#pull yourself out of hell by your own bootstraps | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drades-lair · 2 years

Text

Can’t lose you

Striker slinked into a mine opening easily disappearing into the safety of the darkness, breath coming in heavy pants as he slipped down the rock wall leaving a streak of black blood down it. Pain racked Striker’s body as he clutched at the gun shot wound in his abdomen, tipping his head back against the stone wall to listen for the ones who’d done this. Striker wasn’t a stranger to being hurt from gun shots to stab wounds he’d endured a lot but this…something was very wrong with how he’d been shot this time. Heavy footfalls outside the mine caught Striker’s swiftly fading attention there sounded like more then what he remembered however he really couldn’t tell as his world was sinking into a muffled underwater sound. A popping sound echoed…gunshots? Where these idiots fighting with one another? Striker tried desperately to focus on the sounds, but the pain was just too intense causing him to wheeze out pained whimpers with tears beginning to prick the sides of his eyes.

A memory sprung into his head of when he was small, he’d fallen off his first steed resulting in a badly bruised and scrapped calve. Striker could remember crying while sitting on the ground cradling his injured leg while thinking he couldn’t cry, he had to man up. Striker’s father had drilled that into him how real men don’t cry, you buck up and pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Striker huffed a laugh to himself as tears started falling down his cheeks to mingle with the dried blood from a cut above his eye. The mine’s darkness was growing darker by the moment, his limbs grew numb as the warmth of his own blood soaked every inch of his lower body. Footsteps entered the mine, yet Striker didn’t care at this point he was as good as dead anyways at least they could make it quick.

“S…triker…!” came what sounded like a familiar voice

Striker managed to muster up just enough strength to look up at the small figure currently crouched beside him. The familiar features of his mate’s co-worker came into blurry view, Moxxie had a very concerned look on his features then Striker felt agonizing pain as he watched Moxxie reach to where his wound was. Striker’s last conscious moment was hearing Moxxie talking on his phone.

“Sir, I got him but it’s not good! We need a hospital immediately!” Moxxie exclaimed into the phone…was he talking to Blitz? Striker slipped into the comfort of the darkness finally finding some relief from the pain.

…

Blitz’s mind was racing as he pushed his shitty van to the limit after Moxxie had phoned him honestly, he’d thought the smaller imp had been exaggerating about Striker’s condition. Blitz had seen Striker take some pretty significant damage yet still get up the next day to make breakfast as if nothing had happened, his mate was durable however when he entered the mine…Blitz felt his heart sink. Striker had been soaked in blood with a puddle of it under his body but what disturbed Blitz the most were the tears running down Striker’s face. Blitz hadn’t hesitated to pick Striker up, shove him into the back of his van with Moxxie not far behind then began driving to the nearest hospital he could find. Moxxie was doing his best to keep Striker from bleeding out as they rushed in the direction of the hospital.

“Don’t you fucking dare leave me!” Blitz whispered under his breath as his hand’s death gripped his steering wheel.

Upon arriving at the hospital Blitz simply slid his van to a halt right outside the emergency doors, scooped Striker into his arms from the back and practically drop kicked his way into the emergency room. The staff took one look at Striker and took off to grab a gurney which Blitz gingerly lowered his bleeding mate onto only to have him taken immediately. Blitz couldn’t get the sight of Striker out of his mind not just the blood, tears were not something Striker ever showed even when he was injured by the rings of hell, he’d dislocated his shoulder during one of their jobs and barely flinched when Blitz popped it back into place for him. Blitz felt his hands shaking slightly because if Striker was shedding tears, he could only imagine the pain he’d been in.

Unlike his mate Blitz would shed tears a little more often and right now they flowed freely down his cheeks as he slammed a fist into the stark white wall beside the coffee machine in the hospital’s waiting room. Striker’s blood still coated Blitz reminding him continuously that his mate was dying and that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. A shriek of frustration erupted from Blitz as he sunk to the cold tile floor, hands coming up to cup his face just as Moxxie rounded the corner after having left momentarily to meet Millie at the emergency room doors. Millie immediately ran over to Blitz gently pulling the taller imp into her which Blitz allowed, he needed the comfort right now considering his heart or what was left of it was being yanked from his chest. Millie rubbed comforting circles into Blitz’s shoulders as they shook with sobs, Moxxie awkwardly coming to stand nearby uncertain what to say or do for his friend.

“I-I…can’t lose him…” Blitz sobbed into Millie’s shoulder

“It’ll be okay…we’ll get through this, besides Striker’s one tough son of a bitch I’m sure he’ll pull through,” Millie stated to reassure Blitz

“You didn’t…see him…or feel him…Mills…he was so cold…and he was…crying…” Blitz sobbed out

Millie looked to Moxxie with concern laced all over her features at hearing this to which Moxxie simply nodded in confirmation.

…

It seemed like an eternity of waiting before a demon emerged from the emergency room doors, he had a goat head as well as goat legs but had almost a human torso except he had pitch black skin wearing a white doctor’s coat. Blitz nearly leapt right through the ceiling as he jumped out of his seat with Millie and Moxxie following close behind.

“Are you Blitz?” The doctor inquired of the crimson imp

“Yes! How is he? How is Striker?” Blitz demanded

“He’s in stable condition but critical. The bullet cut through his abdomen causing massive damage including hitting two organs. We did surgery to repair the damage but…” The doctor trailed off from his explanation.

“But what? He’s going to be okay…right?” Blitz worriedly prompted

“Between the blood loss and the amount of damage he’s in a coma…we’re not certain at this point if he’ll wake up,” The doctor informed Blitz solemnly

“No,” Blitz’s voice was less then a whisper as he breathed the word out, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

“You can see him…if you wish,” The doctor gingerly offered

“Yes…please…I need to,” Blitz agreed trying to hold himself together

“We’ll stay here Blitz…” Millie stated

“Okay…” Blitz trialed off before following the doctor back

Entering a small room Blitz felt himself pale at what he saw Striker was in the bed torso wrapped in bandages, tubes and wires seeming to be connected to him from everywhere. A monitor filled the room with the monotonous sound of beeping, Striker looked sickly pale with dark circles under his eyes just adding to that deathly image he was currently sporting. Blitz cautiously walked along side the bed, reaching his hand to cup Striker’s cheek only to wince at the coldness radiating from his mate’s body. The doctor left Blitz to be alone with Striker explaining he could stay for as long as he needed, taking advantage of that Blitz took a seat in the only chair in the room.

…

Striker managed to hang on for the week increasing his chances of survival in the long run, Millie had brought Blitz a change of cloths that he changed into after cleaning up a bit in the bathroom. Blitz maintained his vigil for 3 more weeks when one day he heard Striker give a groan making the crimson imp start in the otherwise quiet room. Standing from the chair where he’d been sitting Blitz hurried right along side the bed, cupping Striker’s cheek as the pale imp’s eyes started to flutter open.

“Striker! Shit…yes!” Blitz exclaimed excitedly

“Hmm, B-Blitz…” Striker managed to rasp out as he focused on his mate

“Fuck yeah…it’s me…I can’t believe…” Blitz stammered looking for the words

Striker gave a weak smile then violently jerked after shifting just a small amount, teeth gritting as his face contorted in agony. Blitz moved his hand from Striker’s cheek to his shoulder trying to steady him, Striker’s chest heaving as he tried to shove the pain down to little avail. Blitz rubbed his thumb along Striker’s shoulder as a couple tears managed to fall from the pale imp’s eyes weather, he wanted them to or not. Eventually the pain subsided a bit causing Striker to look away from his mate, cheeks flushing a dusty pink in embarrassment. Blitz gently brought his hand back to Striker’s cheek to swipe the tears there with his thumb.

“Sorry Ya need to see this shit,” Striker apologized still refusing to look at Blitz

“Don’t apologize…You’re in pain…it’s not your fault,” Blitz assured him

“Still…I should just suck it up,” Striker whispered out

“Shut up, I nearly lost you…I’d rather see a few tears then your dead body any day,” Blitz assured him

“I thought it was over too,” Striker admitted finally locking eyes with Blitz

“Well, it isn’t, now lay still and rest. I’m going to see if I can get the nurses to give you the good shit for the pain,” Blitz chuckled with a wink

…

4 long weeks in the hospital Striker finally found himself back in the small one-bedroom apartment he shared with Blitz. There was still a long road ahead of him before returning to his assassin gig but for the moment he was just happy to be home with Blitz. Stranding in the bathroom Striker stared at the large, stitched wound that spanned from his side just past his mid stomach area in a jagged form. Giving a snarl at his reflection in the mirror Striker grabbed the fresh gaze from the countertop beginning to wrap the wound when Blitz walked in behind him.

“Want some help?” Blitz inquired

“Sure,” Striker accepted handing off the gaze roll to Blitz.

“How are you feeling?” Blitz asked as he expertly began to wrap the wound

“I’m fine,” Striker stoically stated

“Are you sure?” Blitz asked again knowing his mate all too well

“Ya don’t need to keep fussin’ over me,” Striker assured Blitz as he leaned forwards to place both hands on the countertop, wincing slightly as Blitz tightened the bandage.

“Yes, I do! I nearly lost you! I…” Blitz trailed off, pulling Striker by the chin gently till he looked at him.

“I’m sorry I worried Ya,” Striker apologized, turning to face Blitz entirely with both his hands moving from the countertop to Blitz’s hips.

“Worried? You scared the shit out of me!” Blitz corrected, moving his hand from Striker’s chin to the back of his neck where he pulled lightly till Striker’s bowed his head slightly allowing Blitz to tap their foreheads together.

“Humph, sorry for scarin’ Ya,” Striker corrected himself with a huffed laugh

“You should be,” Blitz huffed almost in pouting tone

“I love Ya Blitz,” Striker whispered

“I love you too,” Blitz whispered back

Blitz pulled back just enough to connect their lips in a gentle kiss which Striker returned happily. Upon parting Blitz walked with Striker into the living room where they sat on the couch to watch a movie.

#helluva boss #Helluva Boss fanfictions #Helluva Boss fanfic #fancitions #fanfic #Blitzo #Striker #Blitzo X Striker #Millie #Moxxie #angst #hurt/comfort

9 notes · View notes

stephenjaymorrisblog · 1 year

Text

Who Would Attack the Anti-Authoritarian Left?

Stephen Jay Morris

3/20/23

©Scientific Morality.

For the simple minded, American politics have always been about “who’s the bad guy, and who’s the good guy?” Sorry people, but it just doesn’t work that way. That infantile, third grade message is intended for the White working class. Delivered in a high feminine voice, such tripe regards the American people as naive, little kids. Obscurantism is like a magic potion slathered onto the unwashed masses heads: Hey boys and girls! Government is bad for you and your puppy! Look, here is a new word: Can you say “woke?” Everybody, repeat after me, “woke.” Choke the woke!

Inherent in social engineering, one must find a boogeyman. Now, from the Right, it’s this woke shit! Well, guess what, boys and girls? There is a new word in town! It is, “chud.” Spelled C-H-U-D. Can you say “chud?” Everybody say, “chud!” Chuds are bad people! They are bullies! They pick on people weaker than them! They hate poor people, gay people, black people, workers, women like your mom! They hate little children, like you! They hate rainbows! Say, “Boo to the chuds!! Boo! BOO!”

Okay, enough of chud propaganda techniques! Its seems that the word, “Left” just wasn’t making it among the Right so, now, its this “woke” horse shit! Back in my day, we leftists comprised 17% of the Baby Boom generation. Our chimerical idealism made us look like fantast layabouts. We smoked the magic weed and songs of utopia floated from our vocal chords. The so-called “Establishment” thought, for a summer, that we were harmless, starry-eyed goofballs. Then came SDS and the Black Panthers, and the shit got real! No, it wasn’t the Soviet Union behind the urban riots and student strikes! One glaring fault about the Right is that they can never conceive that oppressed people do organize themselves. Believing that people don’t become rebels of their own volition, that they must be brainwashed, or that it’s Satan who makes them into revolutionaries, is the deadly mistake the Right continuously makes.

Anti-intellectualism has been a staple for narcissistic conservatives. The narcissists will always tell their subjects, “Do not think! I will do all the thinking for you.” When you are a child, you are completely dependent upon your parents. This is as natural as morning dew on grass. A six year old kid can’t fill out a tax form. So, their dependency is justified. Then comes adulthood. The servants of the ruling class send you mixed messages. They tell you not to be dependent upon government handouts; to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps when you are barefoot and pregnant! Then, they tell you to be authority dependent on the ruling class, and fully dependent on God! If a cop beats the hell out of you, well, you probably deserved it.

The most benign place I have ever been to is the public library. The librarians were always the friendliest people I encountered. They graciously helped me find whatever information I needed. The place was always kept at the perfect room temperature. To escape the summer heat, I could go inside, find a novel, and read the day away. Alan Ginsberg, the late poet, asked the immortal question, “America! Why is your library full of tears?” I never knew what that line meant. Then, I started my quest for political truth. It is said, “The truth has a Left wing bias.” What does that mean? Slavery existed in America. America committed genocide on the Native Americans. Women weren’t allowed to vote until 1920, or to have a credit card until 1972. America exploited its children by having them work in factories for pennies on the dollar. America dropped a nuclear bomb on Japan and it placed Japanese Americans in concentration camps to protect them from angry white men. (Well, that is one explanation; I don’t know if its true,)

Now, public schools, teachers, and libraries are under attack by the Authoritarian Right. They want to replace objective history with White Nationalist propaganda: White Anglo Saxon people are the master race, America is like God, it is perfect and never committed any wrongs. They don’t want critical thinking, they want magical thinking! As far as the master race goes: Marjorie Taylor Greene. Do I need to say more??

Make America Woke! Not Chud!

#stephenjaymorris #poets on tumblr #american politics #anarchism #anarcosindicalismo #anarcho syndicalism #anarchopunk #anarchocapitalism #anarcho nihilism #anarchofeminism #anarchocommunism #Anarcho queer

6 notes · View notes

truck-fump · 2 years

Text

The Truth Behind “Self-Made” BillionairesWhy do we glorify...

New Post has been published on https://robertreich.org/post/695958318007664640

The Truth Behind “Self-Made” BillionairesWhy do we glorify...

youtube

The Truth Behind “Self-Made” Billionaires

Why do we glorify “self-made” billionaires?

Well, being “self-made” is a seductive idea —it suggests that anybody can get to the top if they’re willing to work hard enough. It’s what the American Dream is all about.

If Kylie Jenner can become a “self-made” billionaire at age 21, so can you and I!

Even as wages stay stagnant and wealth inequality grows, it’s a comfort to think that we’re all simply one cosmetics company and some elbow grease away from fortune.

Unfortunately, a nice idea is all it is. Self-made billionaires are a myth. Just like unicorns.

The origins of self-made billionaires are often depicted as a “rags-to-riches” rise to the top fueled by nothing but personal grit and the courage to take risks — like dropping out of college, or starting a business in a garage.

But in reality, the origins of many billionaires aren’t so humble. They’re more “riches-to-even-more-riches” stories, rooted in upper-middle class upbringings.

How much risk did Bill Gates take on when his mother used her business connections to help Microsoft land a deal-making software for IBM?

Elon Musk came from a family that owned an emerald mine in Apartheid South Africa.

Jeff Bezos’ garage-based start was funded by a quarter-million dollar investment from his parents.

If your safety net to joining the billionaire class is remaining upper class – that’s not pulling yourself up by your bootstraps.

Nor is failing to pay your fair share of taxes along the way.

Along with Musk and Bezos, Michael Bloomberg, George Soros, and Carl Icahn have all gotten away with paying ZERO federal income taxes some years. That’s a big helping hand, courtesy of legal loopholes and American taxpayers who pick up the tab, all while our tax dollars subsidize the corporations owned by these so-called “self-reliant” entrepreneurs.

Did you get a thank you card from any of them? I sure as hell didn’t.

Other common ways that billionaires build their coffers off the backs of others include paying garbage wages and subjecting workers to abusive labor conditions.

But portraying themselves as rugged individuals who overcame poverty or “did it on their own” remains an effective propaganda tool for the ultrawealthy. One that keeps workers from rising up collectively to demand fairer wages – and one that ultimately distracts from the role that billionaires play in fostering poverty in the first place.

Billionaires say their success proves they can spend money more wisely and efficiently than the government. Well they have no problem with government spending when it comes to corporate subsidies.

When arguing for even more tax breaks, they claim each “dollar the government takes from [them] is a dollar less” for their “critical” role in expanding prosperity for all Americans, through job creation and philanthropy. Well that’s rubbish.

50 years of tax cuts for the wealthy have failed to trickle down. As a result of Trump’s tax cuts, 2018 saw the 400 richest American families pay a lower tax rate than the middle class. And U.S. billionaire wealth grew by $2 trillion during the first two years of a pandemic that was economically catastrophic for just about everyone else. They want to have their cake, everyone else’s cake, and eat it, too.

Behind every ten-figure net worth is systemic inequality. Inherited wealth. Labor exploitation. Tax loopholes. And government subsidies.

To claim these fortunes are “self-made” is to perpetuate a myth that blames the wealth gap on the choices of everyday Americans.

Billionaires are not made by rugged individuals. They’re made by policy failures. And a system that rewards wealth over work.

Know the truth.

#Uncategorized

0 notes

golbrocklovely · 2 years

Note

“he thinks his words are helpful. while they aren't to me, they are to others.” i don’t think his words are helpful to anyone other than people that lead the same or a similar lifestyle than he does, which isn’t the case of 98% of his fan base. they might think his words are helping because he’s feeding them a delusional sense of purpose and success and the same old speech of “work hard enough and you’ll make it”. no, in most cases, you won’t. but since his fans feel close to Sam somehow they think what he’s saying is different from what those corporate exploitative business are saying and, newsflash, it’s not. it’s the same speech but on a different context. sam might not be trying to exploit your labor, but he sure as hell is trying to feed you the same idea of hard work, sweat, tears and blood in order to be successful. no luck, no privileges, just you and your own hands. it seems more believable coming from him because he’s “self made” when in reality, if you look at it closely, at least 75-80% of snc’s success is due to looks, luck and privilege - and that isn’t to say they haven’t or don’t work hard, it’s to say that their success isn’t a direct result of hard work only, period.

i do think his words help some of the fandom, strictly just bc they can't all be lying when they tell him that his advice helped them lol i know some probably just gas him up for the sake of getting noticed, but i do think some ppl like what he says and the perspective he has. and that's great.

i just can't fully agree with him. most of us can't. but that's okay.

but i fully agree that the idea that all you have to do is work hard and you'll go far and get everything you've ever wanted is just bullshit. it's the same reason why i hate the whole manifesting idea that's gotten popular over the last couple years. while i get that some ppl have found success in repeatedly saying the same thing everyday, realistically….. it's just luck. you wished for something attanable enough that it happened for you.

i think manifesting and praying are basically the same thing. which is why i hate when spiritual ppl or just ppl who believe in manifesting make it seem as if for those that don't get it to work "oh you're not trying hard enough" or "oh you're not supposed to do it like that, you're supposed to do it like this" and i'm just tired. if manifesting works for you, i'm happy for you. truly. but do not tell me i'm not trying hard enough, or i don't believe enough. don't make me feel shame for something that doesn't exist. don't make me second-guess myself just bc things work out for you when they don't work out for me the same way. you're lucky, i'm not. that's just how it is sometimes.

slight tangent aside, i think sam genuinely believes that the reason he got as far as he did is bc of pure hard work. ppl who are successful don't want to admit that there was a divine energy that just helped them better than others (luck in this instence). you don't want to give credit to someone or something else, it has to be "i did everything, i made it myself" bc… something about that is more noble, i guess. pull yourself up by the bootstraps bs that's been said for decades. god forbid ppl admit that they needed help and got it and that's how they've grown. or that luck was there mixed in with their hard work.

idk. i feel like i'm just repeating myself now. but hopefully this made some sense haha

#ask #personal

1 note · View note

wkemeup · 3 years

Text

Sunrise (1)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: heavy focus on Bucky’s PTSD/anxiety, the first splinter in the wall around Bucky’s heart 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

This was a bad idea. A monumentally bad idea.

Bucky closed his apartment door behind him, pausing for a moment at the top of brownstone steps as a chill of autumn air swept by. Brittle to the touch, cool on his skin, it nestled into his spine and ached deep in his bones— in ones that had been long abandoned, too. The sun reflected against the shine of the pavement from last night’s rainfall, forcing Bucky to squint his eyes.

Was it always so bright outside? Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t left his apartment for nearly a week before Sam threatened to turn him over to Steve that he’d forgotten how unpleasant the streets of New York could be. Loud. Cold. Chaotic.

He stepped onto the sidewalk, slipping out of the path of a jogger who nearly ran him over and had the gull to flip him the bird. Bucky groaned, curling his right hand into a fist and digging it deep into his pocket as he tried to calm the sudden racing in his chest. The free arm of his army jacket swung down by his left side, empty.

Not even a few steps outside the sanctuary of closed curtains, warm bedsheets, and the unattended static of a decade old television, and Bucky was already regretting ever knowing Sam Wilson.

Bucky turned towards the busy street ahead, staring up at the hustle of pedestrians and rush of taxis for a moment longer before he dared to take a step. His feet felt remarkably heavy and he had more than half a mind to tell Wilson to shove it and head back up to his apartment. He had better things to do than make a completely unnecessary trip to the VA.

What those things were, he couldn’t say, but they didn’t make his heart feel like it was about to beat straight out of his chest. He could stare at a wall for a few hours, for example – see if he could find the crack in the drywall again and follow it to the ceiling.

“Don't be a coward, Barnes,” Bucky grumbled to himself, earning a strange look from an elderly woman as she passed by. Her eyes held on him longer than she should; clearly a woman who had little shame in her degradation of strangers.

He gritted his teeth and commanded his legs to move. Those worked, at least.

As he made his way to the main street, his palm started to sweat inside his pocket. He could see his breath in every tense exhale, and still, he was boiling hot under his jacket. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d remove it, because even with a sleeve hanging loose off his shoulder, he could at least keep up the pretense there was something inside. People would have to look twice before they realized. Wasn’t so easy to hide a missing arm in a short sleeve shirt.

Still—he was thankful as he weaved his way upstream through the crowd that he wasn’t as broad as he used to be. A couple months' worth of weight loss, diminished muscle mass, and one less limb will do that do a guy.

He used to be the sort of man that women would glance at as he passed by. Charming smile. Infectious energy. He could make a woman bite shamelessly at the edge of her bottom lip with a single trail of his eyes along her figure. Extend a hand, offer a drink and a dance. He used to hold confidence in every ounce of his body.

Now, he kept his eyes on the pavement. He hid from the sun and the curious looks of strangers under the brim of a baseball cap. No one looked twice in his direction. He was invisible these days and that was just the way he liked it.

By the time he reached the VA, he was surprised to find it a little less than pristine. The windows were dirty with handprints and smudges, the window panes covered in soot. A few of the roofing panels were missing from harsh New York winters. Even some of the outer brick wall had seen some weathering.

Though, if he were honest, it wasn’t usual at all. Made some sense that the VA was left to wash and wear on its own, deteriorating in front of a busy street of onlookers, right out in plain sight. It was how Bucky felt after he’d come home from his last tour— discarded. Placed upon a pedestal, but only as long as you wear the uniform, only as long as you’re staring down the other end of a barrel. Once you’re shipped back home and cast out from desert, you’re made to fend for yourself. Pull up your bootstraps. Adjust.

Bucky wasn’t sure how to do that anymore. Sam insisted this would help. The people at the VA were good, he’d said. They were like him. They’d understand.

While Bucky was suspicious, it was enough to drag him a couple blocks from his apartment. It was more than he’d done in weeks anyway. Sam would put on his makeshift shrink hat and call that a meaningful step. Bucky would call it pathetic.

He stared at the double doors, focusing on dark red rust on the metal hinges. He wondered if he put enough pressure on the latch if it would snap clean off. It looked sharp on the edges, too. Someone could easily cut themselves on it if they weren’t careful—

BEEEEEEP!

A jolt surged through Bucky’s chest enough to nearly knocked him off his feet.

Sudden flashes of a sweltering heat, the unnatural vibration of the desert under his feet. The car horn echoed into the back of his head, longer than it should have, and his ears started to ring. His vision felt tunneled and Bucky quickly stumbled his way through the double doors just to escape the blare of the horn outside.

It took a minute to adjust to the dim lighting. It was darker inside than what he was expecting. He blinked a few times, hand resting on the wall to hold his balance as he looked around, shaking himself from the memories.

Lamps were spread throughout the common room to offset the abrasive overhead lighting left untouched. Bucky started to wonder if he maybe it was on purpose, if he wasn’t the only one who had become sensitive to these things, when Sam walked into the room.

He froze.

“Holy shit!” Sam’s mouth rose up into that goddamn know-it-all smile, wide enough to show teeth and the dimples in his cheeks, and Bucky winced. Sam started to laugh as he crossed the space to where Bucky was standing. “I didn’t think you’d actually come!”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugged, “I’m here. Don’t make this a big thing.”

“Who me?” Sam scoffed, feigning offense. “You know Steve’s the one who’s going to blow this up. He might throw a welcome party if you ever show up to the support group.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s not happening.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Sam nodded, though he was still smiling. He looked almost... proud? It didn’t sit well in Bucky’s stomach. “Still, got you out of that cramped apartment, didn’t I? You open those curtains yet or are you still living like a vampire?”

Bucky glared at him. Sure, Sam was right... but he didn’t need to know that.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.” Sam put a hand on Bucky’s back to guide him down the hall.

He was only one of two people Bucky tolerated touching him at all and he was lucky he didn’t flinch anymore. Even an innocent touch from his own mother when she tried to hold his hand after he came back from his final tour had nearly left him in a panic attack. She’d cried as Bucky desperately tried to gather his breath, shoving her away as if she’d burned him.

Sam and Steve didn’t give him much of a choice. They didn’t handle him with kid gloves or treat him like he was about to break. Even if he was splintering at the seams, you’d never be able to tell with how Sam and Steve were around him; like old times, like nothing had changed, like they were still three kids dressed in fresh uniforms with chips on their shoulders and a whole new world ahead of them.

After a while, the small pats on the back and the nudges in his side became a small comfort; not that he’d tell them. It was a strange feeling to both be repulsed by touch and crave it. But the topic didn’t come up much these days outside of his friends anyway. No one tried to touch him and he didn’t seek it out. It was easier that way.

“The kitchen’s over here,” Sam said as he pointed into a room that had likely once been covered in white tiles and appliances, though now resembled more of a pale yellow. Two men were hunched over at the table, nursing coffee out of Styrofoam cups as a woman waited eagerly by a toaster.

“Everything in there is free rein,” Sam added. “Always stocked with food from donations, though I would make sure to check the expirations on the milk before adding it to your coffee.” He shivered at an unpleasant memory and Bucky found the edge of his mouth curl, though he suppressed it rather quickly.

The next room was mostly empty save for the wooden lined floors and chairs folded up against the wall. A sheet covered the small window peering inside that read ‘group in session when closed.’

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sam started, to which Bucky narrowed his eyes, “but I’m not going to force you into the support group, Buck. You go when you’re ready. If you ever are. Talking about this stuff, or even listening to it... it isn't for everybody. Steve will get that, too. We all find our outlets eventually. You’ll find yours, too.”

Bucky nodded, a swell of relief in his chest. He’d been forced into a mental evaluation by the army docs shortly after his discharge; something about routine testing, but he knew what they were looking for – what all those shrinks were looking for – Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

The nightmares came first, soon after he’d returned to the States. It started in screams that burned deep into his throat, waking up neighbors at two in the morning, finding blood in his bed from injuries he’d caused in his sleep. Lately they’d manifested into sweat drenched in his sheets and a heart rate that couldn’t seem to even out until the sun rose.

Then came the jumpiness – the flinching at every loud noise, thinking it was a bomb or the latch of a safety. He’d broken more glasses than he cared to admit, knocking them straight of his hand at the sound of a gunshot on the television.

Then the paranoia settled in, then the hypervigilance. The anxiety in crowds and tight spaces was new, though. Add it to the list, he supposed.

Through all of it, he never let the shrink catch on. He’d put on a smile and tell them he was proud of his service, that he’d serviced his country with honor and he was thankful to return to the civilian side of things for a change.

It was bullshit.

He was pissed. He lost an arm and half his mind to a war that recruited him young and idealistic right out of high school, when he was looking for a better life than what his neighborhood could offer, to put food on the table for his ma and sister. Pissed was understated.

He wouldn’t find himself in Steve’s group; of that he was certain. You don’t talk about those things after you leave the desert. Hell, you barely acknowledge them while you’re there. It’s just how it works. It’s how you deal with it. Bucky didn’t allow himself to consider whether his method was doing him much better.

Sam walked him through the common areas, the lounge space, even a room with a pretty decent sized television and a shelf filled with DVDs. It was a nice enough place. Quiet. But so was his apartment.

“Now this is the best room in the house.” Sam opened a door on his left, the hinges squeaking under an old wooden frame as he stepped inside.

Bucky followed in closely behind and was surprised when a subtle scent of pine brushed his senses. A small candle was burning at the center of a coffee table, surrounding it were a few couches, all with mismatched fabrics, laid upon a carpet that looked to have been donated from an estate sale. The walls around him were lined with shelves, though they were completely empty. Cob webs hung in the corners and dust lined the wood.

What caught his eye was a single cart at the edge of the room. It was filled with books, all in bright colors on the binding and tags from the Brooklyn Public Library piled high on top of one another, far beyond the confines of the cart itself.

“Y/n? Where you at, kid? We got a newbie!” Sam called, nudging Bucky in the side with a playful wink he did not return.

A figure suddenly jumped from behind the couch with a book in hand covered in layers of dust and crumbs. The sudden movement forced a flinch deep in Bucky’s chest, his breath held tight in his lungs, though he kept himself firm on the surface, like stone. It took a minute before he realized how tight he’d barreled his fist and he slowly released his grip before Sam could notice.

“Been looking for this one for over a year!” you exclaimed, holding up the book for Sam to see. You brushed off the cover, restoring the original vibrant hue of the artwork. “Can’t even imagine the overdue fees I’ve racked up on this sucker...”

There was a strange lightness in your voice Bucky didn’t expect, a tenderness and a sunshine that didn’t belong amongst the dark overcast of the men and women who occupied these rooms. It certainly sat in dangerous contrast to the gravel and stone in Bucky’s voice and the clouds that usually followed in his wake.

He glanced down at his clothes as you approached; a pair of old ripped jeans from a few years ago, a faded t-shirt, and his army jacket hung over his shoulders. Dull and raggedy, ripping at the seams.

But you? Dressed in the warmest shade of a red knit sweater, a gentle glow on your cheeks, a softness about your movements, you resembled the sort of sunset at the end of a highway one would stop the car to capture on film. Inviting. Tender and ethereal. Lovely.

You stepped closer and he noticed the knees of your jeans were covered in dust, your palms too. Messy in the pursuit of happiness, like a child on a playground. You didn’t seem to mind the dust as you brushed it off your knees, holding the found book close to your chest like an extension of your own heart.

“Blame it on Lang. He's always losing stuff around here,” Sam offered as you set the book on the cart. You started to laugh and swatted Sam in the arm. A pout perched on your lips, though it didn’t seem to last long. Your laugh was infectious.

Bucky swallowed as he watched you; the way your smile wrinkled up into your eyes as if a face like yours was drawn and designed to curve at the lips and push dimples to your cheeks. It shined into the bright hues in your irises and Bucky wondered if you would keep smiling like that forever, if it were possible that he could stare into the sun and not be burned; if instead, he could find warmth in its embrace.

His heart stammered, his breath shallow, but it wasn’t unpleasant like it had been on the busy streets. It was something new, a sensation he hadn’t had since before he signed his name to a cause that took his arm and his dignity.

Y/n, Sam had called you. It was a beautiful name. He didn’t know if he could even find things beautiful again after what he’d seen overseas. You were the first, he supposed.

He must have been staring too long, because your lips were moving to words he didn’t hear, and suddenly two pairs of eyes were on him. His heart skipped, frozen in embarrassment.

“This must be your first day of school,” you teased, extending your right hand to him.

Bucky stared down at it, heart pounding, and before Sam could politely tell you that Bucky didn’t really do that sort of thing, he pulled his hand from his pocket and shook it. You had a firmer grip than he was expecting, but still soft. Your fingers were like ice and it was a nice contrast to the swelter he felt under his jacket.

Sam raised an eyebrow, surprised by Bucky's sudden willingness to take the hand of a stranger, though thankfully he didn’t say anything. A shit eating grin curved up upon his lips and that, Bucky could have done without.

“Thought it was time I checked it out,” Bucky said, his voice a little dry. You let go of his hand and Bucky found he missed the contact almost instantly.

“Dragged him here by the skin of his teeth is more like it,” Sam interjected and Bucky’s ears burned red. He shot Sam a glare, who only shrugged, unbothered by his humiliation of his friend. “Been trying to get his sorry ass through the door for a few months now.”

You nodded, though your smile never wavered. Your eyes remained on Bucky, listening to Sam, but intently studying the lines on Bucky’s face. It left him feeling exposed, but somehow, even as his own gaze trailed to the floor, he didn’t mind you watching him like that, like maybe you found worth in what you saw. He adjusted his stance, suddenly remembering the startling absence on his left.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” you said, brushing Sam off in his teasing. “I’ve been volunteering at this place for a little over a year. We got good people here. I’m sure you’ll fit right in...” you paused, biting on your lip.

“Bucky,” he offered because he could tell you were waiting for it. You smiled at his name and a sense of pride burned bright in his chest. God, if he could just make you smile like that again...

“Bucky’s a cool name,” you grinned, though Sam rolled his eyes. “That short for something?”

“Don’t lie to the new kid, Y/n. We all know it’s corny as hell,” Sam interrupted playfully before Bucky could get a word in. You wacked Sam on the shoulder and Bucky felt the edges of his lips curve. It felt strange, achy, like he hadn’t done that in a while. Maybe he hadn’t.

“Buchanan,” Bucky answered, though he quickly added, “but my first name’s James. James Barnes.”

“Well, James Barnes,” you started, exchanging a knowing look with Sam that made Bucky’s stomach twist in knots, “I run a book club of sorts on Sunday evenings around six. You should swing by. We’re always looking for new members.”

“Y/n works at the Brooklyn library most days,” Sam explained. “We’re lucky to have her. Never thought I’d see so many tattooed men with biceps the size of my head sitting in a circle talking ‘bout books, but Y/n works magic. Everyone loves her. Helps that her book club is pretty unconventional.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Unconventional?”

Sam started to say more, but you pouted your lips at him and he left the words on the edge of his tongue. He held up his hands in defense and took a step back, returning the smile to your face.

“Don’t listen to him,” you said, laughing so sweetly Bucky was sure his knees might give out at any second. “It’s a good time, I promise. No pressure at all.”

Bucky nodded, considering his options. The idea of seeing you again could make the walk down to the VA worth it, but he wasn’t sold on the concept of sitting in a room full of ex-combat vets probably using a shared book as a proxy for a support group. He wondered if you had them reading something about PTSD or adjusting to civilian life or a memoir of some guy embellishing his time overseas to make a quick buck.

But he wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, so he asked, “what are you reading?”

You shrugged. “Depends on who you ask.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, confused.

“Just think about it,” you suggested as you unclicked the lock at the bottom of the cart. The front wheel was broken and you struggled to get an angle to move in the direction you pushed it. “I should head back to the library. It was really nice to meet you, Bucky. I’ll see you later, Sam.”

Bucky nodded, finding himself searching for something else to say, some kind of excuse to get you to stay longer, but came up empty. You smiled at him, all bright and starry eyed, and his knees felt weak again. Shit.

“Don’t let Stark talk your ear off on the way out,” Sam warned, a laugh in his voice.

“I think I know my boys around here by now, Samuel,” you teased back. Bucky couldn’t quite tell if it was a pang of jealousy in his stomach or an eagerness to be included. It was a strange rush of feelings he hadn’t tapped into in years; not necessarily unpleasant, but certainly unfamiliar.

You paused by the door, turning back and capturing Bucky’s eye one last time. “Sunday at six, alright? I’ll see you there.”

He didn’t say anything, but you seemed to take his silence as confirmation. You gave him a final wave before you disappeared into the hallway. He could hear the click of the broken front wheel on your cart echoing down the hall.

Bucky and Sam followed you out of the room and hung back by the makeshift library doors.

“What did I tell you!” Sam cheered, nudging Bucky hard enough on the side to knock him off his balance. He was too fixated on watching grumpy old men and stone-faced women pass by in the hallway with smiles on their faces as they saw you.

“It’s, uh, it’s not bad.” Bucky waited until you disappeared out the front doors and onto the busy sidewalks before he turned to Sam. He was watching him with a sort of I-told-you-so look that made Bucky want to slap the dimples straight from his face. “...what?”

“Nothing, man.” Sam shrugged, though there was something lingering in the smirk he wore, like maybe he knew something Bucky didn’t.

He didn’t care for that one bit.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

2K notes · View notes

shinidamachu · 3 years

Note

I know you’re probably tired of hearing about Trashahime but leaving aside the utter disgust we all feel about the “you know what ship” I still can’t help feeling hella salty how horribly they’re treating InuKag and their daughter. So let me get this straight - InuKag who are genuinely good people and helped so many people among their journey and are technically the heroes of feudal Japan have their daughter reduced to nothing but a jester slave? Oh but racist Pedomaru’s daughters get to reap the benefits of their labor and live in the lap of luxury supported and fawned over by all of InuKag’s friends and allies and even Kagome’s own family, meanwhile Moroha is alone, starving and her situation is treated as something to laugh at.

So what’s the moral here Sunrise is trying to teach us? That you, as a minority can be the most morally upright person and attempt to pull yourself up from your bootstraps after being a victim of discrimination of racism and STILL your racist abusers will benefit in the end. That the discrimination and prejudice that you faced was just a footnote for your abuser’s self-actualization and development arc, the racism you experienced was just a prop for them to learn how to be a little less human (or in this case demon I guess) garbage.

Yeah, go to hell Shitrise!

You know, funnily enough, I used to be more tired before? Up until the reveal happened it was hell and I think a huge part of it was due to the fact that most of the fandom was still clinging to the hope that Rin somehow wasn't the mom and therefore the sequel could still be taken serious.

But when episode 15 came, it was freeing. Don't get me wrong, what Sunrise did was despicable, but with it, came the undeniable confirmation that there was no way this already distateful show could be seen as canon. It was a pont of no return.

And people not only voiced their opinions against it, making me fell I wasn't alone in my indignation, but also stopped watching the show like I did since episode 4, making it easier for me to just ignore its existence. And I look forward to the day this anime ends so it can finally fall into oblivion where it belongs.

Until then, I have no problem hearing you guys rant about it to me. Because heaven knows it made me feel better to vent here on Tumblr when I still gave a crap, but I'm also aware not everyone feels safe to do that on their own blogs for fear of backlash.

That being said, everything you just said is spot on and precisely why I, as an Inuyasha fan and Inukag shipper, refuse to give this pathetic excuse of a sequel the light of day. I mean, why bother? What am I getting out of it? Nothing fanfiction can't give me a thousand times better and for free, that's for sure and certain.

My advice? The same as always. Let. It. Die. Do not, in any way, engage with their official social media. Do not give them your money by buying official Inuyasha merch. Do not give it views anywhere. Turn your attention to the original story and give your support to the talented fandom artists and writers who actually love Inuyasha, its characters and the messages it tried to pass on because they are the ones who truly deserve it.

Most importantly: don't let a What If sequel ruin the magic of Inuyasha for you, don't let it sour your fandom experience. In the end of the day, it's not canon and it will never be. I promise you it's not worth the headache.

We already made all the noise we could. Now I think radio silence is the way to go.

#Anti Sessrin #Anti Sunrise #Anti Yashahime #Sidmailing

57 notes · View notes

socheckitout-mikey · 3 years

Note

Can I request a Johnny x soc reader where they hide their relationship and suddenly realize they really dont want to so now they have to adjust

heya birdie! i only really write hc’s so that’s the format they’re in. also, i kinda focused it more heavily on the reader meeting the gang, bc johnny would be pretty set on her meeting them since they’re pretty much his family. i hope you enjoy what i came up with! - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Johnny Dating a Soc Reader and Hiding their Relationship Hc’s:

° None of the gang seemed to pick up on the fact that Johnnycake is dating you, and honestly, Johnny is pretty happy about that. Boii get’s teased enough as it is whenever he does open his mouth, he doesn’t need to be flooded with an onslaught of attention in regards to you.

° It’s just not Johnny’s style to be propped on top of a roof of a building, yowling about how he’s together with you. That’s more of Two-bit’s style. It’s not born out of embarrassment of dating you, someone who’s in a different social class altogether, it’s more over the fact that attention tends to overwhelm Johnny since he’s a raging introvert.

° In fact, Johnny is incredibly ecstatic to have you as his s/o despite the ample amount of insecurities he has about himself and his social status. He considers himself a lucky guy to have bagged someone as amazing and understanding as you. You balance a lot of his anxieties and insecurities out with patience and reassurance: Two things that we all know Johnny desperately lacks outside of the gang.

° Johnny tends to get effortlessly embarrassed whenever the spotlight is scorching on his form. So when you had told him you wanted to keep your relationship a secret, a part of him was incredibly relieved, but not before his mind started racing madly over the negative avenues for your reasoning.

° That other part of him felt ashamed of himself, especially because he primarily thought you were doing this out of the fact you were embarrassed of what others would think of you if they discovered the pair of you were dating.

° Yet you swiftly shutdown those ridiculous avenues of thought, ensuring him that you cared for him deeply and that societies prim and proper nose wouldn’t make you change who you loved, - even if it was upturned -. Similarly to Johnnycake, you relinquished from attention, the sheer thought of all these eyes being on you both made your skin crawl grotesquely.

° And thus began the comfortable pinnacle of your relationship with Johnny Cade. There was never much pressure, the pair of you free in the lack of obligation of speaking about your relationship to anyone else. It was beautiful while it lasted.

° You see, the gang weren’t blind. Soon they began to notice a spring in Johnny’s step, how he spoke a little more, how he disappeared frequently. The amount of times he’d led the gang on wild goose chases across town to lose them somewhere along the way to yours drove him insane!

° Teasing became an ample part of his life, the gang eventually guessing that he was dating someone. And although his crimson cheeks probably gave him away, his mouth never did. But Dally was hot onto the younger boy with a knowing smirk because Johnny may’ve slipped it loose once or twice whilst the guy was drunk: Sometimes, miraculously, Dally remembered his drunk endeavors.

° And your friends... fickle they were! Figured it out two weeks into your relationship with Johnny. Though fortunately for you they were trustworthy folk, they never pushed the topic, ready for whenever you were ready to tell them on your own terms.

° It was incredibly comical when you and Johnny met one night, both wild eyed and slightly breathless. The pair of you were sat in your car, the soft drawl of the radio humming whimsically in the background as Johnny sucked the life out of his tenth cancer stick of the night.

° “We gotta talk-” the paid of you mumbled out desperately in unison, the anxiety shivering in your tones made the pair of you spooked. Now that you look back on it, you laugh.

° “You first-” a unison it was once more and Johnny couldn’t help but crack a wry toothy grin before throwing his cigarette butt out the window.

° “Okay, you shoot first, Y/N.” Johnny stated in a shaky tone, his stammering long gone. You were one of the only people he felt real comfortable talking with.

° “I-I think we should tell our friends, because my friends are figurin’ it out.”

° And that night the pair of you stayed up till the early hours devising a plan on how best to break this to your friends.

° Johnny decided he’d need to pull up his bootstraps and meet your pals first, considering they were the nicest of the bunch. After all, the gang were notorious for being nasty to people they didn’t know, though laid off once they did get to know people. It was precautionary.

° And him meeting your friends went spectacularly! They loved Johnny so much and had nothing but great things to say about him. It was a bit of an ego boost for the kid, albeit incredibly overwhelming. He was still grinning in the vacant lot that night when Dally sat with the kid, fully sober for once.

° “Dal,” Johnny had hummed through the night air, shaking softly as nerves wracked his guts, “I gotta come clean about somethin’.” Did he have to say it so corny?

° “Shoot, Johnny-kid, what’s up?” Dally stated, seriousness taking him by the reins.

° And out it all came...

° Dally was ecstatic to say the least, taunting came out in boisterous fits and soon enough he’d wrestled Johnny into the Curtis house, gloating about how Johnny had snatched himself someone fancy.

° No one believed him initially, but then Johnny told them your name and when I tell you Soda’s jaw slammed onto the floor, it really did. They were so happy for him! And with happiness came the wild teasing of six boisterous boys, all eager to meet the person who’d won Johnny’s attention.

° Johnny was on edge about you meeting the gang, considering that you’d seen some of their antics in person from afar. He assured you that after awhile, they’d lay off; but for now, you’d be like that new attraction at the zoo. You hated that analogy but it made you laugh.

° You’d pretty much prepared yourself for the absolute worst, and although you were scared stiff, you sure didn’t show it. It made Johnny admire you more because you took everything the boys gave you in stride: I mean, it wasn’t like you weren’t a stranger to how teenage boys acted, after all, you did go to school with a whole bunch of em’.

° Darry was the most intimidating besides Dallas, due to his stature and height, but also because of that notorious icy look in his eye. He’d firmly shook your hand, muttering a brief “Hi, I’m Darry,” before slinking back into the kitchen to finish cooking dinner. Darry was a tough nut to crack, something Johnny had told you not to take personally: In fact, Darry really liked you from the moment you walked through the door because you were precisely what Johnny needed in a partner. You were also a good kid, something he hoped eventually would rub off on the other boys, but he wasn’t exactly expecting miracles.

° Sodapop was wild eyed and dreamy as ever, albeit just as dirty as the other boys. He flirted with you every chance he could get, eliciting Johnny to wise off to him; something that made the gang both gawk and simper like wolves.

° “What? You’ve never heard him speak before?” You’d quipped back wittily. You were also weary on how witty you were, seeing as you were typically seen as someone out of their leagues, you didn’t wanna come off as preppy, like you looked down on them. The truth was, you didn’t look down on them. After all, they were important people to Johnny, so they deserved as much respect as anyone else.

° Steve was cocky and smart mouthed, something you had witnessed all too often at school: In fact, you were pretty sure you’d been on the receiving end of his callous words more than once. You took everything he said with a grain of salt. He was also a little intense to begin with, joining in on Soda, Two and Dally flirting with you, but only in the sense to get you to be severely embarrassed.

° And Johnny was almost defensive of you, swatting away the gang and wising off to them to cut it out and leave you alone. He should’ve known better than to rise to their bait, because after all, that’s what they were really looking for; to get him going all red in the face.

° “You guys are nasty! I swear, ain’t nobody was this bad when Evie came round...”

° The minute you’d walked through the front door, Two-bit was hot on your heels, with Dally in tow, attempting to make you laugh up a storm. Well, he did, because it’s Two-bit after all: Who couldn’t that guy make laugh? His flirting would’ve been smooth if not for him having hiccupped halfway through his sentence.

° “Hey, sweet cheeks, why don’t you ditch Johnny for a real good lookin’ man like me, huh sugar?”

° “If the mirrors the one who told you that, then it’s lying.” You quipped back skillfully, more than comfortable taking on someone as wise-cracking as Two. The insult seemed to break the ice somewhat because Two didn’t take anything personally. In fact, all the boys thought it was pretty funny.

° Dally was the one that genuinely terrified you. The lines between a hood and a greaser weren’t present in him after all: Dallas Winston was as bad as they got, like Tim Shepard, and if it weren’t for him being Johnny’s buddy, you’d have avoided him at all costs. You weren’t sold short on his little show at the beginning, flirting with you, pulling on your hair like you were his kid sister or something... Dally found every way to irritate the hell out of you.

° “C’mon now, Dal! Cut that shit out!” Johnny snapped particularly at one point, but he meant business: Johnny never really wised off to anyone, so it took some guts for him to go out for Dally like that. Dally just grinned at him silly before ruffling the kids hair. “Alright, alright! Who knew you dug this one so much, eh?”

° Ponyboy, although quiet, was probably your most favorite of the gang. You really weren’t a stranger to him at school, often having some classes together with him. So it was somewhat refreshing to see someone you knew a little well in class. Every so often you’d catch the kid looking at you apologetically from the dining room whenever Steve or Two would say something that would’ve made anyone else run for the hills.

° “You know, if you keep goin’ like that, Johnny-cakes’ heads gonna burst into flames.”

° Whenever the boys got too rambunctious, Darry would pipe up from the doorway, reminding the boys that they needed to tone it down. After all, they’d promised Johnny they’d be on their best behavior, which in fact, that whole promise had been thrown out the window long ago. You’d just accepted it at this point.

° Eventually nighttime curled over Tulsa Oklahoma, and it was time for you to head on home. As soon as you and Johnny got down to the lot, he was intent on apologizing for their awful behavior, absolutely certain that you wouldn’t wanna be with a bum like him that hung out with trash like that.

° “What’re you apologizin’ for? I like em’. I mean, they’re awful, but...” You grinned at your boyfriend, linking fingers with him.

° “Did Two sneak you some booze?!” Johnny was animated, his voice cracking as it reached an octave that it hadn’t before.

° It did take awhile for the gang to accept you as Johnny’s girlfriend, but that didn’t matter to you as the cat was out of the bag: Outing your relationship to both of your friend groups was probably the best avenue to have gone down, since it was never in either of your guys’s nature to have just shown up to school one day holding hands and all that mushy galore!

° Everyone at school made a huge deal out of you guys dating for about a week until the next ‘crazy’ rumor swept their attention. Although you were still subject to some odd looks and some remarks, the pair of you just ignored them.

° The most the pair of you would do in public was hold hands or Johnny’s arm was around your shoulders. Subtle things. He got a whole ear full from the gang about how whipped he was. Johnny just didn’t dig the whole possessive thing that Dally was into. He didn’t need the whole world watching him make out with you!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: open!

#johnnycade #johnny cade #johnny cade imagines #johnny cade headcanons #johnny cade x reader #the outsiders #the outsiders imagines #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders johnny cade #the outsiders johnny cade headcanons #the outsiders johnny cade imagines #the outsiders johnny cade x reader #hope you enjoyed them!#mae

361 notes · View notes

born-for-eachother · 3 years

Note

I’ll just rant to you like I did Shinidamachu because season 2 is almost upon us and I still need to let out my frustration. I still can’t help feeling hella salty how horribly they’re treating InuKag and their daughter. So let me get this straight - InuKag who are genuinely good people and helped so many people among their journey and are technically the heroes of feudal Japan have their daughter reduced to nothing but a jester slave? Oh but racist Pedomaru’s daughters get to reap the benefits of their labor and live in the lap of luxury supported and fawned over by all of InuKag’s friends and allies and even Kagome’s own family, meanwhile Moroha is alone, starving and her situation is treated as something to laugh at.

Yeah, go to hell Shitrise!

Hello! Forgive me for the super late reply btw! Yes you're welcome to come rant anytime!!

It really is sad that Moroha hasn't known the full extent of her parents' impact in Feudal Japan. Her mother is a powerful priestess who defeated one of the strongest demons, the sacred jewel, time travelled and healed so many wounded souls!!! Including the soul of her father, who grew up an outcast but found acceptance all thanks to Kagome and his found family!! Moroha's parents are legends, and should be regarded as such! Sesshomaru didn't deserve any more than what he got in the end; seeing Rin grow up safely and continuing to take care of her.

Sunrise didn't need to fix something that wasn't broken. But sadly, they bit off way more than they can chew and decided to make Sesshomaru a father to half demon twins??? The same breed of demon that his brother is? The reason he wanted to kill him on the spot just for breathing?! That Sesshomaru?! Its downright disgusting how the twins even came to be and no, Rin absolutely was not 18 when she gave birth lmao.

#anti sessrin #anon #asks #anti yashahime

24 notes · View notes

the-writer-nerd-ro · 3 years

Text

Part 1 of my HDL birthday fic. The other part will be out in the next few days

Birthday Plans

D: Any fun plans for today?

It was seven in the morning and Dewey was sitting in the cockpit of the Sunchaser on his birthday. Della was bringing coffee but Dewey was still a little tired. There was a different kind of tiredness that had settled in his bones as he thought about spending his birthday away from his brothers. He didn’t expect either of them to be awake but he thought he would shoot them a text before he started flying.

H: I wish. I have a bunch of tests tomorrow so I have to study all day today. But tomorrow after my tests, my friends and I are going out for belated birthday drinks.

D: Tell the bartender it’s your birthday and get free belated birthday drinks

H: I’m not going to lie, it’s against the JWG

D: You’re 24. You’re not a Junior Woodchuck anymore.

H: You’re right.

H: I’m a Senior Woodchuck.

L: Do you guys ever sleep???

D: It’s 7 AM

L: Yeah, it’s 7 AM, you should be asleep

D: What are your plans today, Lou?

L: Boyd is visiting after I get off work and we’re going to spend the rest of the day together

H: Aww, adorable.

D: Sappy

L: Anyway, what are you doing today, Dewdrop?

D: Doing a flight with mom and then cake with some of the fam later

H: Have fun, eat a slice of cake for me.

D: Will do

L: Your present should be in the mail. Yours too, Hue.

D: You didn’t have to get me anything

L: Yeah, but I feel bad that we can’t be together today. It feels weird.

D: It does feel weird

H: I miss you guys

Dewey set down his phone, blinking back tears. He hadn’t wanted to get emotional this morning but he was having a hard time holding it together if Huey was throwing around, “I miss you,” and Louie was commenting on how weird things were.

To avoid addressing his emotions Dewey found a gif of a dancing baby that said happy birthday. That was enough to start a gif chain that moved them away from heavy emotions.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Della asked, offering her son a cup of coffee, and taking in his bummed-out expression.

“Yeah, just texting Huey and Louie.”

Della nodded somberly, “It’s hard being apart from them, isn’t it?”

Dewey was trying his hardest not to get choked up.

“I shouldn’t be so dramatic. They’re just a few hours away, and we’re meeting up in a couple of weeks after Huey’s done with finals.”

“But today’s your birthday. It’s okay if you miss them extra hard today. Your feelings are valid.”

“It’s our first birthday apart,” Dewey whispered.

“I know how hard that can be,” Dell said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Mom? Does it get easier?”

“A little. But the time apart makes the time together so much better. And you get to do one barrel roll in the Sunchaser on your birthday.”

“I should get to do 24 barrel rolls because it’s my 24th birthday.”

“Don’t push it, buddy.”

Huey had a coffee and an English muffin (toasted, lightly buttered) and was one flashcard away from a breakdown. He was exhausted, which was not the way you wanted to spend your 24th Birthday.

Everything was always happening all at once. Huey probably wouldn’t have remembered it was his birthday until Dewey had texted him earlier. He’d fussed about lying to an imaginary bartender but had had no qualms lying to his brothers. There were no friends taking him out for belated birthday drinks. No one here knew him intimately enough to know his birthday.

Texts would roll in all day from the family and friends who he desperately missed, wishing him a pleasant day and asking him about his fabricated plans. He was almost in tears every time he furthered this delusion that he had people here, that he was not just a loser alone on his birthday. How pathetic would that be? When Dewey was with their family and Louie was with his boyfriend. Huey’s chest ached about the fact he was the only one alone.

Fenton was the only one who called him out on his lie.

F: What’re you doing for your birthday, Huey?

H: I have to study today but I’m getting drinks with some friends tomorrow.

F: Oh, nice.

F: So you finally made some friends over there?

Huey wished that he hadn’t ranted to his mentor about how incredibly difficult it was to find time to make friends.

H: ...No

F: So who are you drinking with?

H: Nobody

F: Drinking alone, then? Maybe call a car to get home.

H: I’m not drinking alone

F: So you just lied to me?

H: Not just you?

Fenton stopped responding for a few minutes and Huey felt devastated. He hadn’t wanted to lie to his loved ones but he hadn’t wanted them to pity him either. And now he had to deal with guilt on top of all the exhaustion.

F: So you’re all alone on your birthday?

H: I guess I am

F: I see why you wouldn’t want to talk about that

F: But you didn’t need to lie

H: It’s too late now, I already told everyone that I’d be drinking with friends tomorrow.

F: Well, I don’t have any plans tomorrow. Team Science reunion?

H: Team Science reunion

Huey felt a bit better about his birthday, grateful that Fenton had reached out. He still missed his brothers though. He decided to text them both one more time today before he went back to studying, though he decided to text them separately this time.

H: Have a safe flight, Dewey.

D: Thanks, bro. Good luck studying

H: Thanks

He decided to text Louie later since he’d been tired and he wasn’t fun to talk to when he was tired. And then, swamped with studying, he promptly forgot until dinner.

H: Hey! I hope you had a good day at work and that you and Boyd have fun today. A responsible amount of fun.

L: Lol I’ll tell Boyd that the arson is canceled

H: No arson, but you could still probably make S’mores. Boyd’s really good at that.

L: I get it, you’re both Senior Woodchucks. Hey, do something nice for yourself today, okay? Don’t just study yourself to death.

H: ...Okay. Thanks, Lou

“Who’re you texting?” Boyd asked, already making himself comfortable on Louie’s couch.

“Huey. He told us to have fun. And to not commit arson.”

“I wasn’t gonna commit arson on purpose, were you going to commit arson?”

“Well, it’s my birthday, and you did bring cupcakes and candles.”

“Mm, those are more fun if you blow them out instead of letting them burn. How’s Huey doing anyway? Fenton just texted me about him.”

“I’m afraid he’s overworking himself,” Louie admitted, “But that’s just Huey’s nature. I'm not especially surprised.”

"That's the vibe I got too. Fenton asked me if I wanted to go get drinks with him and Huey tomorrow so that he doesn't have to be alone."

“Whoa,” Louie said, eyes widening.

“What?”

“Huey must’ve lied about having plans with his school friends tomorrow.”

“Aw. Well, you would’ve done the same thing. Huey probably just didn’t want you guys to worry. A classic Louie move.”

Louie frowned deeply.

"Hey, babe, do you ever get the sense you're doing the wrong thing?"

"Elaborate?"

"Well, I took this internship, to you know, pull myself up by my bootstraps. Be my own person."

"I'm really proud of you for that."

"Yeah, well… Being my own person sucks. I've always been one in a set of three. And it feels like recently someone ripped the "Do not separate" sticker off and I hate it."

"Hm… Do you want to come and get drinks with me tomorrow?"

"Getting wasted won't help. I've tried and alcohol doesn't fill that hole."

"I know, I've carried you home before. But I mean do you want to go get drinks with me and your brother? We could surprise Huey."

"Hey… That's not such a bad idea. I need to make a call."

“I’ll light your cupcakes on fire,” Boyd said cheerfully.

“No fair, starting the arson without me,” Louie laughed, as he pulled up the texts from the morning and tapping on Dewey’s number.

“Oh, hey! Hey, Louie, hold on, guys Louie’s on the phone, we gotta sing again!”

Louie laughed, cringing a little in anticipation of the awkwardness as his family began a staticky and muffled rendition of Happy Birthday.

“Thanks, guys, means a lot to me. Dewey, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure, sure, let me just step outside,” A moment later Dewey’s voice came back, “What’s up?”

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh, not sure, why?”

“Well, it seems like Hubert lied about his birthday plans. Apparently, there were never any friends he was gonna go drinking with, so Fenton decided to drop by and he wanted to bring Boyd and Boyd thought it was a good idea if I tagged along. So what if we surprise Huey? He’s been working really hard at med school- hell, we’ve all been working really hard. What do you say?”

Dewey was silent for a minute and then Louie heard a laugh (Or was it a sob?) on the other end.

“Man, I’ve missed you guys so much. I’d love to do that. Let’s set something up, mm-kay?”

“Yeah. Boyd! Text Fenton and tell him that me and Dewey are gonna come surprise Huey, we’ll figure it out from there.”

“Okee dokee,” Boyd said cheerfully, putting an alarming amount of candles (probably 24) in one cupcake.

“I have to go, Dewey, I’m afraid that Boyd is about to set my apartment on fire without me, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow! Enjoy your fire hazard and your boyfriend.”

“Those are the same thing, Dewey.”

“Then enjoy your fire boyfriend. Boyfire? I dunno.”

“He is pretty fire, isn’t he? Bye, Dewey.”

“Bye!”

“Boyd if you light that you’ll coat that cupcake in so much wax it’ll be disgusting and that’s just a waste of a good cupcake.”

“Then I’ll eat that one. I’m an android I’m not as picky about what is and isn’t cupcake.”

“Sometimes, fortunately not often but sometimes, you remind me so much of Dewey that it’s terrifying.”

“Do you still love me?” Boyd asked, squinting a little and laser lighting the candles. As Louie had assumed it quickly became a soupy, fiery mess.

“More than words can express,” Louie said, capturing Boyd’s lips in a kiss after extinguishing the cupcake.

“Did you make a wish, baby?” Boyd asked, holding Louie close by the hips.

“I don’t need to, everything is going to be okay. In fact, I think that everything is going to be… Perfect.”

“Happy Birthday…”

#ducktales 2017 #ducktales fanfic #aged up hdlw #hdl #happy birthday hdl #huey dewey and louie #louyd #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #della duck #fenton crackshell cabrera #boyd gearloose

28 notes · View notes

chaoticpirates · 4 years

Text

Wine and dine (Jack Sparrow x Barbossa!Reader)

Basically a rewrite of the dinner scene in Potc 1 that includes reader. Might do a part 2 if anyone's interested

You were sitting quietly in your father's quarters with all the food you could dream of lying in front of you, yet you weren't hungry. You gaze was fixed on the ocean outside the window, you weren't looking at anything in particular, you were just thinking. You were thinking about who you always thought about when left alone, Jack Sparrow. He was probably dead, rotting away on that godforsaken piece of land your father left him on, you would neverforgive him for that. Jack at least deserved a grave. You had a dream one night that Jack was on the ship with you, holding you just like he used to. You woke up that morning sobbing.

"What's worrying you darlin?" Barbossa asked. You hadn't even noticed him sitting down. You blinked and sat back in your chair, fighting the urge to glare at him.

"You know exactly what's worrying me, father" You snarled. Both of you had argued for hours over that bloody mutiny, before and after he'd done it. He was furious when he found you asleep in Jacks bed that night.

He was silent for a second and you braced yourself for an onslaught of excuses and reasonings. However he only sighed, shaking his head in defeat.

"The girl is joining us for dinner tonight" He muttered. Oh right, the Turner girl. Bootstrap Bill's only child. The cure for the curse who even came with the last piece of gold they needed.

"I've given her one of your dresses. One of the ones you never wear"

"One of them ones you got me? Good riddance"

At that moment, the girl was pushed into the space. She looked nervous, eyes darting around, only lingering on the food. She had every right to be scared. Kidnapped from her home in the dead of night by pirates. Poor girl. Your father told her to sit at the top of the table so she was flanked by both you and him. You lazily picked at the food on your plate, you only really ate out of necessity nowadays. You did put on a better show than the captain who watched the girl eat intently, no doubt wishing he could taste like she could. The girl - Elizabeth you think her name was - delicately used her cutlery to cut herself tiny pieces.

"No need for formalities here Miss. You must be hungry" He offered. She studied him for a moment before digging into the feast before her like a man starved. She was a man starved.

He offered her a piece of bread which she snatched off him in a hurry. He glanced at you across the table, catching your eye just as you took a bite of a bright red apple. You only raised an eyebrow in response.

He then offered her wine which she also took without question.

When he offered her an apple, something clicked in her pretty little head.

"It's poison" She whispered, horror crossing her face. You almost wanted to chuckle at her naivety.

"There's no use killing you now, Miss Turner" He replied. Jack the monkey jumped onto your shoulder, the little bugger made you jump slightly. You gave him a quick scratch under the chin then he jumped away.

Your father began to explain the gold and the curse to Elizabeth. You watched her closely, she seemed hooked on his every word. Like a child listening to a story from their father just back from a trip, you used to love your fathers stories. As he began to walk around, she slipped a knife under her napkin. You smirked, would be quite clever. If only she was paying attention.

She tried to run, he chased her. She plunged a knife into his chest, he pulled it right back out. You admired her resolve, desperation is one hell of a motivator. She tried to make a run for the deck and you rolled your eyes. Here comes the horror show. You heard her screaming as Barbossa watched from the door, a bottle of wine in his hand. You turned to look out the window again, absently biting at your apple every so often. This should be over soon. Everything should be over soon.

"You best start believing in ghost stories Miss Turner. You're in one"

If you rolled your eyes any harder they would fall out of your skull.

Elizabeth burst back into the room, eyes wide and panting heavily. You picked up a goblet of wine and walked over to offer it to her. She flinched as you approached her.

"I'm not going to hurt ya." You assured "Here, drink it. For the nerves."

She hesitantly took the wine from you and sipped at it, watching you intently over the rim. You sighed and held your hand out to help her up. A beam of moonlight hit your skin and her eyes widened.

"You're... You're not like them"

"No Miss Turner. I am burdened with a different curse"

She took your hand and stood up. You gestured to the table and you both sat down again. The food wasn't as good as it was when it was first served but you picked at it anyway. Elizabeth was still shaking while she sipped at her wine. Silence fell for a few minutes.

"How?" She asked. You looked at her as a prompt to go on "How are you not cursed?"

"They wouldn't let me near that bloody gold. Said I was hysterical. I'd like to see them go through everything I did and come out sane. I never even seen the cove they keep it in." You explained

"So why are you even on the ship?" She questioned, confusion covered her face "You could leave"

"Captain Barbossa is my father, Miss Turner"

She looked shocked then she seemed to understand. She took another sip of wine, a longer one this time. You decided it was time for some questions of your own.

"Do you have a father Miss Turner?"

"Yes. He cares very deeply for me, I'm sure he's terribly worried." She nodded. You knew it. She didn't look a thing like Bootstrap. You sat back in your chair and drummed your fingers against the arm of it. Silence fell over you both once again.

"What's your curse?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you were burdened with a different curse, what is it?"

"Love. Love is my curse." You sighed. Her brow furrowed together in confusion.

"Love is joyous is it not? However could it be a curse?" She questioned. You chuckled humourlessly and finished your wine in one gulp.

"Tell me Miss. Turner, what do you know of Captain Jack Sparrow?"

#jack sparrow x reader #jack sparrow imagine #potc imagine #johnny depp imagine

403 notes · View notes