#but I don't have the strength to keep on going for longer than this rn
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
there-will-be-a-way · 2 years ago
Text
My ergo therapist and a nurse drove me to my apartment today to be there for emotional support while I cleaned up the mess ex roommate left behind. The nurse said it was an act of aggression that ex roommate left his belongings at my place - same goes for pissing in my bed and all that.
Yesterday I received a text message from him, stating that the police is informed and that I should speak out. I ignored the message. Didn't do anything illegal meaning there's no reason to be afraid of the cops.
I feel battered nevertheless. Kind of defeated. Hopeless, sad, angery. Not just because of ex roommate but in general. Don't know how to climb out of this hole, this time. I always had a plan. Or an idea on what to do and where to go, but rn I just feel lost. Yeah, I'll go to the living group again but what then? My addiction will still be there. All the other stuff too. I'm putting my hopes in the rehab clinic I'll go to in a couple of weeks.
I just hope I won't be discharged tomorrow. Yesterday I got told they want to keep me here for a while longer so that I can learn to reach out for help and stand up for myself more. But part of me believes they'll just drop me tomorrow nevertheless. Kind of like it's often been.
Yeah, I might be triggered. Feeling raw, as if I have no skin. A nurse took my pocket ashtray because there's a weed leaf on it (yeah I'm cringe, I know) and it felt like the end of the world. These "everybody hates me, no one understands me, the whole world is against me" kinda feelings. Oh man.
11 notes · View notes
fairy-writes · 6 months ago
Note
Hello I don't know if your requests are open, but can I request something for hoshina and Gen?Maybe a bit of angst but ends in Fluff.In this scenario his in a relationship with the reader,but the reader has had a very rough past which ended with their entire family being killed in a Kaiju attack.And they sometimes get nightmares about their family,they reveal the reason why they joined was for revenge they want to kill every existing Kaiju.Their reckless in the battle field,don't care about their life and suicidal.During a mission they were protecting their fellow soldiers and taking down maybe a numbered Kaiju,they ended up getting a very life threatening injury but luckily recovered.
You can choose if you wanna make this dw- I just want some angst with fluff rn 🏃🏻‍♀️���.
HAVE A NICE DAYYY
FIGHTING TOOTH AND NAIL
Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!
__________________________________________________________________________
Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8
Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader
Narumi Gen x Reader
Word Count: 1.1k
Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Overworking, Nightmares, Suicidal Tendencies, Gore
Notes: Doing this a bit differently, the beginning scenario is the same for both Narumi and Hoshina. The hospital bit is where it varies. 
I did already do a similar scenario with Narumi on my page. It’s titled “Running Away From What?” if you wanna check it out :)
The scenario part went a bit longer than I hoped, so I cut them off a bit prematurely, mostly because I didn’t want to overwork my already overworked brain. 
Make sure to read the tags!
__________________________________________________________________________
In the world of kaiju extermination, it was well-known that you were a workaholic. Even more so than most people. You got up earlier, stayed later, and trained with any scrap of free time that you had. You weren’t particularly powerful when going up against powerhouses like Ashiro Mina, Narumi Gen, or Hoshina Soshiro. But you still pulled out enough power to be a formidable opponent in your own right. 
You were scrappy, clever, and quicker than most. But that didn’t mean you had magically gotten that powerful. No. You earned every percentage you pulled out by fighting tooth and nail and with broken bones. In short, you earned your team’s respect. 
If only you could eradicate every damn kaiju on the planet with that power. 
But that was going to be more challenging than you thought. 
Tumblr media
The battlefield was chaos. People were getting hurt, dying even. 
And in the midst of all of it, you were frozen. Your grip on your weapon was loosening, slipping from your fingers, and it took all your mental strength to keep from dropping it. You stared blankly at the kaiju before you. 
It was on the smaller side when it came to kaiju, though it was still the size of a horse. It stood on all fours, with a long tail swinging back and forth and blistered skin melting into bulging muscles. There wasn’t a single hair follicle in sight, leaving the skin covered in pustules and blisters that oozed green liquid. It stunk, the overwhelming scent of infection making you gag through your respirator. The beast’s face was corpse-like and looked pieced together with loose skin and a mouth full of broken teeth. 
The monster was disgusting. But the smell of its breath brought back memories of bodies torn in half and fires consuming your childhood home. 
Your name being called broke you out of your stupor, and you tightened your grip on your weapon. Turning ever so slightly, you spotted a comrade in arms running toward you. 
“The kaiju is a daikaiju! It’s rated an 8.0! We have to—” Quick as a whip, the beast’s tail swung around and cut your comrade in half. The light abruptly dies in their eyes, and the top half of their body topples to the ground with a wet thump. 
Abruptly, a raging fire bursts within you, and you grit your teeth, ignoring the bile rising in your throat from the stench, and you leap forward, ready to vanquish this monster that killed your fellow soldier. 
Tumblr media
Hoshina Soshiro
Tumblr media
The light scorched your retinas when you opened your eyes. 
So you did the logical thing and closed them again. 
But the quick glimpse told you what you needed to know. 
You were in the hospital. 
The beeping of the heart monitor didn’t take long to start driving you up the wall, and part of you was tempted to try and turn it off. 
But you knew you were in no condition to do anything but lay there. 
It was then that the door opened, and someone swept in with the force of a hurricane. 
“How are they?” 
Soshiro. 
He sounded upset, which was odd for him. In all your years of being together, you could count on one hand the amount of times he had been upset around you. 
“Same as yesterday. There was a blip in their heart rate a moment ago, but it’s back to normal again.” Someone said—a doctor or nurse, maybe?—and you felt someone adjust something attached to your arm. Perhaps it was an IV?
The medical personnel left, leaving you alone with your fiancé. You immediately felt his hand in yours as he sat at your side. His hands were calloused, as were yours, but you could practically feel the grime from the battle. 
Had he not showered since the battle?
How long had it been anyway? 
“Y’know, I really wished you’d wake up… So I can both reprimand and congratulate you.” Soshiro said with a breathy laugh. His hand squeezed slightly, tangling his fingers with yours, and you felt him press his mouth against your knuckles. 
You fought to open your eyes again. This time, it felt as if your eyelids weighed a million pounds. They wouldn’t cooperate. You couldn’t get your body to do anything you wanted. 
Until… Your eyelashes fluttered.
A gasp. Your name being exhaled on a breath. Like a wish on the wind. Soshiro’s hand tightened again around yours. 
And then light. 
Tumblr media
Narumi Gen
(He still doesn't get a gif. I still don't like his anime design)
How were you alive? 
At least, you assumed you were alive. 
You were pretty sure the afterlife didn’t have this damned beeping all the time. 
There were two types of beeping. 
The first kind, which you knew well, was the beeping of Gen’s handheld gaming device. 
And the second? You also were very familiar with it—the beeping of hospital machines.
“I know you’re awake.” Yup. That was Gen. So, you agonizingly peeled your eyelids open and tried to look over to the side. 
Keyword being tried. 
There was a neckbrace around your neck restricting your movement. So you settled with groping with your free hand that didn’t have an IV in the back of it for Gen’s hand. He obliged you and took it, pausing his game and setting it aside to focus on you. 
You could tell without even looking at him that he was upset. You told him as much, and he scoffed. You could see the ruffling of his hair in your periphery as he ran his free hand through the black and gray strands.
“No shit, Sherlock. You almost died. Of course, I’m mad.” He snapped, and you closed your eyes because you couldn’t do much else. 
“Did I at least kill that motherfu—”
“Worry about something else for once!” Gen bit out, and your mouth shut. 
The situation dawned on you as Gen started to speak, explaining what happened after supposedly watching the surveillance. 
You almost died five times. Twice when fighting the number kaiju. You remembered those moments just fine. And three times, when your heart stopped those three separate times on the way to the hospital. You didn’t remember this. You remembered gutting the monster and killing it, but after that, it was just… Blank. 
Had you really come that close to death? 
Hearing Gen’s voice crack, something that never happened, cracked your heart, and you squeezed his hand. 
“I’m sorry.” You croaked and heard him sigh. 
“Just… Don’t pull something like that again… Okay? I almost lost you.” He said softly, and you felt a tear streak your cheek. 
“Promise.”
111 notes · View notes
cosmic-ghost-hermit · 1 year ago
Text
What Are You Too Hard On Yourself About?
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
So my camera that I usually take pictures with is not accessible rn so I'm going to be using a different approach to doing pick-a-pile readings. I'm taking inspiration from other tarot readers on tumblr and use aesthetic photos that I find on pinterest and tumblr. let me know if yall like this more than the photo approach!
PILE ONE
Astrology: Virgo, Capricorn, Leo
Cards: The Wheel of Fortune, The Tower, King of Pentacles, En Caul
Song: Queen Of This Shit by Quay Dash
Vibes: ❤️🎂🚗🫖🥊☕️🍎🎲🎸🎹🍒🚑🍅⏰🍉✉️🍓🤍🌶.⚾️🥩🍰
Hello, pile 1! You seem to be hard on yourself for things that aren't even your fault, my friend. I think when you were young a lot of things were blamed on you so now you take responsibility when anything tragic happens. The thing about you is you are the one person that holds together the best in tragedy. It's only after it's all happened that you start feeling like you are to blame. You are not the cause of the wheel turning. Life is a series of up's and down's on the wheel of fortune. I hear you saying things to yourself like "I'm better off not being around" but my friend the wheel would still turn if you weren't. You being in the general vicinity does not make you at fault. You keep the ride on that wheel semi-stable, my dear. Please be kinder to yourself. You are so intelligent and you have the abilities of a seer. You know what to expect from the rollercoaster that life is and you are fantastic at preparing for it. Do not beat yourself up for existing. Do not beat yourself up for making simple mistakes. Accept yourself at every part of life. Love yourself at your best AND your worst.
PILE TWO
Astrology: Pisces, Gemini, Libra
Cards: The Hanged-Man, Page of Swords, Two of Cups, Lady of the Lake
Song: I Wish I Never Met You by Oh Wonder
Vibes: 💙❤️🦋🌹❄️💥🫐🍒💎🧲🧿🪓🌀🧯♿️🧰💦🍄🐳🎒🧢👠🧵🧣🌎
Hi, pile 2! You are hard on yourself for 2 things that work in tandem with each other. You either really struggle to find partners or you struggle to build romantic connections with the sexual partners you find. You have a very pixie-like energy which makes me think this is rooted in ADHD. You get extremely distracted by your interests and your experiences. This makes it difficult for you to find romance with anyone. The people you find connections with don't understand that you need patience and understanding. They don't understand that your ADHD isn't just a disability. Your ADHD is a PART of you and if they can't accept and love your ADHD along with you, they don't even deserve your attention and love anyway. I see that there is trauma connected to you feeling useful. Because you have been rejected for the way your mind works you think all you are good at is sex. You have fallen victim to people-pleasing behaviors all because you are allowing people to shit on an entire facet of your personality. Please stand up for yourself instead of being hard on yourself for how others view you. Their opinions do not matter if they constantly put you into a state of distress and self-hatred. Do not beat yourself up because of other people's ableism. You deserve a lover that understands you and accepts every part of you. When you finally stand up for yourself you will have completed a really tough cycle and your new energy will reward you greatly with a true romantic partner that will most likely be sticking around longer than the others.
PILE THREE
Astrology: Taurus, Sagittarius, Aries
Cards: The Empress, Strength, 8 of Wands, The Rainbow
Song: No Drug Like Me by Carly Rae Jepsen
Vibes: 💛🎺🏅🐝🐱👑👙🍯🥧🥞🧀🌸🍋🍌☀️💫⚡️✨🌻🌼💐🕯💰🛍
Hey there pile 3. Your energy is so light but somehow very rich as well. You have such a lovely energy that people love to be in. This can be a blessing and a curse for you. This is because you aren't too attached to anything or anyone. You are the type of person who people get addicted to but you often leave as quickly as you arrived. You are too hard on yourself about how this makes people feel. You feel as if you have left a string of broken hearts behind you. I see you feeling very guilty because of this. Don't be harsh with yourself about your true nature. You need room to travel from person to person. You aren't the kind of individual to get attached to concepts you experience as temporary. Human connection isn't meant to be permanent for you anyway. You shouldn't try to save feelings by moving away from your authenticity. You are meant to be independent and follow your heart where the wind takes it. Let the broken hearts leave your mind. Let the guilt slide off of you like water off a duck's back. Those people will find new beginnings with people who are meant to settle down. You will forever be a free spirit. If you tried to tie yourself down out of a sense of guilt it wouldn't end well for anyone. Your authenticity should be your main priority, not saving the emotions of people who have paths to walk you can't follow. What they think about you doesn't matter if it's your time to dip again.
PILE FOUR
Astrology: Scorpio, Cancer, Aquarius
Cards: The Hanged Man, 2 of Pentacles, Ace of Swords, Cosmic Ocean
Song: Greener by Kid Quill
Vibes: 💚🤎🐸🦇🪲🦂🍀🍂🥝🥥🍈🍹🧩🛖✅⚰️♻️🧺🇵🇸🚪🤑🪑💸🕯📗
Hey there, pile 4! You need to be easier on yourself for your indecisiveness, my friend. You are a very interesting combination of compassionate and intelligent. This is what makes it so hard for you to make decisions fast. It's not that you are bad at making decisions. You are smart enough to consider the different paths that could happen when making a decision. You understand that your actions have consequences and you can predict them very accurately. You are also kind enough to consider how those consequences affect the people around you. You are actually REALLY good at making decisions but it takes time to consider all of the possibilities. People have given you a hard time about indecisiveness for a long time but that's because they can't see the gears turning in your head. They don't see that you see every possibility. They can't even fathom the experience because most of the people giving you a hard time are only thinking logically or are only thinking compassionately but you see both perspectives which gives you more intel to contemplate. Be a bit nicer to yourself when you make decisions slowly. The people critiquing you don't even know the half of it.
333 notes · View notes
do-you-ship-it-polls · 11 months ago
Text
Do you ship it?
Tumblr media
reason under the cut!
People say Kavetham is a good ship because they're roommates who bicker all the time and are basically a married couple already, but it goes so much deeper than that.
What if we met in grad school, where we were instantly drawn to one another because of our diametrically-opposed, perfectly-mirrored ideologies? What if we spent our days embroiled in intellectual debates with one another, fascinated by the way each other's minds worked, all while bonding over our similarly fucked-up family situations and the pervasive sense of loneliness we shared? What if you were a relentless altruist, and what if I was the kind of person who valued self-preservation above all; you, an artist and architect, and I, a linguist and historian; and what if we were so sure that our differences were the strength of our relationship that we decided to pursue a joint research project?
What if that all fell apart, because one day I could no longer bear to see you drive yourself into the ground for the sake of other people, and I said things to you that I could never take back, and it made you walk away from our friendship forever? What if, from that day on, we were no longer on speaking terms, and as we grew older and graduated and became successful researchers with jobs in completely different fields, our only form of communication was firing passive-aggressive shots at each other's worldviews through academic journals and tavern message boards?
And then what if, many years later, your self-sacrificial nature finally got the better of you, and you gave up everything to create your magnum opus? And, while everyone around you celebrated your victory, you were secretly at rock bottom, homeless and drinking yourself to death? What if that was when I found my way to you again? What if, in a moment of weakness, you confided in me about everything you had been through since we had parted ways, and I offered my home to you, then? As a temporary place to stay, maybe, while you got yourself back on your feet.
And just like that, what if we started living together, trying to work our way past the festering, unresolved bitterness between us, picking through the suffocating feelings of regret and yearning and the "I-hate-to-admit-it-but-I-still-care-about-you"s and the constant reminders that we once considered each other family in the absence of our biological families? What if we spent every single day since then trying to gather the shards of our old relationship and reassemble it into something on at least vaguely civil terms? What if that's not an easy task; what if, despite caring for each other so deeply, we have forgotten how to hold a conversation that doesn't devolve into an argument?
But what if, over the course of our story, we were each put into situations that make us realize that we are too precious to one another to keep wasting our relationship away on miscommunications? For example, what if you learned that all your mother wanted for you was to have a companion who would support you unconditionally (even when they didn't fully understand you), just as your parents supported each other -- and you realized that I am the one who fills such a role for you? What if, as we continued to face conflicts with stakes both big and small, we slowly got over our communication issues, and grew content with calling our shared house a "home"?
So, what I mean to ask is: what if we were roommates who bickered all the time and were basically a married couple already?
tag: @kanon-kun
-
They're roommates and never seem to be away from each other, even the new character Sethos sees it between them and he just met them (I would go more into detail but I am dying on the inside rn and this is all I can muster)
tag: @animedragonwhouseswitchcraft (sorry once again i missed this one)
66 notes · View notes
isa-ghost · 1 year ago
Note
Isa my darling! Happy Birthday, albeit a couple of days early.
Seeing you screech in Philza's streams because Apollo hit you with that dodgeball yet again makes me giggle a lot.
How about since headcanon's for qPhilza's past/pre island relationship with qFit. How they got to know each other, and how quickly they became friends?
Idr if I said this on Tumblr yet but deadass I asked Apollo on my pendulum if qPhil is his blorbo and he said yes. He's been as invested in shit as me and it's been hilarious. I literally have crows yelling at me irl to keep writing rn but I'm answering headcanons first.
The entire time I've been distracted between writing these, crows have been yelling at me about it. Which. Is how Apollo communicates with me when I'm not actively talking to him through readings LMFAO.
Also thank you for the birthday wish :D [desperately hoping nothing else horrible happens this weekend please god]
Anyway qPhil headcanons masterlist let's go
Disclaimer that I didn't know of Fit before QSMP (I've only been in mcyt for 4 years monkaS) so these are gonna be largely pulled out of my ass and a lil repetitive.
These two both have experiences in anarchy and war, they've definitely brushed shoulders a couple times bc of it
They admired each other's work ofc. Phil is a macro scale kinda guy, total annihilation and victory that makes a statement. Fit's more of a micro scale kinda guy, zeroing in on one person or group individually and making their lives hell until the end in the name of surviving a little longer
On that note, I think we all sleep a little bit on the fact that Fit is Also a survivalist like Phil, just in a very different set of high stakes conditions. These two are equally skilled in it and equally sharp strategists
On that note, anyone who knew them from the past would fear the idea of them coming together to create a plan of any kind, especially of the anarchist-fueled variety. If the Federation has done their research right, they should know full well how terrifying this duo could be in an effort to dismantle their authority
Btw by brushing shoulders I don't just mean brief passings by, I mean they've like. Camped out for a night together, temporarily truced for the sake of safety in numbers, etc. More than a few conversations have been had even if the time they've spent together totals to less than a week.
However, even when they weren't actively paired together, they'd still occasionally trade or gift each other surplus resources. It was a genuine kind act, even if it simultaneously served as a reason for each of them to not come after the other. I scratch your back, you scratch mine.
Like why do you think Fit was one of the first threats on Phil's mind in Purgatory. He Knew(tm). And he knew Fit has an affinity for picking off the weak first, like a lion after a herd of antelope. To him, Purgatory was the awakening of a monster who'd been dormant for a long time.
See, present day they're QPR as fuck, they'd never do this now without 10x the pressure Purgatory put on them, but back in the day they took close notes on each other's strengths and weaknesses. Just In Case, yknow? They could very much kill each other. Back in the day they would've if it came to it, no matter how good an ally they were.
Something about how these two used to be so cold and hard to the world. Be it to self-preserve or some other reason. Something about how now they've both softened and warmed after becoming parents. They never could've imagined the other would "weaken" like this, especially back then.
Phil 🤝🏻 Fit - Phil being a historian of the deities/builds of his Hardcore World, Fit being a historian of 2B2T
A lot of this boils down to mutual respect, common interests, and secret admiration tbh. And what's more homoerotic than that?
They're both crisis preppers. Not doomsday type shit, just. Being ready for shit to hit the fan. They both come from places where life is significantly more dangerous than it is in other realms.
The crazy thing is though? Despite the above, they can't imagine being from each other's realms. Phil would LOATHE 2B2T and Fit would hate the absoluteness of Hardcore. Isolation is absolute, death is absolute. There's no wiggle room or margin for error.
With how adaptive the two of them are due to their origins, they could probably acclimate to any conditions. They'd complain about having to, especially if it was inconvenient, but they could. They used to swap tips & tricks with each other on how to improve their adaptability too.
Fit would've 100% been down to join Phil on Doomsday in DSMP. He was thoroughly impressed when Phil told him the story.
31 notes · View notes
happiness-of-the-pursuit · 1 year ago
Text
20 Questions for Fic Writers
Thanks to @kiwiana-writes for the tag!! I did this back in like... October, and a LOT has changed since then lol
How many works do you have on ao3?
29
What's your total ao3 word count?
299,988 (though this includes 110,000 from the co-written PJO AU and 2,000 words from Manu's fic that I podficced to)
What fandoms do you write for?
Only RWRB for now, though never say never to others. I recently read Check, Please! and I've had some thoughts, but I have far too many WIPs for RWRB to write them rn. Also I have some ideas for The Pairing, but again, I have... so many RWRB wips...
Top five fics by kudos:
Longer Than Most | 26K, trans Henry accidental pregnancy (also this is how I found out it had become my top kudos-ed fic AH)
The Super Six Take a Lie Detector Test | Vanity Fair | 7K, YouTube interview
Let Me inside (I Want to Get to Know You) | 6K, epistolary roommates
Claremont 2008 | 28K, canon divergence where Ellen gets elected in 2008, childhood friends to lovers
(Dil)Do It Yourself | 17K, meet cute at a DIY dildo workshop
Do you respond to comments?
I really try to. But. I have gotten quite behind recently. I would love to catch up but it's just a bit overwhelming at the moment.
What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
I don't really have any angsty endings?? but a fic @affectionatelyrs and I are working on is going to have an ambiguous ending and my joke is that someone should the version of it where things take the angsty route
What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
I mostly write happy endings, but I am going to say that Let Me inside (I Want to Get to Know You) is the happiest because it's kinda the tropiest
Do you get hate on fics?
Not hate, but I've gotten one or two weird comments, or comments asking about updates.
Do you write smut?
I do! (this is one of the things that's changed since the fall)
Craziest crossover:
The closest I've gotten to a crossover is the PJO AU, but that's not even an actual crossover.
Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Nope.
Have you ever had a fic translated?
Nope.
Have you ever co-written a fic before?
Yes!! Super Six and the Siren's Call with @inexplicablymine and @read-and-write- was the first, and then I wrote Let Me inside (I Want to Get to Know You) with @affectionatelyrs. I also did the podficcing of the voice notes for love has a voice (and it's yours) by Manu. I've also got a couple more projects coming up with Jamie also.
All time favorite ship?
Well that I've written for, FirstPrince :)
What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
Unfortunately I don't know if I'll ever finish Baby's First Pride because I've grown a ton as a writer since then and I would want to redo the old chapters and that just isn't all the compelling to me anymore...
What are your writing strengths?
I fucking hate this question. But I am going with dialogue and humor (and humorous dialogue) which has been co-signed by others so I feel less weird about saying this.
What are your writing weaknesses?
I would like to be able to keep smut more concise at times, because it always turns into a Big Scene but it doesn't always need to be a Big Scene. And I've been trying to work on a particular style of writing which is a bit more uhhh snappy? I don't know how to describe it. But that's still a huge work in progress, because I always get more rambly than I want.
Thoughts on dialogue in another language?
I definitely try to include it for the characters in RWRB who speak other languages, and when I do I lean on my friends who speak those languages as a native speaker.
First fandom you wrote in?
Officially: RWRB. For myself: HP.
Favorite fic you've written?
Honestly it's always whatever I'm working on at the moment, which is a couple of WIPs: Fire Island WIP, Parasocial Relationship AU with @affectionatelyrs, and my Big Bang fic come to mind.
But really I want to know what y'all's favorite fic of mine is!!!!
I'll tag 20 people, sorry if anyone's done this recently, but in case anyone wants to go again: @mainstreamelectricalparade @14carrotghoul @anincompletelist @littlemisskittentoes @gay-flyboys
and @songliili @gayrootvegetable @leojfitz @welcometololaland @rmd-writes
and @bigassbowlingballhead @eusuntgratie @captainjunglegym @cactusdragon517 @cricketnationrise
and @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @bribumblebee @nocoastposts @magicandarchery @itsmaybitheway!!!
28 notes · View notes
foggyparadisecandy · 1 year ago
Text
So much I want to say again.
K if you read this, well ... I guess it doesn't matter any more. You've heard everything I have to say a hundred times and it wasn't enough. So maybe this is a goodbye note. I hope not.
I will always be here for you and you know that. I hope that brings you comfort even if you never reach out again.
You have options even if you can't see them atm. You control your destiny. Remember it.
It's a core strength of yours. You've temporarily forgotten it. You are hurting horribly. I see it and it bothers me so much. I am not your savior. I know that. You are your savior. You will be your savior. You just have to remember who you are - the woman I fell for.
Strong. Capable. Self-driven. Good. Caring. Sharp. You are a good person. I know you will find your way. I believe in you and I'm no dummy so ... maybe think on that for awhile. Maybe it's all true ... maybe you are an ass-kicker? Worth considering, right?
It's ok and you're going to be ok. I know that and have faith in you. Even if you don't. lol
I dislike how you gave up control of your life to be on autopilot to mask your pain. I dislike it ... but I understand it. I feel for you.
Find your way back to your core strengths.
I want to say stop abandoning yourself but it's a shit statement. It implies you know who you are and I'm not sure that's true atm. That's why you are giving in to escapist stuff, on the go.
Do your best to pause. Remember the river. The warm water washing away your worries. Find yourself in your river in the center of your mind. Relax there.
Meditate. Use that to quiet your mind. Skip the weed - it’s not doing you any good atm :( I know how hard it is for you rn - please be strong and heal.
Explore your feelings - I know you are dealing wish some serious bullshit but explore them. Look into Anxious Attachment style healing.
Be ok with expressing your needs. No one worthwhile will reject you or abandon you if you express yourself. Don't suffer quietly in anxiety.
Lol.
Look at me lecture and give advice again. Whatever. IDC - you said you always loved it so I won't judge myself for caring and sharing. And fuck do I still love and care for you. I think you love me too. And I get it - it seems impossible for you atm to find space for me. It’s not really impossible. It only seems that way because you are hurting.
Relationships can morph and evolve. Good people are worth finding ways to keep in our lives. I know … I know … It's so complicated and messy, isn't it?
I really wish you had included me in your decision. Once again, I was shut out. I'm sorry I wasn't more approachable. I feel like I let you down in so many ways. Ugh. It hurts tbh. It really fucking hurts. I'll be ok though - don't worry.
Keep an eye on your subconscious. It needs to be watched like a hawk - it doesn't seem to be your best friend tbh. I would honestly say it actively wants you to suffer. That's a fucking harsh statement and I'm probably way off-base but ... I think it's correct.
Your parents are behind you and can no longer harm you. But they've wired your identity to hurt. Recognize it. Heal. Remember who you are: strong, capable, a fighter.
Nobody wants you to hurt. You don't have to hurt. Choose to heal. You are a good person. Find that truth … because it is the truth.
It's extremely hard for loved ones to push me away ... and yet here we are. How in the world did you pull that off? Lol
But despite your efforts, I'll always be here for you. Haha
Well ... maybe not here, but you know how to find me.
No different than before, my feelings are consistent. My offers are genuine. My love is deep.
I ... am so ... empty atm ... lol.
Goodbye everyone - maybe not permanently - knowing me I'll be back in a few days.
Tumblr is not good for me. I would have left sooner but K insisted on using Tumblr's chat so ... like her good puppy dog, I stuck around here.
Hypno is not doing it for me. I think I'm still a pretty good tist lol but I've lost my passion for it.
I like the idea of finding a new good girl to have fun with but ... also ... I'm just not right atm. As much as I wish I was. I need to sort shit out and figure out motivations. I don't want to hurt anyone else and I don't want to be hurt.
The real problem is ... everything on this blog was for K. A long-ass love letter to her. And I don’t regret a second of the energy and time I put into it. She is worth it and more.
But now … she’s gone. So ... I guess I am too. For now.
Empty.
2 notes · View notes
swimmingismywholelife · 2 months ago
Note
https://www.tumblr.com/swimmingismywholelife/783392405061844992/httpswwwtumblrcomswimmingismywholelife783390?source=share
i think one of the issues is that there is such a big jump from our starters to non starters... part of it comes from not being able to sign players so the only subs we have are all la masia players that tbf won't get better if they don't play but thats the problem they aren't getting to play bcuz they aren't good enough...
the midfield is interesting. obv gavi just came back from an acl so its gonna be a little slow but as of rn idk its kinda hard to see him getting his place back... esp since frenkies app renewing (don't quote me on this i just read it smwhere) and pedris here so unelss one of them get injured (we'd be screwed) idk where gavi would play. because he doesn't fit that 10 role... and when we were resting either pedri or frenkie, casado and eric have gotten the priority over gavi.. which im not saying they aren't playing well enough to start they defo are its just surprising tbh... and then on top of this bernals coming back next szn.. it'll be interesting to see though if he gets more playing time or if its about the same. one thing though i will say is i honestly don't think gavi's fit yet like the last game he started in he had muscle problems and had to come off so it does kinda make sense why hes not playing so much...
Yeah with the kids (idc how old they are all la masia are my kids) that's the tricky thing. We have our reserves for a reason but its hard bc we have some who are still technically signed with Barca B under a youth contract (héctor, lamine, bernal) but have really only played for the first team this season. At least some of Barca B get regular playing time (the fernández brothers, aleix garrido who honestly I wish we saw more in the first team but he was injured, Astralaga). Lamine and Cuba are obvious starter no brainers (although Cuba isnt on a youth contract now that he's 18) but someone like Héctor hasn't been able to really develop bc he hasn't had regular playing time. At least last season he was playing with Barca B consistently but now its like I've been stuck in traffic longer than he's had minutes. And you hate to see it bc they're La Masia and they wanna debut for the first team, but like at what point do you say "I cant keep waiting hoping they'll take me one day." Thats why Unai left for Saudi, more than likely its why Guiu left for Chelsea, and I heard even Pau Prim was thinking about Saudi too.
Granted they can always come back (Ona Batlle, Dani Olmo) and they'll always be welcomed back. And some people go on loan for more experience to find their way back and prove themselves. Still it sucks to see bc I wish they could all play for the first team and be starters but thats not how the sport works unfortunately.
I do agree that Gavi more than likely isnt at 100% capacity at this point and I don't really expect him to be. He tore his ACL (in a game that meant nothing i hate you DLF NFNSJSNNSN) and I fully expected him to have limited minutes throughout this year. But yeah I agree I'm not really sure where in the starting XI he fits bc he's definitely not starting over Pedri and I doubt he would take De Jong's spot either. And listen I know a lot of people hate De Jong and think he needs to leave sorry but I'm not one of those people. I think he's still a pretty instrumental part of this team so I don't think regularly Flick would start Gavi over him. Gavi ain't leaving anytime soon but I wonder how the team will shape up as he gets back to full strength again
1 note · View note
herogardn-a · 9 months ago
Text
rambling abt my ideas for terios bc if i don't put them somewhere i might explode.  under the cut bc it got longer than intended and i feel cringe LMAO
anyway basic idea i have is like.  G.U.N. taking whatever research of shadow's creation that even exists anymore n trying to make their own kinda shadow to have as a personal lapdog.  akin to eggman having metal sonic.  does it make sense ?  no but i really don't care.  i could go down the  "  was made after the biolizard but before shadow  "  route but couldn't begin to tell u what happened with him for 50+ years n why they'd have Two hedgehogs in stasis yk.  always open to more ideas tho !
continuing on my idea of his lore is like.  wow they made a hedgehog !  n everythings fine training it is going fine everything is Okay.  until it's not.  until he starts questioning.  wondering why he exists why he was created n for what reason.  self - awareness that no one was prepared for.  he never gets direct answers n keeps going through training and tests.  eventually learns that he was created to be their weapon and nothing more.  a replacement for what shadow was supposed to be for them.  have Some hedgehog to have control over.  bro is Not a fan of that !  so one day he kinda just has enough n escapes.  grandiose n everything.  there's injuries as it happens,  himself included  (  hence the scar over the eye  ) ,  but no casualties.
n rn he's on the run n evading G.U.N. who are out n about trying to catch him n get him back  (  he does not want to go back  ) .  while he's doing that tho he's really trying to learn abt the world he's yet to experience n try to figure out who he is n what his purpose is,  bc he does Not want to just be a weapon !  that sorta thing.
n then a buncha misc other things abt him !
he has similar quills to sonic's but they're longer and angle more downward,  alongside the white rings being around the ends of his quills.
he was designed with power and durability in mind,  n less a cure for illnesses like shadow was.  while he does have higher than average durability and regeneration,  it's not perfect,  as he gets the scar during his escape from G.U.N.
he wears inhibitor rings  (  i wouldn't even really consider them rings but idk what else to really call them LMAO  )  similarly to shadow,  but they're also very heavy n weigh him down.  his physical strength is comparible to knuckles or bark due to this :]
he's quicker than average despite being weighed down,  but should he ever remove his rings his speed and strength would dramatically increase  (  tho still wouldn't be faster than sonic or shadow  )
he doesn't possess any sort of disdain for shadow or humanity as a whole,  but does strongly dislike G.U.N. he doesn't even wanna be Associated with them.
in fact he doesn't even know abt shadow,  sonic,  or anyone else in the series.  he only knows of their names and that's it.
he can come off as very blunt and aloof,  and appears intimidating considering the resting bitch face he always has,  but actually isn't as bad as he appears.  he's still figuring himself out,  personality included !
very very very socially inept.  him escaping from G.U.N. was literally the first time he's ever been outside or even Seen the outside world.  he doesn't know how to express himself be nice to him.
he genuinely really wants to learn abt the world n the people that inhabit it.  he wants to learn in general.  he wants to figure out who he is and what his purpose is.  give himself a reason to exist besides just being a manmade weapon.
doesn't really want to fight but will when he needs to.  verrrrry very very strong n knows how to fight.  probably knows how to use chaos spear but thats abt it.
literally.  just a guy.  a dude,  even !
speaking of he's agender and uses he / it.  he / him preferred but accustomed to it / it's due to being referred to with that when first created.
tallllllll tall tall probs around 3'8" love me my tall hedgehogs.
probably got his cloak sometime after his escape :]  helps him be a Little harder to find
removed all his reds from his original design bc i associate that with being from black arms dna in shadow and terios does Not have said dna u__u
anyway thats all i got rn.  if i get anything else ill add onto this n if i feel confident enough i might seriously consider adding him as a muse abhHJBCSDJH feel free to ask any questions if u got em
3 notes · View notes
treatbuckywkisses · 2 months ago
Text
aww ur favorite so far im even more excited to dive in now😭
BUCKYS POV MY BABY OMG 
The opening scene as a fucking fight I'm ill:(
Omg?????? The opening of the loop?????? Stop by now I'm just imagining like him hearing her cinematic scream when he fades out IM GONNA BE SICK.
Bucky grits his teeth and tries blocking the whole thing from his mind. His thoughts keep returning to your scream, instead, which might be worse. FUCK I DIDN'T WANT TO BE RIGHT IM SO SAD NOW SHUTUP 
Today, his run takes Bucky eight minutes longer than average, but he can wholeheartedly blame that on his almost-incident with the car. His thoughts are still stuck on what he remembers from the dream, spinning around and around in a loop until the elevator dings and he has to shake himself because he’s already here. Hehehe in a loop 
Bucky can’t help but smile a little at the smugness in your voice. No matter what that terrible voice at the back of his mind is still whispering, you’re fine. It was all a strange, bad dream; end of story. OH HE WAS WORRIED ABOUT HER IM SO VIOLENTLY UNWELL
It’s the one thing he gets. oh baby:( 
It’s then that he realizes the odd thing about you was that it almost, unexplicably, looked like relief. Full body chill my nipples are hard you're insane 
All of his thoughts and he's thinking something must be wrong with HIM for this I need to hold him so badly :(
You’re so pretty. It’s not making the confusion boiling inside of him any easier to deal with. I'm just gonna go cry now 😭 
I thought you’d be there, he texts the number that never responds. He waits for a minute, two minutes, but of course there’s no answer. Whooooo is he texting ✋🏻
But when Sam calls, "We need to get moving," Bucky already knows, deep down, how this is going to end. His heart is beating frantically as the situation stays out of control, even though this should be easy. He’s seen this before. What is he missing? STOP IT NIKA I CAJT HANDLE THIS ANYMORE WHY ARE YOU PUTTING MY BABY THROUGH THIS
It’s a small, coal black ring that he’s seen many times before, and his stomach churns again as his hand closes around it so tightly it must leave an imprint. Of course, there are no coincidences in his life. I'm speechless 😶 in shambles rn you have no mercy 
Despite it all, his heart cracks a little more. "What?"OHMYFUCKUNGGOD YOURE JOKING IM SO UNWELL YOU ARE OSNSGAHBSLSNSHHA IMAGINE ME RIPPING OUT ALL MY HAIR AND SCREECHING SO INSANELY 
I'm scared, I feel so alone, I don't want to die ........what a punch in my heart 
He’s already half-turning when you say it, already pulling the trigger as the words leave your mouth, moving on muscle memory alone at this point. And you still don’t notice. GOD THEY ARE MADE FOR EACH OTHER I AM DOWN IM INJURED GET A MEDIC I CAN'T TAKE IT 
It takes all of his might not to lose himself completely in the fight to come, not to unleash his full serum-powered strength on a couple of faceless fanatics who would be fine again in a couple of minutes, anyway, depending on how long he’ll make it today. Still, there’s a certain mindlessness to it as he repeats his own steps, ribs cracking and wrists twisting as he strikes again and again and again. this is absolutely freaking criminal actually how dare you.
He presses both of his hands to his heart to feel it beat against his palm, more steady than his thoughts and still there. He’s still there. GIVE HIM A BREAK DAMMIT MY POOR BABY JUST NEEDS TO BE HELD AND IT NEEDS TO BE SATURDAY FOR FUCKS SAKE
He knows that voice. He knows it just as well as his own, just as well as the one hiding inside some dark corner of his mind, and it shouldn’t sound like that anymore. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN NIKA.
Bucky huffs. "I heal fast, I’m not invincible." WITTY BABY HES STILL IN THERE THATS MY BABY !!!!!!!!!!! LET HIM OUT
You look at him, almost reaching out but never quite touching, your eyes gleaming green. All I can think about is when they held hands and I'm sick to y stomach🥺🥲
Them talking to each other through the house im so emotional 😭 
So this was INSANE??????????????? I feel like I got inside knowledge but I know NOTHING at the same time😭 so extremely thankful for Bucky's pov but feeling sooo terrible for my baby😭😭😭 the pain he's feeling and the confusion he's going through this is so cinematic and theatrical I'm so obsessed with this and you I love you I'm begging for something good to happen 😔
time after time [7]
Tumblr media Tumblr media
series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.
pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader
word count: 11.1k
chapter warnings: self-deprecation, negative self-talk and canon-typical violence. this one's heavy on the angst. it's also my favourite so far. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.
a/n: i return with a semblance of a posting schedule and a chapter that i'm well aware is absolutely insane. but that was always gonna be the case. enjoy my loves 💚
series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3
Tumblr media
seven: spellbound
The slamming door made you flinch awake from where you’d fallen asleep on the couch, still wearing your extravagant jumpsuit. Bucky’s hands were clenched into fists, the frown on his face familiar and deep. He’d lost his tie somewhere on the way back.
"You alright?" you mumbled, getting up on one elbow.
He ignored you, facing Sam, who had his hands folded in his lap, back still hunched forward in thought or worry.
"You alright?" Sam repeated.
Bucky gave a short nod. "Can I talk to you?"
"Talk."
He did look at you, then, his gaze slowly and irritably dripping down your body. "I meant alone," he said pointedly.
"This is my home," you protested, sitting up properly.
"You’re a squatter."
"What do you want to talk about?" Sam interjected before you could snap back.
Bucky crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I want her out."
Your mouth dropped open. "What the fuck?"
"Tonight wasn’t ideal, I’ll give you that," Sam said tiredly. "But we got what we went in for and we didn’t cast any unwanted suspicion."
"Didn’t we?" Bucky said. "Because I feel like some of us remember tonight differently."
People murmuring in confusion as you blinked in and out of existence, knowing that something was off, even though they couldn’t put a finger on it. Agitated comm chatter throughout the corridors.
"Excuse me for saving your ass," you said hotly. Maybe it would have had the intended effect if you’d properly wiped the dried blood from your face.
"I didn’t ask you to do that," he pressed out.
"If it pissed you off so much, I’ll just let you get shot next time, then, see how that feels."
"Okay, I think we can all just calm down and continue this conversation tomorrow," Sam boomed.
Bucky gritted his teeth and turned his back on you, but you jumped up from the couch, your anger giving you enough energy to follow him to the stairs.
"No! He’s having a go at me for no reason at all and I would like to hear the rest of it. Tell me where I made a single fucking mistake. Because I can tell you when you did."
"I am sick of you pretending to fix stuff—"
"Pretending?!"
"Guys—" Sam called from the living room.
"—when we don’t even know what it is you’re changing!"
"How about you actually just trust me for once, like you said you would?"
"I said I trust Sam’s decision to take you on, and that I trusted Steve’s judgment. There’s a difference."
You threw up your hands. "You wanna know what I changed? Your fucking arm almost got both of us caught, tin man, that’s what I changed."
"Do you know what it feels like," Bucky said, voice shaking with barely restrained rage, "when people tell you things about yourself that you don’t remember choosing to do?"
"Must be nice to get to forget things."
Your fingers twitched at the same time as his, metal and flesh curling like you both wanted to clutch at something you couldn’t reach. In another universe, he might have turned on you, slammed you into the wall with his hand around your neck.
Do it, then.
But no. In this one, he just went very, very still. Like he’d simply turned to stone under your gaze.
"Stay out of my fucking head," he pressed out under his breath, so low you barely caught it at all.
"I have no interest in your fucking head," you said, rage and frustration blazing in your eyes. "You want me to be honest with you? Fine. I’m sorry about what happened to you and I get why my powers are touchy for you because of it, but you gotta stop telling yourself that I’m holding out on purpose or that I have any control over anyone but myself when I go back. I didn’t ask for this shit, so get off my damn back."
"Who did, then?"
You stumbled a half-step backwards involuntarily. "What?"
Bucky’s jaw was set so tight his teeth audibly ground. "How did you get your powers?"
You blinked several times, your nails digging into your palms again. "I don’t know."
He huffed, turning away with a shake of his head. "You gotta be shitting me."
"I don’t know, okay? I don’t remember. I have to remember every single reset I’ve ever made, but I don’t know when it started, or how, or why. It’s just always been a part of me."
"Then why don’t you try to find out?"
"Oh, because you’ve got me all figured out, haven’t you? Clearly, I have no interest in understanding the thing that’s ruined my fucking life. I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything I could think of, and none of it’s done me any good."
"And you’re just fine with that, and so we’re supposed to be fine with it as well. Not knowing what the extent of your powers is, or why you got them in the first place. Sounds like a great idea."
"It was enough for Steve." You laughed mirthlessly. "He told me once that we would’ve gotten along, can you imagine that?"
"Well, maybe he was wrong about both of us, then, but why don’t you do your thing and we can ask him ourselves."
"Because for the millionth time, it doesn’t work like that! Don’t you think I’d like that, too? To go back and undo all of this damage that happened over the past couple of years? But I can’t, I can’t do it, I can’t change anything that’s farther back than eleven fucking minutes, and that was when I still had a family."
The word fell apart on the way out of your mouth, breaking into pieces just like the actual thing. You pressed your shaking palms against your eyes.
"So. I’m sorry, Barnes, that I’m not good enough for anything like that. I know that. I know that my powers are essentially useless, and I don’t need you to remind me all the time, okay. I’m already very aware."
* * * * *
.
.
.
.
.
.
Darkness.
.
Darkness and pain.
.
.
The sound of dripping, ticking, tilting.
.
Something like a bright light.
.
.
And then—
* * *
Bucky comes to in the middle of the crossing between Lexington and East 55th, right as he’s about to turn his back on the brownstone front of the Central Synagogue. There is a strange itch on his left arm that almost feels human.
He blinks, disoriented, unsure how he got here. The last thing he remembers is—
A car honks and he staggers to the sidewalk, head still pounding, and his good hand flies to the side of it, as if checking for blood.
He doesn’t find any.
Another nightmare, then. Disturbingly vivid, though. He’s concerned that his only memory of getting up and going on his usual run has the tinge of the dream to it, like he hasn’t actually woken up yet.
And neither the memory nor the nightmare carries the usual haze.
Bucky grits his teeth and tries blocking the whole thing from his mind. His thoughts keep returning to your scream, instead, which might be worse.
He notices he keeps rereading the sign in the window in front of him, and when he realizes that it’s yet another fucking Starbucks, he’s about to cut his route short and just go home, like there’s something there that could fix this bad feeling curdling in his stomach.
Instead, he takes a few shallow breaths, pulls his cap more deeply into his face, and then he continues.
When he was younger, he took up running to keep him quick on his feet during a fight. These days, he probably doesn’t have to keep on it quite so regularly, but there’s something about the rhythmic, constant movement that usually does help clear his mind.
Damn, he hates when his shrink is right.
Today, his run takes Bucky eight minutes longer than average, but he can wholeheartedly blame that on his almost-incident with the car. His thoughts are still stuck on what he remembers from the dream, spinning around and around in a loop until the elevator dings and he has to shake himself because he’s already here.
Maybe a shower will help.
It does, a little, because he turns the hot water to cold several times until he thinks, of course he’s awake. It seems so obvious now.
This is real.
The water turns off with that little squeaking sound that he keeps forgetting to fix. He doubts that anyone but him can even hear it; one of the uncountable inconveniences of enhanced senses is the ability to find some of the tiniest noises insufferable.
He shrugs a new shirt on and hangs his towel up on the only free hook, grabbing a fresh cloth from the closet. There’s not many left; neither of you has gotten around to doing laundry post-mission yet.
His heart is still beating a little harder than usual when he cracks open the door to the gym, peering inside right when Sam hits the mat.
"Geez, what’s gotten into you?"
You shrug and roll your shoulders, pulling him back to his feet. "I’ll dignify that with an answer when I see you kick above your waistline, Sammy."
Bucky can’t help but smile a little at the smugness in your voice. No matter what that terrible voice at the back of his mind is still whispering, you’re fine. It was all a strange, bad dream; end of story.
He watches the two of you circle around each other for a moment longer. There’s a grace to your movements as your eyes stay focused on Sam, calm and unwavering, like you’re anticipating the right moment to pounce on him. It’s mesmerizing.
Then again, you usually have that effect on him.
Bucky quietly slips away when you’re about to call it a day. Normally, he’d probably sit in your company to dry off his prosthetic, listening to your heartbeat return to normal levels and then watch you trot off to the showers with that little indignant shake of your head. In fact, there’s a significant part of him that wants to do just that; maybe he’ll catch a glance of that annoyed glimmer in your eyes that seems to be reserved solely for him.
It’s the one thing he gets.
He tries not to read too much into the fact that Sam gets things like an affectionate little suffix to his name when you tease him, even though that fact haunts him more than he’d care to admit. You probably don’t even notice you’re doing it, but it’s because you actually like Sam. Have learned to care about him over the past few months. And why wouldn’t you?
Bucky, on the other hand, is just Barnes more often than not. Which is fine; he’s used to it by now.
He opens the door to his room and a waft of stiff air hits him, familiar and suffocating all at once. For the first couple of months, he hesitated to even call it his room, even though he always picked the same one when it was easier than traveling all the way back to Brooklyn; the one upstairs with the large corner windows facing east and south.
It still doesn’t feel much like his out of anything other than habit. Blank, off-white walls, a half empty dresser, bed always made, the only source of disorder a couple of cat toys cluttered in the far corner. The only thing that reminds him of home is stowed in the drawer next to his bed.
He doesn’t open it now, instead reaching for the journal on the bedside table, flicking through until he reaches the latest entry.
But it’s strange.
Not the content itself, but the fact that Bucky could’ve sworn that he’d written it yesterday. He stares at it for a moment, flips the page over and back again, frowns slightly.
This nightmare is truly fucking with his head if he wasn’t even in a clear enough space of mind to jot down a couple of notes before his run.
He does it now, in as few words as he’s comfortable with, because something about all of this still doesn’t sit right with him but he can’t quite put his finger on it yet.
Out of some deep, dark instinct, his hand slips underneath his pillow, and he hates that his heart beats a little more calmly when he feels the cool metal of his gun right where he left it, where he always leaves it.
This is real.
Something nudges his side softly and when he turns, Alpine is nuzzling her head into the crook of his arm, mewling discontentedly. The sound melts a little more of his trepidation away.
"What’s wrong, sweetie?" he says with a quiet smile.
The cat observes him unblinkingly as he puts his journal down again and reaches out to pet her head, but she jumps off the bed before he can make contact, looking back at him in anticipation and, he’s pretty sure, annoyance.
She’s hungry, then.
Bucky sighs and follows her out of the room only for you to almost barrel into him. You’re sweaty and breathless, and he refuses to notice the way your training gear sticks to your body. In fact, he refuses to look anywhere but your face.
There’s an odd look on it, just as odd as the tone of your voice when you gasp, "Bucky!"
"Y/N!" he says, mimicking it. Adrenaline is still coursing through you, your heart beating so erratically he can almost feel it pulsating in his own skin. "What’s wrong with you?"
"Nothing," you answer quickly enough for him to know something is definitely wrong. "You look … normal."
"Thanks," he says dryly. "You don’t."
The nervous twitch of your ear is back, the soft tapping of your fingers against your thigh. At least he’s seen you like this enough times to know how to deal with it.
"You remember what showering is, right?" A tilt of the head, a hint of a scoff in his tone; you respond best to him pretending not to give a damn, and so he’s gotten quite good at it.
Predictably, your shoulders lose a little of their tension, even though your eyes don’t. "Fuck you, Barnes."
Really; he’s used to it by now.
Alpine meows again, like a reminder not to get hung up on things he has no control over, and it finally lets him look away from you. That’s always the hardest part, somehow, even though that makes him feel ridiculous.
Downstairs, he can’t keep his mind from wandering as he scrapes the contents of a tin can into Alpine’s bowl only for her to fall asleep in a spot of sunlight on the kitchen floor.
It’s then that he realizes the odd thing about you was that it almost, unexplicably, looked like relief.
* * *
Bucky’s been on enough missions with you and Sam by now to know you both use mindless chatter to calm yourselves in tense situations, and so he doesn’t mind forming the rear. Even if he doesn’t listen in on every word, he can easily tell if something about your situation changes while he’s covering your six.
There’s at least two guards patroling the grounds, according to Sam’s funny little computer bracelet, and so it’s no surprise that he asks Bucky to keep an eye on them while the two of you head up to find the entrance to the lab. You keep your hands raised halfway up, but Bucky can tell by your empty gaze that you’re tired. His grip on his gun tightens.
He nods to Sam once he’s in position, perched up on the roof just out of sight from any unsuspecting anarchists. Then, he watches you slip through the entrance of the barn-like building and lets out a deep, slow breath.
It’s been a weird day.
That gnawing feeling of déjà-vu has settled deep into his bones, like a pesky thought he can’t quite let go of. This, though? He can manage this.
The strange truth is—and frankly, this is something he’s looking forward to never disclosing to his therapist—that being on a mission like this one, having a specific set of tasks he can concentrate on, being keenly aware of all his surroundings … it has a calming effect on his brain. He’s not sure what to make of that fact, but it’s true.
He’s sick of the fighting, but he can’t let go of it, either.
Instead, he squints at the two white dots in the distance meeting on the other side of the block, gesturing for a while, and then slowly creeping closer.
Without taking his eyes off his targets, he tunes into your conversation again.
"—only scream when there’s good reason."
"I don’t wanna interrupt," Bucky murmurs, fiercely ignoring the untimely lurch his heart makes, "but they’re heading your way now, so get a move on."
"You’re no fun, Bucky."
He would love to roll his eyes, but he’s a professional. That’s also why he swallows his remark when you make a comment about your resets; it not like it’s surprising, anyway. You haven’t been sleeping well these past couple of weeks. Breakfasts have been particularly grumpy affairs since Marylebone.
The guards creep closer, and even though their faces are covered by the white masks, Bucky can tell they’re bored. Shoulders slumping, grip on their weapons loose, boots shuffling on the gravel. One of them has a pack of cards in her breast pocket.
If either of them were smart enough to look up, they’d spot him within a second. But since nothing unusual has ever happened during their shifts, it doesn’t even occur to them to do so.
Look at them, a voice inside him says. They don’t notice anything, do they?
Bucky’s jaw clenches, his finger tightening on the trigger. Breathe in. Breathe out.
"Reminds me of old times," Sam says.
"Can’t say that, bud," Bucky murmurs. The guards are only a couple of yards away now. "Twenty seconds."
Take them out now.
"—makes Barnes cranky."
"You forget he’s always cranky."
This is what he’s good at, what he’s always been good at. Being the lookout. The Howlies’ best sharpshooter. His aim is perfect. His mind is clear.
They might be dangerous.
He swallows.
One of the guards trips over his own feet, almost losing the rifle he’s holding. They’re both amateurs; it’s clear from their posture, the way their jackets aren’t quite crisply ironed, even the way they walk. Neither of them pose any real threat.
Still, the voice says. Why not make sure?
It’s easy, so easy, to aim at the center of their white jackets. To imagine them soaking red on the ground while he barely moves more than a single finger. Just a flash of a second.
So easy.
"Any time, Buck."
Breathe out.
The taller one gets a bullet in her right shoulder, just underneath the joint, missing her subclavian artery; the shorter one gets hit in the kneepit as he turns, his rifle skittering away as he falls, safety still engaged. Clean and quick.
With one last glance around, Bucky jumps to the ground right as the explosion sounds inside. No one is coming. Yet.
He knocks the guards out with two quick blows to their temples. Their wounds aren’t bad, of course; just enough to keep them out of the way and hurt a bunch later.
Сбой.
No, but it’s all too simple. Too obvious. This, he remembers from his nightmare as well; the lab with the hidden staircase, the metallic stench coming from the leaking containers, the data stick and then …
Another fight.
The voice leaves him alone when there’s no time to think, and so Bucky trusts his instincts for this one. It’s despicable, really, how much the rush of adrenaline makes his blood boil in the best possible way, blocking out all other thought, leaving nothing but the cacophony of noises and the flurry of movement surrounding him.
This is what he was made for.
His breath hitches when a memory catches him, and he steps out of the way of a shot aimed for his head like it was in the dream, just in case.
It fires into thin air, instead.
The fact that it does fire, exactly like he remembers, takes him a fraction of a second to process.
Talk of a lucky coincidence, he thinks, knocking another agent out cold. Breathe in. Breathe out.
"We better get moving," Sam shouts, and Bucky nods.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you throwing another punch; you barely seem to have broken a sweat.
There’s something off about the way you move. It seems controlled, almost rehearsed in a way; as if your body knows exactly where to land your next attack without even thinking about it.
A little too perfect.
There’s a beat before you turn around to face him, and your eyes widen at the same time as Sam’s voice explodes in his ear, "Bucky!"
There’s a flash of pain and a burst of green light, and then he comes to in the middle of the crossing between Lexington and East 55th, and it’s like you’re still shouting his name, the sound echoing through his mind so clear and sharp it’s like you’re standing right behind him.
There’s something wrong with him.
Something wrong with his brain, something terribly wrong, because this—
He stumbles to the sidewalk when the same car as yesterday honks at him, comes to a halt next to the same street lamp, sweat beading on his temples in the exact same way while his bad arm itches and his head aches.
Bucky’s hand flies to his chest, pressing, feeling his heart beat erratically. There aren’t any holes. No broken ribs, no scars he doesn’t already know, every new trace of violence vanished like it had never brushed his skin.
Even though he just got shot.
Again.
He’s drawing attention now; he can feel the stares in his neck. It’s not going to take long for someone to recognize his face as well.
So he forces his breaths to slow, straightening his shoulders and tilting his head in the most unassuming way he’s taught himself. After a while, his thoughts start to clear.
There’s something wrong with his timeline. You told him once that going back felt a little like the moment before freefalling, and the bile in his mouth might just be proof for that hypothesis.
But how on earth would he have gone back, and why?
Maybe it’s his perception of time that’s warped.
He remembers the stories about people seeing their whole lives flash before their eyes before they die; and he remembers almost dying.
This feels like much more than a flash, though, and he’s not quite dead yet. This is real.
Right?
"This is impossible," he whispers.
His reflection in the Starbucks window does the same.
* * *
One more, he thinks as the shower washes away the cold sweat sticking to his skin. He’ll give this one more try before accepting that he’s either finally losing his marbles or that there’s something else going on.
His life’s been an assembly of unexplainable things. Twice might still be a coincidence.
Third time’s a pattern.
The shower squeaks off and he steps out in a cloud of steam, the cold tiles underneath his feet grounding, in a way. He wipes a streak of condensation off the mirror, staring at his own face for a moment, trying to find any signs of his mind starting to crack. His hair is long enough to stick to his forehead again, eyes tired as always.
Everything feels the same.
No one’s done laundry.
It’s like his feet automatically follow the same path they’d gone yesterday, turning left, waiting for him to push the door open, hesitating.
"What’s gotten into you?" Sam asks you again, and you shrug, again, neither of you noticing that you’re all retracing steps you’ve taken before.
Bucky thinks about the journal on his bedside table, and his fingers curl more tightly around the rag in his hand because he already knows, he knows it’s going to be incomplete again. The heavy feeling in his stomach settles as he sits down on the wooden bench, the sun hitting his arm at the exact same angle again. For a moment, golden spots dance around the room before he twists his torso just enough to make them disappear again.
He thinks about the journal, and he doesn’t want to have to look at it quite yet.
You flop down on the mat when Sam calls it a day, and Bucky nods back at him as he heads outside, rubbing a spot between his shoulderblades. Your face is still tense, even with your eyes closed, your heartbeat fast enough to make him tilt his head.
You’re so pretty. It’s not making the confusion boiling inside of him any easier to deal with.
The words are at the tip of his tongue without him having to think about them.
"You look like shit."
You blink at him in a peculiar way, like you’re just waking up from a dream yourself, and you let out a long, shaking breath.
"Oh, fuck you, Barnes."
It’s so normal for you to say it like that it almost puts him at ease. Almost.
"I think you nearly broke his nose, there." He presses the rag into another one of the crevices in his arm.
You hum noncommitantly. "Didn’t, though."
You haven’t put your rings back on, but your knuckles look fine, so you’ve probably managed to not do it in one try as well. Bucky’s gaze wanders up your arms again, slowly; your heart hasn’t calmed yet, and you continue to stare at the ceiling like you’re waiting for something.
Probably his leave, he realizes, standing up. He’s had his indulgence. "Take the towel on the right," he tells you again. "I already used the other one."
He doesn’t miss the shaky little exhale you let out as he turns his back on you, and his left fist clenches involuntarily.
One more.
He’s probably just going to have to take his mind off it all.
The air outside is sticky with heat; like the skies are supposed to break open but refuse to. Even when he squints, he can’t make out a single cloud in all that endless blue.
He keeps his head down even as his eyes scan his surroundings. It’s a little like being part of a movie he’s seen before.
There’s the woman with the two dogs, one of them barking at a garbage truck across the street. The banker on a phone call with his pregnant fiancée. The tired violin player busking near the subway station, playing the same song he did yesterday, something Bucky recognizes but still can’t name.
Everything is exactly the same.
He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets to fish for his ticket, joining the other people lining up to board the subway, their faces too familiar to distract him. He keeps expecting one of them to break, to call him out on doubling back every day, but none of them do. They don’t seem to notice.
He almost hesitates before he knocks on Sam’s door that afternoon, but the knot in his stomach hasn’t loosened. If anything, it’s gotten worse.
I thought you’d be there, he texts the number that never responds. He waits for a minute, two minutes, but of course there’s no answer.
There never is.
Just another thing to take his mind off of. Let his mind settle on something concrete that’s right in front of him. That he has complete control over.
Besides, maybe there’s something he’s supposed to get right here.
But when Sam calls, "We need to get moving," Bucky already knows, deep down, how this is going to end. His heart is beating frantically as the situation stays out of control, even though this should be easy. He’s seen this before. What is he missing?
The voice at the back of his mind hums dangerously, and he ignores it, punching out the agent in front of him and then whipping his head around to find you already staring at him with your eyes wide and for a moment, the world freezes because you look at him like … well, fuck.
Like he’s usually looking at you.
Desperate.
It’s his last thought before something right next to him explodes and there is nothing but pain.
And then he comes to in the middle of the crossing between Lexington and East 55th, and this time, this third time, he feels like he’s earned the right to be considerably less calm about the whole thing.
The car honks and the people stare and Bucky throws up on the sidewalk next to Starbucks because the world is still hung up on Friday and he’s died three days in a row. When he rummages through the pockets of his slacks for a tissue, his hand grazes something cool.
It’s a small, coal black ring that he’s seen many times before, and his stomach churns again as his hand closes around it so tightly it must leave an imprint. Of course, there are no coincidences in his life.
He really should’ve known better from the start.
* * *
He needs to talk to you.
He thinks it when he puts the ring back into his pocket and he’s still thinking it when he bursts into the Tower, doors slamming loud enough to startle Alpine awake from her spot on the couch. He needs to talk to you, and you’re going to figure this out together, because that’s what you do. It’s what you always do.
But she’s got time powers.
He presses his lips together tightly as he jogs up the stairs two at a time, ignoring the thought. Then again, there’s the piece of soap on the tiles next to the sink that he’s picked up three days in a row now, and his hand reaches for the same towel automatically, and how the hell does one get stuck in a time loop in the first place?
Месть.
Bucky turns the shower off so resolutely part of it dents. No, he thinks. If you knew, you’d get him out of this. He knows that you wouldn’t wish him harm.
Then how?
"You’re dead," he says out loud, staring at his own steamed up reflection. "You’re not real."
Neither of us is.
His heart beating out of his chest would disagree.
When he sits down next to you today, he watches you apprehensively. You still ignore him, but it seems to come so natural to you. As if all of this is normal, as if you don’t even notice something is wrong, even though you have to, right, you have to.
"You look like shit," he says out loud, but he feels like he’s still talking to himself.
Fuck you, Barnes.
And then it happens again.
Clearly, he’s losing his mind.
It’s the only explanation that’s left. He’s already been to hell and back and now he’s going mad, he’s finally going mad, he’s going insane—
No, you’re not.
His own heartbeat sounds so loud in his ears as the shower screeches off and something settles in his stomach like a stone, something as sure and familiar and uncomfortable as that voice that’s been getting louder each day.
You’re as clear-headed as you’ve ever been.
Which means that once again, someone or something else is trying to mess with his head, only this time, it’s already been screwed with enough for him to tell.
Here’s the thing about all this that keeps rubbing him the wrong way, keeps scratching at the very back of his mind just like the parts of him he’d rather keep buried for the rest of his days: If you truly don’t know this is happening, then why are you the only one doing something different every time?
Bucky’s spent the better part of his life honing in his perception skills, and he’s seen everyone else behave in the precise same manner four, five, six days in a row, but you … you’ll leave a room a few minutes earlier than the day before, or order a different lunch, or wear a different shirt.
It’s not easy to miss in the slightest and it makes him doubt you’re as clueless to this as you pretend to be.
Which leaves him with the version of events he hates the most, and which is therefore the most likely: If you do know this is happening, then why do you keep up this charade? Is it because you’re responsible for all this somehow? And if you are, is it on purpose?
That’s too many ifs for his liking. It all makes him think back to the Westview Anomaly, so he reads up on it.
And then he decides that he’d rather know whether the sinking feeling in his gut is right.
You’re staring up at the ceiling like you want to pretend he’s not even there, and his good hand is shaking too much to be of much use in drying the arm.
"Take the towel on the left," he makes himself say. "I already used the other one."
There’s a shuffling as you sit up, but he can’t bear to turn around. "Sorry, what did you say?"
"I said use the one on the left, because I took the other towel," he repeats.
"Right," you say, and then he can hear your rings clink against each other as you collect them from their dish.
Maybe he should return the one he found in his pocket. Maybe you just haven’t realized it’s missing yet, because this is your first time living through this day and you don’t know to ask for inconsistencies yet.
You shuffle towards the showers, and he’s startled to realize how relieved he feels. Strange, really, to put that much weight on a towel; but at least it means you don’t—
"Hey, Bucky," you say, hesitating at the door, and his stomach drops a little. "What day’s today?"
"Friday," he answers, his voice surprisingly level. "Why." It’s not really a question.
"No reason," you say, and the door clicks shut behind you. The sound seems to echo in the empty gym.
"Something weird is happening," he tells Sam as soon as he can hear him approach the kitchen.
He hates that he’s doing this, but it’s not like there’s a roster of people he could talk to. His shrink would probably just prescribe him some pills that won’t work again—that is, if Bucky could get a hold of him on a national holiday in the first place—, and even though Sam is going to laugh in his face about this whole thing, he at least has to try. Right?
"You sound like Y/N," Sam says, pouring himself a bowl of cornflakes.
Bucky grimaces, which earns him a concerned head tilt. Sometimes, Sam reminds him of all the best parts of Steve, and he doesn’t know whether that makes him calmer or furious.
"Talk to me, Buck."
He stares at the milk carton like it’s holding the solution to his problem. "I think she’s doing something to me."
Sam snorts. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."
He says it so lightly, almost jovially, and Bucky’s nails dig so hard into his palms one hand draws blood. "You know?" he says tonelessly.
"Are you kidding me?" Like he’s tickled. Like he’s been in on the joke for a while. "You two have been doing this dance for months."
Despite it all, his heart cracks a little more. "What?"
Sam hesitates for a moment before squinting at him. "We’re not talking about the same thing, are we?"
And Bucky supposes they’re not, they’re really not, so he says, "Today should be Tuesday."
A frown. "What do you mean?"
"What day is it?"
"Friday," Sam says.
"Wrong," Bucky tells him. "Yesterday was Friday. And so was the day before, and the one before."
He finally puts his bowl down on the counter. "Are you having a stroke?"
"Sam, listen to me. Today keeps repeating."
He frowns. "You mean like a time loop? Like you’re in Groundhog Day?"
"I don’t know what that is." A fun little name for his personal Gehinnom.
Just deserts, don’t you think?
"Have you talked to Y/N about this?" Sam asks. "I mean, that’s kind of her thing. I’m sure whatever this is, she can help you out." He still sounds a little incredulous, but he knows Bucky well enough to recognize when he’s not joking.
He’s never felt less like joking.
"There’s also this." He pulls out the ring. "I found this in my pocket. Why would it be in my pocket?"
Sam leans against the counter. "You tell me, man."
"I think she knows something."
"But that’s a good thing, right?"
Theoretically. Not when he’s died for a week straight, though.
"Then why didn’t she tell us?" He hates the despair in his words, the paranoia seeping through. He hates that Sam catches it, and that his features morph into something that’s supposed to look understanding, even though he doesn’t get what this is about.
"Maybe you’re wrong," Sam says gently. "Are you sure she’s not just as oblivious to this as everyone else?"
Bucky drags a hand through his hair. His left shoulder aches. "I don’t know."
Yes. You do.
"I’m telling you, there’s something going on."
Sam stares at him for a long, hard moment, and then he nods. "Okay. What do you want to do?"
He wants to sleep in on Saturday. He wants to stop feeling so confused. He wants the words in his throat to stop choking him.
But what he wants hasn’t mattered in eighty years.
And so he doesn’t say, I’m scared.
He doesn’t say, I feel so alone.
He doesn’t say, I don’t want to die.
And the only one who hears those things swallows them up whole until there’s nothing left.
"I’ll tell you when I find out," he says, because that’s the only thing that will leave his mouth. And if Sam looks at him doubtfully, well, maybe he knows him a little too well.
* * *
"I’m gonna go get some coffee. Do you want something?"
Bucky can hear your keys clattering as you pull on your shoes in the hallway, but he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch. He has to think.
"I’m good," he says blankly.
Are you?
Even Alpine looks at him doubtfully. He leans back a little until a spot of sunlight reflects from his watch, making her pounce at it playfully. Normally, it’d make him smile.
She jumps up on the coffee table and sniffs at the shreds of cardboard someone’s left behind. They weren’t there yesterday.
On the muted television, Sam enters the stage with his signature cap grin. Presumably, there’s thunderous applause, because it takes him a while to actually step up to the podium and begin his speech.
In the background, dozens of important-looking people gaze at him expectantly, with the exception of a woman with short blonde hair who’s turned away from the stage, holding both hands to her ears like she’s trying to understand a person on the phone. Bucky squints.
"You sure?"
Reflexively, he looks up at the sound of your voice, only to see you leaning in the doorway with a cautious expression that doesn’t help his muddled thoughts in the slightest.
Talk to me.
"Why are you wearing a jacket?" he asks.
You tug at the sleeves, not meeting his eye. It’s become a habit he doesn’t care for. "To be more like you," you deadpan.
It would feel so normal if only he could shake the feeling that something is wrong. Something is off.
He catches a glimpse of your hands just before they vanish into the pockets of your jacket. Not long enough to clearly see what color your rings are, but enough to notice one’s missing.
It’s flitting through his own fingers instead, and you would notice, too, if you would just look at him.
"You sure you alright?" he asks, and for a split second there’s something like a flicker on your face, but it washes away immediately, replaced by the usual unbothered exterior you’ve been wearing.
"Just fine," you say, voice even, face neutral.
And the problem is that he’s not sure if you’re lying. Normally, it’s so easy to tell, but right now …
Alpine rubs her head against his palm, your ring pressing into it like a reminder, and it sends a chill down his spine.
Bucky waits for the door to click shut behind you before slipping into his shoes and quietly following after you. He takes three steps at a time to keep up with the elevator, and in his rush he ends up having to wait for it to arrive in the lobby, glancing surreptitiously through the small window in the fire door.
A change has gone through you while you were out of his sight. The mask you’ve been wearing whenever you know he’s around has vanished, dropped like your shoulders. When you cross the entrace hall, the usual bounce in your step is gone and you just look tired.
The frown on his face deepens. He makes himself count to ten before following you.
Stepping outside at this time of the day always feels like getting slapped across the face by the noise and the heat. The sun is relentless today, and he can feel sweat beading on his neck, but you don’t so much as readjust your jacket as you make your way across the street, slowly, like you’re letting yourself be carried by the crowds.
Bucky keeps enough of a distance so even you won’t get a second chance to become aware of him. Just before you enter the Starbucks, your chin raises up again, your spine straightening.
It’s uncanny to witness your defenses going up as clearly as this, and it makes him stop in his tracks so abruptly someone almost bumps into him.
"Hey, I was just—oh, sorry, Sergeant Barnes."
"It was my fault," he mutters. The guy strolls towards a delivery bike, stealing a cautious look over his shoulder. Something about the way he moves feels oddly familiar.
There’s no time for Bucky to entertain the thought much longer, because a couple of minutes later you step out onto the sidewalk again, drink in hand, and he retreats a bit further into the alley, expecting you to pass him on your way back. You don’t, though. Instead, you look up at the sky and let out a sigh before turning and strolling down Lex.
You didn’t do that yesterday, either.
Bucky hesitates for a moment. He doesn’t want to outright follow you around for the rest of the day; he only wanted to see … what, exactly?
He groans quietly and then walks into the Starbucks himself. Maybe coffee isn’t such a bad idea after all.
Besides … it’s not like she’s that fast.
How strange to know that if he really wanted to, he could probably track your steps without much of a problem, even on a day as busy as today. It unsettles him more than he would like to admit.
The AC blasts a little bit of common sense back into him, even though the volume inside the store immediately makes him want to tear his ears out. It’s not that busy at the moment, but the amount of noise of the chattering people and the coffee grinders and the milk steamers is close to unbearable as usual.
The barista who has a crush on Sam is working the register again, fanning herself with a playbill. There are red, white and blue stripes running down her forehead, and Bucky briefly wonders how she keeps it from getting into her eyes.
"Hi there," she says with a knowing grin as soon as she recognizes him. "You just missed Y/N."
"I saw." Bucky shifts his weight. "Did she seem weird to you?"
She chuckles. "Apart from the fact that she ordered decaf?"
He frowns. "Something like that."
She shrugs and redjusts her cap. "Just the usual amount," she says in a way that would make him smile on any other day. The tag on her apron has the name Nora on it, but he feels like that’s not right. "Do you want to order something? I can put it on her card."
Normally, he’d refuse out of principle, but it’s not like anything he does today matters.
"Thanks," he says. "I’ll have a coffee, then."
He doesn’t even particularly like coffee, but it does help when he hasn’t slept a lot. And, truth be told, he’s not sure when the last time he slept was. He’s been awake for a week, but without feeling any of the usual side effects of insomnia.
Or the numerous head wounds.
"Mhm," Not-Nora says. "Little more specific?"
Well, shit. "Not decaf?" he tries.
"You’re useless," she smiles and then taps her screen a bunch of times. "Alright, move along. Tell cap good luck from me."
He almost smirks. "Why not tell him yourself?"
She huffs, blushing ever so slightly. "I’m not getting out of here ’til one and I’m already a sweaty mess."
And maybe it’s because his day has been nothing but a shitshow over the past week. Maybe it’s because Sam hasn’t talked about Leila in over three weeks even before Friday started, and Bucky doesn’t like his friends being quietly miserable. Maybe he just wants to see something work out for a change.
It’s been a while since he’s played matchmaker. His sisters would’ve laughed about this for weeks; maybe he does it for that thought.
"How about you put down your number and I’ll pass it on?"
Not-Nora perks up even as her flush deepens. "Are you serious?"
"Deadly."
When he leaves five minutes later, her phone number is scrawled along one side of his paper cup, and even though the coffee tastes just as disgusting as usual, he can’t help but feel like maybe he can do one tiny thing right. At least for a moment.
His feet carry him down Lexington Avenue without him even consciously thinking about it, and he gets as far as three blocks before he remembers that Sam’s speech started at 14:00. He jerks up his watch so quickly the coffee spills on his shirt, but he barely hisses at the burn.
14:47.
What’s the point? he thinks as he throws the empty cup into the closest trash. Or maybe he does.
* * *
He throws his punches a little harder each day.
It takes all of his might not to lose himself completely in the fight to come, not to unleash his full serum-powered strength on a couple of faceless fanatics who would be fine again in a couple of minutes, anyway, depending on how long he’ll make it today. Still, there’s a certain mindlessness to it as he repeats his own steps, ribs cracking and wrists twisting as he strikes again and again and again.
"I think I’m losing it," he tells Sam about a week in.
"Like a bad day or you’re about to go Shining on me?"
So far, there hasn’t been any shining, but it wouldn’t make a difference.
"Two o’clock."
He’s already half-turning when you say it, already pulling the trigger as the words leave your mouth, moving on muscle memory alone at this point. And you still don’t notice.
A single bead of sweat runs down the side of your neck as you kick another one of your assailants in the groin, and even though your eyes are focused, you’re not in it.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were just concentrating; but he knows you can be in the moment and quip freely at the same time. He’s seen you do it countless times before today.
But it’s Friday, endless, sweltering, blood-stained Friday, and it’s like you’ve turned into a robot version of yourself, every move premeditated and precise, every look and word and nod planned and practiced just enough not to arouse suspicion in anyone who doesn’t look as closely as he’s had time to. It’s a game of pretend, and you’re almost winning. You’re almost perfect.
No. You’re too perfect.
Perfect in your display of almost-shock, of almost-pain as the knife cuts through Bucky’s kevlar vest like butter and lodges right above his heart. At first, he barely feels it; he only tastes the blood bubbling up his throat when his mouth drops open.
His eyes stay on you as he thuds to his knees, bones crunching, eyes watering. You catch him, barely, supporting his shoulders to keep him steady.
Your silence is deafening.
"What’s wrong with you?" he murmurs as the ringing in his ears gets louder, barely audible enough for you to hear, but clearly you do, because something shifts in your eyes, and oh.
There’s that glimmer in your eye he loves looking at so much, the one he only gets to see when he teases it out of you. That spark of mischief he’s missed during all this, like your fire has burned out.
He’s never hated it more.
And then he comes to in the middle of the crossing between Lexington and East 55th, and once again, he feels like a decision’s been made for him already.
He makes it to the side of the road and sits down on the boardwalk, ignoring the bustle of curious people around him. Instead, he stares directly at the synagogue on the other side of the street, and he doesn’t ask why.
He asks, Like this?
And just like he expected, there’s no answer. Not even from within.
He presses both of his hands to his heart to feel it beat against his palm, more steady than his thoughts and still there. He’s still there.
It’s Friday again.
Bucky thought, not too long ago, that with everything he’s come to know and … like about you, you were someone he could let in. That someday, he could let you see him, with everything he’s used to hiding away underneath all of the protective layers he’s built around his heart.
Maybe he was wrong.
He should confront you. No, he should just ask. Why can’t he bring himself to ask?
Сбой, the voice in his head reminds him again and he presses it down, down between his torn open ribs, shoves it underneath the wounds that keep reopening anyway because he’s sick of having to listen to it all the time, sick of never being alone in his own damn head anymore, of not being able to leave a single day behind, let alone anything else.
Something tugs at him from deep within, and it’s enough to make him get up, rub his palms against his pants, and then take out his phone as he starts walking again. He knows the number by heart, but he’s never been able to actually hit the call button before, even though he’s tried. He’s tried countless times.
His speed picks up with every ring of the phone because something about this makes him feel like running away. Like maybe he gets it now. Like—
There’s a click, and then the sound of the voicemail recording. Of course.
Bucky groans. "Damnit, I know you’re never gonna listen to this, but there’s something really fucked up going on and I don’t—I don’t know what to do, man."
He keeps walking, keeps his head up even when he bumps into people, because what does it matter, right now? He ignores the red light at the next crossing, mostly because he needs to move.
"It’d be real fuckin’ decent of you to just pick up the goddamn phone every once in a while, you know, because that’s what—"
"Buck?"
For a second, everything screeches to a halt.
He’s not sure what comes first, him dropping his phone or the car hitting him from out of nowhere, but the next thing he knows is he comes to in the middle of the crossing between Lexington and East 55th, right as he’s about to turn his back on the brownstone front of the Central Synagogue, and it feels like someone just ripped his heart open all over again.
He flips the car off when it honks, not even caring about the ache in his limbs. His phone is safely tucked away in his pocket, and when he pulls it out again, there’s not so much as a scratch on the screen, but right now, it’s not like he would have cared.
The next five times he tries, the call doesn’t even go through.
He knows that voice. He knows it just as well as his own, just as well as the one hiding inside some dark corner of his mind, and it shouldn’t sound like that anymore.
The thing inside stirs again, that other, softer voice, that part of him he hates just as much.
Keep trying, it says.
It’s the part of him that told him to jump from the helicarrier. The part of him that still refuses to believe he was past redemption despite all the evidence pointing to the contrary; the part of him that’s too damn hopeful for its own good, and somehow still persists.
Talk to her, it says.
He can’t go on listening to ghosts for the rest of his days.
Or day, rather.
His thumb hovers over the call button one last time, and then he shuts his phone off.
* * *
"You look like shit."
"Oh, fuck you, Barnes."
He scoffs, but his mind is still hurling with anger and pain and confusion, and it comes out like a growl. He’s vigorously scrubbing at the crevices in his arm. Maybe the inside is still stained with his blood; maybe that’s why it feels so heavy.
"Are you alright?" you ask and his head snaps up.
You look so innocent, almost concerned. Normally, he would enjoy it for the second it would last, but today, it sticks. Everything sticks today.
"What do you think?"
Your eyes widen just a little bit, but you don’t say anything. You still don’t fucking say anything, and that’s more telling than anything else in this endless nightmare so far.
You’re not asking what’s wrong with him, because you know. You know.
"How many times are we gonna go through this before we’re done?"
You bite your cheek, your fingers twitch. "I don’t know," you say, and your voice sounds so far removed it barely sounds like yours anymore.
Fine, he thinks. If you’re not telling him, then it really is some elaborate scheme to punish him. To make him think he’s lost his mind again, make him see that free will is nothing but an illusion, that things will always, always stay the same no matter what he does. He gets the point.
Then why does it hurt so much to know? Why does it hurt to know you?
Maybe because none of this, as terribly, horribly real as it’s been, has felt like it was true at all. He’s still missing a piece of the puzzle, and you’re refusing to give it to him. If he only knew what went wrong between the two of you—no.
You’re clearly done with him, and he’s not going to beg for answers he’s not going to get. People he cares for usually made a point of leaving him; why should it have been any different with you?
By the time Sam enters the kitchen, Bucky’s been glaring at the fridge for a while already. There’s a magnet in the shape of a blue alien with six arms holding up your shopping list; a couple of sticky notes with passive-agressive messages on them, most of them about the cat litter; a postcard from the exhibit at the National Air and Space Museum. Trivial bits and pieces.
He wants to set all of it on fire, starting with the postcard.
"She knows," he says without turning when he hears Sam’s steps behind him. They halt on the other side of the kitchen island.
"Knows what?" He doesn’t even ask who, and it fuels the anger.
"That I’m stuck in a time loop."
A choking sound, too short to be worrisome. "Come again?"
Bucky glowers at him over his shoulder, even though none of this is Sam’s fault. He gets a concerned stare in return, which cools his temper somewhat; he lets out a sigh. "What day do you think it is?"
"Are you feeling alright?"
No. "Humor me."
He grabs a mug from the drying rack, just to have something to do with his hands. It’s the one with cat ears that showed up outside his room on his birthday, wrapped in cheap brown packing paper.
How long ago was March?
"Friday," Sam says, and he sounds so sure about it. Bucky desperately wants to believe it’s that easy.
"It’s been Friday for a while," he says instead, his voice cracking.
To go through everything like this is both easier and worse than he expected.
"I don’t get it." Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "I’ve seen you fight before. Hell, I’ve fought you before. You’re near impossible to hurt, let alone kill."
Bucky huffs. "I heal fast, I’m not invincible."
"Then how does it keep happening when you know it’s coming?"
Unbidden, the glimmer in your eye comes to mind again. The line of your back turned towards him, the complete abandon of self-preservation in your fighting style, however streamlined it may be. Even through all this, you expect him to watch your six.
And why wouldn’t you? His eyes are continually drawn to you, anyway.
He knows that just as well as you do, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He can just go and be slaughtered instead.
Bucky swallows. His throat feels very dry.
"I told you we shouldn’t have brought her on," he finally says, even though it’s not really an answer. Or maybe it is. You were always going to be the knife that cut the deepest, and maybe he’s known from the start. "Reckless idiot."
"Yeah, you said that. Almost a year ago. Hasn’t that changed?"
"Everything’s changed," he snaps, and the mug slips from his fingers. It shatters on the tiles, small shards flying off in all directions, and it hurts.
It’s just a mug. It shouldn’t twist his stomach, not like this. He keeps staring at the pieces.
"And why do you think that is?" Such a soft question.
Bucky’s hands clench into fists.
That other voice inside knows the answer, is desperate to scream it out, to share the burden and the weightlessness of it, but he can’t let it. He squashes it down, forces it back into its dark, hopeless corner. It has no place here. It can’t.
Somehow, Sam seems to hear it anyway.
"Have you talked to her?" He chooses his words carefully.
Bucky’s heart is racing like he’s dying, but he knows what that feels like now and it’s not this. This is worse.
Сбой, he thinks again, and this time, it echoes in his mind loud enough to drown out anything else. The shards on the floor are blurring. He has a sudden urge to spit or vomit, but he half-expects words to come out if he should. Of all things.
Can we leave before I do something he’ll regret?
His left hand makes a grating sound as his right palm opens underneath his fingernails, blood slowly dripping from one wrist. It brings him back into the kitchen, Sam’s gaze still heavy on him. He doesn’t want to meet his eyes.
"She’s not coming."
There’s something cold in Bucky’s voice he’s too fed up to care he recognizes.
It’s his own fault. He’s let his guard down around you, let you in, and it’s been a mistake. Of course it was. You’re the one who led him here, and he doesn’t want to follow your orders any longer.
"Let’s go on the mission without her. If she isn’t there, maybe I won’t …" He doesn’t have to say it out loud. He’s still bleeding, after all.
"Are you sure?" Sam says.
No. "I’m asking as a friend."
As expected, that’s enough.
He doesn’t feel bad leaving you behind without a single word, without looking back over his shoulder as he quietly drags the door shut behind him. He doesn’t feel bad sitting on the quinjet in silence, staring daggers at the wall. He doesn’t feel bad as he climbs out and soaks up the last few rays of sunshine, his focus unbroken for once.
He’s not haunted by you here; only by his own ghost.
Bucky’s been through this enough times to recall more than the broad strokes of it; he slips this mission on like a second skin, breathing through the absence of you with more calm than he’s thought possible. Then again: this is what he’s good at.
There’s a goal, and there’s a catch; but no more distractions. This will be a breeze.
.
That night, he dreams of you. If you could call it a dream, the few strange, hazy moments after he dies and before he gets put together again.
You look at him, almost reaching out but never quite touching, your eyes gleaming green.
His name still echoes in your voice when he comes to.
* * * * *
From his perspective, it made sense, of course, so really there was no point in going over it again.
And yet you did. Over and over.
I want her out.
It was quite simple, really. Bucky hated your guts because of something you couldn’t control, you were still seething because of it, and you were both perfectly fine with avoiding each other for the rest of your days.
You took an extra shift at the store the next day, just so you wouldn’t have to run into the two of them any more than necessary. You couldn’t wait until Sam jumped back on his flight to D.C. and Bucky fucked off to do whatever he did all day; the most important part was that they’d both be far, far away from you.
"Fucking Steve," you mumbled as you violently scrubbed the counters. Come to think of it, all of this was entirely his fault. No one would even know you existed without him blabbering on about you. And what you wouldn’t give to live in a world without being judged for your very existence by a bionic ex-assassin.
On top of everything else, some moron decided to steal the tip jar while you were distracted getting some ice, and by the time you made it home, it was nearing midnight, you’d had way too many espresso shots for a single human being, and you just wanted to cry in the silence of your own four walls. It was probably the single most terrible day you’d had since the first couple of weeks in the Tower.
Unfortunately, when you unlocked the front door, you immediately realized that your terrible day wasn’t over yet. There were too many pairs of shoes sitting in the hallway, and voices coming from the kitchen area.
You quietly pulled off your sneakers in the semi-darkness of the hallway. You were way too exhausted to attempt to use your powers, but maybe you could tiptoe past them to take a quick shower and then fall into bed without having to talk to anyone.
Slowly, you crept closer to the stairwell, keeping one eye on the shadows dancing across the wall to your left. Snippets of conversation got clearer.
"—not saying that, but whether you want to admit it or not, she’s good." Sam sounded annoyed.
"It’s not about that and you know it."
"Yeah, I do. You know what else I know? You need to go back to therapy."
You froze, shrinking back into the darkness of the hallway. You could hear Bucky huff an incredulous laugh.
"I made—"
"Amends, I’m aware. And was that your idea, or was that the assigned homework from your court mandated army doctor?" Silence. "You can’t just work through a list and at the end of it decide you’re done and everything’s magically alright again."
"'Course not. I don’t get to do that."
There was something about his tone that made your anger sink down slowly, heavily, until you swallowed it down entirely and you just felt wretched.
You weren’t supposed to listen to any of this. This was way out of your depth, and you had no idea how to get out of it. Their voices blurred into each other as your pulse was rushing through your head loud enough to make you dizzy, and you reached for your necklace in an attempt to ground yourself, to calm your breaths and reach out to something that could get you away from this moment in time.
It was useless.
"Like I said," Sam continued calmly. "You don’t have to work together ever again. But the two of you should talk it out first."
"Or how about this," you whispered, not loud enough for any but superhuman ears to pick up on, "should we ever get to the point again where I reset something around you and it’s important, I will let you know."
You barely knew why you offered, with your back pressed against the wall, not even standing in the same room as Bucky. But you didn’t want to fight.
There was a beat of hesitation, and then he said, "Promise?"
"Sure," Sam said.
You held up your pinkie finger in front of your heart, even though no one could see. "On the nine lives of the cat I will own one day."
You counted your breaths up to twenty before you heard one of them shift their weight, bare feet shuffling over your tiles.
"Fine," Bucky said finally. "She can stay for now. But I’m keeping an eye on her."
A familiar hitch went through you all on its own and you opened your eyes to find the world standing still. You took a couple of hesitant steps towards the stairs again, your head turning when you passed the kitchen area.
Sam had his back turned to you, stretching to reach something on the shelf next to the fridge, but Bucky’s frozen gaze was fixed on the wall you’d been leaning against, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Determination was a good look on him, you decided. It left a certain shine in his eyes that was hard to look away from.
That night, you dreamt of drowning at sea, and somehow you didn’t want to call it a nightmare.
Tumblr media
chapter eight
thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚
this chapter was my best kept secret and i'm forever grateful to @marvelettesassemblenow for reading ages ago 🫶🏼 also no one talk to me about thunderbolts bc i still haven't watched it but it seemed like a good time for a comeback
109 notes · View notes
sickuma · 2 years ago
Text
ORPHIC (2) — A Simon Riley fic.
❱ This is the last part of HIRAETH ! I don't want to drag it any longer than this. It's so much fun writing this and exploring more words to add to my vocab! Everyone's been nice (except when they give me their therapy bills) I love you guys srsly, You make writing so much more fun <3
I should have gotten this done HOURS ago, but I had to do stuff and just finished working out T-T but hey, writing block isn't killing me rn.
ꜝ?This fic may contain heavy topics such as death, depression and melt-downs, if any of those are not to your liking. Please do so exit the fic. Angst warning!
➴ SYNOPSIS — Ghost mourns of what's lost; reminiscing of the memories, apologizing, begging for you to hear his desperation for your presence as he sat Infront of your tombstone.
Tumblr media
QUERENCIA — (n.) A place from which a one's strength is drawn, where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self.
“Relationships in the military,”
He spoke, pausing to stare at your eyes. Searching for hesitance,
“They tend to be tragic.”
“But we’ll be together, no?”
“look , kid, it's not as easy as it sounds—”
“Do you feel the same way?”
You cut him off, not giving him the chance to speak. Catching ‘the’ simon ghost riley off guard, “Yes.” he breathes out.
“Then I don't see the problem, lieutenant, I love you, you love me. That's what barney said.”
He stares at the void, remembering yet again another memory he kept special in his heart. He wondered if you had not pursued him at that exact moment. Would he still feel the raw pain that plagued his heart now? Would it still hurt all the same?
If you hadn't stubbornly shown him how determined and real your love for him was, would he still be in this position, dreading every day that comes knowing the person he needs the most was taken from him.
throwing his gear onto the side. Making his way back to his quarters without giving anyone a second glance,
Ever since you've been gone, the base has been awfully tense. The rest understood his situation, trying their best to be there for him, all while attending to their own duties. The past few weeks had been the hardest, They could tell Ghost had been on edge.
He’d only speak to them if it's necessary, otherwise he’d be kept to himself. As if the past had repeated itself, there appeared a gap between his friends and him. He was mourning, and he plans to keep mourning,
If that means having you on his mind,
Then he’ll mourn forever.
“Ghost?”
Price’s eyes widened at the sight of Ghost, 
It’s the first month since you've passed away and the rest of the team planned to pay you a visit to show respect and also let you know how missed you are, not just by them, but also by Ghost who seemed to have shut his whole world out.
He saw how Ghost shown a tough facade when he would hear him call for her,
At night, when everyone slept, Ghost cried and wept for you to come back. Begging aimlessly for your return,
Begging endlessly to feel your arms around him again.
Price didn't expect him to be joining them. He hadn't been. The team visited your resting place a couple of times before, he’d invite him but he’ll make up reasons not to go. Price figured he still hasn't accepted that's where your body lays,
The ride to their destination felt almost eerie, the tension leading the hour long drive. Nobody dared to speak, not a single word.
Ghost’s mind resides elsewhere, watching the scenery they drove past. Chest heaving up and down as he struggles to fathom that he’d finally visit you, 
No—he was more occupied with thinking about how it’s only been a month.
It felt longer than that. It felt longer than his training days. He felt more exhausted, more agitated, and more angry. He resents every breathing thing he comes across to,
He knew it sounded cruel, but why do they deserve to live and you don't? You have been the kindest, and yet you were taken first. He couldn't understand,
As a soldier he’d lost multiple comrades, having to face funerals—visit the cemetery, and deal with death itself. Though yours felt unreal,
It felt as if his bones were crushed. He knew how pathetic it seemed, clinging onto someone who's never coming back, but he'd rather cling onto the past if it means having to hold you close to his heart forever, where you belonged.
、 
Everyone got out of the car,
Everyone but him.
Price sighed, not planning to pry. If his breath felt shallow just by being here, he could only imagine what Ghost felt at this moment, considering it was his first time to ever be here.
A few minutes passed, and the three sat quietly at first until soap had cracked a dad joke, lifting the atmosphere just a little bit. They spoke as if you were there, sitting with them, price would constantly glace at Ghost, who sat quietly in the car. He wondered what ran through his mind.
“We should give him his own time to talk to [name].” Price groaned as he stretched when he stood up, the two following closely behind him. “He needs this.”
Ghosts' eyes caught them approaching. He felt his stomach sink. He knew he planned to wait until they finished before he took his turn as he expected himself to break down and shed tears. He didn't want them to see that. And yet he still felt his heart beat faster when they came back,
Price threw him a small smile, a smile of empathy.
As if that's his cue, he jumped out of the car. Taking slow strides towards ‘your’ direction. He never thought he could ever despise a cemetery so much in his life,
The only thing he could think of was the way you laid down there, away from his grasp.
No matter how slow he walks, he soon finds himself in front of ‘you’, oh well—a stone that only proved to him that you're gone. “Have you been waiting?”
He couldn't believe it,
He was talking to a mere stone.
But he’ll take what he can get.
“Wake up.” he stared down with an expressionless face, “enough laziness, [name]. Get up from there.”
“You can have all of the shirts you want from me, you can pluck my eyebrows, do it, you can get a puppy. Anything you want just— just wake up.”
His voice betrayed him the more he spoke, 
The longer he looked at the stone, the way he kept reading the credentials written on it, the more it felt real. Every passing second is just another evidence of your disappearance,
“You always call me mean,”
He swallowed,
“Yet you're the one who left first.” his cold gaze softened, the more he looked at the ground. Under the ground where your body laid.
Where the body of his lover slept eternally.
“How do I find you now? Now that I'm stuck here?”
He recollects his promise, the promise to reunite in your next life. It all pierced through him. He’s a soldier, yet he finds himself worrying about the most ridiculous thing. What if you'd reincarnate before he passed?
What if you leave him behind again,
What if this time you find someone else to love?
What will he be then?
“Remember when you'd go on tangents about how fascinating reincarnation and universes are? I believe you now, okay? So— so wait for me.”
He sat down, quietly enjoying the breeze. He couldn't deny the pain of the piercing ache that developed in his chest. It never really went away. He would simply distract himself.
“I find it hard to sleep again, love.”
“The bed feels colder without you in it. Do i sound cheesy? Do not make fun of me. I want to be honest. Maybe doing that would lessen the overbearing hurt in my chest. It’s just—it’s only been a month since youre gone and im already a fucking mess. I mean, look at me,”
He chuckled,
“I look rough, dont i?” he sighed, “would you still find my eyes pretty even when i tire them out by crying?”
He looked away, observing the serenity of the cemetery. He wondered how many souls wandered around, and if yours were one, and if you stood close to him.
“I feel—just terrible. When I woke up, I thought I'd finally lose it, well I did. I caused price trouble, you'd have scolded me. I really did it this time, pushing everyone away as if you'd come back to tell me off. That's not ever happening, and that's what hurts the most.” 
He spoke slowly, yet he felt out of breath.
“It feels suffocating—you know? To live without you.”
“I don't know why I woke up, I wished I didn't. Maybe then I'd be with you.”
“It’s scary, [name], so scary.” he whispered, the rasp of his voice sounding more evident. “I have no certainty if we’ll see each other again; and I need nothing more than to hold—to feel you again. To hear your voice, to take in your scent. If I have to give everything up for that, I will.”
“Anything just to have you back to me.”
He stared at the words engraved on the tomb,
“but if i have to wait decades or centuries—i will—without hesitance, without a blink, i will. For you, I'll keep being patient.”
“That's how worthy you are [name]. So wait for me please, no matter how long it takes for me to find you again, please wait.”
He spoke lowly, but certainly, no matter where you are, he hoped you'd recognize him, hoping you’d recognize his eyes you loved so much,
“Even if it means i'll have to die again and again, i’ll keep searching for you until we’re back home until i can hear your voice call my name again.”
“Wait for me, [name].”
Hoping you’d recognize your Simon.
、 
Somewhere along the memories,
、 
Somewhere along the universe,
、 
Somewhere along life and death,
、 
Somewhere along—
、 
“Simon.”
“Pardon?” he looked at you, puzzled expression written all over his face. “Whatd you just say?”
“My simon.”
We're home.
771 notes · View notes
adakechi · 3 years ago
Text
thank you @deathclassic for the tag <3
i cant put a read more on tumblr ipad what the fuck
1. Do you post on Ao3? If so, how many works do you have on AO3? If not, where do you post?
i dont post art there, but i do post fic.
2. What is your total art count?
I have been drawing digitally since I was 8 (traditionally even longer), it's well into the thousands. Maybe even tens of thousands.
3. What are your top 5 pieces by likes/kudos?
I have no idea, I just know my most liked piece is a tie between a P5 valentines day comic and a really old Buzzfeed Unsolved shitpost.
4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I try, but I'm not great at it. ADHD brain.
5. What is your current fandom, and what was the first fandom you drew for?
I'm all over the fucking place rn, mostly Star Wars, Scott the Woz, Umbrella Academy, Adventure Time. My first was Sonic the Hedgehog. :)
6. Have you ever received hate on any art?
Bestie I had THREE separate hate accounts dedicated to me on instagram back in the day.
7. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t drawn for yet but want to?
Stonathan from Stranger Things, do more Adventure Time stuff, uhhhhhh,,, honestly idk.
8. What’s your all-time favorite ship?
Shuake/Akeshu.
9. Do you draw outside of fandom?
Not as much as I'd like, but I'm working on an original horror graphic novel so.
10. What’s the an art piece you’ve drawn that came out completely differently than you expected?
Hmmmmm. This one changed like eight times.
Tumblr media
11. Do you draw smut?
Not as often now, but sometimes.
12. Have you ever had any of your art stolen or copied?
A lot more in the past, not so much nowadays. I don't mind tracing or reposting anyway, so I don't really keep track.
13. Have you ever collaborated on a piece?
A long long time ago!
14. What’s an idea you have that you have yet to draw?
I have about 636372 STW ideas rattling in my skull right now.
15. What are your drawing strengths?
Honestly? I don't think I have many. I dislike my art a lot and think I struggle far too much. I guess I'm okay with hands, if I HAD to pick.
16. What are your drawing weaknesses?
Faces, perspective, light source, legs, proportions, fluidity, environments, consistency, line weight.
17. What’s your favorite art piece you’ve drawn?
This is the only thing I think I've drawn in the past 2 years that I didn't just like but loved.
Tumblr media
18. What is one thing you’d like to tell people about your art that they might not know?
I don't know what I'm doing, ever. I went to college for this and really I'm still just winging it.
19. What inspires or motivates you to create for fandom?
As fucked up as you may see this, honestly, a big reason is I like the attention. I like interacting with people who find something in my work, it's nice and I like the validation, sue me.
20. And finally, can you describe your process a little? Do you have a favourite place to draw? Do you play something in the background? Do you do research or just go for it? Give us a little insight:
I like to draw on the couch, or in bed. I used to draw in the most uncomfortable position ever, which was on my fucking stomach with a pillow under my jaw. Pre-iPad, I drew at my desk with my Wacom Bamboo tablet. And it depends! Sometimes I'll listen to music, other times I'll put on a YouTube essay or something. Beforehand, I work out a few thumbnails, then open Safari or Pinterest for references. :P
If you're an artist, feel free to do this if you'd like!
4 notes · View notes
athenamikaelson · 5 years ago
Note
I'm wildin with this one rn. It's okay if you don't want to write it! Klaus Mikaelson x reader who can't get hurt (if that makes sense??) The Mikaelsons get kidnapped, reader comes for them and gets stabbed pretty badly but they just go "I mean that's fair." and keep going and later at night they're all just trying to process and Klaus spends the night with them asking a million questions?
Tumblr media
Klaus Mikaelson x Reader
Request- I'm wildin with this one rn. It's okay if you don't want to write it! Klaus Mikaelson x reader who can't get hurt (if that makes sense??) The Mikaelsons get kidnapped, reader comes for them and gets stabbed pretty badly but they just go "I mean that's fair." and keep going and later at night they're all just trying to process and Klaus spends the night with them asking a million questions?
 Warnings- Kol being a dumbass, swearing, blood.
Word Count- 1,342
Walking into the witch’s quarter I’m surrounded by tombstones and mausoleums. Looking at my phone again to see if Nik had responded to any of my texts or call. Nothing. Great.
Not that Nik, or any of the other Mikaleon’s would answer giving the fact that the witches had something to do with their disappearance. 
When I had first realized they were all missing I had tried calling all of them, even Kol who doesn’t even know how to use his phone. That’s how desperate I was. When I couldn’t find where they went I did a location spell that led me here. As Nik says, “Dead or alive witches are a pain in my ass.” He would always look at me after he said it though and tell me I was an exception. Not that I always believed him though. I know I’m a pain in his ass. But for some reason he still loves me. That really doesn’t help my god complex.
Walking through the rows of graves I try to close in my hearing to notice anything out of the ordinary. I am in a graveyard so that doesn’t really help. I continue walking for what feels like hours, when in reality it’s probably been like 5 minutes. Goddamn I hate exercise, Nik is lucky I like him. 
“To our ancestors we pray, please take this sacrifice and give us the strength to defeat our enemies!” I hear coming around the corner of an old grave which must’ve been over 100 years old. I peak around the grave, which just touching it gives me the creeps. Not to my surprise I see a group of maybe 7 witches surrounding an altar. Fucking extremists. Why can’t they find a different hobby other than sacrificial murders? What did catch me by surprise though was the whole of the Mikaelson gang chained up against the walls. Jesus Christ that’s impressive. I mean chaining up ALL of the Mikealson clan. That takes some balls. 
“You know darling, if you’d just unchain me now I’ll consider not ripping your spine out and strangling you.” Kol’s voice broke the silence. I visually roll my eyes. Classic Kol.
The witch who seems to be around mid 50’s, the eldest of the group I presume, walks up to Kol and puts what appears to be a necklace with a ruby like gem on the end, in Kol’s face. 
“As long as I have this gem darling, you and your bastard family aren’t going anywhere.” The witch mockingly says. Which earns a growl and pulling his chains from Kol. 
“This is ridiculous, you psychotic witches. Unchain us now or I swear to-” Nik yells at the witch. 
“You’ll what? What will you do Niklaus. You’ll yell? Pull on those chains? Tell me, what will the bastard child do?” That bitch snarckingly says. Oh I know that bitch didn’t just say what I thought she said. Ok I’m killing this bitch. I can’t take on 7 witches by myself though. I need my man. I just need to get that damn necklace from that old bag. Shouldn’t be hard enough. 
I walk behind the columns to the other side where Nik and his family are chained up. 
“Hey babe.” I whisper to Nik. Nik whips his head around and his eyes visibly widen when he notices me so I just send him a big smile. 
“Y/N? What the bloody hell-” Nik is about to question me before I press my finger to stop him from talking and press my other finger to my lips to signal to him to shut up. 
“I’m saving the day.” I smile as I walk out of the shadows to the old witch. Múltiple, “Y/N?”’s come from the Mikaelsons while just a laugh comes from Kol.
Oh shit I didn’t bring a weapon. I look around quickly before I see Bekah kick a large metal poker at me. Picking it up and sending her a smile I walk up behind the bitchy witch. 
“I know you didn’t call my boyfriend a bastard, you whore.” Before she can fully turn around I whip the poker at her and hit her in the face, knocking her down. Which unfortunately gets the attention of the other witches. I quickly rip the necklace of her neck and freeze. 
“Fuck. What do I do with this?” 
“Break it love. Bloody hell do I have to do everything?” 
“Shut it Kol, also.. thanks.” I throw the necklace on the ground and stomp my foot on it, breaking it into pieces. 
In a second all the Mikaelsons rip off their chains. The younger witches all freeze, scared expressions on their faces. Ha. I’m about to turn and hug Nik who starts to walk my way before I feel something hit my stomach. I feel a sudden pain and my shirt starts to dampen. I reach my hand down and pull it back to see it covered in blood. I look up to see Nik looking at my stomach before he looks at me, frozen. 
“Well I guess that’s fair.” Everything goes black.
I woke up surrounded by darkness. I try to get my eyes to relax to my surroundings but nothing happens. My mind is foggy until I remember the blood. I reach down to see that I’m in one of Nik’s shirts. I pull it up to look at my stomach, which is covered in dried blood. But no wounds. I throw my legs over the bed and walk towards the door. Light bombards my eyes as I peer down the hallway. I can hear voices coming from the dining hall as I make my way down there.
Nik and his family are all sitting in different areas drinking red liquids. Which doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that was.
“Hello Mikaelsons, I LIVED!” I make myself present to the vamps. Elijah and Nik both stand up and look at me worriedly, while Rebekah sat there with a questionable look and Kol was sitting smirking in the corner. 
“Y/n, you must still be tired and sore. I believe it would be best if you went back to sleep.” Elijah tried to reason with me as he started to walk towards me. I quickly stopped him with a raise of my hand. 
“Eli I’m fine. I am doing good. Walking and shit, you know. I’m feeling fire.” I walk past Eli and sit down next to Bekah which gets me a smile thrown at me and a disapproving look from Elijah as he comes to sit down back in his seat. Nik just stands in the same spot looking me over. His eyes held longer on my stomach where my wound was. 
“Y/n, come with me please.” Nik starts to walk upstairs before I can object.
When I make it up to our shared bedroom I barely have a second before Nik’s arms wrap around me surrounding me in a hug. 
“You scared me.” His eyes come to meet mine, I nearly break down when I see tears breaching the edges of his eyes.
“Hey, I’m fine now baby. I’m ok.” I reach up to brush away the tears threatening to fall onto his cheeks. 
“When I saw you fall to the floor I thought my world would end right there.” I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his nose.
“You really think you can get rid of me that quickly?” A hurt look crosses NIk’s face after I say that. 
“How could you even joke like that? I mean you alway make these jokes after bad things happen? God you’re so much like Kol. And the thing you said when you got stabbed! Most people would scream or cry. You just made a sarcastic comment.”
“I don’t know man. I’m built differently I guess.” I quickly press a kiss to his lips which he quickly returns before I pull away. Confusion crosses his face. 
‘Don’t. Ever. Tell. Me. I’m like Kol.”
553 notes · View notes
flaming-thing · 19 days ago
Text
I'm sorry about everything that's happened. I hope you can find peace with it all
They so should've done that in canon, have them all board the boat and then an hour or so later have villads just be like 'ah yes, forgot to tell you earlier but we have to sail through a deadly storm'
Poor callum has so much more to deal with in this fic than in canon. Well, not *loads* more, but hes definitely got it harder with claudia and trying to come to terms with her being a horrible person
I *always* forget that there's a period of time where callum just... can't do magic. I associate him with sky magic so much that they're pretty much synonymous to me
It's not ridiculous callum! It's a very reasonable reaction to losing something that was so important to you and meant so much!
What?? No guys tell him he's being reasonable. I get the whole 'you can't learn primal magic if you don't have the arcanum so you can't do sky magic without the primal stone' (which is wrong anyway! But they don't know that yet) but that dosent mean it's ridiculous!!
Poor callum is all i can say to this. Poor kid has far to much going on rn
The LETTER scene. Oh no. This made me cry hard enough in the show
Ok side note: I love reading stuff in comparison to watching, because unless the character goes on massive monologues, you dont really get any indication to what they're feeling other than what they show you on the screen, whereas when your reading you just get a while other veiw on a characters thoughts and perceptions
It's probably different for rayla because 1. She thinks her parents abandoned her so dosnet really like them (or pretends to at least) and 2. They left a while ago compared to when callum realised claudia betrayed them, and left *her* even longer ago, so she's had more time to come to terms with it
Nono that makes sense. I'd rather someone tell me outright if something like that happened rather than try to hide it or avoid talking about it
🥲 to the whole letter. I *wish* that callum and harrow had had a talk about all this when he was still child. I feel like it would've made all this slightly more bearable for callum
Forgot Damien was still alive when sarai met harrow (here at least) and was really confused for like half a second
Losing both parents in less than a year wpuld be absolutely horrific. Anyone whose experienced it, I salute your strength
Hehee key of aaravos time
Or maybe not
Ram why in God's name are you staring at villads what did he ever do to you
Actually no that's a fair point. How do they know each other??
Didn't callisto go to Neolandia though? Or does ram just not know that?
I mean if callisto is the only one with the illusion, it dosent make much sense for her to keep it up and the others to just look normal
Oh ye berto definitely know. And is very capable of commenting. Why doesn't he? Idk he probably dosent care
Villads is just like that. And (most likely) having the sky arcanum helps (or ocean? I can't remember what the famdom has unanimously decided on)
He DOES have a magical connection!
I thought 'other humans' was referring to callum and ezran for a minute and was like 'ezran?? Being rude?? What have you done to my boy!?' But no it's not them
WOAH she's back
Ram are you pouting that much that's it's visibly obvious
I have an expiation for the 'why did the other humans hate him' and that is simply that humans tend to not like anyone whose even slightly different. No clue about callisto though that ones a mystery to us both
Why is it so strange to him that they know each other?? I understand wanting to know how they met, but it is really so impossible that they're friends/acquaintances?
I was gonna say, you're elves in a human kingdom. If see you, I really don't think they're gonna care who your captain is
I mean you technically still could braid rams hair? It would probably just be really hard
All these guys should just become siblings at this point. They're close enough already
Only runaan and skor? Does she not trust the others then? Or just not as much?
I fear she may be well into the mental adoption process
Oh damn she's right. So callisto *dosent* trust villads? Or does but not that much?
Same ram, same
You can never be too fond of a baby dragon, especially if said baby dragon is Zym. How could you possibly resist giving him everything he wants??
Nooo ram let yourself love zym :(
Hopefully soon her and skor are gonna have that talk, and then she won't be alone nearly as much
...the sea smells? I swear I've found out that like 3 different things have a smell because of this fic
I love how they're close enough to just talk a out these things. I know they have different ideas about privacy/stuff you should keep to yourself than we do, but it's still nice
Sorry I don't have as much to say fir the second half but it's almost midnight and I'm falling asleep as I write lmao. I might come back in the morning and add more
Different Path Taken Update
I'm too lazy to check the chapter number. I really should number them in my document. I got another chapter done. I know I've been really quiet; I'm sorry. At first I was just tired from switching from a night shift to a dawn shift at work, but then someone I know passed away in an awful accident and it shook me all to hell. I'll be okay, but it was . . . rough to try and write anything in this fandom; The Dragon Prince has always been more of a happy comfort fandom for me, not where I go to vent-write, so. The grief definitely still slipped into this chapter a little bit, but hopefully it's still good.
Villads had only mentioned the possibility of a storm after they boarded.  Callisto must have said something to imply their urgency before they got there, because though he cautioned them, the blind captain really didn’t seem to expect any answer other than Runaan’s curt “If you think it possible, we risk it.”
This suited Callum well enough.  He was still wrestling with Claudia and Soren’s betrayal, and Claudia’s thoughtless cruelty in particular.  On top of that, now that they were moving again it was harder to forget that he no longer had access to sky magic with the loss of the primal stone.  The connection he had felt to that energy had been so powerful, it was almost like losing a part of himself. 
He knew it was ridiculous.  The elves had been not unkind about telling him so, not in so many words.  It still left him feeling weak and broken, especially when followed up by being carried on a man’s back for two days of running.  
His legs and shoulders ached from helping to hold himself up, and no amount of Runaan’s stoicism could hide the way the elf moved more slowly as if he too was aching from the effort, and that only added to Callum’s feelings of guilt and helplessness. 
At the moment, the elves were all up on the deck with Ezran, Zym, and Bait, and he remained down in the hold.  The letter King Harrow had written him seemed to burn in his mind in the bottom of his bag, even the memory of his stepfather tainted by how he had received it.  If only he hadn’t dropped it at the castle; then Claudia wouldn’t have been the one to pick it up, then he wouldn’t have received this last remnant of him from someone who had gone on to hurt Callum and Ezran so badly. 
He wondered a little if this was how Rayla felt about her parents.  If the ache in his chest from his friends’ betrayal echoed a little bit of what she felt for what her parents had done.  She didn’t seem to feel the same taint towards Zym as he felt towards Harrow’s letter.
Maybe he wouldn’t either, after he read it.  Reading his father’s words had always made him feel better; maybe this would be the same?
At least it hadn’t been a shock.  He was grateful to Runaan, in a strange way, for how the elf had not tried to hide the king’s death from them.  How strangely honest the assassin had always been with him and with Ezran, even about the hard things.  He didn’t talk down to them like some adults still did, especially about things that were important to them.
He had pulled out the letter before he really thought about it, and began to read. 
Dear Callum,
It read, and his eyes stung already, recognizing Harrow’s handwriting, noticing distantly the affection in the king’s very beginning.
Over the years there have been moments when I let there be a distance between us. Because I��m your stepfather, I was trying to give you the space to love your real father, even after he passed away.  Now I wonder if I should have held you closer.  I wonder if showing you how much I loved you would have been okay and would not have disrespected your relationship with him.  He was always in favor of my affection for you, but our grief brought a distance where perhaps it should have brought a deeper connection. 
Callum, I know I’m not your birth father.  But in my eyes and in my heart, you are my son.  I see myself in you, am proud of you, and I love you unconditionally.
He had to stop again to breathe through it, wiping tears from his eyes.  He had always known that his mother married King Harrow before his father’s passing, that the three of them had an agreement of shared affection and she was married to them both.  He had lost his father and mother within about a year of each other, and it had left him floundering.  He had clung harder to his mother at first, only to lose her so quickly, and Harrow had withdrawn in what Callum now recognized was his own grief.
He had loved them as much as Callum did, albeit differently.  Perhaps even differently between them.  He  didn’t . . . talk about Callum’s father much.  No one really did anymore, except Aunt Amaya.  Callum guessed a common born poet was far less important to most people than the former Crownguard and Queen Sarai. 
As I write this, the sun is setting while Moonshadow assassins prepare to end my life.  A few months ago, I took my revenge on Xadia.  Tonight, it is their turn.  I may not have long, so I’m forced to ask myself: What can I pass on to my sons in the time I have left?  In this letter, I will share with you a lie, a wish, and a secret.
What could he mean?
Ram was well aware he was staring.  He didn’t particularly care, either.  There were two targets of his interest, and only one of them could see him, so he focused his stare on Villads.  Callisto would surely have called him out if he focused on her. 
How did they know each other?  As far as he knew, Callisto hadn’t done that many coastline missions, certainly not on this side of the border.  Admittedly, he hadn’t done that many either; there often wasn’t a reason for Moonshadow assassins to get involved with anything offshore.  The Tidebound and water dragons ruled the seas and kept their politics fairly well away from everyone else. 
Callisto seemed remarkably relaxed with the situation, was the thing.  She’d even had Ram drop the illusion around her once they left the shoreline.  The bird, which had a remarkable vocabulary that led Ram to suspect it was a Xadian bird, had not commented but he had the terribly uncomfortable feeling that it could.  If it chose to.  For some reason, though, it wasn’t.
Villads was a baffling personage, too.  How was a completely blind human managing a vessel like this with only a seeing eye bird for assistance?  He seemed to have an almost magical connection to the sea and wind around them.  The other humans also seemed rather venomous towards him, their journey to his docking station littered with rude mutters and strange, disapproving looks. 
Andromeda hopped up next to him and bumped her shoulder against his. “What’s wrong?” She asked bluntly.
“Villads.” Ram grunted, not seeing the point in keeping it from her. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd how . . . aggressive the other humans at port were towards him?  And how relaxed Callisto is with him?”
Andromeda hummed and squinted up at the sky before laying her ears back against the sunlight and looking back down at the deck. “I don’t know,” She said eventually. “Callisto has been working for longer than either of us.  She said she met him on a previous mission.  Perhaps the other humans’ prejudice against him is strange, but it seems to work in our favor - they’re less than interested in us.”
“Does it?” Ram pointed out. “What about the welcome he’ll get on the other side of the Bay?  Are we certain we’ll be safe?”
“We won’t be safe anywhere this side of the border, the identity of our captain hardly matters for that.  We won’t be docking in a port, Runaan already made that explicitly clear.  We’ll be rowing ashore somewhere secluded.” Andromeda soothed him, reaching over towards his head.
Recognizing the pause for what it was, Ram huffed through his nose but leaned over towards her to grant quiet permission for her to ruffle his hair.  He had cut it short after his mother’s death as a show of his personal grief, and it wasn’t quite long enough to braid again yet, but he did somewhat miss the show of affection it offered.  So.  Letting her pet him to soothe his nerves. 
He slightly regretted not offering - or asking - to braid his father’s hair before he’d left, but it had felt awkward with his own messy mop still too short to return the favor. 
Andromeda wasn’t really a motherly figure to him, their ages were too close together, but he supposed she was something like an older sister he’d never had.  It took effort not to just lean into her body and let her cuddle him like a snuggle toy in front of the sun itself on the deck of this bloody pirate ship. “Andromeda.” He whined when she wouldn’t let up scratching his scalp.
She was audibly grinning when she replied. “Do you really want me to stop?” She teased very gently. “It seems to be helping.”
He made a discontented noise and she thankfully stopped with a final ruffle to his messy hair.  He bumped his shoulder against hers apologetically and continued with his concerns. “It’s not just Villads and his . . .” He gestured vaguely at where the pirate had blatantly fallen asleep while piloting the ship. “It’s Callisto.  She seems to trust him - perhaps more than she even trusts us.  Why?  She doesn’t trust anyone easily.  Skor and Runaan had to earn it.  So why this random human pirate?”
Ram kept his voice low so as not to get Callisto’s attention, but when he gestured at her he realized she was really not going to notice.  For once all of her sharp focus seemed zeroed in on Skor and the children played some sort of game on the deck.  She seemed . . . terribly fond of the children for how much she avoided them back in the Silvergrove, and he said as much, adding that to his list and concluding, “Isn’t it just a bit strange?”
Andromeda was chewing her lower lip a bit when he looked over at her helplessly.  She took a deep, slow breath and sighed. “I don’t know that it is,” She said gently. “Do you really think she trusts him, Ram?  Or does she simply not care what he thinks?  She trusts us, but she cares far more than I think your or Rayla realize about what we all think of her.  She does not have that care for this human, and thus she is less . . . tense about interacting with him, even though she trusts him less.  Because, as you said, she does not trust easily.  But he does not know who she really is.  We do.”
Ram tilted his head as he mulled that over, his brows furrowing deeply as he did so.  It was an expression he’d inherited or learned from his mother, and he was carefully not thinking about why she was suddenly so present in his mind. “I don’t understand how one can be more relaxed with someone they don’t trust than someone they do.” He finally said bluntly.
Andromeda tilted her head back thoughtfully and her tone was intrigued when she replied. “Are you more relaxed with me or with your father?” She asked mildly. “And I mean relaxed in letting yourself be fully who you are, not simply comfortable.”
Ram opened his mouth to answer and found he had no argument for her point.  Despite his father’s reassurances, he didn’t embrace himself fully with him as he did with the other assassins.  He was comfortable in his childhood hollow, always felt safe and relaxed to just be . . . but the version of himself that he brought to that home was not the fully self-assured assassin he brought to Andromeda.  
“I see your point.” He said reluctantly after shutting his mouth with a click. 
Andromeda bumped his shoulder with hers. “It’s fair of you to get confused.  Callisto can be . . . difficult to understand.” She bit her lip visibly as she watched the other elves and Ram detected a note of something deeper in her tone and followed her gaze. 
Callisto had joined in on a new game Skor was playing with the children, though admittedly she seemed to be prioritizing the baby dragon they were all entirely too fond of after only a few days.  Ram had been trying to hold his own heart back, knowing they would be leaving the young dragon with his mother at the end of this quest - and that was the best possible outcome of all this. 
“What is it for you?” He asked when Andromeda failed to elaborate.  She looked at him with a curious quirk of her brow and he shrugged, feigning carelessness with his eyes still fixed on her out of the corners. “You sound as though there is something about them that you struggle to understand as well.  What is it for you?”
Pursing her lips, Andromeda tried to give him a little glare for poking, but she sighed and relented to telling him anyway. “They don’t stay close to people outside of the Guild for fear of leaving them behind.  I understand it . . . to a point.” She chewed her lip for a moment, eyes wandering off across the water as she considered how to go on, before adding, softer, “Sirius made a similar choice after our father died, and left training as an assassin so that our mother would not have to lose us all.  I remember how much we grieved, I remember . . . so I understand why they don’t wish to inflict that suffering on other people.  But I cannot imagine being so . . . comfortable just withholding my affection entirely.  Being so alone.”
“She seems happy with it.” Ram glanced at her again. “Most of the time, anyway.”
“She can be happy with it, I’m glad she is,” Andromeda agreed, and smiled faintly when Ram looked at her. “I just . . . don’t understand loving people the way she does, enjoying company and children and affection as she does, and being so comfortable being alone.”
She was wiggling in her seat, and through the nose-blinding salt of the ocean, they were sitting close enough that Ram could smell the shift in her scent that had her breathing through her teeth and leaning her head back with her eyes closed.  Her heat had her more instinctual urges bright to the forefront, and she was unsettled about something.
Ram suspected it had something to do with the talking about being alone.  No one - well, almost no one - liked to be completely alone during breeding season.  Even those who weren’t consciously interested in breeding or children tended to prefer some form of closeness.  He had been doing his best since Andromeda’s heat made itself known back at the Nexus and he’d heard her whining from her room, and it had helped.  But even considering being left as alone as Callisto preferred to be -
Ram bit back a whine of his own, cringing at even considering how that must feel.  He still took his own heats at home with his father, having no mate to lean on, and to be denied that comfort and company -
He slid an arm around Andromeda without prompting and didn’t bother talking about it, just snuggling her close and letting her scent that she wasn’t alone.
Andromeda’s shoulders twitched in what felt like an amused snort, but she accepted the cuddles without a complaint.  Ram felt irrationally grateful for it, unsure how to even take gratitude being directed at him for supporting her in such a basic familial comfort.
16 notes · View notes
shtern-and-art · 4 years ago
Note
I have more questions because it's no longer 4am lmao.
Does Skeppy fear any animals? I just wanna know if there's any sweet moments of Skeppy clinging to Bad whilst he tries to calm him down.
I'm guessing Bad still hates things like littering and woodcutters but would he ever act particularly strongly about it or would he have more control?
I like how Rat seems to tolerate Skeppy because Bad likes him but would she ever get jealous if Skeppy started pettting another dog?
I have a horrifying image of Bad just spider climbing up a tree to fetch Skeppy. I don't know why but I feel like dude wouldn't even need branches lmao.
What other supernatural creatures/people do they come across? Were there any that were especially dangerous and did they befriend any?
Is Bad much physically stronger than Skeppy? I keep thinking of Skeppy being a little shaz and Bad just one-arm picking him up and slinging him over his shoulder XD.
Does Bad ever get nightmares of the day he became the forest spirit?
How far would Skeppy take stealing? Would he steal something he knows the owner has genuine attachment to? Would he do everything in his power to steal something for Bad even if it means getting hurt?
Who's more likely to protect the other?
Skeppy just minding his business looking at one of Bad's textbooks, turns his head and Bad's just having a tea party with a freaking bear. Surprised the man hasn't had a heart attack yet XD.
What's your favourite thing to imagine them doing?
Is Bsd an adrenaline junky? Or is he scared of more dangerous things like bungee jumping and mountain climbing.
What would their reactions be to rollercoasters?
Do they have a favourite date-night activity?
Everytime I think of this au it brightens my mood!! Thank you for making something so heartwarming!! <3
Glad to see you again :D And yaay, questions!
My pen pressure broke again, I can't finish any sketches for this ask rn, but here's a couple of old messy designs.
Tumblr media
1) Comforting and nightmares
Skeppy has a normal, I’d even say adequate level of fear towards wild animals, whilst Bad has it in negative numbers. And, yes, this fun juxtaposition leads to a lot of unfortunate moments of Skeppy nearly dying from heart attack when some of Bad’s animal friends show up unexpectedly, or Bad goes all out for his tea-parties with wild bears or smth.
So, yes, sometimes the comforting hugs are necessary! And no, none of them ever play up the dramaticness of the situation just to drag out the nice comforting moment They do n o t. That’d be very silly and unnecessary, and will deserve a lot of teasing. So, it’s all serious. Not only for the first couple minutes. Yes.
But If you’re looking for comfort-after-actual-hurt – Bad does have to hold and comfort Skeppy, when the stress of trying to not fuck up the good stuff around him gets too strong. And after the nightmares where they are hated and chased by people. Those dreams do not come often, but when they do, Bad is there to hold Skeppy, whisper in his hair that he is alright, that they’re both alright, and that they can handle everything that’s going on right now.
And Bad himself, well. After leaving the town, his nightmares about the night of the ritual stopped almost completely. They come rarely, only when the anxiety gets really bad. Before, in the forest, Bad had them pretty often. It’s one of the reasons he mostly slept not as himself, but in the minds of the animals.
2) Littering
Bad will not maim someone for not getting a candy wrapper in a trashcan, especially if there are people around. But if someone leaves a big mess in the nature, or even (*gasp*) does it regularly, Bad can and will try and teach them a lesson. As in: pull a cautionary (and probably slightly terrifying) prank on the misbehaving person.
It doesn’t always work out as Bad intended, and may even scare some people off anything relating to nature for good, but, according to Bad, it’s still “a fun and useful little hobby to have :3”.
3) Rat
Rat takes a looong time to warm up to any other animals that infringe on her territory. And Skeppy might be a little shit (and his own rights for Bad are debatable) but he is Rat’s territory still (by approximation from Bad). So, she can gatekeep Skeppy a little bit. Not as much as she does Bad, but the man gotta know his place – Rat comes before other dogs for him too.
4) Tree climbing and strength
Oh, Bad can an will climb down a tree like a full-on creepy creature he is: head down, using only his claws, with Skeppy tucked under one arm. Maybe not even upside down, if Skeppy is lucky, and wasn’t too annoying about wanting to stay up on the tree for the night :D
5) Meeting other spn creatures
Oh, that’s a big question (: Yes, they do meet other cryptids, befriend some, and get in trouble with some, and deal with a handful of new and old spn troubles :D
I always thought that Bad and Skeppy’s life after the main story can make a series of short stories (or one big episodic one) dealing with exactly that: the guys traveling around, meeting other cryptids, learning more about themselves and the world, trying to build a life between human and supernatural crisis going on. Just like In The Dark it can based on the mix between the real life and the minecraft-verse events.
I wanted to focus more on finishing the main story first, though, so these stories are not as sought through, I didn’t even write down any of them yet :D
But if you have more concrete questions, ideas, or suggestions (about a specific person, or a specific thing happening) – write me, I’ll think about it, and how it can work with the theme and worldbuilding I have in mind.
6) Stealing + Protectiveness
Skeppy can sometimes forget about, ahem, moral principles, or human decency… emphasis oh “human”. He’s nature and different worldview it gives, it seeps through in his life and actions even more with age. Especially after he’s been away from actual people for a long while. So, I guess, he might at times steal something that is very important to someone, or do something that could be considered weird or rude in general.
And if Bad really needs something, or is in danger – all rules are down. If there is no one to reality check Skeppy, he might proceed to walk on heads, and commit risky and reckless crimes just to help or save Bad.
They both are quite bad with that, the protecting each other thing. Bad, tho, can be more fiscally violent in his protectiveness.
7) Adrenaline and rollercoasters
Well, it’s not that Bad likes adrenaline specifically, he’s just very curious, likes to try new things, and is almost unkillable. So he can just- just go for everything that’s interesting for him with reckless abandon, and if it goes wrong – welp. Bones can heal limbs can regrow, and the cool abandoned caves will not explore themselves. He’ll have to learn to ease up with lack of selfcare though. Because Bad can’t always leave Skeppy to fend for himself, while he heals, and Skeppy does NOT like seeing Bad getting hurt so much, and not caring about himself at all.
This probably comes back to Bad dealing with his spn nature and learning to make peace between it and himself. And to his anxiety, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.
And hey, it’s the same for Skeppy and his lack of adequate moral compass at times :D
There will be a lot of tension and growing they’d have to do in regards to all this.
Also Skeppy is the one who’s really into chasing the thrills :D Man spent nearly half a year annoying probably-murderous-forest-spirit just for little not-boring fun, jeez :DD
Rollercoasters are a no go, tho. They go up in the air, real high, and, once again, Skeppy and highs do not mix, they do not mingle, they will not have tea parties (with or without bears). Unless, of course, Skeppy really needs to prove something. Then he’ll go on a ride, and die an honorable death, and will never admit he screamed all the way through it.
8) Dates
(*insert an innuendo from Skeppy here*) But, ahm, actually I’d say they love going on picnics: getting food, and hanging around in the nature for a while.
And I honestly donno what I like to think about the most… I just really enjoy the vibe and the atmosphere of the whole story, and how Bad and Skeppy interact in general.
It all is a real delight to write about :D
---
In The Dark - masterpost
68 notes · View notes
dndidgaf · 2 years ago
Text
I never get asks, so i'm just gonna answer them all. Wall of text, my answers under the cut
PLAYER
Race: I don't think that I've ever played a common race before. I default to uncommon/homebrew races for better roleplay.
Class: Rogue....... Maybe Artificer.
Playtest: I'm going into a new campaign, and I can't wait to try out the Chaneler class (I definitely spelled that wrong). I can't remember who it's by.
Party Comp: Sometimes. If my party is really tanky and gets themselves on the brink of death a lot, I might consider being a Cleric or Bard. On the other hand, if my party is mostly spellcasters, I might take on the role of tank. In both cases, I only do it in drastic situations. My usual character is an ambush, stealthy, works behind the scenes kind of character. Level One: I heard about it through friends and we make a group. They really helped me out in making a character, and it was a fun first session. Horrible character build and usage on my part though. Skill: I'm good at roleplay and combat, although I find combat more fun. I guess I would say that my specialty is teamwork. I look at my party's strengths and weaknesses and work around and with them. I also usually work better with smaller groups. I do add flair into combat though, like that time I sliced that priest in half and peeled him like a banana.
Scheduling: Long campaigns, by far. Oneshots are fun, but the angst that comes with longer campaigns takes the cake.
Feat: I roll my dice until they hit a low number, preferably under 5. I then keep that die untouched until I need to roll something important, then use the die. Rolls high every time. I always forget to do it though.
Nat 20: My friend AJ (player) rolled a 27 (19 + 8) on a deception check trying to convince an NPC that they don't exist. Charlie (the character) went invisible and all proof of their existence was wiped from the face of the earth. NPCs and PCs alike had no memory of Charlie. Charlie stayed non-existent for the rest of the session until at a critical battle, where they scored a crit against the enemy (not quite the big bad, but close) and was the reason we won the fight.
Initiative: In my next campaign (I'm the DM), I've planted a traitor. This traitor is going to kill a child. I can't wait to roleplay the child being killed by her role model, who is a scummy, greasy, rat man. I can't wait to kill my players' hearts.
Crit Fail: Somehow, no. I've come close, but I've never had a character death.
Diamond: No resurrection. My party's character deaths have all been before anyone had access to the Revivify spell. After that, we could handle ourselves enough that we didn't need it.
Backup: I have a binder full of cool characters that could fit into any situation, but I usually have at least 3 backup characters specifically for one campaign. Don't judge, I get bored easily.
Dungeon Court: Back when I was a kid, my dad tried to run a dnd game with the rest of the immediate family, which consisted of my mom, me, and my brother. Thing is, my dad didn't know anything about how DnD works, and he was drunk and high. That was not a fun game.
Dice: I have a horrible dice curse. Any dice that I touch or are on my person for more than 10 minutes doesn't roll higher than a 10. Expensive dice tend to roll better. Once I get a new set, I immediately hold it over a candle and chant "Natural Twenty" for 10 minutes while the candle is surrounded by crystals and flowers. After this, I leave it on the Dice Altar, highest side up, for a week. This usually rids it of it's curse temporarily. For a typical set, I have to renew it every month. Considering that I'm a dice goblin and that I own over 50 sets (I can't afford more :')) , I set aside a day to purify all my dice sets and rotate them on the altar.
DUNGEON MASTER
Leveling: I start my party at 3-5, depending on experience. I use milestones; it's good motivation to stay on the plot. I'm DMing for 7th level players rn.
Prep: I get the bare bones of the story all written out, then just improvise and wing it. It goes better that way. Less DM Depression.
Screen: Character sheets of PCs and NPCs, dice, laptop for homebrew, and speakers for ambiance and music.
TPK: Yes, unfortunately. I decided to let all characters come back as reborn, which saved the party, kept some continuity, and added some good roleplay.
Session Zero: I usually ask players for two flaws and one secret. This keeps things interesting, as I can exploit these. It makes inspiration easier to give. I also love horror campaigns, so I usually ask players what their boundaries or triggers are. I want my players to have fun, so I do what I can to make that happen.
Homebrew: I love making magic items or finding them on tumblr. I use a lot of the stuff people put out. I also have an initiative system where players in blocks of five (1-5, 6-10, 11-15, 16-20, 20-25, you get the jist) take their turns together. It makes combat more fun and dynamic.
CHARACTER
My character's name is Doodle. He is a warforged rogue that escaped from a facility known as A.R.G.O. He was never told what the acronym means. He wears a red scarf and a beige handkerchief over his right eye from a past injury.
Background: He usually uses his time on self-maintenance. Tighten loose screws, fix oil leaks, adjust lenses, buff or replace plating. After an accident with his lens caused it to give him shattered vision and migraines for about two months, he's not taking the chances again. He also loves talking to another PC named Charlie (same one as before)
Vibe: Doodle is the polite one of the group. In social interactions, he ends up becoming a voice of reason. He has anger issues though, and he tries to conceal them, but his only coping mechanism is killing. He was made for it, after all. Our party doesn't discuss dynamics, but I wish we did.
Downtime: We don't get much downtime in game. We usually hop from one adventure to the next, trying to stop the big bad as fast as possible. In his few spare moments, he meditates to calm his anger. Sometimes this doesn't work very well though, so he has to resort to... other means.
Secret: For context, Doodle was kidnapped by the big bad and a clone replaced him. Doodle was tortured, and it scarred him for life. He is merciless in battle, like he is trying to pay back the pain that was inflicted on him. Anger is replacing is fear, and he disgusts himself. Doodle acts nonchalant, but he is secretly resentful that his party members didn't notice and left him to be tortured for weeks.
Heart: He hopes for a better life. One where he doesn't have to fight. That faint linger of hope is what keeps him going. This is easily used against him, though.
End: His perfect ending would be to defeat the ARGO company, settle down, and find family. He is aro/ace, so he isn't interested in marriage or children, but he still loves the idea of spending time with his friend's children.
If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading! It means a lot
d&d player asks
FOR THE PLAYER
Race: What's your favorite race to play? Is there a race you default to or play more often?
Class: What's your favorite class to play?
Playtest: What class (or subclass) do you want to try out?
Party Comp: Do you think about party composition while building a character? What role do you usually fill in your party, if any?
Level One: What was your first experience with D&D? How did you hear about it? What was your first game like?
Skill: Do you prefer RP, combat, or something else? Is there a part of the game you consider yourself best at?
Scheduling: Do you prefer to play in long campaigns, oneshots, or something in between?
Feat: What's one habit, trick, tip, etc. you picked up from another player?
Nat 20: What's the most memorable RP scene you've been a part of?
Initiative: What's an RP scene you're looking forward to playing?
Crit Fail: Have you ever had a character death? What happened?
Diamond: Have you ever participated in a character resurrection (for your own character or someone at the table)? What happened?
Backup: Do you design backup characters? What's your process? Have you ever had to use one?
Dungeon Court: What's the worst D&D experience you've ever had?
Dice: Do you have any dice rituals? Preferences? Collections? Does such thing as dice luck really exist?
FOR THE DM
Leveling: What's your ideal starting party level? What leveling system do you use? What level are your currently (or did you most recently) DMing for?
Prep: How much prep work do you do? How far out do you prep?
Screen: What do you usually keep behind your DM screen?
TPK: Have you ever had a game go completely off the rails? TPK? How did you adjust?
Session Zero: Is there anything specific you ask your players to have before you start playing (e.g. a secret about their character, a backstory event, etc.)?
Homebrew: Do you have any table rules or homebrews you use? What are they?
FOR THE CHARACTER (A/N: You may want to specify a character for these!)
Background: Does your PC get up to anything that you don't narrate often? Any background habits, activities, plots? Do you share these through other avenues (e.g. a group chat, table cross-talk, posting online)?
Vibe: How does your character get along with the party? Does your group talk about party dynamics outside the game?
Downtime: What does your character do in their downtime? How do you bring this up during gameplay?
Secret: Is there anything that you know about your character but your character doesn't know? What is it? How did you come up with this secret?
Heart: What drives your character? Do they have a theme, question, mission, etc. that they're holding onto? How did you pick it for them?
End: What's the ideal ending for your character's story and the game? Are these the same, or different?
344 notes · View notes