#but also for me too bc I would need to be in cell to keep me away from these 2

[treatbuckywkisses]

HI I STAYED UP WAY TOO LATE TO READ THIS PART !!!! :))

(also this might be my longest rb so far)

SIX UPON A TIME

"You weren’t sure what you wanted him to do, but it was fun to watch the time bomb tick." - let's kiss him on the mouth 🫶🏻

"A reason to get up in the morning." - SHUT. YOUR. MOUTH.

"But then you blink back into reality again when Bucky sits you down on the closed lid of your toilet and slowly makes you let go of his shirt, kneeling down in front of you. The blue of his eyes is devastating, even though you have to keep blinking to keep him in focus." - No I can't do this 

"Maybe that’s the most terrifying thought of them all. You would die for him. Once, twice, however many times are necessary if that meant that he’s safe. " - Nika I'm fucking crying. I wish I was exaggerating but I'm actually fucking crying before 10pm.

"But it seems like you haven’t known it at all, because right now, you feel the knowledge of it, of him, surge through you with all its facets. You can’t even begin to put it into words, because where would you start? How do you explain what he makes you feel when he hasn’t been there himself, not in any way that matters or sticks? And if it’s never happened at all, if time keeps unraveling like this, how can it even be real? " - the woman that you are. Oh. My. God. You are completely unreal this is phenomenal.

"His breath hitches when they dip lower, almost reaching the place you’ve watched dimple when he laughs, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t laugh, either." - I have actual tears in my eyes you are so evil 

"That day, he dies with your stupid nickname on his lips, twisted into something that looks strangely close to that earlier smile. This one doesn’t have time to reach his eyes, though." - Nika I'm fucking sick to my stomach what the fuck is wrong with you 

Brief intermission bc I got too into it and read the rest twice before coming back to make notes (I was too immersed)

A crack in the sky you are insane I would FREAK

Where TF does bucky go during the day. As a naturally nosy gal the unknowns in this story make me ITCH I can't wait for everything to be revealed

"Why won’t you look at me? " - this is so hurtful why are you being so mean to me

HOW IS THE DELIVERY MAN EARLY IM LITERALLY IN SHOCK AND WE MOVED ON FROM THIS TOO FAST????????

"You take a sip of your tea and some feeling returns to your translucent fingers. Strange’s cloak draws itself around your shoulders." - hehe we have the cloak 🫶🏻 

""I came to you," you realize. "Or, I will, once I get out of this." The relief that washes over you makes you want to sob. "So there is a way out?"" - why did this make ME relieved like I'm stuck in the loop too 😭 I literally have felt anxious for our dear reader like I'm sick and this has soothed my heart the smallest bit (I'm still scared of you)

"You can’t help but wonder when he’s last tried the bed." - Frick you for putting him in the floor what has my baby done to you let him be comfortable 😭😭 

"No," Strange answers. "This is just when he wakes up." - this made me LAUGH I needed that 

CAPS BDAY IM CRACKING UP THATS SUCH A FUN SILLY MOMENT

"He might has well have doused you in a bucket of ice water. You’re suddenly very aware of every single cell in your body, and you don’t like the challenge sparkling in his eyes." - THEY ARE SO IN LOVE MY GOD IM SICK 

Why are we waking up to silence I'm gonna throw up Nika 

What did the powers do 

Alpine can see us that is both cute and scary 😅 

"You lose a few hours here and there, time seemingly speeding up at random sometimes now. One morning, Bucky isn’t in the gym like he usually is, and you work yourself up over it so much you nearly have a panic attack. In the end, you almost crash into him outside of his room, and a rush of reassurance floods through you with such force you can’t even look at him." - what is wrong with you 

"That time, Sam is there when Bucky gets shot, and it’s his cry that follows you into the next day. Your hands are clean this time, and somehow that feels worse." - how dare you write these 2 paragraphs and also put them so close together????????

"And then it’s you who’s speechless, because the shock on Peter Parker’s face is more than you bargained for." - FULL. BODY. CHILLS. WHAT A MIND YOU HAVE NIKA. I WILL NEVER GET OVER THIS.

"Sweat pearled on your forehead as you and the universe held your breath again. You could feel your hold slipping with every second that wasn’t allowed to pass. Time was impatient with you." - THE LAST LINE ?????? I'm speechless 

"And with time stumbling and flailing around in confusion, you made it out of the building and into the waiting cab." - ok chapter 7 pls 🫶🏻 

I'm kidding you are PERFECT I can't believe I missed out on this for as long as I did?!!!!!!! Thank you so much for sharing your incredible brain with me I want to kiss you on the mouth I love you!!!!!!!

time after time [6]

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: 12.8k

chapter warnings: maybe reacquaint yourselves with the story premise, it's been a hot minute; characters refusing to be honest with themselves and each other; violence against side characters, minor injury descriptions; strange is still annoying

a/n: this is quite possibly the scariest fic update i've ever made. a lot has happened since the last chapter was posted, and i won't bore you with all of it. suffice it to say, i missed sharing this story. thank you for being patient with me.

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

six: butterfly effect

Working with Sam and Bucky was different than working with Natasha and Steve had been.

At the Compound, it had felt terrifyingly easy to find your place, to slip into the new role they granted you as if you were always meant to fill it. You’d felt that way before, and it hadn’t turned out quite so well. Maybe that was why you used to dread the end.

Now, however, for the first time in a while, you constantly had to prove yourself in order to not be left back in that dark place they’d found you in, alone and trying to make sense of any of it. And you liked that. The challenge was something you could live with, something you could enjoy more than the ever chilling anxiousness that things were simply too good to be true.

So when Sam called you on for a follow-up mission shortly after the first one, you jumped at the chance.

It didn’t matter that you barely talked about anything but work, even when you were hanging out in your spare time; in fact, you much preferred that to digging up the past. You even learned to find a wicked sort of enjoyment in provoking Bucky’s initial dislike of you to the point of where he would barely speak to you at all unless it was to snap at you.

You weren’t sure what you wanted him to do, but it was fun to watch the time bomb tick.

It wasn’t as easy to get under the new cap’s skin.

"You’re making us sound like we’re partners in a law firm," Sam said, a smile clearly audible in his voice even though his eyes didn’t betray it. Bucky didn’t even dignify you with a clench of his jaw.

"What?" you said, crossing your legs. "Every newspaper in the city calls you 'Wilson and Barnes'. Don’t you ever read the articles about yourselves?"

"Unlike some people, I don’t have all the time in the world," Sam said, leaning back on the couch with his eyes closed.

"Pity. The Bulletin called you the 'nation’s new dynamic duo' last week." You looked at Bucky, your eyebrows raised in amusement. "You’ve officially been downgraded to a sidekick, Barnes."

He answered with an empty glare of his own. "And what does that make you?" he said, but not like a question.

"Nothing at all," you still grinned. "Everything is right in the universe."

The reporters had yet to pick up on your addition to the team, which was proof enough that your powers still sufficed to fly under the radar. Combined with the fact that you were actually regularly talking to people again—and people who weren’t your therapist or your customers no less—, things almost felt like they were settling into a new kind of normal. Still somewhat weird, and still a struggle each day, but somewhat hopeful, nevertheless.

You’d almost forgotten what that could feel like.

“Right. You’d prefer people not knowing about your creepy powers.”

"Aww." You tilted your head to the side happily. "You think I’m creepy."

Bucky scoffed into his mug, refusing to look at you like he always did, and then he strolled off again.

In truth, you couldn’t blame him all that much. You’d lived with your powers all your life and still found them unsettling sometimes, particularly when they got away from you and left you trapped in a universe that refused to move.

That was none of his business, though.

Besides, Bucky had taken to moving around so quietly you could never tell he was there until he’d cough and you’d flinch, usually dropping whatever you were holding in your hands. You’d already cracked your phone screen twice.

Not that he’d know, or care if he did. It gave you great satisfaction to erase his amused smirk from existence.

"Give it time," Sam said without moving. "He doesn’t like new people."

"Neither do I," you murmured, and he snorted. "What?"

"Pretend with me all you want, but maybe do a bit of introspection there."

You crossed your arms with a pout. "You sound like my therapist."

"Mhm," Sam hummed, opening one eye to look at you. "You owe me fifty bucks for that."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, would you look at that, the price just went up."

He chuckled as you flipped him off and went to look for the coffee pot.

Of course, your way got blocked. The downsides of not hating having people around.

Bucky was leaning against the counter, considering you. "You go to therapy?"

"You should try it some time," you said distractedly, reaching around him to get your favorite mug. Bucky recoiled like he was afraid you’d burn him. You shook your head in annoyance. "Helps with the stink eye."

"Is that what they told you?"

"They told me I needed to process my grief, but I decided to focus on some more achievable goals." You took a sip of your coffee, sighing in comfort. "We came up with a compromise."

Bucky scoffed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He still hadn’t taken his gloves off around you.

"Sounds like a way to drag it out," he said.

You frowned into your cup. "It’s not a race, Barnes. There’s no finish line for this shit."

Something odd went over his face, but he went back to avoiding your gaze when you tried to make it out. You knew him well enough by then to get the hint, and so you left him alone.

What was it to you if he didn’t want to warm up to you. That had no bearing on the fact that overall, your situation wasn’t all too bad anymore.

It was something, you supposed as you curled up in your spot on the couch with your book later that day, slipping in and out of time to keep your company a little longer because deep down, you knew you were sick of being alone.

It was weird and different, yes, but it was still something anyway. Something to do with your afternoons again.

A reason to get up in the morning.

*****

"What are you talking about?" Bucky asks quietly, carefully, but he makes no attempt to pull back from your embrace. It allows you to take another shuddering breath, inhaling his scent until it makes you dizzy.

The fact that you probably won’t be this close to him again any time soon makes you press into his chest even harder, hard enough to feel his heart flutter against your forehead, the shock of the situation making it pick up speed.

For a split second, you slip into a sort of vacuum, your thoughts quieting as he keeps mumbling to you, and in that blissful moment, your situation doesn’t seem quite so dire anymore, more like a bad dream. You’re safe now, aren’t you? How could you not be?

But then you blink back into reality again when Bucky sits you down on the closed lid of your toilet and slowly makes you let go of his shirt, kneeling down in front of you. The blue of his eyes is devastating, even though you have to keep blinking to keep him in focus.

You don’t want to have to do this, you realize once your gasps for air start calming again. You’re not sure if you can bear it.

But nothing in this loop has been about what you wanted.

And so your resolve is made, with your heart sinking until it’s hidden away deep, deep inside of your chest. You ball your hands into fists to keep your fingers from twitching.

Two or three times he watches you inhale, start to say something, halt before you can, almost choking on it. Like your body is refusing to go through with it.

"How do you know when I’m lying?" you finally ask, and your voice sounds oddly clear in your small bathroom.

Bucky’s face goes from concern to confusion, his frown deepening. You want to smoothe it away with your thumb.

You close your eyes so maybe the temptation goes away.

"What?" he asks, and he still sounds so damn gentle.

"I’ve never been able to lie to you," you say. "What’s my tell?"

You can feel him move away from you and the ache of it makes you look again. His shirt and his hands are covered in his own blood, and you’re sure there’s some fucking metaphor in the way it stains the golden inlets of his vibranium arm crimson but for the most part, you can’t unsee the damn irony of it all.

Because you’ve pissed him off now.

"You scared the shit out of me, Y/N. And Sam, too." There’s the sharpness in his voice you know all too well. You haven’t heard it in a while. "What the hell is going on?"

"I’m trapped in a time loop," you say, squeezing your fists more tightly. "I’ve been reliving this day for weeks, my powers aren’t working, I’m the only one who can stop time from completely collapsing, I can’t do that without my powers, and you’re gonna die later today. Am I lying?"

It’s maybe the worst way you’ve ever told him, because watching Bucky’s face change is almost too much. This is exactly why you’re doing it, though; as long as you’re going through this loop with a giant guilty knot in your stomach, you’re not going to make any progress. And you need to put an end to all of it.

So you meet his gaze, almost unwavering, and you don’t blink.

His shock bursts free as an incredulous laugh. "What?"

"I’m stuck," you say again, slower, nodding at his hands, his blood, continuing to push, "and you keep dying."

Bucky looks down, then, before his gaze falls back onto you and he sits back on his heels. The pause lasts for way too long, heavy and smelling of iron, and you’re pretty sure you’re suffocating. He only says one word, and it sounds so defeated. "How?"

You swallow heavily. "You got shot on a mission," you say, but he shakes his head, the fire returning to his eyes.

"No. How did you get stuck?"

"I …" You blink, because you’re not prepared for this question, because you can never predict what he’s going to say, because he keeps doing that to you, because somehow, and not like you’ve expected, you feel like you’ve been here before.

How did it happen? That’s not … Okay.

"It was an accident," you finally say, helplessly, defensively.

There’s a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. "What happened?"

"You died. You died that first time and I didn’t—I couldn’t …" You swallow the sob that threatens to shake your voice again. Damnit, you’re supposed to push him away.

He moves his arm, then hesitates, as if he wants to reach out to you but changes his mind at the very last moment.

Right. He doesn’t normally do that.

Except he has.

He has held your hand and pulled you closer and written on your arm and let you lean on him with the full weight of your body, as if to him, you weighed nothing at all. He’s been offering to carry your load so many times, and he doesn’t remember a single one of them.

"Please don’t look at me like that," you say tonelessly, watching Bucky retreat.

"Like what?"

"Like I’m gonna fall apart at any moment. And yes," you add when his mouth opens, "I—I know I just did, I’m aware of the irony, but this is exactly why I can’t keep telling you, I don’t—I can’t stand it." You press your wrists against your temples, ignoring the buzz of the whirling time symbols against your skin, the stinging in your eyes. "You shouldn’t even—I mean, are you even the slightest bit worried about yourself? Because I feel like I’m the only one here, and I should’ve just—"

You stop yourself, shaking your head. Your hands are very clammy all of a sudden, and when you tug at your rings just to do something, one of them slips off your finger and clangs against the tiles as if to punctuate the silence.

When you reach down, you move your wrist in a way that makes you hiss in pain and flinch back. Bucky’s eyes flit between your own and your hand, his frown deepening in a strangely soft way. "Did you break it?" he asks quietly.

"I’m fine," you mumble, and he looks at you disapprovingly. "You’d grabbed my hand just before …"

His jaw twitches as the blame settles in again, and you would do fucking anything to finally make him understand that none of this is his fault. That you should be in pain for what you’re putting him through.

"It should’ve been me," you tell him, because it’s true.

Even earlier in the week, you would’ve taken great delight in seeing Bucky Barnes’ face fall at something you’d said. Hell, you’d have probably enjoyed it on Thursday, because there used to be this easy sort of gratification that came from riling him up, from catching him off guard.

Seeing it now, though?

It makes your fingers twitch.

"Don’t say that. Not even as a joke."

"I’m not joking." You can feel your pulse in your ears. "They aimed a shot at me, and you pushed me out of the way, and you died. So by all accounts, if your instincts weren’t so damn noble all the time, it should’ve been me, and if I weren’t such a fucking coward, I’d have gone back and switched places with you weeks ago."

The thought terrifies you, even though it’s true. No part of you wants to go through the things Bucky is, but if someone gave you the choice between either one of you right now, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.

Maybe that’s the most terrifying thought of them all. You would die for him. Once, twice, however many times are necessary if that meant that he’s safe.

"I’d like to see you try," Bucky says, and something slams into your chest as an old familiar shiver runs down your spine.

There’s a pained edge to his gaze, contemplative and heartbreaking and …

"You’re doing it again," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What am I doing?" His hand brushes your knee, and your skin is left searing.

You swallow heavily. "Being noble."

Bucky chuckles softly, and his eyes leave yours for just a moment. "Don’t exactly feel like that."

He’s beautiful.

It’s a new thought, despite everything. Even when you’ve noticed it before, you’d roll your eyes at the fact and move on, because this was Bucky. So what if his face was delectably handsome?

But it seems like you haven’t known it at all, because right now, you feel the knowledge of it, of him, surge through you with all its facets. You can’t even begin to put it into words, because where would you start? How do you explain what he makes you feel when he hasn’t been there himself, not in any way that matters or sticks? And if it’s never happened at all, if time keeps unraveling like this, how can it even be real?

So it’s pure instinct that makes you move, like someone would pinch themselves to ensure they’re not asleep, even though you’re very aware that this isn’t just a dream. You need to confirm that Bucky is real, though.

The air stands still when your fingertips trace along his cheekbone, leaving a delicate flush behind in their trail, barely touching and yet …

And yet.

His breath hitches when they dip lower, almost reaching the place you’ve watched dimple when he laughs, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t laugh, either.

There’s a scraping sound at the closed bathroom door, followed by a short knock. You flinch backwards.

"I’m leaving the first aid kit on the bed," Sam calls from the other side. "Just … holler if you need me."

"Thanks, Sam," Bucky says coarsely, and you can hear steps receding. The scratching continues, though. That damn cat.

Finally, he breaks eye contact, clearing his throat.

"Do you want me to help you clean up?"

You shake your head. You’re not sure you could stomach more of this. "I’m good, don’t … Don’t worry about it."

Bucky drags a hand through his hair, muttering something to himself you can’t quite make out. Slowly, he gets to his feet again.

"We need to come up with a plan," he says, and you want to cry except … you’re tired. Tired and sick of this.

"I need to come up with a plan," you correct him. "We have been trying to do this as a team for weeks, and it doesn’t change anything except waste time and …" And hurt. "I can’t do it anymore, Buck."

There must be something in your voice that thaws his defiant glare a little. "So what’s the plan?"

And with a sigh, you fill him in on everything that’s been going on with Strange and your powers. Again. One last time.

You have to do this alone.

Bucky ignores your insistence that you can manage just fine and sets your wrist while you talk. Alpine, now free to roam wherever she pleases again, has decided the bathroom isn’t quite that interesting after a short look inside, and is now taking a nap in the spot of sunshine next to your bed.

"New deal," he says once you’re done, once he’s thought about it all, and you raise your eyebrows. "Don’t do anything stupid."

"You know me," you smile, checking the makeshift dressing around your hand. The green symbols are hidden by the layers of gauze.

Bucky doesn’t bite. "I’m serious, just—don’t."

"How would you know?"

"I wouldn’t," he says, snapping the first aid kit shut so vehemently Alpine’s tail twitches. "But I trust you."

Your head whips up at his words, even though his back is still turned to you. He doesn’t see your face as your heart is jostled into a new rhythm, so violently and unexpectedly that you lift your hand without thinking, pinkie outstretched.

"Promise."

He smiles when he notices, and you wish you could take a picture to carry with you through the rest of this nightmare.

That day, he dies with your stupid nickname on his lips, twisted into something that looks strangely close to that earlier smile. This one doesn’t have time to reach his eyes, though.

***

There’s been a change in the weather.

Not literally, no; of course not literally. Fuck, you long for a single cloud, a raindrop, a damn hailstorm to break the streak of endless perfectly sunny days that don’t fit your mood in the slightest.

But there’s a tinge to the sky that makes your stomach turn. It’s not very obvious to anyone who hasn’t looked at the exact same sunset for weeks on end, just a single strip of color across a storybook horizon. It looks like a crack.

"Do you see that?" you ask warily when you notice it for the first time, ominous and yet almost completely hidden by the trees and the buildings. Just dancing around the edge of your vision like another mockery.

"What?" Sam asks, eyes not leaving the path ahead.

"That … thing in the sky. What is that?"

Bucky stops and squints at where you’re pointing. "It’s called a cloud," he says dryly.

"With that color?" you murmur, but continue walking when he stops to turn to you, your wrist tingling. His stare is searing your neck, but you ignore that, too.

The best course of action, you’ve learned, is to shut your brain off as soon as you get out of the quinjet and just go through the motions, trying to ride out the mission like you’ve done dozens of times before. There’s a sort of autopilot you’ve fallen into after a couple of days, and it’s the only thing keeping you somewhat sane. Most days, it means it’s all over quickly, and you can’t help but feel glad about that.

You’ve given up trying to change your own actions to get him through the day.

But this …

It’s something new, and in all this monotony, that thought is both frightening and exciting. It distracts you enough to get you off script.

"Lovely interior design," Sam mumbles like he always does.

"Remember how this was supposed to be a day off?" You kick one of the pebbles in your path with a sigh. "What happened to 'don’t worry, Y/N, after training the day is all yours'?"

"Occupational hazard," Sam says, checking his map for the thousandth time.

"You know what I mean."

"Don’t you have tomorrow off?" Bucky says over the intercom.

Tomorrow. "Right." It comes out somewhat strained, your fingernails digging into the palm of your hand. "And why do you know that?"

Sam shakes his head and there’s a brief crackle of static in your ear. For a fraction of a second, you nearly dare to hope Bucky will give you an answer, even though you have no clue what it would be.

"They’re heading your way now," he says instead, "so get a move on."

And just like that, you’re back on track.

Quickly clearing your throat of the lump that has formed there, you say tonelessly, "I probably only have one reset left. Two, if we’re lucky and you two aren’t being stupid again."

It’s taken you a while to get used to it. To the constant lying.

You’ve worn fingerless gloves on missions before, so that’s not raised any questions from the others yet, and your rings stay hidden away. You’ve been more reluctant to take them off since the one you lost on your bathroom floor vanished into thin air.

The other thing you’ve picked up on while endlessly repeating this day is that Bucky is less likely to catch you in a lie if he can’t see your face.

So you’ve made an effort of spending as little time as possible with him.

It’s surprisingly easy to stay in your room for the majority of the day, because he doesn’t remember it ever being any other way. Even today’s little exchange will be lost to the loop soon enough, just like that little pause he made, just like the bullet through his heart.

Still, when you wake up with a start on Friday, July 4th, you look at the sky first. Its perfect blue doesn’t soothe the sinking feeling in your stomach at all.

You’ve been waiting for something to change for weeks, and now that it’s here, you don’t like it at all.

"What did you expect?" Strange says with an infuriating composure once you’ve nervously recounted your experience. "I told you, time isn’t supposed to get stuck in this way. Of course your reality was going to act up sooner or later."

"I really feel like you should be more concerned about this," you mutter, letting a ball of green energy pass from your left hand to the right. It’s about the size of a quarter now.

"Honestly," Strange answers, "I thought something like this would have happened a while ago." He taps his fingers together. "Again. Slower."

"So what am I supposed to do then, just ignore it?" The green ball pulses with your indignation, turns around itself once and then sinks into your palm again.

"In all likelihood, it’s a one time glitch. If everything is back to normal today, I wouldn’t worry about it."

Your thumb rubs across the empty space on your finger. "Easy for you to say if you’re not the one who’s stuck in an endless hellscape."

"Aren’t I?"

You both roll your eyes at each other, but then you bite the inside of your cheek again, unable to shake the feeling of a whole new shade of dread. "What if it’s not just a one time glitch?"

The corners of Strange’s cloak roll up on themselves, and he doesn’t meet your eye when he says, "We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it."

It’s still early when you return to the present, too early for Bucky to be back from wherever he’s always going, so you decide to venture out of your room again, stretching your tired limbs. You’re pretty sure at this point that waking up on the floor is never going to feel fun.

Sam is in the kitchen as always, reading something on his laptop. He’s still sitting down, which means that it’s even earlier than you expected. You miss these early parts of the day, the calm before the storm.

If today were only made up of these few hours, you suppose, it might not be half so bad.

You pull up a chair next to him and lean a cheek against your hand. "What’re you doing?"

"Research." Sam sighs, rubbing his temples. "Remember that ULTIMATUM group?"

"Never heard of them," you say with a small yawn. "Is that an acronym? What does it stand for?"

Sam gives you a glare and your mouth twitches slightly.

"Anyway," he continues, turning his laptop so you can see the article he’s reading. "They’ve been more active again lately. Acquired a couple thousand dollars’ worth of lab equipment through one of their contacts and then went underground again."

Of course, you know all this. You’ve been over it again and again, back when you were all still trading information like it could save Bucky’s life. Like there was a deeper meaning behind any of this damn loop other than the fact that you, and you alone, fucked up.

Useless.

You close the mental door on those thoughts and take a deep breath. You hate to admit it, but all of this sitting around with your thoughts bullshit you’ve been doing has actually helped you to clear your head somewhat—if only to make it through the parts of the day you can’t avoid.

"And now what?" you ask, pretending to just have reacquainted yourself with the topic.

"Now," Sam says, taking his laptop with him as he stands up and strolls over to the kitchen island, "I’m waiting for Torres to get back to me so we can decide our next steps once we’re all recovered." He gives you a meaningful look and you scowl.

Then, slowly, his words register in your brain, and you stare at his back as he stretches and then moves to make some coffee, wordlessly taking one of your mugs out of the cupboard as well as his own.

"You don’t seem too worried," you say hesitantly.

Sam shrugs. "Until we have a proper lead, there’s not much we can do. And I doubt they’ll be doing any actual damage any time soon. They’re a lot more covert than the Flag Smashers ever were."

"Right," you say, more to yourself than in response.

"Try that again, less convincing?"

"I don’t know," you mutter, slowly following him to lean against the fridge. "Just … what if Torres did find something? Should I be getting ready?"

Sam frowns. "Are you not telling me something again?"

You try to shake the thought, pulling your arms around you. "Forget it."

You don’t, though.

It keeps bugging you, because that day like any other day, he knocks on your door at 4:32 on the dot, and you go on that mission anyway. And even though this has been happening for weeks, you’re just starting to suspect that you are, in fact, still not getting the whole picture.

***

Catching a glimpse of Sam’s phone turns out to be more difficult than you first thought.

You’re still trying to get the timing exactly right a couple of days later, and you miscalculate enough to catch Bucky on his way upstairs.

"Hey," he says, his shoulders tense when he looks at you. There’s a restlessness to him that he’s not quick enough to hide; or maybe you’ve just grown more perceptive when it comes to him.

"Hi," you say, crossing your hands behind your back. "Where’ve you been?"

He shrugs. "For a walk."

You already know he won’t elaborate if you try poking, so you don’t. "Was it good?"

"Lotta people." He hesitates when you continue to not meet his eye, and then he says, "Do you want to talk about it?"

You swallow, ignoring the tingling sensation on your wrist. "Not particularly. Do you?"

Bucky’s jaw twitches. "Nah."

Somehow, you feel like that’s also a lie. Once again, you’re left wondering.

The silence between you stretches as you continue to not quite look at each other, until you finally clear your throat, nodding at the front door. "I’m getting coffee, do you want something?"

Honestly, it’s just an excuse as to why you need to leave before he notices something off again somehow, but Bucky tilts his head in amusement.

"Didn’t you just get some this morning?"

"So? I like coffee."

"Really. I never knew."

"Screw you."

You can hear him huff behind you, but thankfully the door falls shut before you can do anything stupid. Like turning around to face him, for example.

You miss his eyes.

Why won’t you look at me?

When the elevator doors open, you almost yelp into your delivery guy’s face. He stumbles a half-step backwards, somehow managing to keep a hold of the boxes precariously balanced on his arm while he’s reading something on his phone.

"Oh my god," he lets out, "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was just …"

"Early." You blink.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," you say, frowning only a little. "Wait, let me get that."

You quickly sign for the delivery and open the door with your keycard, holding it open for him. You’re not exactly afraid of burglars these days, and besides; you know this guy by now.

"If you could just go straight ahead and to the right, that’s where the kitchen is."

"Sure thing," he shrugs. "Thanks—"

His mouth snaps shut and he blushes a little as if he wanted to say something else but thought better of it.

You’ve introduced him to Sam enough times you know he’s going to be fine, so you just smile and wave him in.

When you step out on the street, you instinctually look up at the sky. It’s outrageously blue, blatantly perfect for an endless Friday, and even when you squint, you can’t make out any irregularities.

It’s a tiny relief, but a relief nontheless.

Lucy is leaning against the wall just out of sight of the storefront, an unlit cigarette dangling between her lips as she rummages through her pockets. Her colorful makeup has begun to melt off in the sweltering heat, making the red-white-and-blue stars on her cheeks bleed into each other to look somewhat purplish.

"Are you off or on break?" you call over.

She lifts her head, the glare vanishing when she recognizes you. "Counting the seconds," she says. "Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You sidestep a couple of pedestrians hurrying to cross the street and join her. "Not really."

"I hate you." She finally fishes a lighter out of her back pocket, sighing contentedly as she takes her first drag. "I swear, this day just won’t pass."

Fine. Maybe your chuckle is a little shrill. "I’m sorry."

Lucy waves you off with a gesture crude enough to make a young dad with a stroller send the two of you a dirty look. "You without your shadow today?" she asks, inspecting her nails.

You blink. "My shadow."

"You know. Your friend who’s been in here eight thousand times and still gets confused when he orders." A cloud of smoke vanishes into thin air. "Kind of the lingering type, isn’t he?"

"He’s old," you say, because for some reason nothing else comes to mind.

"Not that old."

"No," you agree, "not that old."

For a moment, you’re afraid she’s going to ask you to pass her number along to him, and you’re already scrambling to find an answer somewhere in the depths of your brain, coming up empty. That’s the problem with being able to unhave entire conversations; you don’t usually really have to deal with reactions if you don’t want to.

Without your powers, though, you’re stuck, and it’s making you wish you hadn’t come here at all.

Instead of any of that, she pulls a flyer out of her other pocket. "Sorin and Cass are doing a gig in Brooklyn next week, do you wanna come with? They’re still terrible, but they got a new bassist who seems alright."

You take the flyer, staring at it. "I didn’t know they’re in a band," you admit.

The truth is, you’ve never paid that much close attention to the people you work with. Maybe that’s been a mistake.

Lucy shrugs. "You’re always doing your own thing." It stings, even though you’re pretty sure she doesn’t mean for it to. "It’d be fun if you came, though."

"I’ll think about it," you say, and your smile is a little unsure, but genuine.

So is hers.

"If you don’t want to hang with us all night, you can bring some friends, too." Her emphasis hangs in the air between you like a dare.

You snort. "I feel like this isn’t quite their scene."

"You feel like or you know?"

"Isn’t that the same thing?"

"No." She puts her cigarette out on the wall behind her. "Knowledge is based on experience. On memories. Your feelings don’t sit in your head. And so they don’t make sense and they’re not necessarily true." She winks.

"You’re weirdly smart," you say, shaking your head.

"I know. It’s a curse." Lucy sighs. "Anyway, think about it. I gotta get back to hell."

"You know," you say with a grin, "I could really do with a frappuccino right about now."

"You know what you could do?" she answers in her sweetest customer service voice, pointing you down the street. "Get in a trash can."

Damnit. You might actually grow to like Lucy.

She taps her fingers against her temple and then shuffles back inside, a hot rush of air blowing out of the AC as the door opens. You fold the flyer up to fit into your back pocket, hoping you’ll make it to that concert one day, and then you walk on, aimless again for the moment.

***

Time passes while it’s standing still.

The problem is, at least for the moment, that by all appearances you’ve reverted back to square one. Going through your day as though any of this is even remotely normal, counting the hours and minutes to reenter the astral plane and feel some semblance of control again.

It’s been nice, really, if you’re ignoring the constant underlying feeling of dread.

Which you’re getting better at.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Rinse and repeat.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Even on days when you’re sure you’re making progress with your powers, every reset makes it just a little harder to keep dragging yourself onwards.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

"You look like shit."

Your head rolls to the side slowly, allowing yourself a glance while Bucky is still distracted with his arm. Concentration makes his brows knit, and something warm spreads in your chest.

"I’m so tired," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t look at you, but you’re grateful for it for once. Your eyes are stinging a little.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes. Yes. Yes.

"Not particularly."

"Do you want to talk about something else?"

You almost smile. "Like what?"

Bucky shrugs with one shoulder. "Like the fact that you just planted Sam into the mat head-first and yet made a face like you killed a puppy?"

Sometimes you wonder how he still manages to slip in without you noticing, no matter how many times he does it.

"Did I?"

"Did you kill a puppy? I’d hope not."

Your body’s been getting stronger, anticipating Sam’s every move. At this point, it’s not so much training as it is an exercise in muscle memory; but how would he know that?

It still isn’t enough. It’s never enough.

You pitiful, selfish, useless bastard.

"You’re doing it again," Bucky says and you blink.

"Doing what?"

"I don’t know, but I don’t like it."

Something inside you twinges uncomfortably and you wrap your arms around your knees, pulling them into your chest. "That might just be me, period."

Bucky huffs. "Take the towel on the right," he says. "I already used the other one."

So you do.

And then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with blah, blah, blah.

"I can’t do this anymore."

Strange watches you, but you don’t get up from where you’re lying, blankly staring at the ceiling, feeling like your chest is about to explode.

You don’t want to feel like something is tearing you apart every single time, even though you know it’s not permanent. There’s always the tiniest glimmer of hope that this will all be over soon.

Or maybe it’s dread.

"Maybe you can’t," Strange answers.

You blink, sitting upright. "What?"

"Maybe you are actually incapable of cleaning up your own mess. You’ve never had any training before, after all. Maybe you’re too weak."

Useless. Not good enough. Waste of time.

"If this is reverse psychology, it’s not working," you say through gritted teeth, pressing your eyes shut so tightly they don’t burn anymore.

Strange ignores you. "Maybe you’re going to be stuck in this loop forever. If that’s the case, there’s no point to keep trying either. Maybe we should just call it a day."

You can feel your breaths coming in shorter.

"Maybe you’re just going to keep failing to save anyone for the rest of your life."

"Stop it!"

An explosion of power goes through your body, bouncing off the walls and bathing the room in a ghostly green light. You cough and curl into yourself as you watch it billow, still echoing the words back at you, "too weak", "stuck in this loop forever". Your bones are heavy with exhaustion.

Strange crouches down next to you and a cup of fragrant tea draws itself up to the side of your face.

"You’re drawing the bulk of your power from pain. From a desire to fix things that you think you alone are responsible for when the truth is that each and every one of us is constantly creating reality."

"Fuck you," you mumble. When you sit up, your head is still swimming.

"You cannot keep this up."

"If I’m such a lost case, then why do you bother?"

"I’m trying to tell you that you’re not." He points at the walls, still covered by that greenish fog. "This is the strongest display of your powers I’ve seen from you yet, and it only happened because you were lashing out. Pain is not a sustainable source of energy. Imagine what you could do if you could be in control."

Do as I tell you.

"There’s no way to control my powers on a larger scale. It’s impossible."

"You keep telling me that, and yet you keep coming back. Why?"

You push yourself up to your elbows, wiping at your face. "Because I have to hope, right?"

"And there it is."

You take a sip of your tea and some feeling returns to your translucent fingers. Strange’s cloak draws itself around your shoulders.

The wizard himself stays quiet for another minute or two, before he asks, "Why do you think I’m talking to you right now? Helping you, even, nevermind your constant whining and your insistence that this won’t work, after you’ve spent your whole life running away from anything resembling actual responsibilities."

"I didn’t—"

"Answer the question."

"Because I created a time loop?" you guess.

"But you already know that this loop is just one point on the timeline. A single day, repeated endlessly, but going exactly like it was always supposed to, once resolved. So, without the time stone and my privileges as the Sorcerer Supreme, and with your protections still in place, how would I have found you?"

He knew exactly where and when to look for you. But he’s right, that shouldn’t even have been possible unless …

"I came to you," you realize. "Or, I will, once I get out of this." The relief that washes over you makes you want to sob. "So there is a way out?"

"Of course there is," he says, surprisingly gently. "Time isn’t supposed to get stuck."

You sit with that for a minute, hiding your face in your hands as Strange stays silent. Finally, you take a deep breath and look at him again with newly sharp focus.

"So why don’t you just tell me how to do it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You know that’s not how it works."

"Yes. It is. It’s literally what I do all the time."

"What you do is leaving realities you don’t like by turning backwards."

"That’s not true."

"Just because your motivations aren’t entirely selfish doesn’t mean you’re right."

You’re so damn exhausted. The frustration of this whole thing is really starting to scratch at your sanity, and there’s an ache in your chest as you stare at your own sleeping face, biting the inside of your cheek, thinking.

Strange snaps his fingers to get your attention back.

"I’m not a mind reader," he says. "Out with it."

"I want to see him," you say, getting up. The cloak flaps around you in a very satisfying way. "Bucky. It’s early this morning, right? Just before the loop starts again. That means he’s upstairs."

"And what’s seeing him going to do?"

You ignore him and walk towards the door, reaching for the handle. Your hand goes right through it. You try it several more times, to no avail.

"Heaven help me," Strange mutters behind you.

Shutting your eyes, you take a deep breath. The circle of green tingles around your wrist.

Then, you walk through the closed door.

You fully expect to crash into the wood head first, but instead you feel the door moving through your noncorporeal form, and then you’re standing on the other side.

With a startled hum, you turn left, not waiting to see if you’re being followed.

You only hesitate in front of Bucky’s bedroom door. You’ve never actually been inside his room since he’s moved in; well, apart from that time he patched up your feet and you woke up in the astral plane for the first time. It feels odd to consider entering without him actually being aware of it.

Then again, there’s quite a few things at this point that he’s unaware of.

Before you can make up your mind, the door swings open just a little, and you automatically take a step back. Alpine sleepily slinks through the gap and trots off in the direction you came from, probably to sit in the kitchen and mope until FRIDAY activates the food dispenser again. On the stairs, she passes Strange who raises an eyebrow at you.

"Changed your mind?"

You glance into the room.

At first, you can’t find him. The bedding looks untouched, and there’s a brief flurry of panic that makes you step inside before you can keep questioning yourself.

Bucky is lying on the floor next to the bed, his hands balled tightly into an old throw blanket. It’s haphazardly draped across his torso, like he’s been trying to wriggle free during the night. He grimaces in his sleep.

Try the floor.

You can’t help but wonder when he’s last tried the bed.

"Can he hear us?" you ask quietly, not needing to look over your shoulder as you sink to the floor next to Bucky.

"No," Strange says. "Not until you put in a lot more work."

"Would he remember if I did?"

"I don’t know."

You do look back at him, then. "You know, considering your position you don’t know a whole lot of things."

You concentrate on your own hand until you’re starting to feel cool metal underneath your fingertips, ignoring the throbbing of your head. Carefully, you touch the crease between his brows, smoothing it out tenderly.

Bucky sighs a little in his sleep, but doesn’t stir. Doesn’t stop quietly murmuring in his dreams.

"You feel better?" Strange asks.

"Not really." You’ve already reached out to him without it having any repercussions too many times. "But that wasn’t the point."

"What was?"

"Just …"

Comfort. He brings you comfort, even when he doesn’t know it. It’s the same reason you keep waiting for him to arrive in the gym in the mornings, even though you could probably hurry up and miss him.

Even if the loop never ends, it’s still good to see that it’s bringing him back like it’s supposed to.

How incredibly selfish, you think as you continue looking at Bucky and letting a quiet, hesitant wash of calm come over you.

And then, all of a sudden, his eyes open.

You flinch backwards, but even though you’re almost face to face, he seems to stare right through you, his breaths heavy.

"Did I do something?" you say quietly.

"No," Strange answers. "This is just when he wakes up."

You watch as Bucky drags a hand over his face and then gets up with a determined tick in his jaw, grabbing a notebook from the nightstand. He scribbles something down, hastily, like it’s threatening to get away from him if he doesn’t hurry. You don’t have to read it to know it has something to do with what he’s seen in his sleep.

When the words stop flowing, he sits on the edge of the bed for a minute longer, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. Finally, he rolls his left arm a few times before pulling on a shirt and his running shoes.

He always goes for a run in the morning. You’ve made fun of him for it before, but you hadn’t put together that while Strange was trying to get you to clear your own head through sitting still, Bucky might be doing the exact opposite to get the same result.

The door clicks shut.

"Are we done with the spying, then?" Strange says.

"No need to get weird about it," you mumble and take his outstretched hand.

***

Something changes once you know that your situation actually has an end date, even though Strange either cannot or will not tell you how many more loops you’re going to have to go through until then. Even so, there’s a new assurance to your every step again, a determination grown from the knowledge that all this isn’t for nothing. That there is an out.

You can cling to that.

"What would you do if you were stuck in a time loop?" you ask, letting your legs dangle over the ledge of the roof.

"Ew, no," Lucy replies, shaking the few remaining ice cubes in her cup emphatically. "My shift was long enough as is, and I’ve been looking forward to my Sunday off all week."

"Fair point," you concede.

It’s early afternoon then, and you’ve found a quiet spot on the top of the Tower. If Lucy was at all confused why you’d shown up at the store right when she clocked out and asked her to hang out, she’s not showing it. Over the past couple of loops, you’ve learned that she really likes to go with the flow, and you appreciate that.

"If it’s not today, though," she continues, like she’s thinking aloud. "Imagine the books you could read. You could try out all that stuff that you say you want to do, and then you never have the time to actually do them."

It’s a good thought, but a lack of time has never really been an issue for you. "Nothing you do would really stick, though."

She squints against the sun. "You realize that’s a pro, right? No consequences whatsoever. I could cut my bangs again and they’d be gone the next day."

"You used to have bangs?"

"Never, and I’m willing to state that in a court of law."

You smile and lean back on your elbows. "If something good happened, that’d be gone, too, though. You don’t get to keep that, either."

"Yeah," Lucy says thoughtfully. "I’d still remember it though, right? It still happened. I could make it happen again."

"Maybe." Your thumb scratches the empty space on your pinkie. Even though you’ve turned your entire bathroom upside down, your ring is still gone, like it just up and disappeared from this reality. You can’t help but wonder if that rift in the sky from a few todays ago has anything to do with that.

"What about you?"

"Hm?"

Lucy takes another slurping sip from her almost empty cup. "What would you do in a time loop?"

You can’t help but laugh. "I’d try to keep making the good things happen, I guess."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

It is.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" someone shouts behind you. "It’s in the fricking nineties today and you’re baking?"

"Technically, we are baking," you say, nodding at Lucy and leaning back further so you can look at Sam upside down. "And we’re baking for you."

"Hi, cap," Lucy says, pulling her sunglasses off.

"Hey." Sam crosses his arms and fixes you with a very cap-like glare. "Why are you baking for me."

"Y/N said it’s for your birthday."

"My—" He cuts himself off, rubbing his temples. "My birthday’s in September."

"Whoops," you say, your grin just believable enough. "My bad, cap."

"You’re not funny," Sam says, "I hope you know that."

You know.

Of course, today isn’t actually his birthday, not even if time were allowed to pass normally. It is day forty-fucking-nine of the loop, though, which makes it your fiftieth time living through this crap and frankly, you all deserve some damn pie.

It’s not going to make a difference in the long run, of course, and yet you can’t help but feel like keeping count of those little markers of time helps to hold your head above water. Making the good things happen, even if they don’t change a thing and no one but you is going to remember.

So you simply say, "It’s turtle pie," because you know that it’s Sam’s favorite. "Hey, what’s the time?"

"Oh, it better be," he says, holding his phone up for you to read and then marching out of your field of vision.

Sadly, you’re just about a minute early.

"He could’ve stayed," Lucy says when you let out a frustrated huff.

"He has that thing at the Garden," you tell her distractedly, taking a mental note to stall Sam a little longer next time.

"There you are."

You flinch at the sound of Bucky’s voice, barely daring to move your head when he sits next to you, his back to the brink.

He never comes up here. That’s the whole point.

"Hi?" you say carefully, and a grin tugs at his mouth.

"Not you," he says, nodding to the ground in front of him.

You turn around fully to find Alpine taking a nap just a few feet behind you, her snowy tail wrapped around a flower pot.

You let out a relieved breath and ignore the small sting in your chest. Of course he’s not up here because of you. Why would he be?

"Gee, thanks," you murmur, quietly shifting around so your hands are hidden underneath your legs. "You sure know how to charm the ladies."

You glance back at Lucy, but she’s looking at her phone, her eyes once again indecipherable behind the large sunglasses.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Think you could handle my charm, Y/L/N?"

He might has well have doused you in a bucket of ice water. You’re suddenly very aware of every single cell in your body, and you don’t like the challenge sparkling in his eyes.

So you do what you always do and you block it out. Dismiss and distract.

"Does Alpine seem weird to you?"

He tilts his head, his jaw tight. "Weird how?"

"I don’t know," you say, staring at her. "She’s just been acting … odd, lately. Today, I mean."

And following you around in a way you’re pretty sure she’s never done before. Not before the loop, at least.

Bucky sighs. "Did you make her scratch you again? Because I’ve told you before that I’m not getting rid of her for enforcing her boundaries."

"First of all, I never make her scratch me, she does that well enough on her own."

"That’s victim blaming," Lucy says without looking up. Bucky snorts and you almost roll your eyes.

"Second of all, she’s up to something. I know it."

"Oh, yes," Bucky says dryly just as Alpine makes a small noise in her dreams, her nose twitching. "That’s the embodiment of evil right there."

"I don’t trust her," you mutter.

"And yet the cat’s the weird one."

"I hate you," you mumble, standing up. "I’m gonna go check on the pie."

"There’s pie?" Bucky says.

"Not for you!"

You turn at the door to see Lucy leaning in to show Bucky something on her phone; the frown has disappeared from his face, his shoulders relaxed. If he’d pull off his glove right now, it’d almost be like sitting in a park.

That’s good, you tell yourself as the door slams shut behind you with a bit too much gusto. Reminds you that there’s nothing special about you in particular, which is much needed, really.

Can’t wait to punch that one out of your system later.

Again and again and again and a—

"Whoa, whoa, you alright?"

You blink. Riff slumps to the ground in front of you, body limp.

Bucky stares at you in concern, his hand still on your shoulder. His lip has split open and there’s the usual bruise already forming on his cheekbone. You can’t help it. Your gaze is drawn down, your breathing shallow.

You screw your eyes shut to snap yourself out of it, but when you open them again, Bucky hasn’t moved an inch.

"Never better," you whisper, and for a split second, you almost believe it yourself.

Liar, liar, liar.

***

At least, you suppose, reality seems considerably less broken these days. No more cracks in the sky.

You get your wake-up call when you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY …

"… FRIDAY?" you say into the silence of your room, your heart pounding wildly. This cannot be happening. Not now.

Not yet.

He got shot again yesterday.

A pleasant jingling sound rings out. "Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N."

You look at the clock on the wall. Ten to eight, just like every morning. "What day is it?"

"Today is Friday, July 4th."

You can taste bile in your mouth despite your relief. There’s an impatient thrum to the symbols around your wrist, like a noose that’s tightening.

What did you expect?

"Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!"

"Didn’t you set FRIDAY to wake me?" you ask Sam as you’re climbing the stairs, nerves on edge.

He looks at you weirdly. "I did. You’re up, aren’t you?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Didn’t sleep well."

That much, at least, is still true. Full nights of sleep are a long distant memory from before constant back-to-back repetitions. The only time your body shuts off is when you manage to sleep for a little bit in between your astral visits and the mission call.

"I hope you don’t think that’s an excuse," Sam says, bumping your shoulder, and you manage a tired grin.

"You wish."

Today, you let him win, even though your ankle makes an odd crack when you land on the mat. You’ll take care of it later.

"You look like shit."

Grief and relief, you’ve learned, both taste like salt and iron, but the latter is so much easier to swallow.

"That makes two of us," you say, sitting up slowly. "How was your run?"

"Good," Bucky says, putting the cloth away and stretching his fingers out. They catch a ray of sunlight. "What’s wrong with you?"

Not this again.

"Later, okay?" you answer, because that’s not a lie. "Let’s just … not, right now?"

"Alright," he says.

And, oh, you want to tell him again. Because he doesn’t press it. Because you miss having someone to share things with. Because you miss telling him the whole truth. Because you’re scared, and tired, and sick of losing him.

But those are egotistic thoughts, and so you keep them all to yourself and take the towel on the right.

There’s one good thing about this today. You make it to the living room just in time to finally catch a glimpse of Sam’s phone right when it pings with Torres’ message.

I can check it out on Monday if you’d like.

That’s it. No urgency, weirdly proper spelling, not even an exclamation mark.

In other words, you’re not sure what you expected but you’re no closer to answers than before.

"What does it matter?" Strange sighs when you tell him all of this with a frown.

"It matters," you reply, "because if we hadn’t gone on the mission, Bucky wouldn’t have died that first time and none of this would’ve happened."

"So what?" he says. "It’s already done."

"But if I could prevent it—"

"It already happened."

"I can make it not happen."

"You and what powers?" Strange says sharply. "Even if you did that, it wouldn’t stop the loop."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you’ve already seen first-hand that it’s bound to you and your powers, not to whatever you do or don’t do during the day. Karma is a fairy tale for those who don’t want to take responsibility for their actions."

"Do you really still think this is me not taking responsibility?" There’s a green flare that goes through you, hot and seething and making goosebumps crawl down your arms.

Strange smiles at the sight. "Let’s find out."

He extends his arms and slowly opens his fists until orange symbols dance across his shaky fingers. The band around your wrist prickles at the weight of his magic flooding the air.

Strange’s cloak nudges you towards the center of the room and your heart gives a heavy thud. "What, right now?"

"Would you prefer being stuck for a couple weeks more?"

"Of course not it’s just—I don’t feel ready."

"No one ever feels ready until they try."

And maybe it’s because it reminds you of something Steve once said, but it makes you step up, falling into the stance you’ve practiced over and over again. You breathe in deeply and close your eyes.

The pull comes easier now. Your powers have just been resting, nestled somewhere deep inside your bones like glowing embers, waiting for you to call upon them.

When you look at your open palm, the green wisps of your powers have curled up to the size of a ping-pong ball. You take another steadying breath and let it glide to the tips of your fingers, carefully letting it balance itself out for a second before moving your other hand.

"Good," you can hear Strange say quietly.

Slowly, carefully, you let the threads untangle until they’re just about to touch the green band circling around your wrist. You can feel the electric tingle of it, the soft beat of each passing second contained within, and you push past it.

You’ve done this before, so you’re not surprised when you feel the energy drain from your body almost immediately. Up until now, though, it’s just been trial and error, not expecting anything to happen. This time, you have Strange’s magic feeding some of his strength into you as well, and so instead of hesitating, you press on, your heartbeat speeding up.

The band around your wrist does the same.

"Don’t lose your focus." Strange’s voice sounds very far away, almost warped.

Very funny, you might have said, but you’re too busy watching it all unfold.

The whirring inside of your head grows louder as the circlet of time keeps rotating with accelerating speed, faster and faster until your eyes start tearing up and there’s something that looks almost like a crack.

You gasp quietly. At first, you think you might have just imagined it, but then the split starts growing, the symbols growing farther and farther apart as the band itself keeps spinning. Your pulse is beating in your ears. Your wrist feels like it’s being set on fire.

There are voices, then, quiet and fast, like you’re watching a sped up movie, music and noises and chatter and birdsong and a whooshing sound like something flipping right past you. Then, something like distant shots.

I’m getting Bucky out of this, you think as the green band continues rotating until suddenly, there is a shockwave of green light that takes up your entire field of vision.

You close your stinging eyes, keeping your feet firmly planted on the floor as your powers rush through you once more and then, with a shudder, settle down again, exhausted. The glare subsides. Something like a trickle of sweat runs down your noncorporeal neck.

"Did it work?" you ask, your voice rough, not daring to look for yourself. There’s no answer, though. "Doc?"

Slowly, your eyes readjust to the gloomy darkness of your room in the astral realm. The only source of light is the glowing green band continuing to circle around your wrist, the rifts stabilizing again like it’s clicking back into place.

You swear under your breath and turn around to ask what went wrong, but Strange is no longer standing beside you.

You’re all alone.

***

Three, two, one—

"Iced grande extra whip caramel macchia—shit!"

You catch the plastic cup before it drops onto the suit of the business man standing in line in front of you. "Here you go, sir."

He grabs his drink with a grunt and hurries back outside. One of these days, you might ask him why he’s in such a hurry, but it’s not today.

You’ve grown to adore the noise of the pre-noon rush. The cacophany of the whirring machines, the AC and the people is just loud enough to make your head calm down a little. Besides, being alone in a crowd has never been easier than when you know for a fact they are not going to remember you.

The drinks are starting to pile up at the hand-out, and because you feel bad for your colleagues, you start handing them out to people. You’ve been here a lot, after all.

"Tall hazelnut latte for Misty!"

Plus, it helps to keep your mind from wandering back to everything that’s going wrong.

Strange still hasn’t returned.

The astral dimension feels different when you return the day after your experiment, like someone’s been pulling invisible strings to make everything just slightly more disordered and dark.

It’s cold, too. You watch your body shiver in her sleep as you wrap your arms around yourself. The books are still there, shimmering slightly with the magic they contain.

"Doc?" you call out, and the vibrations of this place hum it back at you. There’s no answer.

The book at the top of the pile is still opened to a page, as if it’d just been left a moment ago, and you pick it up. The words glide around like they are looking to jump back into an inkpot, and you have to squint to make out any of them.

Incursion, the section header reads. Result of a contraction in a universe’s timeline. Can cause premature disintegration or collapse of any one reality within the multiverse.

"Just great," you say, slapping the book shut again. "I get it, alright? You can come out now."

But there’s no sound apart from your own heartbeat.

Your noncorporeal head is swimming with pressure as you pass through the closed door and into the hallway. The walls seem larger than usual, the stairs warping ever so slightly underneath your feet so that you can’t look at them for too long without feeling seasick.

Upstairs, the air doesn’t feel quite as heavy. The silence follows you, though, lingering in the grayish morning shadows like the remnants of a nightmare.

Bucky still mumbles in his.

You can’t make out what he is saying, and you wouldn’t have understood the words, anyway, but there’s sweat on his brow again. His fingers are tightly clutching the thin throw blanket like it’s shielding him from whatever he’s seeing in his dreams.

You take a step closer to him, desperate to do something, anything, when you notice movement out of the corner of your eye.

Alpine is perched on top of the bed, complacently tucked into herself on one of the fluffed up white pillows like it’s really her room, not Bucky’s.

And she’s staring right at you.

You take a step to the side, then another. Alpine tilts her head, her large eyes fixed on you. They follow your gestures as you wave your hand.

A quick glance tells you that Bucky is still sleeping. You take a deep breath and conjure up a small dot of bright green light, letting it dance across your fingertips. Alpine uncurls herself in interest, her tail twitching.

"You can see me," you whisper, and the little spec of your power disappears.

The cat meows in disappointment.

Carefully, you move closer to the bed, reaching out your translucent hand until you place it on Alpine’s head.

She rubs against your palm.

You chuckle incredulously, scratching behind her ears. "You little devil."

Alpine seems particularly pleased with herself. She starts purring.

This is simply bizarre, you think as you continue petting her soft fur. You’re expecting a sarcastic comment from behind your shoulder any minute now, but it doesn’t come.

So, you lower yourself down on the floor next to Bucky, the tips of your fingers not quite grazing his arm as you swallow heavily.

And then you wait until he gets up.

It’s possible, you think as you watch him leave and then make yourself wake up too, that Strange is simply messing with you for the hell of it. You don’t like the timing of this, though. Your day still continues on and on and on, like it always does, but it seems just a little too pointed that this would happen right after you had your first hopes of getting out of here in a long time.

It doesn’t help that the reality glitches have decided to return with a vengeance.

Every day is still July 4th. You wake up with a start, you train, you get coffee, you fight over lunch, you take your astral visit, you go on that damn mission. It’s the details that start to get … fuzzy.

In the beginning, every single thing around you was the exact same every single day. Now, though, there are sometimes details that are just wrong. A different mug left on the drying rack. A mess all over the tables in the lab. Weird noises all over the Tower.

You don’t know what to make of any of it, and so in general, you follow Strange’s rule of thumb and simply ignore the things that are wrong one day and then right the next—which, thankfully, is all of them. You just go with it, telling yourself that this is simply reality malfunctioning a little, like a machine that needs oiling.

Weirdly enough, that doesn’t reassure you in the slightest.

But what else can you do?

You lose a few hours here and there, time seemingly speeding up at random sometimes now. One morning, Bucky isn’t in the gym like he usually is, and you work yourself up over it so much you nearly have a panic attack. In the end, you almost crash into him outside of his room, and a rush of reassurance floods through you with such force you can’t even look at him.

That time, Sam is there when Bucky gets shot, and it’s his cry that follows you into the next day. Your hands are clean this time, and somehow that feels worse.

Everyone’s back to their usual stuff again, and that’s that.

Another time, you’ve barely rolled out of bed and into your bathroom—"Rise and shine, McFly!"—when you’re suddenly jolted forwards and you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume. Your stomach feels like it’s still turning, nauseous, as if you’d sat up too fast.

That feeling still leaves a bad taste in your mouth, sticking to the back of your mind like the blood you haven’t even had time to wash off.

The thing that demands most of your attention, though, is the pile of books waiting for you in the astral realm. Since you don’t have any control over the loop itself, you pour all of your energy into trying to understand the theory behind your powers. It’s giving you a constant headache, and it takes a lot longer than you would like to admit, but at least you feel like you’re doing something that’ll last.

Nothing else will.

There’s one last lonely cup sat on the counter next to your own, which signals that the rush is over for now. You can see Lucy wiping her forehead as you wave your goodbye, picking up both drinks on your way out and handing one of them to the guy just hurrying back downstairs.

"Here you go," you say without stopping, glancing at your phone. You haven’t stayed this late before.

"What the—" you hear behind you, just before the doors glide open and you’re greeted by the sound of traffic and a hot breeze of air.

If you’re lucky, you can make it back to your room without anyone seeing you. You’ve moved on to a particularly hefty tome about relativity, and you’d like to—

"Hey! Miss? Hold on a second!"

You look over your shoulder to see the delivery guy has run after you, cup still in his hand. His bike is leaned against a lamp post nearby, his cap dangling off one of the handles.

You found out a couple of weeks ago that he takes his break just after dropping off your order, but you don’t usually make eye contact anymore.

Now, he holds out his cup accusingly. "That’s my drink."

You smile. "Good for you."

"No. No, that’s not—I mean—how did you know it was my drink?"

And because nothing really matters and you really want to go home, you say, "It has your name on it, doesn’t it?"

You expect him to look at you with wide eyes, just like people normally do when you know things you’re not supposed to. His mouth will drop open, speechless, his frown will deepen, and you can wink at him and continue on your way so he can spend the next couple of hours wondering what just happened.

The cup falls out of his hand, but somehow he manages to catch it before it hits the sidewalk. When he looks up at you again, and his expression is unlike anything you’ve seen coming.

"But that’s not …" he says quietly. "Do you remember me?"

And then it’s you who’s speechless, because the shock on Peter Parker’s face is more than you bargained for.

*****

"Honestly, I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this," you said quietly, looking over the rim of your glass at the crowd.

"You complaining?" you heard Sam’s voice say over the little earpiece you were wearing.

"Not at all."

Apparently, people connected to terrorist organizations threw incredibly fancy parties.

You hadn’t felt this glamorous in a while, if ever, dressed up to the nines in a dark green jumpsuit with an incredibly flattering cut that you’d never had a reason to wear before. Despite your initial doubts about this whole thing, you felt great, for the first time in way too long.

"Are you gonna move any time soon?"

Well. Mostly.

At least Barnes cleaned up nice, you supposed; it almost made up for his grouchy demeanor.

With a sigh, you downed the rest of your drink and got back to work. You let the crowd swallow you up, seemingly on your way to the restrooms, and then you stopped it all to slip upstairs unnoticed by prying eyes and cameras.

You didn’t hold it for very long; you had to rattle some doors, after all, and despite your espresso martini, it was still hard to tell if you could manage several redos back to back. After all, you’d only been back in the game for a couple of weeks.

It took you a few tries to find the right office, and locating the files was comparatively easy with what you already had access to. There it was, proof that ULTIMATUM had managed to secure most of the Flag Smashers�� previous supporters as well as some high brow weapon dealers.

While you copied everything onto a flashdrive, your eyes caught one of the designs. You frowned.

Even though you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly, something about it seemed just slightly too highbrow for an organization of the international bad egg committee that was supposedly still mostly underground. Your gaze started drifting through the rest of the office, noting the usual boring books and glass awards in the bookshelves on the far wall. You pulled open one of the desk drawers.

"You almost done in here?"

"Fuck!" You slammed the drawer shut again, getting your pinkie stuck in the process. "Damnit, where did you come from?"

Bucky pointed over his shoulder.

"Fuck me," you murmured, your eyes stinging at the pain.

Bucky looked nonplussed. "Can’t you just undo it?"

"Great input, thank you." The flashdrive beeped softly and you shut everything down again. At least you were definitely sober now. "What are you, anyway, my babysitter?"

"Wouldn’t have to be if you could check in on time," he answered, checking the corridors, then nodding for you to follow.

"Time’s a social construct," you murmured, but followed him, the flashdrive hidden in your fist.

You didn’t even make it to the staircase.

"Didn’t I tell you?" a voice said right before several triggers clicked and you both froze. "I knew I’d recognized that arm. And who do you have with you here, Winter Soldier?"

No one, you thought, and then you yanked time backwards so forcefully you stumbled into the desk, your heart still racing. The copy sat at 57%.

You felt almost seasick with the rewind, but there wasn’t any time. "Keep going upstairs," you said into your earpiece.

"What?" Bucky said.

"I’m fine. Don’t come get me. Just keep going," you gritted through your teeth, trying to calm your breaths. 70%.

"Exit plan C, then," Sam said.

Bucky didn’t answer. You looked at your hands. There was a slight tremor to them, but nothing too bad. If you could get the nausea under control, you could probably make it past the cameras one more time.

You should’ve eaten more.

As soon as the flashdrive was done, you ripped it out and forced everything to a halt again. Your palms were sweaty as you hurried out of the office and in the direction of the staircase, your lungs burning. This didn’t feel like a good sign.

You stumbled over your damn heels and the noise returned for that moment you lost your concentration.

Not good enough.

Sweat pearled on your forehead as you and the universe held your breath again. You could feel your hold slipping with every second that wasn’t allowed to pass. Time was impatient with you.

A small crowd had assembled at the bottom of the stairs. As you closed in on them, you felt a jolt go through you and suddenly found yourself surrounded by people as time attempted to right itself again. Your nails dug into the skin of your palm so hard you could feel yourself draw blood.

It went quiet again and you moved through them, almost blindly. Everything seemed to be spinning.

Behind your shoulder, you could hear several people talking, interrupted only by the world stopping around them every now and then.

"—d’you—see that—"

"—could’ve—sworn there—”

And with time stumbling and flailing around in confusion, you made it out of the building and into the waiting cab.

chapter seven

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[icewindandboringhorror]

I've referenced before how I have a big google document to keep track of every media I've ever seen in my entire life (just for reference because I like to track everything possible lol… I am the Data Collector), but recently as I was updating it, I thought of actually evaluating them to find out random percentages (like for example, out of Total Shows Watched, what percentage did I finish vs. stop watching, what percentage did I like or dislike, etc.)...

Evaluating these things is made easier by the fact that I already place everything on each subsection of the list into 6 broad ranking categories, so I don't have to go back and guess to figure out how I feel about them or anything. The categories are: Ranking 5 - overall best* (despite some criticisms of course because I'm too much of an Analyzer to ever find anything Perfect lol) Ranking 4 - more positive than neutral, but not good enough to be 5 Ranking 3 - either the good + bad negate each other, OR it's just not memorable/interesting in any way enough to be ranked higher or lower (this is the Default category ALL things are placed in if no other rank applies) Ranking 2 - maybe a few redeemable elements but largely more negatives than positives Ranking 1 - So bad that it circles around to being fascinating to observe in some way (not necessarily Funny, or Good, but just interesting somehow) Ranking 0 - Bad in a genuinely frustrating or obnoxious manner

*("best" primarily defined here as most interesting, rather than most good in a technical sense, or some other measure. I tend to value more highly whether there's something novel or thoughtful about the worldbuilding, tone, writing, base premise, etc - than about whether it's actually executed perfectly.)

And here's the amount of shows that have so far been placed into each category -

TV shows ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 20 shows ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 28 shows ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 114 shows ~ Rank 2 (mid low) -33 shows ~ Rank 1 (low low but intriguingly so) - 14 shows ~ Rank 0 (iredeemably low) - 2 shows

This would make for a total of 211 TV shows overall. However, there are 57 shows within these list marked as "didn't finish" (typically meaning I quit on the very first or second episode - but log them still to keep a record that I at least had a brief view of them).

So my total of genuinely fully watched shows would be more 154. 211 Total, but a More Accurate Total of 154.

Counting them all and using the Total Number Of The List (211) -- that means roughly 9.5% of all total shows I have ever watched (or at least attempted to watch) have been Mostly Good, 13% have been Moderately Okay, 54% have been either entirely Forgettable or some mix of good + bad that lands them right in the Neutral Middle, 15.6% have been Mostly Bad, 6.6% have been Bad (but in an interesting way), and 0.9% have been Terribly Bad.

Additionally, I didn't even get past the first two episodes of about 27% of the total.

Sooo, discounting ones I didn't finish, my total TV shows ever watched in my life would be about 154 (maybe give or take a few, assuming I might have forgotten some from very long ago).

But instead of entire life, let's just say this is the total for 'About 20 Years' (so, not counting very early childhood when I likely wouldn't remember things I saw/have no detailed recollection of them (like for example, I'm sure at some point when I was like 4yrs old I must have seen an episode of Spongebob or something, but I have zero distinct memories of it, can't quote anything of it, and barely recall the premise - so I don't count it on the list, etc.)).

In that case, 154 divided by 20 would be roughly 7.7 shows a year.

Which is actually surprisingly low considering that I often have stuff on in the background for hours whilst I make sculptures and do costumes and stuff (maybe I should have also marked some distinction between 'things I fully paid attention to' and 'things I kind of half listened to whilst sculpting', but that would further split the categories too much probably lol), but I guess a lot of that is youtube videos or random documentaries, so .. eh.. maybe I get it being lower.

Now, doing the same thing for movies-

Movies ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 4 movies (3.4% of total) ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 12 movies (10.3% of total) ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 91 movies (78.4% of total) ~ Rank 2 (mid low) - 8 movies (6.8% of total) ~ Rank 1 (low but interesting) - 1 movie (0.8% of total) ~ Rank 0 (irredeemably low) - none in this category (0%)

That makes 116 for a Total (Actually Remembered) Movies Watched In Lifetime (Or At Least In 20 Years).

116 divided by 20 is roughly 5 or 6 movies a year (I feel this has probably been skewed though by adding everything since like elementary school onwards, as I remember a lot more movies from child/teen years.. Whereas, the past 3 years I feel like I've barely seen maybe even 5 movies?? lol). I also have "Didn't Finish" marked on 18 of them. Which means I quit halfway through about 15% of the total movies.

So, a for broader summary stuff..

I seem to be less forgiving to movies than tv shows, by far. Which makes sense to me, I guess, because I love elaboration and details, so "short form" things that only last an hour or two are often lost on me a bit. My biggest complaint with movies is indeed usually walking away just wishing there had been more exposition, more scenes where characters are doing nothing, more "mindless bantering" conversations, more Quiet Downtime and Lore Elaboration and so on lol, so... of course most 1-2hr films end up feeling a bit Not Enough To Draw My Interest/Nothingy to me.

If you count 5 and 4 as "like" and rankings 2 to 0 as "dislike", then for TV shows I at least somewhat liked 48 of them, and at least somewhat disliked 47 of them.. So it's almost exactly the same lol. I'm just about equally as likely to find something bad as I am to find something redeeming about it. But overall, the largest chance is that I just won't really care much for it at all and it will be tossed into the 'neutral' pile, forgotten forever. Movies have a bit better of a balance, "liking" 16 of them, and "disliking" only 9 of them. So I'm slightly more likely to enjoy a movie than to find it annoying - though still VASTLY more likely to just not find it anything in particular, possibly not even finishing it.

ANYWAY.. this is vague and literally pointless, but like I said, I just really find information fun. Like my document where I've rated every apple flavor I've ever tried (like 40 of them now?), or reviewed every oreo flavor (32?), or ranking data from my entire 10 years of Trying To Make Friends process (out of 100 people, roughly 8% chance of a moderate compatibility, 3% chance of high), or etc. etc.. I love to have random pointless things to analyze I suppose lol.

I doubt anyone tracks things in their life in this same exact way, but I'd be interested in hearing any at least somewhat similar data !!! (like, how many TV shows you watch a year on average, and what percentage of those you like vs. dislike (if you keep track of that sort of thing), etc.)). I guess it might be easier with movies, since I think some people use those websites where you curate a list of movies you've seen and you can rate them or something, so maybe the numbers are already available on those places. :0

[lususnatura]

blamore having to wear things like back-less shirts / lower - cut tops and just items of clothing that will allow him SOME sort of free range of movement for his tail in general + will actually not constrict his rib cage may just make him a fashion icon y'all... sorry, i don't make the rules ( nah i'm just joking around with you guys LOL... mostly )

[baphometsss]

On Solas' Mythal regret

Alright so this is just one thing I wanted to get out there. I'm not gonna do one big meta post bc I wanna break down specific things more easily. I hope it's not too jumbled

Spoilers

The Solas / Mythal regret takes place in the Fade.

“What if you left the Evanuris, and remained with me? Surely you must want freedom from this struggle?”

Solas says it not just for Mythal’s sake but for his own; he is essentially begging for her to return to the Fade with him so they can be as spirits again... He doesn’t want to be a person, he never did, and now he can’t return to that life. He was happy in the Fade until she drew him out. Mythal says ‘love’ because she knows that he doesn’t want to be there and she needs to keep him loyal in order to keep the Evanuris at bay. We know that Mythal is manipulative af and this is just more evidence of that.

It’s a regret not just because he couldn’t get Mythal to leave the Evanuris but because it’s the moment he gave up on himself. He knew he couldn’t leave Mythal to do it alone, because he did care for her, but also he was likely bound to her after she pulled him from the Fade. We know that pulling spirits from the Fade makes them lose a part of themselves; in this case, Mythal did this to him deliberately so he would fight in the war.

It was a trauma bond, similar to the bond between Cole, the spirit of compassion, and the real Cole who starved to death in a prison cell. Solas needed to provide Wisdom to prove his purpose, and Mythal kept calling on that. In Veilguard, it’s explicitly stated that as a former spirit, he cannot resist appeals to his true nature. With trauma bonds, you do lose your agency. It’s what they hinge on. The two things combined make for a toxic dynamic.

(I don’t particularly like this personally, but it's what seems to be the intent, but I digress.)

The hidden codex in the Lighthouse’s music room—memories of a duet—is significant in understanding their relationship. To me this is very revealing of their dynamic; Mythal took advantage of Solas when he wasn’t used to having a body and moulded him to be a weapon. She moulded him into the image she wanted him to take, and strung him along the entire time. There’s a big parallel between Divine Justinia/Leliana and Mythal/Solas. Leliana’s personal quest in DAI is about her loyalty to Divine Justinia, whom she sees as a mother and great friend. You can ask her if they were romantically involved, and she says that they were many things to each other, but not that. She too carries a huge amount of guilt for her death, to the point that it can break her if you don’t soften her early on in the game, and she becomes utterly ruthless. The end scene with Mythal releasing Solas from her service has many similarities to Justinia releasing Leliana from hers. Leliana and Justinia were united in part because of their shared spirituality and hopes for the Chantry, and Solas and Mythal were united by the connection they forged as spirits. ‘Being wholly seen…’ Leliana felt the same way about Justinia.

Solas also wore Mythal’s vallaslin, and burned it off his face when he rebelled against the Evanuris. As we know, those are slave markings. He was made to become her servant, and rebelled against her too when he started the rebellion against the Evanuris. (As a side note, and especially if you’ve played BG3, you’ll know how the loss of agency can stick around even after the connection to the abuser has been severed. Astarion’s ‘you made me see that I never stopped thinking of myself as his slave’ really springs to mind here, albeit in a different context.)

This is a big part of why I don’t think he was romantically involved with Mythal. I believe his main role to Mythal in the initial war was as a kind of spymaster, similar to how Leliana is the spymaster for Divine Justinia. Mythal taught Solas to behave in exactly the way she wanted him to.

In fact, in the Inquisitor’s customisation screen when you pick your romance, Solas’s explicitly says that even he didn’t foresee what it would mean to fall in love. So… he canonically hasn’t been in love before. He was not in love with Mythal.

I wanna be clear here; I don’t hate Mythal as such. I mean, I do, because she’s pretty fucked up, but you have to consider her nature. She was a spirit of benevolence. She wanted to take a form because she was afraid of what Elgar’nan would do to the world if she didn’t stop him. Even after taking a body, she can’t change her nature. It became twisted into retribution when she couldn’t stop them from harming the elves or trying to leash the blight. Honestly I could write a whole essay about Mythal too, but I won’t because I still have a ton to write about Solas and Lavellan, but we’ll see.

Anyway I’m gonna leave this one here but I’ll be back with more meta. I have a lot of get through

[mono-dot-jpeg]

bad decisions - i. sae, b. meguru & m. reo

summary; let's make some bad decisions.

genre/extra tags; rambling post?/scenarios???, fluff but not really, diet fluff, and diet angst, late night thoughts combined with day light thoughts, might be ooc

a/n; im gonna go out on a limb here and say you dont want yandere obsessive tendencies in the relationship (i dont write yandere bc i hate that trope and i dont understand the appeal). i only did three bc this was all i can think of, im so sorry- hope you enjoy this either way. thank you for requesting and for your patience.

i think we all saw this coming when i say, sae probably gotta have some odd habits and thoughts when it comes to being a relationship. he's precise and serious in his soccer, and that bleeds into his relationships. it has nothing to you, no, not when he's so used to seeing into every detail and every possibility. he keeps trying to predict what you will do, and then you surprise him when it's not what he expected. most of the time, this happens when you're just doing something without much thought. he gets kind of weird about it though, he just blue-screens and had to take a moment before asking what is wrong with you because you didn't do the thing he expected. you have to tell him that this is just how you are, and he refuses to be outsmarted by his partner when he's usually the one with the brain cell between you two.

he feels the need to check on you a lot because he doesn't express it outright. he observes you like he's in a game match. it's cute at first but then you realize, "oh god he's really paying attention a little too well..."

he hates if you ever even try to interact with rin. he is one jealous little shit. if he's in a good mood [which is hard to tell with him], you have like a higher chance of talking to rin. but most days, he's keeping you away from him.

bachira is unpredictable and he's crazy. he loves you a lot. and i mean a lot. he's extremely clingy towards things he cherishes and that probably stems from the lack of friends he had back then and he's just scared to lose you. but sometimes he really impedes on the day-to-day routine. he needs reassurance when you're gone. he texts you a lot. very standard clingy person.

he feels the need to be a guard dog. he's possessive but not in the way sae would be with his jealously. no, bachira is possessive but he's confident that he will keep you protected from others. but also he loves to wreak havoc so he likes being loud about being clingy and protective. it can get overwhelming.

i'm gonna be real, this one is short because bachira's traits could probably be pretty amplified in a relationship and honestly, i would go as far as to think that most of his traits would just be either better or worse in a relationship.

overbearing. that should be enough to explain it.

he's got a weird complex with him. at least that is what i think. he really stuck with nagi a lot, and i think he would do the same in a romantic relationship. he's gotten too used to coddling nagi and he does the same to you. he spoils you. and it's great at first, but it can be a lot at once. and honestly i think he feels the need to compensate for something. what is the thing he's compensating for? i don't know, but he gives me those "compensating for something with money" vibes.

i think it's safe to say that all the boys have a pride to uphold and reo is no different. he hates being inactive. he wants to help you all the time. and i mean all the time. he wants to be useful but he goes at it terribly. he wants to be relied on.

is it crazy to say that i think reo is the worst out of the three here? probably but whatever.

[sapphire-writes]

hey! I was just passing by and wanted to know if your requests are still open? If so, I would like to request one about Aemond x yn (who is the daughter of Rhaenyra) yn is visiting Kingslanding, she is seeing Viserys and begins to receive "timely" visits from lords who want to ask the king directly for her hand since Rhaenyra has not been able to convince her to marry one. She ran away from all these suitors since she was a little girl and Aemond helped her when they were kids but the adult Aemond doesn't want to do such "childish things" so she keeps coping, eventually he gets fun by the ways she scares them away everyone, until he sees a persevering one who is still there and when he sees him talking to her, he feels jealous and scares him with Vahagar, she is happy and thinks that in a certain way, they can still be united as when they were children. After that she has no visitors (Aemond is in charge of scaring everyone away with Vhagar) and spends time with him, eventually she returns to Dragonstone and he appears one day and finds her hiding because she heard that she would receive a visit of a new suitor, he helps her hide while she talks about how she will scare off the new idiot who comes to ask for her hand, how he will make his stay in Dragonstone a hell and Aemond is just there, watching her with a smirk while hears her bc he's the idiot who came to Dragonstone to ask for her hand. sorry if this is too long or specific, but i was thinking in this idea so long and i don't found one with this dynamic i just want a Aemond with a soft spot with a sunshine and witty reader that is his opposite. Thanks! x

Catch Me If You Can ~ Aemond x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

note: I absolutely loved this idea! all my lovely requests are always so creative, I'm enjoying writing these so much! Also haven't been tagging people on requests - is that something people still want me to tag them on? just let me know, happy to do so! word count: 2.3k masterlist warnings: mentions/descriptions of fainting 💚requests are open💚

The first lord who tried to kiss you returned to his father with a blackened eye. Your grandsire, King Viserys had laughed, a sound deep within his chest at your angered expression and reddened knuckles. 

“The blood of the dragon burns fiercely in your child, Rhaenyra,” he told his daughter while placing a loving hand atop your head. Rhaenyra had smiled weakly at her father, knowing the trouble you were likely to give her was a lot like what she gave her father. 

Though you were a small child, lords flocked to your mother desperate to arrange a betrothal for your hand. As the only daughter of Princess Rhaenyra, it was quite the competition for your hand. Your mother looked for your counsel, wanting to share with you the same autonomy her father had allowed her. 

“I do not wish to marry,” you told her, a fierceness in your small voice. You sat atop your father’s lap, as the maester applied a salve to your reddened knuckles. Ser Harwin stood close behind you, inspecting the damage done. 

“Sweetling, you need not be wed for quite some time,” she assured, “but a betrothal-”

“Ever.”

Rhaenyra’s brows lifted and she looked towards your father and Ser Harwin. Laenor shrugged, while Ser Harwin chuckled, a soft expression on his face as he gazed upon you. 

“She shall grow out of it,” Laenor insisted to Rhaenyra later that night, “look at us, we said very similar things and are married.”

But Rhaenrya knew her daughter well. 

As more lords approached Rhaenyra, more attempted to court you. Lords laughed at Jacaerys and Luke, saying they were unafraid of the young princes, lest they attempt to scare them off from marrying their sister. 

“It is Y/N you need be fearful of,” Jace and Luke would say, causing faces to drain of color. 

You were a clever child, evading suitors in the gardens, hiding within the walls of the sept. There was even a time you told a lord of the Reach to meet you down near the black cells. The boy left screaming, causing you to snicker. 

Your uncle Aemond would help you with your antics as well. You often pretended to have fainting spells, as many maidens did in hopes of wooing a suitor. You did so far less gracefully. When your mother forced you on a stroll with a lord from Riverrun, you crumpled to the ground as soon as he began talking of his adventures fishing. 

Aemond was quick to your side. 

“I must apologize for my niece,” he said, scooping his arms underneath you, as though to drag you from the scene. 

“Is she quite well?” the lord asked, a look of concern on his face. 

“Yes quite, she shall be alright,” Aemomd insisted, as you let your legs hang heavy as though weighted with lead, your head hanging over your shoulder. You fluttered your lashes holding a hand to your forehead. Aemond suppressed a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Oh uncle, I had the most terrible dream,” you said as he dragged you away, “ a rather large fish was trying to swallow me whole!” Aemond burst out a sharp laugh before composing himself.

After the events of Driftmark, your mother does not bring up the matter of a betrothal for many years. Rhaenyra requested the help of her father to set you up with a match and sends you to the Red Keep as you reach maidenhood. This is unknown to you, as your mother has you believing you are going to the capital to spend time with your grandsire.

You fill your days with visiting your grandsire, whose health is steadily declining. You sit in his chambers and read to him often, though you are unsure if he can hear you. Soon after you begin this, Queen Alicent begins depositing lords to sit by Viserys bedside, keeping you company. You spot the trick right away, furious. 

You have just stormed out of your grandsire’s chambers when you run into your uncle. Aemond looks down at you, a smile playing on his lips as you crash into his sturdy chest. He has grown to be a fearless warrior, the years of training have hardened him. He towers above you, looking like a knight from a song with his long silver hair, and eyepatch that covers the memory of years ago.

“You must help me,” you tell him, and Aemond raises a brow. 

“With what, niece?” he questions, taking in your blushing cheeks and annoyed expression. 

“There is a plot to marry me off,” you tell him, glancing behind him and seeing the lord walking down the hall attempting to catch up with you. 

“Quickly, I shall faint,” you whisper to Aemond, who holds you upright as you begin to lean into his lithe frame. 

“Stop that foolishness,” he insists, wrapping his fingers around your forearms, “you are not a child anymore.” 

You frown at him, tearing your arms from his grasp, cheeks burning at his insulting tone. 

“Princess Y/N!” the lord says, standing next to you, “I had thought I lost you-”

You cut him off with a sharp stomp on his foot. The lord yelps in pain, hopping on one foot as you speed away from him. Aemond raises his eyebrows in surprise, watching as you dash away. 

Though Aemond refuses to take part in your antics, he does find humor in them. You enlist Helaena to help, having her cover you in fuzzy caterpillars one morning during a walk in the gardens. The lord you are with turns green as you place a caterpillar on his nose. 

It is all in good fun, and Aemond enjoys watching how you laugh and laugh when one by one the suitors disappear. He doesn’t believe any of them are worthy of you anyway. 

That is until a lord of the Westerlands comes to win your hand. He is a dashing fellow, with a sly smile and golden locks who sets his sights on you as though a lion cornering its prey. The lord takes your antics in stride, the first is you knocking a goblet of wine on his white shirt during supper. 

“I do apologize, my lord,” you told him, “I am a terrible klutz you see, hardly a lady who can be expected to run an estate.”

“Nonsense, it is no bother,” the lord says, “besides, you are a princess, you behave how you like.”

This shocks you, and to Aemond’s displeasure, the lion lord keeps up with you. Even when stepping on his toes while dancing, even when arriving late for dinner. The lord simply smiles and continues to dote on you. 

You grow frustrated and worry that Queen Alicent will send word to Rhaenyra that this is a good match. You try to concoct a plan one day and take him to visit your dragon at the dragonpit in hopes she shall scare him off. The lion lord is not easily frightened and instead calls your young dragon sweet. You frown in displeasure. 

As you exit the dragon pit, a shadow covers the entirety of the clear blue sky. Your lion lord looks up, stricken with a fearful expression. You follow his gaze, a wicked smile appearing on your face. 

Vhagar is a monstrous beauty. She is far too large for the dragonpit, and she lands instead behind it. You look at the lord’s face and take his hand.

“Come now, let us greet my uncle,” you say happily, dragging him behind you. 

As you reach Vhagar you watch as Aemond descends. 

“Niece,” he says, “my lord.” 

Aemond had watched you on your way to the dragonpit, an uneasy feeling of jealousy in his stomach. He had observed your attempts at ridding yourself of the lion lord, and how desperate you had become. Aemond had seen your dragon; your dragon would not scare a small dog, let alone a man. Aemond told himself he had no choice but to come from your aid. 

“Uncle!” you say, smiling so wide Aemond feels his heart nearly stop beating, “would you care to introduce Vhagar to my lord?” you say, gesturing to the man beside you. His knees have begun to buckle, his face is pale as he looks at Vhagar. 

Aemond’s smile is feline and Vhagar roars loudly, shaking the ground beneath your feet. You laugh as she does, a sharp joyful sound. 

“Come my lord,” Aemond says, beckoning the man forward, “though I must warn you, Vhagar is very temperamental. The last time she met someone she did not like, it ended rather unfortunately for them.”

The lord’s eyes nearly pop from his skull. He shakes his head and Aemond scoffs. 

“My lord,” he says, in a disapproving tone, “you wish to marry a dragon, and yet you cannot face one?” 

Your grin is wicked as you watch the lord’s mouth open and close, a squeak leaving him. Aemond chuckles darkly.

“You are more of a house cat than a lion, my lord,” he sneers, “run along now.”

The lord leaves hurriedly with the permission of the prince, racing back towards the streets of King’s Landing. You laugh and laugh, much to Aemond’s pleasure. The sounds send warmth throughout his body. You look towards your uncle, a strong feeling of unity in your heart. 

After that, you do not have any other visitors as you spend most of your days on dragonback with Aemond. Those who try to gain your affection must face a trial to deem them worthy of you. This mainly includes Aemond introducing them to Vhagar. Not one lord lasts long when staring down the beast that lived beside the Conqueror. 

Eventually, Queen Alicent writes to Rhaenyra that the efforts are fruitless and you are summoned back home. You depart King’s Landing, promising Aemond you shall write to him, as you have greatly enjoyed his company during your stay. The last month has rekindled a fire within your heart for the one-eyed prince. Aemond hates watching you leave, your presence in the Red Keep was a warmth that is not easily replaced. 

Weeks go by, and there is no news of any suitors coming to visit you at Dragonstone. You spend your days flying and attempting to learn High Valyrian, something that has not come easily for you. 

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra calls, “come here my love, we are to have a visitor.”

You freeze with fear as you hear your mother’s voice from the great hall. Slowly, you back down the hallway urgently trying to find a place to hide. Rhaenyra knows Dragonstone like the back of her hand, better than you do. You curse at the thought of her finding you and presenting you to another dreary lord. 

As you pitter-patter down the hall away from your mother’s calls, your back hits something sturdy and warm. You turn and to your surprise, come face to face with Aemond. 

“Aemond!” you say in a hushed whisper, relief flooding through you. You smile at him, throwing your arms around him. He hugs you close, burying his face in your hair. Reluctantly you pull away. 

“Thank the gods you are here,” you tell him, taking his hand in yours, “you must help me.”

You pull him towards a nearby veranda, as a smile plays on his lips. 

“With what, dear niece?” he asks, eye flickering all over your face. He has missed the sight of you this past month. 

“A suitor, how mother keeps finding these fools is beyond me,” you whisper, gazing over the edge of the veranda, “perhaps this time I have a spell, I shall fall over here.” You motion to the edge of the balcony. Aemond looks at you, an amused look on his face.

“You mean to throw yourself to your death?” he asks and you shake your head. 

“You shall catch me,” you tell him, smiling eagerly, “ride below on Vhagar and you shall be my savior.” Your eyes are aglow with glee at the thought. 

“Ingenious, I know,” you tell him, “the fool shall wet himself with fear. Surely that shall be enough, lest I am sure you and I can make his stay here dreadful.”

Aemond cannot keep the smile from his face as he watches your face light up with mischief. 

“Y/N, I cannot,” he says, though reluctant to deny you. Your smile falters, brows knitting together in confusion. Aemond has always proved to be your partner in crime in the end, and his denial of your wishes sends a stabbing pain in your heart. 

You believed you would never feel ready for marriage, wanting nothing more than to fly on dragonback for the rest of your days exploring the pleasures of the known world. But after your stay in King’s Landing, you decided marriage may not be so bad if your husband enjoyed similar pleasures. 

“Please uncle, just once more,” you beg, clasping your hands in his. Surely he wouldn’t let you slip away from him, not when he had so willingly scared away previous suitors. 

“I cannot,” he repeats, and you feel like screaming. 

“I do not understand,” you tell him pouting, “you have helped so much before-”

“I cannot help because it is I who has come for your hand.”

You blink, looking up at him, your lips parted in surprise. You look down at your hands that are still intertwined with his. 

“I am the fool,” Aemond tells you, an amused smirk on his handsome face. 

He lifts your hands towards his mouth, placing a kiss atop your knuckles, violet eye never leaving yours. Aemond watches you closely, sizing up your reaction to his reveal. You do not speak for several moments, as a blush forms on your cheeks. 

“I feel quite faint,” you whisper, and Aemond chuckles. 

“Do you jest?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

You shake your head, a dreamy expression on your face as you smile.

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” you say and Aemond drops your hands, snaking his arms around your waist to press you against him. 

“Do not fret,” he murmurs, placing a kiss atop your head. You can feel him smile into your hair. 

“I shall catch you.”

[grace-mint]

A Fate Worse Than Death- Part 2

TW: Angst, mentions of torture and SA. Let me know if I miss anything.

Y'all I am so ready for this happy ending. (Spoilers: it will have a happy ending bc I can't read angst without happy endings). Also sorry it's a bit short, but I couldn't keep going without it getting way too long.

Rhysand hadn’t slept in three days. He could hardly eat or drink anything. He couldn’t get himself to care for himself, his main priority being the female lying in front of him. As much as his family tried, they couldn’t get him to eat. Only when Amren walked in and called him a ‘pathetic bastard,’ and stubbornly refused to leave until he ate, did he indulge her.

He sat in a chair in the corner of his and y/n’s shared room, far enough away from the bed, but close enough to keep an extremely close eye on her. He had smelled another male on her, dread sitting in his lower chest at the idea of what that may mean. Azriel had quickly captured her father, brothers, and the male he smelled after they found her, unconscious, and had them in his cells at the Court of Nightmares. He couldn’t get the image of Y/N out of his head. Her body was covered in blood, her arms and legs bruised and scabbed up, and her back. Cauldron her back. It was completely wrecked. Her wings were gone. It broke him to know that she lost an extension of herself. As anxious as he was for her to wake, he was grateful for the time it gave Madja to attempt to heal it. She told him it would scar, severely. The trauma her back endured from whips and knives. The trauma of her wings being cut out, in lieu of the faebane that was running through her system, was enough for her back to heal quite slowly. Madja had said it would take several weeks, if not months potentially, to fully heal. Her mind, Madja told him, was another topic entirely. Rhysand had known this, he would never expect her to bounce back from something like this. He cursed himself. Since she left for that mission he had cursed himself. 

She was fine for a day or two, keeping him updated through their bond. The third day rolled around, and instead of getting his usual ‘Good morning, my love,’ greeting he was used to, he was only greeted by silence. He didn’t think too terribly much of it, assuming she was busy, but when evening had passed and still no word from her, he began to really worry. A pit of unease sat in his stomach all night. He had tossed and turned, debating whether he should leave for the camp to make sure she was okay. He had talked himself out of it, telling himself he was being overprotective, and that she could take care of herself. And she could, she was a fighter, the strongest person he’d ever met. 

He told himself this again and again as he sat there in agony, watching his mate, who lay still on the bed. A knock at the door broke him from his trance. He looked up to see Azriel walking in. Az took a long look at the bed, a shadow covering his face, before he looked at his High Lord. Rhysand knew he must look like a wreck. Rightfully so. His mate had just gone through hell. No. She had gone through something worse than that, and here he was sitting, perfectly healthy, when he did nothing to protect her. 

“You need to get some sleep,” Azriel said softly. He was a man of few words, only knowing when the situation warranted it or he felt comfortable enough. “She wouldn’t want you to sit here, torturing yourself over this.” 

As much as he didn't want to think it, he knew Azriel was right. How could he help her recover from this… What could he even call it? Situation? Ailment? No, this was something much worse. This was the equivalent of a lost life. It was an Illyrian’s worst fear; their wings are sacred to them, and the lowest form of insult bestowed upon their race is defilement of their wings. Only a true monster could do something like this. Anger flared in his chest again, the thousandth time in these past few days, at the thought of her father. Even his father, cold as he might have been, would never even have the thought of using one’s wings against an Illyrian. He wanted to kill her father so bad. Better yet, he wanted to rip him apart, limb by limb. And here was Azriel, having the audacity to tell him to rest?

“Shut up, Az.” Rhysand snapped. “She’s just lost everything precious to her, and you are telling me to relax??” 

Azriel didn’t even flinch at the tone of his voice, instead he walked over and placed a hand on Rhysand’s shoulder. “She didn’t lose everything precious to her. She still has you. Take a bath at least brother. You deserve it.”

Rhysand sat for a few hours after Az left, his mind running a thousand miles a minute. Finally, with a sigh, he got up and grabbed some spare clothes, walking into the washroom. The bath, as usual, was already filled with steaming water. He looked at himself in the mirror. He did look rough. His face was pale and gaunt, deep bags underneath my eyes, and in the eyes Rhysand looked broken. Taking off his shirt, summoning his wings, he stretched them out to their full length. Rhysand stayed there for several minutes, imagining how life would be without them. He couldn’t. His soul revolted at the idea of losing them, and he quickly let them disappear, the ache in his chest growing. He knew Y/N was going to suffer greatly, she already had. Running a hand down his face, he undressed and slipped into the tub. The warm water felt wonderful, but he didn’t allow himself to enjoy it. Rhysand cursed himself, he was wallowing in self-pity. He was the most powerful High Lord in existence, blessed with the most beautiful, most intelligent, and the most perfect mate to ever live, and yet he was still too weak. 

Rhysand scolded himself once again, how could he be so pitiful when his mate is laying on their bed, still not awake. He got up from the bath, quickly toweled himself off, and got dressed. He walked back into the bedroom, hoping you might be awake, only to have that squashed by seeing you still sleeping. 

He sat back down in the chair he’d been living in. He would stay by your side until you woke up. 

----Y/N POV----

Hands were touching me, everywhere. They were running through my hair, down my front, my rear. I was screaming, or at least I was trying to. No sound was getting out. Panic wracked my chest, I was going to die. I was going to die right now. The hands kept exploring, and they reached my wings. Pulling on my wings. Pain sparked in my back where my wings were attached by powerful tendons and membrane. I yanked away, trying to escape. Not my wings, I screamed, the words still not escaping my throat. I shot upright, the screams finally tearing from my throat. I quickly tucked my wings around me, seeking their comfort. The dream was terrifying and all I wanted to do was to turn over to my mate and tuck myself in his powerful arms. But as I went to tuck in my wings, terror struck my whole being. I couldn’t feel my wings. I looked over my shoulder and saw nothing. Another blood curdling scream left my throat. I threw myself out of bed, attempting to run to the bathroom, but I couldn’t make it. I fell, my body off balanced without the comforting and natural weight of my wings. 

“MY WINGS. MY WINGS ARE GONE.” I sat on the floor, sobs wracking my body, the pain in my back that I started to feel was agonizing. I was dying. That was the only possible answer. 

“Shhhh, my love. It’s okay I’m right here.” I felt a hand on my cheek. I flinched away, throwing myself as far as possible from the touch. 

“Go away! Leave me alone! Don’t take anything more from me!” Sobs broke through each of my words, the syllabus coming out choked and teary. 

Y/N, darling, it’s me, it's Rhys. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll stay on the other side of the room, but you must calm down. A voice struck through my jumbled thoughts. Rhysand. That was my mate. Yes, I’m your mate. Rhysand. You are in Velaris, in the townhouse. We are in our bedroom. 

I look up, seeing my mate in a chair across the room, like he said. His eyes were frantic and wild. He looked pale and distressed. “Rhysand?” 

“Yes, my heart. I’m right here.” He slowly stood up, walking over to me. “Can I help you up?” 

I nod, not finding the energy to answer. He slowly and carefully, with attention to avoid the searing pain in my back, picked me up. I don’t know how he knew where it was so painful, but I was eternally thankful as he set me back on the bed.

“Rhys, my wings are gone.” My voice cracked with my words. “Someone took my wings.”

“I know, I know. I’m going to make them pay severely. Your father will die the slowest and most painful death. I swear it to you.”

At his words, the memories came rushing back. My father, my brothers, the male who used me. My head snapped up to my mate. “You need to leave.” His face fell, “Leave? No, I don't want to leave you. You’ve been passed out for nearly 3 weeks. I can’t leave.”

“Get out. Go, I don’t want to see you,” as I said the words, my heart roared in protest. I wanted him to stay, but he couldn’t. He can’t see me like this, weak and a failure. 

“Y/N, please.” He begged.

“I won’t ask again, leave.” I spat the last word out. I saw him flinch, and I wanted to leap up and beg for forgiveness, but what would he think if I told him what I let them do to me. 

Rhysand, begrudgingly left, reluctance to leave evident on his face. I felt awful for kicking him out, but I needed to be alone, for his sake and mine. 

I slowly stood up, wobbling, and tried to walk to the bathroom. I almost lost my balance, before deciding to just say screw it and lowered myself to the floor. I crawled to the bathroom, placing my hands on the counter, heaving myself up. The sight in the mirror shocked me to my core. My face was extremely sunken in, my body frail and bony, and my wings. The absence of my wings was devastating. It felt utterly wrong. I was wrong. 

I stared at myself in the mirror for a very long time; I hated every second of it, but I couldn’t bear to take my eyes away. A knock on the doorframe forced me to wrench my eyes away. There stood Cassian. His eyes full of sorrow and anger. 

“I heard you were awake and wanted to come check on you.” His voice was soft, as if talking to a frightened child. I just stared at him in silence, before turning my gaze back to the mirror. What was the point of life anymore? I was robbed of any dignity I had left. From now on my life be pitiful looks and watchful eyes from those who knew me. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” I say, without turning to look at him. “Stop it. Stop treating at me like I’m an object about to break.” 

“It’s okay to break, Y/N. None of us will blame you. Whatever you need or want, we will be by your side. If you want to wallow, we will be there. You want to yell and scream? We’re there to take the brunt of it. If you want to burn the world down? We will be there to light the matches.” His words went in one ear and out the other. 

I looked at him once again, with no emotion in my eyes. I saw his wings poking out from behind his back and jealousy reared its ugly head in my chest. “Leave. You think you can just come in here and flaunt your wings around and act all high and mighty. You are nothing more than a bastard who crawls at his High Lord’s feet.” 

There wasn’t a single part of my soul that believed the words I spit at him. In fact, I hated myself for saying them, but I wanted him to feel just a fraction of the eternal soul crushing pain I was feeling at the moment. Cassian’s expression didn’t waver at all though, instead he just tilted his head to look at me. 

“Is that the best you can do? That all you got?” He was goading me on, and I knew it. But this conversation had exhausted me enough. “Goodbye Casssian, “ I said in dismissal. I didn't bother to see if he left, I simply turned my head back to look at the mirror, to look at the ugliest creature in the world. Me. 

----Rhysand POV----

Cassian walked back into the kitchen, his face grim. “She called me a bastard, said I crawled at your feet.”

“She doesn’t mean it,“ Rhysand said, somewhat softly. He knew Cassian didn’t believe 

her, but he wanted to remind him.

“I know. Just hurts to see her like this.” Cassian and Y/N have always had a wonderful

relationship. He was able to be the older brother she never got to have. 

Rhysand poured another shot of whiskey, handing it to his brother. “She kicked me out. You should have seen her when she woke up. She was terrified. She was terrified of me.” His voice was broken. Pain seeping into his words.

“She just needs time.” He knew Cassian was right, but the ache in his chest was overwhelming at this point. Not to mention that the bond had gone numb on his mate’s side. He knew it would be bad, and he was expecting this, but he just didn’t know how to help her.  “She was looking at herself in the mirror when I was up there.”

Rhysand looked over at his brother, “Can I see?” Cassian nodded his approval as Rhysand entered his mind, finding the interaction between Cassian and Y/N. The lack of emotion in her eyes and face was the most heartbreaking thing he had ever seen. She was so gaunt and thin. She was a shell of herself. And Rhysand would stop at nothing to help her find her way home to him and his family.

[ot3]

🔥 Mia and Maya Fey? Also i really enjoyed your op liveblogs bc all the things you complained about were things I also noticed but noone else seemed to be talking about. I thought i was going insane.

i think people go way too easy on mia for how she treated maya! its definitely Correct that mia had no obligation to be a surrogate mother for maya and had the right to get out of her extremely sticky family situation, but the thing is it's Not like mia got out of her family situation, she was in it the whole time. she spent her life trying and failing to track down the mother that abandoned her, and even after her death she is Still working to perpetuate her family's bullshit.

the fact that during 2-2 she's covering for morgan to the point where you have to break her psyche locks about it is CRAAAZYY!! girl! what's up with you!

aa1 also kind of gives the sense that most of the time when mia is hitting maya up its because she needs her to be a mule for evidence and maya feels really lonely living by herself. here's a snippet of maya and mia's phone convo at the beginning of turnabout sisters:

???: Mia! What's up? You haven't called in a while. Mia: Sorry, I've been so busy. How you been? ???: Well, LONELY. And it's all YOUR fault. Nah, I'm just teasing. I've been great! I'm finally getting used to having my own place. Mia: That's good to hear. Actually, I'm calling because I have a favor to ask. ???: I know, I know. You want me to hold evidence for you?

two thins are going on here that don't really track with what we know about kurain village: 1. maya is talking on her cell phone, but there's no cell reception in kurain. 2. maya talks about having her own place, but presumably in kurain would be living in fey manor alongside morgan and pearl. logically this is pretty much guaranteed to be because they didn't fully know what they were going to do with the fey family stuff so it's a retcon, but that said my personal headcanon is that mia was paying for maya to have an apartment somewhere between the village and the city.

this way maya could be a bit away from the family shit and get some level of formal schooling, and she could be closer to mia and easier to contact. i think maya only went back to living full time in kurain after turnabout goodbyes when she decided to fully focus on medium training, which we know she hadn't really been doing up to that point.

which i think was in many ways the best mia felt she could do in terms of taking care of maya and keeping her safe but it didn't provide maya with any kind of emotional support that she definitely needed. the "i'm LONELY and it's YOUR FAULT haha jk" is pretty transparent.

[rou-luxe]

please elaborate on the grandpa clavis bc I don't know much about Alfons, so idk what to think about that 😭

hEHehEhhAaAaHAHA LET'S GO I HAVE PERMISSION TO GET THE IDEA OUT OF MY HEAD (cracks knuckles) I love them both

analysis under the cut spoilers for Clavis, light spoilers for Alfons

I kinda quit Alfons route early to go to the English server release because my brain is too lazy to translate everything 😭 so this is just from what I know about him. this is doomed to be inaccurate 💀

warning this gets off topic in some places because my analysis ideas carried me a bit too far because I love them

The central point is that they both use pleasurable experiences to ignore reality. Alfons focuses a LOT on the pleasure part of that, as seen from erm his lack of sleep and mentions it plenty in voicelines. Alfons also applies this philosophy to people other than himself. Alfons sometimes protects MC from uncomfortable realities, like the scene where he and Ellis kill someone, and uses his power to convince MC that it was just a play (Kate LOVES plays).

As seen from his profile, Alfons heavily resents pain of any sort. I already forgot when exactly (chapter 4 premium avatar challenge?), but at some point, MC is crying and he consoles them before you know- this is just an assumption, but I think he doesn't want any sort of emotional turmoil in those close to his heart. He keeps reassuring Elbert that he is much more beautiful than MC without hesitation. Not only is he making sure MC is safe and doesn't get in a horror-esque story (nervously looks at Elbert trailer), he's also making sure that Elbert doesn't get jealous to the point of performing taxidermy on a person... because the events leading up to that would hurt them both. This makes Alfons feel so kind and considerate ngl 😭

Clavis wants to be loved by all. The game sometimes describes him as "lonely" - this is likely because he was overshadowed by Chev as a kid, and because he felt so shaken by his mother's death that he needed attention from others to feel more complete. It also connects to his pranks. He wants to feel something, anything to pretend he's not dying inside. Whether the attention he gets is positive or negative, at least he feels something.

It's mentioned quite a lot in his path that the more pained / scared Clavis is feeling, the more he smiles. It's sort of his coping mechanism. By smiling, he can pretend everything is alright (HIS MOM 😭😭 I'M GONNA FUHGKING CRY SHE MUST'VE BEEN SO SWEET AND BEAUTIFUL AND Cybird I want to see his mom).

He also does somewhat force MC to be around him, but it's not in a Silvio way, it comes off more clingy to me. He's been left alone, abandoned so many times, that he can't bare the pain of loneliness anymore. And thus we get dragged to his breakfast parties. Another coping mechanism. Clavis gets to spend time with MC every morning, gets to cook for her (...it's the thought that counts) and terrorize a couple of his half-brothers... just to forget it all. Clavis even escapes from his prison cell just to see you, the light of his life. (I love him)

"Sylvatica" comes from the scientific name for "forget-me-not". This one is completely an assumption that seems rather unlikely, but perhaps like Clavis, Alfons wants to be remembered somehow.

I can't remember if this was legit or not because I've been scrolling through Tumblr too much but I remember seeing a post that went something like: "Alfons has MC sign (something) papers because after he dies, his curse will make him forgotten and he just wants something to prove that he loved MC" or something. (That post broke my heart so bad.) Is that why he's called a "phantom"?

In summary:

They both have their own ways of ignoring reality, and they are both up to trickery (especially when it comes to MC). Both endulge in enjoyment, it's part of their lifestyle. doesn't necessarily refer to seggs but it does sure sound like it

I'm not quite sure where Alfons' ignorance originates, but all Clavis wants is to be loved. Give him the love.

Okay onto the shorter sillier theories because my heart can't take this

Clavis' epithet is "The Pleasure-Loving Beast", and Alfons' is "The Hedonistic Thrill-Seeker".

Clavis likes tricks and teasing, and so does Alfons. Though Clavis does that MUCH more often.

They also act like they're fucking around but they actually know what they're doing.

They pretend to be worse than they are 😭 (omg shakespeare too... is that my type... 💀)

Others have made this remark before but Alfons feels like a darker Clavis + more unhinged

They both like to cook. And eat. And they both have stomachs of steel.

sword

They both have bad handwriting. Clavis is notorious for this, and Alfons says he has bad handwriting in the first letter of his path.

Fuck I forgot I had science homework due tomorrow

edit: I forgot another one they both are self-described "gentlemen" 😭😭

[egg-witch]

As usual I am thinking too hard about the biology of fictional characters so. Thoughts I am compelled to share about Boothill below

Canonically he has synthetic, blue blood. This would cause his skin tone to seem quite strange and greyish. Extra so if he's as pale as he is in-game but this would still be apparent with most darker skin tones as well. Man's gonna be looking a bit like a zombie

The intent here is debatable but I also choose to interpret that same line to mean that he does *not* have a synthetic heart - the original's still in there, just running on new juice

Related to this and also the fact he can seemingly have a bullet explode in his mouth without serious repercussions I am going to assume that his skull and whatever else would be left of his skeleton have been enhanced or replaced (having human bone marrow in there making new blood cells would likely mess with things if they replaced that whole system)

This is very funny to me because it seemingly means instead of just putting his brain inside a whole synthetic body the doctor went to the trouble to keep his original face, despite replacing/augmenting his teeth, eyes, tongue and, one can extrapolate, his entire damn skull. He was ready to give up everything except his pretty complexion I guess...

(Unless his face *is* synthetic and intellitrons just have no desire for a realistic human face with the capacity to emote? The rest of boothill's body seems flexible in a way that would suggest a good synthetic equivalent to human skin, so... it's plausible)

Speaking of, I really do not subscribe to the idea that he can't feel anything from the neck down. Do you know how hard it'd be to do anything as a human with a meat brain (or even as a robot for that matter) without any haptic feedback? If they have the technology to make him a whole new body that has equal or better mobility and general function than the old one then they can make it feel things, I promise. Probably not in all the same ways human flesh can feel things, especially if a lot of it is rigid plating, but it'd still be conductive to heat and electricity at least

I know the reason his model is that way is bc it's just a different texture on the same default character model, hence it bending and stretching like a soft body - building, rigging and animating a humanoid body that truly moves like a rigid machine would be an absurd amount of work and also limit the visual design, his canon design straight up would not be able to move or work if all those parts really were rigid no matter how you approached it lol. but it is very hot and looks cool which is what really matters. so I've settled on most of the "plating" being tough but still somewhat flexible, not actually metal but an advanced synthetic material of some sort. and then material more like an artificial skin between joints and in the parts that need extra stretch and flexibility. he's harder (and heavier) than a human but he's not a tin can

Based on screwllum's dialogue that he can and does eat regular food (but the phrasing implies that he could also eat other stuff? And there's that exchange from one of the light cones where ruan mei makes a joke about him having to drink machine oil) and the implication that the doctor who gave boothill his new body was an intellitron, I think boothill must have something similar - he can still eat normal food but also process other things. Idk if the fuel hatch on his back is a redundancy then or what. Could just be that nobody anticipated he'd think gasoline tastes good lmao

(side note while it's kinda implied in game that his weird tastes are a result of an augmented mouth and tongue I like to think he was always like that. He was eating rocks out of the garden as a kid and licking rusty old coins and stuff u can't convince me otherwise)

(also this is getting off track but this guy clearly has some kinda fixation on like. machinery. I think even though he did it for unrelated reasons he thinks his cyborg body is very hot and probably also has a little bit of a thing for intellitrons ngl. which is interesting given his history and the associations one would first assume he'd have with that kind of technology and aesthetic, but. can't fault a guy for knowing what he's into)

Whoops this got super long

Stay tuned for the sequel, "KC analyses boothill's personality way too seriously"

[overtaken-stream]

You could write more about King Wildfire, there's so little of him and I'm obsessed with him too.anything about him

Do Not F4lter

King The Wildfire x Strawhat!Reader

The actions take place when Luffy is still on the whole cake island. Reader is Genderneutral so if I slipped somewhere please notify me. I didn't want this to turn out like how it did but Idk it kinda grew on me. Also, THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC and I don't think it is platonic either, King and Reader respect each other as pirates. But Reader has disdain for everyone bc obviously... Fun fact, I wanted this to be a part 1 of another fic I'm making of Lunarian!Reader but it's completely different from the other (the other is rotting inside my drafts at the moment so, I'll see what I can do to save it. + I'll probably only release that on AO3 since I just dump ideas too small for AO3 on here)

Warning: Gender neutral Reader, past torture, current torture is discribed(suffocation and burn at the end), blood, jail, murder is mentioned. King talks a bit too much for my liking, but I don't think it is out of character.

The desolate chambers, parched and dull of any care lay quietly in Wano, the days went by with little to no warmth ever touching you, the smell of iron and the taste of blood bring what little comfort it could, the heavy shackles retained your hands together as you settled against the freezing, rocky wall in the darkness, panting to try and get your energy back, to no luck, your legs had no energy to hold your body weight up, let alone break through the seastone bars of this place.

As much as you tried to get yourself together to try and attain what little information the prisoners had collected over the months of being kept in this place, it was hard hearing anything past the waves of headaches that deafened your ears, even if you could, only the whimpers and groans of battered prisoners would meet you.

The tight shackles held onto you as you sat in the darkness of the cell, head tossed back against the cool wall as small talk chimed around the jail, the unknown voices of pirates who dared to cross Kaidou's territory were taken into interrogation for who knows how many times, some decided to switch sides while others did not spoke a word about their schemes, hence they've met their end.

You keep to yourself. You don't need anyone here. Not these scumbags anyway.

The murmurs of captured were silenced as the heavy door creaked, soon the footsteps sounded around the frosty enclosure, followed by a creaking sound of leather rubbing against latex. Sharp, hard, nonresonant sounds, produced by two pieces of metal striking, echo within their every step.

They walk with slow and confident strides, and from the sound of it, they have a mass greater than an average human. You expect them to take somebody away for questioning, testing, or torturing, depending on their mood and assignment.

But never would you have imagined the heat that claws its way underneath your skin. The unexpected warmth steals a gasp from your mistreated lips causing you to grimace at the pain the action bought. The torches and lanterns never emitted this much heat whenever your captors came into. They were a source of light and you cannot seem to figure out how they keep their body temperature in this type of environment while wearing an outfit rivaling Emporio Ivankov. Seriously how do they do it?!

With the warmth that this person brings came a vibrant light and for the first time in seven days you've been here, you have a clear view past the bars you've been taken in, though it is not much different from yours. The temperature keeps growing to the point its warmness swallows your whole body in comfort. The yellow hue just around the corner is followed by separated fire sparks and the cracking noises they disgorge, joined by metal clanks and leather creaks.

It is not until the silhouette stands on the other side of the bars that you realize The Monster–or should you say– The Beast that stood a couple of meters away from you, their long limbs and broad shoulders made to accommodate the sheer size of their dark and heavy wings make him that much more overawing. they're covered from head to toe with blue leather, the thought of wearing that much skin makes you uneasy, and the spikes cover the main intimidation factor. The mask.

With a brief look one would give to an insect, irrelevant critter, he stares. One would say they were belittling you if you had not known who exactly he was.

The All-Star. The fire itself. The Conflagration.

You cannot help but smile through your beaten expression, a cunning smile overtakes your features as if you've won a game you didn't know you were playing. It feeds your ego. Kaidou's right-hand man himself came to interrogate you because the mediocre ogres couldn't get a word out of you.

His burning eyes stare at you in a way that tells you of your lukewarm retort to his presence. You couldn't agree more that it was a dumb reaction, but as a cackle escapes into the air, devoid of any noises excluding the flames on his back, you cannot help yourself.

(It sounds so much like the pained and shrilled laughter of a man in a blue and white mask, a silent Kid Pirate if you remember correctly.

He should have known better than to make an offer with a corrupted man like the Shogun. Deals and offers are double adged swords in the world of piracy. He of all people, should have known.)

Your cackle turns into coughing and desperate gasps of air, awaiting your heart to settles down, you spoke.

``I... I feel honored, having an All-Star involved in-``

King interrupts you with a key, opening the door and dragging your exhausted and squalid body harshly into the interrogation cabinet. Can't have others listening into your screams of agony.

his voice, so monotonous keeps a gruff edge as he speaks.

``I won't repeat it again Straw hat (Y/N), what are you trying to pull off here in Wano.`` He leans his back against the wall next to the door while you sluggishly fall to the floor, even in your haze you still vividly hear his question, not so much as a question but an order for you to state your business in this closed-off country.

Your half-lidded eyes do not move away from the ceiling, but your smile falls into a thin line. You wish you could bask in his warmth in peace.

``Where is your captain? Your crew?``

``...Not with me.`` technically you aren't lying.

``I'll ask again, where is your captain.``

``I told you and that fool of an officer the answer alre-ady!`` you raise your voice, and furrow your brows at the voice crack that formed due to dehydration. ``I'm not with them.``

That sentence could be taken in multiple ways. You wonder which he chooses to take.

Silence fills the chamber as he drills holes into your face with his eyes alone. He steps toward you, slow and calm in a way he isn't, until the bottom of his boot meets your throat.

``...Members of the Worst Generation Pirates think they have any significance in the New World. They conceive thoughts that they're stronger then they actually are and feed the lies only to satisfy their hunger to make an impact of some kind.``

You can feel the blood trying to travel in your body as he puts more and more pressure on your airways, cutting you off from the precious oxygen. You felt as if your head could explode from the pain.

Barely through your teeth you ask of why he hasn't ended you yet, like they've done with numerous pirates.

``A carrot on the stick.`` he answers with eyes of the soulless, watching the shocking realization seep into your eyes. they're planning on using you as a leverage, to get to Luffy, they would not kill you, oh no.

``It's amazing, the fact that you came to us at the most perfect time. He has been the reason of Kaidou's headaches for a while now.`` Your need for air was long forgotten, even when you saw black spots form in your vision, you couldn't get the fright out of your system. Couldn't get the thought of which meaning he chose from your previous answer to your brain.

He takes the boot off of your throat. the oxygen pushes it's way through your irritated throat and lungs as you gasp and squirm in the dim room.

``I'm here to give you an offer. To join The Beast Pirates, while acting as our pawn, or you'll meet your maker in this place. Either way, you'll end up being a tool one way or another.``

Ten seconds pass, twenty seconds pass in silence. A laugh erupts.

``Hah! It's quite a defeated way to go, I'll either gain what little freedom I can in your ranks, or I'll continue to take what I've already taken tons of times...`` A sweat rolls down your cheek, distorted to accommodate the smile overtaking your face. You worry for yourself, but you do not falter.

Dirt and grime sticks to your clothes, blood and gore covers your limbs, which pang and cramp on their own, pain lingers in your every word and movement. You're drained of any energy, your thirsty and hungered. You do not falter.

His eyes stare at your numb face, confused because why are you laughing, irritated because he knows which option you'll choose. Respect doesn't have to come naturally to him– it is something he has learned through Kaidou, it is something he rarely ever feels towards someone, even among Kaidou's own men. But now as he stares into your determined face, he shows regard for your dedication and ability.

``Give it all you've got because there is no way I'm ever joining you assholes...!`` even if you know they will still use you, there is a higher survival chance you acknowledge, pride, selflessness, selfishness, will, whatever it is that will remain untouched due to this decision, you can only hope to make it out of here before they stop fueling the fire within you. Make it out before they break you completely.

King can only accept you on equal basis and give you the same consideration you would expect for yourself. Though he rarely feels interest there is an attraction of sorts that he admits, and respects as a pirate. There's a shared dedication that he has in common with you. And he wonders.

``It would have been nice to get to know you better, but I'm afraid I don't care.``

And your blank (E/C) tells him of an identical thought.

Temperature grows and vibrant flames are fueled, your torment continues with a mutual agreement in mind.

[carnation-damnation]

I LOVE your transfem Amy art! Would you mind sharing some of those transfem ideas you were rotating in your mind?

AUGHHHHH I'D LOVE TOOO!!

ummm lets go down the line haha. Only gonna talk abt ames rouge and metal because they're the only ones I've got in my brain atm. But rest assured if I had more brain cells I'd ramble abt Blaze too bc I also hc her as trans

Ames (She/Her, trans lesbian) - I think Amy presents p stealth! I think she knew she was trans from a young age and she's been presenting femininely since she was very very little. I made a post joking abt silly gender differences in sth (no back quills, small nose, etc) and I headcanon that those traits come from Amy being half-echidna so its like. ajdjsndnd gender win. The traits you were born with also coincide with hedgehog mobian gender binary??JFJSNFNN

I don't think Amy keeps her trans identity a complete secret, she loves being trans and she's proud of how she's tested fate and made her life her own, but I also think it does play a role in how she navigates her personal/romantic relationships (comphet to trans lesbian is what I was thinking of?)

Rouge: (She/Her, transfem lesbian also) - I talked abt Rouge and gave her a silly little backstory in that one post but I'll go over it again a little here: I think Rouge grew up pretty isolated in a small village with her family. She felt very trapped in the ideas that she felt like she had to follow the footsteps in. She felt like she was a side character in her own life because she's always had to ask for permission and think of the family's sleezy gem store/pawn shop before her own wants and needs. Landing that government job somehow was her ticket to finally spreading her wings and flying freeeee baby. She knew there was somth about herself and the way she dressed, talked and looked that didn't quite fit her, and although she didn't have a word for it, she assumed a new identity while working for G.U.N. and went like. full throttle on her transition. She didn't want anybody from her old village to recognize her. She's not listening to their complaints and desires anymore. She lives for herself, now. I think she has some trust issues relating to her past experiences which makes her hold onto Shadow and Omega so closely, and something about them also being queer brings them even closer to her. Can you tell Rouge has been rotating the fastest in my head

Metal - (It/She/They, sapphic demi-girl) -Metal is a fucking egg please saVE HERRRR. LISTEN OK. I don't have any evidence I don't got shit I just know we gotta get Metal outta there because she is an uncracked egg. Is eggman actively against the prospect of Metal having a differing gender identity? No. But Eggman is opposed to Metal having Opinions so. Metal has spent so long under the control of Eggman who they DO!! love, I believe. I think Metal Sonic and Sage are the only people that love Eggman and Eggman does nottt see Metal as his child as much as Metal does. And it makes me fucking bonks, dog. She thinks she's comfortable and fine where she is because that's all she knows. But she sees Amy and she yearns for something that she doesn't have the ability to describe...An emptiness that Metal doesn't know how to fill. Someone show this robot the joys of spinning for the first time in a flowy skirt PLEASEEE I think it'd do wonders for her. Go listen to bridget from guilty gear strives theme rn

[trickstarbrave]

I remembered I have read mores on mobile again so here is the nerevoryn cnc kink fic so far bc I just found this unfinished draft from forever ago surprising me with the fact I have 2 of these

Nerevar tugged at the chains he was bound tightly in, hissing and swearing up a storm.

Of all the people he thought would betray him, he never thought it would be Voryn. Vivec? Possibly. Ayem? Absolutely. Sotha Sil? If he had to. Dumac also might, if the need arose. But Voryn Dagoth? Voryn was his most loyal councilor. The mer loved him, graciously served him, practically kissed the ground he walked in and hung on his every word.

Yet here Nerevar was, having been captured by members of House Dagoth and dragged to the dungeons of Kogoruhn, stripped of his weapons and armor.

Had he done something to offend Voryn? Or was Voryn not even behind the attack? Had the other members of his house betrayed their leader? That idea, however, seemed just as unlikely as Voryn betraying him.

He heard the familiar sound of boots approaching, until the bars of his cell were opened.

“Voryn—“ Nerevar called for him, trying to keep too much anger from staining his voice. They left Nerevar alive intentionally, going through a lot of trouble to bring him back in one piece. Maybe he had hope yet to talk his way out of this, smooth things over with Voryn. If Voryn wanted him dead after all, Nerevar would certainly be in worse shape.

Voryn Dagoth looked pleased as could be, smirking wide as he entered, closing the door behind him. “Oh my, you look better than I expected, my lord.” Nerevar grit his teeth, trying hard not to snap at him.

“Voryn, what is the meaning of this?” Nerevar asked. “If I’ve offended you in some way, I’d prefer to make amends than have you drag me to your stronghold.” At his questioning, Voryn merely laughed darkly, covering his mouth slightly.

“Offended me?” Voryn stepped closer. “Not at all, my sweet Nerevar. At least, not in the way you’re probably considering.”

“What about our friendship? Have you been lying to me this whole time?” Nerevar’s eyes were wide now, his rage bubbling. “When you promised me loyalty, had this been your plan from the beginning?”

Voryn reached out, moving a strand of hair from his face gently as though they were merely sitting down and having drinks together. Nerevar flinched away from his touch, on edge given his circumstances.

“I’ve never lied to you about our friendship, Nerevar.” Voryn’s voice had an edge to it Nerevar didn’t like, nor did he enjoy the glint in his eyes despite the smile on his face. “Nor was this always my plan. I had full intention of cooperating with you when I agreed to serve you…”

“What changed then?” Nerevar glared, baring his teeth. “If you value our friendship then release me before you anger me any further, Voryn.�� Voryn actually shuddered at the look directed at him, before laughing under his breath.

Nerevar’s jaw was suddenly grasped by Voryn’s hand roughly, his sharp nails digging into the hortator’s skin.

“What changed? Voryn asked. “What changed, Nerevar?” Voryn leaned in, eyes burning. “What changed is that I can no longer stand keeping my damn hands off you, that’s what changed.” Nerevar’s eyes went wide in confusion.

“What are you—”

“What changed is that I can’t bear going another day without knowing your body.“ Voryn shoved him back against the wall, tugging on his tunic. The fabric ripped from the force, starting to come off him.

“Voryn?!” Nerevar was almost too stunned to speak. “Voryn what in Oblivion has gotten into you—” He was cut off by Voryn’s tongue dragging itself up his ear, shuddering from the sensation. “Ah—” He bit his lip quickly, face bright red as he realized what sound he was starting to make, desperate to hide it.

“Thoughts of you, that’s what’s gotten into me.” Voryn growled in his ear. “I want to make you mine once and for all, dammit.”

“Voryn I’m—” Nerevar’s face was red as the other mer’s hands began to strip him of his ruined tunic, before roaming up and down his torso. “This is wrong! You’re my retainer and I’m the king of Resdayn—”

“Do you think you’re still king?” Voryn laughed. “Not after what I do to you, you won’t be.” Voryn’s thumb traced one of the scars under his pectoral, a reminder of the surgery he went through. “I think you’d play the role of a concubine quite nicely.” He then moved up, pinching a sensitive nipple, earning a sharp cry from the hortator.

“Voryn!” Nerevar shouted, feeling his body start to heat up against his will. “You can’t just—you can’t just do this~” Nerevar tried struggling to no avail, the taller chimer simply grabbed his legs, instead moving to trail his tongue down Nerevar’s chest. “House Indoril will—“

“What will House Indoril do?” Voryn smirked against his skin. “Demand back their debauched warlord, still filled to the brim with my seed? Place you back on the throne like you still have any dignity?” Nerevar shuddered. “I know Ayem hardly even loves you as a man,” He let go of one of Nerevar’s legs, instead trailing it up his thigh to the front of his trousers, quickly beginning to unlace them. “Will she ever look at you the same, knowing I had my way with you? Or would she simply ship you back to be my concubine regardless?”

“Voryn!” Nerevar hissed, before his pants were swiftly ripped down the seams and wrestled off him followed by his underwear. He tried kicking several times, only to be grappled by the taller chimer who was stronger than Nerevar gave him credit for. He probably downed several strength potions before this, knowing Nerevar would put up a fight.

“Mm, I’ve longed to see you here, just like this…” Voryn held his muscular thighs open now, staring him down. In shame and utter humiliation, Nerevar closed his eyes and turned his head. If he had use of his arms he’d be trying to cover himself or push Voryn off, but he didn’t. “Oh Neht~” two fingers ran up him, stroking the folds of his cunt. “You’re so wet for me already~” Nerevar’s eyes snapped open in horror.

“I-I am not—!”

“Oh, but you certainly are…” Voryn dove two fingers inside him without warning, earning him a sharp cry from the hortator. He then pulled his fingers out after a few thrusts, holding them up in front of Nerevar’s face, spreading them. Slick coated his fingers, spreading from between them as Nerevar’s cheeks flushed. “Look, you’re so wet for me, dripping all over yourself and my hand…” Voryn brought the fingers up to his own mouth, licking them slowly. Nerevar’s face turned a darker shade of red as he stared in a mix of horror and arousal, watching as Voryn’s tongue rolled around the digits to clean them thoroughly with a delighted moan. “Mm…” Voryn pulled his fingers away, making eye contact with Nerevar, Nerevar’s leg twitching in response. “I think you enjoy being treated roughly, don’t you Neht?” Nerevar gasped, before turning away and gritting his teeth.

“This is far enough, Voryn—“

“My, you still think you’re in control, don’t you?” Voryn laughed again. “Stripped naked and dripping all over my fingers and you think I’ll stop? When I finally have you right where I want you?” Voryn pulled his thighs open again. “Just shut your pretty little mouth and let me enjoy you, Nerevar. Let me make you mine once and for all.”

Voryn was then swiftly kissing down his body once more, holding his legs open. He kissed down his chest first, rolling a tongue around Nerevar’s nipple. Nerevar moaned, still trying to kick and struggle, before Voryn’s sharp nails dug into the sensitive flesh of his thighs and he howled. It hurt--but why did it feel so damn good? It shouldn’t--he should hate this with all his heart. Yet…

As Voryn kissed down his stomach he gasped, Voryn throwing Nerevar’s legs over his shoulders and holding them firmly.

“Oh how I’ve longed to be here, between your thighs like this…” Voryn murmured.

“W-wait—!” Nerevar gasped again in surprise, before his head was thrown back into a moan, the chains binding him rattling.

Voryn was eating him out. His tongue was so hot too, first lapping at his lips, before moving up to circle around his cock. Nerevar moaned deeply, eyes rolling back.

It was too good. Too damn good. He was melting from the pleasure, like candle wax dripping from the heat of a flame. When Voryn’s tongue flicked back and forth over his clit, his head thrashed, legs trembling.

“Oh gods, Voryn~!” He cried in ecstasy, before remembering where they were, what was going on. He was being held in chains by Voryn, he was being forced into this, held captive and forced to be used for Voryn’s desires.

But fuck if his mouth wasn’t divine.

His eyes rolled back again as pleasure washed over him waves. Voryn knew how to use his tongue well, hitting every spot Nerevar wanted him too. But gods—he was being fucking assaulted, held down, raped—

Nerevar climaxed at the thought, his whole body trembling as his head fell backward once more, mouth agape in pleasure.

Voryn was holding him down, using him, raping him just as he saw fit for his own pleasure. He was being raped by his closest friend, utterly powerless to stop it, and he was climaxing from how good his mouth felt! He was climaxing at the fact he was enjoying this, enjoying how powerless he felt under Voryn, pinned down and forced to endure pleasure.

“Azura’s mercy,” Nerevar thought to himself, “There’s something seriously wrong with me…” How fucked up did he have to be to get off to this? Nerevar couldn’t even deny how good it felt either, how intense the orgasm that wracked his body was. In his post orgasmic haze, reconfirming that Voryn was raping him only made him more damn excited.

Voryn sucked on his thigh nice and slowly, leaving his mark behind on Nerevar’s skin. The realization he was being marked once again made a shiver of pleasure roll over him.

“Mm, I see I was correct…” Voryn began, before briefly kissing the mark he made. “What a fine concubine you’ll make.” He let his mouth return to Nerevar’s cunt, lapping at it softly, before twirling his tongue around his oversensitive cock. Another shudder wracked his body as he cried out; he was so sensitive right now it almost hurt, though he doubted Voryn would care even if it was excruciatingly painful or not. He whimpered and gasped as Voryn continued to taste him, before pulling away, licking his lips.

Nerevar glared at him, completely and utterly humiliated by his orgasm. In turn, Voryn slid two fingers inside him roughly once more, listening to the moan that followed.

“Don’t look at me so defiantly. Be a good boy and I’ll reward you.” Nerevar grit his teeth, trying to stop the cries of pleasure from falling for his lips. “Or do you like being treated roughly, Neht?” Voryn was smirking as he spoke, cruelty and sadism alight in his eyes. “Do you want me to hold you down and force you? Rape you brutally until you can never think about fighting back?” Nerevar gasped, his legs twitching. “Gods, you do want that don’t you, you little whore?”

“Voryn that’s--” He moaned loudly. “I don’t want this!”

“Really now?” Voryn grinned. “Your body says otherwise, Nerevar. You’re so wet for me, and came for me so loudly~” He purred right in his ear. Nerevar hissed, his eyes shut tight and hips squirming. “Deny it all you want, but your body wants me, doesn’t it?”

“No--” Nerevar hissed, trying to force his legs closed, but Voryn held them open with his body. “Voryn, please!”

Voryn didn’t listen to his protests, keeping his legs open as he pulled his own robes off, all the while marking up Nerevar’s neck.

“So beautiful…” Voryn moaned softly against his skin. “Your body is everything I’ve ever dreamed, Neht…”

“Stop this!” Nerevar continued shouting, trying in vain to kick. “I don’t want this! I don’t…” He was getting tired though, and it didn’t seem like the strength potions were wearing off any time soon.

“I’m going to enjoy having your body all to myself…” Voryn whispered into his ear. “You’re going to be such a perfect little concubine when I’m done with you.”

“Ah~” Nerevar moaned as Voryn bit at a sensitive spot on his neck, tears beginning to well up in his eyes from the pleasurable pain. He hated how good this felt. He hated how wet he was, how easily his body was responding to it. He hated how part of him enjoyed the compliments and the way Voryn’s hands frantically roamed up his body.

“That’s it,” Voryn whispered softly as he pressed the head of his erection to Nerevar’s cunt. “Good boy.”

“V-Voryn…” Nerevar groaned at the stretch, feeling his sanity slipping. It felt so damn good to be filled. How long had he gone without someone fucking him like this? Ayem would with a toy, on occasion, but usually she was busy with Vivec instead. But the stretch was much better than his own fingers or when he tried with toys himself. He could feel the heat, feel Voryn’s body pressing against him, hear every gasp and moan from his lips.

“You needed this, didn’t you?” Voryn practically growled against his lips as he thrusted. “You needed someone to hold you down and fuck you, use you like a cheap toy—“ He gave a particularly sharp thrust, listening to the loud moan that followed. “Your body was made for this Neht—you were made for my cock.”

“Stop it…” Nerevar choked out between suppressed sobs and moans as Voryn worked himself deeper and deeper with every thrust.

“I should have made you mine back then—” Voryn ground his hips forward as he finally buried himself all the way to the hilt. “Back when you were just a cavasari…” Voryn nipped at Nerevar’s lower lip as he set a brutal pace, listening to Nerevar cry out. “I should have chained you up like this and kept you all to myself!”

[gaybd1]

pls allow me to make a long life update ramble here bc im sick of irl people not understanding at all

I feel like I have a feel disconnected points to make

People like me aren’t meant to get bachelor’a degrees and we’re DAMN SURE not meant to get master’s

I’m 1000% just in survival mode right now and there’s theoretically a month left to go but idek if I’ll make it that long tbh

It has taken me YEARS to figure out a healthy/sustainable work-life balance that goes with my executive dysfunction but that’s NOT POSSIBLE working full time AND doing a degree

I’ve been feeling guilty for resting at all lately (and probably should) but yet if I don’t my health suffers majorly

It has always been hard for me to get simple things done, but now I can’t even THINK about simple necessary errands like walking to the supermarket or going to get a cell phone number or updating shit at the bank because ALL my energy goes to keeping me and my dog alive, keeping a job, and trying to stay in this program

I have delayed my transition by YEARS to pay for all this which was definitely the wrong call ughhhhh

I worked SO hard all of K-12 to get into a good university, when it came down to it didn’t even want to go, was too depressed to apply to hardly any, chose my best option still not knowing what I wanted to do but forced into it and forced to take out all of these loans when I didn’t even know what they meant.

Ended up never dealing with audhd shit, trauma shit, didn’t know what I was doing with my life, tried to get jobs to pay for school but couldn’t handle class and jobs at the same time so got more depressed until I stopped going to classes altogether and got kicked out

That would have been great for me tbh but I still didn’t know what else to do so I begged them to let me back in which they did and I ended up barely graduating with some pointless major I just chose to get me a degree. And also $80k of student debt I had no way to even comprehend knowing how to use

Didn’t know what to do after that either so I ended up in retail for a couple years before I got a random rare opportunity to get me out of there and doing what I always wanted

Well. I felt like I needed to make up for lost time degree-wise and ended up basically begging myself into this half-shitty program that culminates in this masters. I applied maybe five years ago, waited a little over two to start until I had money to pay for it (this is after fleeing the US and the 80k lmao) and somehow killed the first year of it.

I took another year and a half off trying to figure out the rest of the money which I eventually did and that’s how we end up here. I will hopefully have the degree in October but will still be paying for it the rest of the school year rip

So financially this sacrifice is obviously huge and on one hand I never thought I’d be able to do it so yay me and on the other hand I have NOT been able to pursue v v important trans stuff which I notice and deal with eVERY GODDAmn day thanks AND I will also probably not be able to make my every-18-month visit home next summer with my family which also gODDAMN SUCKS because family was EVERYTHING to me growing up and they’ve all forgotten it and probably think I have too but I miss those mfers so much and they would never buy a flight to come see me so.

ANYWAY yeah in undergrad I could NOT do a job and school at the same time so I’ve been proud of being able to handle it this time around but the last fourish months of this program are so intense and I am NOT handling it

Like I have done SO WELL up to now so I feel like I just GOTTA keep going but it’s SO HARD and I’m TOO STUPID and I’ve been told my whole life I’m not meant for higher education and now BOY DO I KNOW IT

I’m just trying to keep going. I order food and groceries to my house. I’m putting off super important errands and appointments as long as I can because I JUST CANT GET THERE I CANNOT WASTE SPOONS ON CELL PHONE PLANS RIGHT NOW I’m just trying to stay alive holy shit

I hate feeling so incompetent in my personal life especially because I’ve always put my professional life first out of like. Fear of losing it. and I KNOW this “laziness” is justified bc I’m spread so thin AND have executive dysfunction and a chronic illness but holy shit it still feels bad scoob. So fucking bad.

I think what I need to do is arrange time off work just to get this all sorted and finished but I’ve literally never taken a day off in my life so I’d feel bad and have MORE anxiety figuring out how to do it lololol ahhhhhhhh

[blackbird-brewster]

hiiii!! i'm sorry to hear you're not doing well right now, but you're definitely an appreciated face on my home page

1) i haven't watched much of the criminal minds reboot. i think i watched the first two episodes? but i don't like it. i think the reboot lays into the things i don't like about the show (gory deaths, really unhinged murderers, poor representations of people with mental health issues) while ignoring things i do like about the show (steady character development and family time, morgan, hotch, and reid being there >:( and an interesting analysis into what makes normal people do bad things, not what makes people run multi-level marketing murder schemes[???]). but i also have not seen enough of it to justify any stronger opinion than "i don't like reboots and this will not be an exception"

2) not really a headcanon, as much as an analysis of the show that my friend and i were talking about. but we both genuinely think that garcia and morgan would have ended up together if garcia was skinny...which is garbage because i absolutely LOVE their relationship, and i feel like it did not get any solidity or closure. also reid is bisexual and prentiss is a lesbian and jj is "good luck, babe" chappell roan-coded

3) a femme penelope garcia icon would be...kinda awesome 👉👈🥺

4) again, prentiss + jj = good luck, babe. idk what else to tell you

5) reid x morgan college au rivals to lovers shenanigans would make a great fic

6) comet and koshi (two of my five cats)

7) read any good books recently? i'm reading who's afriad of gender? by judith butler right now, and i'm really enjoying it

hope all of this keeps you busy and makes you happy! feel better soon <3

Let me start by saying this was such a great message to read when I was very sick and very sad. THANK YOU!!! I finally have recovered enough to have half a brain cell so I can reply. <3

1) Tell me what you think of the reboot

I am RIGHT THERE with you friend. I think the reboot has really destroyed a lot of the characters (namely Garcia who is unrecognizable in terms of characterisation in CME) and especially in regards to this season, they made an unsub a main cast member?! So we have SOOOOO much of Elias Voit and so LITTLE of the characters we're here to see. I would trade all of his screentime for one look into what Luke and Emily do outside of the office tbrh (yes, the promo for this week has Emily at home for the first time in the whole reboot, but that's beside the point). I'm def not a fan of CME and I wish the show would have just ended in 2020 and that was that. But since it didn't and because my soul is eternally bound to this fandom, here we are. Thank god for fanfic.

2) Tell me your CM headcanons

"we both genuinely think that garcia and morgan would have ended up together if garcia was skinny…which is garbage because i absolutely LOVE their relationship"

YOU ARE SO RIGHT! They had so much potential and I'll forever ship Morcia and I agree the fact they would be an interracial couple with a fat babe involved was probably part of the reason they never dated. -- That being said, I DO appreciate that they never dated. Because I think it's quite rare to see loving, supportive, flirty, PLATONIC friendships between men and women on TV. Not every m/f duo needs to end up together, I think we definitely need more representation of m/f best friends.

"also reid is bisexual and prentiss is a lesbian and jj is "good luck, babe" chappell roan-coded"

100% correct on all accounts. The way I HOWLED with laughter at "JJ is good luck babe coded" lmaaaaaaaaaooooooooo

3) Request pride icons

When you say 'femme Garcia' which flag are you meaning? Happy to make the icon just wanna get the pride flag right (bc I know there's tons of different flags!).

4) Tell me songs that remind you of your ships

"again, prentiss + jj = good luck, babe. idk what else to tell you"

They are so many songs on that album. Jemily is also very 'Casual' and 'Coffee' too.

5) Give me fic prompts

"reid x morgan college au rivals to lovers shenanigans would make a great fic"

Fun fact, while Fooled Around (and Fell in Love) focuses mainly on JJ/Tara/Emily -- Derek and Reid are important side characters. And they were college acquaintances (established in Part 2)! And they both have dated the same guy (Luke) anddddd they are navigating polyamory together in Part 3. So you may enjoy that series.

6) Tell me about your pets

I love your cats!! I had 5 cats at one point. That's the dream! Tell them all they're so good and fluffy and I love them.

7) Ask personal questions

"read any good books recently? i'm reading who's afriad of gender? by judith butler right now, and i'm really enjoying it"

I've been reading my book copies of Fooled Around! I'm on the final book (I split the series into 4 books) and I'm trying to make it last as long as possible. I only have a couple of chapters left but having physical copies of something I wrote is SO cool. It's brought me a lot of joy and has helped me take pride in what I write!

[hillbilly---man]

Random Tumblr Ask Question:

What would you do if you went into your kitchen, and found a living clone of yourself?

Context: This person is YOU from this morning, but instead of doing the tasks you did, they were in the kitchen. For all other purposes, they're you. They're not an imposter, they have your memories etcetc.

This is such an interesting question!

I think after trying to figure out HOW it happened and also verifying somehow that it's real, the two of us would have to sit down together and figure out how we were going to work this out.

Putting it under a cut bc it got really long lmfao

Assuming that the other me is here to stay, we'd need to come up with some way of differentiating ourselves. It would be really arrogant to act as if I'm the original (I'm sure the other me feels the same way), so something like Jessica 1 & Jessica 2 wouldn't work. Maybe we color code ourselves?

We would have the logistical challenge of basically existing in two places at once. We only have one social security number, one car, one bed, one job, etc. Obviously I'd tell my friends and family about this, but it could get complicated when it comes to official things. We'd probably have to legally continue living as one person.

And share the bed, unfortunately. (There's a guest bed but it's not as nice as my bed lmao)

I'm tempted to be like.. "we can take turns going to work!" But it would be difficult. I have a hard enough time keeping track of shit at work as it is .. I don't need to be literally absent half the time too. Maybe we can take turns on a quarterly basis. One of us would probably spend time doing a side hustle of some sort while the other is at work. It couldn't be a full second job (with a schedule) unless the hours were outside of my own work hours; it might look suspicious/fraudulent. The additional income would help pay for the increased food/bills/etc.

On a ... More unfortunate note, we'd have to share medication. Most of what I take is no big deal. We'll let the one working in the office have the vyvanse. We'll supplement the prescription vitamins with OTC stuff. I guess we'd alternate doses of the MS medication (and other stuff) and cross our fingers that nothing bad happens from being under-medicated lol. We'll alternate MRIs and doctors appointments too. Hopefully nothing happens to one of us medically that makes our records inconsistent; if that happened I guess the affected one gets to keep going to that doctor

When it comes to social engagements, I think we'd have to take turns. I think I'm probably kind of dull sometimes and annoying at other times, so I wouldn't want to subject my friends to two of me at once. Not to mention that a lot of things cost money, and it's not always in my budget to pay double for stuff.

I guess we'd have to come up with some system of deciding whose turn it is for things. Coin flips, random number generators, tests of skill? Not only for events and stuff, but also for stuff like who gets to keep the cell phone and who has to buy another one. Who gets to keep the Tumblr account and who has to make a new one? I wouldn't mind y'all knowing, but sharing an account would probably get confusing and people might confuse us for a DID system (which to be clear isn't a bad thing, it just wouldn't be accurate)

Big decisions would have to be up for discussion. Are we applying for a new job? Are we trading the car in? Where should we move to? I imagine it would be kind of like being married, but to a more controlling extent than I think would be healthy in a marriage. We'd need to agree on tattoos, piercings, haircuts, hair dye...

Oh, we'd also have to start discussing our days and try to keep records so we can keep things straight

Actually, it might just be easier to buy a fake identity off the dark web or something. This is complicated

Thanks for the fascinating question to ponder!!