#but sometimes the thought comes back and haunts me. the fact that I'll always be alone

[the-land-of-snr]

One of my many character flaws is that if we don't talk for too long, I simply forget how to talk to you. But you usually remember how to talk to me. So it's all awkward and depressing. Stressful for me, confusing and hurtful for you.

[queers-gambit]

Love What You've Done with the Place

song by Rascal Flatts

prompt: he's never been a man built for relationships, until you come into his life. now, the house feels like a home.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: more brain rot rambles, probably cursing, NOT edited, very docile, fluff, romance, hardened men being simps.

It started with clothes. Just a few, here and there; left behind, forgotten, purposefully stuffed in his dresser for when you stayed the nights. He didn't mind, in fact, Tangerine encouraged you to bring whatever you felt comfortable with leaving since he hated how early you'd leave in the mornings to get ready for work. He found his mornings were peaceful when you were around; neither rushed, both content, starting your days on high notes with each other.

So, he made the decision and found an old sitting-vanity for you. He put it in his bedroom simply because he was fascinated with the hair and make-up process; thinking it was incredible that women had such skill. When he came home about 3 months ago, he noticed your vanity when he first got home from a particularly difficult mission. Your chair was draped in an old university tee shirt, and he smiled.

It was like watching your comfort grow and it warmed something deep in Tangerine's heart. Your make-up wasn't always in a neat array, sometimes just left from a quick touch-up; making the house feel more like a home.

Tangerine also bought a strainer for the shower's drain to catch your hair. He didn't get angry like previous boyfriends did when he found strands of your hair left behind - not on purpose or by some gross standard, but it was natural that hair shed in a shower and not every single strand could be picked up. So, to make life easier, he just quietly bought the hair trap, placed it, removed whatever empty bottles from the shower, and went about his day. But then he started to notice your hair left other places.

His counters, his sink, the floor, your vanity, his bed sheets and pillows.

Tangerine had his issues with possessiveness in the past, but this wasn't remotely similar. No, Tangerine found himself smiling when he would find your hair in his clothes; thinking it was funny, almost like a mark or badge of honor to designate him as yours. It was a brief thought, but Tangerine actually felt giddy by the idea of people just knowing he was off the market 'cause his lady's hair was clung to his suit jackets.

He liked it. He really did. He'd not admit it aloud, but he liked it.

Tangerine wasn't the most humble man in the world, but he certainly liked to flash what was his. Golden jewelry, expensive, tailored suits, shining Italian leather shoes. And now, you, the woman who invaded his heart and head - and now his home. He adored showing you off, feeling affirmed and invigorated by the longing glances men threw your way, and while he expected jealousy from other women, they seemed more impressed by your beauty and grace as well.

He remembers one night, after a several weeks long mission, he just wanted to hold you. His throat was a little choked up when he called you, knowing you were at home after reading an earlier text. So, you rushed over in the middle of the night and he'd yet to let you go home - three days later.

"You've gonna have to let me out of bed sometime," you smiled playfully. "I have work tomorrow - and no, I'm not calling out again."

"C'mon, love, don't leave me alone," he whispered, looking like a beaten down puppy. The mission was much harder than he'd let on, but Lemon usually always filled you in. He thought it was important for you to know certain details that Tangerine was sure to omit, knowing those were the details that haunted him.

"I'll be back after my shift," you promised, nuzzling his nose with your own. "I also need new panties and clean clothes."

He sighed, "Some in there," he pointed to his closet now.

"What?" You giggled.

"You've left enough behind, got a bit of a collection goin', yeah?" He smiled softly, wrapping you back up in his arms. With a sigh, he relented, "I'll let yah go to work, love, just... Need this a bit longer."

You obliged, but the next day, you were gone before he woke up. With a frown, Tangerine dropped back onto the bed - but inhaled deeply when his nose buried into your pillow. He hummed in pleasure, feeling himself brim with contentment, bringing the fluffy item to his chest and nuzzling it; your perfume left behind to soothe him.

Was Tangerine clingy? Oh, for sure! He didn't think so, but you knew better. The contract killer liked you close, liked his hands on you; even if it was just a hand on your waist or a nose near your neck. He missed you when gone, but he usually held himself back from texting you all day - wanting you to be able to focus on your job.

But that day? He was inept, just wanting you; wondering if he paid you the same salary, if you'd consider just staying home. So, he texted you several times.

This obviously threw you off a little, knowing him better than himself most days. But he just missed you, so, you sent a selfie - promising you missed him too and would be home right after work.

He saved the photo and tried not to dwell on how you said you'd "be home" and not "come to his place". He had to take a few moments to calm down, feeling his heart zing with unfamiliarity - but not being afraid of it like he had been when you first started dating. He could recognize he was happy, that he was excited to see you everyday, and that the idea of coming home to you was far too appealing to ignore any longer.

It seemed neither of you needed to actually have an official conversation about living together. Lemon didn't mind, in fact, he was the one who insisted you have your own key; adoring you and whatever affect you had on his emotionally constipated brother. So, some mornings, Tangerine wasn't surprised to find a slightly damp towel left hanging in the bathroom, nor by the make-up on his counter - you using that mirror because of the fluorescent lighting. He never put it back, he didn't move it - he liked seeing it. It meant you were still here, and the idea of it being gone made his stomach knot with anxiety. He also wasn't surprised when he went to use the shampoo you insisted would help his curls flourish (you were right), only to find it damn-near empty. His shower gel, too.

When you came home that evening, you had Target bags in hand; replacing whatever was empty, making Tangerine grin to himself by how in-sync he felt with you. He'd never had a connection such as this, only ever feeling close enough to Lemon, but you changed everything for them both.

How Tangerine ended up with someone courteous was truly beyond either of them. Someone kind, caring, adventurous, sweeter than pie - someone definitely out of Tangerine's league, something he never let himself forget. He adored you to your core - thinking someone such as you should never have gotten tangled up in someone like him, but he knew, if the time ever came, he'd never be able to let you go. In fact, most days, he had to convince himself not to just pick you up and carry you around while he did chores or ran errands.

The very idea of losing you sent his heart into his stomach; hallowing his chest in a harrowing fashion that made it hard to breathe. Just a week or two ago, Lemon found Tangerine in the kitchen, hand to his chest as if he couldn't catch his breath, heaving for air; his worry spiking, but quickly realizing what was wrong.

"Bruv, you've gotta breathe - calm down," he tried to coax. "You're having a panic attack, you've gotta just focus on breathing."

"Fuck off with that!"

"Seriously, man," Lemon insisted, catching Tangerine in a vulnerable state enough that he actually listened without much of a fight. When Tan seemed a little more under control of his own emotions, Lemon asked, "What the hell happened?"

Tangerine shook his head, "Nothing t'worry 'bout - "

"Bullshit," Lemon snapped. "I've never seen yah like that, mate, the fuck happened?"

It was embarrassing, but Tangerine managed to answer, "Just... Just started thinking that if she ever left me, I'd fucking crumble, mate."

This made Lemon frown, "She's not gonna leave you, man. You know that. The girl's madly in love with you, yeah? Like madly in love - like to a degree it makes her stupid in the head, all right? Obviously, you too," he chuckled, shaking his head as he affectionately ran a hand over the back of Tan's head. "You're workin' yourself up, 's all right. You don't have to think about that - ever - 'cause she's it for you, mate. Yeah? Hear me? She ain't goin' nowhere, not without you."

Tangerine needed the assurance. Being alone after having a taste of your love felt impossible to Tan now, something he was never bothered by before. Seriously, why give a fuck about a relationship when he had his brother? Someone who loved him unconditionally and wouldn't leave? And then he met you and understood why people gave fucks about relationships.

It was as if every room you ever entered was brightened up simply by your smile. Your laugh wasn't always the most ladylike, but it was genuine and true and always made Tangerine smile to himself. During any public outing, Tan was always close - we've established this - but he liked to play a small game. One of your love languages was physical touch, so, you liked kissing him if even just for a single second. He was aware of your lipstick, feeling the tacky substance stain his cheek, but he wouldn't wipe it off. His game was to see how long it'd take before someone would point it out; his reputation didn't always warrant others to feel secure enough to speak up. Some nights, Lemon would motion to his cheek, and other nights, you'd return home, remove your make-up, and swipe make-up remover over his cheek to clear the color away.

However, it wasn't often you ventured in public due to Tangerine's innate introverted nature. You went if The Agency made it mandatory or if you were feeling stir crazy, but majority nights, Lemon would find you both lounged on the couch in various positions.

Sometimes, you'd be watching a movie together or binging a show. Other times, you were reading a book while Tangerine poured over paperwork. And once or twice, Lemon's come home to find you belly laughing and playfully scolding Tangerine as he tried to paint your toe nails. It was a homey sight to Lemon: seeing his brother so in love and at ease, hearing your laughter, the entire flat filled with warm smells of burning candles and homemade meals.

It wasn't evident at first, but with you laying in Tangerine's arms, clothes left on the floor, bellies full of whatever meal you had prepared that evening, favorite show playing on the bedroom TV, he realized that he loved what you had done with the place.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[celaenaeiln]

in like a one person gets one, who would dicks soulmate (platonic or not idk) be? i’ve asked this to several ppl and the answers are usually wally, donna, or jason though i’ve seen some ppl say slade, roy, and bruce.

Anon your ask has literally been haunting me at night. I thought I knew the answer but then you hit me with a Donna!! But between Bruce and Donna, I can't decide so I'll just present a case for both.

Bruce

Bruce and Dick are soulmates on a cosmological scale. The DC universe ordained them to always find each other because they're quite literally a fated pair.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight Issue #23

Bruce: The only regret is that I'm out there alone. It felt good having someone at my back, being part of a team...but no sense wasting time wishing for something I'll never have.

Dick: He's cool, dad...d'you think we'll ever see him when we play Gotham?

The universe literally brings them together no matter the circumstances.

Convergence Issue #4

"The bond between you and Bruce Wayne echoes in every reality."

I don't think there's any stronger evidence for Dick and Bruce being soulmates than this.

But if that's still not enough I have more-

The Multiversity: Guidebook

In Bruce's world he lost Dick and in Dick's world he lost Bruce, but still in the end they somehow find each other. In every universe that has Batman, if someone is his partner it's always Dick.

In the medieval ages world-

Batman: Dark Knight of the Round Table Issue #1

The world of "A Christmas Carol" with Ebenezer Scrooge -

Batman: Noël

In a world where Bruce is a doctor at Arkham -

The Batman of Arkham

Dick is always there as his second.

Here's another interesting but depressing fact: In worlds where Dick Grayson has died as Robin, Bruce Wayne has never taken in another Robin.

This is because on top of the fact that Dick and Bruce as fated to meet, Dick means the entire world for Bruce. Like sometimes Bruce will come across a case with a child involved and the first thing he'll think about is Dick.

Batman: City of Madness Issue #2

Bruce's mind and life is literally consumed by Dick Grayson on a cosmologically spiritual level.

Donna

Donna is Dick's soulmate on a twin-sister spiritual level. Dick and Bruce are two halves of a whole, yin and yang. Dick and Donna though are one person. Their relationship is like taking paint and mixing it together to get something new. Like in those comics where two people look at each other and there's a "zing!" and suddenly it's an instant connection. That's them.

Titans (2016) Special 1

additionally:

Titans (2016) Special 1

New Titans (1988) Issue #89

Dick and Donna have no secrets. They're like a jigsaw puzzle, their pieces fall right into place.

He's always there for her-

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #38

They're so special and integral to each other that when an evil witch erases Donna from everyone's memories, there is only one focal point for her. One focal person for her throughout the years. Even though he doesn't remember her, Dick literally goes back in time with his future daughter Mar'i to help Donna, his soul-sister-

The Titans (1999) Issue #25

In every. single. moment of Donna's past Dick appears again and again to comfort her and be her pillar from Robin to civies to Nightwing. In the "Who is Donna Troy" Arc, as the story goes from the origins of Donna to the present, it becomes very clear that Dick is her centerpoint.

They're the definition of soulmates.

She knows him better than anyone else and he knows her. She even had him walk her Donna the aisle for her wedding. He was given that honor because of who they are to each other.

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #42

I...

just-

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #50

to love like that...

They're made for each other.

[moonsaver]

@pix3lplays is back again~ not a request I promise, just a question for you because I’m genuinely curious~

So Nanook the Destruction am I right??

I always fall in love with the ones who would kill me, sigh.

But seriously the potential for yandere! Nanook is so important to me, they are sooo yandere coded~being their favorite little mortal that they’d do anything for…it wouldn’t happen but let me have my moment lol

Anyways I wanted to ask who your favorite aeon is. I tried, I tried so hard to keep it at Aha but…Nanook has swayed me to their side…the design?? The cold stare?? They are IMPORTANT to me.

Idk I think I have a chance with them (Pix is delusional) wish me luck~

No, no, come back Pixel, you are CORRECT. You are RIGHT.

I am so thirsty for Nanook. I don't even use that word often as I keep myself hydrated well.

As for my favorite Aeon.. not so sure. I'll have to catch up on the lore, but I'd say it would be the Aeon of Preservation, actually. [Edit: NOT PRESERVATION. I forgot who, but the one who has like.. all the mirrors and memories and stuff.... pls spare me.] {Another edit – it's Fuli!}

Fun fact, I thought Nanook was a playable character and got into hsr because of him, only to find out with disappointment that he is, in fact far from playable. Although Blade might substitute for an inverted Nanook.

But you're so right. I love Nanook. The yandere potential...

Being some Person™️ like out in the middle of who knows whatever planet, and waking up with the sheer, almost incomprehensible knowledge and fact that Nanook has his eyes on you.

Im not sure how exactly being in an Aeon's favor would work, but I imagine it's no easy work. Especially for someone like Nanook, who finds you, as tiny and insignificant, somewhat.. intriguing. Anyone blocking the now golden, burning path set ablaze in front of you is obliterated almost instantly. His favor works so much on you that sometimes you feel it settle thickly in your bones, the gold of his eyes burning through your tiny heart. No one dares to even look at you. Destruction follows the pattering of your feet, the favor rotting into a curse all too quickly, until you have no one left. You'll be forced to see him. To face him. To bear the fraction of a burden he intends to lay upon you for daring to catch his eye, despite being so pathetic and insignificant in the expanse of the universe. Your fragile, human body is laughable. But the curse that rots in your bones might ascend your vessel, if not aid you. In any case.. Nanook watches. His eyes are fixed on you. A vast, golden expanse always haunts your dreams. It is a contrast to the deathly stale black that comes with the wake of Destruction.

[luci-is-a-bitch-x3x]

Obey Me! Brothers react to: Mc turning into their sheep form to comfort the brother when he's upset.

Lucifer's, Mammon's, Leviathan's, Satan's, Asmodeus's, Beelzebub's, & Belphegor's (you are here) reactions.

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Welcome! to another part of this adventure! The characters may not be how you imagine! I apologize for any poor jokes, bad spelling, and terrible grammar. Without further ado, please enjoy the content. ♡

This contains spoilers: I think its lesson 16.

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Belphegor's reaction:

Belphie cries over important things rarely, but hes the youngest and as the youngest in my own family I can say that we are bitches. Belphie definetly fake cries in attempt to get his brothers in trouble with Lucifer or Mc. Belphie will also cry when he gets tired enough. He's a spolied brat, he throws a tantrum when he doesnt get his way, and he cries just to get attention or to cause chaos. Sometimes Belphie really cries over things, like Lillith or remembering what he did to Mc. These moments are rare and they usually happen late at night when he oddly can't fall asleep. When these moments happen he's always sleep deprived for the Avatar of Sloth, and his crying tends to be closer to mental break downs due to his lack of sleep.

The first time Mc sees Belphie really crying, Belphie goes to them and has to wake them up, so Mc is fairly suprised and a little disoriented because they just waking up. Mc quickly gets their shit together as soon as they see the sobbing demon trembling in front of them. Mc goes to do something to comfort Belphie, but is interrupted by a *poof* Mc realizes they must have changed into their sheep form by accident due to how tired they are. Belphie seems more upset seeing Sheep Mc, probably thinking Mc turned into their Sheep form out of fear, he crouches down to the small sheep's height and gently hugs them, sobbing about how he'd never hurt them again. Sheep Mc is confused and half-asleep but they wrap their tiny arms around Belphie and hugs him tightly.

The two stay like this in silence for a moment, Belphie sobbing into Sheep Mc's wool gross and holding them close. After a few silent seconds of this Belphie finally speaks- "...I cant sleep..everytime I close my eyes I see you. How you looked when I..when I.." Belphie tries to speak but his voice cracks and his sobs become more frequent the more Belphie tries to explain- "..I know I promised I'll never hurt you again..and you say you forgive me..but it haunts me..i just needed to see that you're safe.." Belphie finally manages to explain, sobbing even more as he hugs Sheep Mc like they'll disapear if he lets go. Belphie rocks back and forth as he hugs the tiny sheep, trying to calm himself down a little.

To calm and comfort Belphie, Sheep Mc just has to tell him their not scared of him, and hug him until he stops trembling and crying. Belphie prefers to hug and cuddle Sheep Mc more than pet them, but he does occasionally pet them in attempts to calm down. Belphie finds Sheep Mc's wool to be comforting due to how fluffy it is, he compares it to clouds all the time. Sheep Mc is soft and cuddly and is as comforting to Belphie as his cow pillow is. Sheep Mc will definitely calm him down, he might fall asleep right on the floor due to the adorable sheep's comfort. Once Belphie is calmed down, he picks Sheep Mc up and places them on their bed. Belphie then climbs into Mc's bed and lets Sheep Mc cuddle up with him. Belphie gently pets Sheep Mc until they fall asleep, he stays up watching them for awhilw, just soaking in the fact that their safe, Belphie eventually falls asleep, sleeping peacefully when snuggled up to Mc, no matter what form their in.

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Thats all for now babes! Hope you enjoyed!! ♡ This is not proofread. Feel free to comment or reblog any thoughts or any add ons you have! This feels short? But I hope you enjoyed! More content is coming soon so Stay Tuned! Stay Safe! & Stay Spooky!

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⟡˙⋆Masterlist⋆˙⟡

[angeart]

AU Masterpost [tags]

I think it's time. So I can keep track, and you guys know what's out there and how to search for it <3 I'll try to order AUs based on how much there is to them. Some AUs will only have a single thought/art underneath their tag, but there might be more added to them in the future, and if you're curious about anything, you can always ask. (I'm very easily convinced to drop rambles, as has been proven in the past—)

*

Help Me To Breathe [hmtb]

my main multi-chapter story, set in s8 boatem. deaths abruptly hurt on hermitcraft, and each respawn makes it worse. scar dies a lot by grian's hands, before grian even learns (the hard way) that things hurt now. welcome to a scarian angst hellhole where 3rd life flashbacks hit like bricks and guilt is mercilessly spilled everywhere <3

this fic is the epitome of it gets worse before it gets better. trust me.

cws: violence, ptsd, anxiety attacks, delusions, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, suicide, temporary character death... please check tags on AO3 which i try very hard to keep updated

tags: #hmtb - an all-encompassing tag for fic updates, rambles, and art. (sometimes #hmtb art is also used in tandem, where relevant.)

fic: Help Me To Breathe on AO3

*

Hunted hybrids [hhau]

hermitcraft s8 got code-attacked and all the hermits got scattered into different worlds, lost and stuck in unfamiliar places, not knowing if their home still exists. the au follows scar and grian who ended up in the same world (although originally unaware)—a world dangerous and hostile to hybrids. grian is an avian, scar is a vex, and they're hunted relentlessly. also, it's permadeath <3

this au is self-indulgently used in RP and co-owned by linkito

cws: violence, blood, dehumanisation of hybrids, self harm (feather plucking), mentions of suicidal ideation... [updated cws in the hhau masterpost]

tags: #hhau

this one got out of hand so >> hhau masterpost <<

*

Boatem circus

scar, a sea-lion hybrid, builds a circus as a safe haven for all the hybrids and misfits that have nowhere to belong and need a place to heal. they all carry their own traumas and wounds, and scar gives them what they never had: gentleness and options and freedom to roam or leave. but it's not easy, navigating a growing community of varying triggers and buried pasts.

au put together with stiffyck

cws: ptsd, panic attacks, fear of fire, loss and grief, mentions of captivity/torture/abuse

tags: #boatem circus au

fics: don't be afraid, little bird (there are no cages around you now); elegy

[AO3 series link]

*

Sleep demon Grian

grian is a sleep demon, existing in the dreamscape, able to manipulate dreams and thriving on giving people nightmares. he meets scar in a dream, immediately intrigued and amused by his reactions, and he keeps coming back to him. scar, despite all the nightmares being thrown at him, catches a glimpse of his perpetrator, and grows curious in turn. they start talking, everything eventually culminating into a ritual and a summonning circle. grian, in the waking world, needs to learn how to exist somewhere where he can get actually hurt, and come to terms with the fact that he has locked away memories and trauma.

cws: injuries, fear, panic, nightmares(?), trauma, violence, memory repression

tags: #sleep demon grian au

au rambles: here

fics: the nightmare snippet; even if it hurts (and even if it isn't a dream) you can have a home here

*

Cursed forest

found family boatem, where each of them carry their own heavy past and an attached curse. they thought they'd never find a place to settle that'd accept them and let them heal. but they found each other, deep in a hidden away forest, littered by bones and flowers, death and hope. (honestly, just see the au rambles.)

au put together with stiffyck

cws: animal death, necromancy, grief and guilt, body horror

tags: #cursed forest au

rambles: here

fics: even with death haunting your footsteps, your flowers will bloom again

*

Ari au

grian (he/she) is ariana giande (ari), a famous singer beloved by the crowds. except things start getting a bit too out of hand. there are stalkers and people who think they have the right to ari's personal life, the right to see and dictate everything. the press gets out of hand. maybe the crowds get too rowdy. maybe—

more scared and overwhelmed by the second, grian gets a bodyguard. that bodyguard is scar. things continue to escalate though, and by the time ari calls a break in her career, everything's irreparably breaking down around her.

(If it wasn't clear yet, this is one very dark, very heavy, very human story. There's love and so, so, so much despair. Things go wrong and then worse.)

au with Ben

cws: papparazzi hounding, stalkers, lack of privacy, blurring of self, drugging and [attempted] SA, physical assaults, self harm, overdose, medical trauma, restraints, seizures, ptsd, depression, suicidal stuff (including several attempts)

tags: #ari au

au rambles: [part I] - [part II] - [part III] - [part IV] - [part V] - [TBC]

au art:

downfall in three stages - here lake scene art - here

*

Assassin au [work title]

grian is an assassin, scar is elven nobility. one day, grian is sent to kill scar, but upon meeting, they find out that they know each other. i promise i'll add a better description at some point.

cws: blood and violence, mind control, being generally oblivious about life, survival scenario, murder, possible animal death

tags: #assassin au (subject to change)

*

Misguided Heroes

scar is secretly hotguy, a hero meant to protect the people. grian is a shopkeeper at barge, but with self-proclaimed king ren wreaking havoc on economy and making life of ordinary citizens so much harder, he decides to secretly play vigilante, cuteguy, and stage a one-man rebellion.

also, scar and grian are roommates.

au for rp with sima <3

cws: injuries, illusions messing with perception/reality, [to be determined]

tags: #misguided heroes au

*

Ghost Scar

grian is a paranormal investigator. scar is a ghost. they meet, they talk, and grian resolves to do his best to make scar feel less lonely.

cws: dead character??? he's a ghost dw he's fine-

tags: #ghost scar au

fics: you exist in silence (i'll help you make a sound)

*

Silly vampire Scar

scar is a vampire living in a mansion too big and too lonely for him. grian and mumbo are survivors in a world riddled with monsters, which they learn to hunt and kill. one night, they seek shelter in what seems to be an abandoned mansion—

cws: general vampire stuff, [to be determined]

tags: #vampire scar au

fics: [one day]

*

Cuteguy au

things do be angsty in this one. scar is hotguy, grian is his sidekick cutecuy. one day, things go wrong and a building explodes with scar still inside. the body is never found. hotguy is presumed dead. that is, until cuteguy comes face to face with a new villain that is oddly familiar—

idea loosely bounced off of stiffy's TOGH au

cws: blood, violence, delusions, brainwashing, grief, loss of identity, presumed major character's death (twice. wild. huh.)

tags: #cuteguy au

*

Papers please au

what it says on the tin. scar lives with his cat jellie in a cold, small, state-provided apartment and gets assigned a job as an immigration officer at a border checkpoint. he... isn't great at the job, but doesn't have a choice, and needs the money to keep them fed and healthy. grian is the head of resistance, because of course he is <3

cws: dystopian world, cold, hunger, sickness, potential pet death, injuries

tags: #papers please au

*

Spirit au

grian is an avian living freely in a patch of forest. that is, until he gets caught by people who think hybrids are on-par with working animals, and is shackled and hurt and trained, to serve. there is a looming war, and flight-capable carriers are very valued (but not much cared for). scar is a vex hybrid, coming from a settlement that's kinder to hybrids, who also gets captured. they meet in captivity, and things happen.

cws: hybrid slavery, hybrid dehumanisation, loss of freedom, abuse, warzone stuff

tags: #spirit au

*

DL rp au

grian and scar in double life, soulbound and with vague memories of previous life games. their soul connection transfers not only all the pain and injuries, but also emotions. and they both feel. a little too much. (they're a mess, but also in love, as they should be)

au for rp with sima <3

cws: they very sad; self destructive tendencies (sorry there's no self in this one, they are linked and there's always collateral-)

tags: #dl rp

*

Half sea town au

a town half-submerged into the sea. the upper half is reserved for humans, who are seen as better, richer, the posh and the nobility. the lower half, the submerged part, is slum-like, reserved for seafolk, seen as lesser. many seafolk learn to live on land, to improve their standing (not necessarily living situation; they do need water). mumbo lives amongst the nobility. scar lived his whole life in the sea. grian, even though he belongs to the seafolk, lives on land. mumbo's best friend, forever trying to be something he isn't.

a crackers collective au

cws: er.. class divide?, self worth issues, needs denial in a way?

tags: #half sea town au

*

The underwater au that somehow fails to have a name the first thing i ever posted on tumblr woo.

an underwater au set somewhere in the wide, deep sea. merfolks. mumbo is a prince, grian, jimmy, and joel are his guards. scar is a deep-sea fish, and tales say those are scary and horrendous and dangerous. (he's just a silly guy, pls)

stiffy/crackers collective au

cws: injuries, idk

tags: #mer au

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smaller aus/ideas:

last life scar: #post-ll scar's issues with touch

fixing double life scarian: #fixing dl au

puppeteer scar: #puppeteer scar au

cannibal scar/forest (the game) au: #forest au

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others' aus that i have yoinked and might have content for:

#grumbo apocalypse monster au - ben's au that i slinkered my way into <3 - ben's au masterpost here - grian is very much a (horror) creature :3

#space grian au - also belongs to ben. also burrowed my way in to this one. hehe. (ben none of your aus are now safe from me.)

#snifflins au - crackers group au, based on that one time jimmy and scar were piglinmynose, and joel and grian were sniffermyfeet - twisted into snifflers and piglin hybrids (snifflins!) in the aftermath, trying to get used to their new bodies and instincts and needs.

#desert alien scar au - belongs to stiffy

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+ a whole bunch of aus (some collective ones) that i haven't talked about on tumblr yet <3

(for example, the zombie whisperer scar/dancing zombies au - postapo, (mum)scarian, with one redscape-focused fic (written for stiffy): the blooms in a dead world)

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(if i missed any cws for any of the aus, please let me know!)

reinstating that if you're curious about anything, i don't bite! come ask!

[my AO3]

[tomicaleto]

All the prompts sound sooo good, but I'm going to ask you for your take on the "best friends sibling au" for Obikin?? I looove that concept

Vel, I apologise for how long this took me! I promise each day I didn't answer I was haunted by this prompt kshlgdjsgs Now for real I struggled to come up with an au to fill this one (mostly I struggled on who was going to be the sibling and such) and then once I came up with one I took too long writing it because I'm a human disaster but here it is!

SEND ME A SHIP AND A NUMBER AND I'LL WRITE A SHORT FIC

21. best friends sibling au

I hope you like this! This is an Argentine AU, with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan being brothers and Anakin being Qui-Gon's best friend. Unedited because I wanted to share it with you :) Also what a coincidence that I'm posting this at the beginning of July because:

Obi-Wan walked through Ezeiza’s airport shiny floors, his stroller behind him as he searched for his brother. The morning was cloudy and windy, a combination that fit the beginning of July perfectly and made him let out a sigh of relief at being back to the season his body was used to during the middle of the year. 

“There you are,” Qui-Gon’s voice made him look behind him. His brother was holding a little board with Obi-Wan’s name just like a cliché from a movie. He even seemed amused by the fact, as if he couldn’t believe himself that he was doing it. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but there was something about the way the board was decorated, with small spaceships and planes surrounding Obi-Wan’s name that spoke of a story for it that made Obi-Wan curious enough. “I was afraid your flight had been delayed. Come along, I have my car parked outside.” 

They caught up as Qui-Gon put Obi-Wan’s luggage in the trunk, and as they drove away from Ezeiza, the highway thankfully was not full. “We can’t be late, I have a previous arrangement.” Qui-Gon had explained. 

“And what that arrangement may be?” Obi-Wan teased, a smirk on his face as his brother huffed a chuckle and changed lanes. “Has your husband finally decided to be a romantic?” “We both know Dooku would never.” Qui-Gon shot back. “No, Anakin is coming over today and I want everything ready before he arrives.” 

The name sparked something inside Obi-Wan. “You still meet with him?” Anakin had been Qui-Gon’s student when he was in high school and they had bonded over the subject Qui-Gon had taught back then. As he grew up, he often kept visiting the man even after graduating, seeking advice and comfort. Eventually, a friendship had been established, with Qui-Gon often inviting Anakin for tea while he studied in university. Both Obi-Wan and Dooku had been dubious about their strange friendship, but Qui-Gon had always been great at ignoring everyone and doing whatever he wanted and it seemed like Anakin had benefited greatly from Qui-Gon’s guidance. 

“Even more now than before, his kids love colouring with me.” 

“He has kids now?” Obi-Wan had met Anakin eventually, and had understood why his brother had taken him under his wing. Temperamental and moody, the then nineteen-year-old seemed to soften under Qui-Gon’s calm demeanor. And in turn, it seemed like Qui-Gon rejoiced in sharing conversation with someone that matched his interests in mechanics and engineering. He may have enjoyed talking literature with his husband and philosophy with his brother, but Anakin also provided Qui-Gon with something related to his own field of study. 

“Yes, he got married two years ago. Sadly, his wife passed away during childbirth. I don’t think being a single father so young must be easy so I’ve been offering extra support.” “Only extra?” Obi-Wan wondered. “Is he getting help from somewhere else?” “Of course, his stepbrother took him back in when rent became too expensive and I think he has a cousin that babysits here and there.” Qui-Gon explained. “The children also go to kindergarten and swimming class. And of course, they come to play sometimes.” 

Obi-Wan thought back to the cardboard decorations back in the airport, it all made sense now. “It’s wild to think about Anakin with children and a life now.” 

Qui-Gon didn’t answer, just chuckled and nodded. 

—

The bell rang as Qui-Gon turned off the gas and dropped the water into the thermos. “That must be Anakin, can you let him in?” 

Obi-Wan got up from the stool he was sitting in and let Qui-Gon grab the yerba and the mate. 

He heard childish voices from the other side of the door, among a much deeper one answering, and checked the peephole by reflex before opening.

“Hi, Anakin, it’s been a while,” he began, as the man looked up from his children and blinked confusedly at him. The two kids at both of his sides had fallen quiet at the sight of Obi-Wan, most likely shy at the new stranger. 

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, unsure like Obi-Wan had never heard him before. 

“In the flesh,” he answered, opening the door wider and gesturing with his free arm. “Please come inside, I don’t want you three to get cold. Qui-Gon is inside.” 

Anakin looked down at his children, who were gripping his pants like their life depended on it. “Come on, say hi like I taught you.” 

“Oh there is no need—” He didn’t even get to finish the phrase, the kids had already slipped by him without a word. Anakin sighed and shook his head, before letting himself inside too. 

“I’m sorry, we're working on being polite with people they are not familiar with.” He explained, taking off his coat. “It’s taking a while.” Obi-Wan laughed good naturedly. “We all go through that stage, I refused to kiss my aunts hello for years! My mother did not appreciate it at all.” 

Anakin answered with a small smile and it tugged at Obi-Wan’s heart. He remembered Anakin at nineteen. He had had more baby fat on his cheeks then, but even at that time, he had been a gorgeous young man. He was sure Qui-Gon had tried to play matchmaker but it had come to nothing. While admitting Anakin was beautiful had not been particularly hard, Obi-Wan had refused to act on his attraction, their age difference something he worried about. People already commented on Qui-Gon and Anakin’s friendship to add a wild romance with the remaining brother to the mix. 

He had grown taller in the years that had passed. His hair now fell in wild curls to his shoulders and his features had become more refined, though Obi-Wan did not miss the deeper bags under his eyes, probably a result of being a single parent of twins. 

“Give me a second and I’ll be polite myself,” Anakin teased, before putting a hand next to his mouth and loudly saying: “Luke! Leia! Come and get your coats off before bothering Qui-Gon!” 

Obi-Wan heard twin groans before the pitter-patter of their feet running towards the door again. Anakin rolled his eyes at Obi-Wan with a complicit smile before kneeling down and catching the first kid in his arms as he crashed against his body. “Hi, Luke, let’s take this off so you can go play, alright?” 

The boy nodded eagerly and hummed under his breath as his father helped him out. His sister had arrived in the meantime, and she was looking up at Obi-Wan less fearfully now. Obi-Wan smiled and exclaimed “Hello there!” She startled a bit and stayed quiet, until his father turned to look at her. “What do we say, Leia?” With the tiniest voice, she waved back as she said: “Hi!” before quickly hiding her hands behind her again. By that time, Anakin had finished with Luke and gestured to her to get closer. Luke stayed standing close to his father, not looking up at Obi-Wan at all. 

“Now, Luke, it’s your turn.” The kid shook his head and pouted. Anakin frowned but didn’t turn towards him, instead keeping his focus on Leia. “Come on, he won’t bite you.” The second push didn’t work either. Obi-Wan was about to tell Anakin that, really, he did not mind the children ignoring him but Anakin was faster. “You don’t want to make Qui-Gon’s brother sad, do you?” It worked like a magic spell. Both kids looked at Obi-Wan, the new information piquing their curiosity. And then, hiding a bit more behind his father, Luke said “Hi.” 

“Hello, Luke, nice to meet you.” Considering the niceties done, the kids turned and left for the kitchen where Qui-Gon still was. Anakin got up and smiled at Obi-Wan again. “We’ll work on the kisses next time.” 

–

Heavy rain poured down making anything hard to be seen. With that in mind, Obi-Wan drove with special care, even when the streets were almost empty. As he stopped at a red light, movement on the sidewalk caught his attention. Two kids were jumping around in heavy raincoats, uncaring about the rain or the cold weather. A couple of steps behind them, their parent held two colourful umbrellas over a curly haired head, taking advantage of the children’s eagerness to play. 

Could someone be embarrassed from recognising someone by their hair? Obi-Wan pondered about it as he lowered the right car window and leaned over to scream “Anakin!,” making the man turn around and almost drop one of his children’s umbrellas when trying to wave at him. “Do you need a ride?”

Five minutes later, he had two kids in his backseat, soaking the seats while cheerfully arguing on how to put on their seatbelts. Anakin had thanked him profusely before he told Obi-Wan where to go and focused on calming down his children. 

The kids had loosened up around Obi-Wan since that first meeting at Qui-Gon’s. It had helped that Obi-Wan had been there the other two times Anakin had dropped by and that his colouring skills had been deemed appropriate for the twins. 

“You must stay for a coffee after that favour, Obi-Wan,” Anakin told him as they stopped in front of a building’s glass door. Behind them, the twins cheered at Anakin’s proposal and Obi-Wan sighed. 

“Only a coffee, I don’t want to impose.” –

Anakin’s apartment was much tidier than what Obi-Wan would have expected from a single man living with two young children, but then again, Anakin had always been neat in his own spaces when he wasn’t in the middle of an exam period. 

Luke and Leia scrambled away, probably hiding in their room, as Anakin led him towards the kitchen and made him sit on a stool. He began setting the coffee machine up while humming under his breath and Obi-Wan relaxed against the wall. 

“This place is lovely, Anakin,” Obi-Wan commented, signalling for one sugar when Anakin showed him the sugar can. 

“All thanks to Padmé,” Anakin shrugged. “I mean, we chose the decoration and furniture together but she was the one with enough money to actually find us a place to buy instead of renting.” Qui-Gon had filled Obi-Wan in regarding Anakin’s dead wife situation so he could avoid messing up when talking with the man but he hadn’t expected Anakin to so casually bring her up. 

At his silence, Anakin turned and quickly deduced what had quietened Obi-Wan. He smiled sadly. “Qui-Gon told you about Padmé, I see. I miss her dearly but I’ve been working through it with my therapist.” He turned around to grab two small mugs and continued. “Don’t tell Qui-Gon, though, I’m not ready to admit to him that I’m going yet.” 

“I don’t think he would judge you, he’s your friend, after all.” Obi-Wan jumped in to defend his brother. 

“Oh, I know, it’s just that I still can’t believe it myself so I need a bit more time.” 

They moved on from that as Anakin made them move towards the sitting room. Obi-Wan told Anakin about some of his trips, and he in turn filled the holes in Qui-Gon’s retell of their shared history since Obi-Wan had left. 

“You know,” Anakin began casually, staring out the huge window where rain still fell with fury. “I used to have a huge crush on you when I was younger.” 

He side-glanced at Obi-Wan to gauge his reaction. And for a moment, Obi-Wan was not a much older man drinking coffee with his own brother’s much younger friend, but a single, lonely man who had returned to his home country because he missed it and had a gorgeous man saying he used to like him so long ago. 

So, as any sensible person would do, he choked on his coffee and had to cough for a while as Anakin chuckled at his misery. It took him several minutes to compose himself, straightening up as Anakin gently patted his back. He took a deep breath and then risked another sip of what remained of his coffee before turning towards Anakin again. “Used to?”

Anakin’s eyes widened as Obi-Wan realised what he had actually said. Blushing, he clumsily thrust the almost empty cup into Anakin’s hands and stood up. “Well, I have overstayed my welcome, I need to go back home, Qui-Gon must be waiting for me and…” “Obi-Wan,” Anakin interrupted his tirade of excuses, standing up as well. “If you’re interested we can…” He paused, unsure on how to continue. “I mean, that is to say, maybe we could actually go out, uh, for a drink?” 

He cringed at himself and looked down towards the cup. “I mean, nevermind, I didn’t actually….” “I would like that.” Obi-Wan cut him off. “I always thought your relationship with Qui-Gon was a bit strange.” He began, doing his best to ignore how Anakin cringed again at his words. “But he always told me I would have to get to know you before making my opinion. And seeing your bond remain after all these years, even becoming stronger with your children… I think I may enjoy getting to actually know you, Anakin.” 

Anakin finally looked up at that, cheeks pink but an earnest smile on his lips. They stared at each other and then Anakin handed him back his cup. “You still have to finish your coffee, why don’t we start now?” 

[babstheyaga]

I had an idea and I had to write it down before I forgot...

(Just music and stuff, nothin' serious... Or is it... (I'll go into details unknown yet so FTLM SPOILERS!!!))

Songs that reader relates to some of the characters in Fear To Love Me (A lot of Loveless because they're my favorite band):

Picasso by Loveless for Jazz

"I don't know when, think I started at the ending" Describing how reader's first interaction with Jazz was automatically romantic/sexual.

"Got a pretty little daydream telling me what I need to hear, but I can't let you go" Basically how she feels about Jazz throughout the entire FTLM series. Being pulled between thoughts of dislike towards him because of how he abandons her constantly, yet when he's there, when he's sweet, it's like a daydream. He's telling her exactly what she needs to hear to keep her around.

"My mind keeps slipping further away... Am I wasting my breath? Probably." Self explanatory.

"So damn unfair, bracing, going nowhere (Oh no, it's gone and happened again) I'm spiraling, getting sick of my pretending (You know I think I like it again)" She HATES the fact that she can't get over him, she's sick of pretending she can't stand him, but you know she starting to like it.

Haunting Me by Loveless for BumbleBee

"History has a way of telling me to stay away" She knows BumbleBee's past with her, her history is telling her to stay away from him, but she physically can't get him off her mind.

"How do I say everything catches up to me?" She's supposed to move on from him. She's SUPPOSED to stay away but it's starting to catch up to her. Jazz is getting jealous. Mirage can't stand the thought of her being with him. Bumper isn't trusting of him. She's being torn apart.

"It's a brand new day but I can't even think straight." She thinks of him all the time. She can't think straight because of it.

"Got a taste of the bitter in me, now I keep it just to feel complete." When she's finally able to see him again, he's different. He's loving. He's caring. She feels awkward around him, she needs him to be aggressive again. She needs him to be bitter again.

"Wish that I could just fall asleep and not wake up with you haunting me" Self explanatory.

"I could climb another mountain, I could swim another sea, fall apart if you were next to me" She can try to find him in others. She tries to find him in others. But she will always come right back to him given any chance.

THE DINER by Billie Eilish, early stages of Mirage

Basically the entire song is self explanatory. Lol.

Ecstasy by SUICIDAL-IDOL, late stages of Mirage

Also very self explanatory! LOL

i need to be alone. by girl in red, before the fall with Bumper

"I sometimes think when does life begin" She's starting to get depressed, she's thinking it's totally pointless that Bumper is there, she's only going to die.

"I'm falling out of conversations. I can't pay attention, repeat the question" Bumper is attempting to make friends with her, but she can't focus on anything. She's too busy stuck in her own head to properly hear, or even comprehend anything they're saying to her.

"I need to be alone or I'm gonna lose my shit" She's losing her mind with Bumper never leaving her side. They won't even let her sleep alone. She can't take a shower, she can't go outside, she can't talk to Ratchet, WheelJack, BumbleBee. She needs to be alone.

"I'm waiting for something to change, 'cause everyday just feels the same" Self explanatory.

Heart-Shaped Soul by Loveless, Bumper after the fall

"I lie awake pretending that it's different when you're here with me, I made up my decision you're too good for me, and I honestly wonder why I ever let you close" Bumper's gone. She was warned constantly that it would happen, that they would leave, yet she refused to accept it.

"I know I'm the problem, put it all on me, but honestly, I hate that I ever let you close" She knows she caused it. She knows she was at fault. Jazz won't let her let it down, Mirage will always remind her, and yet she can't handle it.

"What a twisted fate, always ends this way" It should have been her. It should have been her. It should have been her. It should have been her.

"I let you know that I'd let you down" She tried so fucking hard to make them understand that she won't let them down, she'll beg, plead, and barrow with them, but they've already accepted what happened.

"But you still, you still hear me out" Bumper fell for what she was telling them.

"My heart-shaped soul bleeds on the ground" If you know you know.

"I don't really like it, but I think you need to leave" When Bumper returns, she pushes them away to the point she flat out tells them to leave and not come back.

[mistchievous]

20 Questions for Fic Writers Podficcers Apparently

Tagged by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels because she thinks she's funny. Spoiler alert, she is. <3

How many works do you have on ao3?

I have 111 atm which is such an amazing number. Look at the ones!

What's your total Ao3 word count?

80,874

What fandoms do you write podfic for?

Mostly 9-1-1, but I've dabbled in Lone Star. I also have a podfic each for both One Piece and BG3. Before I got to 9-1-1, I mainly podficced for The Magnificent Seven: 2016.

Top 5 Podfics Fics by Kudos:

[Podfic] come on, come on (turn a little faster) - My One Piece podfic leads the way! It was written by @kenbunshokus. <3

[Podfic] Leading with the Left - I'm sure you're all SHOCKED to see this one on here. @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels killed us all with this masterpiece.

[Podfic] I Hate Accidents (Except When We Went From Friends to This) - @morganofthefairies gave us oblivious idiots, and I gave you all a podfic. <3

[Podfic] Love in the Time of TikTok - This one was written by @buckttommy, and the fact that it's so high is a testament to how fucking funny she can be.

[Podfic] To Build a Home We Deconstruct Our Rituals - It's @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels back to ruin our lives again.

Do you respond to comments?

I do! I fall behind sometimes, but I always catch up! 💃

What is the podfic fic you recorded wrote with the angstiest ending?

Pretty much everything I've ever podficced ends happily or with some sort of hopeful ending. I have to go with [Podfic] the nighttime fear (see it coming from the edge of the room) which was written by @extasiswings. It's a short introspective piece with no happy ending. I don't think there is another that ends unhappily for me to even consider, honestly.

What's the podfic fic you recorded wrote with the happiest ending?

LMAO! They're pretty much all end happily, as I just said.

Do you get hate on podfics fics?

No. Never.

Do you record write smut?

Oh yeah. I've recorded plenty. 😂

Craziest crossover?

I've only recorded one, and it wasn't crazy considering it was just a 9-1-1 and 9-1-1: Lone Star crossover. It was [Podfic] These Are My Stompin' Grounds written by @benjaminrussell.

Have you ever had a podfic fic stolen?

Idek how this would be possible.

Have you ever had a podfic fic translated?

Why did Mads tag me in this game? NOT ALL OF THESE QUESTIONS CAN BE ANSWERED, MADS.

Have you co-recorded co-written a podfic fic before?

I've had people guest star, and I've participated in one multivoice podfic.

All time favorite ship?

Are you fucking kidding me? How am I supposed to choose? Probably Buddie, even though that feels wrong because it's not even my current hyperfixation. I've never created as much for another ship though.

What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Oh, I'm gonna finish all my shit. Don't you worry.

What are your podficcing writing strengths?

Fuck. Idk? I think I have good pacing and emote really well. And my editing has improved tremendously over the years.

What are your podficcing writing weaknesses?

I'm hypercritical and tend to overedit at times. To the point that it sounds unnatural. I'll also just shove entire projects to the side if I don't meet my own standards, so there are quite a few things haunting me from the WIP folder atm.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I've very rarely had to record in another language. Especially in the last few years. For my Mag7 podfics, there's a bit of Spanish and a small amount French, and they're kind of embarrassing for me to listen to. I've honestly considered taking them down, but I know there are people who enjoy them. So, I never do. There's a bit of Spanish in at least two of my early 9-1-1 podfics as well. I always try my best with it, but I only speak English, so I'm always super paranoid about fucking it up. I'll avoid recording entire fics just because there are other languages in them.

First fandom you podficced for wrote in?

The Magnificent Seven: 2016

Favorite podfic fic you've recorded written?

[Podfic] Carbon Date Me, Excavate Me written by @extasiswings and @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels is my fucking baby. I've listened to that fucking podfic so many times...

But my current favorite that I listen to regularly is [Podfic] nothing is safe written by @foxflowering which is my BG3 podfic. I have other BG3 projects in my WIP folder, but I'm so self-conscious about my ability to voice those characters that they're not coming out anytime soon. I was hyperfixated af on this ship for a while though and listened to this damn podfic on repeat. Also, @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels guest starred in it, so it has a special place. <3

Tagging, with all the pressure because I refuse to suffer alone: @blackestglass @mayonnaisetoffees @brasscacti @rhea314

And then some writers, who this is actually meant for: @theyarnmaidstale @queerbuckleys @honestlydarkprincess @peridotglimmer @gayhoediaz

@homerforsure @princessfbi @sibylsleaves @rewritetheending @fleurdebeton

@hazel-athena @buckactuallys @kitkatpancakestack @buckttommy @kittykatthetacodemon

[heyidkyay]

About you |

A/N: Hey, back with something very short but figured it could be a good place to start another series or fic… not sure though, but here you go!:) Inspired by The 1975’s About you.

Summary: After a tragic accident, you’re left with nothing to cling onto. Life becomes a struggle when you have no recollection of anything, or anyone…

Warnings: tiny mentions of trauma, fire, injury

—

And there was something about you that now I can't remember

It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender

And I'll miss you on a train, I'll miss you in the mornin'

I never know what to think about

I think about you

—

(Flashback)

It was blinding.

My eyes were open, I could feel how wide they must have been. But I could see nothing. It was like staring into a bottomless void. A pit of emptiness.

Only, I could still hear the screams. The shouting. Calls of warning, pleads for help.

The smell of sulphur was overwhelming, and it only grew. Burning bright and sharp. I could feel the flames of it licking at my skin, singing my hair. Burning.

We were burning.

It was so hot. The heat it engulfed me. Terrified me, down to my core.

And I could hear the sirens wail. Loud and obnoxious in the distance. Far away but so, so near.

If felt like they were taunting me.

So I cried. Sobbed. And then I could hear his voice too. Soft, even in this darkness.

I called out for him. Again and again.

But nothing.

I was stuck.

Trapped.

My chest hurt. My head throbbed.

I couldn’t breathe.

Why couldn’t I breathe?

—

Most mornings started the same.

I’d stir, eyes fluttering as sleep slowly left me, giving way to a new day. I’d inhale, curl inwards or stretch. But then I’d stop short. I’d pause.

Because that feeling would come again.

That strange feeling that seemed to linger through the rest of the day and carry me into the night, only leaving me some small amount of peace when my eyes grew tired and finally allowed me some release.

The feeling that would settle somewhere deep inside me and hollow out my chest.

This morning was the same. Of course.

The bed beside me was cold again.

The pillows there, unruffled.

My fingers reached out, pale, splayed against the stark sheet I couldn’t remember buying. But, like usual, the touch only fed that turmoil.

My brow would pinch and then I’d have to fight my body to get up, to pull away, to begin anew.

Because that’s what life was like now.

Everything was new.

Because since I’d woken up in that hospital bed all those weeks ago, I felt like my entire life had been stolen from me.

I recognised nothing. No one.

Not my mum. My brother. My best friend.

Not even, him.

He who haunted my every waking hour, and drifted throughout my hazy dreams.

I could see his face everywhere though. Vaguely. Sometimes I’d linger on it. Focus. Try to recall. To remember… something.

But it was of little use.

My memories only continued to evade me.

—

The underground was a maze within itself, yes. But that fact always felt so much truer when you were faced with the after work rush.

The period where everyone was in a hurry to get home, to see friends, family. Christ, even feed their pets.

Me?

I was the anomaly, I supposed.

I had nothing and no one waiting for me when I got home.

No tea on the table. No smell of burning candles, or a linger of aftershave when I walked through the door. It was just me. And that empty silence.

I sighed, rocking slightly as the rails diverted. Willing my eyes to close so that I didn't have to focus on how sad my life suddenly seemed since the accident.

But my mind betrayed me, allowing my thoughts to wander from behind my closed lids.

Because, what if-

What if this was how it had always been?

Back when I could remember the door number to my mum's house. Or the name of my brother's dogs.

Back when it didn't hurt to recall the fleeting memories that would surface whenever I traipsed around a certain street corner, or lingered by a bakery.

What if my life had always been this... sad?

I hadn't seen much of anyone these last few weeks.

In truth, I'd gotten scared when the doctors had told me about the damage which had been done to my head.

I'd ended up pushing them all away. Though some had stayed, he had, for a while. Until I'd grown too much to bare, I supposed.

Because I was alone again now.

Not that I could blame any of them. One thing I'd realised since waking up was that I was as stubborn as they came, and had the temper to match if I chose.

So they'd all gifted me some distance. The kind I’d screamed for. Though, my mum and brother still checked in regularly, texts and calls, the odd visit whenever I felt too tired to deny them.

They always made things so much worse though, those visits.

Because the same question would always come up and I couldn't stand to watch the heartbreak on their faces whenever I parroted the same answer back to them.

"No. I don't remember."

Memories were funny things though. If you really thought about it.

They make up so much of you. Of your life and the people around you. They give you that strength to continue on.

Without them, it's like you were a lost shell.

An empty vessel. Merely waiting.

Only, you don't know what you were really waiting for.

Because I'd honestly given up by this point. On waiting, I meant.

Waiting for that day to come. For the match to finally spark the fuse.

"It could happen, any day." They'd told me whilst I’d gazed emptily out that window. "Anything could trigger it."

But then my heart would always sink. Because there was the harsh reality of it. Always.

"But you could be waiting a while. Worst case- they never return."

I'd been to therapy, of course. First thing they'd recommended as soon as I'd been well enough to leave the hospital actually.

But I'd put it off, only reluctantly tried when my mum had all but begged. And it hadn't helped much.

At all, honestly.

But it had made her happy. Calmed her woes. So I'd kept it up... at least for awhile.

The train jerked then and I made a sharp inhale, opening my eyes to watch most of the commuters step off onto the busy platform. Eyes lingering as a few more stepped on.

I was about to look away, let my head lull back as the beeping began, but there was a small commotion and I blinked as a man suddenly bounded through the closing doors.

He huffed, watching on, whilst he caught his breath, as the train doors finally closed. Then as the carriage jerked again, setting off, he pivoted with an amused, almost proud, grin, which only seemed to falter when my eyes met his.

[drabbles-mc]

Turn of the Tide (1/2)

Pirate!Stucky AU

Summary: After years apart thinking that they would never see each other again, Steve and Bucky come face to face under circumstances neither of them ever would have dreamed of.

Warnings: 18+, minor blood/injury, angst (with a happy ending), pining, alcohol

For the Alternate June-iverse prompt: Pirates

Part 2 can be found HERE

Word Count: 9.3k (oops)

A/N: First of all, thank you for @buckybarnesevents and @rookthorne for putting this event together again! Without y'all and your amazing cards/prompts, I never would've tried to tackle something like this and I had SOOO much fun doing it. So thank you so much. Kisses to you both 💕 I'll be posting part 2 sometime within the next week!

MCU Taglist: @artemiseamoon @garbinge (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

They were hardly more than boys when Steve had lost him. No matter how many years went by, no matter how many times people told Steve that what happened wasn’t his fault, he never believed it. He’d long since lost count of the number of times that he had set foot on a ship since then, but it didn’t matter—every time it happened there was a pang of guilt that went through him.

It had been the perfect mess of circumstances. They were young. Strong, but still young and there was a certain type of control that even the strongest boys would only garner with age and they hadn’t yet. That wasn’t something they ever considered, though, their confidence bolstered from knowing the ships like the backs of their hands. Whether it was calm waters or riveting storms, they always moved with the assurance of men who had it all under control. Most of the time they had someone looking over their shoulders to make sure that things didn’t get out of hand. It was usually Steve’s dad—the ships were his after all. The man had a sixth sense for when the two of them were getting out of control or close to it and he always showed up to reel them back in just in time.

He had tried, too, the night that they lost James. The winds were picking up, the waters were getting rougher. He knew that it was spelling out bad news, but he could still hear the chatter and laughter between the two boys out on the deck. He warned them, telling them to get inside, telling them to leave the storm prep to the men who had been doing this with him since before either of them was born.

Steve nodded, immediately ready to follow the direction. More often than not that was how it went. James had nodded as well, but there was also a look in his eyes that betrayed the fact that he wasn’t prepared to just sit back and let everyone else get to have all the fun. He was young enough and inexperienced enough to still consider it fun.

James had always had that little bit of an edge to him. From the moment Steve turned up with him at home one evening when they were small. Steve’s parents didn’t have to ask James many questions to quickly pull together that he was a boy in need of some stability, a place to be that might help keep him out of trouble. They took him in as much as they could, as much as James would let them. It worked—he brought Steve out of his shell as they got older, and Steve kept him from getting too carried away a lot of the time. There were some times, though, like the night of the storm, that Steve’s starry-eyed admiration and love for the boy he’d grown up alongside of got the better of him. James would give him that little smirk, would make a little bit of a coaxing motion with his hand, and Steve would give right into him.

It'd been years and not a day had gone by that Steve didn’t kick himself for giving into it that night. He was just a kid, and there wasn’t anything that he really could’ve done, but he knew that it was always going to haunt him. He could still hear the thunder, feel the intense rocking of the ship. If he shut his eyes for too long when he thought about it, he swore he could feel the rain pelting against his skin, wind beating against his face. He felt the way that he reached for James’s hand, the way their fingertips just barely grazed but it wasn’t enough. He heard the scream that he let out as he fell, hated the way it was the last thing he ever heard of him.

Steve always inevitably thought about the way that if his father had just been a few seconds later, if he hadn’t gotten there in time, Steve would’ve leapt right over the edge in after James. It would’ve been futile in the darkness and the rough waters, but Steve had still been ready to do it. A couple second’s worth of a difference and Steve wouldn’t be standing on the deck of that same ship all those years later, still taking orders from his father, still carrying the guilt on his shoulders along with everything else.

He stood there staring at the edge of the deck, knowing exactly where he’d been standing that night, one rock of the ship away from going over the edge just like James had. There were no prints left behind from his boots but he could still see them plain as day.

He was dragged out of his waking nightmare by the feeling of someone’s hand coming and clamping down on his shoulder. He turned to see who it was, a tight smile coming across his face when he saw it was Sam. Sam had come along a couple years after they lost James, back when Steve still thought there was a possibility of his best friend showing up again. Sam was kind, helpful. He didn’t have that same type of defiant streak that James had had which was a relief to Steve’s father and the rest of the men running the crew. As time went on, he and Sam got along well enough, but he never let anyone in like he had with James. How could he?

Sam knew it all, and never seemed to take anything to heart. He didn’t let the distance faze him. “Think they might be leaving you in charge.”

Confusion flooded Steve’s features. “What?”

Sam nodded towards the ramp that led down to the dock. “Captain Rogers wasn’t feeling well, they said. But we still have to make the run.”

Steve gestured towards the cabin. “What about—”

“They said it was gonna be you.” Sam took his hand from Steve’s shoulder and let it fall back to his side. “Next Captain Rogers. Was always going to happen, wasn’t it?”

Steve chuckled good-naturedly. “It’s one trip my father isn’t well enough to come on himself. Hardly me taking over.”

“Gotta start somewhere. Maybe if this goes well…” he trailed off, knowing that Steve would fill in the blanks.

“You still want to go, Wilson?”

Sam’s smile was bright, genuine. “Gonna need a right hand—of course I still want to come.”

Steve left Sam and the rest of the crew to continue with their preparations for departure while he slipped off to have a conversation with his father, confirm that what Sam had told him was actually the truth and not just a misunderstanding. It didn’t take much, though. The moment that he walked into his father’s bedroom, he could tell by just taking one look at the man that he was too sick to be on the ship for the next trip they had planned, no matter how straight-forward or brief. Steve didn’t stay and talk for very long. He knew the route—it was their usual trade run. Very rarely did they have any issues with the traveling itself, and the crew was steady and consistent. As long as their usual vendors were there when they arrived, everything should go perfectly according to plan even if Steve was the one at the helm instead of his father.

The little pangs of guilt that went through him whenever he went onto the ship went away faster than usual this time around. He had more to preoccupy his mind this time, able to stay busy. He’d been watching his father do this his whole life, could recite it all from memory at any given point if someone asked, but it was different when he was the one who actually had to do it. It felt good.

The first day of sailing had gone by without incident. The waters were calm and it looked like it might even stay that way. The crew hardly batted an eye when Steve was the one who started giving out orders. There were a few jokes made, all in jest with no malice to be found, but other than that everyone went along like it was business as usual. Steve supposed that in a way, it was.

The sun was starting to set on the second night. Steve could see it in the clouds that there was the potential of inclement weather, and possibly rough waters. They had planned ahead enough that anchoring for one night wasn’t going to set them terribly behind. It would be safer to do that rather than trying to sail through a storm and losing everything. Even if he hadn’t been heading things up on his own for the first time, he would’ve suggested airing on the side of caution. It was his default now, and most of the crew knew it. They also knew better than to try and argue or convince him otherwise.

It was late, the sun completely gone. The stars shone overhead but before long the wind would be blowing in clouds that would cover them up. The breeze was already strong enough to begin roughing up the water. It wasn’t terrible yet, but as he felt the ship start to sway, he wondered how bad it was going to get.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard Sam coming up behind him. It wasn’t until Sam’s boots hit the wood of the stair that Steve was sitting on that he realized it all. Steve snapped his head to look at him, and Sam was just staring down at him with a smile on his face. There was no denying the exhaustion in Sam’s expression, and Steve was sure that he looked much the same. It was a good day but even good days were tiring.

Steve wasn’t expecting Sam to plop down on the step next to him, but he did. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Rather than offering a verbal ice breaker, Sam held out the bottle in his hand, offering it to Steve. He accepted it, fingers curling around the neck of it. He brought it up to his lips and took a sip, letting the liquor scorch its way down the column of his throat.

He brought it back to his lips to take a second sip and all he could think about in that moment was James. He thought about the nights the two of them spent up on the neck, thinking that they had been so sneaky pilfering liquor from his father. There was no way that the man hadn’t known, but he hadn’t said anything about it. Part of kids growing up, teenagers stealing from their parents’ liquor cabinets. Steve had hated the taste of it back then, and really didn’t much care for it now either. James had never seemed bothered by it, though. He would take a swig from the bottle and he wouldn’t cough or cringe the way that Steve always seemed to. It went down like water for him. And, while the years that passed made it so Steve didn’t cough with every sip anymore, he still always felt himself wincing at least a little bit each time. All those years had passed and he still wasn’t who James had been.

“Is it strange?” Sam asked.

For a moment Steve irrationally thought that Sam was asking the question in relation to all of the thoughts that had just been flying through Steve’s head. But then the logical part of his brain took over once more. Steve shook his head as he handed the bottle back to Sam. “Not that strange. I’ve watched him do this for years—it’s not new.”

“You guys ever run into problems out here?”

Steve shrugged. “Not on this run, usually. I remember my dad had come home once or twice with stories of fights and pirates. I never knew how much of it was just him trying to scare me into listening to him and my mother.” The comment got a chuckle out of Sam and Steve found himself smiling too. “But I know it’s been getting more dangerous out here.” A strong gust of wind blew and rocked the ship, causing both men to brace themselves to keep from toppling over. “Haven’t heard about anything but that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. If trouble comes,” Steve’s hand subconsciously strayed to the gun at his hip, “we’ll be ready.”

He hoped he would be, at least. He wasn’t worried about the rest of the crew. They were seasoned sailors, most of them doing this since Steve was a baby if not longer, though they were younger men back then. But still, they’d run across thieves and pirates in their time and lived to tell the tale. Steve had never had the misfortune, however, to be on-board a ship with his father when there were unwelcome guests. He’d never had to use his gun on someone, or his sword. All he’d ever used them for was practice. He was hoping to keep it that way for as long as possible.

He turned to Sam. “You should get some sleep. Everything’s battened down out here just in case. We’ll be all set.”

“You gonna get some sleep, Cap?”

Steve chuckled at the moniker. “Yeah, I’m gonna get some sleep.”

He had no real clue how long he had actually been asleep for, but when he was yanked back into consciousness, it felt like he’d just barely shut his eyes. He wasn’t woken by a sound, but rather a feeling. The sensation of cold, sharp steel pressed against his throat. His eyes popped open instantly, and luckily enough his body fought the impulse to shoot upright at the disturbance. If he’d moved much more, he would’ve had yet another pressing issue to deal with on top of everything else that was happening.

He blinked the last of the blurriness out of his eyes. When the room came into focus, a fresh jolt of fear shot down his spine. His eyes traveled up the blade that was pressed against his throat, crawling their way up the arm of the person holding it until they reached the other’s face.

With only one candle in his room still left burning, Steve couldn’t make out the details of the man who was currently one flick of his wrist away from ending his entire life. He had long, dark, shaggy hair. It was covering just as much of his face as the shadows in the room were. With the hand that wasn’t keeping the short blade pressed firmly against Steve’s throat, he brought one finger up and pressed it to his own lips.

“Let’s stay quiet,” the man spoke, his whisper deep and raspy. “Would hate to bring the rest of your crew into this.”

The more that Steve’s eyes adjusted to the dark, the more details he could start to pick out about the person who had allowed himself onto their ship. He saw the myriad of jewelry draped around the man’s neck, around the wrist nearest his throat. The loose shirt left a fair amount of the man’s collarbone exposed, but that was hardly a blip on Steve’s radar when he noticed the way the sleeves of the man’s shirt were pushed up. His left arm, the one not holding the blade to him, was covered in scarring. It was too dark still for Steve to be able to try and guess what the cause of it might’ve been, but he had to assume that it wasn’t unrelated to the fact that this man was sneaking aboard ships in the middle of the night like this.

“I have a feeling,” Steve finally said, gathering his wits about him, “that you already did.”

Even in the dark the man’s smile was impossible to miss. “I’d say no one can get past you but,” he nodded towards the blade currently pressed against Steve’s throat, “apparently they can.”

Steve exhaled harshly through his nose, his patience wearing thin despite not knowing what he wanted his next move to be. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you’ve got.” The man looked around the tiny cabin space that they were currently in. “Merchant ship this size?” He nodded approvingly. “I think you might have a few things my crew could make use of.”

Steve shook his head as much as he was able, feeling the slight pull of the blade against his throat as he did so. “We don’t have—”

“Don’t lie to me,” the man’s whisper was as sharp as the steel in his hand.

He exhaled again, this time the breath came out unsteady. He didn’t want to take his eyes off the man in front of him, but he needed to look and see just how far away his gun was, or even his own blade. Was it close enough to reach for? Would he be able to move quickly enough to grab it before it was too late? If he did get it and manage to stay in one piece in the process, would he be able to take out the man in front of him before he could alert the rest of his own crew? He didn’t hear them moving around the ship but if they weren’t aboard yet, it wouldn’t be long until they were. The longer that Steve kept this man trapped in the room with him, the more likely it was that his men would become restless and come looking for him.

Steve held the man’s gaze for a moment longer before settling on a plan of action. Anything was better than sitting there and doing nothing. Not letting his eye contact waver, Steve swiftly drove his foot into the man’s sternum and pushed him backwards. It didn’t knock him completely down, but it put enough distance between them for Steve to twist and grab his own blade from beside his bed. He felt the burn on his throat where the other man’s blade had broken the skin, but he knew from the feeling of it that it wasn’t enough of an injury to cause a problem right now. There were much more important things at hand anyway.

He leapt out of bed, sword at the ready. In the limited space at their disposal in Steve’s quarters, they paced a circle around each other, sizing each other up. They were quite the pair against each other, Steve in his thin white sleepwear while the man was standing there fully dressed and ready for whatever was coming his way. There was something about the man that felt familiar to Steve, but he couldn’t for the life of him fathom what it was. He didn’t make a point of consorting with pirates, so he didn’t know what the draw was. He could barely make out the features of the man’s face, but there was something. Maybe it was just the panic in his system, looking to make sense out of something that was random and senseless. Wrong place, wrong time. If he lived to tell the tale, he was never going to hear the end of it from his father.

Time for calculation was over. Steve stepped, lunging with his sword. It was a blade that was longer than that of the other man’s, and he was hoping that would prove to be an advantage. The move wasn’t effective, the man blocking it with ease. The edges of the blades glided along each other as they each tried to push through and get closer.

Steve regained control of his blade and created an opportunity for himself to make another attempt. The sweeping gesture he made was mildly more effective than his first move—he felt the difference in pull as the sword cut along the skin of the man’s chest. He hissed in pain, turning away from the blade as best he could. It was surface-level damage, not all that much worse than the nick on Steve’s neck all things being considered. The thin slash was enough to cause blood to start seeping into the loose white fabric of the man’s shirt, making it start to stick to his chest.

Steve did his best to take advantage of the split-second of surprise, that brief moment the man spent recognizing that Steve had made contact. He stepped in and made another short, sharp motion and knocked the sword from the man’s hand. It clattered to the floor, sounding impossibly loud. Steve knew that this was the moment. If he was going to put a stop to this man, this was the time to do it. It would only take him another second, after all, to lunge and sweep his blade back up off the floor. Steve knew that he should send his sword right through the man’s chest, or slash the blade harshly across his throat. It was no better or worse than what they would do to him on-shore—pirates weren’t ever punished with anything less than a public hanging. It wasn’t as though Steve would be changing the outcome for this man. This was the only type of end he was going to meet. He must’ve known that when he decided to become a pirate. It wasn’t a lifestyle that was known for staving off a man’s expiration.

He brought his hand up to do exactly what he had practiced, what countless lessons over the years had trained him to do. One more sweep of his arm and it was all over. But he couldn’t. The blade stopped mere centimeters away from the man’s throat. Instead, he closed his first that wasn’t holding onto his sword, and struck a harsh blow to the man’s jaw, one that did knock him down to the ground.

It didn’t take much after that for Steve to get the man pinned down onto the floor. The man was lying on his stomach, one side of his face flattened against the wood floor beneath them. Steve was wrangling the man’s arms behind his back, ready to tie them into place when he heard a cacophony of footsteps and shouting out on the deck. Even with Steve’s knee digging into the man’s back, he still managed to get a laugh out.

Steve ignored the way that the man’s laugh made his nerves spike. He busied himself with the knot he’s started in the rope around the man’s wrists. The voices were clearer now, and Steve could also hear those of his crew as well. The mess was growing worse by the second and he still wasn’t sure what each step of the plan was going to be yet, he only knew the outcome that he wanted, no, needed.

He heard the man’s crew calling out for him, multiple men shouting out, “Captain!” What caught Steve’s attention, however, was the fact that at least one member of the man’s crew was calling out, “Bucky!”

Steve yanked as hard as he could as he finished the knot, noticing the sharp breath of pain the man let out beneath him. “Bucky, huh? That’s what they call you?”

He chuckled, like the position he was in hardly registered as an inconvenience. “Only my friends.” He turned his head to look at Steve. “That what we are now, Captain?”

Steve pressed his knee harder into the space between the man’s shoulder blades. “Hardly.”

Shifting his weight, Steve brought himself to a crouching position for a moment, feet planted just to the side of the man’s, Bucky apparently, body. Before Bucky could get so much as another snide comment out, Steve wrapped his hand around Bucky’s bicep as much as he could before heaving him up off the floor. Bucky was nearly stumbling to keep up with the force that he had been lifted with. Under different circumstances he would’ve been impressed, as he hadn’t expected the captain to have such an easy time of it. Bucky didn’t put up as much of a fight as he could have, and probably should have, as Steve grabbed hold of his sword again now that they were both upright.

It was impossible to miss, as Steve dragged Bucky towards the door, that the noise outside had reached its crescendo and died down considerably. No more firing guns and clanging swords. There were still the shouts and grumblings of disgruntled men, and all Steve could do was hope that most of the men still able to talk, still up and about, were his own.

He was just about to reach for the doorknob when someone on the other side yanked it open. The surprise that shot through Steve, that made him brandish his sword, quickly melted away into relief when he saw that Sam was the one who had pulled the door open. If Sam was coming to get him, he just had to hope that that meant his men had ended up with the upper hand. A success not unlike what Steve had managed against Bucky.

Sam’s eyes were wide with shock as he looked back and forth between Steve and the man that he had a vice grip on. “C-Captain,” he finally stammered out.

Steve could see, even in the low light, the blood smeared on Sam’s clothing. He hoped that most of it wasn’t his own. Sam was still upright, and aside from the panic and shock he seemed to be doing alright. “Wilson,” Steve said, trying his best to sound reassured, like he wasn’t just as panicked and just as out of breath as the man in front of him, “how’s the crew?”

Sam nodded but the worry was still thick in his expression. “We, they, um.” He couldn’t find it in himself to ignore the glare that Bucky was giving him. “Come and see.”

The confidence that Steve had been starting to garner began to slip away as he followed Sam’s instructions. He watched as Sam turned on his heel and headed back to the deck. Steve shifted his grip on Bucky’s arm, keeping a tight hold on the thick cord of muscle that ran up the back of his bicep, fingers digging as he pushed Bucky forward through the doorway first. The action was rough enough to nearly make the man stumble, but he managed to catch himself.

The deck was a mess, but as Steve took quick stock of the situation at hand, he was relieved to see that all the members of his crew were, more or less, in one piece. Some had injuries that would need more attending to in the daylight, and more still once they reached shore or returned home, but it didn’t seem as though anyone was at risk of slipping away from them just yet.

The same could not be said for all the members of Bucky’s crew. Some of them were bound much like their captain, left incapacitated against the mast. Others weren’t so lucky, their blood staining the wood more and more as each second ticked by. Bucky felt his anger renew, and he struggled against Steve’s grasp knowing it wasn’t going to get him anywhere, wasn’t going to change anything. It was a risk they all ran, living the life that they did, and Bucky knew that as well as any of them. Still, though, he felt responsible for them—he was still their captain after all.

Steve and Bucky’s crews had been matched well in terms of numbers. From the looks of it, Steve might’ve only had two or three men more. But Bucky’s crew was much greener than Steve’s. Most of that was chalked up to age. After all, while there were many benefits to youth, not many things could match experience. A majority of Steve’s crew were still young enough to be able to fight if they had too, but they were also old enough to know a lot of the tricks others had up their sleeves. It was why they were able to come out on top, even if they didn’t come out of it unscathed.

Steve felt Bucky pull against him again and he brought the sword up so that it was pressed against Bucky’s throat. Perhaps it was a bit of an empty threat after how things had played out the first time, but it still made a point.

“If you don’t want this blade to go any deeper,” Steve said as he adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword, “I would stop fighting.”

“Why?” Bucky grit out. “So you can bring us in and hand us off to someone else who will do the same? Hang us in—”

“You knew the risks when you decided to become pirates,” Steve cut him off, confidence back in his voice again.

He pushed Bucky towards where the rest of his crew was tied, impressed with how little pushback there was. He was tempted to make a comment about honor among thieves, but he knew as well as anyone the loyalty between a captain and his crew. There was a little gnawing at the back of his brain knowing that it carried over to pirates as well.

Sam stepped up so that he was beside Steve. “What do you want us to do?”

Steve nodded towards the mast. “Put him with the rest. We’ll keep them there for now.” He let out a deep sigh as he relaxed his arm, his sword lowering until the tip of it just barely touched the paneling of the deck. “We’ll move on now—reach port by the afternoon.”

One of the men tried to speak up, clearly exhausted from everything. “Cap—"

“I’ll take it from here,” Steve reassured, already knowing where the sentence was going. He was as exhausted as any of them, but he knew that there would be no going back to sleep for him now. He wouldn’t be able to rest until they returned back home. Maybe not even then. “One of you can relieve me in the morning.”

There was a tense silence, but no one spoke up to argue. The sense of unease about the plan was outweighed by people’s need to rest and lick their wounds. Steve watched as one of his men finished tying Bucky down. In the daylight he would be able to get a better look at him, at all of them. He wondered if he would feel any different afterwards.

Steve’s men slowly started to head back to their barracks, one by one. The deck slowly started to empty. The ship rocked slightly, and it wasn’t until that moment that Steve realized the storm he had been expecting never came. There had been some wind, a few smatterings of rain, but nothing like what it could’ve been. They could start carrying on right then with no issue, and now that was exactly what Steve was planning to do.

“Captain,” Sam spoke up, trying to sound certain but not quite hitting the correct note.

Steve hadn’t even noticed that Sam didn’t return to his quarters like the rest of the men on board had. Steve tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible as he turned to face Sam. Steve knew that he must’ve been just as rattled as he was, if not more-so. He wondered briefly how Sam had held up when the fight itself was happening. He had some wounds to show for it, so he had at least shown up, hadn’t stowed himself away. Steve had a feeling that Sam would be the type to stick by the crew, but that was one of those things that you never really knew about a man until they were thrown into the thick of it.

“Wilson,” Steve said in response, his tone more convincing than his counterpart’s. “You can head off too. If I need—”

“I’d rather stay,” Sam spit out before he lost the nerve. “If that’s alright. I don’t,” he shook his head, “I don’t think that I’m going to be going back to sleep anytime soon.”

Steve nodded understandingly. “Okay.”

The relief cascaded across Sam’s face. “Okay.” He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure as much for his captain in front of him as for the men who were tied up to the mast behind him. They didn’t need to be seeing any weakness from him. “Besides,” some of his charm returned to his voice, even if it was a little more deflated than usual, “you’ll need a hand getting everything loosed to sail.”

The smile on Steve’s face actually felt like a genuine one, even through the exhaustion and the stress. “That’s true.” He nodded towards the ropes tied off on the side of the ship. “You know what to do, then.”

Sam gave a nod and headed right off, knowing the routine by heart, as close to matching Steve’s knowledge and comfort as he could. He moved with calculated ease, and after watching him for a minute, Steve headed off to handle the rest. Even with just the two of them working, they would be ready to go rather quickly.

Sam was climbing down the netting, calling out to Steve as he did. “Captain Rogers!” he exclaimed. “We’re ready!”

Steve nodded. “Pull anchor!”

Bucky had been watching both of the men intently from where he was strapped down on the deck. The longer he’d been sitting there, the more he had a strange feeling pulling at the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t just the feeling of being captured, the dread of what was going to come next. There was something else, something that he couldn’t quite put a name to.

It all came crashing down the second he heard Sam call the man in charge Captain Rogers. Bucky was sure that more words had been exchanged after the fact but he hadn’t heard them. Everything else fell away, the waves crashing around the ship, the groans and words of anger and discomfort coming from his men around him. The darkness seemed to get thicker as the reality of the situation started to rip through him.

All he could do was look at the man who had put him there. It’d been too dark, too chaotic to see it before. But now? With nothing else left for him to do but look? He could see it. As soon as the words had left Sam’s mouth, Bucky could see it. The years that had passed since they last saw each other had aged them both, Bucky more-so due to the hardships that he’d faced, things that Steve wouldn’t have had to worry about even in his wildest dreams. They were both grown now, and yet they were still just boys messing around on the deck of his father’s ship after dark. The stakes were higher now, but at the core of it, they were the same as they’d ever been. Bucky too far out over the ledge, Steve not quite out on the ledge with him.

Bucky thought that his heart was going to explode, splatter within the confines of his chest as each small thought and realization hit him one after the other after the other. His eyes were wide as he continued to stare at Steve, willing himself to say or do something, anything at all.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Bucky was finally able to force out one word. “Steve?” All the previous anger and snark in his voice was gone. He hadn’t spoken quite in a whisper, but it wasn’t loud enough to carry across the deck, especially not when the man in question was most likely trying to tune him out, along with all of his men. He cleared his throat, trying to say it with a little more force this time. “Steve?”

That time it reached the captain’s ears. Steve’s head snapped in Bucky’s direction, confusion etched so deep into his features that Bucky could see it despite the darkness around them. Steve’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out where he got that information from. None of the men had called him by his first name in front of Bucky. Maybe they’d mentioned something in front of the rest of the crew, in the heat of everything else that was going on maybe that was simply a piece of information that had slipped out. Not the end of the world, really. But if that was the case, why was Bucky saying it like that? Why did he seem surprised? Maybe even a little sad? More than that, why did Steve feel like there was something intimately familiar about the way that Bucky said it?

The longer that they stared at each other from across the deck, the more Bucky could feel his emotions continuing to well in his chest. His limbs felt heavy, and suddenly his physical wounds were the least of his worries—they paled in comparison to the way that the years of hardship and being apart from everything he’d ever known, everyone he’d ever known, were crushing him from the inside out. He wanted to have more to say, but what was there? What was he supposed to say now that they had ended up like this? They hadn’t recognized each other, after all. He didn’t know if it made it more or less heartbreaking that it was mutual.

“Steve,” he repeated himself, this time not as a question.

Steve didn’t want to believe it. His grip tightened on the helm, blunted fingernails digging into the finish of the wood. The longer that he stared down at Bucky, however, the harder it was to try and lie to himself. He couldn’t try and ignore him and pretend all the way until they reached port. His resolve wouldn’t last that long, not if Bucky really was who he was about to claim to be.

He didn’t take his eyes off of the man as he called out to Sam. “Wilson!” In his peripheral he could see the way that Sam was listening, waiting. “Man the helm for me for a moment, will you?”

Sam nodded as he strode over, immediately ready to oblige. He placed his hands right where Steve’s had been, ready to keep the course. He had watched the entire scene unfold and while he couldn’t say that he had a full grip on the situation, he could feel the tension in the air that this was now about much more than a rag-tag group of pirates who had tried and failed to rob and possibly commandeer their ship. He wasn’t sure the depths of what it was about now, but it felt precarious. And precarious was dangerous when they were out in open water in the middle of the night the way that they were.

“Cap, I don’t know what happened with Bucky, but—”

“I’ve got it under control, Sam,” Steve said, his reassurance sounding surprisingly real despite the fact that Steve had no idea what was about to unfold. Maybe that was what it was like to be a captain, just making sure that everyone else felt reassured even if he didn’t feel very certain himself. He gave Sam’s shoulder an affectionate clap. “Stay the course.”

Sam got half a word out but before he could finish, Steve was already descending back towards the main deck, and Sam was left unable to do anything but watch him. There would just have to be time for the questions later.

Bucky had been watching the entire interaction unfold between them. He couldn’t hear for sure what they had been saying, but he could see the way that Steve had hardly taken his eyes off of him even though he had been speaking to Sam the entire time. Bucky hoped that boded well for him, that this wasn’t just some hopeless dream or delusion of his. He hoped that whatever there was between them way back when, that loyalty and whatever else existed unspoken there, had kept after all these years. Even if the stakes had changed drastically.

He watched as Steve made his way closer to him. The last mental image he had of Steve was when they’d been so young. Steve had been shorter, so much skinnier. He’d been strong enough when they were teenagers, but he’d always been slimmer and wirier than Bucky ever had been. It’d been a sore spot for a little while there. Clearly it wasn’t a problem anymore, if the way that Steve had been dragging him around with ease said anything.

Bucky felt like he blinked and suddenly Steve was standing in front of him. He tilted his head back, feeling the way it tapped against the mast when he’d tilted back as far as he could. He couldn’t remember a time before when he had to look up at Steve that way. All of the words he’d ever learned were stuck at the base of his throat as he watched Steve study him more closely, a deeper intent there now that recognition, and acceptance were nipping at his heels.

Steve had grabbed a lantern on his way, wanting to give himself as good of a view as possible of the man who was claiming, without saying it in so many words, to be the friend he’d lost at sea nearly two decades ago at that point. Time was so cruel the way it just kept slipping by.

Ignoring the attempted thrashing and angry commentary of the men who were left of Bucky’s crew, Steve finally lowered himself down so that he was face level with the man tied to the mast. He studied Bucky’s face closely in the lamplight now, the tan and smattering of freckles left behind after years out underneath the sun. He tried to see past the beard he had now, tried to see the boy he remembered, like if he couldn’t peel back the layers and find James somewhere underneath all of the Bucky, he simply just wasn’t going to believe it.

Bucky was helpless to do anything besides sit there and watch him. He saw the way that Steve’s pensive frown pulled his lips downward. Suddenly Bucky could see it clear as day. Even though the circumstances couldn’t be more different, when he looked at the thoughtful downturn of Steve’s lips, the slight pull of his brows towards each other, all he could see was the two of them sitting on the edge of the docks as teenagers, trying to figure out the intricate workings of all the knots that Steve’s father told them they needed to learn. It always took Steve a little longer to learn them, it was harder for him to pick them up and keep them committed to memory. He’d get three-fourths of the way there and then lose track, and he would make that same face that he was making now. Always trying to figure out which pieces of the puzzle he was missing.

Steve was fighting the urge to reach out and touch Bucky’s face. He hadn’t been brave enough to do it back then, and he certainly didn’t feel like he had any right to do so now. But it also felt like it wouldn’t be real until he did. Bucky’s eyes looked up at him, so earnest in comparison to how he’d looked at Steve when he’d first woken him up in his sleeping quarters. Two completely different men wrapped into one. Steve couldn’t help but wonder if either of those men still wanted anything to do with him.

The amount of time that they’d spent in silence, Steve crouched just inches from him, finally sank in. Steve cleared his throat, finally getting himself together enough to speak. “James?”

The relief that Steve felt at Bucky’s reaction was a visual, tangible thing. His shoulders went slack as he exhaled a breath he’d been holding for longer than he should’ve been. The creases across his forehead that had been born of worry instantly smoothed away. He felt himself wanting to smile but he knew that he couldn’t get too far ahead of himself now. They knew each other back then, and there was a brand of comfort in that, but they were different men now, or at least James was. He didn’t even go by the same name any longer. He didn’t know how much that history would hold, if it would be enough to save him.

Regardless of the conflicting feelings rushing through both of them, even though Bucky knew that it was too early on to have any assurance that he was actually safe, he still felt a thought, a feeling blooming at the back of his mind that was telling him that things were going to work out somehow.

He needed to come up with something more, something better to say, but with the shock that was still making its way through the marrow of his bones, all Bucky could do to answer Steve’s single-word question was repeat the same thing that he’d been saying all along. This time, he said it with a tinge of hopefulness that he hadn’t allowed himself to have in a long time. “Steve.”

Steve felt like he had just gotten punched in the chest. There was no more denying any of it. The reality of it all pushed the air clean out of his lungs. The urge to reach forward and pull Bucky into an embrace was immediately fought off by the part of his brain still steeped in reality, the part that recognized the fact that Steve had commanded to have Bucky restrained against the mast. There had to be a first step somewhere. Something between a constant repetition of names and cutting the ropes loose so that Steve could ball his fists in the fabric of Bucky’s shirt as he hugged him.

“How?” Steve finally managed to force out, the light of the lantern throwing shadows that further intensified an already heavy moment between them. “You were dead. I, I saw it…” he trailed off, emotions choking him up as he thought back to that night, to all of the nights since that it had been haunting him. “You went over the edge. Right,” Steve’s eyes darted to the railing where it’d happened, “right there. I tried to go after you but my father—”

“I know,” Bucky stopped him short. There were a million conflicting emotions on his face, behind his eyes, things that he had been shoving as far down inside his chest as possible for as long as he could remember.

That night might have been haunting Steve ever since it happened, but Bucky remembered it just as clearly—no matter how hard he tried to forget. He remembered the sting of the water, the burn of the impact of it. He remembered how with each breath he tried to take in, he also got a mouthful of seawater. But there hadn’t been any use in trying to spit it out, each sputter only allowing more water in. His body got tossed around by waves in a way that he couldn’t ever remember happening before or since. The ocean was cruel and unrelenting, and painfully egalitarian. It didn’t matter that Bucky hadn’t even truly been a man yet—the waves tossed him around like one anyway.

For as chaotic and overloading as it had all been, one other thing about that night was something that Bucky couldn’t forget about no matter how much he tried. All the sensations that popped up uninvited in his nightmares, things that yanked him from his sleep sweating and gasping for air that he no longer had to fight to get, and the one thing that made him awake with tears on his face was the sound. There had been wind, and rain, and waves, but above and through all of that he had heard the sounds of Steve’s screams. The screams, the cries. It was too dark and he was too incapacitated to see Steve trying to jump in after him, but even so he could hear the way that Steve had been screaming at his father, begging in a way that Bucky hadn’t ever heard before. At the time he thought that it was going to be the last thing he ever heard.

All the years that had gone by had Bucky certain that it was the last thing that he was ever going to hear from Steve. There had been points as time went on when he thought about heading off to find him. But when he was young he didn’t have the means. He was pulled in by a crew and he didn’t have the sway to be able to ask them to do such a thing. Why would anyone do something like that? Pirates had enough to contend with without putting themselves in situations like that. And the crew that had taken Bucky in, while they’d kept him alive and shown him the ropes, they were rough. They were brutal in ways that Bucky hadn’t known were possible outside the stories that he heard from sailors back home. He learned it all, too—how to keep himself safe no matter the cost. He tried his hardest to make sure it never came to that. But the more time that went by, the more that he learned, the more senseless it became to think about returning back home. He didn’t even know if he would be wanted there, if anyone would still remember him.

With each venture and every crime, Bucky had also become keenly aware of the fact that he was drifting farther and farther away from being James, from being the person that Steve would remember, the person that Steve would want. He didn’t know how long it took for him to stop letting that be a deterrent. At some point, the thought of seeing Steve again and still wanting to be something like the person his best friend would remember, stopped lingering at the forefront of his mind. He let go of the hope of that, let go of the last few shreds of that boyhood, the innocence that he associated with Steve for so long.

Bucky was pulled from the painful montage in his head by the grumbling of the man who was tied to the mast to the left of him. He didn’t quite catch the words themselves but he didn’t have to, the man’s frustrated tone and the way he was fighting against the binds was an abrupt reminder that Bucky had well and truly made his bed years ago. Now he had to lay in it, him and all of the men that made up his crew. After what had just happened it wasn’t going to be so simple as, “Cut us loose and we’ll just pretend this didn’t happen.” Bucky was the only one who would’ve possibly been capable of that, and even then it wasn’t a sure thing. They’d lost men to this, after all.

He studied Steve’s face for a moment, trying to figure out what the man was planning on doing next. There had been a time when he would’ve been able to tell without having to look—they knew each other that well. Bucky always knew the next three steps that Steve was going to take. It’d been too long now, though.

After another moment, Steve revealed a small knife. He leaned forward, about to make his way to cut the ropes that bound Bucky’s wrists. The child that still ran around the deepest parts of his brain couldn’t simply just let his friend sit there tied to the mast, no matter how long it’d been. It was impulsive, something that if his father, or Sam, or anyone had been there beside him, they would’ve stopped him.

As it stood, the person who tried to get him to stop was the man that he was trying to free. “Steve,” he said, voice quiet and sharp all at once, “don’t.”

He looked like a hurt puppy at the rejection. “But—”

“I stay with my crew,” he said, the sureness of his tone betrayed by the conflict in his eyes.

“James…” Steve was nearly begging, such a swift turning of the tables.

Bucky managed a shrug. “Different world now, Stevie.” He paused, waiting for his long-lost friend to say something more. When he didn’t, Bucky continued, “All of us, or none of us.”

“I can’t just—”

“Then don’t,” Bucky cut him off again. He knew that that was going to be the answer. The same way that Steve knew Bucky wasn’t going to turn his back on his crew, Bucky knew just as well that Steve wasn’t going to just cut them all loose like that.

With a sigh of disappointment, Steve looked one more time at the knife in his hand before tucking it back into its sheath. His hand stayed wrapped around the handle of it for a few moments longer anyway, like he was giving Bucky one last chance to change his mind, but he didn’t. Stubborn as he’d ever been.

“Alright then,” Steve finally said. He braced his hands on his knees so that he could get himself upright again. He hesitated to walk away, staring down at Bucky who was helpless to do anything besides stare back up at him.

Bucky sat and watched as Steve turned and walked away. There were so many things that he wanted so say, but what good would it really do him? Or any of his men, for that matter? Each one of Steve’s receding footsteps rung right through his skull even though the sound of them was softening with the distance.

“Should’ve gotten out,” the man beside him said.

Bucky turned to him. “What?”

“Should’ve gotten out. No point in all of us—”

“Like I said,” Bucky fixed him with a stare, “all of us, or none of us.”

The man let out a deep grumble of a laugh. It wasn’t loud, per se, but Bucky could see that he felt it genuinely regardless. In that moment Bucky was trying to remember just how long the man had been part of his crew. He had at least a decade on Bucky, the oldest member of their crew. He remembered him coming aboard, joining Bucky after his last crew had gotten captured. He’d lost track of how long ago that was exactly. Time tended to blur together, the number of days losing their meaning.

When the man stopped laughing, he said, “You still have that goin’ for you, then.”

Confusion drew Bucky’s brows together. “What?”

“The sea hasn’t beaten the ideals out of you yet.” He shook his head before letting it rest back against the mast once more. “Most men would’ve taken the chance to get out.” He chuckled one more time for good measure. “You probably should have.”

Something about the man’s smile got one out of Bucky as well. If he made it another ten years he wondered if he would be just as amused when faced with these types of situations. “Too late now, huh?”

The man looked over at the helm where Steve was standing, eyes never staying on one target for long. He looked at Sam, who he was talking to, around the ship and the sea surrounding it, but his gaze also kept going back to Bucky. Not any of the men beside him. Bucky might have been willfully ignoring that but his shipmate most definitely wasn’t.

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The knowing look that was on the man’s face got a hint of a smile out of Bucky. He didn’t say anything to confirm or dispute what the man had said to him, though. He just sat and tried to think of how he was supposed to get everyone who was left out of this mess in one piece.

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

First of all, no worries lol. It's taken me literal months to respond to people sometimes, and not for any good reason so I'd say you're fine.

Anyways, with that out of the way let me just say I find that interesting. Kiri, to me, has always come off as someone who attaches herself to one place. In my experience, there's a difference between being able to adapt/connect anywhere you go and truly being a traveler at heart, and Kiri strikes me as the former. She yearns to dig deeper into her knowledge and connections regarding her home and thrives on the familiarity of the people, plants, and animals around her whereas I feel like Lo'ak needs to travel, needs to get out from under his father and brother's shadows. To just exist and be himself, find himself and his place without all of the history surrounding his birthplace. That's not to say I think Kiri doesn't like experiencing new things, I just see her as a very nostalgic and sentimental person who finds peace in the plants and animals and people she's known her whole life.

Ikr! I don't know why I haven't seen a single fic about it yet, but rest assured I have a doc opened rn (I feel like my wip list is just getting longer and longer dude). Little fun fact about me: I took horseback riding lessons for a good 5.5 years and so I'll be leaning heavily on those experiences for how Spider approaches his own riding experiences as a human (with obvious differences). There's something to be said for the feeling of a creature so much more powerful than yourself under you, having to be conscious of its every move, every action---the flick of its ears, the position of its head, etc.---- without being able to know for sure it's true thoughts or emotions but trusting it anyways that brings you closer to it in a way I can't explain, even with the ones you don't get along with. And I want that for Spider, I want him to embrace his humanity in this.

He doesn't end up in Awa'atlu at first for the ilu racing one, no. I've got a good idea what I want from this fic in the beginning, but what happens after he escapes is something I'm still pondering. I know for a fact I wouldn't want this to be a story where he stumbles upon Awa'atlu, though, if I end up writing it. I'm thinking maybe he ends up back at that one village and goes from there?

And I figured I'd tell you about another fic I'm working on as we speak because I'd love your thoughts: a world where Paz actually died back on Earth, but per a contract she signed giving away her memories (which she logged regularly) she was revived in an avatar body and put in the newest program. In this program, males and females are paired together to have children (for less than wholesome reasons). A big part of this is Paz being haunted by her experiences on Earth and not wanting to be a mother because of it, and she struggles to come to terms with it over the course of her pregnancy and the early days after Spider is born, along with being in this alien body that doesn't feel like hers. I think that by the time she's gotten pregnant with the 2nd child (they're going for a boy and girl per pairing) and is coming out of her numb fog, she's begun to truly think about the horrific future that awaits Spider and her unborn baby (spurred on by the threat of killing it if it's not a girl) and ends up plotting their escape and running away. Throughout the story thus far she's bonded with the other women in the program and comes to learn about motherhood and what it means to her, and when she escapes she takes the others with her and they make their own little family before eventually running into the Omaticaya and slowly becoming friendly. I'm playing around with timelines and stuff because I think it'd be interesting to compare her and Neytiri's and Grace's experiences with motherhood, which would be so interesting to write about (Grace doesn't die until later in this world, don't wanna give away the death I'm leaning towards though). I'm taking inspiration from the poetry book 40 Weeks and more, and I love the concept but am still working out the kinks. Thoughts? Still very much in the early phases.

Also, I saw you briefly mention my memory-loss idea and I'd like to say that that brought me literal physical pain. Why, you may ask? Well because my one and only doc of the draft I was merrily working on (around 10+ pages of gorgeous notes/early rough-draft work, which for me is astounding since I tend to just ball) was deleted??? And I don't know the fuck how???? 1000 emotional damage points.

And I'm so happy to hear you've taken inspiration from fmdttpt's world! Your idea sounds so fun!

~ CherryApollo

Haha, thank you, and I'm sorry I've done it again. I've been so busy with my new job that I am swamped all the time, lol. I'm bad at responding anyway but my job is making it even worse.

BUT ANYWAYS. I love your interpretations of the characters, I just love when people think of or experience characters differently but in a way that still fits to me. For Kiri, I've just always seen her feeling at home anywhere that Eywa is, and wanting to experience every part of her. Every way she can feel her or be expressed, explore different plants and animals and nature and study and be a part of it the way her mom would've wanted to. And I just think Lo'ak gets bored easily lol.

I looove the horse comparison, it's shocking no one has written this fic yet! You have a ton going but it's okay because I'm excited for all of them. Humans are experts at taming and riding shit, why can't he, especially something as intelligent as an ikran.

Hmm, okay, the village makes sense. They would be able to tell Tonowari and therefore the Sully's real fucking fast through, so it would be kinda similar to him finding Awa'atlu. You coullllld have him escape in the forest and find the Sully's missing? I've always wanted one of those fics.

That's a really interesting idea! I personally don't care much for Paz as a character, or stories about her, but that is a very cool idea and I'd definitely check it out to see where it goes.

NO NO YOUR MEMORY LOSS FIC IS ONE I'VE BEEN SO EXCITED ABOUT, THAT'S THE SADDEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD. Google doc man, I only use google docs.

And thank u for being chill with me getting inspired by/using it! I'm trying to catch up on all my asks today (answer but not post, I schedule those), so hopefully I'll be faster to answer you next time! I'm excited to hear how your works are going!

[lobstermatriarch]

Writer interview game!

Tagged by @eraserspiral, thank you for thinking of me!!

When did you start writing? oh it was young. i remember trading some truly godawful poetry with my friends at recess. buuuut i have never been particularly consistent in keeping up with it.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write? Plenty of them! Mystery and satire are two standouts that i adore but don’t really write well.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often? In terms of pulling inspiration, Tamsyn Muir takes up too much space in my brain (I made Gale read a heavily altered version of Harrow the Ninth out loud in a semi-recent chapter of Come Down whoops :/). outside of her I've probably intentionally taken the most influence from David Mitchell and Nnedi Okorafor

(definitely not been compared to any of them though. )

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space? ohohohoh this implies that i have a dedicated writing space and don’t just bust out my laptop when the mood strikes

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse? if i'm working on a long project i force it sometimes, sit there and write nonsense until something seems usable and then build off that. if i was rich i’d travel more since i always seem to get the best inspiration on trains or at airports

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you? Survival and loneliness vs connection tend to pop up pretty often. Definitely not surprising, but a little frustrating. anytime i finally think i've written something new, i'll go back, read it again, and say "shit this is about That again isn't it."

What is your reason for writing? I am plagued by demons that haunt me until i exorcise them via word vomit

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating? honestly any feedback is motivating, but i do love hearing that someone’s had a strong emotional response to what i’ve written.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers? Hopefully as an enjoyable little freak writing enjoyable little freak things (enjoyable is a relative word here i know)

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer? in general, i want to believe i’m decent at keeping a consistent perspective/point of view. specific to fanfic i like to believe that i’m pretty good at staying within the ��he would, in fact, fucking say that” boundary.

How do you feel about your own writing? i am trying to hate it less

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both? it's a mix. i can be a little contrarian so sometimes i'm more influenced by what's popular via trying to avoid it. that said i'm not out to torture anyone reading either so i do try to consider certain writing choices carefully

some very very optional tags: @antimonyantigone @anosrepasi @sweetmalice26 and any other writing followers who would like to try, please do and tag me so I can seeeee

[dent-de-leon]

Casting my Molly thoughts onto you

Sometimes I think about Molly singing tunes, mainly ones he's heard from Toya in particular. Imagine him just humming melodies to sooth Yasha's troubled thoughts. And imagine him on watch just quietly singing that one melody he heard from Toya when he first met her. And like the Nein falling soundly asleep to Molly's singing that it becomes a routine for them to fall asleep to it.

AHH YES!! I'll never recover from the fact that it's singing that first breaks that all consuming Emptiness always gnawing away at him. Molly is wandering alone in the cursed Savlirwood, lost, haunted--unable to even feel fear when confronted by a growling bear. He just feels numb to all of it. Until this moment when there's a note, a song, and it brings him back to himself a bit.

He hears Toya's song, and he can't help but follow.

It's the fact that Molly was so drawn in by this bittersweet song. It's Molly feeling this wistful longing when he hears those lines, this aching soul who just crawled out of his own grave, still almost stranded in this liminal space between life and death, still so lost and haunted. "The moon shown bright on that haunted night/As the dead sang out their song/Now's your time to drink and dance/For soon we shall all be gone." It's the way Molly looks so vulnerable, so helpless and lonely, Toya just can't bear to abandon him--

And of course, the circus takes him in--takes care of him. It was a song that saved him, much like how the Moonweaver first greets Tealeaf's wounded soul with a song. Sang for him a story of her own home--a tale of a king brought back from the dead, a promise of what's to come and a chance to be born again--

It's just so sweet to me that Molly's soul, once so shattered and lonely, always found comfort in music. His loved ones soothing him with a soft song. And I can definitely see him singing with the Nein too. I mean, we know that he used to do it all the time. Whenever he was risking his life to save others, or out for a bit of vigilante justice--he took to singing as he ran off into the night. And I'm not surprised that Toya's song seems to be a favorite of his for "choir practice."

And he does sing a bit of a fun little drunken song in that one break in episode. But I do so love the thought of Molly getting the chance for more "choir practice" on the Nein's adventures, just breaking out in song as they make a daring escape--or more likely--complete fools of themselves--

But the thought of Molly singing around a campfire for his family is even better. Molly singing Yasha's favorite songs from the circus when she's staring off into a storm, wrapping her up in his arms and holding her close. Both of them feeling a little less Empty and alone in the world. Molly singing softly when Caleb tosses and turns from another nightmare, singing until he finally falls back into a restful sleep. Mollymauk teaching Jester that beautiful melody Toya sang at their last show together--the one she eventually sang before Lucien, desperately trying to reach Molly--

I really just love the headcannon that Molly will sing for the Nein the way Toya and Sehanine used to do to comfort him. And I love the thought that, as Kingsley, he takes up choir practice again. And when he finds out Yasha plays the harp? Maybe one day he asks her to play for him. And she strums a few notes that are so terribly familiar, so bittersweet. And when he starts to sing along, he still remembers every word--

One last thing: when Lucien confesses he set the family caravan on fire to kill his parents--and the puppet they made out of his dead brother--he mourns how much he misses the little plays they used to put on. The songs. "My parents looked after the music, and we children would put on little plays. Little to others, I suppose, but grand to us. Yes, grand."

It's the unbearable pain of what comes after. The realization that his family's days of song and dance are forever over. "After a while I couldn't let it go on, couldn't look at myself or live with myself, so I burned down the caravan with all three of them inside, took my sister, and that was that...No more little songs. No more farces.'"

It's the way a hag tries to tell Lucien that the only way he'll ever be happy again is if she carves out his soul, turns him into her empty, mindless puppet. "My beautiful boy...I had hoped to make you mine one day. What a perfect specimen you would have been. Oh, how you would have been merry with laughter and dance..."

And then a part of Lucien is born again as Molly, gets to experience the joy of falling in love with music and dancing all over again. Escapes the hollow Emptiness Lucien always feared awaited him. Feeling so free for the first time in the longest time, finding comfort in singing songs with a family who loves him so dearly--

[desultory-novice]

Been awhile since I had seen your stuff, and I really enjoy what you’ve been coming up with! Glad to see you’re having fun

(Also, how did you start here, so to speak? I would love to be an active creator in the kirblr community, but since I just lurk and rb because I don’t have the energy/confidence to create, I just feel like an unwelcome stalker LOL. Sorry if this is too much!)

Oh, gosh, thank you so much! I'm a little impressed at how things have turned out after barely two years(?) here myself!

I don't know if my methods could ever work for anyone else as they do me, as I attribute a lot of "this" to serendipity but...

...It seems to me I really took off after opening my inbox up to doing detailed ask memes about the characters. Again, this was kind of luck on my part because I spoke very lovingly (albeit truthfully!) about a few mega popular characters, which caused two of their fandom BNFs to kindly reblog my posts, and that sent a bunch more asks for the WHOLE rest of the Kirby cast my way!

I'm sorry to say, it does take a lot of energy though. But I do get the struggle, as I'm often exhausted by life/lots of jobs. However, if you can find any sort of mental "trick" to keep yourself going, you might discover you have more energy than you think inside you!

(Me, I'm very visual, and I keep a collection of my favorite fanart on hand. If I think I've exhausted myself on a character/ran out of ideas of things to talk about, I'll browse through my personal "gallery" and it will help me to remember characters/events/interesting points.)

As to the matter of confidence, you've probably heard the whole "fake it to you make it" bit and to a degree, at least, it's true. I've had a couple of posts where I've flooded the tags with things like "OMG this is so bad and I'm so sorry!" or "I had no time to work on this and it shows~" or "if this sucks it's because life is crushing my soul and I just want to sleep for a thousand years..." annnnnd unfortunately...

...even if it's how you're feeling At The Time, those things can make people feel like they're intruding into your space by liking or reblogging it. It's like, if you're telling us something so personal and private, maybe you really only want to hear from a friend right now, and not a stranger...? What I've done is I've told myself it's okay to write out those low self-esteem thoughts elsewhere but try to let the people who are here for the art/images/videos/writing/discussions just enjoy your art/images/videos/writing/discussions.

If you've got something to get off your chest, don't feel like you have to hold it inside, but don't hold your audience captive either.

(Also, something else fun about this: if you cast out positivity, you may find that it comes back to you, and when you look again at that thing you shared, it was NOT as "awful" as you thought.)

Now, a lot of that was about "external" confidence or what you display. As for internal confidence, that's... kind of a constant struggle. We all -- and by all, I I mean even famous published creators -- have times when we think our work isn't good enough. Annnd...

...Well, it isn't always great. But the fact that something isn't great now (even if it's the absolute best we can do at the time) doesn't mean we have no skill at something! We all have to start somewhere. And sometimes "somewhere" is a piece of art or writing or theory or humorous content that only 1-2 people think is "...Eh, not bad."

My first "hit it big" piece? My "Moon's Haunted" Kirby meme? Ohhh man, I can't STAND to look at now! I redrew it a few months back and if I were to redraw it today, it'd look better still, probably. The key is that I tried (...and that I meme-posted when the game was going viral >.> ) and I think that shone through??

(...It might be silly, but there IS a Nintendo Direct tomorrow. Probably no Kirby news, as I assume Vanpool's closure will bring an end to us getting multiple Kirby titles a year, but if you really want to try and take that ^ path, you can always get up early/stay up late and ready yourself to post commentary on any news!)

That doesn't just go for art, but writing/theories/HC as well. I myself find it a little sad when someone starts on a post and then will just trail off with "...lol I dunno, didn't think about it that hard."

"Don't say that, person on the internet," I cry! Do you realize how much information is at your fingertips right now? You can google for things even if you only know it as "that thing in that one movie about the fruit." You can watch a Youtube video in 5 minutes explaining the mechanics of something you've never seen or ever hope to do before! You can even watch a Youtube playthrough of a Kirby thing you forgot instead of saying "You forgot!" Don't know how to draw cloaks? Pinterest has millions of references! Don't like Pinterest? Just google "cloaks, Pinterest" and click on the images tab and you will never have to log into that accursed site! It just takes WANTING to.

Though sometimes, I think people write that out of embarrassment? Maybe they DID think about it but they don't think anyone would be interested? Or maybe they really didn't think about X or Y but didn't want to feel like they were neglecting anybody and that something is better than nothing. Which it is, but LOVE is even more important!

...And love, especially in a fandom space, can be ~complicated~

Like I mentioned above, I'm LUCKY that my top favorite characters also come close to topping the rest of "the fandom's" list. But as I've said before, I love every character in Kirby. Even the ones-people-want-to-throw-off-a-bridge-into-a-waste-treatment-plant..

And if I'd started off my tumblr as a "The Susie Haltmann Appreciation Blog!" as opposed to my actual "Hey I'm Completely Obsessed About Marx and Magolor and I Think About Them All The Time (...but I also like the Haltmanns from a story perspective for their heartrending tragedy that hits close to home for me...) Blog" I don't know if we'd be having this conversation right now. ^^;

(It doesn't just have to be all about controversy/"discourse" related stuff either. I could have started a "Daily Sillydillo" blog and had to retire it in a month due to low levels of interaction. The concept of fandom favorites might not be very egalitarian, when every character deserves to have their story enjoyed, but sometimes, strong love can make up for the lack of eyes on a thing. Occasionally ^^)

...Anyway, you might not have the energy, at least not all the time, and confidence might be a little low right now too, but you love Kirby, right? You have passion for it? Passion can get you a lot! And also, there's a few methods of interaction that, for personal reasons, I could not choose that have done wonders for everyone else!

For example, I have some old, unhealed trauma about OCs, but there's a whole hu~ge section of Kirblr that loves OCs and, as far as I've seen (??) tries to be really supportive about them?

Lastly, I can guarantee you, you are NOT a stalker and anyone who thinks being a "quiet supportive fan" equates to being a stalker should consider moving away from thinking of themselves and/or others in that negative way. You have stalked nobody! You have only shown an active interest in others! That is a POSITIVE thing!

And on that note, you're definitely not unwelcome either! Especially if you're one of the precious, wonderful people out there who reblog lots! If you want to get your toes wet, why not test the waters and build your confidence in this space by adding some of your thoughts onto your reblogs? You could build a rep/connections that way!

TLDR, sometimes gaining an audience/a space is a magic trick that no one knows the secret to. Other times, it is the result of months and months and months of hard, lonesome persistence.

The best advice I can give you is advice I would give myself:

-Be kind if you can, if you cannot, then be understanding -Demonstrate care about your interests and those of others -Forgive yourself for being at the beginning of your journey

-Enthusiasm, sincerity, and love are warm lights in this world of ours that can, at times, seem so dim and dreary. Light a little lantern for yourself and remember to laugh loud with joy that life is also so amazingly, ridiculously magical and before you know it, others will find their way to your light to add their lantern to yours!

[hats-off-to-nyx]

Dear ....

hi

The title of the playlist I sent you to catch your attention

Funny enough it did

You were nice... I guess, but made me fall for you twice as much nevertheless.

You didn't even wonder why I randomly sent it to you, only said it was cute and you'll listen to it too.

Damn, the effect you had on me was so huge. The mere fact you accepted my friend request sent butterflies bursting.

I was sick after exam week, Intramurals, PE day and some personal shit, but one interaction from you sent me smiling all week. 

Talking with you was a roller coaster ride of emotions. One time I smiled too much it’d hurt my face, one time, my frown was so visible, my face looked like it was drooping.

Sending you songs I want to recommend for the sake to keep talking to you. You recommend songs back i'd listen to it until tomorrow.

My heart raced like it was in a marathon, other times it broke like bits and pieces like scattered stars on the cosmos.

My heart swooned whenever you talk about your favorites. How you gush over things you were passionate about.

How I really wanted to escape my house at dead midnight just to come to you and comfort you in your problems you cryptically relay.

Jokes, that I sometimes took seriously, haha sorry about that.

Words you wrote and symbols you accompany drove me in a whirlwind of thoughts

Candies, laughs, and you called me "sweet soul"

You had me wrapped…

But one faithful night I accidentally confessed

I feared I might've scared you off

It wasn't what I planned, being friends with you was already fine

You said we were totally alright, that we're better off friends, I accepted that

But...

That was the end

Or

Was that the beginning I started to open my eyes...

Tiny little red flags I deliberately ignored. 

It was always me who initiated the talk. You only reply fast if the topic only interested you

You barely even recommended songs to me?

It was always me...

Did you really even listened to the songs I sent?

A tornado of anxiety came rushing in

What if you mocked how stupid I was. Sent it to friends to have them mock me with you. Laugh at how stupid and desperate I was. How pathetically bullshit I was…

But hey, maybe I'm just overthinking? You're not like that right?

Maybe you were busy. I'm sure there are times you can't reply to your friends quickly

Haha…

Here I am gaslighting myself again

Convincing myself I've never made you feel uncomfortable 

Or that you didn't long pressed my messages just because I'm a person in your life as irrelevant as the stranger you meet everyday

That you just had so much to think about 

I guess?

Well…

That was until one night, something cleared out my suspicion

It was another Intramurals at school. I wasn't a student anymore because I stopped to focus on work.

I attended because I really wanna see my friends

To see you…

It was awarding night, I saw you with your team waiting for your time to get on the stage. You were on your phone. So I decided to chat you…

"Hey **** you at school?"

Was I too desperate? I don't know…

But you never replied, even viewed my message, nothing…

I wondered if you didn't receive it, but how? You were on your phone the whole time

You only replied hours later

Haha fck that kinda hurt

Was I not even your friend?

But hey... Who am I even...

So no biggie

I only got to see you when we finally approached you... You were so nice, made me forget you ignored my message haha

But, I was constantly reminded of that, everytime

Like a a ghost

That kept on haunting me

I'm no one

Just another one of your admirers

It's funny because, you were one of the reason why Intramurals was memorable

It started with Intramurals, and I think it ended with Intramurals

So I wrote this letter to pour out my emotions. Instead, it made me realize many things

I’m merely but an annoyance for you. And I apologize for that

I know you have someone you call your “mine”

I'll stop now before I fall even deeper into the rabbit hole I dug

This is fine

Maybe it's for the best

It is for the best

So 

Consider this letter the last

Dear ....