#fellas whats that in the distance ITS A HUDDLE

[george-fabian-weasley]

Harry Potter — The One That Got Away

Summary: You died in the Battle of Hogwarts after pushing off Fred away from the wall, and Harry was beyond devastated. You were his First Love, and will always be.

Words: 7,440 words

Warnings: Angst, My best angst yet, Altered Storyline, Pure form of pain, I just wanna hug Harry in this one, neutral!reader, Death, Mentions of panic attack, Tissues Are Recommended

Disclaimer: This is my longest fic yet! 7.4K words of pure pain, wow. I’ve worked on this one for like idk 5 days? I recommend listening to The One That Got Away by Katy Perry, the lyrics inspired me so much for this one. Also, can you believe this is my first time writing a Harry fic? Crazy, I know! Enjoy the painful ride, fellas <3

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“Harry?”

Your voice echoed the room, making everyone’s heads turn to you. You heard the news of Harry, Ron, and Hermione returning to Hogwarts after months of disappearances, and the news was right. The group of people opened, and there he was, the boy you loved for almost three years now.

“Oh my god,” You muttered under your breath as you ran to him, Harry scooped you up easily as he dug his head on the crook of your neck instantly. You hugged him so tight, the tears in your eyes were starting to well, you never thought you would see him alive and well in front of you, but there he is right now, hugging you as if you were his last reason to live.

“I thought I would never see you again, wh-where have you been?!” You frantically ran your mouth, arms still wrapped tight on his body. “It doesn’t matter, oh Godric, I missed you so much.” Harry sighed out; his tense body relaxed immediately as you held him. You pulled away, hands cupping his face, “Are you alright, a-are you hurt?”

Harry smiled fondly at you, his hands cupping your face as well, “I’m fine, darling.”

“This is adorable and all, but we sort of having a situation now, if you mind?” Neville voiced out awkwardly. Harry quickly kissed your forehead and sent a glance to the crowd around you, “Right.”

Harry was quiet.

He couldn’t think of anything else than the moment he had arrived at Hogwarts a few hours ago. That was the first time he had seen you after months of hiding in the woods to find the Horcruxes.

He heard the news. And he refused to believe it. Being in denial, he ran to the Great Hall, his heart begging nonstop for the rumor to be false. Harry ran, and ran, and ran. He didn’t care that his legs were exhausted, he didn’t care about his heartbeat constantly increasing, all he cared about as of that moment was you.

Right at the end of the Great Hall, a group of dusty gingers huddled together, seemingly crying. The little voice in his heart now screaming for its life; not ready to know what were the Weasleys crying for.

His feet felt heavy, it felt like he has rocks tied with his shoes, but Harry forced himself to walk closer to them. Closer and closer, he found familiar faces contorted as they cry. From a distance he could make up George who was holding back Fred; the older twin was fighting to be let go, sobbing as he does so, begging to be near that someone laying on the floor.

Harry had never seen Fred cry before, the tall ginger always had a smile on his lips or a laugh of mischief, but never a frown, never tears rolling down his face. And that’s when Harry arrived, and Molly; Ron’s mum, hugged him tight, sobbing onto his shoulders, whimpering ‘I’m so sorry’s. He couldn’t hug her back, no, not when his eyes were frozen on the vision of you.

Laying on the ground, lifeless.

Instantly, his knees were weak. He kneeled beside you, the screaming of his heart had never sounded so deafening. Harry was beyond shocked; he couldn’t comprehend the vision in front of him.

All of this was too sudden for him to understand.

When Hermione let out a strangled cry of pain, Harry felt his heart was stabbed. “I shouldn’t have been near that wall! Y/N pushed me away and-and the wall started to fall, I’m-I’m sorry, Harry this is all my fault-“

Harry could hear Fred’s pained sobs saying the words, but he couldn’t digest it. His eyes were still trained to you. For a moment, he thought you looked angelic. As if you were just sleeping and, at any moment now, you would blink your eyes open and smile at him, saying, “Good morning, love.”

But you didn’t. And that’s when the dagger in his heart turns.

“Y/N.” The way your name rolls down his tongue felt weird. It felt strange because you would never respond to him calling you again. Harry’s trembling hands went down to cup your face, brushing away the specks of dust from your face.

“You’re- You’re cold, darling.” His voice was calm, but Harry knew that was the only thing that was at the moment. His whole body was trembling, his breaths were heavy, his eyes struggling to blink; as if… if he blinked, then you would vanish from his eyesight forever.

At that moment, Harry cared no longer about his environment, he didn’t hear Ron’s sobbing mess as he was hugging George, he didn’t hear Hermione’s screams of denial of her best friend’s death, he didn’t hear Fred’s cries of overbearing guilt.

Harry only heard his quivering breathing. He hadn’t noticed the tears welling up his eyes until a drop of his own tear fell onto your soft skin.

That’s when Harry Potter breaks.

“Wh-Why are you so cold?” Harry’s whimper silenced everyone. Hermione froze from her frantic breakdown, Ron looked to Harry with the sudden realization that he’s the one most hurting at the moment, and Fred minimized his cries to look at the pair.

“Why are you so cold, darling?” He cried again. Harry was breaking down, he was exhausted, the very people who loved him dead one by one, and you were his last straw. “Why are you leaving me, Y/N?” He whimpered against your stomach, clutching your clothes tightly as he tried his best to find your warmth. The shirt you were wearing started to get wet with his tears, it took Harry everything inside of him not to crumble right there and then.

His stomach hollowed as he realized, even in death, you were beautiful.

Harry didn’t know how much time he spent there, but as he opened his eyes, he realized he was standing in front of Dumbledore’s office. Numbly, he went inside. His thoughts were still preoccupied with you, but he has other matters in hand. No matter how much he wanted to stay there and lay beside you, the war was far from over. And the one-hour duration Voldemort gave them was running short.

When he walked out of the room, he was shaken. Not as shaken as he was of your death, but he was still shaken. Snape… was protecting him this whole time? Harry was snapped from his thoughts when he recognized two figures sitting on the end of the stairs. He took a deep breath as he walked closer to Ron and Hermione, who huddled together, hand in hand. Hermione looked to her back as she heard footsteps, quickly standing up as she realized it was Harry.

“Where you’ve been?” Her quiet voice echoed through the silent castle. “We thought you went to the forest,” Ron breathed out, worried. Harry walked past them, trying to look calm and stoic as he replied, “I’m going there now.”

“Are you mad?” Ron said in disbelief, his eyes followed the back of Harry. “No!” He said, desperation visible in his voice, “You can’t give yourself up to him.”

Ron’s words made Harry stop on his tracks. He looked down to the flights of staircases before him; exhaustion evident on his face. Upon looking at Harry’s back stiff, Hermione asked, “What is it, Harry? What is it that you know?”

Harry slowly turned around, looking at Hermione, his eyes silently begging her to give him a rest. “… There’s a reason I can hear them. The Horcruxes.”

He watched Hermione’s face dawned upon realization, “I think I’ve known for a while, and I think you have too.”

Hermione frowned, tears started to well up in her eyes, she didn’t want to lose another best friend, yet she knew, she had no choice. “I’ll go with you,” “No, kill the snake.” Harry was quick to object.

“Kill the snake and then it’s just him.” He said, watching Hermione silently cried.

She quickly came forward and embraced Harry into a hug, crying on his shoulders as she did. Harry hugged her back just as tight, he needed it. No one hugged him when he was crying at the Great Hall, everyone was fairly shaken at your loss. Harry connected eyes with Ron, who was silently protesting him on going to the forest alone, even if he knew nothing is stopping Harry now.

Harry pulled away, took one last look at Hermione before turning away, and walked down the stairs to the forest. During his way to the Forbidden Forest, nothing but you clouded his mind.

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“Heads up!” Harry heard someone shouted behind him and felt a body jumping on him, he oof-ed as he quickly grabbed the person’s legs, feeling their arms wrapping around his neck. He tilted his head and laughed as he saw you, giggling tremendously.

“Hello to you too, Y/N,” Ron said as he playfully rolled his eyes. Harry and Ron were walking in the hallways to their next class when you had spotted them from afar. Being the ball of energy you are, you hopped on Harry’s back to surprise him. He was definitely surprised, pleasantly even. “Good morning, Ronny!” You chirped as you ruffled the ginger’s hair, receiving a whine of disagreement from the Weasley. They kept on walking, Harry casually giving you a piggyback ride as he walked.

“Hello, handsome,” You whispered to his ear and kissed his cheek, making Harry chuckle with a blush on his cheeks, “Morning, love.”

“Where’s Hermione?” You asked, comfortably resting as Harry carried you, feeling the warmth of his body. Ron glanced at you snuggling on Harry’s shoulders and scoffed, “She’s at the library, studying as always.” You playfully rolled your eyes, “Oh, don’t say you’re jealous of us, Ron! Even so, I wouldn’t mind you being jealous, we are simply very sweet together, isn’t that right, Harry?”

“Yeah, Ron, maybe you can give Hermione a piggyback sometimes if you want it so terribly,” Harry remarked as you two laughed, and Ron flushed a deep red with a quiet, “Sod off, you two.”

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“Harry?” You said as you knocked on the door, worried. As you heard no response, you opened the door, seeing Harry laying on his bed, distressed. You quietly sighed as you walked closer until he noticed you and instantly groaned.

“If you’re here just to be mad at me, then Ron’s already doing it for you, Y/N.” He weakly said, feeling absolutely terrible. Just half an hour ago, he was forced to enter the Triwizard’s Tournament because of that stupid Goblet of Fire choking out his name at the last minute. “No, I’m not mad at you, Harry- why would I be? I’m just… worried about you.” You said quietly, sitting on the corner of his bed just beside his laying state.

Harry tilted his head to you, pursing his lips, “How did you get in here?” You shrugged, “The twins gave a hand if I’m being honest.” He huffed a small smile, “Of course they did.”

“But I’m not here to talk about the twins, Harry. I’m here to talk about you. Are you okay?” You spoke, slowly laying on his bed horizontally with your legs still touching the ground. Harry watched you lay down on his bed across him, he was also laying on his bed horizontally with his legs touching the ground, but in the opposite direction of you. He felt the position was very intimate and close, but Harry didn’t mind.

“… I don’t know, honestly. I didn’t put my name inside that bloody Goblet, and even if I did, I shouldn’t have been accepted, for Merlin’s sake, I’m underage! But Ron here thinks I’m out there hunting for fame again, which I absolutely do not want in the first place! Believe it or not-“

“I believe you, Harry.” Your soft voice took his ramblings to a halt. As he stared into your eyes, he could see the sincerity in your words, and he suddenly realized how pretty your eyes were.

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You were breath-taking. The whole world that was moving around Harry came to a halt as he watched you walked down the stairs in your beautiful outfit. The mustard yellow resembling the color of a sunflower made your skin glowing and if he’s being honest, he had never seen anyone more stunning in his life.

You were smiling at him, and he had never felt gladder asking you out as his date to the Yule Ball. “Hello, Potter.” You said, amused by his bewitched expression. Harry blinked and gave you a baffled smile, “Y-You look great, Y/N.” You shrugged, eyeing his black and white outfit playfully, “Not too bad yourself, Harry.”

He offered you his arm, suddenly remembering what McGonagall taught him a few days prior, “Shall we?” You chuckled at the sudden chivalry, and linked your arm with his, “Lead the way, kind sir.”

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“No, Y/N, I won’t let you!”

Harry had pulled you away from the room full of people to talk to you alone. You sighed as you cupped his face, “Harry, darling, my love, we don’t have much time. The Order needs me to help you.” He shook his head, adamant with his decision, “You don’t know how many Death Eaters are out there, Y/N. What- What if you get hurt? What if you die, just like Sirius? I-I can’t-“

“Harry!” You said loudly, snapping him out of his overthinking rambles. He was looking down, trying hard to control his tears, frowning. “Harry, look at me.” You said softly, he kept his head down.

“Look at me, darling.” You said again, tilting his head so he can see you. His eyes were glassy, he was terrified, and your heart sunk for your lover. He had never wanted all of this attention, yet he had it, and the burden on his shoulders was terribly heavy.

“I am going nowhere. I promise you; I will come home to you safe and sound. I love you, Harry, and I will never, ever leave you.” You pressed word by word slowly, letting him hear every syllable coming out of your mouth.  You engulfed him in a hug, and Harry quietly cried on your shoulders, holding the back of your head tightly. Your body had always managed to keep him warm, and Harry calmed down soon after.

He pressed a kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a minute, muttering only loud enough for you to hear, “You better come back to me safely, darling. I love you so much.”

“And I will, Harry.”

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“Hello, handsome.” Harry turned around to see you with a casual, but still pretty outfit. The lilac color looks amazing on you and he smiled fondly, pecking your lips, “Hello, beautiful.”

You smiled brightly at him, “Come on.” He raised his eyebrows at you suddenly pulling him to the dance floor, from a distance, Harry could see Bill and Fleur enjoying their wedding reception, both have a large smile on their faces.

He chuckled at your bright demeanor, “You know I can’t dance, Y/N.” You scrunched your nose and adorably shook your head, “Nonsense, everyone can dance.” He let himself be dragged to the dance floor, glancing at his surrounding, his smile widening at the sight of his two best friends dancing with each other, obvious lovestruck expression hits both of their faces.

“Remember the steps, darling?” Your sweet voice made him turn his attention back to you, his heartwarming and his stiff body eases at the sight of you having a good time. You guided his hand to place itself at your waist, and his other hand intertwined to yours lightly.

“I may have forgotten some steps,” Harry warned, and you laughed loudly making Harry’s heart soar to the sky at the sound of your laugh. As you calmed down, you locked eyes with him, your wide smile reduced to a soft one, “Nothing I couldn’t handle before.”

As you two danced to the slow, elegant beat, Harry had never felt more at peace. With his life constantly on the run, this very moment was worth more than gold to him. “Y/N,” he whispered, his eyes never ran away from you.

“Yes, Harry?” You replied, a smile still plastered on your face. “I know we’re in a middle of a mess right now, and while it doesn’t look like it’s getting any better, I was- uhm- wondering, after all of this, and given the opportunity that we both will still be alive-“ “Which we will,” You interjected, and he huffed a smile, “Which we will,” He repeated, looking bashful.

“Would you like to marry me?”

He watched you scoff in disbelief, your expression etched shock all over. “Oh my goodness, are you literally proposing right now?” You whispered at him, and Harry rolled his eyes playfully, “Obviously, if not I wouldn’t have said that.”

Harry chuckled at your scoffing again, this time it felt playful. Before you could say anything, Harry continued,  “I know we’re both still young and we literally haven’t finished school yet, but I just… I can’t really see myself marrying anyone else but you. You… You light up my life like no other and your hugs are the best and you make me smile whenever you look at me and-“

Harry halted on his ramblings when he realized your eyes were slowly turning glassy. His smile softens and his hand reached to cup your face, “And with you by my side, I have nothing else to wish for. I love you, Y/N, even more than you love me.”

You sniffed, leaning on to his calloused hand and pressed a kiss on it, “You’re not being fair, you know?”

“How so, darling?”

“You’re proposing without a ring, you doofus.” You both chuckled, and Harry leaned in kissing you. You kissed back passionately. The kiss was slow and sensual, both of you wanted to savor this moment. And the moment you pulled away; you gave him a beautiful smile.

“And even without a ring, I would say yes.”

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Harry had arrived. Already deep inside the forest, his expression was solemn. Harry was numb, he couldn’t feel anything, nothing at all.

Nothing, but the hollowing in his stomach whenever he was reminded of you. He halted on his steps, breathing through his mouth as he looked to his back, the view of almost destroyed Hogwarts was hazy. He looked back to the front, knowing that just a few steps forward, will be Voldemort and his clan, waiting for his arrival.

Harry was reminded of the Snitch inside his pocket, and so he fished it out and watched as the golden carving on the Snitch magically appeared.

‘I Open at the Close’

Harry held out a breath, now understanding the riddle completely. In his mind were flashes of his memories with you, with Ron and Hermione, with the Weasleys, with his family.

And so, with a somehow light heart, Harry said, “I’m ready to die.”

‘If it means that’s what it takes to see you again, then I’m ready, my love.’ Sang his heart quietly. Harry slowly placed the snitch on his lips, closing his eyes as he felt the cold surface touched his skin. As he inched away, the Snitch opens slowly one layer, then two layers, revealing a small diamond-shaped stone.

The small stone was hanging around the air, levitating itself. Harry recognized it; he hadn’t realized he had his breath paused.

“The Resurrection Stone.” He whispered under his breath as he slowly put his open palm under the floating object. He grasped it, and instantly closing his eyes, his mind was fast to imagine several people without him realizing it.

And when he opened his eyes, there they were.

James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus.

Lily was right in front of him. As soon as she reached her arm out, Harry walked closer to her, with his own arm reaching out, desperate to touch his mother he hadn’t seen for many years.

When his own hand went through hers, Harry felt his heart crack for the nth time of the day.

“You’ve been so brave, sweetheart,” Lily’s melodic voice traveled to his ears, and Harry had never realized how much he missed her until he heard her voice. “Why are you here?” He asked, feeling breathless.

“All of you.” Harry turned to his father, James for a moment before turning back to Lily, whose gentle smile never left her lips, “We never left.”

Harry found himself nodding, gulping at the sudden new emotions he had never thought he would feel again once he had seen you at the Hall. His eyes darted to Sirius; his godfather he had tragically lost, and with a shaky voice Harry asked, “Does it… Does it hurt?”

“Dying?”

Sirius’s face was calm. With a casual voice, Harry’s godfather replied with a whisper, “Quicker than falling asleep.”

“You’re nearly there, son,” James voiced out, making Harry turn to him. “I’m sorry. I never wanted any of you to die for me.” Harry spoke heavily, his heart heavy; drenched with overbearing guilt.

“And Remus, your son-“ Harry’s words were cut off by the former professor, “Others will tell him what his mother and father died for. One day, he’ll understand.” Remus’ comforting voice was somber in Harry’s ears. Having nothing to say, Harry turned his attention back to his dear mother, whose smile never left.

And he turned to his father, “You’ll stay with me?”

James looked endearingly to his grown-up son, his smile gently etched on his lips, “Until the end.”

“And he won’t be able to see you?” Harry asked again, the desperate tone in his voice were visible.

“No,” Sirius said, “We’re here, you see,” His hand ghostly reached to Harry’s left chest; his heart. And Harry remembered his words a few years ago, “The ones that love us never really leave us.”

Harry gulped, there was a question itching at the back of his throat. As if knowing what he meant, Lily voiced out, “You’ll see them soon, Harry.”

His head whipped to her, his heartbeat quickening at the mention of you, “What’s that supposed to mean? Where is Y/N? Why aren’t they here?”

“Soon, Harry, soon,” Sirius said, and Harry calmed down. He was aching to see you, even if it was his imagination of you and he couldn’t touch you. He heaved a deep breath, “Stay close to me.”

“Always.”

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“Harry Potter,” Harry heard the voice of Voldemort saying his name. He had come forward to Voldemort and his clan of Death Eaters, not forgetting to glance at a disheveled Hagrid, who was heartbroken to see the boy he once saved from the Dursleys six years ago had shown up.

“The Boy Who Lived… Come to die.”

Harry was silent, he knew he had no choice as of this moment. The giant snake, Nagini had slithered closer to its master. And Harry watched as Voldemort raised the Elder Wand, aiming at him, and the boy closed his eyes. His lips curled into a little smile, for the last image he saw as he closed his eyes… was you. Smiling.

And with the shout of an Unforgivable Curse recited, coming along with it were glowing colors of green, everything was white.

And Sirius was right.

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Harry woke up breathing heavily. His first vision was a white ceiling. He quickly stood up and looked at his surroundings.

Everything was white. Everything looks clean and… bright.

Harry turned to his back, suddenly noticing a bench a few steps away from him. It was white and there was something beneath it and-

There was something beneath it.

Without much thinking, Harry walked closer to the creature, his mind running a million questions that had yet to be answered. Harry couldn’t quite see what the creature was, so he crouched down to see and when he did, he flinched away rather quickly.

There, under the bench, was a small human-like creature, hugging itself as if it was shivering from the cold. It’s almost like seeing a small skeleton with just skin, no meat at all, and Harry was baffled as he recognized who the creature resembled like.

Voldemort.

“You can’t help, Harry…“

Harry instantly looked up at the sudden voice. His mouth gaped open at the sight of Professor Dumbledore walking closer to him. “… You wonderful boy, you brave, brave man.” Dumbledore said, a small prideful smile on his lips.

For a moment, Harry was astonished. He had seen this very man before him, get thrown off the Astronomy Tower by none other than Snape himself, and now he’s here, standing before him.

“Let us walk,” Dumbledore said, turning his back to Harry and started walking. Instinctively, Harry followed him with so many questions itching on his throat. He walked as he tilted his head to the bench with the questionable creature underneath.  “Professor, what is that?” He asked, his eyes trained on the creature. Dumbledore turned back too, only to reply, “Something beyond either of our help. A part of Voldemort sent here to die.”

“And exactly where are we?” Harry asked again, and they continued walking. “I was gonna ask you that,” Dumbledore nonchalantly said as he continued, “Where would you say where we are?”

Harry looked around, “Well, it looks like King’s Cross station. Only cleaner,” He paused, ‘So much cleaner it has no color,’ he thought. “… And without all the trains.”

“King’s Cross, is that right?” Dumbledore chimed, “This is, as they say, your party.”

“I expect you now realize that you and Voldemort,” Harry looked up to the tall man, “Have been connected to something other than fate. Since that night at Godric’s Hollow all those years ago.” Dumbledore said solemnly.

“… So it’s true then, sir.”

“A part of him lives within me, doesn’t it?” Harry questioned, and Dumbledore chuckled, “Did.”

“It’s been just destroyed many moments ago by none other than Voldemort himself. You,” Dumbledore paused, looking at the 17-year-old beside him, “Were the Horcrux he never meant to make, Harry.”

As they walked, they came across another bench and Dumbledore decided to sit on it, and Harry followed suit.

“I have to go back, haven’t I?” Harry asked, and Dumbledore quickly replied, “Oh, that’s up to you.”

“I’ve a choice?” “Oh yeah!” The old man chirped, looking around, “We’re in King’s Cross, you say?”

“I think if so decide, you’ll be able to board a train.”

“And where will it take me?” Harry asked again. Dumbledore only chuckles, he turned to look at the young boy before him, “On.”

Dumbledore stood up and began to walk away. Harry was baffled, “Professor!” The man turned around, “Yes?” “Where are you going?” He said, and Dumbledore chuckled yet again, “My time with you is over, boy. That lovely fellow wants to talk to you now. Very impatient, they were.”

Dumbledore nodded to something behind him, and Harry had never turned around so quickly. He was breathless, he had never thought he would feel his heartbeat increasing again, but it did.

Because it was you.

You were wearing a simple white outfit, if anything it was the simplest outfit he had seen you in. But you managed to look ethereal to him, never less resembling an angel from the Heaven itself. If so, more beautiful than an angel.

“Missed me, Potter?” You said with a bright smile. Harry couldn’t say anything, he was dumbfounded and he couldn’t even utter a word.

So he engulfed you in a hug tightly.

“Oof! Now that’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?” You teased, chuckling at your boyfriend hugging the life out of you. Well, if you had any more to spend anyway. Regardless of the tease, you hugged him back just as tight. Just when you hugged him back, Harry’s knees turned weak and you slowly guided him down to sit on the floor, still hugging the boy you love with all your heart.

Just then, Harry who had been quiet for a moment broke a sob.

You etched a sad smile on your lips, caressing the back of his head the way he liked it, “… I shook you too much, didn’t I?”

Harry couldn’t say anything, he dug his face into the crook of your neck, crying loudly without any embarrassment now, “I’m- I’m sorry, Y/N… This-This is all my fault you shouldn’t- you shouldn’t have to-“

“Hey, hey… “ You cooed, softly pulling away from him so you could wipe away his tears. “Shh… Stop blaming yourself, darling. It’s a war, and a war isn’t your fault, Harry.” You softly said, reaching in to kiss both of his eyes.

“I’m so tired, Y/N… I’m so tired…” Harry whimpered, more tears rolling down like a broken dam. He had lost you a few hours ago, but he felt like he had lost you for years.

“Let-Let me stay with you, Y/N, please…” Harry softly begged, his face was cupped with your hands. You felt your heartbreak at the vulnerability he shown you. While it wasn’t the first time Harry had been vulnerable in front of you, this time it was completely different.

“While that isn’t such a bad offer, the war isn’t over, Harry. If there’s anyone who could kill Voldemort, then it’s you, darling.” Despite your tries on convincing him, Harry shook his head, “I don’t want to be the Chosen One anymore! I’m so tired… of everything… I lost my parents, I lost Sirius and now I lost you! I have no one else to live for, Y/N…”

He leaned his head into the crook of your neck, and you two sat there quietly, your fingers playing softly with his neat brown locks.

You shook your head, “You know that’s not true, Harry. Ron and Hermione are still out there, waiting for you. Fred and George too, once they’ve stopped crying over me, that is,” You chuckled, and Harry felt his lips curled up a bit, his eyes slowly closing at the sound of your voice gently lullabying him to sleep.

“And Molly and Arthur… And Ginny, and you know, the rest of Hogwarts.” Harry softly kissed your neck, snuggling a bit further into your neck, your head gently leaning on his, “But I’ve got nothing to kill him with… Voldemort has the Elder Wand… and the snake is still alive.” He softly said, his urge to cry had lessened as he found warmth and comfort being with you, as always.

It pained him a bit that, this could be the last time he could feel you.

“You saw Professor Dumbledore just now, right?” You felt him nod and you smiled, “Well, he told me this before we went to meet you, just in case you’re feeling helpless. Which you are,” You both chuckled.

“Help will always be given at Hogwarts, to those who deserve it. And he said…” You trailed off, noticing Harry’s breaths got gentler and his head felt heavy on your crook of neck. You smiled sadly, kissing his forehead softly, lingering there for a while to cherish the moment.

“And he said what..?” Harry asked slowly, his eyes slowly felt heavy, your heartbeat was gentle, and he felt so calm. He smiled softly at the feeling of your lips on his forehead, “And he said… Do not pity the dead. Pity the living… And above all, all those who live without love.” You finished, your voice was slowly volumed down to a whisper.

“Y/N…” Harry mumbled with his eyes closed, feeling his consciousness slowly slipping away, “Is this all real? Or is it just happening inside my head?”

You chuckled at his question, “Why, of course, it’s happening inside your head, Harry…”  You trailed off, feeling that your short time with Harry is about to end by the looks of him slowly slipping into sleep, “Why should that mean, that it’s not real?”

Harry was asleep now, and right before he went unconscious, his ears heard the last words you said to him, “In another life, I would be your love, Harry. We’d keep all our promises, and it’ll only be us against the world…”

“I love you, always and forever, my darling.”

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

The rest came out as a blur. Harry had killed Voldemort, with the help from Neville who slashed the giant snake with the sword of Gryffindor, and the war was finally… over.

While Harry was glad that the war was over, he couldn’t feel happy. He still lost you. He had lost a lot of people, and sometimes Harry wondered if their deaths were even worth it.

Two weeks after the Second Wizarding War had ended, was your funeral. Everyone was there, the professors, your friends, your family, even some house elves to pay their respects. Harry was- unfortunately- in charge of doing a speech at your funeral, and he despised it, even when he felt the need to do so, nevertheless.

There he was, standing on a podium, looking to the crowd who had come for you. “Hello everyone, thank you so much for coming today.” He started, the nervousness inside of him was astounding.

“As you all know, Y/N and I have a very special relationship. Almost everyone in Hogwarts knows how close we were, platonically and romantically. Y/N was my best friend, my lover, and I could bravely say, the one who I could see spending the rest of my life with.”

Sad smiles spread across the room, and Harry couldn’t help but etch a sad smile to himself.

“Y/N died saving lives and defeating the bad, and the fact that they did it with no hesitation speaks volumes of their personality. Y/N was brave, kind-hearted, humorous, and humble. They were fierce, and they knew when to stand up for what’s right and say what was wrong. Y/N was simply… amazing.”

Hermione was already crying on Ron’s shoulder and Fred was looking down guiltily. Harry sighed quietly, he had told Fred it was none of his fault that Y/N died, but he still blamed himself for it.

“And being the amazing person they are, they wouldn’t want us to blame ourselves. They wouldn’t want us to feel bad for them, they would want us to smile whenever we remember our moments with them.” Harry said, trying to calm himself down as he felt a lump on his throat starting to grow.

“I remember a quote from my late godfather, Sirius Black, a few years ago. He said,” Harry paused, clearing his throat to ease the dull aching in his heart.

“The ones that love us never really leave us. And you can always find them…” Harry brought his hand to his heart, smiling with glassy eyes, “In here.”

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

It was hard.

It was hard to live without you.

He would wake up screaming during the middle of the night, the memories of him finding you in the Great Hall had rewinded inside his dreams every single night. While staying together with the Weasleys at the Burrow helped him a lot with his recovery, the nightmares had become so constant that Ron had to cast a ‘Muffliato’ charm to their shared bedroom every night to not disturb anyone else.

And being the great friend he is, Ron would always wake up and comfort Harry, lending him his shoulder when Harry needed to cry. He would accompany Harry to the kitchen, to get a mug of warm tea and talk about the dream, or in some days, just sit together quietly at the patio, watching the sun rises as it does every day.

Every morning as Molly walked down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, she wouldn’t forget to see Harry and Ron already being there, talking to each other quietly. And she wouldn’t forget to kiss their heads along with a motherly ‘Good Morning’ each time before she started. They would accompany her while she cooks, sometimes Harry would lend her a hand to make himself busy.

A few weeks into their routine, Fred slowly joins them in.

The first time Molly walked down and expected two heads already in the kitchen but came to see three, Molly had engulfed Fred in a tight hug as she cried on his chest. She kissed his cheeks repeatedly afterward, receiving a playful groan from Fred and chuckles from her two other sons.

A day at the Burrow was never dull. There was always something to do. Cleaning the house, de-gnoming the garden, feeding the pigs and cows, cleaning the barn, watering the flowers, fixing the leaking ceilings, and Harry’s favorite, playing Quidditch at the front yard.

Sometimes he would join the twins and Ginny, sometimes he would sit back and watch the game, and sometimes he would just stay in his room, watching the game from the window.

When those days came, he would spend the entire time reliving his memories with you. Harry could remember the first few weeks when he stayed at the Burrow; he went into a panic attack when he realized he had forgotten some of his memories with you. He felt like he couldn’t breathe then, he felt his chest constricting his lungs. Molly had to brew him a heavy calming potion to stop him from wailing your name with tears strolling down his face.

Ever since that incident, Harry had kept every single memory he had with you into tubes, his memories forming into glowing blue strings with the help of his wand. He had the tubes labeled, every single one of them.

‘Y/N riding a broom at First Year’

‘First Hogsmeade Date’

‘Yule Ball’

‘Christmas at the Burrow’

‘First Kiss’

‘Our Last Hug’

Harry had thought the action was too much, but he couldn’t help it. Even if his lips were smiling and his eyes were crinkling in laughter, he found himself missing you at every second. The Weasleys had become his family for years at this point, and the Burrow had become his home.

But somehow, only you and he knew your true homes are each other.

During Christmas, Andromeda Tonks would come by with little Teddy, Harry’s godson. While Andromeda would spend time with Arthur and Molly, Harry would spend as much time as he could with Teddy. He finds himself and Teddy to be very similar, losing their parents at a young age.

And Harry had sworn to himself not to let Teddy relive the life he once had before Hogwarts. In some way, he had seen Teddy as your honorary replacement. While nothing could ever replace you in his life; he had sworn the first and last person he’d propose to be you, Teddy filled his heart like no other.

Before he knew it, Harry had reached his 20s. He had grown significantly better from mourning you every second to smiling gently whenever your name was mentioned. He moved away from the Burrow, purchasing a cottage at Godric’s Hollow with the money he was inherited, with Ron as his housemate.

“Uncle Harry! Wake up, wake up, wake up!” Harry groaned as a tiny body jumped on his bed, disrupting his sleep. He sleepily looked at the alarm clock, groaning once again at the little child he had agreed to stay with him over the summer, “Teddy, it’s 8 am, let Uncle Harry sleep…”

He heard the five-year-old whine in disagreement, “But Uncle Harry! You promised me we could go to Uncle Fred and Uncle George’s shop today!” Harry oof-ed as Teddy jumped on his body, sprawling on him, the little’s tousled hair glowed bright ginger.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, hugging the child on his chest playfully, “What I promised was we’ll go to the shop after we visited St. Mungos to visit Uncle Fred’s new-born baby, Teddy.”

The boy pouted, “The same thing… Ooh! Can we have pancakes?” Teddy was fast to change the subject, and Harry laughed in amusement. He sat up, still hugging the little boy, and kissed him on the cheek, “Alright, alright. Let me shower first. Wait- Where’s Uncle Ron?”

“Aunt Hermione had come over early to steal him away. She said she wants to have a breakfast date with him.” Teddy said innocently and Harry rolled his eyes, “Of course she did.”

“Oh, Uncle Harry?” Teddy chirped, following Harry here and there across the cottage like a baby duck. “Yes, Teddy?” Harry replied, drinking from a bottle of water stored in the fridge.

“I tinkled the bed again.”

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

“Oh Harry, it’s so nice to see you after so long!” Molly gushed and gave him a warm hug as Harry and Teddy arrived in St. Mungos by the Floo Powder. Harry smiled warmly at the woman, “I’ve missed you too, Molly.”

Everyone was there, even Ron and Hermione. “Really, Mione? The least you could do is tell me.” Harry chuckled as he came over to hug the girl who laughed slightly. “Well I did, I told Teddy to tell you.” She said, hugging the little boy hello afterward.

George then appeared from the ward, “Come on lads, the baby’s awake now.”

The group walked into the private ward Fred had arranged for his wife. He had met her when she first moved into Diagon Alley, with her flower shop just across the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes about a year ago. Fred found comfort in her immediately, you could say it was love at first sight for both of them.

In an instant, there were coos and awes spreading across the ward. In Fred’s arm, was a baby bundled up in purple cloth with a beanie on its head, eyes were blinking slowly, and a tiny hand was holding Fred’s index finger. Right beside him, was his wife sitting up on the bed, looking rightfully exhausted.

“Oh, Fred, the baby’s lovely!” Fleur gushed as she hugged Fred’s wife hello. The woman was beautiful, black long hair with a striking pair of hazel eyes. If Harry had remembered correctly, her name was Lara.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Ron asked, and Fred gently smiled, his eyes never left his precious child, “It’s a girl.”

Fred softly removed the beanie from his daughter’s head, and the crowd’s smile widened at the sight of the famous ginger hair. “At least we know she’s really a Weasley now,” George joked, and they chuckled.

“Uncle Harry, up, up,” Teddy said as he lifted his arms to Harry, and Harry lifted him to let him see. Teddy saw the baby, and her striking orange hair, he giggled and without him knowing, his hair turned to ginger as well.

They laughed again, and Harry playfully gasped, “Teddy’s a Weasley? Oh my,” He said, tickling the child’s belly, and Teddy giggled.

“Wanna know what her name is?” Fred asked, and attention went to him again. “Hurry up then, don’t leave us hanging,” Ginny remarked playfully, expecting Fred to roll his eyes but instead, his smile widened.

“Everybody, please welcome, my daughter; Charlotte Y/N Weasley.”

Harry snapped his eyes from the baby to Fred, and the tall ginger sent him a knowing smile with tear-filled eyes. “Fred had wanted to name her Y/N for a while now, he said they saved his life.” Lara softly said, speaking for her husband.

The crowd was quiet until Molly came forward and hugged her son, “I love it,” She whispered, fearing if her voice got any louder, the trembling in it would sound so loud.

“This way, they’ll be with us, always.” Fred huffed laughter, trying so hard not to cry. Harry had mirrored his expression; tears were starting to fill his eyes. “I feel like Charlotte’s not going to be her name around the house now,” Hermione said, chuckling as she wiped the happy tears away.

Ron snickered, “Bet Charlotte’s her middle name now,” And the crowd erupted in laughter. Harry couldn’t laugh, his eyes were trained to the new-born whose name is now after you.

“What do you think, Harry?” Fred asked, smiling knowingly at the longing expression Harry had.

Harry was feeling a lot of things. It has been more than 3 years since you passed, and he hadn’t forgotten you ever since. He had told Teddy fun facts about you ever since the summer started, and he had seen you in his dreams smiling lately. For some reason, he didn’t feel sad at all, he was elated at the sight of young Charlotte Y/N in front of him.

Already knowing that she’s going to grow up as an amazing person, he gave Fred a bright smile as he said,

“She’s wonderful.”

#Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter angst #harry potter imagines #harry potter x you #harry james potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfic #harrypotter #harry potter x neutral!reader #harry potter sad #harry potter imagine #battle of hogwarts #fred weasley #ron weasley #hermione granger #george weasley #molly weasley #fleur delacour #dumbledore #voldemort #the deathly hallows #themarauders #daniel radcliffe #daniel radcliffe sad #george-fabian-weasley #theonethatgotaway

[nikkoliferous]

Phase One: Avengers (Part Two)

Apparently I had so much to comment on this crappy book that I had to break this up into two parts (you can read part one here). No, I have nothing to say for myself. Lol

Let’s continue.

Clint Barton and Loki’s hand-picked strike team were in a stolen Quinjet with a faked S.H.I.E.L.D. call sign, 26-Bravo. That got them close enough that by the time the air-traffic officer on the Helicarrier knew something was wrong, it was already too late.

Whoa whoa whoa. I thought you said Loki didn’t care about the details. I thought you said such things were beneath him. Make up your mind.

With a last heave and twist, she freed herself from the fallen beam and ran. At that moment, the Hulk turned and saw her. She vaulted up a stairway and onto the next level. The Hulk swiped at the stairway and shredded it into scrap metal. Loki had gotten what he wanted. He must have been trying to time it so he could manipulate Bruce into becoming the Hulk right as his soldiers came to attack the Helicarrier. The Hulk would do at least as much damage from the inside as the rogue Quinjet could do from the outside.

Yes. Yes, he did. Lol

Natasha kept running, and the Hulk came right behind her. For a moment, she thought she’d lost him, but then he came at her out of the shadows, roaring. He was like walking rage, a single-minded engine of destruction. She shot a hole in the pipe over his head. Steam shot out of it into the Hulk’s eyes, stopping him for just the moment she needed to get a head start. She ran as fast as she could, but she knew she wasn’t going to stay away from him for long. He came after her, smashing through bulkheads and doorways like they weren’t even there and roaring the whole time.

Mood, though.

Steve got to the edge of the turbine mount about the same time as Tony. “I’m here!” he called out.

“Good,” Tony said, dropping into view and hovering in the Iron Man armor to survey the wreckage. He had the suit on, and Steve could hear his voice through the earbud microphone all S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel wore. At least that channel was still intact; if they lost communications, they’d be done for.

Convenient. Clint would absolutely know this, which means either 1) he's incompetent, 2) he's not as mind-controlled as we think, or 3) Loki allowed/arranged for his own team's semi-failure.Take your pick.

“What’s it look like in there?” Tony asked.

“It seems to run on some form of electricity,” Steve said.

Tony was shoving loose huge pieces of debris that prevented the turbine blades from rotating. “Well, you’re not wrong,” he said.

Steve fumed. He wasn’t here for technical support. But that was all he could do at the moment.

Ironic for Steve to call out Tony for being useless without his suit when Steve is apparently useless at anything other than beating people up. Lol

Tony stood inside the turbine housing, looking at the blades. He’d cleared most of the debris jamming the rotors. “Even if I clear the rotors,” he said, “this thing won’t reengage without a jump. I’m going to have to get in there and push.”

“If that thing gets up to speed, you’ll get shredded,” Steve said.

Hey hey hey now, I thought Tony wasn't the type of guy to sacrifice himself??

The Hulk stomped around the flight deck, roaring. He saw Thor and swung a fist twice the size of Thor’s head. Thor caught it in both hands, straining to hold both the Hulk’s arm and his attention. “We are not your enemies, Banner,” he grunted. “Try to think!”

Now, where have I heard that before...?

In answer, the Hulk punched him through the wall.

Jealous.

Thor got up and watched the Hulk coming after him. Now this was a fight! He held out a hand, waiting for Mjolnir to return to him. Mjolnir smashed through another wall and reached Thor’s hand just as the charging Hulk came within striking distance.

What's a little bloodlust between friends, amirite?

The Hulk caught the hammer, and a fierce grin spread over his face… then he toppled backward and Mjolnir pinned him to the floor of the hangar.

None but I can lift Mjolnir, Thor thought. Not even this giant.

Yes, yes. You're very special, Thor. We're all super impressed, promise.

“You like this?” Coulson asked, meaning the gun. “We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer. Even I don’t know what it does.” He powered it up, and rings along its barrel glowed bright orange. “Want to find out?”

But Loki wasn’t there in front of him. Thor saw it too late to do anything. That Loki was an illusion… and the real Loki was behind Coulson.

Lokiception.

“You lack conviction,” Coulson said. He did not move from where he sat against the wall. Blood trickled at the corner of his mouth, and the enormous gun lay uselessly across his lap.

Of all the things Coulson might have said, this was perhaps the one Loki expected least. I have moved worlds out of conviction, he thought. Made bargains with beings who snuff out planets as an afterthought. “I don’t think I…”

"bargains"

“Tasha,” he said. “How many agents did I—?”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for.” Better than maybe anyone on the Helicarrier, Natasha Romanoff knew you couldn’t blame yourself for things you did while you were brainwashed. All you could do was try to heal and get things right the next time.

OH? DO TELL.

“Yeah, takes us a while to get any traction, I’ll give you that one,” Tony said. “But let’s do a head count here. Your brother the demigod, a Super-Soldier, a living legend who kind of lives up to the legend, a man with breathtaking anger-management issues, a couple of master assassins… and you, big fella, you’ve managed to piss off every single one of them.”

“That was the plan,” Loki said with a grin.

“Not a great plan,” Tony said.

YOU'RE RIGHT, TONY. IT'S AN OBJECTIVELY TERRIBLE PLAN. NOW ASK YOURSELF WHY HE WOULD DO THAT ON PURPOSE.

“You’re missing the point!” he said, and his tone got sharper. “There’s no throne, there is no version of this where you come out on top. Maybe your army comes and maybe it’s too much for us… but it’s all on you. Because if we can’t protect the Earth, you can be sure we’ll avenge it.”

Weeeeeell...

With those last words, he tapped Tony on the chest with his scepter, just has he had Hawkeye and Dr. Selvig. Nothing happened. The Arc Reactor in Tony’s chest countered the scepter’s effect.

Loki tried it again. “This usually works.…”

“Well,” Tony said, “best-laid plans. You know the saying.”

Uncomfortable with mild swear words and dick jokes, I see. Lol

Look at this!” Thor shouted, holding Loki and forcing him to gaze out over the destruction in the city. “You think this madness will end with your rule?”

“It’s too late,” Loki said. Thor thought he was beginning to understand what he had done. “It’s too late to stop it.”

“No,” Thor said. “We can. Together.”

Loki looked him in the eye… and then betrayed Thor again, stabbing him in the side with a knife hidden in his sleeve. Thor dropped to the ground, clutching the wound. “Sentiment,” Loki said mockingly.

OH MY GOD. HE'S MOCKING HIMSELF, YOU ABSOLUTE KNUCKLEHEAD. I swear to god, this author sat down and went, "Hmm. How can I systematically erase any and all complexity this character possesses so he's as generic a villain as possible?"

CASE IN POINT:

On a bridge, Cap huddled behind a destroyed car with the Black Widow and Hawkeye. “Lots of civilians trapped up there,” Hawkeye said, indicating the nearby buildings. A flight of Chitauri went over, and Cap noticed something different about one of them.

“Loki,” he said. He was shooting at the civilians fleeing through the streets. “They’re fish in a barrel down there.”

It can be admittedly hard to tell because most shots of the Chitauri vehicles firing on people are from too far away to tell who's piloting... but I checked the clips from the Battle of NY and the only person Loki can definitively be seen firing at is Natasha. On another Chitauri whatever-you-call-them. Not even aiming for the street.

Thor was still watching the Chitauri zipping overhead. “I have unfinished business with Loki.”

“Yeah?” Hawkeye said. “Get in line.”

“Save it,” Steve said. “Loki’s going to keep this fight focused on us, and that’s what we need. Otherwise those things could run wild. We’ve got Stark up on top—”

Almost as if... according to plan...

Look, I have historically not bought into the full "Loki formed the Avengers so he could lose on purpose" theory because I feel that it contradicts the canon explanation that he was being influenced by the sceptre. But... you'd have to be an absolute moron to think he wasn't sabotaging himself, whether accidentally or on purpose. I suppose one could argue that just because it was amplifying his negative emotions, that doesn't necessarily mean it prevented him from working against his "allies". But if it wasn't affecting his actions at all, I don't know why they'd bother to confirm the theory as canon.

Also, like... according to this book, Loki is somehow targeting civilians and not targeting civilians at the same time ?? lmao

“Dr. Banner,” Steve said. “Now might be a really good time for you to get angry.”

Bruce was already walking toward the Leviathan. “That’s my secret, Captain,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m always angry.”

Same, tbh.

Thor reached the top of the Empire State Building and lifted Mjolnir. Storm clouds gathered and lightning struck down, hundreds of bolts reaching for Mjolnir. Thor turned the Empire State Building’s iconic spire into a lightning rod, gathering the force of the elements into it. Then he thrust Mjolnir in the direction of the portal. All the energy he had built up blazed out in a single forking bolt. It struck and destroyed every single Chitauri between the Empire State Building and the portal itself. Hundreds of them exploded and tumbled from the sky at once, including several of the Leviathans that tumbled down to smash into buildings below.

...so why didn't Thor just keep doing this for the rest of the battle? Too draining, or not exciting enough? Lol

Satisfied, Thor nodded and glanced over at the Hulk. Perhaps the scales were evened from their last fight against each other on the Helicarrier—

The Hulk shot out his left fist and smashed Thor all the way across the block-long gallery. Then it was his turn to look satisfied.

Jealous. Again.

Maybe that was just Loki, but Steve was starting to feel like the Chitauri were going to absorb every punch the Avengers could throw. They had to close that portal, or nothing was going to stop the invasion.

Well then. It sure is fortunate that Loki allowed Selvig to install a failsafe, huh?

Fury stood and listened to the World Security Council explain that they had decided to take the operation out of his hands. They were going to use a nuclear missile to destroy the Tesseract and close the portal—but at the cost of untold civilian lives. Fury protested as strongly as he could and one of the councilors cut him off. “Director Fury. The Council has made a decision.”

These crazy motherfuckers would have killed so many more people than Loki it's not even funny.

...and tbh, it probably wouldn't even have destroyed the Tesseract, so they would have killed them for literally no reason too.

The Hulk paused, confused.

“You are, all of you, beneath me!” Loki raged.

Not yet, sir, but I would very much like to be. 😏

She knelt next to him and said, “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

Selvig digested this for a moment and then said, “Actually I think I did. I built in a safety to cut the power source.”

Of note and as alluded to previously:

1) The mind control over Barton and Selvig was not absolute either; therefore, if they are not responsible for their actions over the course of this movie, Loki is not responsible for his either.

2) If The Other could hear everything Loki was up to, it's very likely that Loki could hear everything Barton and Selvig were up to as well. Meaning that, at a minimum, he knew about the failsafe and did nothing about it.

The missile had a lot of momentum built up, and Tony’s Mark 7 suit was not operating at full capacity after the amount of energy he’d expended in the battle already. It was no easy task to get the missile angled up sharply enough to clear the tallest buildings in Midtown—especially Stark Tower. That was where the missile seemed to want to go. So, Tony thought, the World Security Council is jealous of me, too.

Look, I get that he's mostly just being witty, but seriously... this dude is out here accusing Loki of being an egomaniac? Lol

He got underneath the missile and angled it upward, straining against its stabilizers, which tried to keep it on course. But slowly he forced it up, and once he got its warhead pointed at an angle, pushing it into a steeper climb got easier. A little.

Steve Rogers’s voice broke his concentration. “Stark, you know that’s a one-way trip?”

So... you're admitting you were wrong, then? 🙃

The Avengers looked up. On the roof of Stark Tower, Natasha said, “Come on, Stark.”

They saw the explosion through the portal, brilliant as a new sun. There was no way Tony could have survived that.

I was wrong about him, Steve thought. When the time came, he did make the sacrificial play.

Thanks, Steve. That's really all I wanted.

Loki had just gotten himself put back together enough to get out of the hole in the floor. Painfully he dragged himself toward the door. Never had a mortal damaged him as much as that green monster. He would be healing for a long time.

He's literally in better shape now than when he came through the portal. And the author made zero mention of his health there.

But heal he would, and then he would have his revenge. Even though the portal had collapsed and he had lost the Tesseract. Even though his Chitauri army was destroyed. Loki would show the so-called Avengers they never should have opposed him.

Raise your hand if you watched Avengers and thought Loki was thinking about revenge right after getting Hulk-smashed. Why aren't any of you raising your hands??

Seriously, there are two emotions I felt from Loki at the end of Avengers Assemble: relief and anxiety. I have no idea why Alex Irvine is so intent on turning him into a boring, one-dimensional villain, but it made this book absolutely insufferable to read.

Anyway, that's it! I hope you all found this as entertaining and cathartic as I did. Lol

↩️ Back to Part One

#loki meta #loki #thor #tony stark #steve rogers #bruce banner #natasha romanoff #clint barton #avengers assemble #mcu #phase one: avengers

[anarcoqueer1994]

So I wrote this and I'm pretty proud it. Some pre-serum 1930s Stucky, period accurate homophobia. If you like it I linked my ao3 for the other two chapters. Am I cringy? Probs but whateves

It is probably one of the coldest winters Bucky could remember. He was thankful that the end of the day was finally here. The biting temperatures were amplified by the air off of the cold water. More importantly though, going home meant he could go check on Steve, his tenement mate, and long-time best friend. Steve have come down with a bout of pneumonia a couple weeks back. He is still fighting to get his strength back, still breaking out in coughing fits and struggling to get around. His weak immune system made sure that it was not going to be easy to get over this. Honestly, Bucky hated that he had to leave him alone all day to work, but they needed the money to afford the rent, even if their tenement was too small and the heat wasn’t the best. So Bucky just spent the day going through the worse possible scenarios in his head. What if Steve got worse while he was away? What if Steve fell somewhere in the apartment because he is too stubborn to stay in bed, and now couldn’t get up? Was he laying their freezing not able to get back to his bed? What if he…dies because I am not there to help him? But now he could get home and check on Steve.

“James!’ Bucky turned around to hear Bill calling after, as he walking away for the day. Bill was another one of the grunt workers at dock. Nice enough guy, kind of rough. Probably his closest “work friend.” Bucky waits for him to catch up.

“Yea?” he says casually, trying not to show the impatience in his voice for the man that is unknowingly delaying him from getting to Steve.

“Want to go get a drink with some of the guys? Maybe we’ll run into some dames desperate enough for a good time to give your ugly mug a chance?” He wiggles his eye brows jokingly.

“No thanks, I’m good, actually.” Bucky replies, turning to leave.

“Oh come on, you never come out. Let loose a little, pal.” Bill pushes.

“I just need to get home…” Bucky responds, a little annoyed at this point because of the hold up.

“What’s the rush?”

“It’s just Steve is at home and he’s expecting me.” Bucky lies. Steve wouldn’t care if he went out. He would tell Bucky he deserves it. In actuality, he was too worried to go out and have fun, not when Steve was at home, miserable.

“Come on then, invite him out too. You guys can meet us at the bar.” Bill offers.

“Maybe another night, Steve is pretty sick. Getting over pneumonia.” Bucky goes to turn away again.

“Then why are you in a rush?” He laughs. “If he’s sick, he’s probably just laying down in bed. No need to babysit.”

Bucky ignores he question and just repeats, “Like I said, maybe another night.”

Bill lets out a little amused huff. “Interesting.”

His tone of voice gets the better of Bucky. “Interesting? What is that supposed to mean?” Bucky interrogates.

“Nothing, man. Forget about it.” Bill half-heartedly replies.

Bucky of course will not forget about it. “No, what did you mean?” His voice a little more irritated sounding then he intended.

Bill shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “It’s just some of the guys…”

“Some of the guys, what?” Bucky urges.

“Some of the guys say you’re a little funny, you know.” Many of the guys on the crew have grown up in the same neighborhood as Steve and Bucky and as such have known them, or at least seen them for a long time.

Bucky feels a sudden weight on his chest but does not let it show. “Funny how, Bill?” though he is terrified that he know what he means.

“You know, you and that roommate are pretty close and have been for a long time. Sometimes it just appears…” he hesitates, thinking about how to say it. “It appears like you treat him how you would treat a dame you were into. It just seems a little queer.” From behind Bill, he could see some of the guys eavesdropping. Some are smirking, and a few other are snickering. Some even are shooting disgusted looks at Bucky.

Bucky stops his face from faltering from the apathetic look he has put on. He replies loud enough for those assholes who are listening in to hear. “Well, I can assure you Bill, that Steve is my best friend, and that’s all, okay?” In reality, his heart is beating through his chest. Had it been that obvious that he liked Steve? How long have they been passing stories about this.

Bill cracks a smile and slaps Bucky on the shoulder. “Yeah, okay. I knew those guys had to wrong about you. Come out and join us later if you change your mind.” Bill gives Bucky the name of the bar they’ll be at, as he politely listens, not intending on changing his mind. As he leaves, he can tell a lot of the guys do not seem to believe him.

Walking home, Bucky was stuck in his head. He didn’t think people could tell how he felt about Steve. Did he act more like Steve’s fella than his friend? How could they tell? To be fair, he hadn’t been lying about Steve just being his friend. Just because Bucky was a little “light in the loafers”, did not mean that he feelings for Steve were requited. Steve was such a good guy and a model Catholic. No way was Steve into him the same way.

Probably for the best since guys liking other guys that way wasn’t looked on very favorably. The anti-sodomy laws made that clear. Plus, he didn’t particularly like the idea of having to get into fist fight with guys who may make a remark at him…or god forbid Steve.

He shakes his, getting himself out of his own thoughts. He didn’t want to think about these what ifs anymore. Maybe he would try harder to act less like a boyfriend to Steve and more like his super manly, non-homosexual, best friend. Its’s not like he didn’t like women, he just preferred Steve more. But he could be less doting. He didn’t need to babysit his best friend. Bill was right, Steve was probably just sleeping and didn’t need him. Maybe he would just stop at home, check in momentarily, and then take them up on his offer to drink with the guys. He hypes himself up in his head as he reaches the steps leading up to his door. These thoughts left his head as soon as he opened the door.

He could hear a pretty bad coughing fit from the bedroom. The place was freezing. The shitty radiator must be on the fritz. It was warmer than outside but not by much. It couldn’t be more than 40 degrees in that house, the paper-thin walls doing little to keep the heat in. Bucky makes his way to the little gas stove. The tenement was only 3 rooms, the front room that consisted of a little seating area and a modest kitchen (if you van call it that. It was a little sink and gas stove, with one cupboard), the bathroom (the only room with a door), and their share bedroom. He turns on the oven, and leaves it open so the heat could radiate through out the place. He discards his shoes and jacket in the front room. Then he quietly makes his way to the back bedroom, not knowing if the previous coughing fit indicated if he was a wake or not. If Steve was asleep, he didn’t want to wake him.

When he walks through the doorway to bedroom, his friend is huddled under some the blankets. He notices that Steve is still covered in his own blanket, as well Bucky’s blanket that he had laid on top of him this morning when he left for work. Steve’s face sticks out slightly even though he pulled the blanket over his head. He is definitely not feeling great. He is awake but kind of staring off in the distance. His usual pale features somehow look paler when punctuated with the dark circles under his eyes. Of course, he hasn’t slept well in a while, constantly being woken up in fits of coughing and wheezing. He hasn’t noticed that Bucky has walked in. There is no way Bucky can leave and go to the bar though after seeing this.

“Hey Stevie.” Bucky puts on a smile, knowing that Steve hates when Bucky stares at him like some pathetic sick thing. Steve looks up and for a moment it looks like a light entered his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. Bucky likes to think he did not imagine it and Steve genuinely lights up because of him. Probably wishful thinking but it’s a nice though.

“Hey Buck!” He tries to sound stronger than he felt. He hated making Bucky worry but he knew his friend, He inevitably is. He pushes himself up lamely to rest his back against the wall behind his mattress. He is still wrapped up in the blankets, still shivering faintly. “So how was work?” Steve asks, just kind of wanting to talk to Bucky. He would never admit it to Bucky, but he hated feeling alone all day while the other man was at work.

Bucky makes his way across the room, sitting on the little wooden stool by Steve’s bed so he could face his friend. His smile had disappeared momentarily when Bucky thought back to conversation he had right before leaving. But he recovers quicky to reply. “Nothing special. Cold as hell though. And this damn apartment is freezing, not making it any better.”

“Yea, I think the radiator is busted. Tried to tell the sup, but I couldn’t get out of bed. I’m sorry Buck.” He gives a sad smile. Times like this made Steve feel so useless, couldn’t even make sure the heat was working so Bucky was cold after working outside all day.

“No problem, pal. Tomorrow’s my day off. I’ll handle it.” Bucky smiles before realizing how sad Steve still looks. He leans over and puts his hand on Steve’s blanket covered shoulder. “Buddy, I promise it is not a big deal, you cannot help that you are sick.”

Steve sighs miserably. “Doesn’t mean, it doesn’t make me feel pretty worthless. For god sakes, look how pathetic I am. I have both blankets and am still shivering like some babe.” He averts his eyes to his lap, avoiding Bucky’s gaze.

This breaks Bucky’s heart, to hear how little Steve thinks about himself. Steve Rogers had the biggest heart out of everyone he knows. He has gotten into so many fights (that he could not win) just because he saw some in justice. Steve was the best person he has ever met so hearing this from him is difficult. “Stevie…” the familiar nickname instinctively causes Steve to look back at Bucky. “I hate to tell you this, bud, but you are wrong. You are pretty great and all this stuff about being worthless or pathetic, is bullshit.”

Steve lets out a nervous huff before quietly whispering “Thanks, Buck…”

“Anytime.” Bucky smiles back at him.

“But, umm hey Bucky…”

“Yeah?”

“Here...” Steve starts to shimmy out the outer blanket belonging to the slightly older man.

“Hey no…” Bucky puts up his hands to signal to stop. “You need that, it is freezing in here and you are sick.”

“Yea but we can’t have you getting sick, either Buck. You may not have my immune system but you can get still get sick.

“Steve.” Bucky says firmly. “I will not take that blanket from you.”

Steve sighs, sometimes Bucky can be as stubborn as he is. “Fine but I can’t have you freezing to death. Come up here. We can share the blanket,” Steve says it so matter-of-factly, like nothing he said was weird. And I guess it wasn’t it is not like they haven’t shared a bed before. Except, in light the conversation at work Bucky can’t help but to start to over think it. Luckily for him, Steve clears his throat to get Bucky’s attention when he notices him staring off. “Hey Buck…did you hear me? Come on, get up here.”

Bucky wants to get up there, god knows he does. To Steve it seemed to be a very practical thing, cold apartment, limited blankets, two bodies make more heat than one, etc. But to Bucky, it felt like so much more. He loved being that close to Steve. And that was his problem. Thinking fast he says “I should start supper. I’m going to heat up the stew for us that Mrs. Andrews dropped off yesterday.” Mrs. Andrews being the nice widow from upstairs.

“Oh…” Steve says before letting a smile come back to his face. If Bucky didn’t know any better, he would say Steve almost sounded disappointed. He did not allow himself to dwell on it too long. Instead, he quickly stands up and makes his way to the kitchen. He throws the small pot of stew on the stoves so he can warm it up.

After a few minutes, he hears Steve shuffle into the room. It really was much warmer in that since the oven, and now the stove, have been on. Steve takes a quiet seat at their modest table.

“You didn’t have to come out. I would have brought you dinner, Stevie.” Bucky says, eyes on the pot in front of him.

“S’okay, I needed to stretch my legs…” No sooner did he say that, did another coughing fit came on. It sounded almost painful, and Bucky could only imagine how raw Steve’s throat must feel. He made his was to his friend, carrying a handkerchief to help with the mess of snot and flem coming from the other man. He stops in front of his friend, crouching down to be on his level. Bucky patiently waits for it to pass before handing his friend the little piece of cloth.

“Thanks Buck…” Steve said almost like he was embarrassed. Bucky instinctively squeezes Steve’s knee reassuringly, before smiling softly and getting back up. He walks back to the pot on the stove. Okay, he thinks to himself. I may be a little too doting. What Bucky did not see when he turned around was Steve smiling at him.

The rest of dinner is uneventful, give or take a few coughs and shivers. When they finished eating, Bucky has to turn off the oven He doesn’t want to leave it on all night, doesn’t want to risk a fire. It is still pretty early in the evening, only about 7:30 but he can see Steve is exhausted.

Steve stands up, but momentarily loses his balance. Bucky, overreacting, stands up and catches Steve before the smaller man can even try to catch himself. They find themselves in a precarious situation. Steve is leaning is weight against Bucky’s chest, as Bucky’s arm is wrapped around the skinnier man’s waist. Bucky’s cheeks turn red as Steve stares curiously at him.

After what felt like years of silence, Bucky lets go of Steve, realizing his friend must be confused. “Uh sorry, thought you were going to fall.” Bucky nervously rubs the back of his neck.

Steve yawns and says “Thanks, I almost did.” He actually flashes bucky a warm smile that honest to god gave the brunette butterflies. Get it together, Barnes. He thinks to hisself, as he watches Steve walk away to their room. He follows noting the apartment temperature going down again.

When Bucky gets to the room, he finds that Steve has set his blanket on his bed. “I told you Stevie, you need this more than me.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Steve says between shivers under his own blanket. “Can’t have you getting sick too. And you are being weird.”

“What do you mean by weird?” Bucky cocks his head to the side.

“Well, it would make more sense to share a bed, two blankets and two bodies would be warmer, and we have done it a thousand times. But ever since you got home from work, you seem off. So take your blanket, punk.” Steve stares at his bewildered friend.

Bucky hates that Steve is so observant. He hadn’t meant to be weird. But now his stubborn friend was going to freeze tonight because he refused to not let Bucky have a blanket. He lets out an exasperated sigh, plays up the drama of course. “Fine. You win. Sharing a bed it is.”

Steve beams at him. Bucky should of know Steve would win this out. With Bucky, Steve could have anything he wanted. He had to face it, he was wrapped around the younger man’s finger.

Bucky makes his way to a pile of books on the ground, grabbing his copy of The Hobbit, before stepping out of his pants, leaving him in a shirt and briefs. He takes the book and his blanket over to Steve’s bed. He scoots into bed with Steve, both men adjusting so that the blankets now cover of them, their bodies inevitably touching on the small, twin size bed. Bucky sets his book on the nightstand, knowing Steve will fall asleep first and he’ll probably do some reading.

Bucky suddenly freezes when he feels Steve lie his head on Bucky’s chest, his arm thrown over the other man’s abdomen. Bucky’s arms are currently under his own head. This is new. Usually, they only got in this position through accidental readjusting while they are sleeping. Stuff that Bucky could just brush off. But now an awake Steve Roger’s is cuddling with an awake Bucky Barnes. He hopes that Steve cannot feel his heart racing in his chest. He continues to look up at the ceiling, hoping to nullify the blush creeping up his face.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice the other man’s reaction, or if he does, he hides it well. He whispers “Is this okay? I’m really cold and I guess I am trying to steal your body heat.” Steve’s voice sounds shy, almost embarrassed.

Of course, when Steve puts it like that, how can Bucky say no? He internally scolds himself for reading more into it. He tries to let out a casual laugh, though it sounded way more choked then intended. He lamely jokes. “That’s why you were trying to get me into bed. To use me?” He finally looks down at his chest, trying to see if his friend laughs. Instead, he is met with questioning blue eyes, genuinely concerned if this was alright. Even with only the dim light of a small bedside lamp, he can’t help but notice how those eyes sparkle. Bucky lets out a small, controlled, sigh and quietly whispers, “Steal away, buddy.”

“Buck?” Steve’s voice sounding even smaller this time. Bucky can’t remember Steve sounding so nervous about anything. He begins to panic internally even as he tries to stay cool externally.

“Yea Stevie?”

“You can say no, okay?” Steve whispers nervously.

“Steve what is it?” His voice more audibly concerned this time.

“Will put your arms around me? I feel like I just can’t get warm.” The way Steve asks is heartbreaking to Bucky, like he was worried Bucky would be upset.

For the first time, Bucky notices that Steve is still shivering. He had been so wrapped up by the way he felt having the smaller man so physically intimate with him, that he didn’t realize that the cold really was getting to Steve. He can tell by the way Steve was acting, he was embarrassed to make these requests. He knows Steve could be a proud man and to be in the position where he had to be so vulnerable was probably hard for him. So Bucky didn’t want to make it a thing, where Steve would feel obligated to have to say more. This was obviously tough enough. So without a word, he wrapped one arm around Steve, as the other fell over his own chest so that he cook connected his hands, locking Steve in, and trying to pull him as close as possible, trying his hardest to warm his sick friend.

Steve didn’t say a word, just flashed a tiny appreciative smile. They laid there in silence for a while before he finally heard Steve’s breath steady in a way that indicated that sleep finally overtook him. Bucky frowned because even in his sleep, the other man’s breaths seemed labored and congested. He hated that this was Steve’s life, that he couldn’t fix this for him. But at least he could help him for tonight. Bucky would be content spending the rest of his life as Steve’s best friend, even if it broke his heart know he could never be with Steve the way he wanted to be. This could be enough.

~~~~

A few hours pass by. Bucky had fallen asleep a little bit ago, still with his arms wrapped around the blonde. It is around 1 am when Bucky is disturbed from his sleep. He had become alarmed when he realized that Steve was no longer beside him. He sits up and desperately looks around the dark room, unsuccessfully scanning for his friend. That’s when he spots the soft glow of candlelight through the doorway coming from the front room. He notices both blankets are still in bed with him, so he worries about the offending temperature in the other room where Steve must be.

He makes his way out of bed, wrapping one of the blankets over his shoulders, and walks to the front room. Luckily, he found when he got in there, that Steve had turned one the oven filling the tiny front room with warmth. He spotted Steve sitting on their tiny old couch, kind of staring off. Bucky clears his throat, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice, still lost in his thoughts.

So, Bucky steps a little closer, stopping when he is a few feet away from his friend. A candle sits on the little crate they use as side table, the dim light barely illuminating his friend’s face. “Hey, bud. Couldn’t sleep?” Bucky says softly.

Steve doesn’t bother looking up, just keeps staring a head. He mumbles. “Was woken…up by something. You can go back to bed.” Steve looks visibly shaken and Bucky was absolutely not going to be able to just go back to bed.

Bucky instead takes a seat next to his rigid friend. Something was definitely not right. The way that Steve was sitting so stiffly, his face was distorted into a broken frown. At this level, Bucky can also tell his friend had been crying, blood shot eyes lit a glow from the candle. “Steve…buddy what’s wrong?” Bucky instinctively goes to rest his hand on the other man’s boney knees. To his surprise, Steve pulls his knee away, repulsed, still not looking at him.

Fear flashed through Bucky’s head. Had he done something? Had something happened while they were sleeping. Had Steve realized the way Bucky looked at him was wrong. He was trying to panic but that seemed fruitless. “Stevie…did I do something wrong?” Bucky didn’t recognize the voice that came out of his mouth. It seemed so broken and pathetic.

Steve let out a pained sigh, before momentarily pressing the palms of his hands over his eyes, like he was forcing back tears. Finally, he turned and looked at Bucky. He sounded frail; his voice laced with sadness. “No Buck…never. You could never do anything wrong. Its me…I am the something wrong here.”

Bucky immediately got defensive, worry coating his words. “What are you talking about? You didn’t do anything wrong? Please tell me why you would say something like that?” He may have been a little louder than he intended, as he felt terrible as he watched Steve recoil at his tone. He lowers his voice before softly placing his hand back on Steve’s knee, this time the younger man letting it rest there. “I’m…I’m sorry for yelling, Stevie. Can you please just tell me what happened. I am sure you didn’t do anything wrong.”

He watches as a tear starts to well up in Steve’s eye again, as he obviously tries to will it to stop before it falls defiantly down his cheek. The dam is broken and Bucky watches helplessly as his best friend falls apart in front of him. Without thinking, he throws his arms around Steve pulls him into a hug. Steve buries his head in Bucky’s shoulder, repeatedly whispering “I’m sorry.” Bucky quietly shushes him, while running his hand over the back of Steve’s neck, trying to sooth his friend.

After what seemed like an eternity, Steve pulls away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Bucky’s eyes are still riddled with worry, his eyebrows scrunched together trying to figure out what could be wrong. Steve whispers “I might as well show you; you will see eventually anyways.”

Bucky feels his chest tighten. What could be so bad that Steve would be this freaked out. He tentatively nods his head, preparing for whatever it could be.

“Buck?” Steve questions.

“Yea, buddy?” He replies automatically.

“Thank you for being my friend and …” There was a sad hesitation in his voice before he continues. “And I get it if you don’t want to be my friend anymore after tonight.”

That thought breaks Bucky’s heart in two. A choked breath escapes him. “Trust me…that’s not going to happen. “

Steve can only give a disbelieving, sad smile in reply. Bucky is now terrified at what could have caused this all.

Without saying a word, Steve picks up the candle and walks to the door that leads outside of their tenement. Bucky gets the idea that he should be following him. When Bucky catches up with him, he notices Steve’s hand shaking as he reaches for the doorknob. Bucky does not rush him, knowing that whatever this was, it was hard. Before long though, Steve opens the door and steps outside. Bucky follows close behind. For as cold as it was inside, the outside was colder. Steve didn’t even seem bothered though, too consumed with grief about something to care.

Steve stopped a few feet away from their door and turned back around to face it. For a moment, he thought he was turned around to face Bucky. Bucky starts “Why…why are we out here, Stevie? It is freezing.” Bucky still only in a shirt, underwear and a blanket. Steve had been a little better dress but not sufficiently enough. The only thing that left Steve’s mouth was. , “Look.” As he pointed behind Bucky at their door.

Bucky turned around and he felt like he got punched in the stomach. On the ground around him were a few broken glass bottles, but that wasn’t the issue. The pale light from the candle illuminated 7 angry red letters, painted sloppily in red on their door. Bucky reads the word out loud, simultaneously deflating with each syllable. “FAGGOTS.” He feels like his world is spinning. Did someone know…about him? Was this the guys at his job? Had to be, after the way they looked at him earlier, knowing he was lying. Worse yet, they are throwing Steve into this. Steve didn’t deserve to be taken down with him.

He was broken out of his thought by the weak voice coming from the man slightly behind him. “I…I was woken up by the sound of these guys laughing outside. They sounded drunk…and you know how much of a light sleeper I am. I thought they were going away but then it sounded like they were at the front door. They were still laughing and I heard glass breaking. You were out.” Bucky silently curses that he was such a heavy sleeper as he continues listening, eyes still fixed on the door. “So, I got out of bed to see what was going on. By the time I get to the door, they are running off, and one called me…this before disappearing down the steps. I tried to go after them.”

“Of course, you did…” Bucky replies, not processing it all.

“Yea, well it was too icy and I am too sick, so I couldn’t catch up to them. When I turned to go back inside, I seen this. And…and I am so sorry Buck.” Steve’s voice crumbles, sounding pathetic and sad, and full of hurt.

That’s when Bucky finally turns to face Steve. “Sorry? Sorry for what? None of this is your fault.” His voice is soft, only focusing on his hurting friend, ignoring his own hurt and panic.

Steve lets out a sniffle, Bucky unsure if from the cold or from fresh tears. “That’s where you are wrong. They did this because of me…”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky stares in confusion.

“These guys…they must have found out…found out that I …I am one.” Steve looks to the ground, terrified of Bucky’s reaction. Tears falling to the frozen ground, his skinny body shaking.

Bucky is overwhelmed with emotions. The most prominent of these emotions though was sadness for his hurting friend. Understanding the irony, he was still heartbroken that Steve thought he had to keep this his dirty little secret. This is why Steve thought they wouldn’t be friend anymore. He was lost for words but needed Steve to know that He was there for the long haul and this wasn’t going to change anything. For the second time this evening, he found himself pulling the younger man into a hug, the candle dropping, putting itself out. “s’okay Stevie…it’s okay. I promise…” He keeps repeating as his arms threaten to never let go of Steve again.

After a few moments though, he noticed the blonde shivering. It was still the middle of winter after all. Without saying another word, Bucky pulled away from the hug(reluctantly) before grabbing his hand and dragging him inside. He drags him to the bedroom where the warm bed wait, Steve not putting up much of a fight. When they get to the room though, Steve pulls his hand away and quickly makes his way to his bed. When Bucky makes his way to Steve’s bed, Steve puts up his hands to make the other man stop in his tracks.

“Buck, thank you for not kicking my ass.” Bucky puts on a hurt look, not believing that Steve actually thought he would. Steve explains himself. “Most guys would have knocked someone out if they found out their best friend was a fairy. So, um, thank you for not doing that.” Steve nervously puts his hand on the back of his neck before continuing. “But you don’t have to lay with me anymore. I get that can be weird now knowing…” Steve still refuses to meet his eyes.

Bucky lets out a huff. He can’t let Steve sit here and feel like he is alone. After what Steve confessed, he thought it was only fair. Ignoring, Steve’s protests, Bucky walks to the bed and sits on the edge, facing Steve. The streetlight out the window dully lighting their faces. He rests his hands on his own thighs, suddenly clammy despite the freezing temperatures. He says “I know…” He stutters “I know… who did this.”

“Who?” Steve sounds surprised despite himself.

“Some guys from the job.” Bucky says sadly.

“Why would they do that?” The smaller man responded, confused.

“Today…they asked me if I was that way you know? They thought that I treated you differently then how a guy should treat his friend.”

“Oh…” is all that escapes Steve’s mouth, Bucky watching an “O” form on the other’s lips.

“I…um of course…told them they were wrong but I guess they didn’t believe me. I’m sorry Steve. I guess…um…” Bucky stops, unsure if he wanted to finish.

“You guess what?” Steve asks, curiosity getting the best of him as he finally locks eyes with Bucky.

“I guess I was too obvious, Stevie. Look, I…I don’t know if I am that way. All I know is that I only got eyes for one person and that person is a fella.” Bucky’s face turning pink with the admission.

Steve stares, visibly confused, unsure exactly what Bucky is getting at. He dumbly asks “Who?”

Bucky gives an uncomfortable laugh, obviously apprehensive. “Are you that oblivious, pal? You…Stevie.” As the other man’s name slips from his mouth, he finds himself trying to look anywhere to avoid the gaze of the blue eyes staring into him.

All Steve manages to choke out is “Really?” His voice sound apprehensive and shy But to Bucky’s surprise, it also sounded hopeful. Yea, he already knew Steve was queer but that did not mean that he automatically like Bucky back. But maybe…he did?

It was this hopefulness that gave Bucky the courage to look back at Steve, his own light eyes staring into Steve’s. He can tell his friend was blushing hard, It was adorable, and pretty impressive for someone who was so pale moments ago. Without thinking about it, Bucky reaches his hand across the bed, and rests it on Steve’s shoulder, still safe in the platonic zone if they wanted to turn back. He whispers almost too quietly for Steve to hear. “Yea…really. You know how much I love you, Stevie, Always have. And for a long time, I thought that love was just because you were my best friend, you know? But overtime, I came to accept that the love I felt for you went way beyond that of a friend, even a close friend.” He looks down before looking back up, sporting a small mischievous grin. “Plus, I think you are really fucking hot.”

Steve somehow manages to blush eve harder, Though he was blushing, Steve was never one to back down from something he wanted. With the knowledge that his best friend was just as into him as he is to him, He scoops forward down the bed, so he very close to Bucky. Bucky’s hand had made its way off Steve’s shoulder, to now gently rest on his hip. He moves his head close to Bucky’s. The older man could feel Steve’s breathe on his face as he replies with a nervous smile “Good, because I’ve had eyes for you since were teenagers. I always got jealous when I seen you with a random skirt instead of me.”

Now Bucky was turning as pink as Steve, red hues covering his face and ears. He made Steve jealous?! He couldn’t believe it. Steve really wanted him. He takes his free hand and moves it to the back of Steve’s neck, wanting so bad to kiss him. He whispers “Can I kiss you?” It sounds so silly coming out of his mouth but he doesn’t want to push Steve.

Unfortunately, to his dismay, Steve says “No, Buck…”

Bucky looks down, suddenly feeling defeated. Had he read the signs wrong. Was Steve admitting he loved him too but did not want to pursue such a risky relationship. His head began to spin as he pulled away. “Oh, I/m sorry.”

Steve lets out a little laugh, grabbing his hand as he went to pull away. “I said no because I am still sick, jerk. Trust me I want to kiss you.” Bucky can’t help but laugh at himself too. Steve continues, “But I would like you to stay in bed with me tonight, if that is still okay."

“Of course, it is...anything for you.” He beams.

A few minutes later, they were laying down, Steve’s head on Bucky’s chest like earlier. Except it wasn’t just like earlier. The action was the same but the feelings were different. Earlier, there was tense atmosphere of secrets they were both hiding. But now it felt like it should have always been like this. Like they were complete more complete. Something that had always been there could thrive. Bucky lazily runs his fingers through Steve’s hair as they begin to drift back to sleep. “Buck?” Steve sleepily asks.

“Yea?”

“So you are my best fella now, right?”

Bucky chuckles to himself that Steve would even worry enough to ask. “Right, Stevie.” only getting a soft okay in response. Bucky lays there, waiting for Steve to fall asleep first. Thoughts run through his head, uncertainties about what to do tomorrow about those asshole, and how this is all going to work. But the one thing he doesn’t worry about is the fact that Steve is his and he is Steve’s

Other two chapters, poorly written smut in the second half of chapter 3.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30749381/chapters/75892694#workskin

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #steve x bucky #pre serum steve #1930s stucky #captain america #fanfiction

[prompt-master]

I- I'm sorry to ask cause I feel you have a lot of stuff to do, But I can see all the survivors (thh) caring for each other when one's sick,, and was wondering if you had any specific hcs. I live for sick fics/sick hcs

Do NOT be sorry lil fella 💛💛!! You should never feel sorry for sending me good ideas and topics! I'm not sure how to organize this because theres a lot of direction to take this and this could get really long. I think I'm going to with seperating by survivor, who will be the sick one, and listing a few headcanons!

Naegi Makoto

Gets carried around a lot, especially by Hina and Hagakure.

He's the kind of guy to push himself while sick without telling anyone so they don't find out either until he crashes or Kiri's detective skills catch him in the act

He loves to sleep against the others when he's not feeling well but he won't ask for it unless delirious

Asahina sneaks him sweets behind the others back because she understands only eating bland sick food can be kind suckish.

Fukawa will completely ease up on insults while he's sick and try to help from a distance because she gas a garbage immune system

Typically him being sick causes the most worry because he's kind of the glue between them all

Kirigiri Kyoko

The quietest when sick

Clings to Naegi in her own way, she just wants to be around him.

Typically gets bad coughs

Has Hina tie up her hair for her when she's sick. It's always such a nice relief

Hagakure is always willing to give his jacket to the girls when sick because they're always in damn skirts/shorts so it makes them chilly af when sick

Continues to try and be useful, but everyone just wants her to relax

They end up making a day off just for her so everyone can relax together

She really appreciates all the care...she may not get sick often at all but they still care so much. You'll notice a little smile on her face when no ones looking.

Togami Byakuya

Bad headache means he can't read well. He ends up having either Fukawa, Naegi, or Kiri read for him. This really helped Fukawa's stutter improve.

You know he's sick when hes not wearing glasses and his hair is messy

Will wear just a button up instead of the jacket and tie.

He's the most embarassed about being sick and will try to just lock himself away, but everyone always catches him because they're worried

Very very grumpy and irritated. He complains about every little thing but...you can hear him mumble a thank you under his breath

Hagakure stays with him telling him stupid stories so Togami can jokingly mock him for them

Asahina decides FINE she will be nice to Togami just this once

Naegi always has the best luck getting close to Togami and caring for him without trouble. No Togami does not like Naegi what do you mean. No Togami is absolutely not enjoying Naegi caring for him

He's so used to just popping a fever reducer and moving on so he kinda sucks at handling it, but he will not show that ever.

Enjoys a nice cold shower when all feverish.

They spend a long time trying to convince him to like wear sweatpants like a normal sick person but he'd rather die

Asahina Aoi

She just wants to lay down with someone so badly

Does she end up in Kirigiri's lap? Yes. And what of it?

She's pretty easy to figure out when sick, she's open about how bad she feels

A little whiney but can you blame her?

Gets sniffily and really annoyed when one nostril is completely clogged

Plays board games with Naegi and Hagakure while resting against Kirigiri

Lets her ponytail down

Feels more emotional than usual when sick, she just wants to curl up and sleep and its easy to make her cry

Curls into Hagakure's jacket

Doesn't eat as much which really concerns everyone

Fukawa will bring her easy to eat food because she doesn't like watching her just laying there miserable

Very shivery

Togami doesn't do much, but he does leave her things like cold compresses, pills, and a blanket so that Naegi can give them to her

Gets coddled by those caring for her but she loves it

Gets home sick when shes given sick foods

Fukawa Toko

Gets sick the most often

She has terrible luck and ends up sneezing a lot which leaves her switching between Syo way too much

Shakes like a damn leaf

Asahina coddles her the most, she's completely fretting

She usually ends up in bed by herself only letting Komaru and Togami in. The others understand she feels more comfortable alone so they knock and leave her things

Naegi gives her food and books he thinks she'd like

He also gives Syo a doujin he found on the street. He figures she'd get more enjoyment out of it than him...

Kirigiri always just takes one look at her and says "go lay down"

Fukawa always huddles under like 5 blankets. Shes completely buried, you can't even see her head. Under it she has a fake crystal ball that Hagakure gave her that lights up. It helps her with her fear of the dark

It's moment like these that...Fukawa remembers that Komaru is NOT her first friend. Komaru is the first person she truly has healthy romantic feelings for but...she has so many people that geniunely care about her, even with her bad habit of pushing them away.

Hagakure Yasuhiro

The most homesick. He just wants his mom man.

Very very very whiney. He complains SOOOO often

They have to make sure he eats well because otherwise he'll survive on junk food thats easy to open

Will cling to the shoulder of anyone nearby. Anyone.

He does kinda get on their nerves but then they'll remember that hes just feeling crummy and try to help him feel better like hes done to them in the past

The good thing is he's usually pretty easy to take care of. His mom was a nurse after all so he'll just tell you what he needs for help

But be warned because then once youre helping hes going off on several conspiracy theories and scams

LOVES how being sick means he doesnt have to work

#ask #danganronpa #makoto naegi #kyoko kirigiri #byakuya togami #toko fukawa #aoi asahina #yasuhiro hagakure #headcanons #long post #i hope this is good? #whump #i&i

[burtlederp]

Grant(3), Caleb(4), Caetan(35), Tiburon(49) oops,, its a lot, huh? Your characters are just awesome hAHA sorrYY

Nooo don’t apologize thank YOU!!! I’M sorry for taking so long to respond!!!

Putting stuff under a readmore because holy hell there’s a lot of it

3. What is/was Grant’s relationship with his father like? tw: drugs, drugs, and more drugs; child abuse a la neglect

He’s laying on his back in the middle of his apartment, staring at the domed ceiling overhead. Coherent thoughts are far and few between, his mind muddled by the haze that fills it, fills the room, the whole apartment. Before he’d started smoking, he’d known he’d regret stealing so much weed, but for now, he didn’t. He floated in a peaceful bliss, utterly serene. No thoughts in, no thoughts out. Just smoke, curling and floating around him. Shapes moved amongst the haze, too faint to identify, passing, shifting forms. People, perhaps, walking by, walking around him. Legs passing by, nobody ever stopping to look down at him. People milling about, paces slowing, soon they’re coming and going. They enter the room, they talk, they leave after a brief exchange of currencies. His father is sitting behind him, on the couch. He’s high too, he’s always high, Grant can just barely see the shadows of his father’s hunched form when he tips his head back. His father never relaxed when he was high. He always became even higher strung, if that was possible. He only calmed down when he had heroin in his veins, or something stronger. 

Grant couldn’t see the face of the smoky form of his father. There wasn’t one. In his memory, there never had been. His father in the transient construction of smoke was as accurate as any depiction Grant could have conjured on his own. Never present, never really there, always drugged out of his mind, never sober. Just the same as the haze that filled the house permanently. 

4. Has Caleb ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed him? If so, does anyone else know? tw: war is hell, child abuse a la war is fucking hell, no I’ve not read the Silmarillion I just like the idea of Tom Bombadil don’t @ me

Caleb scrubbed his face on his arm and shivered, pulling the tattered cloth he called a blanket tighter around himself. It’d been raining for days now, with no end in sight, and it had transformed the prairie into a mudscape. He and one other lone figure huddled around a tree that stood tall in the midst of the brown sea, one solitary rise of solid ground, one lone spot of relative shelter. 

“B-beautiful weather, innit?” the other, the stranger, chuckled. It was the first thing they’d said since they arrived. They’d showed up last night, flopping down against the tree and falling asleep. Caleb had kept his distance, kept still, not showing any inclination of actually being alive. He didn’t reply to the stranger’s comment on the weather.

“Not in th’ mood ‘fer talkin’? Thas’ a’ight…” they sighed after a long minute, realizing Caleb wouldn’t respond. “An’ I know yer’ not asleep, ‘cause iss’ too cold t’be sleepin’ right now.” Caleb still didn’t respond. He was wary of the person. There was no such thing as a stranger with ulterior motives. 

“Don’ worry, I got enough words fer’ th’ both of us,” the stranger, a man, Caleb realized over the constant sound of rain, scoffed. Caleb looked heavenward, praying silently. 

Please, no, don’t let him talk, Caleb prayed, but unfortunately the gods were not on his side in this moment. 

“I’ve met a god before. Now, I know what yer’ thinkin’--’you? Dionisio? Seen a god? Ha! As if!’ But I tells ya’, I met ‘em. Hell if I’m to know which one he was or what he did or whatnot, but I met ‘im and he was a fabulous fella. Called ‘imself Tom, of all things. Can ye’ believe that? A god, named Tom! Ah, I hardly believed it myself when ‘e said it.” Caleb sighed, rubbing his face. The man’s name was Dionisio, and he was crazy. Excellent. I’m stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with a crazy man who’s likely going to kill and eat me. 

A distinct crunch cut off Caleb’s train of thought. It wasn’t a sickening crunch, like a breaking bone or the like, but like a bite into an apple, a fresh, crisp apple. Caleb spun around, looking around the tree to see the man, as crinkled and wrinkled and dirty and filthy as he had sounded and smelled, leaned comfortably against the tree. His dark, beady eyes twinkled as Caleb stared at him.

“Mm, I knew that’d get yer’ attention!” he laughed, a hand lowering to his side. Before Caleb could react, jump back from the man’s drawn sword--he realized the man hadn’t drawn a sword at all. It was another apple. He held out the bright red fruit to Caleb. “Go on n’ take it, lad, y’probably more starved than I am!” 

Caleb sat there, hesitating, eyes flickering between the apple and the man, weighing his options. He could take the apple, but… what did he want in return? Was the apple cursed? Poisoned? Was this a trick? He backed up a step warily, like a shy animal.

“Ayee, I’m not gonna ‘urt you! I jus’ wanna give y’ somethin’ t’eat. I swear I ain’t mean nuthin’ by it,” Dionisio insisted, holding the apple out further. Caleb stared, waiting. Dionisio tilted his head, giving a wry smile. “C’mon laddie. I ain’t mean ye no harm, c’mon.” His voice softened as he spoke, getting a little quieter, more gentle, not so rough and abrasive like the coarse mud that surrounded them. Caleb swallowed, his stomach twisting. It’d been days since he’d eaten. He didn’t remember when he’d last eaten. And here it was, food, offered with no strings attached. It was too good to be true. But his hunger overrode his instincts now and he snatched the apple from the man’s hand, leaping away right after. 

“Aye, there we go, there we go, see? An’ I didn’ even ‘urt ye!” Dionisio chortled, watching as Caleb devoured the apple. The old man kept smiling, but it faded somewhat as the small, one-armed boy ate. “Ye been hit as ‘ard as anyone else by this war, ain’t ye?” 

Caleb, chewing, looked up briefly at the man through messy, curly, wet black hair that fell in his eyes. He nodded, ever so slightly. 

“Ye… Ain’t we all…” Dionisio sighed, letting his head rest against th’ tree. “I got more apples fer’ ye if ye want ‘em after that ‘un.” Caleb frowned.

“Why?” Caleb was surprised as the sound that came from his throat was not one he recognized. It was a croak, rough and unused. Though it had been… well, Caleb didn’t even know the last time he’d spoken. He cleared his throat and tried again, questioning the man. Dionisio huffed a laugh.

“‘Why’? Whaddya’ mean, ‘why’?” the old man looked to him with a grin. “‘Cause I want to, and ye look half-dead, and ye barely a child! Ye need it more than I do.”

“But….” Caleb looked down at the core of the apple in his hand. “You could last so much longer if you kept them to yourself.”

“But you’ll last so much longer if I don’t, won’t ye?” Dionisio pointed out simply. “That’s reason enough fer’ me.” A spot of red appeared in Caleb’s peripheral vision, and he raised his head to see another apple being offered to him, Dionisio smiling. Caleb took it slowly.

“No… no other goal…?” Caleb asked cautiously, and Dionisio shook his head.

“None. I jus’ wanna see ye get outta’ this war alive, lad.”

Caleb leaned back against the tree as Dionisio kept telling his story, listening out of one ear as he thought about the apple. Food, so precious in this time of war and chaos, and he’d given it away freely. 

Perhaps there are good people in this world, still… Caleb thought as Dionisio talked and talked and talked, and it rained and rained and rained.

35. How does Caetan behave around people he likes? in a word: badly tw: implied to-happen noncon/r*pe

Caetan drummed his fingers on the bartop, chin resting in his other hand. He nudged his drink around a bit, bored. He didn’t really know what he was here for. Well, he did, he knew very well. He’d been more than busy the past couple weeks, and was yearning for some company. But he wasn’t sure what mood he was in. 

And then someone sat down a few seats from him at the bar and he did a double-take. A man, maybe 6-foot-one, with short, dark hair that was well-kept, well-styled. Lean, well-muscled, but not brawny. His face was narrow, and by god that was the most perfect nose Caetan had ever seen in his life. 

Caetan realized what mood he was in and got to his feet.

“This seat taken?” Caetan inquired. The man turned, looking up at him with deep, chocolate-y brown eyes that made Caetan pray the man said no because his knees were about to give out. The man shook his head, and Caetan tried to slip into the seat without giving away how weak he was already. “You here alone tonight?”

“I am,” the stranger responded, eyeing Caetan somewhat warily. 

“That’s a shame,” Caetan shook his head. “A beautiful creature like yourself on your own on a Friday night? I’d say that’s a crime against humanity.”

The man stared at him, and Caetan suddenly second-guessed everything he’d said or done already. What had he done wrong? Could he fix it? What--

“I’m straight.” Ah. That’s what’s wrong. Caetan’s face fell a bit.

“Well, damn. You sure?” Caetan sighed.

“Very,” the man replied stiffly.

“That’s an even bigger shame, then,” Caetan grunted, motioning the bartender over. “Let me buy you a drink then, to save some face.”

“No thanks,” the man said quickly, getting to his feet. “Have a good night.” With that, the beautiful stranger turned and walked away. Caetan watched him go, and slowly got to his feet, moving stealthily through the bar as the man headed to the door of the bar, and he followed him out into the night.

49. If Tiburon was put into ______ situation, they’d rather die than live to see it through. I had no idea what to do with this for a looong time, ngl cw: cannablism(?), consumption of human flesh, gore, Tiburon doesn’t give two shits about your ‘ethics’, he’s got his own that he’s following; oh and implied kidnapping, planned torture that never happens

It occurred to Tiburon, now too late, that perhaps he was in over his head. ‘Infiltrate the mafia,’ they said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ they said. ‘You surely won’t be forced to torture and kill someone!,’ they said, he thought bitterly as he stood in front of a man tied firmly to a chair, a black bag over his head. His head was bowed inside the bag, but he wasn’t unconscious; Tiburon could hear the man choking on sobs, shoulders shaking. Tiburon had killed people before, he’d eaten people before, he had no issue with that; it was the torture that made him hesitate. Every time he’d killed, he’d taken special care to not let them suffer, he hated suffering.

And now here he was, being compelled to do it. Well, he would be, it hadn’t happened yet. He was trapped in this shipping container, another man standing by the door, waiting, watching, playing witness to Tiburon’s actions to let the boss know he was legit. Tiburon sighed, rubbing his face. What a fucking inconvenience. Six months--six fucking months of work, all down the drain, just like that. He tortured this man, made him suffer, or they would kill Tiburon. Well, they thought they would. Unfortunately, they were currently on the docks, so Tiburon would make his getaway before they ever knew he’d changed his mind about the work. 

He turned away from the sobbing, bound man to face the guard, crossing his arms. The man, at least a head taller than Tiburon and fifty pounds heavier, every ounce made of muscle, eyed him.

“What?” The man’s voice was exactly what Tiburon had pictured--deep, raspy, heavy. Appropriate.

“Nothing,” Tiburon replied, looking away with a sigh. He rubbed his jaw, thinking. He had to cut to the chase before things started getting iffy. He turned back around and walked close to the guard.

“What’re you doing?” the guard grunted, sizing up the supposed torturer while the supposed torturer did the same to him. Tiburon did not reply, not verbally, grabbing the man by the head and pushing him against the wall. The guard barked in alarm and fought back, but Tiburon was quicker and slippery. Before the large brute could get a good grip on him and make the whole ordeal a lot more trouble, he leapt forward and sank his teeth into the man’s throat. The guard’s shout of alarm quickly twisted into a scream, then into a gargled wail that was silenced as Tiburon pulled away, trachea still in his teeth. The guard slumped to the floor, grasping at his own neck with wide eyes, and Tiburon hated it. A swift kick, and the guard’s body shuddered and went still, skull dented. Tiburon chewed thoughtfully on the trachea for a moment, surveying his work, and went to the captive man. The poor creature yelped in alarm at the touch as Tiburon cut through the zipties, but went quiet as the black hood was yanked off. The man’s eyes went wide as he saw the cartilage in Tiburon’s mouth, the dead body, and scrambled backwards with a terrified shriek.

“No, no, no no no please!” he begged, tears rolling down his cheek, one hand outstretched protectively. Tiburon frowned.

“Don’t worry, I won’t, I just figured it’d be cruel to leave you alone in the summer heat. Toodles.” With that, the merman turned and stepped out of the shipping crate, walking to the edge of the water, at some point discarding the trachea (cartilage wasn’t good eats anyhow) along the way. He dove in, relishing the cool ocean saltwater as it closed over his head, pleasant in the summer heat. 

Six whole months… he thought again as he swam away, his legs fusing into a long tail, skin becoming rough, teeth sharpening. Ah well. Now I know; the mafia isn’t worth the work.

#burtlederp writes #FOR ONCE #i actually did a lot of this other day when i was still working at the hotel #i am not anymore #but i almost feel like ill write more because of that #idk #this is the first of a few asks i've finished #back when i was like #every ask a project #every ask NOT a project #projects are hard and depression is real #burtlederp answers #took her like three years but it got done #cw: violence #cw: implied rape #cw: war is hell #cw: drugs #cw: drug abuse #i have too many characters and not enough bios #oh well #these ocs shall remain informally introduced #whump #whump writing #caetan is bi btw #i figured someone would ask #he's also awful #which is unfortunate

[knives-out20]

Before You Go - Cliff Booth x Male!OC

Fandom: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)

Pairing: Bobby Brightside (OC) x Cliff Booth

Warnings: Suicide, Bobby talks to god but the one that isn’t Cliff and the one he doesn’t believe is in the sky, Slight religious trauma, Abuse flashbacks, R@pe flashbacks, Bobby just not acting like himself, Sad Bobby ig people don’t like that, Parallels, Crying Cliff (a huge TW),

Notes: Based off of Before You Go by Lewis Capaldi. Slight Brokeback Mountain references. Enjoy!

“Reality sucks.”

Bobby lay on the rooftop of one of the highest buildings in Hollywood. In the dead of night, he fell by the wayside of every thought he was used to having when by himself.”I hate you” Bobby whispered, more to himself than anyone else in a long time; he knew he wasn’t just kidding himself at this point. He hummed for a moment- but what about Cliff, Aria, MJ, Sharon, Joseph, Rick, Calvin and Amelia? Bobby shrugged the thought away, his every moment with them, they were sure to replace.

Cliff. Cliff moved onto Bobby from Billie just fine, surely he has enough strength in him to do it again? Much more strength that Bobby ever had, believe it or not. Cliff didn’t deserve Bobby, he deserved so much better, everything Bobby ever thought that he knew he was. Time could heal Cliff of what Bobby was about to do quicker than it ever healed anything Bobby had to go through.

Cliff. The same Cliff who forced himself to play whatever genre of rock the Stones fit into, because he knew Bobby liked it. Sure, it was nice of him, but it made Cliff play music he didn’t like in his own car, and that didn’t make Bobby feel so good, the more he thought about it. Cliff already has enough on his plate, Bobby sighed as he only thought about it.

Cliff. Short for Cliff Booth, not Clifford, or Clifton, Bobby remembers Cliff telling him that it’s just ‘Cliff’. It was sort of humorous, because at least ‘Bobby’ was short for something. Even funnier because Bobby’s shorter than Cliff in general. By an inch or not, Cliff always teased Bobby about it.

Cliff. The exact Cliff whose every moment Bobby currently played in his head: every moment he ever had with Cliff. When they first met, their first time sleeping together, their first date, their first kiss as a couple, their first “I love you”s (Bobby drew the conclusion every “I love you” Cliff gave him was empty), the first time they called each other a nickname of adoration. Every single interaction the two ever had replayed in Bobby’s head, as he nitpicked his every movement. 

Cliff. The Cliff with shaggy blond hair, soft blue eyes, a perfect nose, muscled arms, a scarred torso, toned legs, and welcoming lips. An endearing laugh, annoying jokes, messy driving, yet rhythm in his every movement. All Bobby could think of now was the inevitable look of relief on Cliff’s face once he finds out what Bobby was about to do.

Cliff. The same one who Bobby, among others, began to distance himself from. Little by little by little, Bobby drew himself to a safe enough of a distance in order to hurt himself the least for soon leaving Cliff. Again, he was sure Cliff could easily move onto another lover. Would he and Cliff had been better enough by now if Bobby let his extra walls come down, the ones Cliff was sure he tore down? Bobby guesses he’ll never know.

Cliff. The only Cliff- or man, in general- Bobby could bet his life on actually, truly, madly, deeply fell so in love with, it was unbelievable; unimaginable, even. Cliff was better off finding a copy of that love after Bobby, Bobby was sure of that.

Bobby stood up, and looked over the ledge, down at the alleyway he murdered Billie in. He forced out a giggle; this alleyway is just the Kill Cliff’s Lovers Corner, huh? With Bobby being responsible for both killings, that sure was funny. A blank grin slid onto his lips, a forced one. Smile even in the face of death, Bobby was told he’s reminded people of that quote quite a lot. 

Bobby figured he had smiled in the face of death many times in the past. Each time he smiled at a pointless protest, riot, or rally, he was sure he was smiling in the face of death. Bobby was sure he’d die in each event. He wondered why he even bothered; he’s been to billions of them, and nothing has changed since he was a kid. What a waste of time.”I hate you” Bobby repeated, pointing his thumb at himself. He felt the cool breeze tangle itself into his dark hair, the same strands he remembers his parents tugging before they mercilessly beat him on countless events. Bobby now knows he deserved every hit he took. He looked down at the pavement, sure he had been asking for it- just like he had been asking for those two times men took advantage of him in the past.

Bobby thought about if he had anything else to do before he had to go...No, not that he knows of. He could practically feel the blood pumping through his veins, like troubled water running cold. It’d all be over soon, at least he had that one thought of comfort. Bobby gulped, taking a step away from the ledge. He realized what he did, and furrowed his eyebrows in frustration.”I hate you” Bobby mumbled once again, stepping back up. He took a long, deep breath, looking up at the sky.”I hate you too, big guy.”

Bobby figured this was the first time he had ‘talked to god’ after completely kicking the concept of its existence out of his mind. From the moment he met Cliff, he had been sure as all hell that if there was any God, Cliff was it. He remembers being laughed off whenever he called Cliff ‘God’, as if it was a recurrent joke. Bobby felt confused at this, because he never called Cliff ‘God’ as a joke- he was being dead serious, each and every time. Cliff Booth is God, a God among men, and apparently only Bobby knew that each time Cliff’s feet hit the ground as he walked, each time Cliff’s ribs vibrated when he laughed, each time Cliff said any word in the English lexicon, apparently only Bobby picked up on the fact that Cliff Booth is a deity worth worshiping. Too bad he couldn’t worship Cliff for any longer.

“You happy now?” He asked, eyes on the night sky.”You beat me up, beat me down, beat me left, right, sideways, upside, right-side-up, and even backwards, and it’s led me to here. Piece of shit, if I land up in the sky, I’m swinging at you, first” Bobby growled.”You took everything in my entire life that made me happy- or was supposed to make me happy- and twisted it into doing the exact fucking opposite, and look where we are, fella. This is so on you, right now” he carried on.”Don’t even act like you haven’t seen me in this position before- you KNOW I’ve tried before. But I’m going through with it this time, see?” Bobby laughed, the laughter dying down when Cliff popped into his head once again.

Cliff. The same Cliff that Bobby felt he was leaving behind for the better.

He sighed.”Now go! Save him!” Bobby called, referencing to Cliff.”Go! Save Cliff! Save him in the ways you couldn’t have been fucking bothered to save me, okay? Save Cliff!” He reached an arm up, hand grasping to somehow hold the moon. 

Bobby was brought back to the time he lay in a grassy field with Cliff; Cliff had an arm outstretched, eyes on the moon he was pointing at. But Bobby was looking at Cliff’s hand.

“Take him to the moon for me, okay?” His face softened out of pure love, sadness written over his lips due to the fact he had to leave the one person who managed to make him so happy, just from the sight of him.

”Goodbye, Cliff” Bobby bade him farewell, stretching out his arms like he was on a cross. He inched closer to the ledge, slowly closing his eyes when tears made his vision blurry. Bobby leaned forward, falling from the roof as he heard one last thing.

“BOBBY!”

***

Cliff awoke in a jolt, blue eyes darting around the ceiling of his bedroom in his trailer. He groaned, slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Cliff remembered last night in spare blurs; his car racing down the dark streets as usual, cut to him drinking bottle after bottle. The same ones scattered around his bedroom floor. Cliff forced himself out of bed, glancing at the clock.

He had slept the day away. Shit. Bobby must be pissed as hell.

Cliff also remembered something, but not about last night; he was late from picking Rick up from that movie set.”Fuck-” he swore, grabbing his jean jacket and shrugging it on. Cliff rushed out his bedroom and out the front door, bidding Brandy a quick “goodbye.”

He hopped into his car, starting it up and racing over to the street. 

Cliff passed by people huddled around an alleyway, but had no time to let curiosity get the best of him tonight. He skid to a stop, where he looked out his passenger side window to a worried Rick.”Hi” Cliff smiled sheepishly, reaching over to unlock the front door.

Rick raised an eyebrow, cautiously getting in and shutting the door behind himself.”Hey.”

Cliff started driving again, in the same comfortable silence he was used to having with Rick. But he enjoyed comfortable silence with Bobby, more. Cliff figured he should drive straight to Bobby’s afterwards, and find some way to apologize for not being heard from for the whole day. He smiled to himself; Cliff loves Bobby so much, it doesn’t even make sense to live without him.

Rick glanced over at Cliff. Should he say something...? No, it’s best to leave Cliff alone. Maybe this is how he grieves.

Cliff pulled into Rick’s driveway, setting his car in park.

Rick shook his head, he had to say something.”You, uh...You alright, Cliff?”

Cliff furrowed his eyebrows, meeting Rick’s gaze.”Oh, right- sorry I was late, man. I slept through the entire day, it’s so weird.”

Rick glanced away in confusion.”No, that- that- that’s fine, but like...are you- are you okay? Are you handlin’ well?”

Cliff blinked slowly.”Handling what well?”

Rick’s eyebrows jumped.”Do you-? Not know, or- or remember?”

“Know or remember what? Speed this up, Rick, I gotta go visit Bobby at his place.”

“Cliff, Bobby committed suicide last night.”

Cliff opened his mouth to say something, but it was moreover in shock.”Wh-...huh-?”

“Yea, do you- do you not remember? His body was in that alleyway by that- that cheap cinema Sharon likes going to.”

The same alleyway Cliff made the mistake of rushing past, earlier.”What-?”

Rick slowly got out the car, closing the door.”Cliff, buddy, you-” 

But Cliff already raced away. He didn’t want Rick to see him start to cry.

***

Cliff stood with his friends in the cemetery, huddled around a black granite gravestone that reached to around his knees. He stood directly in front of it, a fresh mound of dirt touching the toes of his dress shoes.

‘BRIGHTSIDE’ it read, carved in a huge font, including Bobby’s birth year, a dash, then his death year, AKA the current year. Under both of these, it read ‘Smiled in the face of death’

Cliff’s lips broke into a small, sad smile. If he had a dollar for every time someone said Bobby was the personification of this quote, he’d probably be as rich as Bobby was. 

Cliff glanced to his right, where Sharon, MJ, and Joseph lined up. He inhaled sharply, hating to see Sharon cry; or any of Bobby’s and his friends cry, really. To his left, stood Rick, Aria, and their two kids, Calvin and Amelia, fast asleep in a stroller. He glanced around at the other people who had bothered to gather; Bruce Lee, Jay Sebring, James Stacy, Sharon’s husband Roman, Wayne Maunder, Bobby’s band mates and his other buddies, among others. Cliff wondered if Bobby would have liked the turnout, as he slowly knelt down to place a bouquet over the grave- a bouquet made out of the extremely specific types of flowers that Bobby liked. He had it memorized like the back of his calloused hand.

Cliff kept wondering as people slowly began to trudge away, fewer and fewer and people staying around until it was just him by himself, still standing. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Rick.

“You- You, uh, gonna be okay, buddy?”

Cliff caught the worrisome look in Rick’s eyes. He nodded sternly.”Just...give me a moment alone with him, could you?”

Rick nodded respectively, disappearing in a flash.

Cliff fixed his tie, looking down at the grave through his usual sunglasses, the ones Bobby loved so much. He sighed silently.”You left early.” Cliff cracked a forced smile, one that didn’t last long.”Was there something I could’ve said to make you feel any better, to- to steer you away from...this?” He weakly gestured down at the ground, where Bobby lay, just six feet under. Cliff gulped thickly.”If only I’d have known you had your own storm to weather, beyond everything you’ve ever told me.”

Cliff thought back to each and every time Bobby opened up to him, and replayed his own every reaction, every movement. Maybe something he did made it seem like he didn’t care? He grunted softly; Cliff cares more than anything, especially when it comes to Bobby.

“Was- Was there something I could’ve said to...make you stop hurting, the way you did?” Cliff asked, as if expecting Bobby’s ghost to appear and answer him. He wiped the first tear he felt, unaware of the many that were to follow.”Bobby, it kills me how your mind could make you feel so fucking worthless. You’re worth so much to me. More than any amount of money, any car, any movie, any amount of fame. You’re practically priceless, baby, you didn’t- you didn’t deserve me, you deserved someone more in- in-tune to your liking, and your ways. I’m just some creepy stunt double who’s aging out of Hollywood...” Cliff looked straight down, breath shaky.

Obvious silence from Bobby’s end.

“Would we have been better off by now, if I had let my own walls come down?” Cliff asked, pushing his sunglasses up. He obviously had walls of his own, ones he spent his entire life building. Ones he was sure Bobby pushed aside like a glass door, but, he guesses not.”I guess we’ll never know, huh?”

Literal crickets. 

Cliff, for once, hated this silence he had with Bobby. He got down on one knee, softly placing a hand over the pile of dirt he watched get shoveled over Bobby’s casket. Cliff’s fingers padded the brown earth.”I’ll miss you, buddy, there’s no denying that. I guess the Big Man himself has it out for me, if he even exists. You seriously had no right to keep comparing me to ‘im, baby, c’mon” he chuckled softly, a genuine smile crawling over his feature. Cliff loves Bobby, and he was gifted with the knowledge that that love was far from ever dying down.”You kept on treating me like how I never thought I deserved to be treated like, it was- it was strange, but I love you for it. Getting used to it was fun. Getting used to you was amazing. Getting used to the lack of you...will obviously be the exact opposite. Especially for Brandy, she always loved you like you were another me.”

Cliff looked down at his suit- this wasn’t the situation he wanted to be wearing a suit around Bobby, in. Quite the opposite, down to the setting and the mood. And the empty ring finger.

Cliff took off his sunglasses, folding the temples.”Here, sweetheart...” He whispered, placing it on the grave, so that its lenses were facing him, but its back leaned against the black granite headstone.”Y-You always look better in them than I- I ever did” Cliff stuttered, rushing to stand back up. He wiped his teary eyes, keeping the dirt on his knee. Cliff sniffled, racking his brain for a witty one-liner, or some final line at the end of the script of the movie Bobby and him had lived through.”You always knew how to render me speechless, huh, baby?” He rhetorically asked Bobby.

Bobby. The exact Bobby that Cliff had to somehow move on from, if he could even move on, at all. He was certain he’d be stuck on Bobby for a long time, like a puzzle he put so much time, effort, love, care, and emotion into. A puzzle that was way too grand for Cliff to even begin to be worthy of. Bobby’s everything Cliff could ever love in anyone, and now he’s gone, just like that. And now Cliff’s expected to move on, somehow? Impossible, no doubt about it.

Bobby. The same Bobby who breathed The Rolling Stones in like their music was air, or like Mick Jagger’s voice was a good blunt. Cliff remembers how time after time again, he’d play the Stones in his car. He knew how much Bobby loved them, after all. Cliff reminisced on how Jagger slowly started to grow on him over time, he started to actually like the Stones. He would play The Rolling Stones during car rides Bobby wasn’t even a part of, or car rides Cliff would take by himself. They weren’t that bad, really. And now Cliff can’t listen to them without falling into immense pain, because it’ll just remind him of Bobby.

Bobby. Short for Robert Duncan Brightside. Cliff would often catch himself thinking that, if him and Bobby were to ever illegally get married, Bobby’s initials wouldn’t change. Same goes for if Cliff were to somehow take Bobby’s last name. He was sad to know that this would only remain a fantasy, now.

Bobby. The same Bobby who was currently marching around Cliff’s head like at a protest, his every word playing on repeat in Cliff’s mind like a broken record. Cliff thought of every first Bobby and him ever had, along with their every last. Their last meeting, their last time sleeping together, their last date, their last kiss, their last “I love you”s (every single time Cliff told this set of words to Bobby, he meant it with ever ounce of his being), the last time they called each other a loving nickname. He remembered every moment he had with Bobby, and mentally beat himself up over every single thing he did in those times that could’ve made it seem to Bobby that he didn’t love him, that he didn’t care. Because Cliff did love Bobby, he still does, he still cares, more than anything. He knew it’s his fault that Bobby couldn’t see that.

Bobby. The Bobby with the tousled brown hair, deep brown eyes, a button nose, lean arms, narrow torso, fast-paced legs, and sweet lips. A playful laugh, dad-like jokes, stone-cold denial of ever sitting behind the wheel, and a pep in his every action. All Cliff found himself thinking of now was how much he was going to miss every little thing that made Bobby, well, Bobby. And how much it’ll hurt him, how he’s never going to see any of it, ever again.

Bobby. The exact same Bobby who was loud-mouthed, and very open with how he felt on any topic ever brought up in a conversation. Cliff would always admire how open-minded Bobby was, and how unafraid he was to say how he feels, and fight for what he believed in; for what was right. It was slow work, but each protest, riot, and rally Bobby formed or attended made positive change extremely inevitable. Bobby never distanced himself from a challenge, or a good fight, if it meant going for what’s right, and what he loves. Bobby loved Cliff, but Cliff wondered what it was that made Bobby distance himself from him.

Bobby. The only Bobby- and person, actually- Cliff swore his entire life on being the only person he has ever really fell in love with. Just the way he loves Bobby is unfathomable, it’ll never be ‘loved’, it’ll never be in past-tense. It’ll always be love, and loves. Cliff is in love with Bobby. Cliff loves Bobby. He knew this, so damn well it’ll hurt like a bullet through the heart.

Cliff got shoved back into reality, finding himself on his knees over Bobby’s grave, tears hitting the fresh dirt.”I’m gonna m-miss you so fucking much, I’ll hardly st-stand it” he choked, arms shaking slightly. When Cliff only ever found himself hurting under the surface, this was one way he never saw the cork exploding at, letting his emotions loose like troubled water spraying out of a pipe.”You’ll have no- no fucking idea how b-bad it’ll get, Bobby-” he sobbed, hunched over the dirt as stray tears stained the collar of his white button-up.”I wish I- I knew how to f-fucking quit you, baby, r-really, Jesus f-fuck-” Cliff cried, hands balling into tight fists.

From afar, Rick watched from his car. He exhaled quickly, going to get out.

Aria put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.”Leave him, baby. Give- Give him a bit of time” she instructed, clenching her jaw.

Rick looked back down at Aria, finally nodding. He sniffled, slouching back down.

Cliff continued to cry, his waterworks reaching the stems of the flowers wrapped in his bouquet. He used to compare holding Bobby like someone holding a bouquet of bright, beautiful flowers. Cliff grit his teeth in poor efforts to stifle himself, slapping a hand over his watery eyes; of course it was Bobby Brightside of all people who was able to make Cliff Booth cry.

Bobby. The same Bobby that Cliff could never leave behind.

Cliff wobbled as he slowly got up, wiping his eyes, then his nose, on his sleeve. He sniffled, blinked back any loose tears. Cliff wiped his eyes again, until his vision became crystal clear. His blue eyes trailed up from his bouquet, over the rectangle of dirt, onto his sunglasses, until he re-read the words on Bobby’s headstone. Black granite, up to Cliff’s knees. Cliff quickly leaned in, patting the top of the headstone and pulling away just as fast. He can’t recall the last time he was in this much pain, no stunt ever even had him hurting like this. Cliff gulped the lump in his throat away, inhaling shakily. He slowly licked his lips, tasting a couple salty tears.“I love you, Bobby. Believe it or not, I’ll never stop. I’ll- I’ll love you like it’s my air, Bobby. An addiction that I’ll never fucking get over...” Cliff slowly stepped away from the grave, not ever wanting to leave Bobby here, but he had to say one last thing before he left.

”I love you, Bobby. See you again soon.”

#ouatih oc #cliff booth x oc #cliff booth x male!oc #cliff booth x male #Cliff Booth #OUATIH #male oc #oc #male x male #male x oc #male x canon #oc x canon #oc x male #canon x oc #canon x male

[heartfulmind]

Do you have any headcanons about Shinsou's classmates we've seen so far? Like the Gen Ed students we see cheering for him during the SportsFest, or the ones who criticized Class 1-A during the cultural festival then apologized.

Hello Anon, I just need to say, thank you for watering my crops and clearing out my acne with this ask, truly, it isn’t that often that people ask about the General Department students so I’m eager to answer this one ♡ If anything, I’m caught up with the main manga and anime so far, so I’ll be basing my response from those two sources (mostly manga). Additionally, I just read a small sample of the light novel so that it could help me bump this response a bit further.

I’ll be splitting this answer into 2 sections: headcanons built from what we can see aka theories and studies, and headcanons I like to imagine or have built from what we gathered aka the “fun” headcanons. With that said, let’s get this bread.

Let’s start with what we do know; Class 1-C, D, and E are all classes from the General Department, the department where UA puts the rest of the hero hopefuls that couldn’t make it to the Hero Department :^) I’m doing this smiley face :^) because I’m feeling salty about that my unnamed children from Gen Ed that deserved better :^) but also, it houses students who just sought out for its high education, it’s what the General Department is. I’m setting this note down because it’s important and relevant, helping us understand why we see the General Education students the way we do. Now seriously, I’ll take us to our first section.

Theories and Studies Time

Here’s what I’m going to do in this section:

Show a shot of the manga/anime.

Describe what’s going on / what we can see.

Then make assumptions.

Chapter 24 (btw, the source I use for the manga is this one: https://www.mangareader.net/boku-no-hero-academia/34/8 )

Here we have Present Mic introducing the Hero Department, enthusiastically announcing their debut in the arena, then plainly announcing the entrances from the following departments. In the left corner, we can see Shinsou looking at his classmates who voice their opinions about the way they are being introduced, evidently unsatisfied.

Here, I got a close shot of the recurring students of 1-c. Now I’ll talk about this panel and what I see. Shinsou, a serious student, shows interest in what his classmates talk about, peeking at them and hearing a conversation he wasn’t involved in. His expression is blank, not mad nor upset, just nonchalant. He isn’t that far from them and the fact he turned a bit at the sound of their voice means that he can hear it all. Not appearing upset and also being attentive at what his classmates are saying, Shinsou is observant of his peers, a trait that can be overlooked or never thought of because of his “lone-wolf” and “I’m not here to make friends” persona. Also, the fella who rants uses words like, “us” and “we”, grouping all of them in the same boat.

Our first study: Shinso is attentive to his classmates and his classmates consider them all equal and undeserving of the low-quality intro they got.

Still Chapter 24

Midnight announces Bakugou up to deliver a speech since he placed the highest in the entrance exam. His classmates, astonished, are given light by the girl from Class 1-C that it was because of the entrance exam results.

The shot in which we see the Gen Ed trio here we see them unsatisfied an unimpressed. Both of the fellas have their arms crossed and look at the hero dept. with narrowed eyes. A sigh bubble comes from the girl. By this point, Shinsou isn’t looking at them, just straight ahead, hands in pockets. But once again, he hasn’t strayed himself far away from them, so surely he hears what his class is saying.

Our second study: The Gen Ed students are tight-knitted; Shinsou doesn’t distance himself from those two and those two don’t keep the brainwasher at an arm’s length. They are comfy with each other’s presence. Shinsou doesn’t mind them acting sassy hehe.

Chapter 34

I’m just gonna combine the explanation for both pages into one paragraph. After Shinsou’s fight with Midoriya and not emerging victorious from it, Shinsou looks down, upset. However, hearing the first cheers from his classmates, he looks surprised and looks up at them. Multiple kiddos from his class and pro-heroes alike are in awe of Shinsou’s capabilities. Shinsou then vows to Midoriya that he won’t give up.

We can see the shadow that casts over Shinsou’s face, but the moment he is given admiration, he is clear of any shading. I think this represents how he became illuminated by their kind words, meaning that he holds them with high regard. And how one of them chimes, “Can you hear them Shinsou?” after the pro-heroes compliment signifies that they keep a note of other people’s opinions from the audience. So if any of them had the audacity to talk bad about him, then that means that the students would’ve kept track of it too. They were attentive about anyone that spoke about their classmate Shinsou.

Our third study: His classmates aren’t wary of Shinsou since they were the first ones to say admiration to Shinsou, almost prideful that they have someone like him in their class. They hold him highly with their praises like how he deeply takes in their words, shortly after their words as if he was inspired. Words carry much meaning in their class.

Chapter 121

Okay uh, I won’t focus much on dialogue since every manga scan translations are different depending on the sources and all that jazz. Anyways, Basically, the Hero Department disrupts the flow of the line and Iida tells them to calm tf down desperately after Shinsou speaks up about it. His classmates follow Shinsou from behind.

We see the 1-c girl peek from Shinsou. Her face doesn’t look blank, but I wouldn’t consider it entirely emotionless. I think it’s more astonished, especially at the fact that her otherwise quiet classmate spoke up. Asides from the Sports Festival, Shinsou is leading them the way again.

Our fourth study: Every since his display at the Sports Festival, Shinsou gained some sort of respect that allowed him to be in the front lines. As if they want him to be representing their class and see him fitting of their role, letting him tell the Hero Dept. to get their act together.

Chapter 171

So this panel introduces two new students from the General Department, Tsutsutaka Agoyamato and Chikuchi Togeike. (I find it interesting that these two have names, but not the other kiddos we’ve seen- Also, we don’t know if they’re from Class 1-C, or if they’re even first years. Although, I don’t think they are from Class 1-C since they were able to freely check out Class 1-A’s show instead of being present in the haunted house, but idk.) Moving on, they basically critique Class 1-A’s decision of making a concert for everyone. They glare at the Class 1-A. Bakugou notices this. They engage eye-contact with Bakugou himself.

Our fifth study: They aren’t intimidated despite Bakugou’s famous aggressive nature. Either that they haven’t witnessed the Sports Festival, or truly, aren’t afraid of him, and nobody from the first years of the Hero Department since they speak at their hearing range. They do not need their approval as they criticize about the fact that the Hero Dept is doing this for the rest of the departments.

Chapter 173

Just focus on the bottom portion of this page. It is Class 1-C preparing their exhibit for the Cultural Festival. We see more new faces. Fellas are carrying boxes and another fella is near a table. The girl we occasionally see from Class 1-C has a sort of tool that helps with cutting wood. She comes at Shinsou with it, but only to look astonished by his strength as this bithc tears up a whole piece of wood with his bare hands.

Our sixth study: Class 1-C girl is amazed at Shinsou’s prowess, and while most of his classmates seemed huddled up, Shinsou might’ve been by himself. Maybe she was with him the whole time and at some point either must’ve told him, “hold up imma be back with the goddamn axe” or walked up to him by maybe noticing him without any tools from afar. For the millionth time, they look out for each other.

Chapter 182

Let’s focus on those fellas that look down on the Hero Dept. Chikuchi says, “At the end of the day, you won’t be pleasing anyone but yourselves.” They remain disdainful at first, but as the show progresses, they turn a new leaf and find themselves moved by the display of the Hero Dept.

Our seventh study: These kiddos are moved easily, implying a soft heart.

Chapter 183

Chikuchi and Agoyamato burst out an apology to Class 1-A, admitting that they wanted to critique their performance. Then immediately they leave.

Now, you see how blushy they look and how nervous they got when they shuffled away?

Our eighth study: This department has soft students that look out for each other and follow one another’s lead. It’s as if their hearts are in sync since both apologized and felt the same way of what they did. They can’t bring themselves to outright hate the hero department. After all, they wanted to be in that department themselves.

Still Chapter 183

This page features the attractions of this event, in the bottom left corner we see Class 1-C’s Haunted House exhibit. Shinsou hangs from the ceiling, successfully scaring students from Class 1-A.

Notice the plain white long sleeve shirt that has handprints? I like to think that the entire class contributed a handprint on that shirt- But on a serious note, Shinsou’s expression is blank. Perhaps his classmates had trust in him that he’d do the right faces. Little do they know that their brainwasher is just, poker-faced.

Our ninth study: Either the entire Class 1-C class was in agreement to ask Shinsou to be their guy for this attraction or Shinsou nominated himself for this role. No matter how it went, it means that this class all cooperated and discussed their display. This signifies strong teamwork and no one was scared about sharing their ideas.

And boom. I’m done analyzing every possible panel of them from the manga. Thank you for sticking with me this far. Now let’s head into the Light Novel. I’ll be using this source: https://shimikonde.tumblr.com/post/184554154892/ua-school-festival-light-novel-pg-52-55-for-my

Y’all should read it if you want more depth but in summary, Shinsou helps his class out with the haunted house attraction and then muses as he takes a small walk on his lonesome. He questions his worth and what would transpire once he moves to the Hero Department.

Okay, now I’m going to extract the notable details from this page. And from the segment of the light novel, I will make a small analysis from the quote.

Watching his classmates laugh, alone, Shinsou picked up the unneeded wood. “I’ll pick up some paint while I’m throwing this away.”

He walked away in silence as the voices of his classmates thanked him from behind.

Shinsou keeps tabs with his peers even if he isn’t around them. He lets them know what he’s going to do and his classmates are grateful when he helps them out with the trash stuff. This might’ve been something new for his classmates since they were quiet at first, but afterward, they thank him! And multiple of them!

It was only after he sent in his application to transfer that he began to grow accustomed to the atmosphere of his class. When should he tell them? He wondered if it would be too late if he waited until the transfer was set in stone.

Shinsou hasn’t told him what he’s been up to. He kept this a secret from his class, which I don’t think that makes him a bad person. He’s just having a hard time wondering when he should break it down to his classmates.

Would he really be able to make it into the Hero Course? He was afraid that once he took that first step, he’d find that he didn’t have any place to place his feet. Unable to land, he’d become like a cloud in the sky, pulled along by the wind, never to be seen again. It was because of this lack of confidence that he’d been unable to tell his classmates about his transfer.

Realizing he’d become pessimistic, Shinsou rubbed the back of his neck a bit and started walking again.

Shinsou is feeling insecure about himself. And it is these negative thoughts that impeded him from telling his classmates about his decision to transfer. He wants to be his best for his class, so he cuts his sad musings in order to get the job done for his classmates.

As Shinsou took in the sights around him, a thought suddenly occurred to him. This might be the first and last Cultural Festival that he does with Class C.

Now this one is really heartbreaking for me- He thinks of Class 1-C, the class that will turn out to be just his freshman classmates, he won’t grow up beside them no more, but with the Hero Department. This is the last activity that he will ever do with this class and he thinks hard on that.

Oh look we’re done sIKE- Horikoshi’s Ultra Analysis Book gives us a whole fucking meal about the Class 1-C: Little does Shinsou know, Class 1-C plans on throwing him a party to congratulate his transfer :’)

I don’t even have to explain it that is already a whole gem.

Phew, now that I’m done analyzing the manga and light novel and the analysis book, we can now move on to building fun headcanons from the studies we’ve made! Let me take us to the second section of this post:

Fun Headcanons

Do you remember how the girl from Class 1-C is the one that often speaks up between her and her buddy and how Chikuchi is always a space bit ahead of Agoyamato? And how she’s been like that with every panel she is with her buddy? It’s like the females from this class play mother hen. They’re queens.

Talking shit about the Hero Department is a conversation that brings them all together-

Class 1-C lowkey wishes to tell Shinsou to brainwash people to do funny stuff with his quirk, but are shy about asking him.

Since Shinsou has a tendency of being by himself and hear convos from afar, the Class 1-C students raise their voices in conversations intentionally so that they can let Shinsou hear them as a way to include Shinsou in talks but not force him in the group.

Whenever Shinsou speaks during class, his classmates make sure that everyone shuts up at that moment. like, “SHSHSHSHSH EVERYONE STFU SHINSOU IS GOING TO SAY SOMETHING-” It doesn’t bother Shinsou since this is their way of giving him respect and he finds it cute-

All of the ladies and the fellas unanimously agree that Shinsou is the cute guy from the class. Only they call themselves plain-looking so that’s why they got mad at Present Mic when he basically labeled them as “fillers”. They acknowledge that Shinsou has a cool appearance.

One of the Class 1-C students said, “Shinsou should participate in the Beauty Contest of the Cultural Festival-” and then the entire class went fucking quiet because they were nervous they were going to set Shinsou off, but then Shinsou shyly replies that rather he looks like something from a horror movie. And then his classmates got inspired by his words to come up with the Haunted House attraction and that’s how it came to be. No, I don’t take criticism.

I headcanon my Shinsou to know sign language so- Anyways, his classmates were impressed to learn that from Shinsou so they only asked him to teach them the alphabet, just a small sample of it. So that when they have multiple-choice quizzes, they lowkey cheat by helping each other out and do the sign language alphabet under their desks to the right answers. When the entire class has obtained the answer, they let each other know by doing this 👌 before they proceed to the next question.

They’re really open-minded! Have y’all seen Agoyamato’s pompadour? Chikuchi’s ponytails? Shinsou? They don’t give a damn how you look like.

#im sorry this is long and i took a while answering this ask anon ;; i only hope i dont bore you with it haha #its so messy im sorry about that too aaa- #honestly? i had fun with the 'Fun Headcanons' #. THEY CAN'T BREAK ME AS LONG AS I KNOW WHO I AM ( HEADCANONS. ) #. I AM MADE TO UNDERSTAND NOT TO BE UNDERSTOOD ( CHARACTER STUDY. ) #. I AM A QUESTION TO THE WORLD ( ANSWERS. )

[unpack-my-heart]

The Ghost of You – Updated

New chapter of Property Developer!Richie / Ghost!Eddie AU

Read it on AO3 HERE or I’ve pasted it under the cut.

Preview:

When Richie wakes up the next morning, he all but launches himself out of bed. He runs to the window, hauling it open, not bothering to open the curtains.

The lake twinkles in the sunlight. Eddie is not stood by the shore.

The room is silent, save for the short, heavy puffs of Richie’s anxious breaths. Eddie is not in his bedroom, he’s not in any of the spare bedrooms, and he’s also not in the bathroom. Richie walks downstairs,  and does not find Eddie in the kitchen, dining room or lounge. The house is empty.

The door wrenches open and Richie screams.

Tag list:

@violetreddie @constantreaderfool @xandertheundead

When Richie wakes up the next morning, he all but launches himself out of bed. He runs to the window, hauling it open, not bothering to open the curtains.

The lake twinkles in the sunlight. Eddie is not stood by the shore.

The room is silent, save for the short, heavy puffs of Richie’s anxious breaths. Eddie is not in his bedroom, he’s not in any of the spare bedrooms, and he’s also not in the bathroom. Richie walks downstairs,  and does not find Eddie in the kitchen, dining room or lounge. The house is empty.

The door wrenches open and Richie screams.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“Jesus Christ on a fucking crackerbread, Hanlon, don’t you knock?!”

Mr Chips bounds through the open door, tongue lolling lazily out of the left side of his mouth. Richie crouches down, partly to keep himself from fainting from shock, but mostly to give Mr Chips a scritch behind the ear.

“Why’dya scream like that, lad?”

Richie’s hamstrings start screaming at him, and after debating standing up and doing something productive, Richie flops down onto his arse, legs splayed. Mr Chips, delighted, lies on his back in between Richie’s legs. Richie rubs his fluffy tummy. Mike laughs at them, and begins filling up the camping kettle.

“Och aye, just regular wee things, laddy”

“Git tae fuck” Mike scolds, but he shoots a smile at Richie, who has progressed to lying on his back, with Mr Chips front paws on his stomach.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just trying to practice, I’m determined that eventually I’ll be able to go shopping in Portree and convince everyone I’m actually Scottish”

“You do realise that everyone on the whole Isle knows you’re American, right? I don’t think anyone who isn’t Scottish has lived here for decades. You’re the most exciting thing to happen to this little isle for years” Mike says, passing Richie a mug of steaming coffee. Richie stands up, accepting the mug graciously.

“Yeah, about that…”

“So let me git this straight. Ye’v bin seeing a guy in this house dressed as an army officer?”

Richie rubs his hands over his eyes, scrubbing hard enough that stars bloom in the darkness behind his eyelids.

“Sort of”

“Is it some guy playing a joke on ye or something? One of the wee bairns from the town?”

“Naw, it’s definitely not a kid. He’s a fully-grown man, like, my age or sumthin’”

Mike hums thoughtfully, his face screwed in concentration as he wrestles with the pipe he’s trying to bend into place. Richie stands behind him, half-heartedly screwing a mirror into the wall. The drill spends more time on the floor than in Richie’s hand, though.

“and ye said he told ye he was dead? That he’d died in ’45?”

“Yup, s’what he said”

“and yer sure he’s not a ghost?”

Richie scoffed incredulously.

“Michael, ghosts aren’t real”

“What makes ye so sure?”

“Common sense”

Mike shoots Richie a raised eyebrow.

“… Do you not have common sense?” Richie mumbled.

“I guess not” is all Mike says, shuffling closer towards the pipe-bend.

“Mike, look. You’ve either left a gas tap loose and I’m going mad, or I’m genuinely being haunted so I’d appreciate it if we could approach this little bit more seriously”

Mike finally bends the pipe into place, and sits back on his heels with a triumphant grin. He stands up, and turns to face Richie.

“I saw my maw three days ago”

“… Ah yes, an entirely relevant digression”

“She died six years ago”

“… Shit”

After a large amount of begging on Richie’s part, and a desire to get the washing machine plumbed in early on Mike’s part, they came to an arrangement. Mike would stay in the cottage on the moor overnight, sleeping in the guest room right next to Richie’s bedroom. They’d stay up as late as possible, and try and lure the man in the khaki uniform out of hiding.

“He said his name was Eddie, so maybe I can just stand in the gardens and … yell for him?”

Mike shot another incredulous look Richie’s way.

“Are ye sure that’s tha best way to beckon a maybe-not-real ghost out of hiding?”

“I have no idea, Michael, I’m not the one who seems to commune with the dead on a regular fucking basis now, am I”

They’d finished working for the day a few hours ago, and were now sat out on the grass near the lake. The lake was a lake of fire, reflecting the golden rays of the sun. Mr Chips was sniffing in the undergrowth lazily, occasionally coming back over to Mike for an ear scratch. Richie had cooked them pasta – about all he could manage on the small camping stove. The moor was bristling with noise, but the two men were silent. Mike’s eyes were closed as he lay on his back, head resting on his arms that were folded behind his head. Richie was throwing small stones into the lake. plip plip plip.

When it was dark, they moved inside and sat around the small burner.

“So what normally happens, then? When does yer army fella normally come out?”

“He’s not a train, Mike, he doesn’t have a schedule”

“Y’know what I meant”

“He just sort of … appears. I’ve never had to actually do anything before apart from –“

“Apart from what?”

“Well, every time he’s come out, I’ve hurt myself”

Mike’s face lights up, and Richie’s clouds with horror.

“No, Mike! No”

“Just a wee cut, ye’ll barely feel it”

“NO, MIKE!”

With this, Mike began to chase Richie around the house, brandishing his pen-knife like a sabre. Richie was hollering with half-delight half-genuine panic that Mike would carve him up with the small, probably incredibly blunt, blade.

“MIIIIIIKE! I changed my mind, it’s not that I hurt myself then see him, I see him then hurt myself! Put that fucking knife away” Richie screamed, very aware that Mike was a hairs distance away from him now.

“Fine, I’ll stab ye when I see him!”

“You do that!”

They both slowed to a walk, Richie’s chest heaving markedly more than Mike’s. They’d ended up in the kitchen, and Richie watched as Mike put the pen knife on the kitchen table.

“Tea?” Richie asks, picking up the kettle and filling it from the newly functioning tap.

“M’gasping, thanks, lad”

They sat huddled close together for the rest of the night, neither bothering to take to their beds upstairs.

Eddie didn’t appear.

Richie awoke the next morning with a crick in his neck and a tongue in his eye. He gently shoved Mr Chips off his chest, where the collie had slept for most of the night, before rolling onto his knees and hauling himself up. Mike was already in the kitchen, fiddling with the back of the new washing machine.

“G’mornin’, Guvna!”

“M’not from London, Rich”

“Eh, same difference. Howzit?”

“Yeah, she’s bein’ a brat right now but I’ll soon ‘av ‘er singing” Mike grunted, still fiddling with some bendy tubing he was fixing to the back of the washing machine.

“He didn’t show up” Richie said, filling up the kettle.

“I know”

“I think I’m losing my fucking mind”

“I know”

Richie placed the kettle on the gas burner, twiddling the knob to allow the gas to flow from the gas canister into the burner. He jumped backwards when the flame bloomed suddenly, glowing orange then red then blue.

He hadn’t showed up. Richie had sort of expected it. It was sort of like when you did something really impressive, and then ask someone to watch you do it, and then you can’t do the impressive thing again, no matter how hard you try. Not that seeing (hallucinating?) 1940s army doctors was impressive or anything. It was probably quite the opposite.

“I need a break” Richie mumbled, mostly to himself.

Mike stops what he’s doing, and stands up, wiping his greasy hands on a cloth.

“How long have ye been out here on yer own?”

“To be honest I can’t remember”

“Yer obviously in need of a break, Rich. You’ve been out here on yer own for too long, s’bound to make ye feel a bit squiffy. Come back to mine for the weekend, we can take it easy and ye can come back here and if ye do see the ghostie again, we’ll know its something we need to sort oot”

Richie decides on the spot that Mike is one of the best friends he’s ever had.

Mike lives in a modern house that sits almost jarringly in the mouth of a hill. It’s all clean, white lines and sloping ceilings and Richie both hates and loves it. The first thing Richie does when he gets there is collapse on Mike’s squishy black sofa, arm flung dramatically over his face. He intends on only resting his eyes for a few seconds, but before he knows it he’s out for the count. Several hours lost to a dreamless sleep later, and Richie wakes up. He feels alert, and more rested than he ever has since he moved to Scotland all those months ago.

When he looks around, he spots Mike sat in an armchair next to a fire. He’s got one hand on Mr Chips’ head, and one hand flicking through an old looking photo album. There’s a glass of honey-coloured liquid on the table next to him, two orbs of ice floating in it.

“Oops. Sorry, dude, I think I’ve been sleeping a bit worse than I thought”

Mike laughs indulgently, and Mr Chips’ head perks up at the sound of Richie’s scratchy voice.

“S’okay, lad”

Richie swings his legs off the sofa, and leans forward, eyes scanning the photos glued on the open page of the album Mike is looking at.

“Is that you?”

“Aye”

“Aw, you were so cute. What happened?”

“get tae fuck, cheeky bastard” Mike scolds, swatting half-heartedly at Richie’s head, before he points at another glass of honeyed liquid on the floor by Richie’s feet.

“It’s scotch, if ye want it.”

Richie nods gratefully, leaning down to pick up the glass. It’s a welcome cold against his slightly clammy skin.

“Is that your mom?” Richie asks, breaking the silence. He points at the photo with the young Mike whose sat on the shoulders of a young woman with sparkling eyes and a kind smile.

“Aye” is all Mike says, eyes glazing over for a second.

Richie doesn’t know what to say, and so he says nothing.

They sit in silence for a very long time, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, Mr Chips’ snuffly breaths and the crackling of the photo album paper.

“They died in a house fire”

Richie doesn’t say anything.

“Arson, it was. Some wee drunk bastard from the city. Threw a lit cigarette in through their window and it caught the curtains.”

Richie doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes.

“The first time I saw her was a year after she died. She was in my garden, watching the birds. I damn near had a stroke. I yelled out to her, anything to get her to talk to me. But she didn’t. I’d see her, occasionally, always sat on the same bench in my garden, but she never spoke to me. She still doesn’t.”

“Do you ever see your dad?”

“Naw, never have”

“So that’s why you don’t think I’m insane”

“Aye”

“Will you think I’m horrible if you say I don’t believe you?” Richie asks, hesitantly.

“No” Mike replies honestly. “Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore”

The weekend is over before Richie even blinks. He spends most of it asleep, or mooching around Portree with Mike. They drink a lot of scotch, play a lot of card games and eat a lot of food. Richie eats a lot of food. After eating only camping-stove-pasta for months on end, oven pizza tastes like the nectar of the gods.

Before he knows it, and before he’s really ready, he’s clambering out of Mike’s van back at his little cottage on the moor.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, lad”

And then Mike’s gone.

Richie stands on the porch of his little cottage, and takes a deep breath. He opens the door.

Eddie’s sat at the kitchen table.

“I am fucking insane”

“Hello”

“You’re not real”

“I mean, I’m a ghost, so I’m about as real as a ghost can be”

“You are a figment of my imagination. I am not standing in my kitchen talking to a dead person”

“… You are”

“Why didn’t you come out when Mike was here? When I was yelling for you in the back garden? Did you even hear me? Can ghosts hear? You must be able to hear, I mean, I’m talking to you right now and you’re responding so you must have some capacity for hearing which means you were just ignoring –”

“I’m shy” Eddie interrupts, face turned towards the floor.

“Huh?” Richie grunts, pacing back and forth.

“I didn’t want to come out when the other man was here, I didn’t know who he was and I got … scared …” Eddie trails off. His face was still turned towards the floor, and Richie was sure that if it were possible for a ghost without blood to flush, Eddie would be scarlet red by this point.

“In my defence, you barely know who I am either and you don’t seem to mind popping out of the woodwork every so often to scare me shitless, do you!” Richie responds, accusingly.

Eddie tilts his face, and meets Richie’s gaze.

“I sort of do know you, I’ve been watching you for the past few months, after all"

“That’s fucking creepy, Eds”

As soon as he says it, Richie knows he’s fucked up. Eddie’s face twists in pain, and he stands up and leaves the room. Only, he doesn’t leave through the door, he walks straight through the wall. Richie stares at the spot in the wall that Eddie had disappeared through, slack jawed.

“Wait! Eddie!”

Richie scrambles around the kitchen table, and follows Eddie (through the door) into the living room. Eddie is crouched in the corner of the room, head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I’ve just been on my own for over 74 years and I – I am so desperately lonely, Richie”

Richie’s heart thumps painfully in his chest. He squats down, but leaves several feet between him and the ghost.

“Aw, shucks, Eddie. If I could touch you I’d give you a hug right now”

Eddie snorts, and looks up at Richie. His eyes aren’t wet, which Richie assumes is because there is no water flowing through his spectral form. His eyes are slightly shinier, though, and they’re more insistent, more earnest.

“I don’t think you can touch me”

“Maybe we could try?” Richie asks, before he can stop himself. He doesn’t have long to panic about being forward, though, because Eddie agrees almost immediately.

Richie debates just trying to touch Eddie’s hand, or his shoulder, but decides to just go all out and leans forward, arms open, expecting to enclose a solid form in his arms. That doesn’t happen. What does happen is Richie falls forward, straight through Eddie’s ghostly form, and almost headbutts the wall. The air that Eddie’s form occupies is scalding hot. Eddie leaps forward, shaking his limbs violently.

“Bloody hell!” Eddie exclaims, face contorted in pain.

“Huh” is all Richie says. He shifts so he’s sat on his arse, knees folded up against his chest. Eddie stands before him, looking mildly scandalized.

“Why aren’t you freezing?”

“Pardon?”

“Ghosts are always freezing in movies. You’re not. You’re like I just fell head first into fuckin’ Mount Vesuvius. Why aren’t you freezing?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just continues to look upset.

“Wait – when I fell out of the window you managed to put a pillow behind my head. How’dya do that if you can’t touch anything?”

“Well, I’ve done some experimenting over the past seven decades, and I’ve worked out that I can touch things that aren’t alive – so things that aren’t made of flesh. Or things that are also dead, I can touch those, too. I just can’t touch living matter”

“I see, very scientific” Richie replies, but he’s mostly lost in thought. Without warning, he scrambles to his feet, and disappears into the kitchen. A confused and still scandalized Eddie follows, floating through the wall, where he finds Richie triumphantly holding out a pair of still-in-the-packet oven mitts.

“Put these on”

Eddie does as he’s told.

“Why am I wearing these? What are they?”

“Oven mitts. I bought them to help me carry pots of boiling water up the stairs but I haven’t needed them so far – I thought we could -“

Richie trails off, and reaches out to touch Eddie’s oven-mitt covered hand. Eddie flinches away a bit, but doesn’t move his hand.

Richie makes contact with the oven mitt, and squeezes.

Eddie squeezes back.

#reddie #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #the ghost of you #ao3 #thefutureisbright #ghost au #!!!

[travellingwithleoandzoe-blog]

#6 Osa Peninsula, Costa Rica

Osa. For us, the word itself conjures up a sense of mysticism. Not many people call it home, making this enchanted peninsula a rare jewell for wildlife. And while stats tend to differ between various sources, all of them baffle. Take this one for example: it’s estimated that this tiny plot of land, amounting to only 0.0001% of the earth’s surface area, contains a staggering 2.5% of the planet’s bio diversity. The ratio is somewhat explainable when you consider the tropical rain forest in this part of the world embraces a mind-bending thirteen different ecosystems, from freshwater and marine systems, to dense elevated primary forests, sandy beaches, encompassing mangroves, and more. There’s all sorts of magic happening here. We’ll get back to some of the numbers in a short while.

As for the drive down to this Southwestern tip, it was unsurprisingly spectacular. Engulfed by the supercharged flora, we whizzed around the perimeter in a green blur, catching glimmers of the crystal blue Pacific from time to time. Before heading to our base for the upcoming few days, we first needed to pick up some reserves in the largest town in the region, Puerto Jimenez. With the stop off complete, and three days worth of food packed in the boot, we hurried on to a town call Dos Brazos, waving goodbye to phone connection, WiFi, and convenience stores. Dos Brazos was once a bustling gold mining village, however, it now embraces a more ecologically responsible and sustainable vision. As a gateway to Corcovado National Park, growing eco-tourism opportunities have shown this sleepy village how conservation efforts can benefit the community, providing jobs and a healthier environment. It was like stepping back in time on entry. The pace of life is slow and there’s a feeling of balance and harmony that’s clearly been orchestrated by the abundant natural beauty in the area. The rough road through the town didn’t last long, and under instructions from our host we continued off road at what appeared to be a dead end, pushing our car to its limits. 

Within five minutes we’d landed at the idyllic home and gardens of Casa Aire Libre. Perched above Rio Tigre and surrounded by breathtaking greenery, this open aired home would prove to be a once in a lifetime abode for us both. We were finishing Costa Rica in style. 

The home came equipped with an enormous kitchen suitable for any top chef, multiple hammocks and air chairs, a private garden with jungle paths, and a master bedroom up on a third floor up at tree level. We happily pottered about our new surroundings until the sunlight died on us, celebrating our first evening with a glass of vino and huge spread of various different tropical foods.

A booming chorus of bird calls coupled with a deep red backdrop from the sun rise was something to behold the next morning. Alarm clocks are now redundant to us, as we’ve become attune to nature’s cues and wake up calls. Our first full day in Osa was all about acclimatising and taking things slow. The expansive grounds and many amenities of our temporary home meant we had ample amounts of paths to explore, wildlife to admire, and foods to feast on. Maybe it was just the novelty of it, but the removal of walls in an environment like this felt like we could unconsciously absorb even more of Mother Nature while simply sat relaxing in our new home. Sometimes, however, there are more obvious physical encounters that come from having no barriers. As the power of the sun waned we went to grab a layer to put on. Lifting a t-shirt, a sizeable and startled wolf spider (we think) jumped off and perched itself on a nearby shelf. After much commotion, we let the spider be, and observed a plethora of other passers-by that evening, from tree frogs, to oversized clumsy flying beetles and the odd giant moth. We were truly in the thick of it.

Our location in the foothills of the extremely important Corcovado National, which protects over 50% of the forest in the area, meant we were walking distance to a network of incredible jungle trails. However, the park itself is only accessible with a guide, and that was a little out of our price range. Fortunately for us, the nearby Bolita Rainforest Hostel has created some its own alternative self-guided options on the fringes of the park.

Bolita has to be one of the hardest hostels in the country to get to. It required a 30 min strenuous hike from our home through dense, shady forest, and it wasn’t like we were staying in a connected place! The owner, an American naturist and nudist enthusiast, set up the hostel seventeen years ago. During this time span the hostel has forged out approximately fifteen kilometers worth of trails through sixty plus hectares of rainforest. On entry to the hostel we paid a small fee for path maintenance and examined the rough map of routes. We were told to keep our eyes peeled for snakes, of which there are many in this part of the world. The simple rule to abide by; keep your eyes fixed on the ground when moving. Be stationary when looking up.

Briefing complete, we marched on to start the first of many trails. Clothes optional was the message on the entry sign, but we kept our bits covered (mostly). We zigzagged along the various trails for hours, treading carefully along the way. The humidity was heavy, but cloud cover meant we enjoyed cooler temperatures compared to average. We encountered three fleeing snakes during the day. All our serpent friends were small and apparently non venomous. With such abundance of snake life, we also had the fortune of spotting one of their hunters, a laughing falcon. We watched from afar until the beautiful bird silently flew away.

We followed routes to two separate waterfalls, which we’ve become so accustomed to. Eventually, we worked our way upwards to a remarkable viewpoint above the canopy outlooking the national park and spanning out towards the sea. 

Within a moment of sitting down, we were greeted by two yellow throated toucans, who flew in to rest up on the tree directly opposite us. Such timely encounters couldn’t have been better created in our imaginations and the gifts kept occurring as we returned to the shade of the jungle. This time we stumbled across a gang of juvenile spider monkeys playing high up above our heads. One poor fella was missing a tail, but this didn’t seem to be holding him back. They swung between branches with such poise, until forming a small huddle where they proceeded to prune one another. We waved to the smallest in the group who sat alone still playing, and maybe it was a coincidence as it moved a nearby branch at the same time, but it felt like he or she gestured back to us. Their curious gaze in our direction filled our hearts with joy. Our tally for monkeys was now at three out of the four species in the country. Seeing this group of spider monkeys out in their natural environment was by far the most awe inspiring yet. What a day. One that left us wishing we had more time in the region.

We parted ways the next day, fitting in one final nature activity before leaving. Rising at 5 am, we met our bird guide for the morning, Rolando. After a quick cup of coffee we ventured out as light started to fill the sky. The starting point was conveniently on our doorstep. We wandered along our garden paths, the nearby banks of Rio Tigre, and outskirts of the town for three hours. In that time we spotted just short of fifty different bird species. For anyone that cares, we did our best to list those that we jotted down. You can find it at the bottom of the post. A few call outs are required. Ranking number one in our sightings was undoubtedly a pair of Spectacled Owls. Having never seen an owl of any sort in the wild, seeing these two hyper-tuned broad faced characters up close during daylight hours was rare. High fives were in order! Second on the list would have to be a fleeting sighting of the Turquoise Continga. The insane bright colours of this bird are hard to fathom. Third spot goes to go to a group of Scarlet Macaw that flew overhead while letting out their lung busting squawk. It was quite the conclusion to our stay in Osa. The energy of this living, breathing landscape left us gobsmacked. It’s home to between 4,000-5,000 species of vascular plants, more than 700 species of tree, nearly 400 species of birds, 124 different mammals, thousands of insects, and 115 species of reptiles. The list could go on. We knew we’d barely scratched the surface of the place, and departed ways knowing there were many reasons to one day return.

With only a two days left in Costa Rica, we decided to break up the drive back to San Jose with a stopover in the beach town of Uvita. That evening we strolled down Playa Uvita and entered Costa Rica’s youngest national park, Marino Ballena. The park is most coveted for its whale tail feature. This giant rock and sand formation reveals itself at low tide and from overhead looks just like the tail of a whale. It also happens to be a haven for humpbacks at specific times of the year. On the other side of the tail you find Playa Hermosa (where we’d enjoyed a siesta some days before). Sun down from the whales tail will long stick in our memory. The curtains were drawing in our Costa Rica adventure and the final scene was picture perfect. The journey, spanning over 1,800 kilometres, through four of the seven provinces, across volcanic highlands, rainforests, and sublime beaches, was everything we wanted and more.

Common Flycatcher Clay Coloured Thrush Blue Crowned Motmot Costa Rican Swift Red Crowned Woodpecker Rufous-tailed Hummingbird Buff-throated Saltator Turquoise Cotinga Green Honeycreeper (male and female) Streaked Flycatcher Southern Rough-winged Swallow Chestnut-sided Warbler Palm Tanger Slaty-tail Trogen Blue black Grosbeak Eastern Wood Peewee Spectacled Owl Scarlet Tanager Orange-chined Parakeet Scarlet Macaws Swallow-tailed Kite Scaly-breast Hummingbird Golden-hooded Tanager Burial-seed Eater Purple-crowned fairy Northern Bentbill Slate-headed Tody-flycatcher White-tipped Dove Great Currassow Black-cheeked Ant-tanager Tawny-winged Woodcreeper Black-hooded Antshrike River Siren Swansons Thrush Rose-eye Hawk Black-striped Sparrow Turkey Vultures Gartered Trogen Piratic Flycatcher Chachalaka Green Kingfisher Blue-ground Dove

#costa rica

[marrisawrites]

Mumble

Phillip's carriage reached the city at 8:00 AM and he was already looking forward to returning to the carriage that evening and turning it around. He hated New York and the ever growing capitalism of it - of America itself. He hated the busy streets teeming with do-gooders, street urchins, independent women, needy children and negroes. The ever changing nature of America sickened him. It was all about progress. Let the women work, let the blacks live, save the children.

Phillip was perfectly content to live alone in his little ranch house in the small towns surrounding the city. It turned out, he was good with numbers which made him a valuable addition to the ever growing Wall Street. Stock brokers and investment bankers were like superheroes to the new corporations. Some people thought these advancements were great - more jobs, more inclusive society, convenience. It made Phillip think about the difference time makes. 1800 and 1900 looked very different. He couldn't even begin to imagine was 2000 would look like.

Eight years as a banker in New York weren't worth the soul crushingly mundane way he lived, but there was consistency, which he liked. Every day he took a carriage into Manhattan. Then he walked to his office and sat there all day long. Then he and his coworkers went to the pubs and got drunk. The carriage left the city with him on it by 9:00 PM. Saturdays and Sundays were for doing as little as possible in his clean, quiet little home. It sounds mundane, but that's perfect for Phillip, a normal, boring business man.

There were a thousand people in New York who lived the same life he did and they were just fine. People think of New York as a place of enlightenment and excitement, but it's the lesser so that make that possible. New York was full of the same kinds of people. Everyone was just a face in the crowd.

One face always stuck out to Phillip, though. The face of a grungy, lame newsboy whom he saw every single day. The boy was young - maybe seven years old - with straight brown hair that came down past his ears. He was also, as the intellectuals would say, developmentally challenged. He didn't learn words well and he wasn't very bright. Still, Phillip was, in a way, drawn to the boy. He seemed familiar, like someone he knew.

Phillip wasn't a fan of the newsboys. If he was going to buy a paper, he preferred to buy them from the wagons which were normally manned by an adult. The children were grimy and loud and pathetic looking, especially the girls. Granted most of them were either dirt poor or orphans, they grew up with no manners and no etiquette. On more than one occasion had Phillip witnessed several of the young news boys fighting in large groups and saying the most profane things. They had no supervision and no rules. It was pathetic.

One day, Phillip decided to approach the scrawny, lame news boy he felt drawn to. He thought that the kid looked a bit like him from a distance, but the resemblance was even more undeniable up close. They both had a similar face structure and the same nose. It was the boy's eyes that really sold Phillip on having some kind of relationship to the boy - not because they're like his, but because they're like hers.

The realization hit Phillip so suddenly. It was eight or nine years prior that they had been together. There was a young girl named Katherine. Her father owned a factory that Phillip ran numbers on for a few years. During this time, the two had struck up a relationship, but not by any conventional means. Katherine was a sheltered girl who wanted to do all the things her parents told her not to. Phillip was hesitant, but not about to turn down what he was offered; an intimate relationship with a beautiful girl and no obligation to her when the night was through.

Her father found out and was furious. He fired Phillip immediately and Katherine was shipped away to a reformatory upstate. Her father had called her mental and sick, and Phillip a disgusting disgrace to respectable, hard working young men everywhere. Phillip never saw Katherine again. He wondered about her from time to time, but not enough to try and find her or anything.

Now, looking into the face of this young child, he knows exactly what happened to her.

“Wanna buy a pape, mister?” The kid asked in a naturally slurred voice.

“Sure, I'll take a newspaper,” Phillip said and exchanged his coin for a paper.

That was the end of their transaction and he should have gone on his way, but he wasn't ready to lose the child again.

“What's your name, son?” He asked, though he could tell the child was antsy to move on to his next customer.

The kid shrugged. “My folks didn't name me. The fellas call me Mumble. ‘ts ‘cuz I mumble when I talks, see?”

Phillip only nodded. Katherine didn't name him. He wondered if her father even gave her the chance to before disposing of him like any other ordinary inconvenience.

“Well,” Phillip said, “Good day.”

The boy shouted, “Good day, mister!” as Phillip walked away.

Phillip's curiosity about the child didn't waver over the next few days. It became stronger, in fact, so much so that he sought some answers. He knew a guy who had a lot of information about the kids that lived on the street. He worked for some kind of project to help get orphans off the streets and into the classrooms. Phillip thought it was a waste of time. If the kids didn't want to be in the classrooms, they wouldn't be and forcing them wouldn't change their minds.

Mumble was dropped off at the St Peter Roman Catholic Church seven years ago in the middle of the night. He was almost three years old and wasn't physically harmed. The parents didn't leave a note with him or anything. They kept him around a group of other abandoned kids and they eventually nicknamed him Mumble, though the ladies had started calling him Thomas. Mumble stuck better. When Mumble was five, he and some of the other boys traded the church for the Newsboy Lodging House and started selling papers.

One thing Phillip never knew is how demanding it actually was to sell papers. He knew they started young, but to be only five years old spending all day on the street corner in the rain, heat, or snow to make a living seemed a little wrong. Phillip tried to remember what he was doing at age five - it certainly wasn't working the streets to sell newspapers for a penny a piece no matter what the weather.

Every day after that, Phillip looked for Mumble and always found him in the exact same spot only a few blocks from the church that took him in. He bought a paper every day, too, even though he didn't care about most of the nonsense The World published.

He felt a new sense of sorrow for all the boys now that he had a connection. He felt bad when he saw them standing in the rain still waving the newspapers and asking every passer if they would buy. More often than not, they declined, not wanting to be out in the rain any longer than necessary. When it got really hot, he would see the kids fanning themselves and each other with their papers and bargaining over who would go into the nearest shop to beg for a glass of water. On the cold days, the kids would huddle close together for warmth whenever they were taking a break from selling. They didn't seem to have many more layers than they did the rest of the year, if they had any at all.

Before he knew it, Phillip had been keeping an eye out for Mumble for a year. He eventually started lingering on the corner across from Mumble’s selling spot for hours at a time. Mumble didn't seem to grow at all in that time. Sometimes Phillip felt an urge to tell the kid the truth and get him off the streets, but in the end he always let that thought run its course. He seemed happy. Phillip once stayed there so late he saw Mumble finish selling all of his papers. Then he helped his friend sell his last few papers and they met up with this big group of kids and walked on down the street together.

Phillip noticed that Mumble never seemed to stop smiling. Sometimes people would tease him for mumbling and he would just shrug it off and offer them a paper. His friends would check on him after that he would brush the concern away. He was tough.

One day, Phillip got to the corner a few minutes later than usual and when he got there, he witnessed a pretty brutal fight in Mumble's spot. There was a big group kids pushing, shoving, and shouting. Some bystanders were trying to break it up, but others just watched in fascination. Phillip didn't intervene, either. He didn't have any kind of excuse, he just didn't help. Though he knew Mumble was in the pile somewhere and probably needed his help.

The police eventually broke up the fight. Most of the kids involved weren't news boys, but just random kids. Mumble and his usual group of friends were there, too. Mumble walked away with some blood on his face and a limp on his right side, but his friends supported him as they walked away, abandoning the day's work.

The next day, Phillip didn't see Mumble on the usual corner. In fact, he didn't see him for a week after that.

One of the other boys seemed to gave noticed Phillip among the faces in the crowd the same way he noticed Mumble. He was a black kid, just a little older than Mumble and he crossed the street to approach Phillip without giving a second thought to doing his job.

“Listen here, fella!” The kid snapped. “You wanna buy a paper? I got some. But me and the other boys don't like the way you hang around here. Makes some of the little ones feel off. What's your deal, man?”

Phillip didn't know how to respond. He had never been spoken to like that before, especially not by a street kid. He didn't want to tell the boy that he was there to watch over his son, Mumble, because he didn't want Mumble to find out that way - he didn't want Mumble to find out at all.

The kid seemed to realize Phillip didn't have an answer. He continued, “I see you buying from Mumble every day. You know him or something?”

Phillip finally found a way to turn the conversation around. “Where is Mumble?” He asked. “I haven't seen him for a few days.”

“He got roughed up in a fight and he's been working a new spot. He don't feel safe around here no more,” The boy explained.

“Where did he go?”

The kid looked at him skeptically and then shook his head. “I ain't gotta tell you that. Look, Mumble's family - only family I got. I gotta protect him. Do yourself a favor, mister, and back off. Me and some of the other boys ain't afraid to talk with our fists. Got that?”

The boy ran off across the street and was back to shouting the headline before Phillip could even respond. He stayed rooted in his spot a moment longer, but he met the kid's threatening gaze and went on his way. He briefly considered looking for Mumble, but the city was too big to chase after one little boy that didn't understand his own significance.

He didn't need to either, Phillip decided. He would go home and stop watching Mumble because he had enough people checking in on him; the violent black kid was proof of that. If their paths crossed again, that would be fine, but Phillip couldn't go on watching him like a hawk.

He worried about the newsboys a lot after that. Not just Mumble, either. He worried about all of them now that he realized what they went through. He also supported his friend's attempts at getting kids off the street. They needed an education and somewhere to be safe.

Phillip wondered about Mumble a lot. He hoped Mumble adjusted well to a new selling spot and that his friends would meet him there after selling like they did before. After a few years, Phillip stopped seeing the same boys and they were now replaced by younger ones. He discovered that it was because the kids “aged out” and had to move on from selling papers. He didn't know what became of Mumble when he aged out. He didn't see him again for a long time.

But then, he did. Phillip got more involved in trying to improve the lives of all the street kids in New York and he was working in a community center of sorts for the orphans. There was food, a place to clean up and to rest, and opportunities to learn in small amounts. Almost ten years after the fight that caused Phillip to lose track of Mumble, the place was in full swing.

One day, a young adult with short brown hair and his mother's unmistakable eyes waltzed into the room. He introduced himself to the center's director as Mumble and his friend as Jack. When Phillip heard the name, he turned so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Jack noticed and he gave Phillip a knowing smile.

Mumble recognized Phillip, too, and rushed over to get caught up. He was working in a market those days and going to school to teach. He still mumbled like when he was a kid, but there was some improvement in his clarity. He was confident, charismatic, and tough. He wasn't at all the way Phillip had previously percepted street kids. He wasn't disrespectful, grimy, or loud. He was a nice guy and someone Phillip enjoyed talking to.

Phillip never told Mumble that he was his father or about how he was conceived. He figured that some things were better left unsaid and he was just as content to be a supportive adult figure in Mumble's life instead.

Phillip continued to work with the street kids until he was too old to work anymore. By the end of his life, he was very proud of what he accomplished. He was surprised at how a face in the crowd changed his entire life.

#short story #writing #creative writing #literature