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azriona · 2 months ago

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The Apartment (MCU ficlet)

Summary:

This is a list of things that Bucky finds the first week in his newly-renamed Watchtower apartment: * A flashlight * A stack of New York Times dated December 2 through December 11, 2012 (the crossword is completed in all of them. Correctly. Including the Sunday version. In pen.) * Half a box of tea bags * Two unopened tubes of toothpaste and a used toothbrush * Denture cream * A near-empty container of “personal lubricant”

Bucky shouldn’t be surprised that his Watchtower apartment had once belonged to Steve.

The Deets: 7.7k, one-shot, spoilers for Thunderbolts*, SamBucky if you squint but otherwise very Gen.

Also available on AO3.

Bucky realizes a week after he moves in that his apartment in the newly renamed Watchtower had once belonged to Steve. He’s not sure Val realized it at all, though he wouldn’t put it past her. Mel had been the one to hand out the keys, and Bucky can’t get a read on her at all. Not that she’d had much expression, just sent ‘em to the right floors like she’d been pulling numbers out of a hat.

There are four apartments on each floor. Bucky shares the floor with Yelena, Ava, and Bob. Considering Alexei’s forlorn expression when he learns he’s on a different floor with Walker, Bucky is a thousand percent sure that Yelena requested it that way.

Alexei spends ten minutes posturing and talking about locks and security and how very much he loves his little girl who is a delicate, innocent flower, before Yelena gets so fed up, she does some quick move thing that has Bucky in a strangle-hold and his arm dropped to the floor before he can blink.

He could have stopped her. But the idea of sneaking into Yelena’s bed is so ridiculous a notion that it’s more fun to see the shock on Alexei’s face.

“I can take care of myself, Dad,” Yelena snaps at Alexei, before going into her apartment and loudly throwing every lock on the door.

“Women,” Alexei says to Bucky, full of admiration and pride and eyes practically brimming with tears.

“I want to learn how to do that,” says Ava, and Bob whimpers again, though honestly, Bucky’s not entirely sure that Bob ever stopped.

“Sure,” says Bucky, because seriously, fuck this day. He goes to inspect the water pressure in the shower, and it’s everything he has ever wanted. He might just live there now.

The shower should have tipped him off. It’s the first shower he’s been in that’s actually at the right height and big enough that he doesn’t accidentally brush the tiles when he turns around.

This is a list of things that Bucky finds the first week in his Watchtower apartment:

A flashlight

A stack of New York Times dated December 2 through December 11, 2012 (the crossword is completed in all of them. Correctly. Including the Sunday version. In pen.)

Half a box of tea bags

Two unopened tubes of toothpaste and a used toothbrush

Denture cream

A near-empty container of “personal lubricant”

Bucky recycles the newspapers, tosses the toothbrush, hides the denture cream in Alexei’s room, takes a picture of the personal lubricant and texts it to Sam and then hides the bottle in Walker’s team locker, positioned exactly right to fall out when he opens it.

It falls out when Walker opens it.

In front of Yelena and Ava.

Yelena just raises her eyebrow, Ava laughs for two hours straight, Walker screams and rants and raves and blames everyone for the prank but never figures out who did it.

Bucky wakes in the middle of the night with Alexei leaning over his bed, holding the denture cream.

“Is good joke, Winter Soldier,” says Alexei in stage-whispered Russian. “I have joke too.”

Bucky doesn’t find his arm until the next afternoon.

Hanging from the flagpole in Rockefeller Center.

It’s got a smiley face painted on it. In denture cream.

Honestly, he should have known it was Steve’s apartment. Even with the denture cream.

The apartment has a view of Brooklyn; Bucky can make out the docks and Prospect Park, and if he squints, he can see the group of buildings where his parents had the brownstone they’d lived in until his dad passed in ’52 and his mom moved into the assisted living in ‘64. The house went to Becca and John, but Becca died in ’98 and John hadn’t been particularly well and thus didn’t keep up with the maintenance. None of the kids wanted it when he passed in ’04 so it sold for a song and was given a complete overhaul inside. It didn’t look a thing like Bucky would have remembered, even if he did remember, which he doesn’t.

So Bucky doesn’t look out that window much.

The rest of the apartment is nice enough. Mel says they’re more or less the same as they were when the Avengers lived there; all that was needed was a coat of paint and new flooring. There’s furniture and cookware and all the bells and whistles; most of it is new enough, barely used, though there’s a leather chair in the sitting room that looks well-worn, a light positioned at almost the right height for reading, a table that has a dozen rings on the polished surface, like whoever’s lived in the apartment before had never bothered with a coaster.

“Use a coaster, Jamie, I didn’t raise you in a barn!”

“No, Ma, you just raised as me as one!”

The apartment, when Bucky moves in, looks like a blank slate, even when it doesn’t ever really feel that way.

The first thing Bucky finds that he is absolutely sure was Steve’s is the Yankees jersey on a shelf in the closet, shoved in the corner in the back. He’s trying to figure out why the box that should fit in the space doesn’t, and at first, he’s not sure what the material is when he pulls it out.

Then he unfolds it, curses, and notices what’s written on the back. Rogers 18.

“You have got to be kidding me,” grumbles Bucky. The only saving grace is the jersey still has its tags on it, so at least Steve never actually wore the traitorous thing.

It takes a moment before he grins, a bit lopsided, the snort of laughter slipping out of him. Easy to imagine Stevie’s reaction to the gift, especially if it had been in any kind of public sphere.

Wow, gosh, this is… great. Um. Thanks. Yeah. Wow.

It’s superimposed by an actual memory that drifts up like ash from a campfire.

“Damn those Yankees!” hollers Stevie Rogers, age eleven and already burning with all the fervor of a die-hard Dodgers fan, plus a bit of his own sense of righteousness. “I’m gonna hate ‘em ‘til the end of the century!”

Bucky can still hear their laughter and indignation, feel the slender weight of Stevie’s arm over his shoulders as they walk home after the game. It was the last summer they were the same height, because Bucky sprung up three inches that fall and Stevie… well. Didn’t.

Given the way the jersey was shoved in the back of the closet, Stevie probably kept on hating the Yankees well after the turn of the century.

Even so. He marches the jersey straight to the trash and is about to throw it in.

Instead, he gives to Walker.

Walker, being Walker, is so pleased he wears it for two days straight, and doesn’t even bother to remove the tags.

After the jersey, Bucky starts recognizing more things that were probably Steve, or Steve-adjacent, or at least Steve-inspired.

The size of the shower and the height of the counters are definitely the latter. The view of Brooklyn goes without saying. There’s a table near another window that gets fantastic light. It’s oversized, with lots of storage and drawers and open cabinets on one side, and now that Bucky knows this was Steve’s apartment, he’s also sure Steve used the table for drawing. The nooks and crannies for pencils or pens, the open shelving for various weights and types of paper. He finds a card wedged in one of the drawers for an art supply shop a few blocks away, and that more or less confirms his suspicions.

It's a good desk, anyway. Bucky uses it as a kitchen table, because he likes watching the ships come into the harbor while he eats his cereal in the morning. But the morning after he realizes that it was Steve’s drawing table, he can’t put his feet up on it as he did before without hearing Steve complain about how the entire apartment smells like Bucky’s socks.

“Jeez, Buck, do you bathe in skunk sweat or somethin’, before you come home?”

Well, it’s a good table, anyway. Even if he can’t put his feet on it anymore without feeling guilty. He sets up the pictures he’s got of Sam and Sarah and the kids and his parents and Becca’s family and the one of the Commandos that Congressman Gary gave him. It’s still good to look at the ships come in, all those familiar eyes keeping him honest.

Then there’s the books.

The apartments had all come furnished, though Mel’s quick to assure them that the mattresses and linens are brand-new. There’s plates and pots and glassware in Bucky’s apartment anyway, and he’s not sure if Steve’s the one who picked them out or someone else. There’s a fry pan that is scratched up to holy hell, but it’s the only one with the right heft to it; the handle fits in Bucky’s hand just right, and it’s big enough to cook up a meal for one hungry super soldier.

So maybe, if Steve wasn’t the one who picked it, he was the one who used it on the regular. Bucky fries up eggs and flips his grilled cheese and when Sam comes to visit, manages to make a stir-fry that has them both going back to make it a second time.

“It doesn’t bother you?” says Sam, looking at the view of Brooklyn. “Being in Steve’s apartment?”

“Was it?” says Bucky, scrubbing at the twice-used pan. “Better than them giving it to Walker, anyway.”

Sam snorts in that way he has, when he knows he’s being told a tale. “Still can’t believe you’re working with the guy.”

Bucky tries not to bristle. Not that he can believe it either, most days, but it sounds different, coming from Sam. “He’s not so bad. Get kind of used to him, after a while.”

“Not so good, either,” grumbles Sam.

“Kinda like me.”

“Yeah, knock that shit out,” says Sam, gruff. “You aren’t anyone else’s redemption arc, Barnes.”

Bucky wants to laugh at that. “Hell, I’m not even my own.”

Sam shakes his head. “These guys… they’re not your people.”

Bucky doesn’t answer; he just exhales hard through his nose and shuts off the water, dishes done.

Sam sighs. “Come on, come down to DC. You’d like the group I’ve got; they’re good kids—”

“They’re kids,” says Bucky, as if that’s reason enough to stay as far from DC as he can get. Even thinking about their innocent optimism and endless reams of hope make him tired. “And pretty sure my pass to Congress has expired now.”

“I’m not asking the ‘honorable congressman’, Buck. I’m asking you.”

“So… what? I’m not honorable?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Bucky grunts and rests his hands on either side of the sink, pushing his clenched fists into the counter and breathing steadily. “You didn’t say running for congress was a stupid idea, either. I still heard you.”

Sam’s nostrils flare as he breathes. “You were the only man in that building I’d trust to do the right thing while he was there. And I could sure as hell use you in DC now.”

Bucky shakes his head. “What about Joaquin?”

“Like you said. He’s a kid.”

“He’d go to hell and back for you,” Bucky counters, looking up at Sam.

“I’m not asking him—”

“You don’t have to. He’s yours to the end of the line,” says Bucky, and it hurts, stupidly enough, saying that to Sam, standing in Steve’s apartment. Steve who never specified which line.

But Sam’s chest rises and falls, like he knows how much it costs Bucky to say it.

He looks around the apartment, arms still crossed over his chest. Like he’s seen it before. Hell, he probably has, probably could tell Bucky which bits were picked out by Steve and which bits were put there for him.

Might even know the why of the denture cream or personal lubricant, but sure as hell Bucky’s not going to ask.

Bucky knows when Sam’s eyes land on the jacket Bucky’s left on the chair. The one with a single sleeve and the red outline of a star, the one with not a strap to be seen.

The one with the stylized red A.

Sam’s mouth twitches when he looks at it.

“Wasn’t my first choice,” says Bucky, and Sam snorts.

“Seems to be the current one, though.”

“Wouldn’t say that, either,” counters Bucky, quick as a wink.

Sam gives him a long look, then turns away from the jacket-shaped elephant.

“You know he had books,” says Sam, looking at a large blank space on the wall. A space that looks like it might have been good for bookshelves, once. “Said he didn’t sleep much, so he’d read two, maybe three a night, if they weren’t too long.”

“Weren’t any books when I got here,” says Bucky, already wondering what Steve had read. Thinking of the three Steve had brought him in Wakanda.

“Here, Buck. He wrote a whole series after the war, about what happened to the ring and Bilbo’s nephew. Thought you’d like it.”

Gone, like everything else he’d left in Wakanda when he went to dust.

“Too bad,” says Sam, but he drops the talk of DC and the kids he’s assembled.

Except.

“Offer in DC’s open, whenever you want it,” says Sam the next day, before he boards the train that will take him home. “I could use you there.”

“I know,” says Bucky. “But you need me here, too.”

Sam sighs. “Yeah. I know. I don’t like it—”

“You think I do?”

“A little, maybe,” says Sam. Bucky can’t hear the hurt, but he knows it’s there. “Think about it, okay? There’s more than one way to do what needs done.”

If Bucky holds the hug a little longer than he’d have done otherwise… well. Sam gives good hug. No one’s gonna blame him, and sometimes Bucky’s not sure he’ll get another chance.

It’s about a week later when Mel passes him in the hall and says, “Hey! I found those boxes you asked about.”

“Boxes?” says Bucky, head still in the report he’d been reading. Some group in Malaysia trying to pretend they’re the Ten Rings. There’d been a sticky note attached when he picked it up (do not eat chili dogs and read, you are not that talented) in Yelena’s handwriting. He transferred it to Walker’s packets instead.

“Yeah, they’re in your apartment.”

“Don’t go in my apartment,” Bucky says automatically, not that Mel hears; she’s already on her phone and talking with the next project.

Ten minutes later, he opens the door to his apartment, and can’t see his apartment. It’s a wall of cardboard boxes, all marked ROGERS – STORAGE – BOOKS.

“Shit,” he says, staring at the wall.

“Yeah, shit,” agrees the voice behind him, though Ava sounds more impressed than anything else. She’s munching on an apple. “You know that stack is two boxes deep, right?”

Bucky sighs. “Stay out of my apartment.”

“Yeah, okay,” says Ava, off-handedly, casually, absolutely not sincere. “What are they?”

“Books.”

“Books,” confirms Bucky and goes inside. They really are two boxes deep, with a third row one box high. Some fifty or sixty in all, though none are very big. Bucky picks up one and carries to the drawing table. It’s heavier than it looks, and when he rips off the tape and opens it, he snorts a laugh and pulls out the first volume.

“What, reading up on your past exploits?” says Ava, plucking the biography of JFK from Bucky’s hands.

“I didn’t actually kill him, you know.” Bucky yanks the book back, only to have Ava phase to the other side of him to take it back. “Stop tha—no. You know what? Go on, read it. Have a blast.”

“Oooh,” says Ava, reaching into the box and pulling out the next book. “Can I read this instead? It’s been on my list.”

Bucky frowns at the next book. “Is that the one with the kids who try to kill each other?”

Ava groans and rolls her eyes. “You’re thinking of Mockingjay. This—” waving the book for emphasis “—is To Kill a Mockingbird. You can have it when I’m done.”

“It’s my book,” says Bucky.

But Ava’s already phased to the other side of the wall of book boxes. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it!”

And the door slams behind her.

Bucky sighs, rubs his face, and looks at the biography of JFK Ava left behind.

“What the hell,” he sighs, and sits down to read.

It’s not a bad biography. It’s probably 95% right, even, and Bucky is about to put the book on the shelf that Mel had thoughtfully delivered with the boxes of books.

Instead, he takes it with him to the morning briefing and drops it on the table in front of Ava, where it lands with a bang that makes everyone jump.

“Oh,” says Ava, staring. “I didn’t finish the other one yet.”

“No rush,” says Bucky, taking his seat next to Yelena. “I got plenty.”

“Is that a book?” says Walker, leaning over the table to get a better look. “About JFK?”

Alexei gives Bucky a look. “You didn’t do it.”

“Of course I didn’t do it,” says Bucky, leaning back in his chair. “Yelena, what’s the first item on the list?”

“Did you do it?” Yelena asks him, and he sighs, hard.

“No.”

“Of course he didn’t do it,” says Alexei.

“Thank you,” says Bucky.

“His job was to kill Oswald,” continues Alexei, tapping the side of his nose. “Covering the tracks, see?”

Bucky sighs and rubs his face. “Briefing.”

“Why do you have a biography of JFK?” says Walker.

“They’re in his apartment,” says Ava.

“What’s in his apartment?” says Yelena.

“About fifty boxes of books from the Avengers storage locker,” says Ava. “He let me borrow one last night.”

“There’s an Avengers storage locker?” says Walker.

Bucky grabs the top paper from the stack in front of Yelena. “There’s a New Avengers meeting. Can we talk about that instead?”

“Can I borrow a book?” says Alexei. “If you let Ava borrow one.”

“Guys,” says Yelena. “Bucky’s not a lending library.”

“Are any of the books in Russian?” asks Alexei.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know! I haven’t unpacked them all yet.”

“I can help,” says Walker.

“No,” snaps Bucky, and Walker’s face falls a little.

“Aw, c’mon, Stevie, don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what, Buck?”

“Like I tell you no, and you immediately start planning six ways to do it anyway.”

“Sorry,” continues Bucky. “I’ve already got help, and there’s too many boxes for more than two people to get the work done and still have space.”

Alexei gets a gleam in his eye while he chortles happily. “Ah, yes. You and Mel, reaching for a book at the same time, your fingers brushing…”

“Bob,” says Bucky firmly. “Bob’s helping me.”

Alexei deflates.

“That’s a good idea,” says Yelena, pleased. “He’ll enjoy that.”

“Assuming he’s not still scared shitless of you,” says Walker, but he doesn’t sound half as sour as he might have otherwise.

“Or scared shirtless,” suggests Ava.

“Ah, yes,” says Alexei, his eyes brightening. “You and Bob, reaching for a book at the same time, your fingers brushing—”

Bucky stares at Alexei in horror before turning the horror to Yelena.

“Enough,” she says. “First order of business—”

“He should do something about his hair, though,” muses Alexei. “It should be longer, thicker. Good for pulling.”

“You,” says Ava, as if it’s her best day ever. “You, with the buzz cut and the beard, are going to complain about Bucky’s hair.”

“Ah, you noticed my beard!” says Alexei proudly, stroking his beard lovingly. “How soft and luxurious it is!”

“Enough about your beard,” says Yelena with a groan, even as Ava tries unsuccessfully to contain her laughter. “Bucky doesn’t need a beard.”

“Of course he doesn’t! He would look terrible with beard. He has Bob.”

“You mean his haircut, or the guy?” says Walker.

“Enough!” yells Yelena. “Enough about Bucky’s hair! Can we please get back to actual agenda which has nothing to do with Bucky’s books or Bucky’s beard or Bucky’s Bob?!?”

They do. Mostly.

Alexei still spends most of the meeting stroking his beard in Bucky’s direction, and Walker looks pained to the point of crying.

Well. That’s something, anyway.

Bob is not scared shitless (or shirtless) of him. Or maybe he is, for about two minutes, but the second he opens a box and pulls out a book, he switches focus from Bucky to the volume in his hand.

“Oh, this is a good one, have you read it?”

“No,” says Bucky, not even glancing over. The box he’s working on is mostly political retrospectives and biographies. When he flips through the pages, he notices the passages underlined, corners turned down, bits of paper stuck in to mark a spot.

Steve’s handwriting in the margins:

Logical leap?

Not accurate

Ask Tony

Ask Bruce

WRONG

Bob keeps talking, the gentle patter strangely comforting as he unboxes books and puts them up on the shelves. He doesn’t hurry, but he doesn’t dally either, and when Bucky puts a few books up, Bob takes those books without hesitation and moves them to another shelf, which is when Bucky realizes he’s organizing as he goes.

It’d be easy to ignore Bob, who doesn’t expect a response to anything he says, who doesn’t mind that Bucky’s not even paying attention to him. Who’s just happy to have been asked to help, apparently: the desire to be necessary, Bucky thinks.

“Oh, man, I loved this series,” Bob exclaims, turning the book over and over, cracking it open and examining the pages. “I wanted to be Mat. Stupid probably, you’re supposed to want to be the main character, right? But who’d want to be Rand?”

“I don’t know,” says Bucky. “I haven’t read it.”

“There’s a mini-series, but I haven’t seen it yet,” says Bob, reaching for another book in the box. “These haven’t even been read yet.”

“Kids’ books?” says Bucky, seeing the cartoony covers.

“I guess, but not really. Fantasy anyway, I guess they’re about as much kids books as Lord of the Rings.”

“Yeah.” Bucky watches as Bob pages through the book. “Fantasy, huh? Steve was never much into fantasy.”

Bob’s eyes go wide for a moment. “These were Steve Rogers’s?”

“So I’m told.” Bucky reaches for the book, and Bob hands it over. Sure enough, there’s not notes, no folded corners, no bits of paper stuck in. They’re nice copies, too: hard-back, dust jackets immaculate, spines barely cracked.

“Wait, if you’re gonna read it, this is the first one,” says Bob, handing him the first book.

Bucky switches and opens that one. Maybe Steve had started to…

There’s a note. Written in the flyleaf, exactly like Bucky remembers doing when giving a book to someone as a present.

Buck, it’s not Lord of the Rings, but Clint says his son loves these. Maybe you will too.

Bucky slams the book closed to cover his shaking. “I’ll read it later,” he says, handing it back to Bob. “Go ahead and shelve it for now.”

“Sure,” says Bob, but he glances at the shelves and the remaining boxes. “Not sure we’re gonna fit them all, though.”

Bucky can see that. “Maybe I should start a lending library.”

“Or get more bookshelves,” says Bob. “Oh, hey—”

Bucky glances over as Bob pulls the leather-bound notebook out of the box. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know,” says Bob, opening it.

His eyes go big, and he slams it back shut again and thrusts it to Bucky. “Here. I think it’s yours.”

“I don’t—” begins Bucky, taking the book. The leather feels worn under his fingers, softened by use, the board used to bind it pliable under his grip. The pages, too, are feathered, and when he opens it somewhere near the front of the book:

It’s a drawing. Pencil lines of a tree, the bark shaded in and the leaves in intricate detail. A little girl starts off running on one side of the page, but she appears again just to the right, a little older and a little bigger. Again, older and bigger still, until she reaches the far side of the page, an old lady leaning on her cane, still canopied by the overreaching oak tree.

In the corner, a scratched signature: SGR, 2012.

“Did you want to borrow those books?” says Bucky, staring at the drawing. “The ones you read as a kid?”

“Oh. Um, maybe?” says Bob, stammering a little. First time he’s stammered at all that afternoon. “If you don’t mind.”

“Nope,” says Bucky. “Just bring ‘em back when you’re done.”

This is a list of the books Bucky finds in Steve’s boxes:

27 biographies of American presidents from Harry S. Truman up to and including George W. Bush, and another three of the presidents since

5 histories covering the Cold War

3 political thrillers

A Socialist’s Guide to the Civil Rights Movement

5 biographies of civil rights leaders, 7 biographies of foreign leaders, 2 biographies of Steve Rogers, and Bucky stops counting the biographies of various cultural leaders

A Brief History of Time and The Right Stuff and A Walk in the Woods and The Radium Girls

The Autobiography of Malcolm X, Invisible Man, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, The Bluest Eye

Various fictional accounts of dystopian societies, including 1984, Fahrenheit 451, Animal Farm, The Handmaid’s Tale, and Brave New World

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, It, Contact, A Gentleman in Moscow

Various children’s books including: Charlotte’s Web, The Giver, So You Want to Be a Wizard, A Wrinkle in Time, and Where the Red Fern Grows

There are too many books to fit on the shelves, and after a while, Bucky stops trying to shelve them. He pulls out books at random and flips through them. It’s immediately obvious which books Steve read and which he did not, which he liked best (because they have the most markings) and which he read once and left alone.

Bucky gives the Socialist’s Guide to Alexei, mostly because Walker is watching. Walker goes apoplectic, shocked to learn that Captain America was really little socialist activist Stevie Rogers at heart, but Bucky gives him the history of the Afghanistan wars and Walker reads the thing three times over, grumbling to himself the whole time. He returns the book and destroys three punching bags in the gym afterwards, and reads the Socialist’s Guide when Alexei is done with it, daring Bucky to say a word. Bucky doesn’t.

Bucky reads the dystopian novels and has a good chuckle. He reads The Martian three times, completely riveted. He reads The Little Prince and hates it, then reads it again the next week and still hates it, and reads it a month later and still hates it, but maybe a little less.

He asks Sam about Malcolm X and reads “Letter from Birmingham Jail” next.

He reads The Giver, which somehow leads to “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas”, which somehow leads to “The Lottery”, and all three conspire to give him a white night, sitting on the top of the Tower, watching the stars glitter above him while the city goes through its motions below: bright, unrelenting, never-ending, determinedly innocent. There’s hash-marks on the highest point of the tower, a tic-tac-toe game played by one person, judging from the handwriting, and a single word: “remember.”

Bucky’s not sure who would have written it, what they would have wanted to remember. He does anyway.

He reads The Diary of Anne Frank, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, They Called Us Enemy, Maus. He reads March and The Stonewall Reader. He reads biographies of Harvey Milk and Alan Turing and Alfred Kinsey, and then he reads books criticizing all three.

He reads The Eye of the World after Bob is done with it, and Steve was right, he does like it, though not as much as Lord of the Rings. He reads A Game of Thrones and watches the television series with the rest of them. Bucky had no idea what’s more entertaining, watching Alexei go into a frenzy at the battle scenes and political machinations, or watching Yelena squirm in discomfort when the scenes turn sexual while her dad sits on the other side of the couch.

He reads Pushkin and Dostoyevsky and A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. He lends them to Alexei and they have a long night of vodka and laughter, singing Soviet ballads and songs to the fatherland, reciting memorized poetry and growing maudlin with memory. Alexei is drunk and sobbing and Bucky joins in, sobbing but not drunk, because some of it was good moments, mixed in with the horrors, and some handlers were kind, when they weren’t otherwise.

He reads Steve’s books, sitting in Steve’s leather chair, under the yellow light of Steve’s lamp, and it’s like Steve’s in the room with him, reading too. Through the nights he can’t sleep or the afternoons when it’s raining so hard he can’t think. In the early mornings when the sun has just risen or in the late evenings when the Tower is quiet, when they are all too exhausted of each other’s company or the mission they’ve only just completed.

When the world looks harshly on them, for past mistakes neither they nor anyone else can forget.

And once in a while, Bucky leaves whatever book he’s reading on the table, and picks up the notebook instead, and if it’s still Steve’s voice, reading his own words to him… well. That’s between him and Steve.

“Sam,” says Bucky whenever he calls, in the dark of night. Sitting in Steve’s chair, reading by Steve’s light. Pulling Bucky out of the past and into the now, reminding him of what’s important.

“Buck,” says Sam, warmth coming in hard down the line. The conversation always ends in argument, in silence, in a tenseness in his jaw that Bucky hates, but in those first few minutes, Bucky clings to the way Sam says his name when he calls, and lets himself relax enough to laugh.

The notebook was never meant for him, Bucky knows that. Whatever Steve wrote in it was never meant to be shared or seen by anyone else. For all Bucky knows, Steve didn’t want to look at it again himself. Might have even forgot it existed.

But Bucky had always known, the notebook Steve had given him when he went back to the past hadn’t been the first. Hadn’t even been the second, might not have been the third. It had just been the most recent.

Bucky’s pretty sure this notebook was the first.

Orange juice

Bread

Potatoes

Bananas

Eggs

Tony, 2pm, Saturday, 60 W 45th St

Joe, 9.30am, Tuesday, 69 Grand St @ Wythe, Brooklyn

Uniform (no cap), shield, sense of humor?

Orange juice

Bread

Chicken

Apples

Eggs

Onions

Bucky likes paging through the notebook. The shopping lists, the names and dates and addresses, the reminders that will probably always remain mysteries. There’s a calmness to it, a reassurance that Steve remained Steve even in the future, even when he’d lost everything.

“You stay organized, you stay focused, Buck. That’s true of people and protests both.”

Pepper, Feb 16 19??

Clint, June 18, 197?

Natasha, 1982 or 83

Orange juice

Bread (whole wheat)

Chicken breasts (bone in w/skin)

Pears

Kiwi?

Eggs

Onions, peppers, eggplant?

Potatoes

Sheryl, 6am, Sunday, 3505 Broadway, Astoria

There are drawings interspersed with the notes. Quick sketches that Steve never had a chance to finish, flash images of the other Avengers or people on the street. Bucky recognizes some of them: Natasha, Nick Fury, Thor. The New York skyline, as seen from his window. The Capital building in DC.

Other people and places, too. Sarah Rogers, wearing her nurse’s cap and looking straight off the page. Becca, playing hopscotch with all the seriousness of a ten-year-old. Their old apartment on State Street. Peggy Carter in her uniform, eyes closed as if asleep but not a hair out of place.

Himself, head thrown back in easy laughter. But there’s a darkness to his eyes, and his shirt is open at the collar, dirt rubbed into his neck. And another drawing, a little later, of a silhouetted figure, arms and legs splayed, falling into the darkness.

He stares at that picture for a long time.

Orange juice

Bread

Raspberry jam

Apples

Kumquats

Melon

Peppers

Onion, tomato

Scotch bonnet?

Yeast, flour

Cheese

Ground beef, chicken, sausage

Arnie, 10a-4p daily, 631 Foster Ave Brooklyn

Cypress Hill, K-627-630 (left-hand side, row of trees, third back)

Things are shoved in between the pages sometimes. Bucky’s careful to put them back exactly as he finds them, or where he imagines they were before they fell out unexpectedly. The tickets to a Broadway show are slipped back into the page with the address for their theater. Evita, with Pepper, or the Philharmonic with Bruce. There was an exhibition at the Met with Van Gogh and Monet and a few others that pops up several times, and Bucky’s only surprised that Steve didn’t just set up camp while it was in town.

There are receipts for various restaurants, cafes, coffee shops.

And there’s the lists of books, movies, music, television shows. Celebrities and politicians. Political action groups and charities. All crossed out, check-marked, as if Steve was already trying to catch up desperately with the world, taking every suggestion at face-value and with all the seriousness he ever claimed.

Orange juice

Bread

Apples

Home, 8.30pm. ask for Laurel.

Every page of the notebook is full. The last few pages include Thanksgiving plans, Christmas shopping lists. Addresses for apartments in Arlington, Bethesda, Capitol Hill. One is even around the block from where Bucky ended up for his short stint there.

Plans for the future. Steve had always been looking to the horizon for the next big adventure. It’s comforting to know some things didn’t change.

“High school’s gonna be great, Buck, just you wait. That’s where it’s all gonna start happening.”

“What, Stevie?”

“I don’t know! But we’ll be in the middle of it.”

There are other notebooks, Bucky’s sure of it. The one Steve gave him didn’t start until halfway through the Blip. Somewhere, there’s a notebook with Marvin Gaye and Sam’s address.

Somewhere, there’s a notebook with addresses Bucky will remember, cities he’s unable to forget. Places where he was seen, places Steve looked for him.

Maybe a list of places where Sam’s French fries went mysteriously missing. Though Bucky suspects Sam probably wouldn’t have admitted to Steve how often that happened, assuming he even realized it was Bucky stealing them.

He’s not going to go through the rest of the boxes looking for them, though. No matter how much he’d like to.

“Hey,” says Walker one afternoon. “That library of yours—”

“It’s not a library,” says Bucky automatically.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Do you have a copy of The Hunt for Red October?”

Bucky frowns. “Sounds familiar. Maybe. I’ll check.”

He does have a copy, as it turns out, so he finds Walker in the range to hand it over. Walker’s not a bad shot—give the guy another seventy years and he’ll probably match Bucky.

“Thanks, man,” says Walker, clearly surprised as Bucky hands him the book. As if he hadn’t expected Bucky to find it, let alone to actually loan it to him. “Been wanting to read this again.”

“Yeah, no problem,” says Bucky turning to go as Walker flicks through the pages. The card falls out almost immediately, landing on the ground between them.

“Oh, hey,” says Walker, leaning down to pick it up. “Think this fell—” He cuts off, staring.

“What?” Bucky peers at it. “Baseball card? Steve must’ve been using it as a bookmark.”

“Greg Maddux,” says Walker. The smile grows on his face, the excitement in his voice, with every word. “Best pitcher the Braves ever had. 61 career wins, 18 Golden Gloves—you know, he pitched the first major league game my dad took me to. Eight years old. I could hear that ball smack into the catcher’s glove as loud as if I was holding it myself. Dad liked to keep score. He had books and books of it, going back decades, could tell you every single play he’d ever seen. Saw Hank Aaron’s last game. Went up special to see Cal Ripken break the record in Baltimore. Tried to teach me how, but I liked watching better.”

Walker hands the card to Bucky. “Here. Guess this is yours now.”

“Nah,” says Bucky. “You keep it. Baseball was more Steve’s thing than mine.”

“Dodgers, right?” Walker carefully tucks the card back in the book. “Probably shit a brick about that jersey, didn’t he?”

Bucky barks a laugh. “He probably did, yeah.”

“Well, fits me fine. Joe Torre was a Brave, you know?”

“No kidding,” says Bucky, who didn’t know, and honestly couldn’t care less about the career history of any Yankee, then or now.

He stays and shoots with Walker, though, and Bucky tops the leader board in the range again, though Walker’s not quite as far behind as before.

The picture is wedged in between two books. It’s in a protective plastic sleeve, and it’s so beautifully done, so lifelike, Bucky half expects her to leap off the page, put him a playful choke-hold before gliding gracefully to the kitchen to rummage for a snack.

He takes it across the hall and knocks on Yelena’s door.

There’s no answer, so he knocks again, a little louder.

Still no answer.

“Yelena, I know you’re in there!”

“Then stop knocking, you asshole!”

He lets himself in; the door’s unlocked, because only an idiot is going to break into a Widow’s apartment. Bucky’s not an idiot.

Yelena comes out of the bedroom, wiping at her face and irritated as ever. Her eyes are red, but there’s a defiance there that dares him to say a word about it, so he just hands her the drawing in its protective sleeve.

“Found this in Steve’s books, and I thought you’d like it.”

Yelena takes the paper and stares at it. She sits, slow, on the couch, without taking her eyes off the drawing, her breath slow and steady, like she’s counting out beats in an effort to appear unphased.

Bucky’s not fooled. He goes into her kitchenette and starts the kettle for tea, and by the time the bags are in the hot water, she’s not counting her breaths anymore.

“He drew this?”

“His initials in the corner, so yeah.”

“It’s good. She looks happy.”

“Yeah,” agrees Bucky.

Yelena keeps looking at the drawing, but the conversation moves onto other things: the intel Val’s been feeding them and the intel they know she’s holding back. Sam’s kids in DC, one of whom Yelena knows and judging from the way she dismisses Bishop’s aptitude towards superheroing, Bucky thinks there might be something there she isn’t willing to admit. He recognizes the shape of it, anyway.

“Do you have to keep ragging on Sam all the time, Buck?”

“I’ll stop when he stops ragging on me.”

“It was her apartment,” says Yelena, when Bucky’s halfway out the door again. “I found her hair dye under the bathroom sink.”

Bucky stops at the door and looks back at Yelena. Recognizes the color around her eyes, the turn of her mouth, the way she looks at the drawing where she’s left it on the table, where she can see it from every corner of the room.

“Thought she was a natural redhead.”

“She was,” says Yelena, smiling a little. “But sometimes she’d dye it blue. That was my favorite.”

Yelena shakes the smile off a moment later, and the serious woman is left in her place. “Thanks for bringing over the drawing.”

“Yeah,” says Bucky, not sure what else to say.

“You’ll talk to Sam?”

“Every day.”

“Okay.” Yelena glances back at the drawing.

Bucky doesn’t ask if she’ll talk to Bishop. But he sees the way her fingers jerk, as if they’re already tapping a message.

He finds the next drawing a few days later, again in a plastic protective sleeve. It’s a good drawing, Tony Stark with a pencil between his teeth, face illuminated by the glow of his blowtorch, building something Bucky doesn’t recognize.

He thinks about it for a few days, because Pepper Potts might have been nice enough at Tony Stark’s funeral, but given what Bucky knows of how Steve and Tony ended things, this drawing’s just as likely to be appreciated as it is tossed into a campfire, complete with roasted marshmallows.

In the end, though, he finds her address and sends it, trying not to think too hard about how it’ll be received. Out of his hands, anyway.

Two weeks later, there’s a package waiting for him at his door. Thin, delivered by courier, large enough that carrying it into the apartment’s a bit awkward.

When he unwraps it, his heart almost stops.

It’s a photograph of Steve, sitting at the table by the window, painting on a canvas. There’s paint on his cheek, and his hair’s a mess, but he looks happy, concentrating on his art. Laughing at something, despite the brush in between his teeth.

The table’s covered with paint bottles and paper and pencils and photographs in frames. Bucky laughs a little, because it’s so similar to how he’s set up the table, too, and he scans the frames, curious. Photographs of the team, of Sarah Rogers, of Peggy.

His heart stops in his chest.

Photographs of him.

A still from a film he saw once in the Smithsonian, he and Steve laughing in black and white.

A drawing of him, from when they were kids and Steve was still learning about perspective, and Bucky’s nose was off-centered.

A snapshot of the pair of them, laughing and giggling at Becca’s 18th birthday party, arms slung around each other’s shoulders.

Another drawing, but one Bucky doesn’t recognize. It’s him, sitting on the windowsill in their old Brooklyn apartment, smoking a cigarette and his suspenders hanging loose from his waistband. The old A-line undershirt is loose on his spindly frame, and his feet are bare under the turned-up cuffs of his trousers.

Every line is soft, careful, considered. He looks bright, luminous, gazing out not just the window of their old apartment, but Steve’s apartment in 2012, too.

Bucky swallows hard, takes a long, deep breath, and sits on the couch to wait for the shaking to pass.

Dear Sergeant Barnes,

Thank you for the drawing of Tony. I knew Steve was a wonderful artist, but this is the only piece I’ve seen where he used Tony as a subject. It’s hanging in Morgan’s room; she kisses it every night before bed.

I’m sending you this photograph of Steve. Tony kept it in a drawer he used every day, and I don’t have the negative, so I’m afraid it’s a little worn, but I thought you’d like it. I hope you don’t mind that I had it framed for you.

Thank you again. We’ll take good care of Steve’s drawing.

Sincerely,

Pepper and Morgan Stark

It’s late, when his phone rings; Bucky’s in the leather chair, reading his current book (a history of the Central Asian republics that Steve found incredibly informative, judging from his notes, but which Bucky finds incredibly funny).

“Hey, Buck.”

“Sam,” says Bucky, laying the book on his lap. Settling into the leather, letting it curve around him like a glove.

“Well, I ain’t the tooth fairy.” Sam sounds tetchily amused.

“You sure? You both fly.”

“Collecting teeth’s for the underlings, I give that shit to Joaquin. Speaking of, Sarah’s giving me shit about Thanksgiving, you gonna answer her or not?”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

“Wasn’t sure Val wasn’t going to book you again at the last minute.”

“Well, her loss if she tries,” says Bucky firmly. “I’m not missing Sarah’s gumbo a second time.”

“Good, I’ll tell her.” Sam pauses. “You give any more thought to what I said last time?”

Bucky’s eyes drift over to the photograph of Steve, where it sits amongst the others on the table by the window. He’s never found the drawing of himself in the photograph.

Maybe he won’t.

Maybe he doesn’t need to.

“Yeah,” says Bucky, looking at the photograph. “But I think this is where I need to be right now, Sam. I’m sorry, I know that’s not the answer you want.”

“No, it’s not,” says Sam, and there’s so much packed in those three words, good and bad.

But it doesn’t really sound like the ending Bucky was afraid of, either. Not the way Sam says it.

And Sam lets it drop, though maybe not forever, because at the end of the conversation, just before they hang up, he says, “Buck. You sure this is how it goes?”

“Yeah,” says Bucky. “I’m sure.”

“And you’re good up there?”

Bucky smiles and exhales, deep.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

Cross-posted to AO3. Likes, Replies, and Reblogs all Welcomed Equally.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts* fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #thunderbolts spoilers #the new avengerz live in new avengerz tower #tower fics are BACK baby #at least there's one happy thing about this timeline #cross-posted to ao3

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llamaisllama777 · 5 days ago

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What if Nexus was in Dead By Daylight?

With Springtrap being added into DBD, I wanna indulge myself in a little idea I had (It's an idea that would probably never happen, but if it did, wouldn't that be something?)

What if Nexus was a killer in DBD?

Let's talk about it...

So, if Nexus was in DBD, I could see him being a mix of the Legion and the plague.

Nexus' powers and abilities

He would be insanely fast and use his sickles as weapons. If you get hit by his sickles, you don't die immediately. You become poisoned by dark star power and must find a way to remove the dark star power.

Around the map, there would be these glowing star things that would allow you to cleanse yourself of the negative starpower, but it would take at least 30 seconds to completely remove the dark starpower corruption from you...

However, if you don't, the dark star power will slowly damage you till you drop.

Once Nexus finds you, he'll pick you up with these dark star chains and carry over to a hook to be shish kabob to and then allow the Entity to consume you.

Nexus would have the special ability to make players infected with Dark Starpower freeze for a few seconds by saying, "Kneel." causing you to become stuck and stopping any tasks you were trying to accomplish like gens, healing, cleansing, running etc etc...

Nexus' momento mori (Insta-death move)

Once he has you down, he'll wrap dark star chains around you and then touch your face, filling your body with nothing but negative starpower, causing you to die instantly. Your body will fall, and you'll see your eyes full of darkness. Nexus will laugh victoriously before walking off to find his next victim.

Nexus alternate skins and perks

Nexus would have three skins plus any other the DBD and TSBS creators would want to add

Skin 1# His main skin

Skin 2# VOID Nexus

Skin 3# New Moon

His perks/add-ons

Nexus would have some interesting perks

"Repressed self" (Causes all survivors perks to be nerfed by 10% making gen repairs harder, unhookings harder, and making healing more difficult)

"Negative start" Allows Nexus to see the starting locations of the survivors for 5 seconds

"Slow acting" makes cleansing the dark starpower slower by 10%, taking it from 30 seconds to 50 seconds

His add-ons would have ties and references to his past...

"Solar's goggles" - "He still keeps a piece of him with him" (grants you the ability to see which generators are near completion so you can target them first).

"Burnt rainbow ribbon" - "She still saw the best in him even when it wasn't there anyone" (Makes flashbangs and flashlights effect wear off quicker).

"Burnt horse sticker" - "He refused to let him go" (Makes survivors kneel/freeze for an extra five seconds)

"Broken family photo" - "Traitors. All of them." (Makes the dark star poison work faster by 10%)

Story:

Nexus felt the flames burst out from his body. He felt the fires consume him. He screamed in agony and then felt a strange coldness and felt something pulling at him. He assumed it was his life being ripped from his body, but instead, he found himself not as a pile of ash or stuck in superhell surrounded by cats or Uno games

He found himself in a dark, grassy field surrounded by rather old looking generators and what sounded like footsteps. He heard a voice raspy and whispering to him, saying it would give him all the power he wanted to take revenge on all those who betrayed him as long as he did what the entity wanted.

Nexus refused at first and began to call for Dark Sun, believing this to be a trick by his former brothers. He called out to Dark Sun. No response.

He called out to Ruin. No response.

He began to get desperate he called out to both of them. No response.

He called out to Solar, Lunar, Monty, Earth, Moon, the astrals, Sun...

No response.

They aren't here. They aren't coming to save you. The entity said. Why would they? You betrayed them all. But that doesn't mean you can't get even one day.

Nexus relented and summoned a sickle and began his life once again as a puppet, going from one master to another.

One day, he would be the puppetmaster, and they would all bow to him. They would all see him. The real him.

So, what do you all think? What would you change about Nexus if he was in DBD?

What perks would you add? What add-ons would you add? What skins would you add?

What things would you change for Nexus?

Let me know, and I hope you all enjoyed this little what if.

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lost-in-lamentation · 2 years ago

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💉🌧 - sick fic, rain.

lucifer × gen!reader. fluff.

warnings: lucifer gets sick, kind of collapses, nothing serious.

content: on a rainy day, lucifer lends you his umbrella. he discovers the consequences later.

back to the 500 follower event: here.

lucifer has always been prepared for anything. even the rainy days, which are scarce in the devildom to begin with.

the rain continuously pelts against the windows of his office in RAD, rattling the frames as it fights to keep the inside world dry. quietly, lucifer overlooks the proposed curriculum for a new devildom mathematics class as you scribble away on your own assignments. the demon enjoys these moments, when neither of you can be bothered by anyone from a specific set of individuals. but the rain is only getting worse, and lucifer needs to prioritise.

“MC, are you done your work?”

you stretch your arms above your head, a soft yawn escaping you as you nod your head. “just about. should we head back?”

“yes. the rain may only get worse if we wait any longer.” lucifer hears you hum in agreement and begins to pack his own things away. the papers rustle as he slides them into a folder; a gentle sound compared to how it continues to rumble outside. he tells you he’ll wait at the front doors for you, grabbing the umbrella he keeps just in case from the shelf. you don’t take long to finish, but when you run up to meet him, lucifer can’t help but notice the way you’ve draped your uniform jacket over your head. “do i want to ask what you’re doing?”

“well…” shifting your weight from side to side, lucifer can tell you’re debating your options. “i don’t have an umbrella.” the avatar of pride shoots you an incredulous look, causing you to stutter. “look, i- it barely rains down here! you can’t just expect me to have an umbrella at the ready!”

all of a sudden, you’re pouting at lucifer, and he is at a loss for words. he scans you carefully, releasing a resigned sigh as he holds his umbrella out to you. “we’ve wasted enough time.”

you shake your jacket into its original place as you take the umbrella. “what about you?”

“i would prefer if you were protected from the rain.”

“you’ll get sick if you walk in the rain.”

“nonsense. that only applies to humans.”

lucifer learns it does not apply to only humans.

three days later, beel is knocking quietly at your door, reporting that lucifer has not been seen for the last 24 hours. you suppress a cheeky grin, promising the concerned twin that you would go and check on the eldest. you pad down the hallway in almost complete silence, the carpeted floor doing well to muffle your footsteps. your knuckles rap softly against lucifer’s door, but before you can get a response, the door creaks open by itself.

“lucifer?” you whisper into the pitch black room, waiting for your vision to adjust to the darkness as you shut the door behind you. “lucifer, where in diavolo’s name are you?” you hiss in feigned annoyance, pulling your d.d.d. out of your pocket to use the screen as a flashlight. finally, you see him; sitting on the ground, propped up against the couch rather than on the couch itself. despite the lack of lighting, you can tell that his hair is dishevelled, and his breathing comes out erratic instead of steady. carefully, you shuffle to his side, pocketing your phone so that you have both your hands free. your fingers are gentle as you brush the stray hairs out of his face, and your hands, cold to the touch, have lucifer leaning into you for a fraction of a second. “you’re burning up…”

instantly, pride returns. lucifer pulls away from you, eyes wide as he struggles to gain his bearings. “MC, my room is not one where you can come and go when you’d like,” he rasps, pulling himself up while he pretends he wasn’t just unconscious on the ground. “leave before i curse you.” the demon forces himself to his feet, face twisted in concentration as he tries not to tremble where he stands.

you straighten your back to stand next to him, arms held out in front of you in the event that lucifer fails to continue to stay upright. “you don’t look like you can curse anyone like this, lucifer.”

the air turns hot from his displeasure. “regardless, there is no reason for you to be in here.” lucifer can only manage a step before a migraine takes a hold of him. there are claws digging into his skin and a chasm splits his head in two, forcing him to his knees.

“lucifer!” you’re at his side in an instant, pulling his hands away from his head and gathering him into your arms. he gives in to you right away, his body weight pressing on you as the strength is sapped from him. his breathing, you notice, is jagged; he can barely take one full breath without it being interrupted. “lucifer, you need to lie down.” with much effort, you slide closer to the couch, counting yourself down mentally before pushing him up onto the cushions. when he groans at the movement, you can’t help but shush him softly, carding your fingers through his already mussed hair. you keep it up for a few minutes, waiting until his breathing evens out to slip away. but the eldest brother, sharp as always, calls out to you before you can leave.

“MC?”

you never thought you’d hate to hear lucifer so weak. “i’ll be right back, okay?” in record time, you run down to the kitchen to get him some water, as well as a spare rag just in case. by the time you return, lucifer is already sitting back up, dazed eyes lighting up ever so slightly when you appear in front of him. “didn’t i tell you to lie d-”

“don’t leave me.” you inhale sharply, attention snapping back from the things you gathered to the sick demon on the couch. “i won’t know what to do if you leave.”

carefully, you set your things down on the coffee table behind you. “i would never leave you, lucifer.”

“you just did.”

“i went to get you water,” you say in a low voice, reaching behind and grabbing the water bottle for him to see. “here.” lucifer waits for you to unscrew the cap before extending his hand to take it, but you shake your head ‘no’ and bring it to his lips for him. “your hands are shaking too much.”

luckily, a sick lucifer is much more agreeable than a regular lucifer, and he accepts without complaint. you watch as he slowly comes to his senses, cheeks flushed a scarlet red from both embarrassment and his sudden fever. “i’m sorry, MC. i am not myself.”

you give him a sigh, gazing at him with such stark affection that lucifer thinks he’s hallucinating again. “get some sleep then. i’ll make some food for when you wake up.”

lucifer says nothing, but instead wraps his fingers around your wrist weakly. “don’t leave.” he pauses, and you feel his grip tighten. “please,” he whispers; he begs.

unmoving, your eyes flicker from his hand on your wrist to his face. lucifer lowers his head, unwilling to return your gaze. behind you, the clock ticks rhythmically, counting the seconds that lucifer has been waiting for a response. of course, you resign, turning yourself around to sit on the edge of the couch. you swing your legs up onto the cushions, leaning back onto the arm rest so that you’re angled upwards. once you find yourself comfortable, you pull lucifer towards you, letting his head rest against your shoulder as more of his weight falls onto you. although his temperature still runs high, it’s lower than what it was when you first found him. the best thing now, you decide, is to hold him close.

you can hear the gentle patter of rain against the windows, a reminder of what landed you in this situation in the first place. but now, with lucifer peacefully dozing off in your embrace, you can’t help but think that you might never buy an umbrella at all.

a/n: .... hi guys

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x you #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me x you #obey me x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #aris writes 🐈‍⬛#aris hits 500 🐈‍⬛

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quietwings-fics · 4 months ago

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One Last Word

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Alan Wake Ship: Gen (Alan & Barry) Additional Tags: Post-Alan Wake (Video Game), Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning, Angst, POV Barry Wheeler, Friendship Wordcount: 697 Summary:

Barry Wheeler, in the aftermath.

Someone had to pick up the pieces.

And that was what he did, right? The real job every agent knew they were signing up for was janitorial.

Alan was gone. It didn’t feel real to Barry, and maybe that was why he was the one in Alice’s kitchen making her dinner when she couldn’t even get out of bed. Alan was gone, but Barry walked by his office and expected to hear him groaning at his desk about a sentence he liked too much and knew he has to cut. Alan was gone, and he even took his last manuscript with him.

Real selfish, Al, Barry thought, don’t you know I’ve gotta eat, too? He knocked on the door that led to what was Alan and Alice’s bedroom. He waited. She didn’t say anything, but the light escaping under the crack of the bedroom door was on, always on. (Not like Barry didn’t keep every light in his home running as well. Alan was still paying for their electricity bills.) He left her plate by the door, like maybe the smell of it would coax her out.

Barry had never liked her. Alice had never liked him much back. They both loved Alan too much, and they had both walked away alive because he hadn’t.

He figured out a new course for himself: the Old Gods of Asgard, who partied like they were half their age and drank like death couldn’t touch them. Repping them was a dream come true. Even when they finally faltered, one last tour while Barry set up funds for a retirement home. He should have made sure the construction was going as planned in person.

He couldn’t. Bright Falls swallowed his best friend whole, and he was supposed to believe it wasn’t hungry for seconds? Not a chance. But that old crazy pair headed back into the maw of the town like they were used to holding it wide open with swords. (He’d been rereading Alan’s books too much. His metaphors took root in Barry’s head. He still has Alan’s voice on talkshows and radio interviews, but his books sounded more like him than anything. With a plummet in Barry’s stomach, he wondered if Alan really did belong on the page, in a story, all along.)

The movies took most of the narration word-for-word. Barry had to fight for that, had to call in more favors than he really had to spare.

What else was he supposed to do, sit on the rights to Alex Casey and let him rot away in those books? Let him die in there?

Alan would have loved hearing the words he wrote on the screen. He would have hated that Barry made them change the ending, even if only a little bit, just the suggestion that his title character didn’t bleed out in a back alley, that maybe the light he saw before his eyes shut for the final time wasn’t hellfire or heaven’s gates, but a friendly flashlight and a person looking to help.

They had cut-outs of Alan at the premiere next to ones of the stars. Barry had thought it was funny when he’d ordered them.

He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d seen Alan’s face like that, so clear and close. The years were passing, and Barry felt every single one. Suddenly, the plan to smuggle one into the back of his car and drive it home seemed a lot less funny with no one else there to laugh about it.

He couldn’t bring himself to go back to Bright Falls, but some nights, Night Springs was on the air. Some nights, Alan’s words came to find him rather than the other way around.

And Barry thought, maybe this time, as the signal on his janky TV fuzzed out and Alan’s old dialogue faded — maybe this time Barry would shut his eyes and when he opened them again, there would be a page on the floor, telling him what he was supposed to do next, telling him he wasn’t holding onto that last sliver of hope in vain.

Come on, Al. How hard was one page for a novelist?

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

#fanfiction #101-1000 #general audiences #alan wake game #genfic #alan & barry #alan wake #barry wheeler #angst

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emma-is-swaggy-and-epic · 1 year ago

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Expanding on my MLP next gen AU "shipping is magic" except i let too many ideas marinate in my head at once and now my wrist hurts from drawing so much :)

BASES USED:

X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X

I would say "ships and lore under the cut" but tumblr ALWAYS likes to fuck up my post layout whenever i post SPECIFICALLY MLP base art for some reason soooo.......idk

As some of you may know: i included fluttershy x tree hugger into my next gen but recently i've decided that in this AU: fluttershy is actually now in a polycule with tree hugger and quarter hearts (that one background pony that looks like link from the legend of zelda) because i saw it be included in one of dragonairlover (or SodaSurfer97, depending on where you follow it)'s old youtube videos back when it did next gen requests for people as part of someone's next gen and i really liked that idea so i included the ship in mine, the mostly-yellow pony with the triforce necklace is named canary crescent (he/him) and he's the son of all three (biologically, i mean) while the blue-haired pony next to him is named navi (she/her) and she's just flutter and quarter's kid. Obviously, navi is based on navi the fairy from the actual zelda games though i wanna say that she's got some inspiration from the blue fairy from pinocchio as well

The next five are gonna take a while to explain....so y'know how i had two lunacord kids already? Well....i decided to expand it into 7 and base them all on the 7 deadly sins because i thought it'd be cool (the ones i already made represent pride and sloth now), the pink one represents lust and is named "after dark" (she/her), the red one represents wrath and is named "wild side" (which TOTALLY isn't because i had the beastars opening theme which coincidentally is also titled "wild side" stuck in my head while drawing, what are you even TALKING about!??!?....anyway, she/her) The purple one represents greed and is named "hypebeast bling" (god, remember when hypebeasts were a thing? He/him) the brown one represents gluttony and is named "midnight snack" (they/he) and lastly the blue one represents envy and is named cendrillon (who TOTALLY isn't named after the vocaloid song AT ALLLL!!!!!! She/her) cendrillon wants to be like her older siblings, thus why she's envy

These next ones: well....idk how many people know of this nowadays, but when the episode "baby cakes" first came out, people theorized that rarity ALSO had a baby in that episode alongside mrs cake because in the opening scene: she was seen looking at a baby with a VERY similar color palette to her. I actually really like that theory so i decided to incorporate that into my next gen, with rarity having a kid with stony pony before eventually getting with braeburn and having rosemary and having to give the kid up for adoption because she couldn't take care of her (and also because stony's a fucking deadbeat lmao) ......so yeah, i named her heloise (she/her) and she's very spiritual and cool......probably has an AWESOME crystal collection. The blue pony next to her is named "birthday cake" and she's pound and pumpkin cake's younger sister. Lastly there's prince corium, chrysalis and tirek's 14-year-old son. I imagine that he's not really evil in the same way his parents are, but he's moreso an edgy fuck who thinks saying slurs and making fun of furries is peak comedy....also he has some SERIOUS beef with pastel dream (my flashlight kid from another post)

Moving onto equestria girls, i didn't want it to JUST be the next gen from the pony universe but just in the EG universe so i decided to be a little creative. So for EG's mane 5 we have rarity and applejack's identical twin daughters praline punch (who's a graphiti artist and is into amekaji) and frou-frou (who's super ditzy and into hime gyaru), fluttershy and bulk biceps' daughter sunny sunflower, sci-twi and sunset shimmer's daughter pasadena (who has a crush on sunny and TOTALLY isn't named after pasadena from crash bandicoot I SWEAR!!!!) And flash sentry and timber spruce's daughter happy camper (who is a trans girl, but is still a lil early into her transition and she's into cryptozoology)

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thesidemascots · 4 months ago

Text

THE BACKROOMS CHALLENGE! (Sidemascots 2.6)

Starring…

THE NEXT-GEN SIDEMASCOTS!

…

Miraitowa: Uhhhhh… Burke… where the hell is Tina?

Burke: She hasn’t messaged me for a week!

Sacha: She’s more active than @softestlilotter… (Gliz slaps Sacha), ow!

Miraitowa: We can’t do this whole thing if we don’t have the whole lineup!

Burke: Yes we can!

Miraitowa: No we can��t!

Burke: Yes we CAN!

Miraitowa: No we-

Wenlock: STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!

Burke and Miraitowa: hm?

Wenlock: You guys, stop fighting! If you want to save Tina and this episode, fine!

(There was a minute of a silence)

Burke: On the other hand… THAT MAKES A TOTALLY WICKED VIDEO IDEA!!!

Miraitowa: Guys, let’s save Tina!

Everyone: YEAH!

Burke: SIDEMASCOTS… ASSEMBL-

Sacha: Wait! Aren’t you prohibited from making superhero movie references for a month?

Burke: (wasted)

(One very fine road trip later…)

Miraitowa: Here we are! Sumi’s house!

Burke: Uhhhhh… Mirai…

Miraitowa: What? Of course we’re here!

Burke: Have you noticed that it’s a bit… you know…

Miraitowa: What?! *gasps* Oh my god…

Borobi: Did he just turn his house into a haunted one mate? IT’S NOT HALLOWEEN!

Milo: I’m… scared…

Burke: YOU’RE LITERALLY A MASCOT FOR A SPORTING EVENT! YOU CAN’T BE SCARED!

Miraitowa: Alright guys… go in groups, if there’s anything in our way, we fight!

Everyone: SURE THING!

Burke: Let’s go save your sister, Milo…

Milo: 😢

(Everyone slowly walks in groups while Miraitowa is holding a flashlight)

Miraitowa: There we go… his bedroom door…

Milo: So…

Burke: Shhhh… I’ve seen more scarier things than that…

Milo: Oh my god…

Miraitowa: Silence!

(Burke is about to open the door)

Milo: OH MY GOD…

Wenlock: SHUT UP!

Milo: WE’RE GOING TO DIE!!!

(Burke opens the door)

Burke: Oh… it’s just a computer screen.

Milo: IS SHE TRAPPED?!

Miraitowa: Calm down… no need to be anxious over literally a white screen.

(Burke gets closer to the screen)

(BonziBuddy appears)

Burke: huh?

Bonzi: Hello, SkibidiSumi, nice to see you again!

Burke: Did he downloaded a literal virus into his computer?

Miraitowa: Consider how brainrotted he was, it’s probably for nostalgia purposes.

Burke: What do you mean?! There’s no BonziBuddy in Gen Alpha terms!

Miraitowa: But Vini told us he already stopped watching brainrot content!

Burke: If he’s stopped watching brainrot, why does he still DUMB enough to download an outdated computer assistant known for breaking hundreds, if not THOUSANDS of PCs!

Miraitowa: Because Sumi’s always stupid! Even before brainrot! He even mixed voice recordings without consent!

Wenlock: ENOUGH!!! WE’RE HERE TO FIND TINA, NOT ARGUING ON WHY SUMI’S DOWNLOADED A STUPID COMPUTER PROGRAM!

Bonzi: Do you want to live the life of your dreams?

Burke: Huh…

Miraitowa: Hmmmm…

Burke: It has “yes” or… “yes”.

Miraitowa: I doubt it.

Burke: Only one way to find out…

Miraitowa: But which one’s the real “Yes”?

Burke: Eeny-meeny-miney-moe?

Miraitowa: *sigh*, just choose the left one.

Burke: Alright… I’m gonna regret this…

(Burke clicked on yes)

Bonzi: Woohoo! The paradise is actually the friends we made along the way this whole time!

Burke: Oh, haha. You’re such a joker. If only you haven’t had malware pre-installed in this CRAP!

Borobi: Alright, let’s search the other rooms mate…

Bonzi: Or is it?

Miraitowa: Wha?

(The computer opened a black hole)

Everyone: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Gliz: I DON’T WANNA DIE!

Milo: PLEASE! I HAVE A LIFE TO LIVE!

Miraitowa: That’s it! Who’s gonna die first?

Burke: Uhhhhhh… Borobi!

Borobi: WHAT, MATE?!

(The black holes sucks even harder)

Burke: AH! I’M LOSING GRIP! ANY LAST WORDS?

Miraitowa: AT LEAST I GET TO DIE WITH HONOHON AND NOT SOMEITY!

(Meanwhile)

(Someity is texting someone she met on tinder)

Someity: Damn.. He's actually better than Miraitowa!!! He treats me right too- Wait, he just texted me again-

(Someity blushes deeply, her eyes visibly have hearts in them, and her ears are twitching softly-)

Someity: Awwwh!!! He's a sweetheart too~ Okay uh, how do I respond to this..?

(Someity looks around in her room and notices something, a Pokémon Pikachu plushie in a wedding dress...)

Someity: I have an idea... But first I need to make something..

(Once Someity gets the photo ready for her new partner/Girlfriend)

Someity: Okay, Now I just gotta take a picture of me holding this.. And send it to my new date!~

(A few minutes later-)

Someity: Okay, now to see if he will respond- WOW HOT DAYUM!

(Someity's antennae are perked up, and her eyes have multiple hearts in them, and a goofy lovestruck look in her eyes is visible-)

Someity: W-Woah..~ How did I get so lucky....

(Someity's heart is finally beating again, and she's finally in love once again!)

(Back to Sumi’s house)

(The wooden interior)

Burke: Woah-oh…

Everyone: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

(Everyone gets sucked in black hole)

@scratchybongvt presents

A Sidemascots production

Sidemascots Season 2

Version 2.05 – The Backrooms

(In the backrooms)

(Everyone falls into it and gets faceplanted)

Miraitowa: Ow, my head… huh?

Milo: I’M ALIVE GUYS! I’M ALIVE!!! WOOHOO!

Sacha: Wait, this place, I remember this…

Burke: Yeah… We all know where this is going…

Milo: WHAT?! BACKROOMS?! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

(Cobi kicks Milo, who hits the ceiling)

Hodori: GET ME OUT OF THERE! I HAVE A MUKBANG VIDEO DUE! WITH MY COUSIN!

Miraitowa: Don’t freak out, Hodori… I’m pretty sure there’s a way out of there.

Burke: Wait… does anyone bring anything?

Hodori: I have a 2005 Samsung Video Camera…

Miraitowa: I have a phone. But there’s no service…

Sacha: I brought out a Swiss Army Knife!

Burke: Woah, woah, chill before you’re crazy, or else we’re going to be blocked on tumblr!

Sacha: hehehe, just kidding…

Burke: 0/10 joke…

Honohon: Wait… I have something… (bootleg Pokemon evolution music)

Everyone: (gasps)

…

Burke: Just pull it already!!!

Honohon: A-ha! A device to summon Powder into view! (data and message rates may apply)

Burke: Great, we’re going to get sued.

Miraitowa: Wait… data and message rates may apply? Are you saying that it also uses cellular data?

Honohon: O_O Yeah right.

Everyone: Oh come on!

Miraitowa: Great… I guess we’ll have to navigate it ourselves.

Wenlock: Come on Milo, we have stuff to do!

Milo: But I’m scared…

Wenlock: YOU’RE A MASCOT FOR A MAJOR SPORTING EVENT, ARE YOU GOING TO SHOW BRAVERY OR NOT?!

Miraitowa: Alright guys. There’s a lot of paths here and there so we’re going to split.

Burke: Split? How are we supposed to contact each other?

Miraitowa: Easy! I already bought this in case we’re lost! A roll of colored strings! Now, let’s split into 2 teams of 4 and 1 team of 3. Wenlock, Honohon, Burke and I are on one team, so is Borobi, Sacha and Phryge, and, Cobi, Hodori, Gliz and Milo. If any of these teams are found dead… well I guess it’s your fault.

Burke: Our team will go straight ahead. Sacha, your team will go to my left, and Cobi, your team will go to my right, remember to unroll the strings as you go!

Everyone: Aye, aye!

Burke, Miraitowa, Honohon and Wenlock

Honohon: Uhhhhh… hey Wenlock.

Wenlock: What?

Honohon: Have you got any food?

Wenlock: Uhhhhh… 3 cans of baked beans?

Honohon: Ughhhhhh…

Wenlock: What? It’s a British staple!

Honohon: -_-

Burke: Huh, it’s been goodness knows how long it take and we still haven’t seen anything, at the very least, interesting.

Miraitowa: Except for that dark path there?

Burke: Hm?

Honohon: Hmmm… who’s elected to go first?

Burke, Miraitowa and Wenlock: Uhhhh… YOU!

Wenlock: What? Me?

Miraitowa: Oh, come on, show off your bravery from the Thames! They will finally give you love again if you think about it!

Wenlock: Ugh… fine. Stay there!

(Wenlock enters the dark tunnel)

…

Honohon: So… we join in?

Miraitowa: No, we can’t until Wenlock says it’s clear!

Honohon: So… what else should we talk about?

Miraitowa: I don’t know.

Honohon: You hungry?

Miraitowa: No? Why?

Honohon: Well, we can steal the cans of baked beans from his bag.

Miraitowa: Stealing food without consent?

Honohon: But, if he’s dead, then… we’ll take it.

Miraitowa: -_- Do you know the thing called “respect”?

Honohon: Yes, why?

Burke: Hm? I see someone…

Miraitowa: Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…

(music intensifies)

…

Wenlock: Hey yo!

Honohon: Dafuq? Is everything clear?

Wenlock: Of course it’s clear… other than the fact that it’s totally dark here and has some eerie and familiar music…

Burke: Oh. We’ll see about that. Let’s go.

Miraitowa: -_- Wait a minute… there’s something behind you…

Wenlock: What do you mean there’s something behind me? Are you bluffing or something?

Borobi, Sacha, and Olympic Phryge

Sacha: Ahhhh… my cute little squishable mascots… how I can leave them?

Borobi: Really mate, even when I’m dirty right now after Burke used me as a marketable mop?

Sacha: EVEN BETTER! I LIKE MOPS THAT ARE SHAPED LIKE KOALAS!

Borobi: Mate, have you even considered ethical issues, like, you know…

Sacha: What issues… wait… Oly, why are you trembling? You’re supposed to unroll the strings otherwise we’ll get lost.

Olympic Phryge: I’m… scared…

Borobi: I’ll take care of the strings.

Sacha: What do you mean? There’s no Phryge haters here! Besides, how can dead memes NOT adore the Phryges?

Borobi: You sound like Phryge propaganda mate.

Sacha: SHUT. UP. RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Borobi: Okay… okay… I won’t say that again…

Sacha: I’ll roll you over like a pancake next time! Come on Oly, we have some searching to do!

Olympic Phryge: 😢

Sacha: *gasps* A door!

Borobi: Yippee! Freedom! All you have to do is to take the Swiss Army Knife to unlock it!

Sacha: I’m already familiar with stabbing things.

Borobi: Haha- what?

(Sacha stabs the door like a maniac)

Sacha: STUPID DOOR, STOP BEING CLOSED AND START BEING OPEN!

Borobi: Wait! I saw a keypad!

Sacha: Nah, I already made progress!

(Borobi presses the number 0 on the keypad, unlocks instantly)

Sacha: AH! WHY DON’T YOU TELL ME EARLIER?

Borobi: Sorry, I didn’t notice mate. AH! DON’T THREATEN ME!

Olympic Phryge: Uhhhh, guys… It’s @crackheadfromsainsburys’ tumblr blog page…

Sacha: YES! I ALWAYS WANTED TO DESTROY HER!

Borobi: Despite you always did it.

Sacha: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Olympic Phryge: WAIT! WHAT IF SHE WANTS REVENGE?

(The room shows her dad’s Instagram account instead)

Sacha: Guys… let’s get out of here…

(The door slams shut)

Borobi: AH! (presses 0 on the keypad again, the door opens again) What the?

Sacha: You guys expect me to be dead? Pfffft… I have plot armor! I’ll do anything not to lose both of you… and @scratchybongvt… stupid @kurosaiko12…

Cobi, Hodori, Gliz and Milo

Milo: Noooooooooooo I don’t want to go…

Cobi: You have a reputation of a Paralympic mascot and you’re acting like THIS?!

Milo: I’m only confident when there’s Tina on my side!

Cobi: Oh my f**king god you’re 5 years old!

Milo: Uhhh… actually…

Cobi: Let’s go. Hey! Stop making Mukbang videos!

Hodori: What? Mukbang videos in backrooms attract vi-

(Cobi smashes Hodori’s phone)

Gliz: Great, how are we supposed to contact people now?

Cobi: We can’t contact anyway, besides, it’s for the better.

Gliz: Look!

Cobi: Huh?

Gliz: A screen!

Cobi: Hm. It better not opens a black hole!

Gliz: Wait… what if it opens a black hole… back to Sumi’s bedroom? It would be the BEST. SCENARIO. EVER!

Cobi: Let me see… abracadabra! Shazam! Open a black hole back to the real-world you idiot!

(The screen shows a static and then…)

[Vinicius: Hi guys, I have a big surprise for now, give me an hour for suspense, *takes inhaler*]

Cobi: Wait, did Vini left a message for us?

Gliz: EUREKA! A PIECE OF EVIDENCE! GOTTA TELL THE CREW!

Hodori: Not as good as the mukbang videos.

[Vinicius: Welcome to the… SIDEMASCOTS channel! The Sidemascots… Forget KSIdiot and his team of little b*****s, forget Ronaldo and Messi and their team of little b*****s, watch me, and MY team of little b*****s! THE SIDEMASCOTS! So who will make… THE SIDEMASCOTS!]

Cobi: *gasps* I know this! It’s displaying the entire Sidemascots Season 1!

Hodori: Booo-ooo-oooring!

Cobi: But what if it left some secret messages along the way, who knows?

Hodori: Fine…

(Back at the starting point)

Sacha: Phew… we’re back!

Olympic Phryge: I’m tired…

Sacha: Oly… aren’t you obese? We only walked a kilometer!

Wenlock: Hey!

Sacha: Chill, chill, it’s only a joke…

Wenlock: 0/10 joke in my opinion.

Sacha: Anyway… wanna check on Burke, Mirai, Wenlock and Hon?

Wenlock: Sure, why not?

Olympic Phryge: Anyone help?

Burke: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Sacha: What the?

(Skibidi toliets chase after Burke, Miraitowa, Wenlock and Honohon)

Miraitowa: Did anyone have anything useful?

Honohon: NO! THEY RESIST FIRE!

Miraitowa: Burke, you’re a shapeshifter, why don’t you turn yourself into something useful?!

Burke: Useful, useful… a-ha! (turns himself into a giant hammer)

Miraitowa: Sweet…

Wenlock: Wow…

Olympic Phryge: GUYS, WHAT HAPPENED?

Sacha: How did you guys find yourselves being chased by skibidis?

Miraitowa: No time to explain! You need to fight them!

Sacha: But-

Miraitowa: They’re Phryge haters!

Sacha: Grrrr… RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Wenlock: HOLY SH-

Miraitowa: HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

[To make a long story short, Miraitowa and Co did manage to beat up all of the brainrot memes]

Burke: (turns back into his normal form) Ow, my back, you know, that was the first time I shapeshifted myself into an inanimate object for a long period of time.

Sacha: Eh… Now I’m tired, you just lie down here, Oly!

Olympic Phryge: I ate the baked beans along the way!

Wenlock: GODDAMNIT, HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO EAT NOW?!

Burke: Easy, we don’t. I think the other team over there has some. Come on!

(The rest of the crew saw Cobi, Hodori, Gliz and Milo watching the Sidemascots)

Miraitowa: What the…

Cobi: I’ve been watching this for 4 hours and I haven’t got a single clue…

Burke: It’s just the Sidemascots, guys… Nothing really special about it.

Sacha: WHAT DO YOU MEAN! I F**KING LOVE THE SIDEMASCOTS!

Burke: Calm down, little girl… yes Sidemascots holds a special place in your heart but when you think about it… it’s just the Frontmen on steroids.

Sacha: …

Burke: Let’s go find somewhere else, boys…

Cobi: WAIT!

Burke: WHAT?!

Cobi: I saw something…

[1 week ago]

Tina: This thing looks… haunted. Hm?

(Saw Vinicius, looking… scared)

Tina: What’s wrong, Vini? You’re meant to help him rehab from all those brainrot videos, right?

Vinicius: Yes… but, but…

Tina: But what?

Vinicius: I CAN’T SAY IT, I CAN’T SAY IT!

Tina: Hm? (looks at the front door to his bedroom)

(Tina proceeds to open the door)

Tina: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

[Everyone in shock]

Milo: Tina… she’s been trapped in this world… for a week… HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO COPE WITH THIS????

Sacha: -_-

Miraitowa: Wait a sec… we didn’t see Vini being traumatized outside of Sumi’s bedroom…

Sacha: Maybe he’s trapped too?

Miraitowa: No… since he already knew what happened in Sumi’s bedroom, and subsequently Sumi himself, he would’ve ran away. Possibly going to the nearest therapy… again.

Burke: Okay, any theories on what happened to Sumi?

Miraitowa: Considering HE downloaded BonziBuddy, he might’ve stuck here, and created this backroom kind of world. It could be why we somehow ended up here being chased by Skibidi toilets.

Cobi: Skibidi toilets?! Hasn’t he had enough watching those on YouTube, YouTube Kids perhaps?

Burke: I doubt he thinks the same too… arguably he wants MORE. One plausible theory for why he downloaded that 90s computer virus is because someone send it to him and claim that it will create the world of his dreams… that’s why Bonzi asks us if we can go to quote-on-quote “paradise” before we suck here… because it IS paradise… at least according to Sumi…

(Everyone agrees)

Burke: But hey… that’s just a theory… A GAME THEORY!

Miraitowa: YouTuber references? That counts.

TV Screen: Congratulations, you passed the endurance test set up by the master…

Sacha: Master? Hmmmm…

Miraitowa: Did you know who that master is?

TV Screen: Unfortunately, I’m not provided with this information. However, you can now proceed to the next stage…

Burke: Stage? That implies it’s… BEAST GAMES-

Wenlock: We’re in a maze.

Sacha: Adventure? I love it!

(Walls slide open)

Miraitowa: Well…

Burke: Hm.

(Everyone steps in)

…

Miraitowa: Huh… a white void. Kinda looks like where I born.

Sacha: I thought you were born in Tokyo…

Miraitowa: Oh heavens, no… I started my life with my big white void before coming out of the real world… I used to switch between dimensions before I start being lazy after retirement.

Sacha: Interesting…

Burke: Great. What is this “stage” about?

Wenlock: Looks like heaven.

Burke: Hm, let’s see, it’s going to be like the backrooms again but with more space… *gasps* a door!

Everyone: WHAT?!

Miraitowa: GO, GO, GO!!!

(Everyone rushed to the door)

Burke: Alright, keep this in your mind… expect the unexpected!

Milo: I’m scared…

(Milo gets elbowed by Wenlock)

Burke: 3, 2, 1… (opens door) Huh… nothing at all.

Miraitowa: I know the script! Seconds later a black hole will open leaving this episode in a cliffhanger-

(A black hole opens)

Burke: AH! HOW DID YOU KNOW THE SCRIPT?

Miraitowa: I DON’T KNOW… I JUST LOOKED THROUGH THE FOURTH WALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL------

(Everyone gets sucked)

Sidemascots will return…

#mascotverse #sidemascots #parody #miraitowa and someity #possibly controversial #the phryges #the backrooms

11 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 23 days ago

Text

Spider Monster

OK 1st I really love all the stories and fanfiction making with Spider-Man and all The Avengers the bonding and becoming a little family I can I wanna suggest a prompt where and it's a little weird, Spider-Man. becomes a spider-monster thanks to a evil scientist and does not recognize any of the avengers and they try to calm him down so they can get him back to the tower to help him 🥰🤩 – gengar467

please keep feeding us peter parker fics i love them i swear they're addicting (but no pressure only if u feel like it!!) – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: animal transformation, injuries

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 2777

"Keep your eyes up," Steve orders as the Avengers spread out, flashlights reflecting off the walls and ceiling as water sloshes around their feet, "we don't know anything about this creature's origin or what it's capable of."

"It's a New York sewer, Cap," Clint says, hands at the ready, "we should be expecting anything from turtles to crocodiles."

"Somehow I don't think turtles would cause that much of an issue."

"Clearly you've never met Master Splinter."

"Isn't he a rat?" Tony's suit whirs. "I'm picking up residue of some sort on these tunnels over here. Looks like whatever our mystery friend is has started leaking something."

"Possible contagion?"

"Uh, negative. Looks more like a slime or mucus that's being secreted than any sort of venom or poison." The suit whirs again. "Heavier concentration on the north tunnel."

They continue moving. Thor's hammer hits the side of a massive steel beam and they all freeze, listening for a skittering or thudding.

"It's too goddamn echoey in here."

"Stark, can you triangulate the—"

"Way ahead of you, Cap." Tony points at a nearby tunnel. "In there."

"Be careful, we don't know what we're dealing with."

"Uh huh. Don't worry, I'll leave the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to you." Tony's interface flickers as he runs a scan over the darkness. "Okay, I got something."

"Size?"

"Small to medium. Hard to tell, looks like it's curled up. More of the residue…possibly injured."

Clint shifts his grip. "Makes it easier to take it down, doesn't it?"

"Unlikely," Thor says quietly, "if it is injured, it will be more desperate, less predictable. We shouldn't discount its abilities."

"Well, this just gets better and better."

"Hang on." Tony frowns. Something flashes out of the corner of his eye. "There's something else. Suit's picking up traces of…"

"Stark?" Steve glances over at him when he doesn't finish. "Stark, what is it?"

"Shit, it's the kid."

"What? What kid?"

"Our kid." Tony's hands drop, the repulsors winding down. "That's Peter back there."

"Peter?"

"What the hell's he doing down here?"

"And who hurt him so bad we're getting reports of a feral creature that needs to be contained?"

"Are you sure?" Steve risks a glance back toward the dark tunnel. "Is it possible it's the same program that—"

"No, it's him, Cap. No one else has these sorts of readings." Tony's face plate pops open. "Shit, okay, this just got way more complicated."

"Peter?" Thor's voice rings against the walls. "Is that you?"

A horrific snarling noise fills the air, sounding much, much bigger than what Tony had described. Clint glances over only for Tony to shake his head. "He's got his head in a corner, the sound's bouncing off the walls."

"He's using the darkness to hide his location," Natasha murmurs, a note of pride in her words, "clever."

"Peter," Steve calls next, voice low and soothing, "it's us. It's your family, we're here to help you."

Another snarl, a little quieter. The team slowly edges closer, the water rippling around them. This time, the snarl that halts them chokes off in a pained whimper.

"Baby Spider," Natasha calls, moving a little closer on her own, "Baby Spider, it's okay. We're not gonna hurt you, we just want to help. Aunt Spider misses you, she wants you to come home."

A series of chitters breaks out. Natasha glances at Steve and they both keep moving slowly down the hallway. Behind them, Clint, Thor, and Tony make sure nothing else is going to jump out at them, covering the exit points. A ripple comes back from the darkness, smacking lightly against their shins.

"Peter? Is that you?"

Another chitter. Steve adjusts his grip on the shield to reach for a flashlight, aiming it down at the water. "I'm gonna turn on a small light, okay, Peter? Just so I can see?"

There aren't any more noises, so he clicks it on, keeping it aimed low, using the reflection from the water to illuminate their way. Beside him, Natasha's gun is trained below their line of sight, just in case. They make their way toward the corner, pausing. They glance at each other one more time before Steve clears his throat.

"We're gonna come around the corner now, okay, Peter? We're not gonna hurt you."

The next noise is almost a whine. Natasha's mouth twitches before she nods firmly and they step around the corner. The light bounces through the water, up the walls, through the darkness to reveal—

"Oh, Peter," Steve breathes, shield lowering, "what the hell happened to you?"

The light has just enough time to bounce off several red eyes before a blur of fangs and legs launches itself at them.

***

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts—

His back is on fire. His sides ache and split like thousands of slivers rubbed in salt and his mouth is about to explode into nothing but blood and pain. He chokes on it, on his own tongue that no longer fits right in his skull and his voice garbles out noises of nightmare.

He remembers screaming. He remembers thrashing. He remembers running—at least, he thinks he does. He must have been running with how fast he was going. He must have run because he was somewhere and now he isn't. Now he's in the dark and the cold and the cold helps the pain but there's more pain in his mouth that he can't help, can't stop, and he wants it to go away and there's another pain in his abdomen, so ravenous and thick and empty and he needs—he needs—

He needs it to stop.

***

Bruce blows out a breath when he sees Peter sitting in the lab. He glances at Tony, whose expression hasn't lifted once since he called Bruce with an update—that it's Peter who they found, except he doesn't recognize them and something happened to him—before adjusting his glasses.

"We're gonna have to go in there," he says lowly and Tony sighs.

"I know. I just wish we didn't have to."

"You and me both."

"Spider-safe kit is already prepped and waiting. You think you can handle it?"

"Yeah."

"'Cause I got no problem suiting up to—"

"Tony," he interrupts, not unkindly, "I can do this. Peter's a scared and frightened creature who doesn't know his own strength. I know how to deal with those."

Tony's mouth tenses briefly before he nods, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Bruce takes a deep breath and picks up the kit, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves before opening the door.

Peter's head jerks up, his fangs making little squeaks against the bite guard they'd had to force into his mouth when he wouldn't stop trying to attack Thor. His limbs curl up as much as they can where the restraints have him, over his torso and chest—a protective move. His many eyes blink out of sync. The spider limbs flail aimlessly. Bruce swallows.

"Hey, kid," he says, voice light and soft, "I'm Bruce, remember?"

He just gets another light snarl.

"That's okay, I know you've got a lot going on right now. I'm here to help, okay?" He holds one hand out, trying to make himself as non-threatening as possible. "I need to take a look at you, see what's going on."

Peter doesn't try to attack him, which is good, so Bruce slowly starts making his way over, crouching down in front of the small table where Peter sits. Peter's many eyes watch him, flickering to the kit he sets by his side.

"It looks like you're in a lot of pain," he says, "I'd like to help with that. Does that sound okay?"

The snarl is almost a question this time. Peter's limbs twitch slightly, and he groans in pain. Bruce winces in sympathy.

"Yeah, transforming's never fun, is it?" He indicates the tears in Peter's clothing, under which he can see red, inflamed skin, like Peter had tried to scratch it to make it stop. "You're bleeding a little bit, kid, can I help with that?"

He gets another snarl and bared fangs, before Peter slowly subsides and hunches in on himself. His eyes close and his breath comes in quick pants, then slow pants, then quick, then slow. A self-soothing technique, perhaps, something to try and ground himself. Bruce takes a slow breath of his own before he calls out again.

"Let me have a look at you, Peter," he says softly, "let me help."

Peter whines. Bruce waits until his eyes flicker open once more, glazed over with pain, before he reaches slowly for the kit. He opens it, turning it so Peter can see everything. His memory might be hazy, locked behind primal fear and impulse, but not gone. With this in mind, he reaches for a simple topical pain relief, something Peter would recognize, designed specifically for him and his enhanced healing factor. Bruce holds up his hand, slowly moving closer, until he can squeeze a little bit out on his fingers.

"I'm gonna put this on your sides, okay?" Peter makes another small noise, eyes squeezing shut, and Bruce carefully peels back the fabric of his ruined shirt. "Okay…that's it, kid, you're doing really well…"

The first touch to his side has Peter flinching. Bruce hushes him gently, trying to get the cream on the wounds, but Peter just whines and pulls away. The flesh stays as red and angry as ever, even as Bruce tries to be gentle, until he muffles a curse.

"Tony?"

"What do you see?"

"Kid's healing factor is battling whatever's doing this to him. It's trying to turn him back to normal as fast as this thing is trying to transform him. His body's fighting with itself."

"Shit," Tony's voice comes over the intercom, "okay, can you get me a blood sample?"

"I don't think he's gonna let me come near him with a needle right now."

"Yeah, I figured."

"There's a little blood on his bite guard, if I can get him to let it go without biting me—"

"Bruce—the last thing we need is both of you running around with this stuff in you."

"I know, but we don't really have a choice right now. Let me try something."

His hand moves up slowly, cups his hand around Peter's skull. Another whine bubbles up past the guard, a thin froth emerging around the white plastic. Bruce touches the strap holding it behind his head. Peter's eyes flick to him.

"Peter," he says quietly, "I'm going to take the guard off, okay? It looks like it's hurting you. But you can't bite me, okay? You think you can do that?"

Another small noise, another small flinch, and his limbs strain against the restraints. Bruce doesn't move, letting Peter decide what he wants to happen on his time. He ducks his head, nearly hitting Bruce in the process, before he gently butts his head against Bruce's chin. He chuckles.

"Okay, bud. I'm gonna take the guard off now."

Slowly, he reaches for the strap, undoing it just enough to gently ease the plastic from his mouth. The pink froth of spit and blood covers the inside, and he quickly places it in the bin to be sent to Tony. Tony gives him a thumbs-up through the glass and Bruce sets his hand back on the back of Peter's neck. Peter chitters once more, butting his head against his side. Bruce chuckles, running his hand through Peter's hair, before frowning.

"Tony, I have an injection site."

"You have a what?"

"Injection site. Side of the neck. Slightly inflamed, but really small. Probably wouldn't have seen it otherwise."

"So this was targeted?"

"Most likely."

"Shit."

Peter whines again and Bruce quickly shushes him, carding his hand through his hair again. He makes eye contact with Tony through the glass. They both nod.

"Don't worry, kid," Tony murmurs, "we're gonna figure this out."

***

It's warm now. He's lying on something soft.

Things still hurt. Everything is still warm and pulsing and hot with pain but it's a little less…volatile. He's somewhere soft, he's somewhere warm, he wants to stay here. He wants to stay here and not go back to the cold and the wet and the really angry parts of him that just want to hurt, hurt, hurt—

There's something soft under him. There's something soft over him.

Is he…is he safe now?

***

"Shh, shh, hey, easy, baby," Natasha murmurs when Peter starts to stir, his head twitching in her lap, "you're okay. Everything's okay."

"He's waking up," Steve says softly into his comm, "yeah, I think he's out of the worst of it. Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on him."

Natasha's fingers scratch gently through the hair at the nape of his neck, her other hand curled around his. Steve leans over and carefully moves the cup of water out of the way as he blinks, wincing at the brief flash of sunlight before looking up at Natasha. She smiles, brushing her thumb over his cheek.

"Hey, there you are," she coos, "how are you feeling, Baby Spider?"

"Sore," he rasps, only for Steve to quickly hold out the cup with a straw, "thanks."

"Drink, sweetheart, don't try to speak so much yet."

Both of them hold him steady, letting him drink his fill, before Steve sets the cup down and helps Peter sit up, his back against the side of the couch and his torso held in Natasha's arms. He blinks sluggishly, wincing as he tries to move a little bit.

"Wha…what happened?"

"We were hoping you could tell us some of that, Baby Spider. What do you remember?"

"I was…I was just walking. Then someone bumped into me and I thought—I thought that it was just a random thing but then everything started hurting and I hadda—" he sniffles— "I had to get away from people because I was—was gonna hurt them."

"Oh, sweetheart," Steve says softly, reaching out when Peter's hand balls into a fist, "you didn't hurt anyone, you just scared some people."

"R-really?"

"Yeah, Baby Spider." Natasha ruffles his hair with a smile. "You're too much of a softie, aren't you?"

"Mama Spider…" He pulls away with a pout. "You're embarrassing me…"

"You're so cute, you know that?"

"Natasha," Steve scolds lightly, "he's hurting, don't tease him. Peter—hey, sweetheart, it's okay. You didn't hurt anyone. You did the right thing. It's okay. Do you remember anything else about what happened?"

Peter frowns, a curl flopping down over his forehead. "I was—there was a logo on his jacket, I think. He—he turned it inside out but I—I saw it. It was—it was like—a circle? With a—another circle? Sorry—"

"No, no, sweetheart, it's okay, that's good enough." Steve brings his hand up and kisses his knuckles. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore."

"I can imagine. Tony and Bruce said it might be a few days before you feel all the way better. Ah—" he squeezes his hand when Peter opens his mouth to protest— "are you gonna deprive Yelena and Natasha here the chance to fawn over you?"

"You're lucky Yelena's out of town right now," Natasha adds with a grin, "otherwise you'd be bundled up in blankets and watching so many dumb movies right now."

"C-can we not do that anyway?"

"Oh, we will," Steve says, "don't you worry."

Peter smiles and nuzzles into Natasha's chest, letting her run her hand through his hair again. "Can I—'s it okay if I…"

"Go back to sleep, Baby Spider, we'll be here when you wake up."

***

"You didn't tell me? I would have been here sooner!"

"Yelena—"

"No. Give me my Baby Spider and go away."

"Yelena, he's been asking for you, it's not like we—"

"Of course he's asking for me, I'm his Aunt Spider. Where is my sister?"

"She's with him now. Come on, the movies are already queued up."

"Good. You are no longer allowed to sit on the couch with us, Stark."

"Wh—it's my couch!"

"Not anymore."

#dragonbabbles #fic #marvel #mcu #spiderman #peter parker

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theres-a-body-here · 2 years ago

Text

Male survivors with Jezebel!Reader

Its not everyday a notable figure is snatched by the entity. You clawed your way to the top before. Surly it won't be hard to do it again here. Right?

(The idea for this came to me in a cough syrup dream)

Dwight Fairfield

He's wary of you at first

Who wouldn't be?

He was expecting another Yun-Jin Lee

Someone cold and selfish

Surprisingly, you were neither

You actively helped others in trials

However, your language was......colorful

Dwight doesn't think he's heard someone swear as much as you do

"Fuck, medkit's empty. Fucking great. What kind of pussy ass bitch killer brings overwhelming presence?"

Complete sailor's mouth

You seemed to take a liking to him

Dwight doesn't know if that's a bad or a good thing

You always tend to his wounds gently and softly

Your words are a different story

"Fucking moron, running into the killer like that"

"But he had dark dev-"

"Might as well put your glasses back into your purse if you're not gonna fucking use 'em"

"Ah, there we go, all patched up," you grumbled, a sense of accomplishment in your voice as you rose from your crouched position.

Dwight blinked, his lips parting in an attempt to express his gratitude, but before he could gather his thoughts, a gentle press of your lips against the bandaged wound on his hand stole his breath.

His heart raced, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture."Um, I, uh..." Dwight's voice cracked, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. He fumbled for words, his mind a jumbled mess of surprise and flustered emotions.

Dwight's gaze trailed after you as you simply began to walk over to the next generator as if nothing happened. His heart was racing from the kiss.

"Right, work," he muttered to himself, his fingers subconsciously tracing the spot where your lips had made contact.

Ace Visconti

And you thought you were the lech?

This man is relentless

Slides up on you with finger guns.

"Hey baby, heard you were devoured by dogs. I wish I was one of them. I would've loved to eat you ou-"

It took 4 other survivors to pull you off him as you started to throttle him.

Homer Simpson style

You thought that would've deterred him

It did the opposite

Man has issues

He always tries to convince you to play strip poker with him

You always say no

Always tries to be the first person to unhook you

"You're knight is here, princess. Hehehehe"

"Leave me here dammit"

He always gives the best items he finds in chests

Ace gets the biggest shit-eating grin when you thank him

You pried open a chest, but your excitement dimmed as you laid eyes on the item inside – a broken key. A disappointed sigh slipped from your lips, momentarily quashing your hopes. Before you could fully immerse yourself in disappointment, a gentle tap on your shoulder startled you.

Turning, you found Ace standing there, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he held out a flashlight towards you. There was an unmistakable smugness in his expression.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his antics, accepting the offered flashlight with a quiet, "Thanks."

Ace's smirk widened into a self-satisfied grin, his response dripping with playful arrogance. "Anytime, babe," he chimed, punctuating his words with a playful finger gun gesture.

Suppressing the urge to growl at his audacity, you managed to keep your response to a subdued nod, appreciating his gesture despite his playful teasing.

Felix Richter

He's pretty nervous around you

Mostly because you flirt with him all the damn time

"Oh, you were an architect? Well, I'd let you study the curves of my temple anytime"

Instant blushing mess

"I-I.....uh......"

Moral dilemma time

He's technically still married

You know this

But you flirt with everyone else

(Except Ace)

So he doesn't take it seriously

Hates being alone with you

He's afraid to look stupid

Definitely blows up gens more often if you're working on them with him

You found yourself enjoying the calm silence as you worked with Felix on repairing a generator. The rhythmic clanking of tools and the atmosphere of the trial filled the air.

Despite his proficiency, Felix had inadvertently blown out the generator twice, a fact that he couldn't seem to hide.

You noticed his nervous glances in your direction whenever he thought you weren't looking.

Amused by his flustered behavior, you decided to play with the architect a bit.

Leaning in, you quirked an eyebrow and teased, "Felix, if you keep trying to sabotage the generator, I might start thinking you're trying to get my attention."

Felix's face flushed, his gaze dropping to his feet momentarily. He stammered, "N-No, that's not... I mean, I'm not trying to sabotage anything. It's just... this fog, it's making things a bit more complicated than usual."

You simply started at him. A small smile tugging at your lips. Felix's cheeks reddened even further.

Grinning, you decided to take pity on him. "Alright, I'll cut you some slack. Let's finish this generator together, and maybe later, we can find a way to make the trials a bit more... intriguing."

Felix's reaction is immediate; his cheeks flush into a deep shade of red, and his words stumble over each other as he tries to form a coherent response.

"Uh, well, I, um... I never... I didn't..... Oh, darn it," he stammers, his embarrassment all too evident.

You can't help but chuckle at his adorable reaction, finding his discomfiture endearing. "Got you there, didn't I?" you tease, enjoying the sight of his flustered state.

Masterlist Here

#dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight #Jezebel!reader #dbd #felix richter #felix richter x reader #ace visconti #ace visconti x reader #dwight fairfield x reader #dwight fairfield

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rosieblogstuff · 1 year ago

Text

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

44 😲 in my main AO3 account. 2 others in my older account = 46!

I didn't realize I had that many things!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

270,883

3. What fandoms do you write for?

All 44 of those works in my main AO3 are MacGyver 2016. One is a crossover with The Rookie. The other two at Star Trek TOS and Star Wars fics.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Table + Flashlight + IEDs

Mac + (Wilderness + Training + Survival) + Jack

Lost Causes

Lake + Stick + Fever

4 Times the LAPD Didn’t Pull Jack Over + 1 Time They Did

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! I often respond to a chapter's comments when I post the next chapter of a longfic. And sometimes I just space on it and respond a year later when I notice I failed to respond.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh definitely my X-ray + Penny flashfic, Bad Penny. Most of the comments are variations on HOW DARE YOU!!!

There are a couple other flashfics with pretty ambiguous endings, too.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

That's a hard one. Most of my fics have a happy or at least comforty ending. Maybe... uhh.... Electricity + Combustion ? which I literally labeled "whump with a fluffy ending". I also have two Jack Lives fics so that's always a happy situation at the end...

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't. A few weird comments but I mostly scratch my head and ignore them. Anybody who hates on my fics will be getting a very long and nasty reply, followed by their comment being deleted.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope, no smutty fanfics here. I did have a romance I posted for another fandom awhile back (and never finished), and I've written fade-to-black stuff in my orig fic novels.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Just one! My Macgyver 2016+The Rookie cops-vs-spies crossover, in which some LAPD officers keep coming across a black GTO involved in shenangains around LA: 4 Times the LAPD Didn’t Pull Jack Over + 1 Time They Did

It's probably the funniest thing I've ever written, and the ending is one of my very favorites. Also possibly the only gen fic ever posted in The Rookie fandom, although I don't look over there much.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. Somebody stole all my completed fics from FF.net last year. There was a big Tumblr post about some site full of stolen fics, and sure enough, there mine were. I asked to have them remove, got not reply. I haven't posted anything to FF.net since then.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I'm aware of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, but not for a long time. I used to frequently co-write fics in my first fandom.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I'm going to go with Washington State Ferry M/V Wenatchee. Who doesn't love a good ferry boat? It's an irconic style, fun if you're walking on, handy if you need to drive on, saves you hours of driving around Puget Sound by land. Also just a very nice-looking ship.

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

Ugh, wow. I have a couple dozen things I kinda like but might never finish. My favorite, and least likely because I've made the least progress on it, is a MacGyver fic about Patti having plotted out her revenge better, and tring to fuck over the team by having listed Jack as her replacement... which of course gives him access to high-level secrets like Oversight's identity. Much drama ensues.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Ramping a story up. Characters. Make a story fully story-shaped.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Endings. 😫

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Hmmm I don't think I've ever needed to. Like most things in writing, I'm not against it in theory, but it can be done well or badly.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Anne McCaffrey's Pern, back in the paper fanzine days. Prior to joining AO3 in like 2019, I had 0 fanfics posted on the internet but a few in zines listed on Ebay. 😂

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

This is IMPOSSIBLE to answer. I could answer it differently every day for the next couple weeks. Anything I already mentions plus a couple more!

#ask games #asks answered #fanfiction #macgyver 2016

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xlovebitz · 3 months ago

Note

hii im bothering u about your ditzy doo thoughts. wanna see your version of them if you got one C:

ps: i always thought the name "dizzy doo" would be a good alt name if hasbro had to choose one. that wont make soccer moms mad :D /lh /hj

have funn pic too

Omg yes Bubbles ! My beloved, my silly, my goofy 💛 Thank you for asking !! (also i love that pic it's amazing xD)

Dizzy is an adorable name omg ! Out of all the alternate names people have come up with for her, I defo like Bubbles the most. Probably because i just like bubbles in general lol They're so fun :3

I do have some art of her, mostly older stuff but I did make a new piece for you to show off her tiny family C:

Novaverse version of the Bubbles fam !

yapping commence under the cut vvv

Right so my headcanons are constantly evolving but what I'm currently thinking is thaaaaat...Bubbles is a physically and mentally disabled mailpony who grew up with a very loving single mom. Because of her nr1 bestest mom ever she never really felt down about her disabilities. Ofc she had her insecure moments but she bounced back very quick. And as she grew up she just became more sure of herself and confident. Bubbles believes that she can do anything she puts her mind to (even if she does it clumsily).

Due to circumstances I haven't fully thought up yet, in her mid 20s Bubbles (full name Bubbles Muffins) ends up adopting 2 of her cousins, Dinky age 16 and Bubbles (named after our fav clumsy horse and also known as Milo) age 14. Together they become a tiny little family. I haven't yet figured out where they live but defo not Ponyville. Might make up my own pony town actually.

Dinky is an aroace enby (they/she) cryptozoologist. They go by Unknown-Bloody-Proxy online and run a blog filled with local cryptid sightings and opinion posts on their favorite anime episodes. She's also diabetic and roserepulsed and the only person she feels comfy being close to is her younger sibling Bubs. I also hc that they're voiced by Lindsay (Stephanie Anne Mills) from the Total Drama series C:

Milo is a sporty agent of chaos. ADHD ponified. He's a demiboy and still questioning his orientation. He's the one holding the flashlight when Dinky invites him to explore an abandoned building. Even tho he has his cutie mark he doesn't quite understand what his special talent is. It's just bubbles? What does that even mean? His hc voice is Impa (Andi Gibson) from Hyrule Warriors.

In her 30s Bubbles ends up having to substitute another mailpony and on her newly assigned mail route she ends up meeting Kevin (stage name Feather Bangs). By complete accident Bubbles learns that Kev is also disabled. He has severe dyscalculia. Kevin is extremely insecure about his disability and hides it as much as he can. After all Feather Bangs has to be the perfect coltfriend! (he has a lot of internalized issues). Overtime tho Bubbles and him become friends and he starts unlearning his harmful beliefs, he meets Bubbles' cousins/kids and slowly becomes a part of the fam himself. First he's "mom's cool friend", then an uncle and finally sort of a father figure. I wouldn't say him and Bubbles are in a romantic relationship or anything. They're more so just platonic partners. But they care about each other, and their kiddos very deeply. Even getting legally married so Kev would be legally considered a parental figure (Kev also becomes Kevin Muffins during this time). Eventually even choosing to have a biological kiddo.

Smoky Pyre (prolly gonna change the name in the future but it works for now) grows up to be the local jock lesbian disaster. Her fav activities consist of hoofball, fishing and becoming a puddle on the ground when a pretty mare flirts with her. In her teens she's in a toxic yuri situationship with Kyanite (another next gen of mine who identifies with the "mean lesbian" label, I think that speaks for itself lmao). She also got Kev's dyscalculia and the ADHD that runs in Bubbles' family. That's all I really have for her, i haven't focused on her too much.

And if you read this far down then here is an old ass fam tree I did for Bubbles back when I still shipped mostly hetero ships because I thought that was what I was supposed to do :P I am still very proud of the redesigns I did for all the charas even tho I don't like the DepryWhooves ship anymore !

Yap sesh over, hope u enjoyed <3

#artbydefault #novaverse au #hcsbydefault #asksbydefault #mlp derpy #mlp bubbles #feather bangs

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captduggs · 1 month ago

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Tim Bradford - East Side of Sorrow - Chapter 2 - Was it his blood, or his conscience, or the alcohol?

inspired by a song of the same title, by zach bryan :)

tags: Abandonment, Angst, Army, Backstory, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Military Backstory, My First Fic, Song Lyrics, Tim Bradford is a Bad Communicator, Zach Bryan - Freeform

read on ao3

So I walked miles on the Tulsa streets

Light started beamin' in from the east

6 AM and fucked up again

Askin' God where the hell He'd been

Bradford was never the same soldier. Yes, he still executed every order the Army asked him to but he was never the same up there.

Tim’s first panic attack came a week after the incident. It had been a week with total hours of sleep in the single-digits. He’d leave the barracks to go on walks in the wee hours of the night, anything to bring his brain a smidge of peace. He was less than 10 minutes into tonight’s walk when he saw bright flashes of light in his eyes before he collapsed on that dirt road. Another moment where his breaths were shallow and his vision was blurry, but this time add in his lungs feeling like they were on the verge of collapsing and he couldn’t feel any part of his body except the clenching of his lungs. His mind went blank, and for the second time he thought he was going to die, but somehow this time was worse.

As the panic attack subsided and his mind came back to him, he cursed himself. How dare he feel like this, he’s alive, he made it out alive, he’s not weak, he’s a pure, highly-ranked American soldier, honored with the duty of fighting for what’s right. Why, why , how dare he feel like this. Tim needed every thought, every episodic memory to just stop.

Tim walked his jellied legs back to the barracks and turned to the one thing his teenage self said he’d never turn to. He snagged a bottle out of the plastic mini fridge and slumped against the side of it, busting the top off the beer using the corner of the table. His muscles tired, uniform soaked in a cold sweat, head and throat aching like no other. He dragged the rim of the bottle to his lips and forced the liquid down the hatch, the whole bottle gone in one swig. Immediately, his mind raced to the countless times that very liquid caused Tim’s father to punch and kick him, slamming him into walls, leaving drywall and sawdust littered in his dirty blonde hair, blood dripping from his mouth, all while his mother, who was supposed to help and protect him, stood motionless, and his helpless little sister Gen, accompanied her with tears threatening to drop from her eyes. And then, Tim’s mind went quiet, blank.

All the memories and thoughts just stopped. He stared at his dirt-covered legs and boots and the shitty tiled floor and nothing came to mind. It was the most bliss he’d felt since 9/11, almost five years prior. Tim twisted back toward the fridge, grabbing and busting open another bottle, chugging it, and then repeating the process with another. He fell asleep on that floor right at 6AM, and finally got an uninterrupted eight hours.

He said the sun's gonna rise tomorrow

Somewhere on the east side of sorrow

You better pack your bags west

Stick out your chest

And then hit the road

The next morning, Tim’s first sense of consciousness was before he opened his eyes, bright light seeping through. When he opened them, he was ready to see the industrial lights of the group’s shared kitchen, or maybe sunlight peeking through the windows–not his major’s blinding flashlight beaming into his pupil.

“BRADFORD! GET YOUR ASS UP!” Tim stumbled to his feet, moving quicker than he ever has in his life. “IT IS 14:00 AND YOUR SORRY ASS HASN’T MOVED FROM THIS CORNER ALL DAY. YOU’RE LUCKY YOU HAD NO ASSIGNMENTS TODAY.”

Tim stood there like a robot, eyes looking at his major, but by no means focusing on him. Tim couldn’t bear to actually look at a man he had so much respect for.

That moment changed everything, bringing about a life-changing revelation–he needed to get out. The war was winding down, he’d done his time, it should be easy. Despite the headache from those eight-plus hours slumped against the fridge, he knew that if he stayed in the army any longer, constantly following other men’s orders, no matter what rank he was; chasing the glory story, no matter who was lost; yet still being devastated every time he heard of another great man being blown to shreds–he was going to end up just like his father. A drunk. God-forbid having kids of his own one day and giving them enough emotional, and physical trauma to last generations.

Tim spoke to the post’s general the next day, given clearance for an honorable discharge, to his luck, technically before his tour was over. He was able to jump on the first flight back to the states, finally ending his journey at Edwards Air Force Base. As corny as it sounds, it felt good to be back on American soil after almost a decade spent in middle eastern deserts. The year was now 2006. Tim Bradford was twenty-six years old, and he felt the same way he did all those years ago in his guidance counselor’s office, with no idea about what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

“Heard your brother lost his mind in the city last fall

Was it his blood, or his conscience, or the alcohol?”

“Did the Navy do him well or did he wind up sick

Like every other brave boy from these run down sticks?”

Upon reaching Edwards, Tim called the only people he thought would pick up. First, he tested his luck and tried their house number, praying to god his father wouldn't be the one to pick up the phone. No answer. He then decided to try his sister, Genny, and shockingly, “Hello? Who is this?”

Tim stood on the other side of the phone in shock, silent. It was clearly the right number, definitely his sister, but she sounded so…different. Not just older but more confident, sure of herself. It hits him how much he’d missed while he was away.

“Hello?”

“Genny, it’s me, Tim?”

It’s Genny’s turn for silence. She hadn’t heard of her brother since he left their family years ago, and while she first resented his leaving, she knew he always had it far worse than she did, and him getting out was for the best.

“Yeah, yeah, hi, is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Um, I’m out. I’m at Edwards right now, if you…or mom, pick me up?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Tim breathes a sigh of relief, “Okay. Thank you, see you soon,” before he hangs up the phone and sits back down in the lounge. About two hours later he meets Genny at the entrance. She gets out of the family SUV. They both stare at each other, stunned at what one another has become. Genny, no longer the spunky 11-year-old Tim left, but now nearly twenty, but with the same stark red hair and blue eyes. Tim, much tougher-appearing now, but with his matching sapphires, still as vulnerable as ever. After taking each other in, the tension finally breaks, crashing into one another for their first hug in God knows how long. Both sets of blues now filled with tears that refuse to drop, the two hop into the SUV, ready for the long drive back into the City of Angels. Again, it’s silent, for nearly fifteen minutes until they hit the freeway, and Tim breaks.

“So, how are things?”

“Don’t do that.” Genny replies, taking her eyes off the road.

“What?”

“Pretend like nothing happened. Like you didn’t leave us, with no communication for almost ten years. If it wasn’t for the military showing up to the door we wouldn’t know if you were dead or alive.”

Looking away from sister, Tim begins twiddling his fingers, “You know I had to get out.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve called. Update us. Send a letter, birthday wish. I know you hate dad but you didn’t have to leave the rest of us hanging either.”

Tim remains silent, and then Genny continues: “So many people asked about you, or if they didn’t ask, made up stories of their own, ‘he went crazy,’ ‘didn’t make it through basic,’ ‘went MIA,’ and we didn’t know who or what to believe.”

“I’m sorry Gen,”

Genny gives a slight acknowledgement to his apology, but definitely not a sense of forgiveness. “Mom will be happy to see you.”

Tim smiles at that. As much as he wishes his mom stood up for him more growing up, he still loved her, and knows how much she felt the same. Naturally though, his mind wandered to his dad. Was he even around? He knew his parents’ marriage was just a legal binding at this point, but they evidently weren’t the type to finally get a divorce either. As if reading his mind, Genny mumbled, “Dad uh, hasn’t been home in a while. Like, three years, while.”

“All for the better,” Tim asserted.

Tim knew he and his sister’s differing opinions on their father, and decided not to push the issue any further, and the car remained silent as they made their way back into LA. Arriving at their childhood home, Tim and Genny hopped out the vehicle, with Tim grabbing his duffle from the back. Genny steps inside first, Tim takes a second, a deep breath, into the home he never wanted to step foot in again.

Walking through the entryway, Tim feels an immediate chill down his spine seeing the same areas of the house where he’d been turned into a victim over, and over, even catching the spots where he and his father had to fill in chipping paint, caulk gaps, and fill larger holes in the wall made the night before.

As he walks further into the house, Tim hears the sink running in the kitchen, splashing across the surface and dishes being set into the drying rack. The two siblings walked into the kitchen silently, and feeling the presence of her children, Cynthia Bradford turned around and stilled, unable to believe that her baby boy had finally come home. A short, but lanky woman, Mrs. Bradford looked just like her children, with Genny’s striking features, like their shared red hair, but Tim’s overall look, and those signature Bradford blues.

Her voice soft as ever, “Tim,” she turns to set the bowl and plate she was holding back in the sink, and moves to crush her son in a hug, something they hadn’t shared since Tim left for basic. Tim returns the hug, slightly, wrapping just one arm around his mother’s waist.

“I thought you’d never come back,” Cynthia continued.

“I served my time, now I’m back home. All part of the process” Tim retorted.

“Okay then,” Cynthia nodded, shocked by this new Tim she was facing. He, for the most part, looked the same as when he left, possibly a little more built, but his demeanor is completely different, and she can’t determine if it’s for better or for worse. He was always the sweetest boy growing up, even after all he went through, but now he seems like that’s all gone, or at least was hidden away for war.

“Well, let me at least make you something, you’re probably hungry after eating all that army food for so long.”

“No, I’m okay, it wasn’t too bad, just need to crash for a bit and figure out what’s next, then I’ll be on my way.”

To that response, Tim felt Genny tense up, like she didn’t expect him to be leaving again so soon. Tim nodded back at his mom, before turning away to head toward the back of the house into his childhood bedroom, which was exactly as he left it. Royal blue walls, but immensely dark. Bed unmade (if only his major would see this), clothes strewn across the floor, except there was a distinct stench that Tim didn’t remember there being all those years ago.

He tosses his duffle on the bed, and for a minute just stands in what feels like a time capsule. All the things that he made an effort to run away from were right in front of him in an instant. His dad wasn’t even in the house anymore, and it’s like Tim could feel him breathing down his neck again. All of a sudden Tim felt his throat get thick and his head began to spin, vision growing fuzzy. Then his chest got tight, and he felt like his legs could no longer hold his weight. He collapsed onto his bed and grasped at his sheets, begging his hands to quit shaking. His inclination was right, he had to get out of here. ASAP.

#nai writes #my first fic :)#tim bradford #tim bradford fic #the rookie #the rookie fic #ao3 #fanfiction #fics

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