed upon keeping from snapping that Dean had to leave immediately and causing a scene.

He could hear Dean behind him, and taking five faster steps before he spun to confront the other, he had himself mostly under control until he saw the way Dean’s hand was twitching towards his back. “You aren’t going to need that knife, Dean. We just need to have a chat without causing a scene.” Grey snarled the words out, arms crossing across his chest as he stared down the taller man.

“Oh you mean like the scene you started out there?” Dean’s voice was sarcastic as he made no move to return his hands to his side, but also made no move to remove the knife itself as he seemed to be seizing Grey up in return.

“Trust me, if I wanted to cause a scene out there, I would have.” He snapped back in return, grinding one heel into the gravel from the utility space they were stood in. It was as good a place as any. Grey would have taken the hunter inside for the conversation, but Jo was in there and he trusted that Sam would be able to handle that half of the issue. His eyes flashed as he saw the hunter shift as if about to head back to the group and ignore the shadow; growling out the words he had heard from the other, dripping the words with acidic intent. “The sister you never had...”

Dean paused at that, eyes widening a little at hearing the words he’d just let out without a thought, before looking back at Grey. Grey could tell his mind was whirling over what that meant or what the point that the shadow was trying to make to him; and from the blank, unknowing look that covered the hunter’s face he figured the other had not worked out the significance yet.

“You told Charlie she was the sister you never had.”

“So?”

“You told Charlie that she was the sister you never had in front of Jo, you complete asshole.” Grey almost bit his tongue as he snarled the words out, hands clenched into tight fists where he had them against his ribcage as he stared down the hunter. Daring him to deny what he’d said, or deny that it would have meant anything.

Dean appeared to finally get it, eyes widening such that the bright green was fully visible as he appeared to look between the shadow and then the edge of the house back to the yard trying to make up his mind. “Oh shit, fuck, I didn’t..”

“Oh but you did. You fucking well did, Dean. And I won’t stand for you being rude and insensitive to Jo like that.”

“I wasn’t- I wasn’t saying anything about Jo-”

“You fucking know what you said, and how Jo, of all people, would take that comment.” Grey growled back at the hunter’s stammered and awkward denouncing, ripping his arms apart and sticking his fists into his pockets to refrain from throwing the hunter up against the wall and showing him just how much he wouldn’t approve of Dean hurting his Jo yet again. “I get that you might not have thought before you said it, but you’ve barely said six words to Jo all afternoon. You’ve barely even looked at her, and I know you are still not comfortable with me and her, but I won’t allow you to take that out on her any more.”

“That’s not true!” Dean spluttered in response, his hand withdrawing from going for his back but each hand clenched into corresponding fists as he glared across at Grey in return. “I have not been ignoring her-”

“Don’t try to deny it. I’ve seen it all day. I know she’s been smiling and happy, and her and Garth get along like a house on fire and Jody has been taking up a lot of her time; but you, Dean Winchester, have not even looked at her once. You didn’t even hug her hello.”

The brash bluff in the other appeared to deflate at that as the taller man seemed to realise there was some truth to what Grey was accusing him of, fists relaxing and running a hand across his hair as he looked back towards the corner of the building. “I..”

“Didn’t mean to, I’m aware. I’m sure even Jo is aware, but you have been disrespecting her all day and I will not stand for it.” Grey moved closer as he spoke until he was right up in the other’s space, glaring harshly up at him and trying to keep himself from getting even angrier as he thought it over. It was the first time he’d reacted like this around the other, and there was a small flare of pleasure when the hunter stumbled a step back and appeared to shrink a little under his stare. That was enough for now, enough of a recognition of understanding and conceeding to his point. “Now, you and I are going to go back to the table and continue like nothing happened here. And when your brother and Jo come outside again, you are going to apologise to her. Properly apologise. And I’ll let you know if I think it is acceptable, okay?”

He didn’t wait for the hunter to respond, just pushed past the other unnecessarially to go back to his seat and ask Garth about the hunt he and Sam had been talking about as if nothing had happened. Grey had noticed the curious looks from the three Ghostfacers, as well as the slight frown from Charlie when Dean rounded the corner but moved to stand on the small landing outside the back kitchen door rather than rejoining them at the table. If he hadn’t known better, Grey would have thought he was getting an approving look from the older hunters on either end of the table, but that was sure to just be wishful thinking on his end.

When Sam and Jo had emerged with two bowls of potato and pasta salad from inside, her face looking a little pinker than usual as if she’d been scrubbing at her eyes and cheeks, Dean laywaid them and piled both bowls on his brother before grabbing Jo’s arm and turning her back around to go back inside.

Sam slid into his spot beside Shada as he plopped both bowls down onto the table and wrapped a friendly arm around the shadow-girl’s shoulder as he leaned towards Grey across from her. “Hey, did you get your side sorted?”

“Yeah, all taken care of. Yours?”

“Should be okay when they get back out.” Sam’s tone was soft and gentle, and Grey definitely knew that he had a friend in the giant as they shared a knowing smile before starting their own meals again.

Grey wouldn’t be sure would be all okay until Jo returned and actually ate something, but it felt nice to have yet another friend to support him in the form of the youngest Winchester.

---

Three months later, something strange was happening.

They had all logged on as usual, and the chatter over the headsets was much as usual when they were missing Spruce for a round. That is to say, Shada was trying to flirt with Ed, Ed and Harry were babbling about their trip to Comic Con later in the year, and Charlie was trying to organise to meet up with them if their work schedules all happened to match up. The only unusual thing was that Garth had not spoken one word, nor had he done his typical greeting to the group as a whole even once - Grey was kind of missing the friendly twang when the hunter would sign of with a “Hey guys, ready to get these suckers Garthed”. Instead, he’d signed in and was silent.

“Hey so we’re doing assault/escort right?” Grey asked quietly at a lull in the conversation, fingers twitching on his controller as he considered whether to have a drink and wait it out or press the issue as he heard his sister’s giggle through both the headset and from her spot on the couch beside him. Looking out the side of his eye, he could see her twisting a section of her hair - one of those bright purple strands she’d started getting done - around a finger than made him groan. “Please, please guys can we get on with playing. We all good?”

There was a ding and in the corner of the screen, he saw Garth’s first message to the group pop up from the Discord channel - Ready when you are - which seemed so un-Garth.

What seemed even less Garth was as the group finally agreed and started the screen to select their roles that MrFizzles2000 selected Solider 76 immediately without any discussion before any of the other’s could pick their own characters.

“Garth, what the fuck man?” Ed’s voice sounded tinny in the headphones, but definitely reflected what everyone else must have been thinking at that choice. Not once had the hunter picked anyone but McCree or Ashe, not even once. “Since when you play Solider?”

Just shut up and lets play.

That was somehow even less Garth than the rest of it, and the group as a whole continued to fire questions out as they picked their characters. At least he’d chosen another offense heavy damage character so Harry could take the lead-tank role alongside Charlie rather than Ed for the first round as the coin flip had determined. Ed had shouted happily at that, selecting Reaper which would match up well alongside Harry’s Winston, Charlie’s Zarya, Shada’s Sombra and Garth’s inexplicable Soldier 76. Grey was, as always unless he was trying out Moira, Mercy and was actually secretly pleased for another healing person on the team for once.

The first round had somehow been a cake walk for them. Garth was insanely good at the new choice of character, and Grey had found himself suddenly getting a heal boost without having to run out of combat without even asking when Garth’s character would swing past. Charlie and Harry had worked in unison well to take the damage for the rest as they rushed their way to the payload, and even Shada’s almost constant singling couldn’t stop the jovial feeling that was spreading between the group as they wiped the floor with their opponents.

“Jesus, Garth, you need to play that one more often!” Harry cried out happily as they completed the mission quicker than they had before; and there was a sharp whistle of appreciation through the call as they all watched the five-head shot kills Play of The Game from the hunter that had decimated their opponents at just the right time. “Good going man!”

Thanks guys

It was such a small message and did ring true of the hunter’s modesty, so didn’t seem too out of place. But Grey couldn’t shake the feeling something was going on while he drank a sip of his water and chewed on a mouthful of M&Ms while they waited for the next round to load.

As they’d moved across Junkertown for the next assault, and Grey spotted the waning moon in the animated sky, he suddenly realised what it was. Letting out a laugh through the chat out of no where and getting a strange look from Shada as she had her character zipping about, humming that infuriating Britney Spears song under her breath while taking out three enemies at once with one of her EMP blasts, Grey shook his head at her.

He waited for just the right moment to do it, when he knew he’d get an automatic response from the hunter as his character was getting pinned by three enemies to avoid him getting to resurrect Charlie’s D.va as the fought to push back the opposing team from pushing their payload any further. “Ah shit, I need help up here.”

“On my way, hun.” The voice came over the call immediately before the Soldier appeared and drew the fire from the opponents for Grey to extract himself back to their teammate.

“Who the fuck is that?!” Ed and Harry both shouted in unison as they double teamed taking out the three tanks their opposition had chosen to use for the payload push, while Grey used resurrect on the D.va. “Who was that?”

“I thought you guys always wanted me to play.” The voice came again, honeyed sweet and Grey could imagine the smirk on her face as clear as day from where she was. He had only just remembered it was a full moon that night, and Jo always went to help Garth during those times, keeping him under lock, key and a watchfulish eye. It was the first one, full moon that was, that they’d all been around enough to play for; and clearly Garth hadn’t wanted them to cancel with two players out.

The choice in character made so much sense, and as he saw his health boosting again as Jo directed her character past him, Grey found himself smiling fondly as he realised just how lucky he was to have the life he had now as he moved into place to support his friends again.

---

#CA #greypov #cc

[happy-dr-imagines]

Oh, for sure! What a cute concept. This is my first imagine, so let me know if it’s not up to par and I’ll fix it up how you want it. I’ll be using they/them pronouns for the S/O since you didn’t specify -- hope that’s alright. 

Mondo, Fuyuhiko, Makoto, and Kazuichi Saving Their Crush From The Killer & Confessing Their Feelings While Tending to Their Wounds

[What a title!]

Mondo Owada:

The killer had locked the two of you into your bedroom and had missed the last few successive stabs only nicking you, leaving you cowering beside the nightstand, clutching your cut skin.

Everything they’d done had been poorly thought out--including letting out a cry as they attempted to hurt you.

Mondo was vigilant, and that woke him up like that!

He had knocked on your door--just to check up on you. He wasn’t too good with emotions or anything like that, but he wanted you to know he was there for you.

You screamed, and that was all it took.

He wrestled with the locked knob for only a moment before punching and slamming himself into the door, again and again, until it gave way.

You watched as he barreled in and let out a yelling grunt as he knocked out the assailant with a punch.

And another punch.

And another.

One more.

He stopped panting, and his frenzied gaze turned to you.

Mondo gingerly reached out at your forearms, to hold; expecting you to recoil, or flinch. He was so relieved when you didn’t.

As he held you with unexpected gentleness, he stared at you with a concern you hadn’t seen before in his eyes.

“S/O, are you okay? Did they hurt you? It’s all okay now, you don’t need to worry anymore.”

You were a little too shaken to respond verbally, but you gestured to the couple of cuts along your arm and inner thigh--the killer’s missed marks.

Mondo seethed upon looking at them, and his grip softened.

“We--I can--I can fix this, so don’t sweat about it, okay?”

You looked at him, a bit quizzically, but your expression turned to relief.

He helped you back into your bed.

“I need to grab some stuff from the Chemistry lab first. You gonna be alright alone, S/O? I’ll be really quick, I promise.”

Wanting to get over the panic you’d ridden through already, you nodded your head and watched as he shoved the would-be killer into your bathroom and barricaded it with a chest-of-drawers.

He left, and only two minutes later, he came back, his arms full of varied bandages and hydrogen peroxide.

He gently took your arms and caringly cleaned the wounds before bandaging them up.

You noted that his experience was probably due to his background.

“Yeah, haha, I’ve seen worse. I’m--uh, I’m actually...relieved, S/O.”

He looked down at the wound on your upper thigh and fiddled with the tape bandages. “I was afraid that I’d be too late,” he said, looking distantly at something you couldn’t see. “The last thing I can take is someone else I love dying due to my fuckin’ shortcomings.”

You gasped, and it took a moment for him to realize what he’d said.

“Wh--WAIT, NO, S/O, that’s not what I…that isn’t what I…god damn it…”

He was bright red. He didn’t mean to tell you so soon.

When the others woke up, they had a lot to process: there had almost been another murder, you were injured--but now okay--and that Mondo was able to actually successfully admit romantic feelings without scaring the other person off.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu:

You knew your drink tasted a little off earlier after you’d left it alone.

Either that, or you’d gotten too much sun--that’s what you had made up your mind to it being. Don’t want to build a mountain out of a molehill.

You were shambling down the boardwalk to your cottage, hoping to maybe sleep off the overbearing sluggishness that had started to set in about 10 minutes ago.

You barely made your way past the third row of the cottages before the darkness set in.

Some time had passed before you felt your mattress under you, and opening your eyes took too much energy. But you could hear.

Someone was muttering angrily under their breath, and someone else was anxiously trying to get them to listen. There was the clicking of plastic bottles against one another.

“Eee! I-I-I don’t understand why you don’t want me to look after them, I p-promise I’d take good care of--!”

“Don’t fucking ask why! I-I found them and I’m going to set them right, it doesn’t matter either way! You got the fuckin’ medicine, and I’ll take it from here! That’s it!”

“I-I-I!”

“God! If it’s the credit you want, I’m fuckin’ giving you that whether or not you want it, alright?! Just get out of here!”

The first speaker backed down and left immediately without further complaint.

The door locked and a fist pounded against it from the inside.

A moment later, you felt a ringed hand place a cold, wet washcloth on your forehead.

The yakuza let out a groan and asked the empty room why he was doing this shit.

He already knew the answer, but he wasn’t too keen on it, or ever, ever letting anyone know it either.

He’s not supposed to be giving a shit, and as much as he’s telling himself he wishes he had just shoved your care on the Ultimate Nurse, he wants to take care of you.

After laying out the recommended doses of a stomach medication, a heating pad, and a small plastic bin by the side of your bed, he seated himself next to you on your bed.

“Fuckin’ hell, S/O. You have no idea how much shit I’d get from my whole damn clan for this bullshit,” Fuyuhiko grumbled, looking down at your peaceful expression. “Doing all this just because you went out and drank yourself a drug cocktail. Mikan rambled off a whole damn list of chemicals and shit that were inside that fuckin’ soda you left at the restaurant. Good thing you were too damn loopy to remember to clean it up, or we wouldn’t know how to help you.”

He was silent for a moment, and you could feel the mattress bounce as if Fuyuhiko’s head suddenly jerked down.

“I wish I could’ve been there. Or Peko, maybe. We’d give the bastard who gave you that thing hell, no doubt. Once we figure out who it was, I’ll fuckin’ kill them!”

He sighed. He was talking to someone who wasn’t even listening, and it was actually cathartic. Might as well actually go on with it.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you for drinking it. All this murder bullshit going on and you go out and almost get yourself killed once I start giving a shit. I’m not fucking losing you, S/O. Because...well, because I love you, god damn it.”

You coughed and grunted.

Oh, god.

Using up the tiny amount of energy you had, you heaved yourself up as Fuyuhiko turned red and started shouting that you hadn’t heard anything, that you were experiencing side effects, that he didn’t REALLY--

You do nothing but smile and reach out to touch his hand before falling back asleep.

Fuyuhiko makes for a pretty good, if not irritable nurse, and you made a full recovery from the botched murder scheme thanks to his determination and willingness to demand anything you wanted from anyone around.

Makoto Naegi:

He was walking the corridors aimlessly, just to think.

Think about how everyone got here, think about how to get out.

Get out.

That was exactly what he heard you yell from inside the trash incinerator room.

He immediately bolted to the area--without thinking.

“S/O! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!”

He saw you battered and bruised--no doubt the victim of many an ill-placed punch, backed up against the active incinerator.

The would-be murderer, upon looking at Makoto, looped around and darted out of the door, fear in their eyes. They seemed not to expect anyone but you to be out.

What luck.

You pressed the off button on the incinerator before falling to your knees, now that the adrenaline was starting to subside and your injuries were starting to get the better of you.

Before you knew it, Makoto, with noticeable effort, picked you up.

You didn’t even protest at it, and you felt safe with him, with the hope for your safety you could practically feel emanating off of him.

It was anyone’s guess whether his red face was due to the effort or the crush he’d also been thinking about as he walked the corridors.

As he carried you to your dorm, he dutifully alerted the others to the present crisis.

A few smart remarks were made by a few ‘smart’ people upon seeing you being carried bridal-style despite the fact--but he didn’t even put in the effort to refute them.

Hmm.

He enlisted Kiyotaka to retrieve the medicine for you, reasoning that he’d be the fasted.

Makoto gently laid you down on your bed and was shaking a bit as he did so.

“It’s all going to be alright, S/O. They’ll catch up with that killer soon enough, I’m sure of it.”

You nodded, still noticeably shaken.

When Kiyotaka came back with practically all of the healing salves and creams, bandages and cleaning options he could carry, Makoto expressed his gratitude before taking them and setting them down on your nightstand.

When you mentioned that you could do it yourself, he smiled and blushed a bit.

He didn’t mind it at all, he said. He wanted to take care of you.

Besides, he wasn’t too keen on leaving you alone after what he saw.

Even though he tried not to show it, he was struck half-dead with surprise and fear at seeing you so close to the flames.

If he didn’t have the good luck to have been walking…

He hates to think of what could have happened.

Especially before telling you how he really felt.

As he gently applied a little bit of cream to some of the smaller bruises and burns, he seemed to relax once you did.

“S/O…I...I don’t want to stress you out any more than you already have been, but…”

You raised an eyebrow, noticing how soft his voice had become.

“...when I saw you there, so close to--to death, it made me realize something; something I’ve been thinking over for awhile…”

He lets out a soft laugh. “I think--I really love you, S/O.”

Kazuichi Soda:

You had been sitting in the diner, alone, when you heard someone quietly open the back entrance.

Maybe it was the person who wanted to see you for something?

The reason you were here was because someone had handwritten you a little letter, requesting that you come there around the specific time.

If they were shy enough to not confront you face-to-face with whatever it was, it would make relative sense for them to sneak on like that.

Now, you heard the distinct sound of something metal squealing against something wooden; like a knife in its block.

You wrung your hands. Maybe they’re prepping something for you? You were sitting in the last booth, next to the jukebox, so you wouldn’t be able to see into the kitchen unless you got up.

Which you didn’t, for whatever reason.

Once you saw someone meet your gaze, dual wielding steak knives, you regretted that decision.

You would have darted out of the building had they not blocked you, their chest heaving and their smile wide.

Despite their determination, their murder plan was piss poor.

You were able to dodge most of their more fatal attacks and swipes by leaping the counter and various booths. But you just couldn’t figure out a way to be on the offense rather than the defense.

The door’s overhead bell jingled, and both you and your potential killer turned to look at the new bystander.

“Man, I’m so sorry I was late, S/O! Gundham wanted me t—“

He actually took in the scene.

The killer, now taking the advantage of your distractedness, charged you, who was standing crouched on top of the end of the counter.

And he screamed out.

And something snapped.

He ran over to the large potted plant next to the jukebox, and picked it up.

“S/O, LOOK OUT! NOW!”

And he hurled the entire thing directly at the killer’s torso.

There was the unmistakable crunch of breaking bones, and a cry of agony from your assailant.

Holy shit.

Holy shit???

You, clutching some of your wounds, said a breathless thank you.

He anxiously asked you about your injuries.

You had a number of cuts, but none were deep enough to be fatal.

This was all it took for him to let out an angry cry and mutter that this is wasn’t how this was supposed to go, at all.

Before you could ask what he meant—after all, it was the killer who tricked you into coming, right?—he offered to walk you to the hospital.

And so he did. As you laid your arm around his neck, he flushed a little as he did the same.

He never stopped asking if you were okay, if there was anything he could do to decrease any discomfort, all the way there.

He alerted the others to what had happened, and he insisted he could take care of you, rather than Mikan—how hard could it be?

“Besides,” you said, mustering a small smile, “after what Kazuichi did to them to keep me safe, I’m more worried about their survival than mine!”

He didn’t say anything at that, but he did redden and pull down at the sides of his cap.

He then gently helped you into the bedding, and ran off to go find bandages and whatever else he could grab.

It took him awhile, but he came back with his arms full of different bandages and cleaning solutions.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t know which ones to grab—but it’ll be fine, don’t worry about it!”

He set them all down, and you thanked him, reaching out for a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

He grabbed onto it while it was in your hand.

“Uh—uh, I—I can take care of the wounds, too, S/O! No sweat. You walked all the way over here, it’s the least that I can do.”

You let go of the bottle.

“It can’t be too different from working on a machine, right? Haha!”

Wait, no--

He began to dress your wounds.

Not very well, mind you, but you didn’t take issue with the messy bandage wrapping or folded-over band-aids.

“I feel really sorry for this,” he said, pretty suddenly. What did he mean? He rescued you!

“It’s my fault you’re hurt in the first place—it was me who wrote that stupid letter.”

Him? Why, how?

He reasoned it was just luck that he got there to help out, but he had wanted to tell you something.

“S/O…” he said, pulling down on the sides of his cap. “I think you’re really cool.”

What?

“I mean, I really—You’re so awesome, all of the time! And I really like spending time with you and hanging out, and…”

“I love you, S/O.”

Once you told him that you returned his feelings…

He passed out.

Now you both need medical attention?!

[That was...a lot. I should probably limit myself, huh? Thanks for the prompt! Hope it was okay for my first.]

- Mod Fuyuhiko

#danganronpa #dr2 #mondo owada #mondo oowada #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #makoto naegi #kazuichi soda #kazuichi souda #mod fuyuhiko

[bastardtravel]

August 11, 2018. Manchester, New Hampshire.

After seven hours on the road, pausing only to explore an Old Ones cult site, storm a terrible castle, and eat distressingly dry corned beef at a Greek diner that still advertised one of their menu items as “Michael Jackson’s favorite grinder”, we were in dire need of respite.

Establishing a forward operating base was our first priority. For my part, I can sleep anywhere. My bonfire days in the Frozen North frequently necessitated pitching a $10 K-Mart tent over gravel, then drinking bottom-shelf whiskey until you didn’t realize you were sleeping in a puddle of rainwater and broken glass. That’s not a knack you lose. It’s like riding a bike. The Girl was always more discerning, and became doubly so after our experience in Phoenix with the inept criminal front halfway house hotel. We agreed that she can veto any of the lodgings I book. Sometimes, late at night, I’ll hold a flashlight under my chin and tell her spoOoOoky stories about hostels in Ireland.

She insisted on the airport Super 8. I was hoping to stay in a quaint deep woods motel called “Unsmiling Jed’s Sleepaway”, attached to sister business “Unsmiling Jed’s Discount Plastic Surgery Silo and Chili Kitchen”.

If I can’t protect it, I don’t deserve to have it. That goes double for life.

A friendly foreign woman checked us in at the Super 8, then proceeded into utter bafflement when I asked for a first aid kid. I chewed myself up pretty good climbing Bancroft’s Castle, and I’d spent the last half hour bleeding into an oily dog blanket to avoid ruining my upholstery. I’m pretty sure that’s how plagues start.

There were no band-aids here, or antiseptics, or possibly medicine as a concept. There was a three gallon tub of hand sanitizer. I thanked her for the offer but gently declined.

We went up to the third floor. The hallways were lined with people sitting on the carpet outside their rooms, shouting and smoking cigarettes. The room itself was clean and the air conditioning worked. All my boxes were checked. The bathroom reeked of weed, which some would interpret as a bonus. I scrubbed my wounds raw in the sink, tucked away the precious cargo of wine and peaches, and set out to investigate downtown Manchester.

Streetlight technology has not yet made its way to Manchester, so we spent twenty minutes missing exits in ocean-floor darkness. It looked worryingly like Wilkes-Barre, which is not where one would choose to vacation, were one sane.

Downtown erupted from nowhere like graphic pop-in on a video game running at its lowest resolution. One second you’re in leatherface country, with nothing breaking the abyssal darkness but the occasional half-broken Jiffy Lube sign. The next, you’re on vibrant neon market strip, replete with hipsters and the homeless.

We knew we had hit downtown proper when we passed by the “craft grilled cheese bistro”.

only programmers will understand!!!! like and reblog if u get it

Since I am an adult man, grilled cheese cannot be dinner. Both “gastropubs” we tried, despite their bitchin Greek mythology names, offered generic terrible burgers and a draft list that consisted of Coors Light.

“I’m so hungry,” the Girl told me. “I’m gonna die.”

“We all will,” I assured her. “Soon.”

Yelp claimed there was a brewery five blocks away. We walked off the only lit street, into absolute, encompassing blackness. It would’ve been spooky if I didn’t always kind of hope some Putty Patrol mook would lunge at me from the dark while I’m far away from home, having told no one where I’m going and left no paper trail.

There were no incidents. No one was murdered in self-defense. No one knows what we did last summer. The Stark Brewing Company was in the basement of a grim looking office complex, and it was vacant save for two other wanderers.

We sat at the bar and ordered a flight and an imperial stout. I was pushing for finding an actual restaurant, but the Girl ordered “Penne with vodka sauce”, which was not the right color, flavor, or texture to be anything but penne bolognese. The Girl didn’t seem to mind. I ate a pulled pork sandwich.

The beers were warm, but I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what the beers were, so long as they were beers. And not Coors Light. The brewery themed all of their beers off of dogs, for some reason, which I believe to be the ideal business model. According to the bartenders, the brewery had been open for 25 years, but hadn’t yet received their big boom. I was outraged. The beers were excellent, and would probably be even better if they weren’t room temperature, and the taps were not only named for specific dogs, but also provided pictures.

To say nothing of the bathroom, which was covered in sharpie beer lore.

The bartender and waitresses swore a lot more than you would normally expect in this context. The Girl maintains they were swearing at us. I disagreed.

“They were swearing <i>with</i> us,” I mansplained.

“We weren’t swearing,” she countered.

“But if we HAD been.”

As I’ve grown larger and more sinuous, I’ve tried to cut back on how often I cuss at strangers. Cultural relativism is the understanding that not everyone grew up among the coalcrackers, and good-natured oaths like “how the hell are you” or using the fuck-word as a conversational placeholder, while subjectively soothing, can set off fight-or-flight in the small, soft, and bourgeoisie.

I try to maintain direct proportionality between my barbarism and my well-heeledness. Neither the wait staff nor the other two customers shared my bond, and the middle-aged guy on my right proceeded to tell me how his hometown of Denver, Colorado is the greatest fuckin’ city in America, next to maybe Southern California. Which is not a city.

We talked about our homes and travels for a while, then I got my pulled pork sandwich and they left. The sandwich was slightly warmer than the beer, which beat the alternative.

An armada of children came into the bar.

“Oh, shit,” the woman tending bar said. They were visibly teenagers, and on the wrong side of it. They had that gangly awkwardness you get around fourteen or fifteen, and if they were trying to play it off, they were woefully bad at it. There were also nearly twenty of them. It looked like a field trip.

People in their twenties don’t travel in packs of more than six. It’s hard to transport a throng, unless you have a party bus, and why do you have a party bus when you’re twenty-eight? You’re twenty-eight and party buses have always been sad. Get a job. Also, it’s hard to get that many adults to agree on something.

It can be done. You can say, “Hey, adults, you want to do some drugs?” And in a sufficiently sized crowd, you’ll manage to pull twenty or so who will follow you to your house or whatever. This is called an “afterparty”. It doesn’t go to bars at 9pm.

Have you felt out the social zeitgeist recently? Look at a random handful of current memes and it’ll be pretty clear that most adults consider socialization to be a required burden, like paying emotional taxes. “Going out” is the price of living in a civilized society. You’re not going to scare up twenty people, then put them in a party bus, then take them to an abandoned bar half a mile outside of where the actual nightlife is.

“Hey, we’re just about to close,” the bartender said.

A reedy blonde in a top that seemed to consist mostly of straps screeched, “But your WEBSITE said you were open til ONE!”

Screeched.

The bar fell silent. Well, more silent. The Girl and I traded looks, her horror for my delight.

“Uhhhhhh,” the bartender said, but with excellent elocution, as though that were the word she had deliberately chosen. “Okay.”

They sat the itinerant mall food court in an enormous corner table, whereupon they requested shots.

The waitress who had sworn at/with us the least came back to the bar and said, “You guys said you were from Pennsylvania, right?”

We nodded.

“Can I see one of your licenses quick?”

She compared mine against the obviously fake ID one of the tweens had given her. After a moment she said, “Yeah, you can see, the font is different. And the picture looks like it’s photoshopped.”

“Yeah, no one’s license picture ever looks this good,” the Girl said, studying the fake ID.

“Except mine,” I added. They ignored me. I didn’t take it personally.

The waitresses disappeared into the back. Five minutes later, the only dude working at the place was gendered into being the bad cop. He sulked over to the teens.

“You guys gotta leave,” he said. “We know your ID’s fake. We’re not trying to get fined. You gotta go.”

For maximum accuracy, imagine this said in Toby’s voice from the Office. Shamefaced, the flash mob of children dispersed.

We paid for our room temperature beers and left the poor, foul-mouthed brewery to close at 9:30 on a Friday. The Girl and I accidentally stalked the battalion of teens through the street, but only because we were all moving back toward the only lights in the city, not unlike moths. They turned a corner and vanished, presumably to find an arcade or laser tag or some sort of large carousel.

The Girl and I followed the sounds of some obnoxious bros announcing, “It’s like a fahkin sketchy ally, dewd”.

It was, in fact, the least sketchy alley I’d ever been in. Cat Alley was the best lit venue in all of New Hampshire. It was clean and well-maintained, and it was covered less in graffiti and more in an outdoor art gallery dedicated to cats.

There were more, but they didn’t all warrant a picture.

Portland Pie Co loomed from the endless darkness like a beacon in the night, hearkening back to those days lost in Maine during the Great Lobster Drought of 2017. We split a bourbon barrel ale which did me in. It was bedtime.

On the way back, toward the end of the main drag, a man made of pure light rode by blasting EZ-Listenin from his Tron bicycle, also made of pure light.

I can’t prove he wasn’t Jesus.

Heartened, we returned to the hotel, where no one was smoking or yelling in the hallway anymore. Excellent.

Next stop, Portsmouth.

Love,

The Bastard

Into the Abyss August 11, 2018. Manchester, New Hampshire. After seven hours on the road, pausing only to explore an Old Ones cult site, storm a terrible castle, and eat distressingly dry corned beef at a Greek diner that still advertised one of their menu items as "Michael Jackson's favorite grinder", we were in dire need of respite.

#alley #armada #barbarian #bastard #beer #bistro #bonfire #bourgeoisie #brewery #cat alley #cats #cheddar #children #cigarettes #coors lite #culture #doggo #dogs #downtown #fake id #first aid #forward base #grilled cheese #hipster #hostels #hotel #hungry #jesus #jiffy lube #leatherface

[akiyama-san]

I've noticed your comments about Love Live Sunshine and don't get me wrong, we all have our own opinions and I'm not telling you stop posting your negative thoughts about it, but why do you hate Love Live Sunshine so much? And if you hate it that much, why are you even watching it?

I suppose it comes off as hate doesn’t it? Well despite how it appears, it’s not entirely hate, it’s mostly disappointment, and while that might not sound much better i’ll try to explain what I mean, hopefully to a degree that it can be understood. 

Spose I should start at the top shouldn’t I? 

I think it goes without saying that this point that I didn’t like the original show at all, it had its moments, and 2 or 3 good characters, which isn’t saying much I realize but these casts are fucking bloated of course only a handful will be likeable. The concept seemed really fucking stupid from the outset, and it is, but I’ve seen worst, and as a first attempt by SunRise for an Idol show, to my knowledge, the idea to give it an actual plot to follow was in theory a noble one. It failed completely, but the thought was there. More to the point, almost everyone was completely flat, incredibly stupid, and beyond insufferable. 

I’ll be honest, I can put up with a lot, and if I had chosen to watch it of my own volition I’d probably have been more forgiving of the writers dancing on active fault lines, but at the time some years back, I had several people breathing down my neck to watch the fucking show so I went in pissed off. Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t change the fact that these characters say and do things that would make me want to hurt a small child, but I would still have been more kind to it in the long run. 

Then the movie happened, and well.... Lets just say the series needed the fucking soft reboot that was Sunshine after that abysmal travesty of a movie that completely deficated on a third of the casts character development. I’m still trying to work out the quantum fucking mechanics of how Honoka could receive her microphone from her future fucking self BTW. 

I openly admitted this at the time, and this is important because this is often overlooked by the crowd. I said that after the failure of the movie, and knowing that a new series was coming, if SunRise could learn from their mistakes, then I would gladly and open-mindedly go into Sunshine with a positive attitude and be kinder to it if the series was able to escape its charred charcoal burned roots. 

Needless to say I was absolutely blown away by how incredibly Sunshine could be at times, and how baffling disgusting and incompetent it could be as well. I stress that Sunshine is wholly the better property I was able to enjoy more than whole episodes and character arcs completely this time around, as opposed to the original where I enjoyed maybe 10 minutes of its total 700 minute run from episode 1 to movie credits. 

The series had incredible characters to start, those already good characters ACTUALLY GREW INTO EVEN BETTER CHARACTERS, THESE CHARACTERS ACTUALLY GROW AND MATURE AND THAT’S INCREDIBLE. I’ll say openly that the second years are some of the best characters I’ve seen in any anime in the past several years, and I would never hope to take away from that. Better was that we actually had rivals that we could see and understand, that weren’t placed on a pedestal for no discernable reason, one that stood on relatively even ground that could be combatted in real time, force growth and change upon both groups. 

At the same time, while the series had heights and feats that rivaled Everest, it also had lows that would put the Mariana Trench to shame. No, I don’t care what anyone says, I will never get over all the bullshit that happened between Mari and Kanan, and how absolutely disgusting Kanan is, even now, refusing to grow up or stop being a cunt or do anything of value to the group you so claim to love. I’ll be generous and say I was fucking disgusted by SunRise repeating what happened with Honoka and Kotori in the first season here with Mari and Kanan, almost beat for beat. It was terrible the first time, and suicidally bad the second time. 

To regain the focus, by then end of it while my opinions were of the mixed nuts variety with plenty of roasted salt, I still gave it a hearty recommendation because I thought it was genuinely pretty good, blue cuntveats notwithstanding. 

NOW

Where my problem overall with Season 2 lies. If it disappointment and wasted potential were a physical force this series could level mountains. 

From the beginning we’re told that we’re on an incredibly strict time crunch and that we need to focus all our efforts hardcore in the second round. 

Only for almost literally all of the first 6 or 7 episodes to be nothing but filler and padding to waste time, where no growth or progression of any kind took place at all, and such wonderful gems as 

Dia: Please call me Dia-Chan.

Chka: No!

and the omnipresent 

Chika: Teach how to do a backflip

Kanan: Not on your fucking life!

Kanan: Oh shit she learned how to do the backflip... 

Where it all came to a head however was with the reveal of just how many students the school actually had, because that was something that was never brought up. The total number of students is 68 when all are accounted for. And the is beyond miserable. 100 fucking students isn’t enough, to maintain the school you need at least 200, but closer to 300. With 68 students the school should’ve closed fucking years ago. The revelation of that number killed the entire fucking show, it made moot the efforts and development of every single fucking character, because no matter what, even if they had gotten 100 students, this same predicament would still inevitably rear its head once again next year or the year fuckin after. 

I want to make clear, more than anyone else on this site, I have authority to speak on this matter, and no one can refute this, hell I’d barely even listen to them if they did because I severely fucking doubt they ever dealt with this sort of thing, if they did they would totally agree with me.

I have come face to face with a school closure myself. 15 years ago the district announced that my Elementary school would be closing, this school with 700 students that churned out some of the best results in the city might I add. It was a hard and long fought battle, it lasted 3 years, but eventually the parents won that war, and it’s still open now. How did they do that? By actually getting involved, going to meetings, talking directly to superintendents and comptrollers, explaining things like how some of them go to work really early or work late, they can’t send their kids anywhere else because they’d never be able to make it to other schools in the morning on time or pick up on time because of how far away they are, how different schools offer different programs, and not all schools offer the same accommodations for special needs children as this one did, ETC. The point is, the parents got active in the fight, the people that might have been able to affect the outcome did, and while it was no easy task, they did it, they actually fucking one that battle. 

I don’t expect even a fraction of that to occur, but to at the same time tell me that the parents don���t know or care at all, much less any of the other fucking 59 students are powerless to help in any meaningful capacity is an absolute load of horse shit. 

Where it started to bring my blood to a boil, nay to a bursting point, was what happened in the last to episodes with Saint Snow. The best song the franchise ever gave us was Self Control, followed by Shocking Party. This is a fact. From a single interaction some of the most intriguing and likeable characters we got were also Saint Snow. For them to be all but ignored in season 2 until 8 fucking episodes in is ludicrous, but for their first appearance in over 10 episodes to be them failing a concert and us not even getting to hear any of the fucking song, is insulting, it’s infuriating, it’s domestic abuse. This isn’t a slap in the face, this is Studio SunRise forcefully shoving their cock in your mouth against your will and punching you in the eyes with brass knuckles for crying about the cock in your mouth. 

Honest to God, if I wasn’t committed to seeing this through, these last two episodes would be my first set my merchandise on fire moment, and that is saying a lot. It might sound like i’m being overdramatic, but honestly there are a lot of people that agree with me on this matter. 

I did a lot of thinking in writing this post and it took me the better part of an hour to write it. I still hold fast on my thoughts about the original, 2/10 garbage. 

I still hold to my opinions of season 1 Sunshine, 7/10 very good. 

But this season? Well let me put it this way, I score every episode and tally the scores at the end, if season one got a 70 percent

Season 2 probably wouldn’t even reach a combined 20/130 

I will still recommend newcomers to Sunshine season 1 absolutely, but I will also absolutely tell them to pretend season 2 never happened, do not watch it because it will make you commit homicide in the aftermath. 

Why do I hate Sunshine Season 2? 

Because SunRise finds new and exciting ways to fail at absolutely everything on every single level every week. I infamously gave the movie a 1/10, in the long run, I think I would sooner rewatch that movie on loop than ever rewatch this season of Sunshine ever again. 

#love live #love live sunshine #love live school idol project #Anonymous