#clearly if i start something its gonna update sporadically

[gaypleasantview]

i've been thinking of trying to do a legacy challenge again, i used to be extremely into these things but i haven't properly played one in years and i have never tried posting gameplay on tumblr so it's all new territory to me... but i feel like it would be a welcome change from developing a detailed story, a way to relax even. hope it could be of interest to somebody!

[20thcentury-kylo]

Tides Of Memory

(prologue)

Well here it is- sorry this has taken me so long, I'm not really the best artist n such but here is The prologue chapter to Tides Of Memory 

                                                          Enjoy~ 

Sometimes.... he still dreams of their words... 

"Just breathe- it'll all be fine🎶" 

Delicate melodies offset by somber guitar strums... The lyrics plague his memory, repeating in endless loops. Strangely enough he feels something similar in his current state. 

Alas the boy assumes that's all they are- bizarre, sorrowful dreams. 

Xx

To Kiome, Ebisu is the closest thing he has to a home. The smiles of his rosé haired boyfriend made him feel more at home, than any foster family could. Ebisu was his tether, the source of the light in his eyes- He was without a doubt the love of Kiome's life. Even more so now as gazes up at the aspiring musician, listening to the slow harmony of the boy's soft tones... 

"I knocked on your bedroom door, and waited for you to enter~" He knows to cherish these moments, etch them deep within his heart to captivate him forever... Ebisu with his eyes closed absently guiding his hand from note to note, sings the soft tune. The song which he curiously named San Diego, is one of goodbyes, and wistful memories. Yet he plays it in such a way that one cannot help but to have hope, it's a feeling Kiome understands all too well. 

"I bought you a crimson rose, smelled just like you did~" The feeling washes over him in a soft murmur, and the boy decides that he should do something about the space between them. Face to face, heart to heart- his lips utter nothing but his eyes speak a thousand ballads in a silent attempt to intertwine his soul even further with his beloved. A slightly shaken hand reaches to cradle the musician's cheek, the subsequent blush from Ebisu spurring him on further. Their lips meet in a soft meld, fluttering beats pulling one another closer. And amidst the safe stillness of that lamp lit bedroom- he feels... they both feel- complete. 

--- 

"Daring- I love you🎶~" 

Learning of his power, and his true destiny.. Kiome almost lost it all. The fear of losing what little he had in froze him- What if he couldn't win, what if he couldn't protect them all. Such worries cloud his mind, there is no confidence in the subtle whispers of his newly acquired sword. But of course not, they do not hold the voice of his beloved. So as the swordsman sits paled in moonlight, he thinks of nothing but their voice. 

"If only we could fly across the nether~" A subtle smile of relief finds its way onto Kiome's expression. He scoots over, making room for Ebisu to sit with him. 

"Hey... how are ya holdin up?" The question forces a sigh from his lips... they're trembling. 

"I won't lie- I'm... scared out of my mind right now.." Ebisu reaches for his hand, and Kiome can feel the tremors in his soul calm at the contact. Gradually all the doubts he'd been suppressing float to the surface and out through his stuttered words. 

"I-I just- don't wanna forget you, wherever I end up." They're on borrowed time, and he can hear each Jarring tick pass them by. Stray tears escape the poor boy's eyes, he's trying to stay strong, if not for himself then for Ebisu. His own depressing thoughts are cut short by the warm embrace of his partner. 

"I Promise- You won't!!" It's a declaration that could pierce the heavens, Kiome notices that he's started to tear up as well yet says nothing.

Ebisu pulls back- flush faced yet Smiling nonetheless. His breaths are shaking, and his words flitter out sporadically, but Kiome knows- he knows and he couldn't be more thankful. 

"No matter what happens to us- to our memories..." He's suddenly quiet, his features holding a wistful hope. Kiome can't help but awe at how beautiful he is. 

"No matter what- every song I've written, every note, every memory... they'll be right here- etched in my heart.." Ebisu gazes at him with a look that peers straight into his core, he means this... And the embrace that follows is almost too poetic for words. 

"Ditto~" Kiome swears on this life, and every past life he's apparently had- he'd never forget this for as long as his existence still burned. 

--- 

The 1st thing that comes to him is the overwhelming burning stench as he looks upon the scene before him. They'd come for him. This was it- nowhere for Kiome to run. He steels himself with thoughts of his beloved, gripping his sword tighter. 

"Darling~ I love you🎶~" 

Ebisu was safe.. he'd made sure of that before ever considering this fated clash. If he survived this... he just might have to marry the ocean eyed musician. It gives him the will to move forward- When he survived this, he was definitely marrying him. The voices whispering from within his sword hum in agreement, giving him the confidence he needs to charge into danger. He couldn't die here- not when he had someone to live for. 

-- 

The beast's endless roars are all but deaf to him. Kiome stands, eyes burning bright. This is it- do or die... His sword rests firmly in his grasp- his strength does not waver, even for a moment. Each step is another reminder of what he's fighting for- each strike he bears the shock in stride, like hell was he gonna fall here... 

His body may betray his intentions- writhing with bloodied bruises and aching muscles.. But his heart can't give up now- his very soul screams out in defiance. The exception before him seems to hear this cry- as it stumbles back before giving a scream of its own. 

And as he braces himself to fight on.. the words echo ever so clearly in his head 

'Darling- I love you~" 

-- 

"Kiome!! Please... stay with me-" He can't feel his body anymore... 

Ebisu sits there- cradling the dying body of his beloved- blood covered, and practically torn to pieces... his eyes won't open. 

"Kiome!!" Ebisu's presence is the only thing keeping him from letting go completely... He wants to see his face.. To tell him not to weep for the foolish.. 

"I'm here.." Opening his eyes sends surges of blinding pain through his retinas.. but the moment that pink hair and rosy cheeks come into view- such pain is all but forgotten. He can't hear the exception anymore- guess he must've won. Then again... at what cost. 

"Why so sad.." Ebisu won't stop crying- and the sight of it brings tears to his own eyes. Suddenly the reality that he probably won't survive this  hits him all at once, and it's only through sheer exhaustion that he doesn't break down weeping then and there. Instead he sighs with a shaky breath, and gazes into his beloved's eyes for what he thinks to be the last time... 

"My time here is running short🎶" Ebisu's expression shifts, before he graces the dying boy with a tearful smile... 

"Your kisses were my ambrosia🎶"Ebisu leans down and lays a soft kiss onto Kiome's forehead- Kiome can feel a tear drop ever so slowly... 

"They melted into my skin🎶" A soft light begins to emerge from Kiome's core. This... was the end. He doesn't take his eyes off Ebisu for a moment- he'd burn the image of his beautiful face into his heart.. so he'd never forget.. 

"Darling... I love you" 

Xx 

The subtle morning light peaks through the dorm windows- rousing it's residents from slumber. He opens his eyes to find that they're wet with tears... 

'Again huh-'Kiome has had the same dream for the 3rd time this week. Of places he's never been, of people he's never met... of love he's never felt. But they're just dreams- he muses to himself. They meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Yet as he prepares for the day- eating his breakfast that Shiro so graciously prepared and brushing his teeth before heading to class- a strangely familiar tune remains stuck in his head... 

"I knocked on your bedroom door🎶~"He wonders where he could've heard it...

-PROLOGUE END-

Once again im really sorry for this taking so long- anywho i hope you enjoyed, i plan to update this semi frequently with a few drawings to complement each chapter (ReBlogs and Comments Are very much appreciated I wanna hear what you guys think uwu)

~Till Next Chapter~

[peterparkerpatrol-deactivated]

Mob!Tom Holland AU | Tom x Reader

Summary: Between the socialites and his parents, the incessant pressure on the future king of London’s Underground to find a serious relationship peaks during the biggest social season of the year. Tom isn’t afraid of taking drastic measures to maintain his freedom.

Chapters: | Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 |

Chapter 1

    “So, hows New York been treating you?” Harrison asked, reaching across the table to grab a salt shaker.  He and Tom sat in the quiet back corner of a small diner known by the elite of the New York underground for its staff’s discretion. It wasn’t the nicest of places, but it’s patrons rarely ate there with aesthetic concerns. So long as the Prairie Oysters and coffee were strong, and the bullet holes in the vinyl booths were promptly patched up, many were content to ignore the less savory aspects of the diner in favor of a hot meal and a low-key place to nurse their hangovers. The Osterfields owned and operated safe havens like this all across the globe. The dingy look kept most innocents out, and removed hole-in-the-wall places like this fetched a high hourly rent price for those looking to take advantage of a waitstaff that was willing to turn a blind eye and easy to access dumpsters.

“I don’t know how I’m going to last,” Tom groaned. He practically slumped over the table as he pinched the bridge of his nose, his body unable to decide if the smell of the omelet in front of him was mouth watering or stomach turning. In the past four days, the young man had made an appearance at at least 7 events, and it was beginning to wear on him. “Are all American bartenders as bad as the ones Evans hires?”

“No, usually Evans’s bartenders are in deep shit with him and he’s giving them a chance to redeem themselves. Their hands are shaking too much to give a decent pour,” Harrison said as he ate at his own food.

“He gives too many second chances,” Tom mumbled “It’s gonna bite him in the ass one day”

“One day,” Harrison nodded in agreement.

    The conversation between the two died down as Tom slowly began to eat his omelet, the comfortable silence of two longtime friends disrupted only by the clink of metal utensils on ceramic plates and the soft drip of coffee flowing into the percolator. Harrison finished his food first and checked his phone, smirking at one notification in particular.

“What?” Tom asked, looking up at him.

“Are your phones dead or something? Your mum texted me.” He said, holding the phone out so he could see.

“Hope you’re having a good time. How’s Tom doing? -N”

“Fucking hell.” Tom said, rolling his eyes “Don’t answer, she just wants to know if I’ve taken an interest in anyone yet.”

“She’s still on you about that?” Harrison laughed.

“Her and the rest of the goddamn world. If one more person describes how hot their daughter is to me I’m going to lose it.”

“Sounds like it’d just be easier to settle then,” Harrison offered “Find some girl who’s just as busy as you, buy an apartment together in a quiet part of Rome or Vancouver or something and never be there at the same time.”

“Could you have come up with a worse suggestion?”

“I’m being serious!”

“Sure you are,” Tom said, waving the idea off.

“Well if you don’t find someone to attach to your image, then that-“ he said, gesturing towards Tom’s pocket where his phone started ringing “is going to continue.”

Tom shushed him as he fished his cell out of his pocket, a photo of his mother taking up the screen as it rang. Tom begrudgingly answered and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hey, mum.”

-

    As Y/N sat at the diner’s bar waiting for another cup of coffee, she questioned how it was possible for someone to be so tired that the strain of keeping their eyes open made their face sore. It had been a rough night at the bar she bartended at. It wasn’t exactly a charming local dive, but usually fights would resolve themselves before she had to step in. But the night prior she had to get between no less than six sweaty, inebriated men before their one bouncer could make his way over. One of the men involved ended up passing out under the ratty pool table, and she had to spend over an hour after closing to coax him out and send him on his way. And now, Y/N was downing coffees in a desperate bid to wake up enough to make it to her retail job folding clothes she could never afford.

“Hey mum,” she heard someone say as they answered their phone towards the back of the diner. Poor tourists. She thought to herself. It was unusual for travelers to find their way to this diner. Thanks to its one-star rating on Yelp and local word of mouth, even the promise of a cheap meal couldn’t entice most people to sit down in the warped vinyl seats in a place that didn’t enforce the “No Smoking” sign hanging on the wall. She glanced over towards the back of the diner, surprised to see it was the same two boys who had been there the past few days as well. Y/N came here because it was close to home and all she could afford. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would come here multiple times on their own volition.

    She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Y/N found herself watching the disheveled looking boy talking on the phone a little longer than she should have. His hair had the distinct appearance of once being perfectly styled but had since been neglected and left to fall however it wanted. He looked very tired, clearly growing frustrated with the conversation. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, even though whoever he was speaking to wouldn’t be able to see. He suddenly glanced up and for a split second, his eyes locked with hers before she turned away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. She couldn’t see, but he looked at her for a few more seconds after she looked away before his attention was pulled back to the voice on the other side of the phone.

[Next Chapter]

AN: I’ve never written a reader insert fic before, so I hope this is okay! Also, I don’t have a writing schedule yet, so updates can be sporadic.

@dumb-bitch-stole-my-nutella

[blueraith]

Some folks still need to learn how to constructively comment

Wish I could say that I’ve been writing Chapter... 12(? Legit, I don’t often remember the chapter numbers outside of the Google doc) since posting Chapter 11 (we’re just gonna assume I know where the fuck I’m at in my own story, okay? Give me this).

But that would be a bald faced lie.

(Mostly because of my sister’s graduation and all the family visiting and the concurrent back injury I was suffering. Really kills the writing mood when you can’t sit up properly to type.)

This is going under a read more, because this incident Vexed Me To The Max(TM) and triggered a Rant of Epic Proportions(TM).

But graduation has been over, and my back has been feeling great. What really kept me a bit down since all that was over and done with is that very morning I’m feeling better, I see that I have two comments on the 100 fic I’ve put on indefinite hiatus. Yeah, it’s not an active story, but I still care about it, and I’ve been thinking about it recently. So, in short. I still care about it a hell of a lot. Hell, I care about everything that I write. I’ve written fanfiction at what’s nearing 10 years now, but nothing has erased the fact that putting yourself out there in the public eye takes a hell of a lot of effort and, sure, a smidgen of courage and confidence.

Well, this lovely commenter told me that my word count was way too high, that I was slowing my story down, and that they skipped to the last chapter (from Chapter 2, they skipped 6 chapters of ongoing character development, an ensemble cast, Ark politics, and canon fix-its) “40k words and [Clarke’s] still not on the ground yet??”

This is me paraphrasing both comments. I deleted them with extreme prejudice from the fic because I wasn’t leaving that kind of useless bullshit on my work after it effectively ruined my mood for, like, four days.

Why was it bullshit? Well, for one thing taking the average word count per chapter, it’s only a little over 5k words per chapter. Look. I balance out my word counts very carefully for each story that I write. This fic has a longer than average word count compared to my more recent stuff (which is around 4k per chapter) because of all the fuckin shit I was pulling off in this particular fic. Reworking canon to better explain why the Arkers were resistent to the radiation on the ground while having the superior blood that the Mountain Men wanted without putting them up in their shitty space station for thousand of years that evolution would have actually required them to have gone through to be remotely realistic.

Jake’s alive in this fic because I don’t like dead characters shaping character development on a pre-canon basis. Personally, I dislike orphan/parental loss storylines before the specific original work has even started. I get that orphans exist in real life. But YA media has a disproportionate amount of dead parents. Eh. I wanted to do something different. So, this means there’s an entire extra character in the story that I have to write and develop.

Diana Allers actually matters in day to day Ark life instead of just showing up and nearly murdering everyone because she’s a selfish bitch for little to no reason other than to make Abby’s already pretty damn full storyline even more packed than it already was. (Seriously, why didn’t they develop Allers more? She’s lazily implemented in canon, and I hate it. Lord only knows I enjoyed Abby and Raven’s plotlines far more in several places of Season 1 rather than Bellamy’s Manpain Adventures Lite Before He Turns Into A Complete And Utter Psychopath Later On In The Series).

Jaha is far more competent and slimey than he is in the show, rather than being a foolish man who is barely toddering along in the plot towards something useful.

Abby and Jake are at odds because Jake technically betrays Clarke and allows her to get arrested in the beginning of the story. They adopt Raven in the interim and they’re all awkwardly trying to free Clarke while pretending that Jake and Abby aren’t having marital problems. Well, Jake and Abby are pretending, Raven is as blunt as she usually is and just calls shit like she sees it.

Ensemble cast. There’s literally a tag on this story that tells you all that “This Story Is Literally About Everyone.”

So.

Yeah.

Clarke’s not on the fucking ground yet. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Having skipped past 6 chapters.

Is 5k really that long? I wouldn’t know, personally when I read a longfic, I go into it knowing that the chapters might be long as fuck because I know that I’m reading a fic that could literally take me through several days and I read pretty damn fast. Not that 40k words is really all that much when you’re rewriting a TV show using all the characters who already exist in canon and then getting into their thoughts and motivations because that is literally what books do, this isn’t a screenplay, I wouldn’t be caught dead writing one because I despise them. Sorry, but you’re getting the full range of thoughts and emotions of everyone involved. I know, that’s just awful, getting hours and hours of content for free, but god forbid the plot doesn’t run on your timetable.

But that’s really the crux of this rant, isn’t it? NEVER complain about word counts, people. Too short? Who the fuck cares? The author could be just beginning their writing careers, so to speak. Word counts of any significance takes practice, first of all. So, not only could they might or might not have the required experience to write longer chapters, they may not even want to. And that’s fine. Because they do this FOR FREE.

Same thing with longer chapters. Are you really going to come at me, nearly a year after I’ve written and posted this work, complaining about word count, as though there’s even a remote chance that I’m going to go back and edit down all of that time and effort I put into that work to satisfy your fragile reading stamina?

Pfffffffffft.

I mean, this is funny to me in some regard because I’m over here wondering just what would be a good length for this person. Part of the reason my chapters tend to be at least 4k words long is because that’s generally where I can get a comfortable amount of character interaction, introspective thought, and plot moving forward. All three of those things matter to me when writing chapters. I hate reading too short works (and no, I don’t tell these authors this. I read what they give me and just deal with it because they’re entertaining me for free) and it’s little more than characters just trading dialogue with each other. I want to know what they are thinking about as well. I want a bit of narration. I’m reading something from a specific character’s point of view, and I want that chapter to ooze the personality of that character.

These are all the things I keep in mind when I write to my word count goals, personally. Doing it in less than 3k words might be possible, but it would sure as hell be annoying.

But most of all, it just irritated the fuck out of me. Like I’ve said multiple times in this rant. I do this for free. I don’t expect you guys to know this, but in order to get these substantial updates when I can manage to actually feel well enough to write and get them published, it takes me EIGHT TO TWELVE HOURS of sitting in front of a computer screen to have a chapter finished. On a good day. Yes. Most of the chapters I put out are done in one day, in one block, and I’m often up until 5 AM finishing something up. I have severe ADHD. Sometimes it is a chore to get shit put on a page because I can’t sit down and focus my thoughts enough to sound even coherent. Sometimes I have issues keeping up with what the beginning of a long sentence was about and I have to constantly keep up with what the fuck I’m even talking about in any given thought.

So, you have an author with a severe executive function disorder attempting to concentrate hard enough to get her own thoughts in character for each and every character that is featured in any given story while attempting to resist even the most mundane distractions while desperately hoping she’s going to hit a period of hyperfocus long enough to get substantial work down, but if that happens she’ll probably forget to eat because she’s on a writing binge that goes on with actual significant work for a period of several hours.

I love writing, despite the challenges I have to deal with in order just to get it done. I love most of the comments that I receive. I’m coming off a period of extreme depression from some family issues I was dealing with. My skin is rather thin at the moment and that irritated the fuck out of me, but those two comments knocked more wind out of my sails that I really wanted them to, and that bugs me even more.

But I am more experienced in fic writing than probably your average person. This commenter pissed me the fuck off, but I’ve moved past this, it’s hardly shattered my motivation to write forever.

But a careless commenter could easily do that to someone just getting into fanfiction. And it makes me wonder just how often this happens everyday, every hour, when entitled, spoiled people who think their needs are more important than the author doing this FOR FREE decide to voice their terrible opinions on their works. I love my readers, I don’t hold myself beholden to them, but they are extraordinarily important to me. Plot, pacing, and character development are all my own when I write because first and foremost, I write for myself. It’s a hobby that I clearly have to work very hard at to even be remotely successful at, and taking anyone else’s standards into account is never going to happen when I have to live up to my own already very high expectations. But I do keep y’all in mind when I’m devoting my time, energy, and effort in. The chapter lengths I have partly exist to make up for the wait times I inevitably have between each release. I very much know that I am sporadic and inconsistent when updating. So, when I do, I want to have something that isn’t just a whisper in the wind when it finally cycles to the top of the AO3 listing.

I know there are inevitably readers who didn’t like my content, or do think my stuff is too long. That’s fine. But don’t come into my space and give me two comments that were effectively “TL;DR” and expect that not to be a slap in the face. Because it is. I have wonder if the fandom kids today even know the kind of slap backs this sort of thing would have gotten in LiveJournal.

But, never mind that. I’m a big girl, I took some petty revenge in deleting that bullshit from my boards and then setting the fic to moderated mode, but what I would like anyone who decides to read through what is actually a long winded post (all my rants are, admittedly) to learn is that you are not reading professional work. You are not reading work that has been paid for. You are not reading work that has been professionally edited. I’m not saying that you can’t have standards for fic, lord knows I have many, but I don’t go into an author’s work and leave shitty comments. Never. Constructive criticism on fanfiction keeps the author’s time in mind, their skill level over what they’re actually capable of, and whether or not they’re even open to criticism. Some authors don’t even want your advice. They just want to know that you liked it. And if you don’t, just don’t say anything. I’m not quite that fragile personally, when someone is giving me useful criticism that can be used to actually improve my quality of writing, but I will freely admit that clearly I have a sore spot about comments addressing word counts.

Get out of here with that shit.

In short. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

[cassiopeiassky]

I Don’t Want the World to See Me (Cause I Don’t Think that They’d Understand #12

Thanks for your patience, everyone!  There’s still one more to go to get Bucky caught up, and then it’s back to WEMtbB.  IDWtWtSM pieces will go back to being sporadic instead of a steady installment, so the main story will be updated more frequently (well, that’s probably not the right word, but you know what I mean).  I do have to warn you - I don’t have anything written for either of them, so it will probably be a couple of weeks between updates.

Also - I hate school it makes me want to cry.

This is a companion piece for When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) from Bucky’s POV - if you haven’t yet read WEMtbB, this won’t make much sense.

#12 takes place during part 42

***If this is your first time reading through, and you HAVEN’T yet read through part 45 of WEMtbB, this will contain major spoilers***

Word count: 2790

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: physical assault, injury, violence, threats/mentions of death, Bucky’s really pissed   If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.  If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie.  I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests.   Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

Bucky sits quietly in his quarters; he’s uneasy, to say the least.  

Other than this morning’s horrible awakening, all went well today; better than he could have hoped, actually.  Within ten minutes of meeting Mikhail, Bucky had more than a good enough read on the other man to put himself at ease.  There was absolutely nothing about Mikhail that set him on edge, and he couldn’t find even the smallest hint of deception; had it been there, he would have seen it. Nat agreed once she spent a bit more time with him, so Bucky is confident that his judgement isn’t clouded.  It eases his mind somewhat to find that he has an ally to watch over his girl when he can’t; not nearly enough, of course, but it’s something.  Bucky tries not to think of the letter Mikhail wrote – it’s currently stashed at the house Bucky commandeered as his base while out on missions, and he prays it stays that way.  Mikhail made him read the letter, and made him promise…God, he hopes it doesn’t come down to honoring that fuckin’ promise…

The mission had been faked well and the pictures he’d handed in were praised by the Krakkens.  They suspected nothing, as far as Bucky could tell, but he’s not about to get cocky.  Not after this morning.

It’s a struggle not to get up and pace – Bucky needs to move, needs to do something – but that’s not something the Soldier would do unless he was starting to break through his programming.  The Soldier has no anxiety, no fear, and no reason to be restless. The Soldier is efficient and does not waste energy, so movement is limited to what’s necessary for physical maintenance and missions.  However, the Soldier is not here right now, so Bucky feels like he’s ready to crawl out of his own skin.

He rolls his shoulders a bit.  The ache in the right is almost completely gone, but stress has made him a bit stiff. His earpiece itches, but he ignores it. Bucky doesn’t want to call any unnecessary attention to the fact that he wears it almost constantly, even though he could pass it off as part of his diligence.  He wants to make sure his team can reach him if necessary, so it needs to stay in.

Bucky glances at the clock. Might as well try to catch a bit of sleep before tonight’s plans are executed.

***

Bucky wakes with the sound of his own scream ringing in his ears.

It wasn’t real.  She’s alive, just on the other side of that wall.  It was just a dream.  Her blood isn’t warm and sticky on his hands.  It wasn’t real.  It didn’t really happen.  It was just a dream.  He isn’t really the Soldier.  It’s just an act.  

For the most part.

He shakes uncontrollably as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands as he tries to muck up the guts for what he has to do next.  

She’s coming.  Even if he couldn’t hear her, he’d still sense her.

It’s for the best…she’ll be safer this way…

Yeah, but It’s still going to tear him in two.

…And here she is.

“Why are you here?” It doesn’t come out as harsh as he would have liked, but it’s almost impossible to pretend when there isn’t an audience physically present.  He knows without looking that her heart is in her eyes, and it’s so fucking hard to lie to her.

He’ll do it, though. He’ll do it every day for the rest of his life if that’s what it takes to keep her alive.

“I just…I heard you scream. I, uh, I know you don’t remember, right now, but I used to soothe you after your nightmares.”  Her quietly spoken words hang in the air, heavy on his heart.  He wants to tell her that he remembers, that he knows exactly who she is.  He wants to close the distance and hold her, to tell her that he’s going to get her out of this nightmare.

He doesn’t, though. He can’t.  He won’t make another mistake like this morning.

“Do you want me to leave?”  

He wants to scream no, no he doesn’t want her to leave, but Bucky knows he has to send her away.  Still, the words don’t come easily, and when they finally come they aren’t nearly as blunt as they should be. “If I wanted you, I would have gone to you.”  

“Okay.  I’m…I’m sorry.  I’ll leave.”

Bucky doesn’t move until he hears the quiet snick of the door closing, and even then he doesn’t have the luxury of showing his despair.  He still has an audience.  

He remains still as he focuses on keeping the raging storm contained.

He hears an unwelcome voice coming from her room at the same time as Stark’s warning through the tiny earpiece – then her breathless scream.

“I’m gonna fuckin kill that goddamn bastard,” he mutters as he swiftly rises, fists already clenching.

“Might I recommend beating the piss out of him, but stopping just short of killing him?  You can kill him later, Barnes, after we get her out of there.”  

Fuck off, Stark.  You’d want to kill him too if you were the one standing here.

The door almost comes off its hinges when he leaves his room, and her door fares little better.  Looking wildly around the dimly lit space he finds that Grigory has her pinned against a wall, and the fucker is trying to kiss her, but then she bites him and knees him in the balls, just like she’d been taught.  The flood of pride Bucky can’t help but feel is quickly swamped by rage when Grigory strikes her across the face and she crumples to the ground.

Something inside Bucky snaps – that prick really shouldn’t have done that.

Bucky closes the distance before grasping Grigory by the shoulder and roughly turning him, using Grigory’s momentum to his advantage when his fist violently collides with the other man’s face.  There’s a satisfying crunch – most likely a cracked eye socket.

Eye for an eye, asshole.  You were fuckin’ warned.

Not giving him even a second to recover, Bucky’s left hand finds Grigory’s throat and he uses his unyielding grip to force the other man to the wall.  The metal hand isn’t squeezing quite enough to asphyxiate, but Bucky can clearly hear Grigory struggle to breathe.  A small smirk crosses Bucky’s otherwise expressionless features – the effect must be chilling, because he can feel Grigory’s fear through his grasp.

“What the fuck are you doing?  Stand down, Soldat!”  Grigory’s panicked command almost makes Bucky laugh, especially when he looks down to see Grigory’s dangling feet kicking like a child hanging from the monkey bars. Huh.  He hadn’t realized that he’d lifted Grigory off the ground.  

There’s a teeny, tiny part of him that thinks maybe he shouldn’t be enjoying this quite so much; despite everything he’s gone through, Bucky’s nature is to protect, not to harm.  This isn’t even the Soldier – when the Soldier is in charge, everything is about efficiency and effectively completing a mission, brutal as the methods may be.  No, this is all Bucky, even the enjoyment of inflicting pain upon the creep that had dared to hurt the woman he loves, and it’s a side of himself that he hadn’t known existed.

Apparently his need to protect her brings out the worst in him – he doesn’t feel guilty, though, because at the end of the day he’s okay with whatever gets the job done and keeps her alive.  

They brought it on themselves anyway - they really shouldn’t have messed with his girl.

“Don’t kill him, Buck.” Now it’s Steve’s voice in his ear; Stark must not have thought he could talk Bucky down.  “Don’t take the chance.  She needs you alive to get her out of there.”

Bucky hears without listening, too focused on the man in front of him.  “You have no orders to harm her. And you are not my Komandir,” he growls.  There.  That should be a good enough cover.

“I am Kapitan’s second in command!”

Bucky squeezes his hand just a bit tighter, and Grigory struggles to inhale.

“I am entitled to do with her what I wish!  What the fuck is wrong with you?”  You’d think the guy would quit talking, but no.

Bucky is unable to help himself; he slams Grigory’s head into the wall hard enough to loosen some teeth with the way Grigory had been clenching his jaw – he’s gonna have a dandy of a headache in the morning.  Good.

“Buck!”  From the sound of his voice, Steve is probably wearing the Eyebrows of Disappointment, maybe even the Frown of Disapproval. “Now is not the time!”

Yeah yeah yeah.

“You have no orders to harm her.”  Bucky throws the bloodied man to the floor.  “Or touch her.  She was given to me, not you.”  It makes him feel almost nauseous to speak of her as though she’s nothing but a belonging, but he still has to play a part and this will serve to justify his actions.

Grigory mumbles something as he leaves the room, but Bucky is too busy watching her out of the corner of his eye to pay any mind.  She’s sitting, at least.  That’s good.

It kills him that he can’t rush to her.

“Thanks, Bucky,” comes the soft murmur from the floor.  Damn it, that broken whisper fuckin’ hurts to hear.

He stills, careful not to let any of his reactions betray him as he considers what he can get away with under the assumption that his motivation is to care for a possession. A plan quickly formulates; the Soldier had never been given a companion, so this is new territory.  Fortunately, this means he has a little bit of leeway, since there isn’t a precedent he needs to abide by.

Well, first things first; lock the door, so there aren’t any surprises while his back is turned. Grigory didn’t have the clearance to do what he did, so there shouldn’t be any reason for anyone to come after the Soldier; in fact, if anyone gets into trouble, it’ll probably be Grigory. Can’t be too careful, though.

“She’s okay, Buck. You should probably just leave. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

Shut up, Steve.  No one asked you.

Steve’s resigned sigh comes through before the connection goes silent - his quiet acknowledgement that Bucky is likely going to stay, at least for a little while.

Bucky concedes that leaving would probably be the smart thing to do, but when has he ever been accused of doing the smart thing?

He turns, careful to school his face into a bland expression.  As he helps her to the bed and looks her over for injuries, he’s extremely careful to avoid eye contact – his emotions are so raw right now that he knows, he just knows that if their eyes meet, she’ll see right through him.  

He carefully inspects her head – she’s got a bump on the back, but it’s not as bad as he’d feared. She’ll probably have a headache but it doesn’t seem like she’s concussed.  Her cheek, however, looks awful; the skin isn’t broken but it’s already swelling considerably.  That’s gonna start throbbing like a son of a bitch if she doesn’t get some ice on it.

Goddammit, he refuses to remain completely helpless while she hurts.  She’s getting some fucking ice.

He turns and leaves without a word, closing the door behind him before going into his room to retrieve the key the Krakkens had given him “just in case he wanted to lock up his prize while he was gone.”  Sick fucks.

Bucky knows they probably have a copy, but he’s fairly confident that Grigory doesn’t, and right now he’s the bigger threat.  Going back in the hall, he uses his key to secure the deadbolt that locks her in from the outside before retrieving some ice and a plastic bag.  He wanted to get her something for the pain and swelling, even just something over the counter, but he’d have to go to the medical bay for that and that would raise too many questions.  The ice will have to be enough.

Thankfully the trip is uneventful and quiet until he gets back to her room.

He can clearly hear her sobbing from the other side of the door, and he has to take a few moments and several deep breaths to lock away his emotions before reentering her room. It’s hard, so incredibly hard, to act as though he isn’t just as distressed as she is, but somehow he manages to pull it off.  Thankfully she doesn’t question it when he chooses to stay; he really doesn’t know what he would have said if she’d asked, but she stayed quiet, watching him pull a chair next to the door and settling in before she laid back down with the ice against her cheek.  

It doesn’t take her long to fall asleep.  Bucky raises his hand and gently taps his earpiece – anyone watching would think he was simply pushing an errant strand of hair out of his face.

“Alright, Barnes, you’re good to go.  You’re clear to take out the six men we discussed earlier, but no more.  That asshole took up too much of your time tonight.”

Bucky nods, and proceeds to do what the Krakkens brought him here to do.

He kills.

***

“Stark, I need a few minutes before you switch the cameras over.”

He hears the quiet confirmation to his whispered request as he returns to her room, ghosting in to find that she’s still in as deep a sleep as she was when he’d left.  She’s so fucking exhausted – he can see it in her eyes and her somewhat clumsy movements – she must not have been sleeping at all before he got here.  Either her body has reached its breaking point and has finally allowed her slumber despite the danger to her, or she actually feels safe enough, now that he’s here, to let her guard down enough to sleep even though she thinks it’s the Soldier and not really him.

Bucky has a feeling he knows which one it is – she’s a mom, for fuck’s sake, she’s no stranger to sleep deprivation – and he’s humbled by her faith in him.  Whether or not he deserves it is irrelevant; it will exist either way.

Maybe…maybe their relationship can survive this?  Bucky allows himself the smallest flicker of hope.  He’d gone into this knowing there was a decent chance that even if they lived through this ordeal, their bond might not.  It’s a price he’s willing to pay if it means that she’s in the world somewhere, alive and with the boys.

The boys.  They need their mom.  How could he do less than anything and everything it takes to bring her home to them? No price is too high for him to pay to see it done.

A quiet sigh escapes as he bends to gently place a kiss on her temple.  “I love you, and I promise we’re doing everything we can to get you out of here.  I’ve never met a dame as strong and brave as you.  Keep bein’ strong, alright?  Your boys need you.  I need you, even if I have to love you from a distance.  I know you might not want me anymore, after all this is over, but you’re still gonna be my north star.  I’d be lost without you.”  His whispered words are quiet enough that he can barely hear himself, so he knows she wouldn’t have been able to hear the words even if she’d been awake, but he needed to say them.

He reluctantly goes back to his chair by the door – Stark claims his technology is unhackable, but there’s no point in taking any careless chances; they shouldn’t override the video feed any longer than necessary.  Bucky sits as he was before, crossing his left ankle over the right and closing his eyes to snatch whatever small amount of sleep he can get.

“Barnes, you need to slouch down just a little more to match the last images from the video feed.” Starks voice comes across quietly, almost hesitantly – as he rearranges himself, Bucky wonders if Stark heard his whispered words.  Oh well, it’s not like his feelings are a secret.  “And switch your legs – your right was over the left before…alright, you’re going live in 3…2…1…”

Bucky relaxes as much as he can into the chair as the familiar lullaby of her soft breathing soothes him into a dreamless sleep.

Tags Round 1: : @rogersxbarnesx @hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult @musichowler @ms-potts-to-you @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @4theluvofall @shifutheshihtzu @iamtal @passiononfire @jade-cheshire3303 @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @lostinspace33 @gingerrootknits @callmebucky-doll @learisa @sammedrano @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @vaisabu @widowvinter @amrita31199 @bellenuit45 @agentraven007 @sarahjeaniejean @canumoveyourseatup-no @unpredictable-firecracker @omalleysgirl22 @crazyliraz @shamvictoria11 @kaaatniss @lillian-paige @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @sexyseabass1231

[hempowerment]

On the last Friday of January, a post about my planner for this year.

For the past few years I’ve been trying a combination of apps to try organise my life. I really need this external organisation and can’t just prioritise and do things in my head, but it became increasingly clear to me that apps weren’t working well for me. Despite feeling a little like, since a) I make websites and apps, and should really be using some kind of tech, and, b) that there’s a perfect app or site out there and if there isn’t, I should be making it - I switched back to analog anyway. 

I used to use a Filofax with a week-on-two-pages insert, but right now I’m using a pretty watermelon print Kikki K planner. I’ve always used Filofax personal size (Kikki K medium). I find A5 a bit too large to carry around in a bag, pocket too small.

My planner is mostly functional and very slightly decorative. I’m using a pack of purchased 2018 Kikki K inserts, along with some bullet-journal type habit trackers on grid notepaper and random spare Filofax inserts like lined paper, expenses, etc. etc. I punch holes in paper memories and just stick it in the planner.

On one of my birthdays, my husband hid little cards with pictures of wildflowers around the house, as some kind of long-term treasure hunt. I think I found them all after a few months, and taped one to the inside of my planner as a memory.

A dashboard ‘landing page’ is a sticker from Active Distro, and an Angela Davis quote, which is my attempt at inspirational. I find that planner-related merch tends to have Jesus-themed or Go Girl! Let’s Realise Our Potential By Engaging In Capitalist Productivity type quotes, although examples of the latter type come with the Kikki K inserts and are present in my planner.

I record my weekly happenings more or less three times: I mostly record things where I have to be somewhere or do a certain thing at a certain time in the monthly view, and more daily to-dos (deadlines, activity planning, etc.) in detail in the weekly view. I also update where I’m going on Google Calendar, mostly because we share most events anyway, and also me and Mr Hempowerment can see where we’re both gonna be. So if I go out on Sunday and there’s a signal failure on the District line, he’ll know I’m safely near a Piccadilly line station and not just, stuck.

I’m still using a week-on-two-pages layout with some stickers to illustrate my life. From Miss Moss, who makes multicultural women stickers, and Dook Plook, who makes very useful stickers and is UK based. I have a few rolls of washi tape mostly to cover up mistakes. I get my tape from Daiso in Singapore (the Japanese pound shop which is super awesome) or Blippo, which ships from Hong Kong and is cheap. I tick little boxes off as I do them. I’m working on personal projects as well as contract work, and on top of that I workout, blog, I’m doing a course, and all the little daily life things, like clean the fridge and paint my nails - and I find it really helpful to plan exactly what I want to achieve daily, and cross them out or carry them over to another day. I kind of want to practice writing agan, maybe fanfic to start with, but haven’t got round to doing it yet.

Now a bunch of random things.

eg. Generic inspirational quotes that came with the planner.

An address section prefaced by a marketing postcard from a Shoreditch coffeeshop. In the age of the smartphone, this is mostly addresses of cafes/food I want to go to and AirBnbs in my life.

Then a section of Lists…just lists of stuff. I have a 2018 booklist, which is also online if you’re looking for ideas on things to read. A list of movies to watch, which is one movie long (if you’re curious, it’s No). A list of cafes I want to go to, listed only by name and unencumbered by things like addresses.

A ‘Household’ section containing a single item: some kind of aspirational housewife cleaning plan that’ll apparently make your house cleaner and your life easier, according to Martha Stewart. I pared down her plan quite a bit and it technically looks doable, but there’s a psychological barrier to overcome, where I kinda want to sort out the things on the table but I would really prefer to do something else.  My menu planner is separate.

It came free with our first veg box of the year. Looks like that. It’s tear-off, which is useful to take with you to the shop or stick on the wall. I’m debating whether to keep them as a record of the meals I’ve cooked, or dump them in recycling when I’m done.

I’ve used some Filofax grid paper for habit trackers. I’m tracking my mood, yoga, running (elliptical counts too), booty-related workouts because 2018 is gonna be the year I build strong glutes, and blogging (I have this personal blog, and a coding blog). Additionally I’m tracking other workout related things, a 6-week kettlebell program and, sporadically, a burpee challenge: I was meant to do burpees for 30 days in a row but I’m taking it on a day-to-day basis.

I was initially hesitant about the mood tracking but actually I quite like it. Clearly, my life is never, really, truly awful. I’m not fleeing war or genocide, or facing a food shortage or natural disaster, but sometimes you just don’t feel super happy or super great and there’s no specific reason. I feel the mood tracker it allows me to record how I actually feel on average on a particular day, without downplaying, analysing or feeling a need to justify it. It also makes any kind of hormonal mood cycles you might have a lot clearer.

At the back of my planner I have random things: stickers, those coffee stamp loyalty cards, post-its, some kind of ‘inspirational’ cards to give people to encourage them I guess, a picture of a tree (actually Edie Art’s namecard. We bought a picture from her at NoLita Market.) and a notepad, for random note desires.

I do feel like I’m getting more done when I’ve got everything written down in a little square and ticking it off. I feel I’m reading more (book list!), wasting less produce (meal planner!) and just generally more on top of things. I also don’t have to worry if I forget details of my life that I might have to scramble through different sites and apps to find a record of, like when I filed my tax return and exactly where a particularly good cafe was. I also find it calming to review my day and plan for the next, and doing it with pen and paper means I can disconnect from my phone an hour before bed and wind down, sort of emptying my mind of to-do things by transferring them onto paper. Don’t discount planning on paper - you really need just a notebook and pen, especially if you’re juggling several different things at once and it feels a little overwhelming.

Resources

Philofaxy

Making your own rainbow tab dividers

How to start a bullet journal

How to print Filofax personal sized inserts

Planning for mental health (specifically for bullet journals, but applicable for all planners)