#IT'S EXACTLY 11:42 PM

[kotofeden]

Happy unnecessary feelings day pals 💖💖💖

[shadyfestivalperfection]

To The Winter Soldier~ Oneshot

Summery: Y/N’s brother was one of the Winter Soldier’s victims. Years later, she finds herself writing anonymous letters to Bucky—letters he somehow receives. He writes back. Neither of them knows who the other is… until they meet.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Note: All characters except Bucky are mine!

Warnings: Smut

||Main Masterlist|| ||Oneshot Masterlist||

Flashback: Warsaw, Poland – 11:42 PM

The streets of Warsaw were quiet in the way only European cities could be in late autumn—wet stone sidewalks reflecting scattered lamplight, the fog low and heavy like a held breath. James Buchanan Barnes—at least, what was left of him—moved without a sound down a side alley off Krucza Street.

In this moment, he wasn’t James.

He was the Winter Soldier.

Emotionless. Controlled. Programmed.

His breath didn’t fog in the cold. His eyes didn’t register the beauty of the old city. His body moved like a weapon mid-flight—fluid, silent, deadly.

Objective: Terminate target. No witnesses. No deviation.

He paused just beyond a narrow gap between buildings, his dark tactical uniform melting into the night. The metal plates of his left arm were covered, but still glinted faintly beneath the sleeve as he raised a pair of thermal binoculars.

The man was exactly where the file said he’d be.

Caleb L/N. Age 27.

Hydra’s briefing had been brief. Caleb worked in cybersecurity, was flagged as a low-risk asset who had stumbled too close to a buried Hydra archive while decoding black-market data. He had passed the info to a Polish whistleblower before it could be contained.

Now, he was loose.

And loose ends were to be tied.

The Soldier didn’t question. He didn’t hesitate. He moved.

Caleb was walking alone, clutching a plastic bag with takeaway food, oblivious to the death tailing him from the rooftops. He stopped beneath a streetlamp to check his phone, brows furrowing.

One step. Another.

The Soldier dropped silently behind him, feet absorbing the impact. Caleb didn’t even turn before the strike came—a swift, brutal blow to the back that sent him to the ground gasping, the bag flying from his hands.

“Wha—” Caleb coughed, rolling onto his side, blinking through the daze. His voice cracked. “What the hell—?”

The Soldier said nothing.

He raised the silenced pistol.

Caleb’s eyes locked on his. Wide. Disbelieving. “Wait—please—don’t—”

The shot was muffled. The sound of finality.

The body crumpled.

The Soldier stared down, unmoving, watching until the chest stopped rising. Then he bent, retrieved the phone, and checked for surveillance.

No witnesses.

No mistakes.

He vanished into the shadows like he’d never been there.

The only evidence of Caleb L/N’s final moments was a slowly spreading stain on the cobblestones and a half-crushed paper container of pierogi leaking steam into the night.

Brooklyn, New York – Present Day

The dreams never changed.

Bucky woke with a start, sheets damp, body rigid as if still caught mid-mission. The image was always the same: a man’s eyes staring up at him. Not angry. Just… confused. Pleading.

Sometimes he heard the words.

“Please.”

Sometimes he saw the blood again.

He rolled out of bed before the echo could settle in his chest and paced to the window of the safe house Steve had found for him. The room was small, plain. Quiet. But not even silence could outpace ghosts.

He rubbed at his temple and sat on the edge of the couch, trying to breathe normally.

Caleb L/N.

He remembered his name now.

He remembered the moment they gave him the file, called him a threat, labeled the target. He remembered thinking—before they wiped it all clean again—that Caleb had kind eyes.

The kind of eyes that didn’t deserve a bullet.

But Bucky’s hands had delivered it anyway.

Because that was who he was made to be.

He leaned forward, face in his hands, and whispered through his teeth. “I’m sorry.”

But there was no one to hear.

Brooklyn, 3:15 AM

She wasn’t expecting the memory to hit her like this.

It was a candle. That was all it took. One stupid scent—amber and pine—flickering on her windowsill like the universe wanted to see if she was still bleeding.

She was.

It’d been four years since the government confirmed her brother’s death was the result of a Hydra mission.

Four years since she got access to the file.

And she still couldn’t sleep through the night.

She sat at her kitchen table, robe wrapped tight, eyes stinging as she stared down at a blank piece of paper. Her fingers twitched around the pen. The same pen she’d used to write to Caleb before his job took him overseas. Letters he never got to read.

Now she had something to say to the man who’d taken him away.

Y/N gritted her teeth, then finally began to write.

To the Winter Soldier,

You don’t know me. But I know you.

I’ve seen your face. I’ve watched that grainy footage more times than I want to admit. You were expressionless. Empty. You didn’t hesitate when you pulled the trigger. My brother was carrying takeout, probably worried he was going to be late to meet his friend for dinner. You ended that. You ended him.

I want to believe that you’re not that man anymore. Everyone says you were brainwashed. A puppet. A weapon.

But I’m still angry. And I don’t know where else to put it.

So I’m putting it here. With you.

She stared at it.

Then slowly signed her name.

—Y/N L/N

Three Days Later – Avengers Compound Mailroom

Bucky didn’t usually check the mail addressed to him. He never got any. Not until recently. Not until people found out he was alive. Most of it was hate. Some of it was apology. He didn’t read either.

But this envelope caught his eye.

No return address. Just his name. Carefully printed.

He opened it.

And the words hit like a blow to the ribs.

Caleb.

Takeout.

Please.

The letter fell into his lap. He stared at the name at the bottom.

Y/N L/N.

He remembered now. Her photo had been in the target’s file. Sister. Civilian. Innocent.

He hadn’t thought of her since.

But now—now he couldn’t think of anything else.

___

Y/N didn’t expect a response.

She certainly didn’t expect it to come back three days later in a matching envelope, her own handwriting on the front.

Inside, beneath her own creased letter, was a second note. Short. Clipped. Like someone who wasn’t sure how to speak anymore.

Y/N,

I remember him. I remember the street, the way he looked at me before I pulled the trigger. I remember that I hesitated for half a second. But not long enough.

There is no version of this where I deserve your forgiveness. But if writing helps, I’ll read every word.

—James Barnes

She read it again.

And again.

And this time, she cried not because she was angry.

But because somewhere in the wreckage of war and Hydra and grief, someone who should have been her enemy had chosen to listen.

Brooklyn – One Week Later

Y/N didn’t plan to write again.

She’d told herself it was a one-time thing. A single letter to scream into a void she didn’t think had ears.

But the void had answered.

And now it wasn’t a void anymore.

His words echoed in her head for days. Not because they were eloquent—far from it. But because they were honest. Unpolished. Unpracticed. Like someone who’d forgotten how to speak and was learning again, one word at a time.

There is no version of this where I deserve your forgiveness. But if writing helps, I’ll read every word.

Y/N folded the letter neatly, then unfolded it. Again. Again. Until the edges were worn and the center split like old skin.

Forgiveness wasn’t even on the table.

But if he meant what he said—if this man, this assassin, was willing to carry a piece of her grief for a while—then maybe she had more to say.

So she picked up the pen.

James,

I didn’t think you’d respond. I didn’t think you could.

I read your note a dozen times. I won’t lie—it made me sick at first. That you remember the street. That you remember him. It’s strange. You’re the last person to ever see my brother alive. You know something about his final moments I never will.

I hate that. And I hate that I’m curious.

What was he like? In those seconds, I mean. Was he scared? Was he in pain? Did he try to fight you?

Please don’t soften it for me. I think I need to know.

She didn’t sign her name this time.

She didn’t need to.

Avengers Compound – Bucky’s Quarters

Bucky didn’t touch the letter for a full day.

He left it on his desk like it was a bomb that might go off if he looked at it too long. He wasn’t sure why it rattled him so deeply—he’d killed hundreds. Thousands, if he counted the ones he couldn’t remember.

But Caleb wasn’t just a file anymore.

He had a sister.

And now her voice lived in Bucky’s mind.

He finally opened the envelope late at night, under the sterile hum of his desk lamp. He read the letter slowly, then again. He didn’t cry—he didn’t know how to anymore—but something curled in his chest. Heavy. Familiar.

Guilt had made a permanent home there.

He reached for a pen.

Not because he wanted to.

Because he owed her answers.

Y/N,

He was surprised. That’s what I remember most. Not fear—not at first. Just confusion. Like he didn’t understand why someone would hurt him.

Then came the pleading. It didn’t last long. I was trained to be quick.

No. He didn’t fight me. He looked like he wanted to talk. But I didn’t give him a chance.

I remember his eyes. They were light brown. They reminded me of my sister’s. You probably have the same ones.

I’m sorry you have to carry this. If I could take it back, I would.

—James

___

The letters continued—not daily, but often enough to become a rhythm neither of them understood. Y/N wrote when the weight of memory pressed too hard. Bucky answered with a kind of quiet reverence, never making excuses, only offering fragments of truth.

Did you ever wonder what kind of man you would’ve been if Hydra hadn’t taken you?

Every day. I think about the version of me who died in 1945. I think he might’ve had a dog. A little apartment. Maybe a record collection. I hope he liked jazz.

I grew up thinking monsters lived in closets or under the bed. Now I know they wear uniforms and follow orders. Did you feel like a monster?

No. I felt like a shadow. Like I didn’t exist at all. That was worse.

Do you believe in redemption?

Not for me. But I believe in trying.

Brooklyn – Late December

Y/N sat on the fire escape, bundled in a blanket, watching snow flurry down like ashes. The city looked peaceful in a way she rarely trusted. Caleb would’ve loved this view. He always said New York looked better in black and white.

Her phone buzzed with a new message from her friend Jenna, reminding her of the New Year’s party next week. She deleted it. She wasn’t in the mood for noise or laughter.

Instead, she reached for her notepad.

James,

I’ve stopped expecting your answers to make me feel better, but somehow they always settle me. It’s strange to feel comforted by the same hand that caused so much of this pain. Maybe it’s just because you’re the only one who knows.

I was twenty-two when Caleb died. He was twenty-seven. He used to make me pancakes every Sunday. He’d burn half of them and laugh like it was a victory. He told terrible jokes. He used to hum old movie soundtracks when he was nervous.

I don’t know why I’m telling you this.

Maybe I’m tired of hating you.

—Y/N

Avengers Compound – Midnight

Bucky held her latest letter like a relic. Each word was a heartbeat he didn’t think he deserved to hear.

He had read about forgiveness in books. About survivors reaching out to those who hurt them, about the impossible courage it took. But he had never felt it.

Now he did.

Or at least the beginning of it.

He sat at the edge of his bed, pen in hand, and wrote slower than usual.

Y/N,

He sounds like someone I wish I’d met. I’m sorry I didn’t get to.

Thank you for telling me about him. Every detail you give me is a piece of him that gets to live again—even if just in my mind.

You may never stop hating what I did. But I hope one day you stop hating yourself for surviving it.

I don’t know how to be part of something good anymore. But your letters feel like a start.

—James

By February, they were writing weekly.

By March, Y/N started to sign her name again.

By April, Bucky sent her a postcard from upstate New York, scrawled with a note:

This trail reminded me of something you said. About stillness. There’s a bench here under a pine tree. I think he would’ve liked it.

By May, she wrote back with a photograph—Caleb holding a guitar, mid-laugh.

And slowly, in the space between their words, something unfamiliar began to form.

Not peace. Not yet.

But something close.

Brooklyn – March

The photograph sat on the windowsill for three weeks before she sent it.

She almost didn’t include it. Something about handing over that moment—Caleb, mid-laugh, his guitar crooked in his lap, bare feet on a hardwood floor—felt sacrilegious. Sacred.

But she did it anyway. Because maybe grief didn’t mean hoarding memories. Maybe it meant sharing them, even with the person who had no right to them.

She didn’t expect a reply so soon.

Y/N,

Thank you. I stared at that picture for a long time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so alive. You caught him at a perfect second. I hope that’s the way you remember him most.

I keep it on my nightstand. I hope that’s okay.

Spring’s just starting here. I think you’d like the trail I found. It’s quiet, all pines and river rocks. I sat there today and thought about that bench again. I think Caleb would’ve sat there with you. Probably teased you about how serious you get when you’re thinking.

You ever smile when you’re remembering him? It’s okay if the answer’s no. It took me decades to smile about anything.

—James

Y/N folded the letter twice, pressed it to her lips for no reason she wanted to examine, then set it on her nightstand beside Caleb’s old guitar pick. She hadn’t played since he died.

That night, she picked it up.

Just a few chords. Nothing whole.

But it was a beginning.

Early April-

The rhythm of their writing changed. Not so frequent as before, but longer. More thoughtful. Less like grieving, more like two people peeling open parts of themselves one truth at a time.

Do you remember colors? I read once that trauma makes people forget brightness. When you were the Soldier, did the world feel gray?

Yes. Everything was washed out. Like a dream you can’t wake from. It’s only in the last few years I’ve started seeing color again. There’s a red door in Harlem I like. Deep, real red. Makes me stop every time I pass it.

Caleb used to call me “Firefly.” Said I always lit up rooms. I haven’t felt like that in a long time.

I don’t know you, not really. But your letters feel like light. Maybe the nickname still fits.

Do you ever feel like the pain is all you have left of the person you lost? Like letting go of it is some kind of betrayal?

I felt that way about Steve for a while. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It just means you’re making room. Room for what comes next.

I dreamed about you last night. Don’t panic—it wasn’t romantic or anything.

You were sitting across from me in a coffee shop. It was raining. We didn’t say a word. Just sat there. And it was the first time in the dream I didn’t feel angry.

Is that progress?

Yes.

Also, for the record, I panic less than I used to.

Maybe someday we actually do that. Rain and coffee and silence. I think I’d like that.

Avengers Compound – Mid April

Bucky stood at the punching bag, gloves off, sweat slicking his hair to his neck. Sam was gone, off doing recon in Tunisia. The gym was silent.

He stared at the bag, then turned his eyes to the little photo on the nearby table. Caleb. Laughing.

Y/N had written again yesterday.

This one was different.

James,

I’m thinking of traveling. Just for a few days. There’s a cabin in Vermont my brother and I used to visit in the spring.

I haven’t been back since he died. Thought maybe I’d go now. The idea scares me. But so did writing to you, and look how that turned out.

Do you ever go somewhere just to remember?

Or to forget?

—Y/N

He sat down on the gym bench, pulled the pen from his jacket, and started writing.

Vermont sounds like a good idea. Sometimes places can hold echoes. Good ones, bad ones. But they’re real. You get to decide how loud they get.

There’s a cliff on the edge of Coney Island. I go there sometimes. Not for anyone else—just me. I sit there and try to picture who I used to be. And who I could still become.

Maybe we’re all just trying to survive our memories. Some people drink. Some people run. Some people write.

You write beautifully. Even when you’re breaking.

I hope the cabin is kind to you.

—James

Vermont – Late April

The cabin hadn’t changed.

Y/N’s breath hitched the moment she stepped inside. Dust hung in golden beams of light, and the place still smelled faintly of cedar and rain. Caleb’s boots were still by the back door. His fishing rod leaned against the porch rail.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for her pen.

James,

It’s strange. I thought I’d break down the second I got here. But I didn’t. I sat on the porch, and I just breathed. The air smells like pine and ash. Like him.

I walked the old trail he used to love. I found the tree we carved our initials into. Y/N + C, with a lopsided heart. He used to say we were soulmates in sibling form. That no one understood him like I did.

Coming here didn’t make the grief go away. But it’s not strangling me anymore.

Maybe that’s all healing really is. Less choking. More room to breathe.

Thank you for helping me get here.

—Y/N

May–

The letters slowed.

Not because the connection faded—because something else was blooming.

He called her.

It wasn’t planned. He had paced for two hours with his phone in hand before pressing the call button. His palms were damp. His throat dry.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

Her voice was quieter than in the letters. Softer. Like standing at the edge of something fragile.

“It’s me,” he said. “James.”

A beat of silence.

Then: “You sound exactly like I thought you would.”

A breath escaped him—half-laugh, half-relief.

“Is that a good thing?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. It is.”

They talked for thirteen minutes. Nothing deep. Weather. The noise outside her window. A coffee shop he liked.

But when they hung up, her chest felt warmer.

And he smiled, just a little, for the first time in days.

Late May-

The letters didn’t stop. But they changed.

More handwritten now. More casual. Like two people catching up, not clawing through darkness anymore.

I played guitar again yesterday. I was terrible. But it felt right.

You’re probably better than you think. I can’t play a damn thing. Tried piano once. Sam said I looked like I was trying to dismantle a bomb.

Do you ever think about meeting in person? I’m not asking. Just wondering.

Because I do. Sometimes I imagine us walking in silence. No letters. Just us. In whatever peace we’ve managed to build.

I think about it too.

Brooklyn – June

It was hot.

The kind of sticky New York summer that made people irritable and sunburned. Y/N sat on the rooftop of her building, Caleb’s guitar on her lap, pen and paper beside her.

She hadn’t written in a week—not because she didn’t want to.

Because she didn’t need to say anything new.

But she did anyway.

James,

It’s been a strange spring. But in the best way. I feel like I’ve been living in grayscale for years, and now everything’s starting to bloom.

You were part of that. Whether you meant to be or not.

I think I’m ready to meet.

I’ll be at the bench. The one you told me about. In the pines, by the river. Two weeks from today. Noon.

You don’t have to come.

But I hope you will.

—Y/N

Vermont – June

The bench waited.

It was simple, old wood and iron, nestled beneath two leaning pine trees by the river. The trail was quiet, save for the occasional wind dragging through the canopy above. Dappled light spilled across the clearing like fragments of memory.

Y/N stood a few paces back from it, her fingers wrapped around the strap of her bag.

She wasn’t early. She wasn’t late.

But he wasn’t there yet.

She sat anyway, her heart pounding in her chest like a second pulse. She wore her brother’s bracelet around one wrist—worn leather, initials carved in the metal plate: C.L.

The last time she’d sat this still with her grief, she’d been standing over a casket.

Today, the ache was quieter.

She didn’t know what she expected to feel when he arrived. Anger? Panic? Closure?

She’d rehearsed a dozen things in her head.

None of them came when she saw him.

He Appeared Like a Shadow Stepping into Light.

It started with the quiet crunch of boots on gravel. No fanfare. No sudden gust of wind.

Just footsteps.

She turned slowly.

Bucky Barnes stepped through the tree line like a ghost who had finally been given permission to live.

He wore jeans, boots, a dark green henley that matched the woods. His hair was tied back, jaw sharp with tension. His metal arm glinted once in the sun before he tucked it into his jacket pocket. As if it were still something to be ashamed of.

He stopped a few feet away.

Neither of them spoke.

The birds didn’t sing. The wind stilled. Time waited.

His eyes found hers, blue and uncertain and flooded with something deeper than guilt. Something human.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said quietly.

“I wasn’t sure I could,” he replied.

“Why did you?”

He swallowed. “Because I couldn’t not.”

She looked at the bench, then back at him. “Will you sit?”

He nodded once and took the far end, leaving a respectful gap between them.

Not a barrier.

Just… space.

___

“It’s quieter than I thought,” he said.

She glanced at the river. “He liked it for that. Said silence was where people got honest.”

“I’ve never been good at that.”

She looked at him—really looked. He didn’t flinch.

“I think you are. It just took you a while.”

A bird chirped in the distance.

He let out a breath, slow and long. “You look different than I pictured.”

She smiled faintly. “Let me guess—taller? Angrier?”

“Both. And louder.”

She laughed. It was short but real.

“I was. When I wrote that first letter, I wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“But I didn’t.”

He turned to her then. “You could have. Every word you sent after that first one… It undid pieces of me I thought were set in stone.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze fell to her hands in her lap.

“I used to dream about killing you.”

Bucky didn’t flinch.

“I’d imagine what I’d say if I ever saw you. I practiced speeches in the mirror. But none of them sounded right. None of them made me feel better.”

“Do you feel better now?”

She met his eyes. “I feel something. And that’s a start.”

___

The path wound along the river, soft underfoot. Moss and pine needles coated the trail, and the world smelled like damp earth and time.

He didn’t touch her. She didn’t touch him. But they walked in step.

“How long have you been clean?” she asked gently.

He knew what she meant.

“Almost five years.”

“Does it get easier?”

He nodded once. “Some days. Others still knock me sideways.”

She paused beside a tree. “Do you remember it?”

His throat tightened. “Your brother?”

She nodded.

“Yes. More than I want to. Less than he deserves. His face comes to me sometimes… in flashes. He wasn’t afraid.”

She looked down. Her voice wavered. “He was brave.”

“He was kind.”

She looked at him in surprise.

Bucky’s gaze was steady. “He looked at me like I was still human. Even when I wasn’t.”

A silence passed between them. Heavy. Necessary.

Then: “He would’ve forgiven you.”

Bucky swallowed the burn in his throat. “Do you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer and reached for his hand—the flesh one.

Warm. Rough. Human.

“I’m trying.”

He nodded. “That’s all I can ask.”

___

They talked for hours.

On the bench. On the trail. Back at the cabin porch, where she brewed him terrible instant coffee.

They didn’t talk about Hydra.

They didn’t talk about Steve.

They talked about small things—music, books, the way Bucky hated peaches and how Y/N used to sing in the car until Caleb begged her to stop.

She laughed again. Twice.

He smiled more.

When dusk settled, he stood.

“I should go.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, surprising them both.

He blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to regret not saying it.”

He nodded. “I’ll stay nearby. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah. It is.”

He hesitated, then reached into his coat and pulled out a folded envelope.

“I brought this. In case I couldn’t find the words out loud.”

She took it. “Thank you.”

He started down the porch steps, then paused.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you wrote to me.”

Her chest ached, but not the way it used to.

“I’m glad you answered.”

Later That Night-

She read the letter by lamplight.

Y/N,

There are some things I still can’t say out loud. Not yet. But I want you to have this.

When I was the Soldier, I didn’t know what I was doing. But when I came back… when I remembered… your brother’s face was the first one I saw in every nightmare.

I didn’t understand why until you wrote me. Until I realized what I took from the world when I took him.

You didn’t owe me anything. Not a letter. Not a meeting. Not kindness.

But you gave me all of it.

I can’t bring him back. But I can try to live in a way that would make someone like him proud.

Someone like you.

If that’s worth anything.

Thank you for giving me the chance to try.

—James

She didn’t cry.

Not because it didn’t hurt.

But because it did—and it was okay.

She folded the letter gently, set it beside Caleb’s old photo, and whispered into the darkness:

“I think he’d be proud too.”

Vermont – The Morning After

The rain had passed in the night.

Y/N woke to the smell of pine, coffee, and something heavier—familiar, but no longer cruel. Grief, maybe. Or memory.

The river murmured softly outside the cabin window.

She sat up slowly, blinking against the gray light filtering through the trees. Her fingers grazed the folded letter on her nightstand—James’ words from the night before still humming in her chest.

The hurt wasn’t gone. But it wasn’t alone anymore.

She made coffee.

At 7:02 a.m., she stepped out onto the porch in a sweatshirt and thick socks, expecting to be alone.

She wasn’t.

He was sitting on the stairs. Quiet. Still.

Bucky Barnes.

Wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his metal hand curled around a mug, steam rising gently in the morning air.

He looked over his shoulder when he heard her step.

“You always up this early?” he asked.

“I used to be,” she said, sitting beside him. “Not sure why today.”

“You expecting me?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “But I’m not surprised.”

He handed her a second mug.

She took it without question.

____

By noon, he’d helped fix the back step.

By afternoon, they sat at opposite ends of the couch—her reading, him silently sanding down an old chair leg he’d insisted needed smoothing. When she looked up, she caught him watching her more than once.

Neither spoke of the letters.

Or Caleb.

Not yet.

There was comfort in the silence.

And tension too—but not the volatile kind. The kind that builds like a storm behind the eyes. Quiet, patient, certain.

Later That Night –

She made grilled cheese.

Bucky chopped tomatoes for soup. It was domestic in the oddest, most surreal way.

He watched her laugh at herself for nearly burning the bread.

She watched the way he concentrated on cutting, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, metal fingers clumsy but careful.

“You’re not bad at this,” she said, a little surprised.

“Steve used to make me practice. Said if I could dismantle a Hydra bomb, I could damn well learn to slice an onion.”

She smiled into her mug.

When the food was done, they sat at the tiny kitchen table. Two bowls. Two plates.

“You always stay this long when you visit someone?” she asked gently.

“No,” he said. “But I’ve never had a reason to before.”

She didn’t push it.

He didn’t look away.

After Dinner –

“I kept thinking,” she said slowly, “that seeing you would feel like facing a monster.”

Bucky nodded once, not looking at her.

“But you’re not,” she continued. “You’re just… a man. With a lot of pain.”

“That’s the most dangerous kind,” he said.

“Only when it goes untended.”

He finally looked up.

“I don’t know how to let go of what I’ve done.”

“You don’t have to let go of it,” she said softly. “You just have to learn to live beside it.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “Is that what you’ve done?”

“I’m trying.”

Their eyes held.

It was a long, silent understanding.

___

He took the couch.

She left a blanket and pillow on the armrest without a word.

In the quiet of the night, she listened to the slow, measured sounds of his breathing. And for the first time in years, she didn’t feel alone in the dark.

The Week That Followed-

He stayed.

Not every night. Not always inside. But he didn’t leave.

They shared space. Chopped wood. Took long walks along the water. She taught him how to make tea from dried herbs in the cabinet. He taught her how to patch a leaky pipe under the sink.

They spoke about nothing and everything.

About Caleb. About Brooklyn. About nightmares and silence and the weight of too many memories.

One night, she found him on the porch, jaw clenched, breath fast.

She didn’t ask. Just sat beside him.

Eventually, he whispered, “I remembered the first time they made me kill someone. I didn’t even know their name.”

She rested her hand over his. Flesh on metal.

“You know mine now,” she said softly. “That’s a start.”

____

It happened slowly.

A touch of his hand against her back when she tripped on a root.

Her palm lingering on his shoulder as she passed him a mug.

The way he looked at her when she laughed—like he didn’t believe he was allowed to hear it, but was grateful all the same.

One morning, she woke to find him asleep at the kitchen table, a letter in front of him he never gave her.

She read it anyway.

Y/N,

Sometimes I think about the version of me who didn’t kill your brother. Who never became what they made me. And I wonder if he would’ve had the courage to talk to you like this.

Then I realize that man doesn’t exist. But I do. I exist. And I think that has to count for something.

I don’t know what this is between us. I don’t know what I deserve. But I know I want to be someone who listens when you laugh and remembers the sound.

If that’s too much, I understand. But if it’s not… I’ll be here. As long as you let me.

—J

____

It wasn’t a letter.

Just herself.

Sitting beside him when he woke. A blanket around her shoulders. Two cups of tea in her hands. No makeup. No mask.

Just her.

“You stayed,” she said softly.

“I did.”

“I think I want you to keep staying.”

Bucky blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He reached out, hesitant, and touched her hand.

She let him.

___

They sat beneath the trees where they first met. Spring had leaned into early summer. The air was warmer now, the ground dry.

Bucky lay back against the grass, hands behind his head.

Y/N stretched beside him, close enough to feel his warmth.

“You ever think we were supposed to find each other?” she asked, voice light.

“I think we weren’t supposed to survive,” he replied. “But we did. So maybe that’s something better.”

She looked up at the sky.

“Do you still have nightmares?”

“Sometimes,” he said.

“You ever see me in them?”

He turned to face her.

“Not anymore.”

____

That night, she sat at her desk and looked at the small stack of letters she’d once written in rage, grief, and aching hope.

She placed them in a box.

Not to forget.

But to begin something new.

When Bucky stepped inside, eyes tired, arms soft around her waist, she leaned into him without hesitation.

“You ever write letters now?” she asked into his chest.

He kissed the top of her head.

“Only to you. But I think I’d rather speak them.”

She leaned back, just far enough to look into his eyes. “Then speak,” she whispered.

“I want to touch you,” he said quietly, reverently. “Not just because I’m drawn to you. But because… I need to remember what it’s like to be gentle. To be wanted. If you’ll let me.”

Y/N brought her hand to his cheek, guiding his mouth back to hers in answer.

It started slow—sweet, lingering kisses that deepened as his hand slid around her back, drawing her closer. She could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying in the way he kissed her, like each brush of his mouth against hers was an apology, a promise, a plea.

She tugged his shirt up and off, breath catching at the sight of him—broad shoulders, strong chest, and skin crisscrossed with scars, memories etched into muscle. Her fingers trailed over the metal where it met flesh, her touch light but certain.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” she whispered.

He nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I don’t want to.”

She kissed the seam between metal and skin, a gesture so soft and intimate it made him shudder.

He helped her out of her sweatshirt, then her tank top, hands grazing over her ribs, reverent. His mouth followed the path of his fingers, kissing her skin like it deserved worship. When he reached her breasts, he paused—eyes locked with hers—waiting.

“Please,” she breathed.

He kissed her softly, his mouth warm and open over her nipple, tongue flicking gently, hand kneading the other breast. She arched into him, her breath catching at the careful intensity of him—so strong, so controlled, yet unraveling only for her.

“Bucky…” she sighed, fingers sliding into his hair.

He groaned into her skin, the sound low and broken with want. “You feel like something I dreamed and never thought I’d touch.”

“You’re allowed,” she whispered, pulling him back to her mouth. “You’re allowed to want. To take. Just… stay with me.”

They shed the rest of their clothes slowly, like each layer was a weight being cast aside. When they were bare, skin to skin, he paused—hovering above her, his body trembling with restraint.

“I haven’t…” he said, his voice raw, “in a long time. Not like this. Not with someone who sees me.”

Y/N brought her hand to his cheek. “I see you, James.”

He kissed her like her name was salvation.

When he entered her, it was with a groan that sounded like release and reverence all at once. She gasped, her body arching, welcoming him.

He moved slowly at first—deep, steady strokes, his eyes never leaving hers. Every thrust was a question, and her moans, her nails digging gently into his back, were answers.

Her hips rolled to meet him, her breath catching on every exhale.

“You feel—” he rasped, “God, you feel like coming home.”

Her hand slid down between them, touching herself where she needed friction most. He saw, cursed softly, and took over with his thumb, circling her clit in time with his thrusts.

“Bucky—” she cried out, her body tightening around him.

He felt her shudder beneath him, watched her fall apart with eyes wide and lips parted in ecstasy, and it undid him.

He came with her name on his lips, spilling into her with a sound that was almost a sob.

Afterward, he collapsed beside her, panting, arms wrapping tightly around her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in like he couldn’t get enough.

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered.

“You deserve this,” she said softly, threading her fingers through his hair. “You deserve peace. And if you can’t believe it yet… stay until you do.”

They lay there, tangled and spent, the room still and silent around them. Outside, the forest rustled in the wind. Inside, nothing moved but the steady rise and fall of their chests.

She kissed the scar on his shoulder, and he held her tighter.

No more letters tonight. No more ghosts.

Only skin, breath, and the quiet place where they’d begun again.

-the end

[l0velymia]

A Proper Celebration. - Levi x Reader

Summary: Levi's first proper birthday with his first love.

Warnings: Brief mentions of prostitution, Fem reader, not proofread! (Lmk if I missed anything).

A/N: Nothing like getting motivation to write again at 11:42 PM! Scheduling this to post exactly at 12:00 December 25! Happy Holidays everyone! (And happy birthday to my bbg)

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

Levi had never cared for Christmas, or rather, his birthday. Being from the underground meant there were no such things as a "proper" celebration. Unless, you wanted to draw more attention to yourself.

Of course, his mother still made an effort to celebrate her baby boy's birthdate. Always trying to make it as special as possible. Sure, maybe a little bit of bread and a small gift might not seem much to the average person. To him however, it was everything. It showed his mother's love and persistence to make him feel special on his special day. Even if that day was usually followed by his mother coming home late or bringing men over to pay debts she made for his birthdate.

After his mother passed and he was taken in by Kenny, birthdays and holidays weren't exactly a priority. Instead of celebration, his days were filled with excessive combat training or stealing. Anything but a proper celebration really.

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

So naturally, Levi was caught off guard when he was awoken by his love shuffling around his office carrying a tray of food. "Oh! I'm sorry Levi! Did I wake you? I just wanted to surprise you since it's your birthday after all.. Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas by the way!"

She smiled softly and set the tray down on his desk before frowning a little and massaging his shoulders and neck. "Didn't I tell you to stop sleeping on your desk? You're gonna end up with a sore neck if you continue that."

Levi relaxed into the massage, staring at the food in front of him. A bowl of steaming hot soup paired with a few pieces of bread and hot tea.

"I didn't know they were serving soup today? Eyebrows said we were getting served something else."

"That's because I made it silly! I woke up early to make it for you so you better enjoy it!" She giggled softly.

Levi blushed faintly at the thought of her putting in so much effort just for him.

"Thank you, brat." "Anytime Levi!"

The following hours were both torture yet heaven, he would find gifts around his office all from her, growing more and more adorable and endearing with each passing hour.

He found a new painted tea cup set, chuckling to himself as he saw your "artistic" talent on the cups. He set them aside. Refusing to use them as to not damage them. They were from you after all, they need to be cherished and protected like you.

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

In the afternoon, he spent his time in his office signing and reading paperwork even though Erwin gave him a rare day off as it was the Captain's special day.

She burst into the room smiling.

"Heyy Leviiii!!! Can I hangout here for a while?" "Do I have a choice?" "Nope!"

She sat on his desk, raising an eyebrow whilst staring at his work.

"Is Erwin making you work on your birthday? I could've sworn I asked him to give you a day off.."

Levi shakes his head, trying to avoid cracking even a small smile.

"Yes Y/N. He gave me today off. I just chose to complete this sooner rather than later." He said, mentally chuckling at the pout his love gave him.

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

"But today's your birthday and it's Christmas Levi! You shouldn't be working..." She stares off into space for a moment. An idea popping into her head. "I should be spending time with you! Put something winter-appropriate on and I'll meet you outside of the bakery we always go to!" She said enthusiastically before running out, not even giving Levi the chance to agree or disagree. As if he'd ever say no to her.

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

And that's how Levi ended up inside this lovely bakery. Next to him? His darling love excitedly scanning all the pastries and bread in the store.

"Come on Levi! Pick something out!! There is so much cool and yummy stuff here!!" She eagerly gasps as she looks around the beautifully decorated bakery.

"You seem more eager than me, why don't you pick something out? And I'll pay for it." He suggested, looking around the bakery as well.

Y/N gasps at his suggestion, as if she's offended. "Nooo! It's your birthday! You should pick. And I'll pay for it! You shouldn't be buying your own birthday present."

Levi cracked a slight smile at her protests, before returning to his normal dead face.

"Alright, alright. I'll pick something out. Only because you keep persisting."

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

The pair spent the rest of the day looking around the town, occasionally entering a shop to buy something. Both of them went back to the base, hand in hand. Levi carrying the heavy presents while Y/N carried the smaller, lighter, presents.

They sit in front of a roaring fireplace, tea and a shared pasty in front of them. Her head on his shoulder. His hand gripping her waist softly, pulling her close to his warmth.

"I hope you had fun today, Levi. Even though we did nothing too special. I still hope you enjoyed yourself."

"I did, thank you. For everything. For celebrating my birthday and spending time with me. For putting up with my nonsense all this time."

He hesitates to continue, but decided against it.

"And.. thank you, for loving me. Just as much as I love and adore you."

He admits, waiting for her reply. Looking at the fireplace.

His world briefly comes crashing down as he's met with no response. That's it! He took a leap of faith and he instead fell-

Levi hears a few small snores coming from the girl resting her head on his shoulder, body relaxed and asleep. He smiles ever so slightly and kisses the top of her head.

Yeah, Levi would go through hell and back, He would go through all of the shit life has planned for him, as long as it meant that he would be able to spend his god-forsaken life with you. As long as he'd be able to experience nights like this, with you.

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

All rights reserved © l0velym1a || Do not copy, translate, alter, repost onto other apps/medias my work without my approval + credit.

[echoes-of-elsewhere]

I am you - Part 1 of 2 (Doppelganger story)

They always assume they would notice, that if something like this happened to them, it would be immediate and undeniable. People believe in dramatic revelations, in a single moment where the world tilts and the truth is exposed. They think of flickering shadows, distorted reflections, the impossibility of seeing their own face in places they do not remember being. But it never happens that way.

The process is slow, deliberate, and inevitable. A shift so gradual that, by the time they recognize it, it is already too late. It begins with something small—an exchanged greeting they cannot recall, a casual reference to an event they have no memory of attending. They assume it is stress, distraction, miscommunication, all reasonable things that allow them to dismiss the wrongness before it settles in. They do not understand that every moment of doubt is another step in the process.

I have been here for weeks. I know the way he moves, the cadence of his voice, the weight of his name. I have studied him long enough that I could be him better than he is. And soon, I will be.

______________________________________________________________

The first time he notices, it is so minor that he almost forgets it entirely. The barista in the café hands him his coffee and smiles as she says, “Back again?” He hesitates, shakes his head slightly, and tells her this is his first coffee of the day. She frowns for a fraction of a second before laughing it off, blaming her mistake on the early morning rush.

The second time, it is more difficult to ignore. A colleague stops him outside his office, asking how his meeting went. There is a note of expectation in their voice, something that tells him this is not a casual inquiry but a follow-up to an earlier discussion—one that, as far as he is concerned, never happened.

“I didn’t have a meeting this morning,” he says, forcing an easy tone into his voice.

His colleague raises an eyebrow, pulling out their phone. “You said you were heading to one just before lunch. Look—" They turn the screen toward him, showing a text message from his number. The words are familiar, structured exactly the way he would phrase them. He reads them over and over, but the memory of sending them does not come.

That should have been the moment he acknowledged that something was wrong.

But it wasn’t.

______________________________________________________________

Denial is powerful. Even now, as the weight of inconsistencies begins to settle, he fights it. He checks his emails, his call logs, his purchase history, looking for proof that something is missing, something altered. The problem is, there is nothing missing. There are no blank spaces, no files erased or conversations removed. Instead, there are things he has no recollection of doing—transactions at places he has not visited, messages that sound exactly like him, plans he would have made.

He tells himself it is stress, that he must have been distracted, that memory is unreliable. He does not realize that he is not looking for an answer. He is looking for permission to believe nothing is wrong.

That is why he watches the security footage. That is why he asks the night guard to rewind the tape, just to check. That is why, even before he sees it, he knows what will be there.

The screen flickers, and there he is, walking into the office building at 11:42 PM. He watches himself take the elevator to the fourth floor, swipe his access card, and step inside. There is no hesitation in his movements, no moment of doubt or pause. His posture is relaxed, his gait smooth and familiar.

The guard chuckles beside him. “Looks like you’ve been sleepwalking.”

He stares at the footage, waiting for some sign that it isn’t real, that there has been a mistake. But there is no mistake. He was home at 11:42 PM. He knows this with absolute certainty. And yet, here he is, caught in a moment that should not exist.

Sleepwalking.

It is easier to agree than to argue.

______________________________________________________________

The moment of realization, the true breaking point, is not in what he sees but in what he does not.

His phone registers calls he cannot remember, but they are to the same people he speaks to every day. His emails contain correspondence that follows his usual habits, his tone, his way of phrasing things. Even his bank records show nothing unusual—just a life continuing as it always has, perfectly ordinary, except for the quiet, insidious knowledge that it is no longer his.

The key doesn’t turn.

He frowns, tries again, pressing harder, but the lock doesn’t move. He checks the key, turning it over in his palm, but nothing is wrong.

Behind him, footsteps. A voice follows.

“Something wrong?”

He turns. The landlord is walking up, a small ring of spares already in hand. He barely glances at the door.

“My key isn’t working,” he says.

The landlord exhales, already sorting through the keys. “Yeah, had the locks changed this morning. Request came in from you a couple of days ago.” He slides a key free, presses it into his palm without hesitation. “Here. Just don’t lose this one.”

He stares at it.

“Why were they changed?”

The landlord shifts his weight slightly, giving him an odd look before shaking his head. “You tell me. You put in the request.” His tone is flat, uninterested, already moving past the conversation.

His fingers tighten around the key.

"Am I being charged for this?"

A shrug. “Yeah. Standard fee.” The landlord is already moving away.

The key will fit. It will turn.

I already have mine.

Something inside him lurches at the exchange. The way the landlord handed over the key without hesitation. The way there was no moment of doubt, no pause, no verification—just a decision that had already been made.

And then he sees me.

Standing at the end of the street.

[wishforhome]

Happy Friday! Could I suggest “What do you mean they’re not there, I thought they were with you!?” for Band AU?

ahhh this worked so well for something i already had in mind to write and this was exactly what i needed to sit down and write it.

so this takes place after Vero and Lucanis have a big fight (sort of about Viago, sort of about Vero's refusal to let Lucanis say he loves them, sort of about a lot of other things). the fight culminates with Lucanis telling Vero to leave, effectively kicking them out of the loft where they live together.

for @dadrunkwriting - veilguard

rated t

Saturday, 24 Bloomingtime 9:50 [group chat between Lucanis, Rosa, Viago and Teia]

[11:04 AM] Lucanis: has anyone heard from vero [11:07 AM] Viago: Not this morning, no. I thought they were with you. [11:08 AM] Lucanis: they were [11:08 AM] Lucanis: they left [11:10 AM] Rosa: left? left where? [11:10 AM] Rosa: like LEFT left? [11:10 AM] Lucanis: i don’t know [11:15 AM] Lucanis: we got in a fight [11:15 AM] Lucanis: i keep texting but they won’t answer [11:16 AM] Lucanis: i think i fucked up

[11:20 AM] Viago: What time did this happen? [11:21 AM] Lucanis: like 3 am after the show [11:21 AM] Lucanis: vi can you try calling [11:25 AM] Viago: Me? Why me? [11:26 AM] Lucanis: you know why [11:32 AM] Viago: It’s just going straight to voicemail. [11:34 AM] Lucanis: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck [11:36 AM] Rosa: i got voicemail too [11:37 AM] Rosa: what happened?? [11:40 AM] Lucanis: i don’t really want to talk bout it [11:41 AM] Lucanis: can you just [11:41 AM] Lucanis: tell me if you hear from them [11:41 AM] Lucanis: or if they show up [11:42 AM] Lucanis: or anything [11:44 AM] Viago: It might help if you told us what happened. [11:59 AM] Viago: Lucanis? [1:40 PM] Teia: i just landed in val royeaux. what’s going on? vero’s missing? [1:45 PM] Rosa: maybe?? [1:47 PM] Lucanis: yes [1:47 PM] Lucanis: i really really really fucked up [1:48 PM] Lucanis: we got in a fight [1:48 PM] Lucanis: it was really bad [1:48 PM] Lucanis: and then they left [1:49 PM] Viago: I’m sure they just need some time to cool off. [1:50 PM] Teia: vi’s right, maybe they just need some space [1:51 PM] Lucanis: maybe [1:51 PM] Lucanis: but i really fucked up [1:53 PM] Viago: You keep saying that. What do you mean you “fucked up”? [1:54 PM] Lucanis: i really don’t want to talk about it [1:55 PM] Lucanis: i’m going to go look for them [2:01 PM] Rosa: want company? [2:02 PM] Lucanis: yes [2:02 PM] Lucanis: please [2:05 PM] Rosa: on my way. i’ll meet you at the loft [2:06 PM] Lucanis: thank you [2:10 PM] Teia: keep us posted, let us know if you find them [2:11 PM] Rosa: of course

[rjjameshiii]

RJ's Platinum Collection #62: Persona 4 Golden

Achieved on 3/3/2025 at 11:42 PM

I always had known of the Persona series, but I never actually played it. And then one day, I decided to give it a try. So I bought a Persona game, and started playing it, and I became hooked. I became obsessed. It was one of the most fun video game experiences I ever had, and I was determined to get the Platinum for it.

That game.......was Persona 5.

Yeah, I actually played Persona 5 up until the boss of the second dungeon, but then I had a catastrophic system glitch and lost my save file. I was very sad and annoyed, so I decided to take a break from Persona 5 and try something else.

That something else ended up being Persona 4 Golden. And if I thought I had loved Persona 5, I was not prepared for how much I would end up adoring Persona 4.

As soon as I began playing Persona 4, I wondered to myself "How did I miss this gem for so long?". I immediately fell in love with the game and the characters. And I also loved how different the plot was from Persona 5, and was excited to join these small town teenagers in discovering the truth behind a series of murders related to the strange world inside the TV's.

I now know that the Persona 4 protagonist has the canon name Yu Narukami, but at the time of my first playthrough, I gave him the name Rin Yamanouchi. I played the game blind, using my knowledge of the similar mechanics from Persona 5, and got three trophies early on.

1/50: The Other Self - Obtain the Persona Izanagi.

2/50: Advantage Mine - Enter a battle with Player Advantage.

3/50: A Favor for Marie - Register a Skill Card.

Now I will say that, going into this game, I had already known that there were guides on how to 100% the game as quickly as possible. Like, guides that told you exactly what to do day-by-day in order to unlock all the trophies. And at first, I didn't want to do that. I wanted to play the game completely blind.

And then I failed to rescue Yukiko before the deadline.

From that point on, I decided that I could still enjoy the game even if I was using a playthrough guide. So I restarted the game, and this time I played following the 100% Schedule Guide. I know some people might not agree with his decision, but the important thing is that I was correct, and I was still able to thoroughly enjoy the game even when I was playing following a guide.

So I continued on with Rin, now renamed to his canon name Yu, and played through the entire game day by day.

4/50: Lucky Me! - Win a prize from the vending machine.

5/50: Persona Shopper - Buy a Persona from the Compendium.

6/50: Seize The Moment - Buy a special croquette from Sozai Daigaku.

7/50: It's Working Today - Buy an item from the Capsule Machine.

8/50: Fashion Plate - Fight a battle in costume.

9/50: Tactical Fighter - Exploit enemy weaknesses 100 times.

10/50: Skilled Commander - Perform 50 All-Out Attacks.

11/50: A Prince Appears - Rescue Yukiko Amagi.

12/50: Grasping At Greed - Defeat a Golden Hand.

13/50: A True Man's Stand - Rescue Kanji Tatsumi.

Real quick note: Kanji is Best Boy. That is all.

14/50: Bug Hunter - Swing the bug net with perfect timing.

15/50: Fill Your Hand - Get 50 Sweep Bonuses.

16/50: Displaying Adaptability - Switch Personas 5 times in one battle.

17/50: The Lounge Is Closed - Rescue Rise Kujikawa.

18/50: Granter Of Your Desires - Buy 5 things from Tanaka's Amazing Commodities.

One thing to mention is that, by following the guide, there were some points where I would do things specifically to get trophies, and then reload a previous save in order to keep things running smoothly. Save files REALLY came in handy a lot in this game. You bet your ass I was making sure to use a Goho-M and save the game before any boss fight.

19/50: Movie Buff - Go to three movies at 30 Frame.

20/50: Head of the Class - Rank #1 in your class on an exam.

21/50: The Nose Doesn't Always Know - Experience a fusion accident.

22/50: Special Fusion Expert - Use 4 or more Personas in a special fusion.

23/50: Game Over - Secure Mitsuo Kubo.

24/50: A True Bond - Max out a Social Link.

25/50: Fishing Master - Catch the Sea Guardian.

26/50: Going Nova - Deal over 999 damage in 1 attack.

27/50: Boarded-Up Lab - Rescue Naoto Shirogane.

28/50: Moderate Bookkeeper - Register over 50% of the Persona Compendium.

Also I think most Persona 4 fans can agree that Rise and Yu are just meant to be. I know Yu can romance Chie and Yukiko and Naoto and a few other social link girls, but honestly? Yu and Rise just make the most sense.

Also Rise is Best Girl, I love her so much. Just give me Yu, Rise, and Kanji and I'll be a happy RJ.

Anyways, continuing on with the playthrough and getting trophies!

29/50: A Special Lady - Enter a special relationship with someone.

30/50: The Return of the Angels - Rescue Nanako Dojima.

31/50: Mr. Perfect - Max out all social qualities.

32/50: Food Fighter - Finish Aiya's special dish.

33/50: Big Bro Is Worried - Visit Nanako in the hospital three times.

34/50: Bond Maniac - Max out 10 Social Links.

35/50: Compulsive Reader - Read all books.

36/50: Fusion Expert - Perform 50 Persona fusions.

I will also say that I was genuinely thrown for a loop by the identity of the real killer. Looking back, there were plenty of hints about it, but I was genuinely surprised. I guess I just got tricked by the soft tones of Johnny Yung Bosch's voice. Sigh.

37/50: Breaking Through The Fog - Secure Tohru Adachi.

After capturing Adachi, surprisingly there is still a lot left to do in the game, so I continued following the guide to get more miscellaneous trophies.

38/50: An Acquired Taste - Drink the coffee at Cafe Chagall.

39/50: The Reaper Becomes The Reaped - Defeat the Reaper.

40/50: Cooking With Gas - Make five perfect boxed lunches.

And then it was time for Marie's dungeon. Apparently, Marie's dungeon will ONLY appear in the game if you finish her Social Link. I am glad that I followed the guide, because if I had been playing blind like my first attempt at Persona 4, I would have straight up ignored her. I find Marie deeply annoying, sorry to all Marie fans.

41/50: Welcome Back - Rescue Marie.

After that, all I had left was finishing the last Social Links and then defeating the real final boss, and I had officially finished my first entire playthrough of Persona 4 Golden.

42/50: Legend of Inaba - Max out all Social Links.

43/50: The Truth In Your Hands - Defeat Izanami.

Now it was time for my New Game+ playthrough. I was specifically aiming for the secret Margaret fight that is only available on the final day of a New Game+ playthrough, but I was also going to go for all the remaining skill cards, Personas for the Compendium, and getting 250 unique navigation lines from Rise.

That last one I will get back to.

But I ended up playing the entire game again, and this time I did whatever I wanted, only building up the Social Links that I liked the best, and being an absolute troll and menace. It was great. And by the end of my second playthrough, I got all but two trophies in the game.

44/50: Card Collector - Register 100 Skill Cards.

45/50: Thorough Bookkeeper - Complete the Persona Compendium.

46/50: The Power of Truth - Create Izanagi-no-Okami.

47/50: One Who Has Proven Their Power - Defeat Margaret.

So, you'll notice that even though I began my New Game+ playthrough with the intention of getting Hardcore Risette Fan, I did not get it. This is because I was an idiot and didn't think to keep track of the lines until halfway through the first dungeon with Rise as navigator. I ended up getting so frustrated that I just gave up.

So yes. I actually had to play an entire third playthrough of the game JUST for the sole purpose of unlocking the trophy for hearing 250 of Rise's navigation lines, this time keeping track and spending hours in a dungeon grinding out different lines. It was infuriating, but the pure euphoria I felt when I finally unlocked the trophy was indescribable.

48/50: Hardcore Risette Fan - Hear 250 of Rise's navigation lines.

After that, I only had to do the Miracle Quiz minigame. This is a quiz show where Teddie challenges you to answer trivia questions about Persona 4. And some of these questions are VERY obscure. I think one of them was "how many seats are in the classroom" at the school. It was wild. I ended up using a guide for this as well, and when I won the Finals of the game, I got the Platinum for Persona 4 Golden!

49/50: A New Quiz King - Win the Miracle Quiz Finals.

50/50: Golden Completed - Earn all trophies.

I really enjoyed what little I had actually played of Persona 5, but this game is what made me become a truly obsessed Persona fanatic. I love the setting, I love the characters, I love the dungeons, and even though some parts of this Platinum were frustrating, I loved every minute of the 150 hours it took to get it.

And as of me posting this, Persona 4 Revival has been announced, and I already know I've lost the mental battle to convince myself not to buy it. Persona 4 has a special place in my heart.

Rating: 11/10

[lyriquette]

Old RWBY AU from the Frosen Steel chat server 11/30/2020 <headcanons-and-aus> channel -

Ozpin is the Frosen Steel pop-star group's promoter. And the bandname is Frosen Steel.

----

lilac — 11/30/2020 7:42 PM

I want Ozpin to be a genius promoter like you have all these pop-stars vying for these high end promotions like sing on a stage to get your name out.

And then you have the frosen steel trio who is like "why are we at a retirement home" - a local pet store, a pre-k school, a grocery store, a laundromat, the middle of a train station. But though they're sure Mr. Ozpin is trolling them, they do it wholeheartedly.

And people notice them. And they get popular because both of their spontaneity and versatility. Somehow their popularity goes up, even more so those pop stars that put good money or favors or connections into getting a vaunted concert hall. And that's when they realize his mad genius. Those tiny shows, throughout the country/state/area, kept them in the public eye. Their uniqueness in doing all this attracted people's attention and soon it's people offering them advert offers and other things.

When they go to thank ozpin (and also someone probably needed to apologize at one point cause blow up on ozpin doing seemingly useless activities), ozpin simply smiles and tells them that none of this would've happened without their sincerity- despite how useless it seemed in doing these things, they still put their all from the planning, to the lyrics,, to the costumes, and to the music.

lilac — 11/30/2020 7:53 PM

It was probably Weiss that blew up. I'd imagine Penny does music for the love and Ruby's too noob in the industry to understand that Ozpin's thinking is unconventional. Weiss however has a bone to pick with the company she quit from, but after she blows up, ozpin simply asks "do you trust me?" And surprisingly deep inside her heart, the answer was yes - because before frosen steel she'd seen Ozpin wait for hours in sun, rain, and snow trying to get -her- an opportunity to be on stage, even if it's as simple as a one hour session at a Cafe.

After all done Ruby probably asks why he didn't tell them soon. And he simply answers, "never underestimate people's ability to know who's sincere to them. Had you knew about what I was planning, people would've seen it in your actions - the ulterior motive."

"Besides."

"Didn't you all have fun?"

lilac — 11/30/2020 8:35 PM

Aaaaaah xD okay so.

...so, I've been pondering Ozpin's backstory and hating it. So Ozpin used to be a producer for a big company, and he had a good eye for finding talent.

Problem is the people up top didn't like him that much. He protected his kids like a lion - might not seem that way (he had his singers go to a biker rally once to sing love songs. P.s. the gang belonged to Qrow and Raven - qrow: "c'mon all these guys and gals professing their love to you. Do you still dare to lose?!"). And when it came to the seedier side of the industry, he put his foot down hard. It did not make people up top happy but they couldn't exactly fire him for protecting his charges. So they took 'em away instead. They had other managers offer better deals and benefits, and many were charmed away. The ones who stayed got blocked from promotion, and eventually for their sake, ozpin told them to seek people he trusted because the company was blatantly freezing him.

So that's how a fairly competent producer ended up on the streets. He didn't really hold a grudge. It was business, he understood. He didn't blame the kids that left him either; it was natural for people to want to rise. Still, that left him fairly penniless: since he wasn't the type to loan his charges out willynilly.

That's around the time Weiss left the Schnee Dust Albums. Their first meeting outside the talent agency that Weiss wanted to join.(edited)

"Hey." "Uh hey. Is this Junior's Talent Agency?" "Yup. Right behind me." "Oh okay. What are you doing?" "I got let go. Fired's probably a better word for it -cue ozpin's launched you into a forest amused face-" "Uhh. Sorry about that." "No. No. None of that now, Miss..." "Weis Sch-. Uhh yeah Weiss." "I wish you the best of luck with your endeavors."

I didn't say their meeting would be particularly profound, okay? 8l

But as Weiss worked for the talent agency, she found it's nothing like the preferential treatment she had at Schnee Dust Albums. She had to compete for resources and some of the ways they competed involved creepy crap like skinship. Around this time is when she finally went to Penny's school, having run out with her assets to her penpal? whom she now lives with.

-----------

lilac — 11/30/2020 9:16 PM

So Penny.

Pietro Polendina adopted Penny when she was five. Her mom and dad died due to an industrial accident. It was kept hush hush, but there was a large settlement involved. Penny's relatives naturally wanted a slice and offered to adopt her to get at the money. But pietro polendina, a normally jovial man, told these folk to screw off when he arrived to the whole lawyer meeting place to decide on Penny's custody.

He knew his cousins; he knew their greed. If he left his brother's daughter with them, she would not get a good childhood, far from the one she deserved.

Though he knew he was unprepared to care for a child, he still offered to adopt her too.

Naturally harsh words came out from greedy family including the accusation of what can a cripple offer to a young child. And Polendina stared them in the eyes and said he could provide a loving home and a good future. He wouldn't even touch the money that came with Penny. It's all hers when she becomes the age of majority.

Can anyone else offer that? Naturally they couldn't. But that didn't stop them from blustering about how he's unsuitable on the basis of his ableness.

Things get heated. Penny gets brought into the picture to help a decision be made; she herself is not in a good place given that her mom and dad died not even a month ago and now all these relatives, most of which she never met, are fighting over her. She sees all these men and women wearing fake smiles and telling her excitedly that their home will be great and she'll love it there, but it's the man in the wheelchair who catches her five year-old eyes - who looked kindly at her but also had sorrow. When she asked why he looked sad, he said.

-

"I can never replace your mom and dad, but I promise you I'll take care of you." In that moment,, she knew she could trust this man out of all the others because she could see that he missed her mom and dad too. She hugged him, and he her - mourning the family they lost.

The other relatives still put up a fight: greed has no bounds. But given Pietro's clean record and promises and Penny's approval, after a long hard fight, Pietro got custody.

----

lilac — 11/30/2020 10:30 PM

Okay. Penny and Weiss.

So Penny grew up in a loving home, and her adoptive father made sure she grew up being able to experience any path she had interest in. Robots? Yes. Baseball? Wow not for me. Art? Yes. And then some. Eventually, she settled on music. Instruments such as piano, violin, drums, and woodwinds filled their home along with tutors to teach her, and Penny absorbed everything like a sponge. To her, music was a means to express herself when words failed her - and being a shy girl at heart, it often did.

It was ironic that Weiss, for the Atlas and Vale letter exchange, became her penpal. Unlike Penny, Weiss was taught that music was a tool - a tool to make money. And she never liked music for its sake, mostly because of her father who saw her and the other artists in the Schnee Dust Albums as his cash cows. She grew up hating music but continued on because she was good at it and saw no other path than the one her father laid out for her.

So the idealist and the pessimist began exchanging letters. Weiss didn't really look highly on Penny's comment that she could sing and play instruments - Penny mentioned she did music as a hobby and how good could a hobbyist really get? Still, she continued sending letters back, and eventually those letters turned into text messages and phone calls, because they somehow got along well. And to Weiss, Penny was a kind person which was a rarity in the backstabbing music industry that she found herself immersed in.

Still, they'd get into fights every couple of days. And the subject was usually the subject of doing music for the sake of doing it. Eventually, Penny got tired of Weiss's shit about referring to music as a tool and disappeared for several days. When Weiss started getting worried about if she pushed her friend too far (...she is my friend? -gasp-), Penny sent her a music file as an attachment. Wondering what it could be, she played it. Even after it ended, she was quiet for a very long time.

It took her a while to realize she was crying - crying from the music she so disliked - something she thought impossible because of how burdensome and tiring music was to her. But the results didn't lie. Penny's music spoke out to something deep within her heart. Her loneliness. Her unease. Her desire to be free.

It was unlike the songs her father demand she sing or write lyrics for. Her father just ordered her to sing or write for what's popular, most of them being love songs and which she didn't feel particular resonance for. She never had fallen in love after all.

Minutes ago, she thought the whole "music speaks to the soul" to be a bunch of nonsense, but Penny's song came and proved her wrong. One that made her cry when she played it over and over. With determination, she took out a pen and paper. A couple days later, Weiss sent back a music file back to Penny (amidst a bunch of text messages going "Weiss are you okay?") with the filename of "Mirror Mirror"(edited)

[10:31 PM]- leaves that here, now time for bed.- XD

[10:31 PM]- no wonder my phone crashed. >_>;; -

-----

lilac — 12/01/2020 5:51 PM

[5:51 PM]Also here comes part 1 and 2 of my ravings D8

[5:54 PM]This thing now has a dedicated word file on my phone. So how did weiss get to vale? Her mother. So Schnee family dynamics are similar. Winter went off to join the military. Willow is still a drinker and has separated herself from everyone else after Jacques reveal that he did everything for control of the company. Everyone in the family has been a victim of his drunken temper or just in general when he doesn’t get what he wants. Winter is the only one that’ll stand up to him and that’s because if he did anything to her, she'll break his nose. She is not taking the man's shit.

So ever since Winter's joined the Atlasian military, she's been a protective charm. Can’t be there all the time though, but her presence curtains most of the physical domestic violence. howeverit doesn't stop Jacques from verbally abusing the rest of their family. Issue is that Winter can ignore that. Mostly because of her nature - she's lived with this poor excuse for a human being for most of her life – she can't be wounded by words – she treats jacques rants as background noise. Problem is that because of that ability, she is unable to see the effect of the verbal abuse on the rest of her family; that is not to say she won’t come coming if her siblings said it hurts them, but it's also that her siblings try to put up a strong front to stop their big sis from getting worried when she's working and training. The fact that he doesn’t hit them anymore except on really rare occasions, for them, is a big improvement.

[5:54 PM]-- Jacques got worse after Winter left and turned into a real asshole when Whitley was 7 and Weiss 10. That was around the time the man had total control of Schnee Dust Albums, and pretty much he just let it out there that the only reason why he married her. Willow had always been in love with Jacques, had three kids with him, and they've had their ups and downs, but she never suspected all of it was a ploy. Only when the company was his in all but name did he reveal his greedy side. And that destroyed their mother completely. Whitley still remembers his mom being happy a long time ago. He's tried, but after Willow gets into the bottle, she just ignores everyone to drown her sorrows. Eventually, her kids stopped trying. They still love her, but after years of trying, somethings gotta give, and dealing with their dad is a full time thing.

As for Whitley, he's seen all these things happen to his family. Though he likes Winter, he still can’t help but resent her for leaving. He hates his mother for ignoring them and drowning herself in alcohol. So the only person in the family he feels close to is Weiss. And she him.

Though Weiss wanted to get away, she wasn't going to leave her younger brother alone with his father. So she devises a plan to get free and discovers emancipation. The problem is that emancipation requires a hearing , and her father despite everything looked like the perfect, albeit strict father. Unless she can get both her parents signatures and have the emancipation okayed by all parties.(edited)

[5:56 PM]-- Ironically, her father was easy to trick out of a signature. Just ask him to sign papers involving schoolwork and he'll just blow past anything. Not to mention she's always been obedient- grudgingly – but never actually disobeyed him.

It was his mother that was the issue because despite her drunkenness you couldn't fool her in getting her signature because Weiss's never needed to ask her for anything before. And Willow was resistant. Asking questions like why. This is their home. If they emancipate themselves, they won’t have anything. Life might suck but at least they have food on the table and shelter. How could she find a good marriage prospect if she got disowned (old-fashioned patriarchial family, old-fashioned rules: probably why Jacques became president of the company instead of she) Not to mention if her father found out… at this point, Weiss realizes how genuinely afraid her mother is of her father but still presses on because she had to escape, and she needed to make sure Whitley escaped to. So this line eventually gets said: “If you ever considered Whitley and I your children, if you ever considered yourself our mother, you will sign this emancipation.”

After more discussion, the papers get signed. “good luck Weiss,” Weiss hears before leaving. Weiss nods her head but chooses not to look back. ----

And still thinking of the execution and aftermath of that plan. All I can tell is that it has to be so troublesome enough that it keeps Jacques unable to bother Weiss and Whitley lol

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

lilac — 12/05/2020 6:41 PM

So going back to the #musicAU for a moment, I think I left off when Weiss and Whitley just convinced their mother on giving a signature for emancipation while tricking Jacques for the other one.

The plan doesn't get executed until a couple months later when she has a shoot planned at Vale. The papers were processed in secret with only a few knowing the truth. Weiss talks to Penny about schooling and apartments in the area while dealing with every penalty clause in her contract- luckily Jacques believed he had her under her thumb because of their familial relations and only had a standard contract under the company.

Whitley wanted to come to Vale too, but given that Weiss barely had the funds to take care of herself much less another person, he was going to go over to Winter instead. Winter actually doesn't know of this plan before both of them left the home, mostly because Atlas had sent her out on patrolling duty as part of her training. Both Whitley and Weiss sent messages to their eldest sister, but she hadn't actually checked her scroll until she went home.

So it was a massive surprise when Whitley showed up on her doorstep on her week off, barely dressed with her apartment in shambles. "My apartment's not normally like this. I swear." /blatantlies. Seems like without Klein Winter is really bad at self upkeep - rip. So Whitley earns his keep by actually keeping Winter's home clean - Winter compares him to a wizard because with him around, the dishes are all clean, the strange object in he refrigerator is gone, and there's always food in the house - which are mostly things he wants to do because he can't stand his living space being that dirty. Winter does pitch in....but...well Whitley has to do it over again half the time. Or in the case of food, barely survived the aftermath.

While they're getting situated, Jacques notices very quickly in only a couple of days, which is bad because the plan was accounting that he wouldn't notice for weeks.

---

lilac — 12/05/2020 6:55 PM

- The only reason why he notices so soon because he requires Weiss to put on a performance to get a connection with another firm. However, he fails in getting on contact with her or Whitley. However, by calling upon his connections, he discovers the emancipation papers. He confronts Willow on that day.

Time skip a week later. Winter gets a phone call from a distressed Klein who hurriedly says that he hasn't seen the Mistress of the house for a week. And her room is being guarded by bodyguards who won't let anyone in except for the new hires the man brought.

Winter gets this phone call on her scroll during the middle of training - and in attempt to embarrass by her instructor as punishment, the instructor puts it on speakerphone. Everyone in her class becomes silent. Winter quickly gets distressed because unlike her siblings she knows how her dad was like back when she was just a single child - and also thought her own threats of bodily harm - and his self-preservation- were enough to keep everyone safe.

She runs out of training but not before the instructor tells her to come back right now and that what she's doing is insubordination. Her reply was to throw her recruit badge right into the man's face.

So Winter arrives back to the Schnee Mansion in half a day, the servants let the girl through despite her disowned status, and it's the bodyguards surrounding Winter's room who discover her. Her father is alerted to her presence around this time. She opens the door and discovers her battered mother, face and body bruised - her mother asks guiltily what she was doing here and to not worry about her. Her training allows her to recognize that some of these injuries aren't new - they've been going on for at least months. Winter asks why she hadn't said anything - and Willow just tells her that she said nothing so her kids would be safe - she was a bad mother, it was the least she could do for them.

---

lilac — 12/05/2020 7:00 PM

Winter remembers the mother in her memories that helped guide her for sixteen years and now this broken, defeated woman before her. And she just snaps. She's angry at her mother for being so selfless, angry at her siblings for not noticing, angry at herself most of all for that and leaving home for her own dreams, but most of all angry at the man who caused all this.

So when Jacuqes appears yelling "You're not a Schnee anymore, Winter! You're breaking and ente-", Winter decks him with a punch to the nose.

-----

The resulting scandal with Jacques trying to protect his image ties up Jacques quite nicely and prevents him from doing anything to Weiss and Whitley in the mean time.

Winter naturally gets in trouble, but Ironwood is protecting her. And public sentiment is in her favor.

Which returns us to the present where Ruby is enchanted by two girls, one playing and one singing, in a small classroom.

[geneeste]

Genie's SG-1 Rewatch: Singularity

Season 1, Episode 15. In which I have a VERY unexpected reaction to the setup to this episode, and then cry.

PREVIEW:

6:42 THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T PUT A LITERAL WELCOME SIGN ON A PLANET ANNOUNCING YOUR PRESENCE JFC “Dear Bad Guys, the SGC has an outpost here on this defenseless planet, please come kill everyone in it and send a doomsday device in the chest of a cute, traumatized little girl to destroy the SGC and all the stuff in a several-mile radius, kthxbai”

6:46 And now I’m getting upset that I don’t think they ever deal with the fact that it’s essentially their fault Hanka showed up on the Goa’uld radar at all And not in a “sometimes our presence has unintended, unforeseeable consequences” kind of way but in a “We were homicidally negligent in our treatment of this planet” way

5:10 Yay Singularity A nice palette cleanser after Hathor, ugh Lol Daniel “it’s black and it’s a hole” This man is a PhD

5:11 I love Sam’s spiraling hand gestures describing the matter entering the black hole Very cute, if dangerous

5:12 “Actually, it’s called the accretion disc” That’s my man, Jack Not just a pretty face

5:14 HEH Daniel’s slow on the uptake there Again, this man is a PhD

5:15 HEE Sam backing Jack’s knowledge up I loooooove it And I love them Sassy squared “Not initially” ew jack

5:17 Okay, hold up though — is this the first (and I’m pretty sure the last?) time we get this like road sign for a planet?

5:18 I am very confused by this thing, because I don’t think you’d want to advertise the SGC’s presence on this planet (HI GOAULD, WELCOME TO HANKA, ENJOY YOUR STAY!) And people from the SGC would certainly know who FROM THE SGC would be there

5:19 What is exactly the point of this highway sign aside from memorializing whoever Douglas McLean is (of blessed memory, I’m sure, not trying to be mean to this person)

5:20 What a weird ass thing to put here

5:22 Teal’c spidey sense is tingling Oh no poor guy I’m glad that they’ve put Daniel through at least some basic emergency protocols He springs right into action there

5:24 So one of the things that Mr Genie and I talk a lot about is that the US military would not send just 4 people through through an alien device to unknown territory

5:26 And I also have trouble suspending disbelief a little with remote bases on other planets because it’s veeeeerrrrry unlikely there’d be just a handful of people in these places ever So like SG1 showing up and wondering where everyone is...is just not something I think would actually happen

5:30 (Another random aside: I also sometimes wonder why they picked the Air Force as the managing service for the Stargate and not, say, the Army — I get it’s the most technology-oriented of the services and I am definitely biased toward them, but the USAF doesn’t really do infantry. I would have expected to see them either hand field operations over to the Army or see Joint Operations established waaaaaay earlier)

5:32 PM Oof they’re all dead I knew that was coming, but still, that sucks

5:33 WHY IS JANET’S HAIR DOWN AND WHY IS IT DOWN OFF WORLD The military doesn’t care if you’re pretty! JFC

5:34 Although yes, damn Janet is pretty Don’t distract me, you’re out of uniform!

5:36 Ugh is that a kid? I hate that (I mean I know other kids must have died but of course it upsets me to see it) 5:37 Do we ever find out if Cassie has any siblings? I wish we’d gotten more of her backstory

5:38 I feel like the story of her life before Sam and Janet was pretty thin considering this calamitous thing that happened hahaha Teal’c is making that face!

5:40 (I always thought it was RDA that said this, but apparently it was Michael Shanks who once took Chris Judge aside and was like, “you’re a handsome guy, why are you always doing that thing with your face???”) TEAL’C IS SO GENTLE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH My heeeeeeaaaaaart 5:41 Oh Sam, please stop telling the little girl who’s entire world was basically just murdered that everything’s okay

5:43 I like that Sam gets to be soft in this episode So often characters like hers don’t get to be soft without being punished in some way for it 5:45 Okay, so here’s the thing though I get why Sam would feel that SGC died for nothing if they didn’t study the black hole BUT I don’t understand the argument she’s trying to make about the rest of HANKA At this point there’s no reason to believe their deaths have anything to do with the phenomena so her curiosity comes across as really callous and selfish

5:49 That was a good bit of camera work, seeing the gate room from Cassie’s perspective It came across as pretty daunting

5:50 Oh my god Sam, why in the world would you think leaving a little girl whose WHOLE WORLD HAS JUST DIED in a concrete room on an unfamiliar planet by herself?

5:51 This isn’t even “never been a parent before” stuff, this is BASIC HUMAN DECENCY STUFF

5:52 why is Janet’s hair STILL DOWN It is way past her collar I don’t know why this is bugging me BUT IT IS REALLY BUGGING ME

5:54 Sam drawing herself into Cassie’s picture so she knows she’s not alone kills me every. time.

5:55 Y’all ever think about Cassie was trapped by herself on a planet surrounded by the corpses of everyone she ever knew

5:57 I hate that we didn’t see the real consequences from that in the show

5:57 PM sighs forever at this shows ongoing inability to handle real fallout on screen like 99% of the time

5:58 PM The scene with Jack explaining black holes to Teal’c is very funny but totally pointless Couldn’t we have skipped this and dealt with emotional stakes instead Did we just need to remind everyone that Jack and Teal’c are still on the planet? Lol

6:01 I love that silly grabby hands thing Sam does to Cassie in the infirmary Very much something I might do to make my kids laugh

6:02 Oh Cassie

6:03 “What? What do I do?” Aaaaahhhh Sam I feel ya honey, it’s the worst

6:04 Why are they doing CPR though? Is she not breathing? They didn’t say Cassie wasn’t breathing I’m confused Okay, so now she’s intubated that was fast Not sure what’s actually wrong here but it sucks all around

6:06 There’s...nothing attached to the breathing tube Why is it there Did they mean to place an airway? I AM VERY CONFUSED BY THIS DRAMATIC MEDICAL SCENE 6:13 Okay, not for nothing, but: if the show had chosen to pivot to Janet and Sam: Adoptive Moms/Life Partners Who Solve Mysteries, they would have had at least one viewer That viewer would have been me

6:14 I know this is a serious moment but this shot with that blue lighting is very flattering to Janet, Sam, and Daniel

6:15 Okay, I’m sorry, hold up again How exactly are they visualizing or trying to remove (or whatever it is they’re doing) Cassie’s chest bomb thing? Did they cut her open??? Is it minimally invasive surgery? What exactly is happening here 6:18 Are we saying it’s an intelligent tumor/bomb I never got this part of the story 6:20 This is a really sweet moment between Sam and Daniel Daniel is actually being kind and supportive and I love him for it Good job, Daniel

6:21 I love that Jack is enthusiastic about studying the black hole But I am a little annoyed that they let him enjoy this without making fun of him for it And that he gets to be proud of his knowledge of astronomy While Sam is so often set up and then mocked for her expertise/belittled for enjoying nerdy things  BUT WHATEVER I’M NOT BITTER

6:42 THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T PUT A LITERAL WELCOME SIGN ON A PLANET ANNOUNCING YOUR PRESENCE JFC “Dear Bad Guys, the SGC has an outpost here on this defenseless planet, please come kill everyone in it and send a doomsday device in the chest of a cute, traumatized little girl to destroy the SGC and all the stuff in a several-mile radius, kthxbai”

6:46 And now I’m getting upset that I don’t think they ever deal with the fact that it’s essentially their fault Hanka showed up on the Goa’uld radar at all And not in a “sometimes our presence has unintended, unforeseeable consequences” kind of way but in a “We were homicidally negligent in our treatment of this planet” way Like, I am kind of appalled now because I can’t unsee it Did they never talk to Cassie about this? Jesus Like holy shit this is several levels of terrible that I never thought about before

6:56 That is some amazing resolution on that telescope (not satellite, lol)  (Apologies, I’m pretty salty tonight)

7:00 And now I’m feeling very conflicted about using this little girl’s trauma as drama fodder for Sam Damn, I am looking at this ep in a whole new way (And also. I don’t buy Sam’s ‘military’ excuse for having to be detached. that doesn’t make sense to me at all)

7:02 Stepping back from the hella problematic setup of this storyline (and HOO BOY IS IT A BIG ONE), lots of potential Sam/Daniel shippyness in this ep I see solid friendship here but I totally get why someone would see a ship instead

7:05 Oh, so now you’re okay with sending additional backup to defend against one little girl but a few guys to protect an entire planet and probably a million dollar’s worth of equipment after you’ve broadcast your location to your deadliest enemy is fine Got it (Man. I am genuinely surprised by my reaction to this ep. Oof.) 7:10 I am begrudgingly acknowledging that this is a good shot of SG-1 I want it on the record that I am lodging this note on their attractiveness under protest 7:11 Heh “What about the abandoned nuclear facility at—“ “Right!” I suspect that bit of dialogue was inspired by military PA’s standard response to questions about nuclear weapons facilities: “I can neither confirm nor deny the presence of nuclear weapons at ____________.” @sharim28, 7:13 Hahaha yes convenient cut off Very smooth @geneeste, 7:14 So smooth Sam holding Cassie while she sleeps in the back of the truck is legit heartbreaking stahp I don’t want to feel things while I’m mad at you, show 7:16 Aahhhh Sam already knows she won’t be coming back up when Jack offers to take Cassie You can see it in her face That is some great acting by AT and MY HEART And I swear Jack has an inkling too It’s why he’s so insistent about the time 7:17 And that eye contact between her and Jack as the elevator doors close GAH Stupid show.

7:18 “Please, go back to sleep.” STOP IT I MEAN IT

7:19 This really is difficult to watch Poor Sam. Poor Cassie. Poor everybody.

7:21 Ahhhh Sam DON’T CRY SAM 7:22 That Jack switches from Captain Carter to Sam is just chefskiss.gif

7:23 So I love both the fact that Jack is desperately ordering Sam to come back up AND that Sam is desperately ignoring him Also perfection 7:24 (Don’t think I’ve forgotten the shitty thing you did show I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN I’M JUST TAKING A BREAK) Jack’s not leaving MY HEART 7:25 And also I love SG1 but of course Jack wouldn’t leave Cassie’s “I love you” really does feel earned here and that’s hard to do in such a short amount of time A testament to AT’s acting chops because I’m not feeling particularly charitable toward the writing right now 7:26 More great camerawork on Daniel and Teal’c I wonder who directed this ep

7:30 Mario Azzopardi — he hasn’t done much I recognize now. Peter Woeste on cinematography. Good work sirs. More good camera work on the guys 7:31 “We could have been wrong about the time.” “We could have been wrong about what would happen.” I love the drama but I’m mad about it 7:32 He switched to Sam again! I can’t wait to listen to this podcast ep of Chevrons Locked 7:34 PM Yes Daniel’s celebratory slap at Teal’c HA I love it 7:35 Why are we insisting on putting Sam in mom clothes Although I’m loving Teal’c's fashion

7:36 “A mother’s instinct, perhaps.” “Subtle, but no.” That is such a great little moment between Teal’c and Sam

7:38 Jack not so subtlety ushering the dog and the guys away

7:38 So sweet Big old softy Pretty sure that dog is walking Jack, but whatever

7:40 Sweet ending

7:41 I will never look at this episode or the whole storyline leading up to Cassie’s appearance the same way again, though Phew. That was an unexpected ride

7:42 Um. I just looked it up. Katie Stuart (Cassie) is a year older than me. Wut. the actress is frozen in my brain at 13 so this is very weird to discover

[captain-303]

1. KitKat chunky

2. Drastic Sturgeon by Mansun

3. Marinara pizza

4. Fanta

5. Mansun

6. Transformers 3: Dark of the Moon

7. Mortal Engines (I'm not too sure about this one)

8. Pizza Express

9. You know who you are (°_°)

10. White hair is sick and green eyes are cool. Neither of which I have lol

11. Idk, I use Google Calendar a lot

12. Board game: Monopoly, Video game: Tower of Fantasy

13. To play: Hockey, to watch: Motorcycle chariot racing

14. Business

15. Batman, Turkey

16. 303, O

17. Cat

18. Neon Genesis Evangelion

19. "Not to call you a coward master, but sometimes cowards do survive" - Starscream, Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen

20. John [noun]

21. Sainsbury's

22. Red

23. Socks

24. Lynx (I forgot the flavour)

25. I have an exceptionally poor memory

26. 16 (no way!!!!! My own age???? That's crazy!!!!)

27. Interestingness

28. Never Gonna Give You Up - Rick Astley

29. Lunchtime

30. @dahliacloud

31. Google Pixel my beloved

32. Adidas

33. Clothing core

34. Zig-zag

35. A well thought out one (or billions of dollars, either will do)

36. Situational

37. Walkers, prawn cocktail

38. Mansun.... If they were still together

39. One of my business teachers

40. Me (I'm famous now)

41. The Onion

42. Shelving

43. Piano

44. Pop

45. Spring

46. Having fun! :D

47. My Rei Ayanami shirt

48. Any of my jeans

49. Idk man!!

50. That's too big a thought for me at this hour (10:55 PM)

51a. FEAR

51b. Not really fear I just thought that was funny, in reality, I don't know.

52. The humble high-five (🫸💥🫷)

53. This is just question 44 but written different. Still pop.

54. Something nice, my standards are very low

55. Something well thought out and that suits the situation

56. The notes app 🗣️🗣️🗣️

57. Pixel 6a (would you believe that's the model I have!)

58. Laying down

59. I am not answering that one!

60. My trainers (the ones with elastic laces)

61. Exactly the same as Q17. Cat

62. My hair?

63. Their face

64. https://youtu.be/3XmryJeO87s

65. Man Carrying Thing

66. From the 5 currently on my phone:

67. Maybe not my favourite, but this is my favourite of how far I was willing to scroll down the posts I have liked

68. Do you mean font? If you do, Comfortaa

69. Ideally one when where I look normal

70. The summer holiday

71. ASUS

72. "Shop at Kwik Save and you make a good saving // Difference in prices is truly amazing // Chips from the freezer come in very big portions // Down our end you get fantastic reductions" - Drastic Sturgeon, Mansun

73. A certified one

74. It could always be worse!

75. I'm not looking through all my messages, but my favourite from today would be;

𓀞 𓀾𓀻

𓁌𓀢 𓀟𓁀

76a. You just lost the game

76b. HAHAHA YOU DIDN'T EXPECT THAT DID YOU

77. My mediocre James Sunderland remake cosplay

78. Whatever aesthetic Serial Experiments Lain has

79. Welcome back question 43. Still Piano!

80. Toyota

81. The Evangelion fandom is pretty neat I guess

82. 😎 (I wish to one day be as cool as this guy)

83. Other than playing computer games - going for walks

84. Asuka Langley Soryu (Neon Genesis Evangelion)

85. Sadie Green (Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow)

86. The Silent Hill 2 movie if that ever comes out

87. RADIO EVA

88. Brownie

89. Not answering this one either!

90. 🕺the one this guy is doing

91. Healthy

92. I don't know any 😭

93. Vicodin

94. The UK, Batman (in Turkey, not the UK)

95. Useful

96. This one:

97. This is my phone wallpaper

I just think 2B looks really cool in this

98. Sunny (but not too hot!)

99. Fighter jet (never used this, but it would be pretty fast!)

100. PS2

That took a while but was very fun!

Favorites

1. Favorite candy?

2. Favorite song?

3. Favorite food?

4. Favorite drink?

5. Favorite band? Artist?

6. Favorite movie?

7. Favorite book?

8. Favorite restaurant?

9. Favorite person?

10. Favorite hair color? Eye color?

11. Favorite website?

12. Favorite board game? Video game?

13. Favorite sport to play? To watch?

14. Favorite school subject?

15. Favorite state? City?

16. Favorite number? letter?

17. Favorite animal?

18. Favorite TV show?

19. Favorite quote?

20. Favorite nickname?

21. Favorite store?

22. Favorite color?

23. Favorite article of clothing?

24. Favorite type of perfume or cologne?

25. Favorite memory from this year?

26. Favorite age?

27. Favorite trait?

28. Favorite music video?

29. Favorite time of day?

30. Favorite Tumblr?

31. Favorite phone brand?

32. Favorite shoe brand?

33. Favorite fashion style?

34. Favorite pattern?

35. Favorite gift?

36. Favorite humor?

37. Favorite chip brand? Flavor?

38. Favorite band to see live?

39. Favorite teacher

40. Favorite celebrity?

41. Favorite news station?

42. Favorite DIY?

43. Favorite instrument?

44. Favorite genre of music?

45. Favorite season?

46. Favorite experience?

47. Favorite shirt?

48. Favorite bottoms?

49. Favorite interpretation of love?

50. Favorite existential thought?

51. Favorite scent?

52. Favorite human interaction?

53. Favorite music genre?

54. Favorite compliment?

55. Favorite insult?

56. Favorite phone app?

57. Favorite type of phone?

58. Favorite reading position?

59. Favorite sex position?

60. Favorite pair of shoes?

61. Favorite animal?

62. Favorite body feature (on yourself)?

63. Favorite body feature (on others)?

64. Favorite YouTube video?

65. Favorite YouTuber?

66. Favorite meme?

67. Favorite Tumblr post?

68. Favorite typeface?

69. Favorite selfie?

70. Favorite holiday?

71. Favorite computer brand?

72. Favorite lyrics?

73. Favorite moment?

74. Favorite advice?

75. Favorite message you've ever received?

76. Favorite message you've ever sent?

77. Favorite outfit?

78. Favorite aesthetic?

79. Favorite musical instrument?

80. Favorite car brand?

81. Favorite fandom?

82. Favorite emoji?

83. Favorite hobby?

84. Favorite TV show character?

85. Favorite book character?

86. Favorite movie that's coming out?

87. Favorite designer brand?

88. Favorite dessert?

89. Favorite kink?

90. Favorite dance move?

91. Favorite diet?

92. Favorite rap verse?

93. Favorite drug?

94. Favorite country? City?

95. Favorite feeling?

96. Favorite picture on the Internet?

97. Favorite phone and/or computer background?

98. Favorite weather?

99. Favorite mode of transportation?

100. Favorite console?

[godsnameisjoy]

298 & 299

Date: 17 June 2025

1 Duration: 5 minutes at 4:14 PM

2 Duration: 32 minutes at 4:22 PM

3 Duration: 55 minutes at 11:42 PM

Depth:

The 5 minutes guided meditation was not about breathing. It required for the meditator to put each of their senses to use. Some of the guided sessions that are part of the Mid Year Reset Challenge at Insight Timer don’t have any breathing instructions to follow. And that’s absolutely ok. Since I am doing the ‘Challenge’ meditations in the afternoon, I have ended up adding a day time personal routine session. My daily average meditation duration exceeds an hour now and I love it.

The afternoon routine session was largely spent at the shallow surface of everyday thoughts. Only at the shallow surface do I have control over my thoughts. I took advantage of the control, like I usually do. I conducted all my routine prayers and techniques during the afternoon session. Each moment was spent in peace.

It is amazing how inner peace once found in the depths, influences even the shallowest thought. Peace undoes the natural born hook one has over regular, everyday, seemingly innocent earthly desires. After finding peace, there is an entirely new hook for the attention to use during meditation. It is the inward bound hook that seeks divinity. The afternoon routine session did not have that dark, silent stillness that my attention has enjoyed in a handful of recent meditation sessions.

During the nightly routines ne session, my body pulled my attention to the surface due to the room’s temperature and the sheet I had over my shoulders. Once I dropped the sheet, my attention sped inwards, away from the body. It reached a depth of mind where there is thought, there is some movement of mind but the movement is negligible if one was to compare it with the shallow surface of everyday thoughts.

I am pretty sure that I was at the deep sleeping zone of my mind when I closed the nightly session. As I lay down to sleep, I couldn’t recall anything from the last few moments of meditation. That’s exactly how our deep sleeping minds are. It only informs us of having slept well without actually presenting a memory of sleep. Our deep sleeping minds don’t inform us like the way our dreaming subconscious mind informs us.

All I knew after meditating is that I had been at it. My attention was in a place where a meditational, inward moving thought was undoing the incessantly sprouting, outward moving stream of thought.

[seraphicyamchalover77]

.

.

.

“Who can I Trust in a situation Like this..?”

.

---

.

.

🕯 DAY 1: “Something's Watching Me”

📅 **Date:** May 17th, 2003

📍 **Location:** Kame House, Offshore Island (on a small island south of the central continent, in the middle of the ocean)

🕰️ **Time:** 11:32 PM

🔋 **Battery:** 42%

📶 **Reception:** 3 bars – weak but livable

🔒 **Encrypted Note**

(Password-protected: *LupineLothario*)

---

📖 **>ENTRY START:**

\[INTRO: "I’m Not Crazy. Right?"]

I’ve always hated nights like this. The kind where even the ocean sounds fake, like it’s mimicking life just to trick me into thinking I’m safe. You’d think an island as peaceful as this—miles away from fans, journalists, *her*—would calm my nerves.

But tonight? Something feels *off*.

It’s been three weeks since Tien crushed my leg like a soda can during the 22nd Budokai. My body’s healing, sure… but my mind? Not so much. I *feel* watched. Not in the usual “oh hey it’s Yamcha, the desert bandit turned martial arts heartthrob” way.

No.

This feels *filthy*. Violating.

---

📨 **>RECEIVED FILE - \[Multimedia Message, 10:48 PM]**

📎 Attachment: JPEG (blurred face, cropped, body shot)

📎 Attachment: Red satin panties (physically mailed, not digital)

Text Message (Sender Unknown):

“You should wear red too sometime. I bet it’d look even better crumpled on my floor 💋”

I showed it to Bulma.

That was the worst fucking decision I’ve made in a while.

She *slapped* me.

Didn’t even let me explain. Didn’t *want* to hear the words: “I didn’t even *open* the damn package until just now.”

She saw the photo and those panties and stormed out of the call like I’d confessed to murder. Which—ironically—I wish I had. Might’ve gone over better.

---

💭 **>MENTAL STATUS: (Disoriented + Agitated + Paranoia Rising)**

I’ve dealt with fans before. Autograph-hunters, peeping toms, hell, even a guy who tried to mail me his *kidney* once. But this… feels intimate.

The photo wasn’t random.

That GI the girl wore? Looked exactly like *mine.* The one I wore during the tournament.

Same cut, same orange tone. Hell, even the *rips* on the chest seam looked identical.

It’s not cosplay.

It’s *recreation.*

The pose too—it was from *my fight with Tien*, frame-by-frame. Her leg raised, one arm tilted back. Like she studied the tournament tape and mimicked it with obsession.

But what really gnawed at me?

She knew my *location.*

The envelope was addressed to “Yamcha other // Recovery Room – Kame Island” in shaky, handwritten kanji. her handwriting is weird and very cryptic..

---

🧠 **>SYMPTOMS LOGGED:**

* Stomach cramps (not from the beans this time)

* Loss of appetite

* Phantom whispers at night (“*Don’t look out the window.*

* Sudden smell of lavender (not native to the island)

* Repeated power flickers only in my room

* The feeling of breathing on my neck when I sleep sideways

---

🕵️ **>THEORIES FILE:**

[1] Bulma sent the package to trap me.

> Nah. She’s jealous, not psychotic. And she’s not a fan of Gyaru girls. She likes her tech and bodysuits.

\[2] One of Roshi’s old “disciples” trying to scare me.

> Could be. But how’d they get that *exact* outfit replica?

[3] A fan. A real one. One who watches. One who’s already here.

> …Fuck. The door was unlocked all day. I napped after lunch. Roshi went fishing. Krillin went home. I *was alone.*

---

🖼️ **>INVESTIGATION – PHOTO ENHANCEMENT (Manually Zoomed on Flip Phone)**

* Brown skin

* Short black hair, kind of frizzy at the edges

* Chubby build

* Cropped face, but shadow under jaw suggests smiling

* Back wall looks *too familiar.* Cracked pink tile. Possibly the public bathhouse at West City…?

I think I’ve *seen* her before.

I don’t know where.

But my stomach dropped when I noticed

something in the background.

The tournament poster.

Hung on her wall.

Signed.

By *me.*

I only signed that many during the Budokai *after-party.* That means she was *there.* Maybe even shook my hand.

---

📹 **>ACTIVITY TIMELINE – TODAY:**

* **8:30 AM:** Woke up. Dreamt someone was brushing my hair. I don't have long hair anymore

* **9:15 AM:** Brushed teeth, door creaked open behind me. Roshi blamed humidity.

* **10:00 AM:** Beach walk. Saw footprints that didn’t match any sandals we own.

* **3:46 PM:** Nap. Had a dream I couldn’t breathe. Woke up with pillow over face.

* **7:00 PM:** Package arrived by air courier. No name.

* **10:48 PM:** Multimedia message.

* **11:00 PM:** Me & Bulma got into a fight.

* **11:31 PM:** Still shaking. My GI smells like perfume. *and It’s not from my girlfriend..*

---

🎮 **> “Stay in the Room” or “Investigate the Dock”**

I’m too fucked up to think straight.

But if this was a game, I’d pick *“Investigate the Dock.”*

Which is exactly what I’m going to do.

I’m taking my phone with me.

If this is the last thing I write and someone finds this?

I *didn’t* cheat.

I didn’t ask for this.

And if that girl is *real*—

if she’s already here—

then someone better fucking find what’s left of me before the tide does.

---

— 📱Yamcha’s Log – End of Day 1.

🛌 Sleep mode not activated.

🔒 Note encrypted.

*If I don’t write Day 2… she probably slit my throat while I was dreaming of that damn fight again.*

**END ENTRY.**

📁 Saved to: “WOLF.LOG”

🔔 Reminder set for 6:00 AM – *Wake up before she does.*

.

.

.

[justwritingggg]

Exactly i'mma make some noodles idc if it's 11:42 pm or some shit

“If we wait until we’re ready, we’ll be waiting the rest of our lives.”

— Lemony Snicket; The Ersatz Elevator

[littleharpethcrossfit]

Sunday, 2 June, 2024.

The Weather-Lady is predicting that the rain will continue all day and night Saturday, and then abruptly stop at exactly our 0730 start time Sunday.

We wound up having a sunny, warm, and humid day.

Warmup #1

Armando did his stretchy/flexy thing for us.

Warmup #2

5 Rounds

10 Back Raises

10 Ab-Mat Sit-Ups

Strength

Deadlifts..........10/8/6/4/2

Build To A 2 Rep max

Bernie/Ed/Armando=315..........Dana/Herb/Paul=275..........Tom=255 ..........Coach=225..........Kayla/Linda=115..........Shannon/Alicia=95 .........Mack=85........Sue=?

WOD

Equipment

Loaded Barbell.....(95/75/55)

Choice Of ERGs

10 Rounds

4 Deadlifts

3 Hang Power Cleans

2 Ground To Overheads

Run 200/Row-Ski 250/Bike 500m

Dana**=14:59.......... Armando**=15:53..........Mack*=17:25 Bernie*=17:33..........Ed**=17:50..........Alicia*=18:42..........Sue*=18:43 Tom=20:14......Herb*=21:18........Kayla=21:42........Linda=22:11 Shannon=22:40..........Paul=24:10..........Coach=PJ

Cool-Down

Visit the Arboretum for a peaceful Run/Jog/Walk for any distance or pace based upon your mood..........Lots of people did this!!

Notes:

OK Dad, is her name KENZ or MACK ??

Alicia, who seldom posts on the whiteboard, posted her scores today. Was it because she proudly did RX, or was it because she beat Sue by 1 second ???

Tuesday at 4 PM.

[echoes-of-elsewhere]

My unusual take on a horror trope!

I wrote this story a while back, and put it up in two parts. I am still pretty new to Tumblr, and don't really know how to engage, but I feel this story deserves to be aired. Have a read and let me know... ***

They always assume they would notice, that if something like this happened to them, it would be immediate and undeniable. People believe in dramatic revelations, in a single moment where the world tilts and the truth is exposed. They think of flickering shadows, distorted reflections, the impossibility of seeing their own face in places they do not remember being. But it never happens that way.

The process is slow, deliberate, and inevitable. A shift so gradual that, by the time they recognize it, it is already too late. It begins with something small—an exchanged greeting they cannot recall, a casual reference to an event they have no memory of attending. They assume it is stress, distraction, miscommunication, all reasonable things that allow them to dismiss the wrongness before it settles in. They do not understand that every moment of doubt is another step in the process.

I have been here for weeks. I know the way he moves, the cadence of his voice, the weight of his name. I have studied him long enough that I could be him better than he is. And soon, I will be.

The first time he notices, it is so minor that he almost forgets it entirely. The barista in the café hands him his coffee and smiles as she says, “Back again?” He hesitates, shakes his head slightly, and tells her this is his first coffee of the day. She frowns for a fraction of a second before laughing it off, blaming her mistake on the early morning rush.

The second time, it is more difficult to ignore. A colleague stops him outside his office, asking how his meeting went. There is a note of expectation in their voice, something that tells him this is not a casual inquiry but a follow-up to an earlier discussion—one that, as far as he is concerned, never happened.

“I didn’t have a meeting this morning,” he says, forcing an easy tone into his voice.

His colleague raises an eyebrow, pulling out their phone. “You said you were heading to one just before lunch. Look—" They turn the screen toward him, showing a text message from his number. The words are familiar, structured exactly the way he would phrase them. He reads them over and over, but the memory of sending them does not come.

That should have been the moment he acknowledged that something was wrong.

But it wasn’t.

Denial is powerful. Even now, as the weight of inconsistencies begins to settle, he fights it. He checks his emails, his call logs, his purchase history, looking for proof that something is missing, something altered. The problem is, there is nothing missing. There are no blank spaces, no files erased or conversations removed. Instead, there are things he has no recollection of doing—transactions at places he has not visited, messages that sound exactly like him, plans he would have made.

He tells himself it is stress, that he must have been distracted, that memory is unreliable. He does not realize that he is not looking for an answer. He is looking for permission to believe nothing is wrong.

That is why he watches the security footage. That is why he asks the night guard to rewind the tape, just to check. That is why, even before he sees it, he knows what will be there.

The screen flickers, and there he is, walking into the office building at 11:42 PM. He watches himself take the elevator to the fourth floor, swipe his access card, and step inside. There is no hesitation in his movements, no moment of doubt or pause. His posture is relaxed, his gait smooth and familiar.

The guard chuckles beside him. “Looks like you’ve been sleepwalking.”

He stares at the footage, waiting for some sign that it isn’t real, that there has been a mistake. But there is no mistake. He was home at 11:42 PM. He knows this with absolute certainty. And yet, here he is, caught in a moment that should not exist.

Sleepwalking.

It is easier to agree than to argue.

The moment of realization, the true breaking point, is not in what he sees but in what he does not.

His phone registers calls he cannot remember, but they are to the same people he speaks to every day. His emails contain correspondence that follows his usual habits, his tone, his way of phrasing things. Even his bank records show nothing unusual—just a life continuing as it always has, perfectly ordinary, except for the quiet, insidious knowledge that it is no longer his.

The key doesn’t turn.

He frowns, tries again, pressing harder, but the lock doesn’t move. He checks the key, turning it over in his palm, but nothing is wrong.

Behind him, footsteps. A voice follows.

“Something wrong?”

He turns. The landlord is walking up, a small ring of spares already in hand. He barely glances at the door.

“My key isn’t working,” he says.

The landlord exhales, already sorting through the keys. “Yeah, had the locks changed this morning. Request came in from you a couple of days ago.” He slides a key free, presses it into his palm without hesitation. “Here. Just don’t lose this one.”

He stares at it.

“Why were they changed?”

The landlord shifts his weight slightly, giving him an odd look before shaking his head. “You tell me. You put in the request.” His tone is flat, uninterested, already moving past the conversation.

His fingers tighten around the key.

"Am I being charged for this?"

A shrug. “Yeah. Standard fee.” The landlord is already moving away.

The key will fit. It will turn.

I already have mine.

Something inside him lurches at the exchange. The way the landlord handed over the key without hesitation. The way there was no moment of doubt, no pause, no verification—just a decision that had already been made. And then he sees me.

Standing at the end of the street.

He does not need to ask who I am. The answer is already forming, a terrible certainty clawing its way into his mind.

I am wearing his coat, the one he left draped over his office chair this morning. I have his keys, resting lightly in my hand. I do not move toward him. I do not have to. The space between us is already shifting.

He calls out, but the sound catches in his throat. He expects a confrontation, some kind of argument, a demand to explain. But there is no need for any of that, because I have already won.

He runs.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, only that he needs to move—as if motion itself will tether him back to reality, as if he can outrun the thing that is already replacing him. He will go to someone he trusts. A friend, a coworker, someone who can confirm that he is real. He will hear his own name spoken aloud, feel the weight of recognition, and convince himself that it is enough.

But I have already spoken to them. I have already passed that test.

And when he arrives, breathless, frantic, his words tumbling over themselves in his desperate need to be understood, they will hesitate.

Not out of fear. Not out of uncertainty.But with the weary patience of someone already prepared for this.

Because I was here first.

They will look at him the way one looks at an old argument resurfacing—exhausted, expectant, as if waiting for him to tire himself out. Their responses will falter, not because they doubt his presence, but because they have already had this conversation. Because they remember a more rational version of him, days ago, shaking his head and saying, I know it sounds crazy, but I just need you to listen.

Because they reassured him then. And he is back again, still unraveling.

He will ask questions and find that I have already answered them. He will try to prove something and find that I have already done so in his place.

Someone will sigh. Someone else will say, Hey, man. We talked about this.

There will be no dramatic revelation, no singular moment where the world turns against him.Just a slow, dawning understanding that it already has. That it is too late.

That I am already him.

______________________________________________________________ Sometimes they try to track me down. The ones who understand something is happening. The ones who refuse to let go. I let them. We fight, they escape—just.

They think it was luck. They think it meant something. That they still have time.

It helps at the end.

But I have planned the end.

______________________________________________________________

He finds me in the apartment. His apartment.

I have been expecting him. I sit at his desk, my hands resting on the familiar grain of the wood, his name flickering on the screen of his laptop. The room is arranged as he left it, as he always leaves it, because I know him.

I have had time to learn.

I watch him from across the room, waiting for him to say something, waiting for the last resistance that always comes.

He stands in the doorway, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, staring at me with the expression of a man looking at something impossible.

"Who are you?" he asks.

His voice is hoarse, like he already knows the answer.

I tilt my head slightly, observing the small, involuntary movements that I have already perfected. He doesn’t understand the significance yet, but he will.

"I am you."

The silence between us is thick with unspoken things.

His gaze flicks to the table, to the objects that should be his. The phone, the keys, the wallet resting beside the laptop. Every detail accounted for. Every possession in its proper place. But they are not his anymore.

They never were.

He takes a step forward, as if proximity will solidify his presence, will anchor him back into the life that is already leaving him.

"I don’t understand," he whispers.

But he does.

He knew the moment he saw me. He knew before that, even, though he buried it under denial, logic, resistance. The world has already chosen. He is just catching up.

His fingers twitch at his side. A choice, unmade. A final instinct to fight for something he has already lost.

I shake my head slowly. "It’s over."

He exhales sharply, something breaking inside him, something that will never be repaired.

The door behind him is still open. He turns toward it, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I wonder what he sees.

I do not stand. I do not need to.

He hesitates, fingers pressing into the doorframe. His breath is uneven, his shoulders tight. The moment stretches too long, like a held note just past its natural end.

And then, something shifts—not the air, not the light, but the space itself. It is slight, almost imperceptible, just enough to be felt rather than seen. I notice it, and so does he.

His grip slackens, shoulders easing as the last resistance uncoils from him—not in surrender, but in recognition. Whatever he sees beyond the threshold, it does not surprise him. And then, he steps forward. Not into the hallway. Not into the world he thought he knew.Into the space that was always waiting for him.

The door remains open. The world beyond is unchanged. But where he stood, there is nothing left to correct.

I sit in his chair, in his home, the hum of his existence now mine to inhabit. My fingers rest lightly on the desk, the weight of them precise, effortless. I inhale once, adjusting to the quiet, letting the space settle around me.

I have taken what I came for.

But there is still more to do.

I check my phone, scanning the list of unread messages. Meetings scheduled, people expecting me. I will need to go to them soon, continue the process, cement my place. There are still connections to be made, details to refine.

And then, I will be him completely.

As I stand, stretching slightly, I glance toward the door once more.It is still open.And for the briefest moment—just for an instant—I feel the weight of the place where he has gone.

The air is colder.

Something watches.

I do not linger.

I close the door.

And then I step forward into the life that is now mine.

[someonewhogotanaccount]

Procrastinated conversation (literally)

This is gonna be long sooo if you don't like my brain and me, just don't keep reading :).

Brain: Hello. Me: Brain: Hellooo. Me: Brain: DO YOU HEAR BAD?! Me: Ugh, what do you want again? Please make it quick, I'm at an exciting part of the book right now. Brain: That one. That's not a book. Me: Ebook then. Brain: FANFICTION. There's a difference- Me: Get to the point. Brain: I'm supposed to remind you that you still have work to do. Me: No way. I've set myself an alarm clock so I don't forget. Brain: An alarm clock that you've had in snooze mode for two and a half hours. Me: Brain: Me: Brain: Listen, if you're not going to play the piano, clean your room or study for tomorrow's test, at least read Stellarlune. So I can cross at least one thing off the to-do list. Me: But these fanfictions help me recover from Worm. Do you know how long I had to search for a proper fanfic? How many filters I had to use? That was VERY hard work. Cross that off your to-do list. Brain: It's been 42 days and about three hours since you finished Worm. Get over it already. Me: GO TO THE REMAINS OF MY HEART AND COMPLAIN THERE! Brain: Me: Brain: Me: You know what? Just remind me later, okay? Brain: ...All right. But if I hear any complaining- Me: Yeah yeah, sure. Now get out of here.

--- Later that night---

Brain: Hello again. Me: *Snores softly* Brain: HELLO AGAIN! Me: Brain: GET UP YOU'RE FIVE HOURS LATE!!! Me: WHAAAAAaaaaa what the fu- Brain: Ah. Finally. You're awake. Me: HOW CAN YOU BE SO RELAXED, WE'RE FIVE HOURS TOO- wait. Why. Is it still dark outside. Brain: Because it's 11:47 pm. You fell asleep just some minutes ago. Anyway, since you're awake now, remember the to-do list? Me: Me: You're giving me a heart attack. At almost midnight. To talk with me about my fucking to-do list?! Brain: Hey, watch your language or I'll have to censor you! Me: Don't tell me how to live my life, dumba*beep*. Me: Did you just f*beep*ing censor me? Me: *Beep*. Brain: Ahhh, way better. Now, to come back to the topic at hand... Me: I know you're dying to do this now. But could we maybe postpone this conversation until tomorrow? I'm really tired. Brain: See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. Always procrastinating… what's tomorrow going to be? You get ready for school, then you study for the vocabulary test at best twenty minutes before the test, same with the homework you had to do - I'm tired too, you know? I need time to study and I need enough space to memorize important things. You're wasting both time and space. And all that stress with the never-ending to-do list… it's not easy. All I'm saying is that I need help. Some support from you would be very nice and- Brain: Brain: You're asleep again, aren't you? Brain: Well, I guess it's my turn now. Brain: *Beep*.

---Right now---

Brain: …oh wow. It took you two weeks. For this crap. Holy Killercat. Me: Hey, just think of it as an experiment. Now we know I'm even better at procrastination than we already thought! Brain: Brain: Where's the f*beep*ing exit.

[excessdrive]

closed for: @fvckthepctriarchy ― ( sage ) where: local library when: 11:42 pm.

ending up in a library on a random thursday night had never been in the cards for killian. actually, it was a specific thursday for someone else. sweet natalie had an upcoming project at school and it just so happened that it was an emergency and she was in desperate need for a certain encyclopedia. usually you'd find the trainer already lightly snoring in their bed at such late hour, but when it comes to their goddaughter, killian was more than willing to bend a rule or two if that meant they'd get to save the little girl's day at school.

so here they were, arriving in quite a rush only to find themselves completely lost in the building filled to the brim with all types of books. how can anyone even begin to nagivate through this maze? thankfully, it didn't take long until what seemed like library assistent's desk came into view and the trainer gained a sense of relief. and, as it turns out, they might have relaxed way too soon. because why would a quick trip to the library go as smoothly as they'd imagined it in their head? nothing ever goes according to the plan and despite countless of situations proving exactly that, killian still found themselves being reminded of that simple yet unfortunate fact time and time again. it's like they never fully believed in it. well, until this moment, that is.

the disgusting frown reflected in moody assistent's face upon their inquiry about the layout of the library told them as much as they needed to know. the bastard did not want to help out and given the fact that the library was supposed to close in roughly fifteen minutes only added more reasons for killian to believe that the asshole decided to brush them off on purpose.

❝ oh, for fuck sake. ❞ a barely audible irritated mutter left them as the trainer quickened their pace in hopes of having the quickest possible tour of the place which will, inevitably, lead them to their destination. ideally, since they were racing against the clock and the odds didn't seem to be in their favor so far.

by some miracle, around ten minutes later, killian stopped at what appeared to be the correct row of bookshelves that included various types of encyclopedias. ❝ bingo. ❞ they whispered to themselves while marvelling at the scene. you'd think they discovered some kind of a treasure. taking a couple of steps closer to the bookshelf, killian swiftly fished out a sticky note with the name of the book and mere moments later their eyes fell upon the desired item. ❝ come here. ❝

now that they managed to find what they were looking for, the blond was way more at ease than before and was no longer in such a rush to exit the building although only a few minutes were left before the closure of the calm research space. still, they made their way towards the main staircase and couldn't help but direct their attention towards someone in particular. a person seemed to be resting or even sleeping on one of the research desks. it was obvious enough given that their head was lowered and rested on their arms like they were nothing but a comfy pillow.

a part of them did not wish to intrude or disturb the resting soul, yet the previous interaction with annoying library assitent refused to leave their mind. if it was up to them, killian would take up all of those people entering the library and would guide them themselves. that's how rude of an arsehole this one was. ❝ hey, ❞ killian addressed the person after getting close to their desk, however their approach did not evoke any reaction from the other. the trainer glanced around the place for a second or two, deciding their next move.

they were not really the touchy type, at least not when it came to strangers. so, the thought of potentially touching the other made them hesitate as scenarios of how the person would take their gesture plagued their imagination. then a faint sound of movement ahead reached their ears indicating that the assistent was preparing to close the library and that it was time to make their next move. the blond's glance returned to the other as killian let out a small sigh, leaning closer to where they were resting.

❝ hi, ❞ they tried again, slightly louder than before as the trainer now gently placed their hand on the other's shoulders, applying a bit of preassure in hopes of waking the person up. ❝ sorry. didn't mean to disturb, but the place is closing up and... yeah, it's pretty late. ❞ as soon as they felt movement, killian took a step back, letting their companion assess the situation and remember where they were. ❝ i'm gonna get us a cab. it's too late to be travelling alone, anyway. ❞ with a clear goal in mind, the trainer pulled out their phone with an intention to book them both a taxi, allowing the other to gather their bearings during that time.