(this is a sequel to THIS ‘I think there’s someone in the house’ fic!)
The paramedics hammer on the door, and Neil looks up, teary-eyed, from where his face is pressed into Andrew’s damp hair. He’s feeling for his breath with the back of his hand, waiting moment to moment for Andrew to die in his arms, silently like he does everything else. Urgency keeps stunning Neil all over again, hysterical defibrillators. The EMT’s are calling out through the wall, muffled but calm.
It feels unthinkably wrong, their absolute evenness and ease outside his door when his life is an exposed neck and Andrew’s death is the whirring blade of a saw.
He realizes that he has to get up to let them in, and it seems as impossible as it would be for Andrew to spring up and answer the door himself. He feverishly wants them to crumple the door to splinters and be inside already.
It’s a herculean effort to ease Andrew to the ground, like he’s gritting his teeth and cutting off his own leg. He touches Andrew’s clammy face briefly but he can’t bring himself to try and slap him awake. He props Andrew’s bare feet up on the rim of the bath so the blood will flood towards his head, at least.
He feels untethered to his body when he stands, a helium balloon with its usual weight passed out on the bathroom floor. He falls into the wall immediately, adrenaline neck and neck with exhaustion.
He finds his way to the front door without his mind’s help. His head is in the bathroom with Andrew, and he knows that no matter what happens it’ll be there for a long, long time.
The next time he blinks, a man in uniform is holding his biceps and peering down at him seriously.
“—sir? Sir, are you hurt at all?”
“No,” Neil says, lips numb. “Bathroom. He’s in the bathroom. He’s bleeding to death.”
He turns, easily slipping the paramedic’s grip. There’s a procession of them, hefting a gurney and a couple of kits, and they’ve brought all the cold from outside in on their heels. They’re such a foreign object in their warm, messy apartment — uniformed, official, and precise.
It’s deadly, walking in and seeing Andrew spread out in his boxers, blood oozing through his t-shirt from his loose stitches, pale enough to match the porcelain. Neil’s seen enough corpses to recognize what they look like.
He falls heavily to his knees and puts his head directly to his chest, listening, tears slipping hotly over the bridge of his nose.
“Please,” he slurs. His heartbeat is a tentative thud, a knock from an unexpected guest. “Help him. Now, help him now.”
“We’re going to try our best Sir, but you’ve got to get out of the way,” someone says gently.
He topples backwards onto his hands. It’s a cramped space, and he knows it would be easier if he waited outside, but he also knows he’d rather die than leave them alone with him.
The first guy kneels down and takes Andrew’s pulse, and Neil shakes his head. They’re too slow, time is feeding directly into a wide open drain.
“He needs an IV. He’s two litres down, at least. You’ve got to—“ A petite woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs her off violently. “No! You have to listen to me.”
“We know what we’re doing,” she says. “Are you an MD?” She eyes him doubtfully, gaze flitting from his scars to where her colleagues are taking vitals and cutting through Andrew’s clothes.
“Yes,” Neil says wildly. “And he needs an IV. Possibly two. Large-bore, normal saline. He’s not getting any oxygen, and he’s been like this for as long as it took you to gather your meager response team.”
She purses her lips, but she’s a professional. He can see her repressing her anger and it infuriates him. He feels like he’s crashing, over and over again, and he’s watching someone daintily pump the breaks.
“He’s right,” one of the EMT’s says distractedly. “We’re gonna need to get some fluids started, he’s in hypovolemic shock, sats below 50.”
“You want to tell me what happened?” one of the men asks.
“No,” Neil says as evenly as he can manage, reaching out to graze Andrew’s cold fingers.
“Did you do these stitches?” the woman asks, pulling at Andrew’s skin to get a better look at them. He suddenly sees how they must look to them, sloppy and angry red. Neil bends her arm away without thinking about it.
“Don’t touch him,” he snaps. He could break her arm and it would make him feel better. He drops her, disoriented by his own violence.
“There’s no need to be antagonistic,” the first man says. “We don’t want to have to remove you.”
“You really don’t,” Neil agrees. “You won’t succeed.”
what does love mean to me. i’m not really sure i asked myself this question a lot. i didn’t have a childhood filled with love and affection. so i think that my sense of love, the way it looks, how it feels, the way it’s expressed is very warped. for me growing up “love was” a slap in the face. a hole through the wall. it was belittlement and hatred. i didn’t see what love really was until a brown eyed girl walked into my life at easily the most unexpected time. now don’t get me wrong im not here to reminisce about past relationships or things left unsaid. but when she came into my life i had nothing. i was nothing. i was really fucked up. i struggled, i cried, i screamed, and i panicked. i was a mess to say the least.
but she learned to love that mess, the tornado that i was, that i always believed i would be, destroying everything and everyone in my path. its why i always said i couldn’t love anyone, let alone be loved by anyone. to be told i love you 18 days after the first time you meet someone is crazy right? at least i thought it was. but i was wrong. i thought no one could possibly love me after that short amount of time she doesnt know anything about me yet. but the walls crumbled down one by one. i fell along with them. but she did her best to pick me back up. she spent over 400 days loving me. and in those 400 days i saw love. for the first time in my life i saw love for what it really was. i mean love in every sense of the form, to me love is the way her parents cheered at her games, or the way that they laughed endlessly playing stupid boardgames, love is pushing someone to be the best version of themselves, love is the way i found friends in people i thought i hated. love is trusting. love is letting go. love is crazy, unexplainable, and unimaginable. i learned that love, in that time whether it be picking you up off the bathroom floor, stopping you from jumping off the top of a parking garage, or may it be writing your final flashcards with you, or staying up until 3 am watching criminal minds in a fort built in the living room. love is unconditional. love is love. love means going all in even if it means you’re going to get hurt. because in the end its the only thing worth getting hurt for.
@ all and every gay kid ever:
you deserve better than queerbaiting.
you deserve better than dean winchesters and sherlock holmes’ and V and B. you deserve to be represented and validated, not mocked for your ideas and interpretations and theres so much good content out there of lgbt+ characters/couples.
go and find it.
its truly a hundred times better than sitting around waiting for something that isnt going to happen.
and im not saying your thoughts and views are wrong, i to this day still believe dean is meant to be canonically bi, but dont let yourself be screwed over by straight, white adults who dont care about you unless you can provide them with money. im so mad my first experiences with lgbt+ culture and community came from there.
you deserve better than that.
My hands sting and I can already feel the bruises beginning to form.
I sit to catch my breath, in the deafening silence I hear a drop of my blood hit the scuffed wooden floor.
Looking back, not wrapping my hands was a bad idea.
I get onto my feet and hook another bag up. This time, being careful to wash and wrap my hands.
Letting out years of pent up anger felt good after a long day of dealing with idiotic people.
“You should probably take care of that first.” Steve comments just as I knock the bag off its chain, accidentally spilling sand across the floor.
“If it isn’t the star-spangled man with a plan, why are you here? What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything -” he says obviously finding humour in his joke. My patience is running thin and I shoot him a glare.
He clears his throat, regaining his composure. “Fury wanted to see you.”
“Fury? Nick Fury, the one that relieved me of my title as field agent?-” Steve tries to cut me off
“-All because yours truly made one little mistake-”
“You almost got us killed.” He cuts in
“But I didn’t! I came in and saved your ass, again!”
“You wouldn’t have had to save us if you stuck to the orders!”
“It was my brother! What would you have done! I fixed my mistake, but Fury didn’t give me my second chance, why should I give him his?”
“Y/N I-” he sighs “I need your help.”
I shoot him a questioning look. “My silence is your cue.”
“Do you remember Bucky?”
“Bucky. Barnes?…The Winter Soldier? Yeah, why?”
“S.H.E.I.L.D wants to recruit him”
“Why? He tried to kill us. You were his mission-”
“I was his friend.”
“Steve, Bucky was your friend, the Winter Soldier, he’s your enemy. You can’t save him. He’s long gone. And he tried to kill us.”
“He remembers.” Steve argues “H-he’s still the Bucky I used to know, deep down.” He clears his throat again.
“Fury said that if you brought him back successfully-and alive- he’ll give you your job back.”
“Fine, but I’m doing this for me, and only me, not for you or your issues with your broken boyfriend.” Steve barely contained his excitement as we walk to the jet waiting outside. After a short flight to Stark tower and many questioning glances, we’re sat around a table discussing the terms of the mission.
“There are tracking devices in all the weapons in case you decide to go rogue.”
“Stark, I take my job very seriously.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s just a precaution.”
I glance over the weapons layed out in front on me and pick a few, stuffing them in my duffle bag. I pause when I see an unfamiliar weapon. “Hey, Stark, what’s this?”
“Turn it away from you, press the green button, it vaporizes whatever its aimed at.” He demonstrated on a vase sitting on the table and it turned to a pile of ash.
“Woah. That’s awesome!”
“Tony, if only you were as big as your ego, maybe you’d be able to reach the top shelf.” Although he was a few inches taller than me I still liked to tease him about his height compared to the others.
I sat back down looking over the Winter Soldier’s case file once again, taking in all the details, adding them to what I already know. In his military picture he looks young, determined, sweet, definitely handsome, probably a ladies man with his hair neatly cut and gelled.
In the other two he looked different. There’s one of him in cryo. Even in his frozen state you can still make out the crease in his brow, he looks like he’s… in pain. The one of him in action, a majority of his face is covered by a black mask, his hair long and messy. His metal arm stood out against his black uniform. The vibranium caught the sun and made the red star stand out even more. The way I recognized him best, as the Winter Soldier.
“What?” I say snapping out of my stupor
“You spaced out, it’s time for us to leave, you’re headed to Shelbyville, Indiana, that’s where the target was seen last.”
“He’s not a target.” Steve yelled from down the hall, slamming the door.
“Actually, Sam? Wilson, right? Alright bird-boy. I say we head to Washington. I was thinking metal-man grew up in Indiana, maybe he went looking for answers he couldn’t find. If you’re a fossil who doesn’t know how to properly use a computer, where would you go to search for the past?”
“The Smithsonian.” Bruce chimed in when we walked past him lab. I shot him a smile, seeing as he was the only one who sided with me when I almost got them killed, he’s one of my favorites. Him and Natasha that is. Agent Romanoff was always one of my favourites.
“Exactly, there’s a big plaque dedicated to Barnes there. I say we check it out. I don’t think Barnes would stay in one place too long, he knows he’s wanted.”
“You really think he’s there?”
“Wilson, I’m a spy, its my job to know where people are.” I send over my shoulder on my way into the quinjet. I’m met with a light chuckle from Mr. Patriotism himself. “What’re you laughing at?”
“You know, you’re quite funny, agent Y/L/N.” I’m slightly startled by the title, not being used to it anymore. Does he just have that much faith that I’ll succeed? Although, I’ve only failed one or two missions. “Alright Rogers, we’ve got three hours on the jet, try to behave.”
Three hours later I’m dropped off at one of Stark’s safe houses a few blocks from the Smithsonian.
“Call when you’ve got him, we’ll send a jet. And Y/N, please, don’t hurt him unless you absolutely need to.” A quick nod and a small smile from the Captain is my parting, from here I’m on my own. I head into the small rundown house, it’s bigger on the inside, cleaner and brighter too. There’s a bed to one side and a bathroom on the other.
“There’s no place like home.”
I drop my duffle and slip a gun into the waistband of my pants. I also grab a knife and slip it into the holster in my jacket, you can’t be too careful.
I decide to take the small ‘getaway’ car in the garage. Its not as great as Steve’s bug though.
The first few days go by with no sign of the infamous soldier. I’m caught off guard to finally see the one and only sporting a baseball cap, jeans and a sweatshirt. He has gloves on too, it seems. Its not too cold, it’s only late October, he’s most likely trying to hide the metal that could set civilians into a panic and most certainly give him away. He’s standing near the plaque dedicated to the one James Barnes of the 107th.
I stand and observe him for a little while. He reads the words over and over again. Its a good ten minutes before I finally walk over, careful not to startle him. I stand next to him and read the plaque for myself.
“Bucky seems like he was a great person, definitely someone you’d want to befriend.” He seems caught off guard by my words and he takes a second to comprehend my sentence.
“Yeah I bet he was a great person.” He says. “Was.” He says. I don’t comment on it because I know I wasn’t supposed to hear it. After another few minutes of silence I start again.
“You know, Steve really misses you.” His head shoots up and his eyes are dark and guarded. He recognized the name.
“He remembers.” Steve’s words play over in my head.
“Who sent you?” He questions obviously ready for a fight.
“S.H.E.I.L.D.” the look on his face tells me he doesn’t believe me.
“They want to recruit you.” No response.
“Bucky-” recognition crosses his features, but is gone almost immediately and his eyes soften, barely. He looked like he was thinking hard, remembering.
“-Steve wants you back, he wants you to remember and I can help.” I show him my S.H.E.I.L.D badge for proof
“Let’s go because that guard hasn’t stopped watching you since you came in.” We head towards the street making our way to my car.
A tall man blocks our way. I pull out a gun and shoot. I clip his shoulder and he gets my leg, I collapse, but shoot again, this time its a head shot. The car’s gone and I can’t walk.
“How’d you get those through security?”
“Same way you got your arm through. Can you carry me, I can’t walk.” He picks me up as if I weighed nothing while I made a makeshift tourniquet.
I call Steve and then Romanoff and Banner, but none of them answer. He sets me down in a chair when we reach the safe house.
“Well, Earth’s mightiest heroes aren’t answering, I guess we’ll spend the night here. I’ll take first watch. You rest.” He hesitates, obviously not trusting me.
“If Steve trusts me, you can too. I promise.” He gets up and heads towards the bathroom. I hear the water start to run. I decide to make something light to eat for us, assuming he hasn’t had much lately. I hear the door click open.
“Hey, I made us dinner-” he standing in the doorway with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “I uhm, left my clothes.”
I hand him his clothes and try to keep my gaze from wandering. The door clicks shut again and I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding in. I sit on the bed and begin eating my sandwich. Bucky comes out, fully clothed with his hair neatly combed. I hand him his plate.
“You know, if there’s anything you want to know about yourself, I could try to answer, the basics at least. You’ll have to ask Rogers on the rest.”
“You know, that wasn’t me. None of it was me, I killed… So many people b-but, it wasn’t me.”
“I know Bucky.” I say taking his plate as he lays down.
He tosses and turns for hours. And when his breathing finally evens out I’m relieved to know he’s at least resting. I know what torture can do to a person. He sleeps for about an hour before he wakes up, immediately on guard. He wraps his metal hand around my throat
“Кто тебя послал?” Who sent you?
I’ve never been caught like this before, I could get out easily, but that would only make him more nervous,
“Bucky.” I choke out. “Its me, no one sent me.” His eyes soften and he drops me.
“I’m so sorry.” He says softly, glancing at the forming bruises.
“Its okay, I have them too, you know.” He looks surprised,
“Mm.” He looks at me for another second before going and sitting on the bed. He mutters quietly in Russian, but I can’t make out the words. I sidestep my bag and go to the sink.
“Drink.” I say handing him the glass. “What were you just mumbling?”
“Пытки равна прочности.”
“Torture equals strength.” We say together.
“ It was written on every surface back at Hydra.” I sit on the bed next to him, a bit closer than necessary.
“Все это будет нормально.” It’ll all be okay
He looks up at me and for the first time I see the ghost of a smile grace his features.
My phone rings interrupting our conversation.
“I’m sorry, we had a mission, I’ll come out to pick you up now.”
Thanks Clint, see you soon.“
"Katniss will be here soon, just throw your stuff in my duffle, I got it.” He does as he’s told, obviously confused, and goes back to his spot on the bed. It kind of set me off that he was trusting me. I knew well enough that it was an act. That he would try something. It was almost too easy.
Bucky became my new partner on all my missions and he’s remembering more and more.
With the help of Steve of course.
Its been about 2 years. I’ll fill you in on the details.
I was right, when Clint came, Bucky tried to escape. To kill us. He didn’t succeed. He was locked up for a while, with only minimal visits from me or from Steve. Steve helped him to remember, I was like a therapist. Maybe it was because I didn’t remind him, maybe because I was, in a sense, a stranger, but nevertheless, we grew closer. Eventually, I got Fury to agree to let Barnes roam, with me as an escort. Once he was stable enough, he began training, which, in my opinion, he didn’t need. And then he was recruited.
“Hey, Buck, we gotta go, we’re on our way to Vegas, remember?”
Finally, a mission in a nice place. We drop down and check into a nice hotel, that’s a new one. There’s a Hydra base under one of the abandoned casinos in town and its our job to take it down.
“Hey Buck, we’re in Vegas, we should do something fun.”
I say as we walk away from the burning building, cliché am I right?
“Why don’t we go back to the hotel and order room service? Watch a few movies, I’m still not caught up with the 21st century.” I laugh and nod my head in agreement.
I collapse on the bed and bury my face in the pillow.
“Are you tired, Мой ангел?”
I feel a rush of warmth at the name. Did he just call me his angel?
“No, just getting comfy.” I reply, my voice muffled my the pillow.
“I can make you comfy.” He says climbing in beside me and pulling me to him. He trails kisses up my neck to my jaw. I turn over to face him and give him a puzzled look. I’m not denying my feelings, everyone knew they were there, we’ve just never… confronted it, or even talked about it. And he’s never this carefree.
He smiles and captures my lips with his, a soft, yet hungry kiss, like he’d been waiting to do it. He wanted me just as badly as I wanted him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he instinctively put his hands on either side of my head to hold himself up. I tuck my hand up under his shirt and he pulls away only long enough my me to slip his shirt off and throw it across the room. I trace the skin where the metal meets, its still red, but not as bad as when I caught him watching his own reflection. As if he were a monster, a few weeks after I brought him to S.H.E.I.L.D. he slipped my shirt up over my head and trailed kisses down my neck, to my chest and onto my stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He brings his mouth back up to mine and his tongue skims my bottom lip. The moment ends when my phone rings insanely loudly. Bucky curses under his breath.
“What?” I snap at the person on the other line.
“Did I interrupt?” Comes the snarky voice of Tony on the other end.
“Why are you calling, Stark?”
“I sent Natasha to come get you guys, she’ll be there in a few hours.”
I end the call without a goodbye and look to the soldier piercing me with his blue eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He just chuckles and places a light kiss to my forehead.
“We’d better get dressed.” He muses a playful smirk on his face.
“To be continued, Кукла.”
And I’m supposed to sit here and do what? Wait for you? Beg for you to come back again? Act like the reality of us isn’t that we won’t ever work together? You admitted it for yourself when you brought yourself to say the words. I’m not the girl for you and I only hurt you so if I’m such a crappy person then why won’t you just leave me alone? If you hate me so much, then why try to be around me all the time? Just go already.
a/n: wow my request box is overwhelming and quite frankly overflowing with love & requests and I want to take the time to say THANK YOU! lots of love 💐
tonight was the first pep rally back since summer vacation and lets just say i were very eager to be cheering again even if it was just a school scrimmage i walk up to my mirror and fixing my hair before applying another coat of mascara on my lashes.
a few knocks on the door break me out of my trance “come in” i yell spritzing myself with perfume. “they girls are waiting for you downstairs” i nod at my mother “okay ill be down in a second”
i grab my bag and follow my mother footsteps down the stairs and out the door “see ya later mum!” i yell out “goodluck baby” she yes back as i close the door.
“you ready?” betty asks tilting her head to the side her blonde hair swinging in its pony tail “i sure am wheres V?” i glance past her to see the raven haired girl standing at the bottom of my driveway.
the three of us set off to the school talking a little before veronica brings up your relationship with jughead. all your friends were placing bets on how long it took for you guys to finally kiss and confess your undying love for each other.
you’d know jughead for most of your life and yes maybe i did indeed have a crush on the beautiful brunette boy but he didn’t know that and thats how i planned to keep it.
“oh give it a rest, he doesn’t like me like that!” i defend myself annoyed.
“yeah funny thats exactly what he says” i roll my eyes growling loud “let me livvvveee” i groan crossing my arms across my chest.
“fine fine we’ll change the subject” it falls quite as the school comes into view “like how jughead is going to drool when he sees you on that cheer leading costume”.
“jeez V its a uniform! plus it won’t be the first time he’ll see me in it. he won’t care your reading way too much into it”
she shakes her finger in my face “or maybe your not looking in enough? do you notice that when your in your uniform he cant seem to look at your face? or that he can’t form a single sentence?”
the clogs start moving in my brain and i come to a sudden stop “oh my god- wait does juggie have a cheerleader kink?” i giggle walking with the two giddy girls into the locker room.
“well you wanna know how he really feels right?” v ask as i shove my gym bag into the locker “V i don’t want to mess what we have up okay?” she rolls her eyes closing my locker and standing infant of me.
“so not a single thread of you wants to be with him?” i huff i am the worst liar so i just fess up “yes okay yes but i don’t want to ruin anything okay!”
“i have an idea” she smiles wickedly “oh god what?”
veronica and betty hd proposed to me to test out the ‘cheerleader’ theory in order to figure out if the reunites feelings were platonic or not. i was nervous for the first time rushing out to the field and pumping up the school students and parents in the bleachers.
i spot jughead during our stretches, he was leaning against the side of the bleacher searching the crowd of vixens for someone, his eyes settle on mine and smile and i put my hand up waving smally before returning my attention to the squad.
“okay lets go vixens” cheryl yells getting us all onto our feet as we pump up the crowd for the football boys.
we grab our poms and rustling them together hanging and cheering as the break through the banner the red header archie leading the back i smile brightly at my best friend.
the boys settle down and dissipate going their separate ways before meeting back up for the big game. i take this as my opportunity to walk over to the beanie boy.
i move past the crowd and smile at the brunette boy as i work my way over he moves off the bleacher and works his way to the half fence before the field.
someone grabs my waist before i have the chance to walk over the tracks “well hello this miss (y/n) (y/l/n)” i roll my eyes placing my hands over my chest “reggie.”
“love to stay in chat but i got my important business to get to like clawing my eyes out” i go to push past him concern on jugheads face.
he grabs onto my waist and pulls me back “let me go reggie” i growl trying to get out of his iron grip, he doesn’t budge just smirks down at me
“i said-” i didn’t even get to finish my sentence before someone does it for me
“she said let go” i glance to see jughead looking as angry as ever “what are you her boyfriend?” he teases flicking something him to launch himself at reggie shoving his chest.
reggie tosses me aside and i stumble to get my feet.
“c’mon just having a little fun with the little princess, we have a little thing us bulldogs. how many vixens can we hook with at these things and well-”
he doesnt get to finish his sentence because jughead launches himself at the raven haired boy but he’s quick to retaliate throwing jughead on the ground and starting to throw punches to his face.
i run forward trying to pull the boys away from each other but i wasn’t strong enough i whirl around and everyone seems a bit curious in the events “arch!” i yell the red head sees his best friend in distress and rushes over healing reggie off.
i drop to the floor helping jughead sit up “oh my god jug-” i place my hand on his cheek and he winces slightly.
“I’m sorry” i tell him glancing at all he’s already bruising eye “its okay- i had to protect you” i giggle placing my hand on his thigh “thank you” i turn to see veronica and betty making gestures and i roll my eyes facing jughead
“whats got them all frazzled” he chuckles making me smiling stupidly “don’t hate me for this”
i lean forward and place a soft kiss on his split lip, he kisses back then pulls away wincing “okay ow!” he complains and i laugh before he faces turns serious “sorry” i giggle trying to keep a straight face.
“to be continued? when i can actually kiss you back when bloods not pouring from my lip?” i nod kisses his cheek and helping him to his feet
i was really confused cause i was trying to reblog that post and im like "tumblr why aren't you a functioning site" but you deleted it which explains my problem lmao. Anyway, I think a lot of the problem is that they are on the record as saying there's basically no planning to overwatch's story and they're just making it all up as they go. And I think between first strike being canceled, the character ages in that photo being wrong, and now this, that it's starting to show.
My point it basically just the Overwatch team is letting their window of opportunity to pull in the reigns on this thing slide every time they waffle about what they want to do with it; they want to have their cake and eat it too with regards to being in control of the story as well as mould it to audience expectations; and they’re reaching a point where trying to remind people that they having some big overarching lore planned they’ll maybe tell them someday is more and more like trying to jump onto a moving train.
If you have a story you want to tell and flipflop about telling it for so long it turns into lore vaporware while the IP itself is out and being interacted with in a dynamic way by your audience, the longer you wait to be like “okay so this actually how it happened” the more you’re setting yourself up for Other M syndrome.
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This is tough. Really tough. Because I never thought I’ be writing this.
I’ve been part of this fandom for essentially 4 years, and owner of this bog for over 3. Its been my life. I would log on every single day and post, I’d never miss a Mark video and I’d always be 100% up to date with what ever was going on in the fandom, good or bad.
You may have noticed that over the past few days I’ve not really been active. This is where is gets tough, its because I feel distant. Its not because I dont like Mark anymore, thats not true, but I’ve grown out of his videos almost. I dont have the absolute desire to see them every day. That ‘I can’t miss anything’ feeling have wavered to a point where I’ve not even thought about his videos for days until I see the Tumblr Icon on my phone.
This is so strange. I dont dislike Mark or Amy or anyone. To be honest, Mark is one of the most important people in my life. Anyone who has followed me for a while will know how I have struggled mentally for the past few years. Its not been easy and I’m not exaggerating by saying that Mark and you guys have kept me here. There was times when I didnt know how I was going to continue, and I did because I could leave you guys. I couldn’t disappoint Mark, and now its almost that I dont need that anymore. It sounds awful but please let me explain. I had no idea what I was doing with my life. I had left Uni, and gone travelling then had to face the real world. I ended up in a job I despise and although I’m still there I actually have an idea of where I want my life to go. For the first time in 3 years I know how I want to live my life. I have a dream, and I desperately want to achieve it.
Erm…I dont want to say goodbye as if I’m going away forever, but I just dont know how active I will be. And I hate this because…because I have worked so hard on this. I feel like I’m throwing this away. Throwing all your support back in your faces. Please dont see it that way. I beg you. I’m still here. I love Tumblr, despite its flaws, and I will still post I just dont want to make you guys think I’m abandoning you. I feel the I owe you this much.
For the past 2 and a bit years I have thanked you for existing after every post I make, and that will never stop. I owe you all so much. I love you. I really do.
If you have any questions please ask, publicly or privately.
j2 celebrating JJ's birthday together as two days would
Jensen watched as JJ played with Tom and Shep, filled with energy from the cake they had just finished eating. The twins were fast asleep, most likely they would stay that way for a while.
It felt amazing to get a break from work and have fun with his family.
“She’s grown up to be so beautiful, just like her father” Jared said, a sweet smile on his face as he looked back and forth between the two.
Even the twins looked like their father, and that would most likely mean they’d be loved by all. This was a fact that Jared made sure to remind Jensen of whenever the cameras weren’t rolling and their life was private.
“She’s gorgeous, but I think she’ll have your personality; kind and full of love” Jensen said, turning to face Jared, knowing he was most likely smiling ear to ear.
They stared into each other’s eyes, listening to the beautiful sound of their kids running around, having fun as they played a game of tag. It felt so right being with each other, together, as one family.
“No, she’ll grow up to be just like you. She’ll be kind, smart, witty, brave, and dependable” his smile turned soft, and Jensen felt he would melt,” Just like you, she’ll steal someone’s heart” Jared smiled, his dimples becoming deeper, his eyes slightly closing.
Right there, in that living room, sitting on a couch with the man he loved, their family united, felt so right to both of them. Being with each other, free to be who they truly were, was the best thing ever.
“Jared-” Jensen stopped as he was interrupted by the soft groans of the twins waking each other up from their naps, a little earlier then expected.
Jared let out a small chuckle at how flustered Jensen looked before he patted him on the back.
“Come on, let’s go see if our babies need to be changed” Jared said, removing his hand from Jensen’s back, and getting up to go check on the twins.
Jensen smiled, watching as Jared walked over to where the twins’ crib was at, his heart telling him ‘this is right’.
let me tell you about my favorite bughead moment from 1x06. it’s not jughead climbing up to betty’s window, it’s not the kiss, it’s not them sleuthing around together.
it’s when they get off the bus and see the sisters of quiet mercy for the first time, and jughead says “don’t judge a home for troubled youths by its facade, right?” he’s not even looking at her when he says it, but it’s obvious he already knows what her reaction is - that she’s close to tears at seeing the shithole her parents sent polly to. it’s still a joke (because sardonic humor is just his way of relating to the world) but it’s also a genuine sentiment - hey, don’t worry, maybe it’s not as bad as it looks. and the thing is, jughead himself probably doesn’t believe that. jughead is a realist, not an optimist. but he says that anyways, in his trademark joking manner, to try to cheer betty up. because he could make a joke about how terrible it looks, but that’s not what betty needs to hear, she can see that for herself. she needs to hear something positive, which is what he says in his own way.
and then she sighs and steels herself and tightens her ponytail. and jughead looks at her and smiles because he knows that means she means business. and then they go in together.
- He isn’t portuguese technically. His grandparents escaped from Salazar dictatorship to france as everyone did back then. His own dad was born in france. So yeah he is french. But he still has that hot portuguese blood and lord help us all.
- He used to go to portugal every summer when he was little. His own dad speaked portuguese in his house because that’s what happens, we are assholes and speak our language in our homes and then go back to our country and speak french just because we are lil shits. So yeah Grantaire knows portuguese. His vó would kill him if he didn’t.
- When he is stressed he starts talking in portuguese because other people can’t understand him and that makes him feel safer.
- When he hurts himself he just screams “caralho”.
- No one of les amis knew that was exactly cursing and they thought it was a beautiful word. Till R is like “you know that is like the most normal portuguese cursing word right?” And everyone starts using it as well and its adorable.
- He actually knows a lot of portuguese history and when marius is being an idiot about Napoleon he just clears his throat and be like “Well my people kicked his ass 3 times he ain’t that great”. (also enjolras screams there that that aint the point that Napoleon was bad because he was bad).
- The only time he was vocal about a cause it was about the immigrants and refugees. No one ever saw him like that. He was talking with everyone and defending that cause and one night Enjolras comes to him and aks why its so important for him and Grantaire just smiles and says: “My grandparents escaped from the dictatorship. They were refugees in France. I can’t let that be forgotten.” So yeah Enjolras kind of fell in love with him a bit more.
- HE CALLS CORAÇÃO (heart) TO EVERY LES AMIS BECAUSE PORTUGUESE PEOPLE ARE THAT AFFECTIONATE.
- First time he calls “amor” (love) to Enjolras, he almost dies. Because that sounds so much better than in french and he loves french. But the way Grantaire lips move when he talks portuguese is something that makes Enjy weak.
- He just curses in portuguese. Forget french. He is just caralho, merda, puta que te pariu, filho da puta, cona, cara de pila, etc.
- And everyone thinks that is beautiful.
- He likes to say shit like “oh in portuguese you dont say ____ you say __(something that has nothing to do and its probably a dirty joke)__. Because he is an adorable liltle shit.
- HE KNOWS HOW TO COOK PORTUGUESE FOOD AND COURF LOVED IT. AND HE LOVES TO COOK TO EVERYONE AND GET EVERYONE AROUND A TABLE BECAUSE THEY ARE FAMILY AND THAT IS A TYPICAL SUNDAY WITH THE FAMILY.
- He loves the beach and gets cranky in summer because the sea calls for him.
- He loves Fernando Pessoa so much. So so much. Cause hey no one was more emo than him.
- Sometimes he sings fado and everyone is looking at him and awe because damn R voice is amazing but in portuguese??? They can hear something more even if they dont understand a third of the words.
So today at work me and my coworker both had to slice American cheese but my coworkers customer wanted it layered with out the cheese touching so my coworker let me go first since she was trying to figure out how to make that work so I slice some cheese and stack it regularly and put it on the scale the other customer literally growls at me! I go back to slice some more cause I didn’t have the proper amount and the lady was like “I’ll let it go this time but I asked for it layered” and I politely tell her that I’m not her associate and she says “well you took my cheese” Bitch this isn’t your cheese its my customers cheese and she just spent the rest of the time giving me and my Co worker dirty looks while she orders a crap ton of meat
Notes: myth!AU that started at @splendor-e‘s suggestion of Ivar as Hades waiting for Persephone to return. I didn’t do the myth straight up; I replaced Demeter’s role with a fertility god husband played by the dashing Ubbe. It turned out less smutty and more emotional than I intended, but who can control the muse?